#have been the reason I have started writing fics

[lvrclerc]

MEANT TO BE YOURS

summary: you didn't expect to realize you didn't want to marry your fiancé at the altar, and you sure as hell didn't expect your formula one driver best friend to be your getaway car. still, you and oscar piastri are facing the neverending coast, and the true reason why you bailed out of your wedding. ✷ IVY'S POETRY DEPARTMENT EVENT: « i have never loved before as i love you─ with tenderness, to the point of tears. »

F1 MASTERLIST | OP81 MASTERLIST

pairing: oscar piastri x best friend!f!reader wordcount: 10.3K content: best friends to lovers, road trip, bittersweet, fluff, toxic/controlling relationship, age gap (not with oscar), happy ending note: requested here! i told myself i'd only write semi-short fics for this event but i have a severe case of overwriting. can you tell i enjoy writing op81 friends to lovers?

♫ paul - big thief, from eden - hozier, anchor - novo amor

SOMEONE RANG THE church bells by accident, a shrill clang which startled the officiant in the middle of his question. Most of the assembly had laughed, albeit awkwardly, to the obnoxious melody coming from the metallic giants, and the man behind the lectern had sputtered out a weak joke to ease the discomfort creeping up your spine at the interruption. Your fiancé, whose callouses still scraped your fingers he held in an iron grip, rolled his eyes and urged him to carry on.

It was the moment you knew.

“Y/N,” the officiant starts again. Your name felt pasty and foreign in his mouth, and reverberated back at you as a distorted echo of yourself you no longer recognized. “Do you take Elijah to be your husband, your best friend, and love for life?”

The look your fiancé laid upon you was nothing short of expectant. His wedding band is cold on your burning skin, branding you with its white hot ore, and you realize you hadn’t had a say in how your own looked like. The venue hadn’t been your choice either: it had been carefully curated by a wedding planner Elijah had paid, draped in strings of pearls and pristine white roses— the thorns on your bouquet hadn’t been removed and poked at your fingers through the gloves.

Your gaze drifted through the assembly. Your side blinked away tears, blotting them with monogrammed napkins bearing the last name you were meant to take, whispering their admiration about how well you were marrying for a girl of your background. His side wore rigid Venetian masks of neutrality, keeping their head high and eyes narrowed in funeral silence, all except for one.

Oscar had his eyes locked upon you. Rust-gold hair fell across his brow, hands tucked on his lap, ever the picture of calmness. Yet, you knew your best friend like no other, and the confusion swirling in his pupils told you he noticed the sweat beading on your forehead, the shuffle of your heels. He knew you just as much—if not more.

Seconds ticked by like hours, your silence was arousing raised eyebrows and disapproving stares. It took you a longer moment to notice the tightening grip Elijah had on your hands. His eyes were harsh and urgent, nothing like the soft questions in Oscar’s. He hadn’t seen it. He didn’t know.

But you did, now.

You took a step back, and the shift was almost imperceptible, still, your heel seemed to strike against the marble floor like a gunshot, rippling through the entire crowd. Gasps turned the air thick with incomprehension, building up the pressure in your lungs. Your vision frayed at the edges. Elijah’s mouth moved in a whisper, “What are you doing?”. Oscar worryingly stirred in his seat. 

It took everything in you, every ounce of will and bodily strength, to tear off your hands from your fiancé’s grasp. You didn’t look back at the people seated in front of you. You didn’t even glance back at Elijah, the man you were supposed to marry today.

Desperate, breathless, you looked at Oscar. Mouth agape in search of any intakes of air, tears pearling at your lower lashes. His confusion melted, replaced by a soft understanding, because he knew— he always did. In that moment, your shoulders unknotted. He nodded. Got up from the wooden bench, along with many outraged others.

And you ran.

Your feet pounded against the floor, echoing louder than the gasps behind you. The half-opened side-exit loomed ahead, beckoning you closer, and you hurried toward it without looking back. Cold air wrapped around you, bracing after the weight of the ceremony hall. Behind you, the commotion dulled into a muffled roar: voices tangled together in an indecipherable mess, heels clicking in panic, Elijah’s voice yelling your name. You gathered the heavy layers of your dress, bunching the white satin and lace with trembling fingers, and sprinted through the maze of narrow corridors and clerestory windows, past wooden doors creaking in protests mixing with the rush of blood in your ears.

The last door slammed open beneath your palm, leaving you stumbling to a parking lot, and the bright morning sun seared its shape into your irises. You shielded your face with one hand, lungs dragging in the sharp air. For a moment, light, color and sound blurred together.

Then there was the low purr of an engine, the hasty screeching of tires against the tarmac. A car swerved into view, and the pacific blue of it glinting under the sunlight so familiar it took your heart with the last move of its steering wheel. It came into a clean, urgent stop in front of you.

Oscar threw the passenger door open, already leaning over to push it wide enough. Your breath caught in a sob. He didn’t say anything. You didn’t either.

Wordlessly, you rushed toward him. The train of your dress snagged on the doorframe of the church, and you let out a small, strangled laugh, somewhere between hysteria and relief, as you fought to stuff the endless fabric into the cramped footwell. Oscar helped as much as he could, waiting, always a careful eye set on you.

Once you were in, he met your eyes, hands firmly on the wheel. “Where to?” he asked.

You swallowed and turned your head to the window.

“Anywhere.”

Oscar didn’t hesitate once. The tires squealed as he floored it, the engine growling beneath you like a beast let off leash. Speed took the wheels, and the church disappeared in the rearview mirrors until it was but a grain of sand in the endless ticking of an hourglass. The guests, the whispers, the life you almost disappeared into, and somewhere, amongst it all, Elijah stood at the threshold, watching you vanish.

The bells were still ringing when you passed by the exit sign.

You met Oscar Piastri three years ago. It was the first time Elijah had invited you to a Formula One race. In the two years you’d been dating, it had always come first: he was gone more often than not, attending meetings, galas, and testing weekends.

Elijah wasn’t just anyone in the motorsports world. Not that he was of any importance in the intricacies of engineering, steering the heavy cars across the narrow corners or knew how to navigate overtakes from behind a helmet— he didn’t do any of that. What Elijah did was pay for the parts and repairs, and the logo from the company he had inherited from his father graced the pristine pink and blue of the Alpine racing suit. When you first learned about it, your eyes went wide in childlike excitement. You were only in your second year of university, only nineteen, and the most expensive thing you owned was an Ipad you’d saved for one summer. So when a man, ten years older, confident and polished, told you he had his last name stitched into one of the most elitist sports in the world, it had stunned you into admirative silence.

You’d looked at him like he had been touched by Midas himself. You thought it meant something about him.

Looking back on it now, you could only describe it as garish, and note that he shouldn’t have been talking to you in the first place.

But here you were, twenty-one, dressed like you belonged, stepping into the paddock. 

You had always imagined it to be somewhat organized and polished. Instead, you were met with the blur of motions and noises: staff members pushing past, PR agents shouting into headsets, camera shutters clicking in quick succession. Conversations overlapped in different languages, and bodies moved like currents, in which you were just another thing to dodge. However, you had no time to get accustomed to it: Elijah had to leave—“Important meeting, you see,” he said with a formal kiss to your forehead, “you’ll be fine, Alpine’s hospitality’s nearby”—and left you to your own devices in the den of lions.

The Miami heat had a devastating effect, sticking to you like molten plastic. Sweat clung to the back of your neck, and your dress, carefully picked by Elijah, dug uncomfortably into your ribs. Every time you tried to step aside, someone shoved past, never long enough to help.

Vision tunneling, you pressed a hand to your forehead, but even that felt wrong. You didn’t belong there, and Elijah was right not to invite you for so long. The humidity stuck to you like a second layer of skin, your breath shallow.

“Hey.”

A voice, calm and low, cut through the static.

You blinked up, sight clearing, only to find a pair of soft brown eyes studying you, brows furrowed beneath sun-drenched hair. It was Oscar—well, you didn’t know his name yet, but at that moment he already looked familiar, a barrier between you and the world.

“You okay?” he asked, hands tucked in the pocket of his shorts as if not to startle you.

You nodded too fast, then winced at the sudden movement when the world around you started spinning again. “I’m just… I’m supposed to find Alpine’s hospitality? I can’t figure out where that is.”

His gaze flickers past you to the swarm of people. “Yeah… it’s chaos today.” Pulling a hand out one of his pocket, he handed you a water bottle—or what you assumed was a water bottle, warranting your vision could only make out blotches of pale blue. “You should sit for a minute. Shade’s better over there.”

Hesitation overcame you, visible on your face, but he didn’t urge you. He waited.

You took the water.

He led you toward a quiet stretch of wall just beyond the media scrum. It was hardly private, but the sun wasn’t blistering your skin anymore, and fewer people were circulating. You sank to the curb, grateful for the cool concrete against the back of your legs. He sat beside you, elbows on his knees, a polite distance away. You silently thanked him for it.

“I’m Oscar,” he said after a moment, glancing over at you with the same grounded calm. “Oscar Piastri.”

You managed to muster a smile. Shaky, yes, but a smile nonetheless. “Y/N.”

Your hands were trembling slightly when you reached for the cap of the bottle. Observant, as he always was, you’d come to discover down the line, his fingers brushed against yours in a question. You let him take the bottle, which he unscrewed open without much of a word about it. “First race?” he asked.

Nodding, you took back the plastic container. “First time… all of this.”

“Yeah, it can be a lot,” Oscar smiled. It was a tiny stretch of the lips, it could be mistaken for a frown, but it didn’t escape you. “You’ll get around it though, if you stick around.”

“Is that your way of asking if I come here often?” you probed after a gulp of water, arching a brow.

That got a flustered chuckle out of him, the first out of many that you’d elicit in the years to come, and your heart whipped in a somersault. “Not really, but now I’m curious.”

Elijah would later find the two of you engulfed in the small corner, deep in conversation, your laughter a thread of relief amid the chaos of the paddock. His anger, visible in the tight line of his jaw, melted almost immediately when Oscar’s gaze landed on him, unassuming. That day, you’d learn that Oscar was McLaren’s rookie on his first season, just a year older than you, and that he and Elijah had been friends since karting days. For Elijah, it had always been a hobby to brag about at dinners. For Oscar, racing was simply etched in his bones, similar to all nineteen of his colleagues who fought to get there.

You’d smiled and nodded as Elijah threw a possessive arm around your waist, pestering you to the Alpine hospitality. Oscar gave you a small wave as you were pulled away.

It wouldn’t be the last time you’d meet him. You’d run into him on multiple occasions: galas, race weekends. Sometimes he’d find you alone, and you’d share coffee on a bench, no matter how stifling the heat. Among those many instances, you’d exchange numbers. From there, the rest felt inevitable: Oscar would start calling you after races to ask how your day was, participate in movie marathons during which you’d eat room service on the ground and fall asleep leaning on his shoulder, keep the other company in quiet corners when black-tie occasions rose and Elijah left you unsupervised as he networked. Oscar would listen, hold your deepest secrets, and you would hold his, cradling them between your intertwined fingers. 

It felt like fate written in the margins. But at that moment in time, you didn’t know. Not yet.

You couldn’t have known he’d be the same guy, three years later, driving well over the speed limit to get you as far away as possible from your own wedding either.

The landscape would be suffocating if it didn’t steal your breath away: the tall pine trees loomed over you like ancient sentinels, their dark bark and deep green needles wrapping around the world in quiet reverence. They stood close, tangled together to form a living fortress stifling any clear view of the coast? In the fleeting glimpses between trunks, you could see the ocean foam itself into a fury against the cliffs, hear its wild applause in the distance.

The air was cooler than it had been at the altar. A bracing wind tore at your carefully pinned curls until they unraveled into ribbons, leaving strands dancing across your face. The car windows were rolled down all the way; you leaned your head back, letting the rush of air thread through your fingers. The radio played low, echoing the chords of a half-forgotten melody you barely listened to.

The tear tracks on your cheeks had dried in delicate salt lines, reminiscent of the sea. You couldn’t remember the last time either of you had spoken.

Oscar’s driving had settled from frantic to steady, but his knuckles remained white on the steering wheel. The sun shifted overhead, sliding across his profile—sharp, yet gentle, a hint of shadow pooling in the curve of his jaw.

You wanted to ask where you were going. He wanted to ask what you were running from. Both questions simmered on your tongues, both knowing, yet neither of you voiced it out. That’s what often happens when you know someone from the inside out—things were left unsaid under the impression the other already understood.

Except sometimes, only sometimes, it didn’t work like that. It had been what Oscar and you struggled with for a while, now.

The car began to slow, easing out of the rapid pace of the highway. Caught up in your own thoughts, you felt the shift before you could see it: Oscar’s foot lightened on the pedal and the hum of the road softened beneath the tires. Through the pines, you noticed the glint of an old, flickering neon sign, weathered by time but still clinging to its pink glow, even in the middle of the day. Rosie’s Diner.

The small building was a 1950s-style chrome beacon, half-buried in the woods, clashing with the darkness by its bright colors. The parking lot was cracked asphalt, wild grass sprouting through the grass in a fragile attempt of a rebellion against time. Oscar pulled into the lot and cut the engine. For a moment, only the soft ticking of the cooling car filled the silence.

You opened your mouth to form a question, but the Australian spoke up first. “It’s almost lunch.” He turned to face you. His gaze flickered to the tear lines on your cheeks, then back to your eyes. “And I know you didn’t eat this morning because of… everything.”

A blush rose to your cheeks, embarrassed by how transparent you could be to him. You looked down at the disheveled wedding dress gathered in your lap, filling the passenger seat with white satin gone grey at the hem and torn lace. “Oscar,” you whispered, voice hoarse. “I can’t go in there like this.”

A gentle smile ghosted across his lips. “Y/N, we’re in the middle of nowhere. There’s probably two people in that place. Nobody’s going to look twice at you.” His smile grew a fraction warmer, like it often did with you. “Even if they do, it’s not like we’re going to see them again, are we?”

“You’re a celebrity, Oscar,” you noted, acerbity laced in your trembling tone.

He shrugged. “I don’t see how that factors in anything.”

You let out a shaky laugh, the sound breaking free as would a breath held for too long. There had been no hesitation in his words, only a factual reassurance. Oscar believed what he was saying, he didn’t see the issue because there wasn’t one. Elijah would have rather died than got out of this car with you in such a state.

Oscar’s hand found yours on the center console, and he gave it a reassuring squeeze. The gesture sent a shiver down your spine, no matter how familiar. “Come on,” he said, a quiet invitation to something new.

So you took his hand, letting him anchor you in the moment, and together, you stepped out of the car.

Saying the diner was empty would have been an understatement. Apart from two tired-looking waitresses with roller skates leaning on the counter and a couple of line cooks half-heartedly flipping burgers in the back kitchen, even the rats seemed to have deserted this place.

The years had left their marks: chipped vinyl booths, gritty floor tiles that hadn’t been swept in god knows how long, and walls that might have been white but now leaned closer to a yellow shade of old nicotine. You slid into a corner booth near the window, the cracked red leather sighing under your weight. The menus, laminated and curling at the corners, looked like relics coming straight from the nineties—Comic Sans titles and cartoonish doodles framing a faded list of cheeseburgers, milkshakes, and fries.

Oscar sat next to you. It was an unspoken rule in your friendship, because sitting across from each other always felt too impersonal. He was still in his tuxedo that had started to crease in the humidity of the coast, and his tie was coming undone at his throat. Your gaze lingered on that detail for a split second before you caught sight of yourself in the window: a disheveled bride in a wedding dress, smudged in dust and tears.

What a pair you made.

A waitress ambled over, pencil tucked behind her ear. She glanced between the two of you, curious eyes remaining a beat too long on your wedding dress. You tensed up, and Oscar’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly at the movement. “Well, don’t you two look like something out of a movie,” she drawled. “What can I get for you today?”

Oscar lifted a brow at you. “Bacon cheeseburger?”

You laughed softly, the sound a little bit broken. “Bacon cheeseburger. As usual.”

She scribbled it down. “Two of those, coming right up. Oh—” she leaned in conspiratorially, a wicked grin on her lips. “And since it looks like you’re getting married and all, that’s half price for y’all today. Congratulations, by the way!”

The comment struck something in your chest, although you couldn’t pinpoint what, exactly. You know it should have stung, tug on what you had left behind, and it looked like Oscar expected as much: he flinched, eyes darting to you, his lips parted as if to protest. You knew what he was thinking about it—your tears, the cadence of your feet as you fled the altar—and he was ready to explain, to protect you from the memory.

You stopped him with a gentle touch on his hand. “Thanks,” you said to the waitress. You offered her a small smile, “Half-price is too good to pass up, right?”

Oscar’s eyes widened in understanding. He quickly went with it, and the waitress winked and bustled off. For a second, the silence between you and Oscar threatened to swallow the air, but then you locked eyes. You both burst out laughing, the sound bright and unexpected, so needed it nearly broke your heart all over again.

“We didn’t need the discount, you know,” he managed to say between laughs.

“I know,” you sighed, “but it doesn’t hurt. Besides, these burgers are so overpriced.” You turned the menu around again, squinting at the faded prices. 

Oscar leaned over, close enough that you caught a faint whiff of his cologne, clean and citrusy, washing over you. His cheek brushed your shoulder and you didn’t miss the pink flush at the tip of his ear either. “Maybe the quality’s good?” he teased.

You snorted. “Do you actually believe what you just said?”

“Not at all.”

The waitress came back with your orders in record time, balancing two plates stacked high with cheeseburgers and fries, looking way more delicious than you’d expected. The smell, greasy and comforting, sent your stomach into a frenzy of need. Oscar was right: you were starving.

You grabbed a fry and popped it into your mouth. You groaned in pleasure at the taste, and Oscar raised an eyebrow at you in a way that looked suspiciously like a non-verbal I told you so. You swatted his arm with a napkin.

Between bites, the conversation flowed like seawater, laughter bubbling up to the surface and dissolving into other topics as you made your way through your meal. The remnants of the morning’s panic were at the back of your mind, which was a cruel thing to notice, but the pang in your heart disappeared as Oscar threw another offhand comment at you. At one point, as you set your burger down and wiped a red smear of ketchup from your cheek, you sighed and leaned back against the cracked booth.

“This,” you started lightheartedly, halfway through a burger bite, “reminds me of that time I fake-proposed to you in that little restaurant in Italy.”

Oscar’s groan was immediate and full-bodied, and the sound only widened your grin. “Please, don’t remind me,” he mumbled, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead. “I had to have the weirdest conversation with my media team afterwards— ‘Yes, she’s my best friend. No, I’m not hiding a wedding. Leave me alone.’ Absolute nightmare.”

You cackled at the memory, so dear to you, and the sound echoed bright and sharp, like something cracked open in your chest. “But hey! We got the meal for free! And you got the prettiest ring made out of a napkin.”

He couldn’t help but laugh too, and the inflections of it were so utterly soft, the eyes he set on you captivated as you threw your head back in a chuckle. There was something worshipful in the way his gaze never left you even as he took a slow sip of his soda, and it made you feel blasphemous to sit under it inside a diner booth.

“You know,” Oscar murmured, his voice dropping just enough, “this is nice.”

His tone softened your grin into a smile. “What is?”

“Being with you, like this. You haven’t laughed like that in…,” he sets his drink on the table, “I don’t know. A long time. You kinda—” Oscar paused, searching your face. “You kinda lost your spark. Your thing, you know? So it’s nice. You and I, like this.”

Like old times.

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. The words dissolved on your tongue, instead taking the shape of the sudden sting of tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. The words didn’t hurt, but the reality behind them hit you like bullets: you couldn’t recall the last time you let your tongue run free of any overthinking, your laugh coming from the deepest cracks of yourself, your shoulders released of any tension.

You come to the realization you forgot what it was like to be you, and hamburger grease drips down on the white of your wedding dress.

“Shit!” you gasped, dazed, staring at the growing yellow splotch on your bustier.

Frantically, you grabbed a napkin and dabbed at it, but it only smeared. Tears pricked at your lashes, as you bit back a sob as you muttered, “Sorry— god, I’m such a mess.”

Oscar reached across the table and gently took hold of your wrist, fingers marching the warmth of your skin. “It’s okay,” he murmured, and it felt like a balm. “Who cares?”

You let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. The sticky table, the harsh overhead light in the middle of the day, the chatter of the waitresses, all of it faded, and your world narrowed down to the feel of Oscar’s hand on yours, the salty beads pearling at your eyes, and that stupid stain on your stupid dress. “Yeah,” you breathed out, your voice breaking into a chuckle. “Who cares?”

Oscar’s answering smile lit up his entire face, and you couldn’t help but revel in it. It felt like a sunrise, one you hadn’t seen in a really, really long time.

Because you had forgotten what it was like to be you, and Oscar offered you fragments of it. A reminder you were still there, somewhere in the deepest parts of yourself and the most evident parts of him. 

When the waitress dropped the bill, you both paid with cash from the bottoms of your pockets—who brought their credit card to a wedding?—and practically rushed through the door, a newfound lightheartedness in the way your hand rested on his bicep. Oscar took a moment to help you gather the layers of tulle and satin that had tangled around your ankles, his fingers brushing yours as he lifted the skirt with exaggerated care. 

“Honestly,” you groaned, tilting your head back, “this dress is the most impractical thing I’ve ever worn.”

Oscar’s eyes crinkled with a grin. “You do look like a giant cupcake.”

The fact that he was bent over and helping you gather the fabric gave you better access to smack his shoulder—playfully, always. “You just know how to reassure a woman, don’t you, Osc’?” That made him laugh.

“Seriously, though,” you sighed, glancing down at the ruffled mess of your skirt, “I need to change. I’m sweating my ass off in this thing.”

Even though your tone was as light as you could make it, your best friend seemed to get the undertones the moment they left your tongue.. “Well, Maps did show a thrift shop about forty minutes from here,” he said, cutting your thoughts short. “Not exactly designer, but…”

A quiet, reckless joy bloomed in your chest. “Screw that, like I care about price tags anyway.”

And just like that, the two of you were rushing back to the car. Oscar hurried ahead and opened the door for you with playful flourish. You tumbled inside, not stopping the string of half-formed sentences and childish giggles that spilled from your lips.

Oscar’s grin widened as he closed the door shut and jogged to the driver’s side. The engine roared back to life with a satisfying growl and with one last glance at you, eyes bright and wild like he had missed, he pulled away.

The hefty silence had been left in Rosie’s Diner’s parking lot. The car had come alive under jokes thrown to the wind funneling in through half-opened windows, and the radio blared loud enough to tempt your lips into finally humming the melody. Sometimes, Oscar's gaze wandered from the road, catching yours, and you’d meet it, beaming. Other times, you’d stare at him as he maneuvered the tight curves of the mountainous coast, seeking any sign of exhaustion in the way the early afternoon light carved shadows in the dark of his irises. There was none, there never was— just unbridled warmth.

Forty minutes slipped by like five and, before you knew it, you were pulling into the dirt lot of a questionable wooden building. The weathered facade had been battered by sea salt and wind until the paint cracked, the structure groaning in rhythm with the coastal gusts. The sign had long given up its name, now only legible by its function: Thrift and Pawn Shop.

“What a fine establishment,” you quipped, eyeing the warped planks.

Oscar killed the engine. “But you don’t care about price tags, right?”

You rolled your eyes, but the smirk on your lips was nothing if affectionate. “You know, maybe I should’ve let myself die of thirst the day I met you.” You don’t mean it.

“Maybe I should’ve let you,” he fired back, and his traits only carried the same knowing softness. He didn’t mean it either. That was the whole point.

You entered the shop side by side.

The inside was a considerable improvement from the outside, to say the least. It was an Aladdin’s cave of mismatched treasures: clothes and antiquities climbed each wall like ivy, so much the ceiling was brimming with another rack to choose from. Shoes and hats littered the floor to form a winding makeshift pathway to the front counter, a glass table at the back cluttered with multiple trinkets varying in quality, all overseen by a middle-aged woman. When her eyes set upon you, her eyebrows shot up in surprise at the wedding dress trailing behind you and the tuxedo at your side. You offered her an awkward smile, to which she answered with an indifferent shrug.

You and Oscar shared a look—that could be translated by Let’s get this over with—before diving into the efficiently organized chaos.

The options felt endless and overwhelming. You didn’t even know where to start, Oscar either, and the oppressive gaze of the woman at the counter didn’t help your hesitation: racks sagging under the weight of too-small shirts, dresses with questionable patterns, and pants that looked like they’d fit a twelve-year-old or a linebacker, no in-between.

You decided to divide and conquer. Oscar took the left side of the store while you made your way to the right, burying yourself in a twisted maze of dusty shelves.

As per thrift shop customs, everything seemed to miss the mark: too tight, too loose, too… everything. You huffed in frustration, and the creeping feeling of spending the entire day in that wedding dress, like you were originally supposed to, came crashing upon you. Just as the thought swallowed away your renewed optimism, a beacon of hope reached your eyesight.

A pair of worn jean shorts peeked out from underneath a dizzyingly high pile of knitted sweaters. Hoping for a miracle, which would take the form of a size that could actually fit you, you grabbed them. That was when the shelf next to it caught your attention with a slightly askew hanger.

You couldn’t help but laugh out loud when you took it. “Oscar!” you called, giddy and wheezing. He appeared from between racks of 80s windbreakers, eyebrows raised.

“What’d you find?”

With all the pride you could gather, you held up the brand-new, bright orange McLaren shirt you had found, with the number 81 in bold lettering on the front pocket.

His eyes, both reflecting so much and so little, went back between your smile and the shirt a few times.. “I’m… mildly offended to find that in a thrift shop,” he finally said, deadpan.

You chuckled again, and the sound of it stole a fond grin out of Oscar. “It’s half-priced too, $40,” you read off the tag attached to the hanger.

“That’s a bargain.”

“Yeah… might be because of that.” You turned the shirt around.

The number 81 was bigger on the back, but it wasn’t the star of the show. The real showstopper was Oscar’s last name, written similarly, right below it, spelled out in bold—PAISTRY.

There was a moment of silence during which Oscar stared at the letters, entirely too dumbfounded to manage one of his usual dry remarks. You snorted, and that broke the dam: you were both bursting out in messy laughter, doubled over with shaky shoulders and tears prickling at your eyes. The sound ricocheted off the cluttered walls, drawing a loud, pointed cough from the woman at the counter. Reminded of the time and place, you straightened abruptly, slapping a hand over your mouth in a failed attempt to stifle the giggles. Oscar mirrored your motions, clearing his throat, his lips still twitching.

“I’m sorry,” you managed to wheeze out, wiping at your cheeks, “but I have to have this. I can’t just leave it here.”

Oscar laughed. “You could’ve just told me if you wanted one, I’d have stolen you a dozen from the HQ.”

“That’s not the same!” You flipped the shirt back around so you could see the misspelled name. “I can’t pass up the chance to be Mrs. Paistry, can I?”

The words tumbled out before you could stop them, and the significance hit you like a rogue wave, leaving you too dizzy to take them back before the momentum passed. Oscar’s eyes widened just a fraction, a bright, telltale pink dusting his ears and cheeks. You could feel the heat rising in your own and the tip of your fingers tingling as you clutched the shirt tighter. Eye contact felt suddenly unbearable, so you busied yourself looking at every worn vest and secondhand jacket, shifting from one foot to the other like you reverted back to being an awkward sixteen years old, and not at the wise age of twenty-four.

Maybe the truth was that becoming Mrs. Piastri—or Paistry—wasn’t such a terrifying thought after all. Somehow, it sounded better than Mrs. Elijah Hart.

Oscar cleared his throat, cutting your train of thoughts short. ”Do you even have forty bucks?” he asked, voice a touch too casual as if he was trying to keep things light save for his obvious fluster. “I’d get it for you, but I barely have gas money after the burgers.”

“Oh.” You deflated a little. You didn’t have forty dollars. Hell, you probably didn’t have ten. Brides didn’t usually carry money on their wedding days, after all—the rest of your cash and your card were safely tucked at home, which seemed like a whole other world right now.

You ran your thumb absentmindedly over the wedding ring on your finger, something you found yourself doing whenever you were thinking. The smooth gold caught your eye, glinting artificially under the store’s dim light. The idea hit you right here and there.

A spark of defiance bloomed in your chest. Trembling breath and limbs, you took a hold of the layers of your dress and turned toward the counter, where the middle-aged woman still watched you with detached disinterest. “This is a pawn shop, right?” Your voice carried strength, even if you couldn’t feel it in your muscles.

Next to you, Oscar frowned, but kept quiet.

The woman raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, it is,” she answered, her tone slow and a little suspicious. “Why?”

You paused for a second, letting your skin absorb the coolness of the metal one last time, and before you could hesitate, you slipped the wedding ring off. It fell onto the glass counter with a small clink, which seemed to reverberate inside the entire shop, bouncing off the walls until it was inside your bones. Yet, it was more satisfying than it should have been. “How much for this?”

Oscar let out a stunned exhale, a silent panic flickering in his eyes. The movement was subtle, but there nonetheless: he reached out, the pad of his fingers scraping against your sleeve as he gently held your elbow. “Hey— are you sure about this?” he asked softly, barely above a whisper. “I can get you a better shirt, or a hundred of them. You don’t have to—” He faltered, took a deep breath to regain his usual composure. “If you really want to do this, you have to be sure. It’s big.”

You looked down at the spot where your ring had sat, and spotted the faint tan line that marked the absence of something that had once meant everything, or so you thought. Now, it just looked like a parcel of skin bruised and branded white, a part of yourself that didn’t belong to you anymore but rather to the ghost of something past. You thought of all the sun you’d soak up, the laughter and scratches that would paint over that line, a testimony of the spark you’d welcomed back in the past hours.

You weren’t attached to the ring. Or the marriage. Or any of it, truly.

You took a deep breath and met Oscar’s gaze, smiling. “I’m sure,” and you meant it.

Oscar’s expression melted into a thing of warmth, pride, and maybe a bit of relief. He gave your arm a reassuring squeeze, his eyes shining. “Alright, let’s do it then.”

The woman eyed the two of you before her eyes set back on the ring. Minutes passed while she scrutinized under the glare of a magnifying glass and poked it with a few tools. Pursing her lips, she finally lifted her gaze back to you. “This is expensive stuff. You sure you want to sell that here?”

“Never been more sure of anything.” 

She raised her brows and gave you a slow once-over. “Not a happy… almost-marriage, I’m guessing.”

“Let’s say I tend to gravitate more toward silver,” you said in a sigh. The woman looked back at the golden band with an empathetic hum. Oscar, who’s been hovering right behind you, let out a snort.

“That’s a nice way of saying he was a dick,” your best friend interjected dryly, and you turned to him in surprise. Elijah and him had been friends, or so you thought. You wouldn’t have expected Oscar to openly berate him, but then again, today had been a day of surprises—and he had been front row for your entire disaster union.

After a bit of back-and-forth and some haggling, the woman finally relented. She handed you a surprisingly heavy wad of nine hundred dollars in cash—minus the cost of your jean shorts, the McLaren shirt, the surprisingly pristine white sneakers Oscar had found for you, and a new outfit he’d picked out himself. You’d insisted on paying for his clothes, too. Reparations, you’d called it, and he had rolled his eyes at you.

You both made your way to the single changing area at the far end of the thrift shop. Giddy to escape the heat of your dress, you ducked into one stall, while Oscar took the one beside you.

But as you kicked off your heels with relief, cold realization trickled upon you: the tight, back-laced corset. You cursed under your breath. It had taken the combined effort of your mother, your sister, and a few Hail Marys to get it on in the first place. You were a fool to think you could manage it alone. Still, you tried.

You twisted and contorted your body, which definitely earned you a type of scoliosis, and the knots only seemed to get tighter the more you moved. In another effort, your elbow slammed against the thin wall separating you from Oscar’s stall with a loud thud.

“Is everything alright?” Oscar’s voice floated through the cheap wood paneling.

A frustrated laugh, tinged with desperation, escaped you. “No I— I think I might need help. With the dress. This goddamn corset—”

There was a pause. After what felt like forever, you heard the hesitant creak of Oscar’s door and a few footsteps before your own cabin door eased open. He stood there, a little unsure, his shirt half-opened and his jacket forgotten somewhere. He was probably in the middle of changing, you thought, and a flush crept up your neck.

“Can you—?” you gestured awkwardly toward your back.

His brown eyes softened. “Yeah. Of course.”

Oscar carefully stepped inside. The space became more cramped than it already was with the addition of his presence, so when you turned so your back faced him, you were almost leaning entirely against his chest. His breath was a warm wave on the nape of your neck, catching at the sudden closeness, and the mirror in front of you showed the clear tension in your cheeks, your chest heaving.

His fingers, steady, found the first knot and began to loosen it. Oscar was methodical in his movements, making his way slowly through each row with brushes so gentle you wondered if he was even touching you at all. The imperceptible sweep of his knuckles against your spine had been featherlight, maybe accidental, but echoed through your entire body as if he had dug his fingers in your hips. Your breath hitched, and your eyes flew to the mirror.

His had too.

Oscar’s expression was nothing if focused, save for the tenderness of his eyes gliding upon you. His hands untied the last row of ties, achingly measured, each loosened lace a small liberation. The corset eased off, and the cold air hitting your bare back was a relief that almost brought tears to your eyes. Yet, what reduced you to pieces was the subtle ghost of Oscar’s fingertips, his eyes transfixed, tracing down your spine in sheer reverence. You don’t think someone had ever touched you so.

A soft gasp slipped past your lips. “Oscar—” you whispered. Your voice was trembling, carrying gratitude and something else, something you couldn’t quite name, or were too scared to.

His eyes snapped back up to yours, and his cheeks flamed red. His name seemed to have brought him back to whatever trance he had been plunged in. Oscar stumbled back, his hands dropping to his side. “Uh— I’m going to— I’ll go get changed,” he stammered, looking everywhere but at you. “I’ll meet you outside, okay?”

You watched him retreat, a thunderstorm waging in your ribcage, the mirror reflecting your dazed expression. The wedding dress pooled at your feet as you released the iron grip you had on the bustier.

Reaching out for the McLaren shirt hanging on the side with shaky hands, you caught a glimpse of your back in the mirror: hard pressure scars were left where the lace had clung too tightly, where Oscar had let the pad of his fingers drift for mere seconds.

You thought about the pressure of the basque waist. The overwhelming smoothness of the satin against your legs, trapping sweat in every crease. The beading heat between your breasts. Your ribs had cracked, and you had bent yourself into someone whose spine had to fracture in order to breathe.

Slipping on the orange shirt with Oscar’s name on the back, no matter how misspelled and large on your fragile stature, felt like mending bones. Little by little, one vertebra at a time.

Oscar was indeed waiting for you by his car, half-perched on the hood with his arms folded across his chest. He’d traded his tux for a short-sleeved grey shirt that clung to his arms, some well-worn cargo shorts, and a pair of sneakers that matched the ones he picked for you. The outfit was so unapologetically Oscar that you couldn’t help but let out a quiet chuckle.

He caught the sound immediately and grinned, before pushing himself off the hood. With practiced ease, he opened the backseat door and gestured at the sad remains of your wedding dress you held in your arms, now crumpled like a white flag.

“Figured you’d want to put that behind you,” he said.

“God, yes,” you muttered, dropping it in the backseat. It hung there like a ghost.

You slipped into the passenger seat, stretching your legs. You relished in the space you had, your feet finding a home on the dashboard without a hint of shame. Oscar’s lips twitched in amusement as he buckled up. “So, where to?” he asked

You heard the question beneath the question. Want me to take you home? Get you someplace safe, so you can finally think?

Except you didn’t want safe. You wanted the rest of the world, the horizon you could squeeze in the rest of the day and what Oscar made you see you missed. You wanted everything, or as much of it as you could have right now.

You grinned at him. “Anywhere.” It sounded like a dare, and his smile widened.

He took you there.

You drove down the winding coastal roads with the radio turned all the way up, sea wind tangling in your air as you leaned out the window and belted out every song, no matter how wrong the lyrics. Oscar threw his head back in a laugh, and though he made fun of your singing, he couldn’t resist when you demanded he join in. His voice was lower, just a hum, but it occupied the car entirely.

At a run-down gas station, Oscar filled the car up while you wandered inside and returned with a cheap keychain—a gaudy plastic seahorse with a chipped tail. You looped it around the rearview mirror. Some other charms you had already gotten him were already dangling there, untouched.

An hour down the road, you parked on the shoulder to share sandwiches he had gotten at the gas station behind your back. You sat on a nearby bench, up in each other’s personal spaces as if there wasn’t enough space on the wooden seats for both of you, crossed legs and crumb-covered. Between bites, you caught up on everything that had slipped through the cracks of the preceding year: you both had grown and stumbled, drifted and returned. The reality that you spent a year with Oscar at arm length grew more irrational by the minute, especially when being with him felt so natural.

Eventually, the road leveled out, giving way to a flat stretch of cracked asphalt. On the near horizon, a glimmer of white sand and the loud sound of rolling waves called to you like a siren’s song. You bolted upright in your seat. “We really got to the beach?”

You didn’t have to voice your request. Oscar squinted, frowning at the sky. The clouds had begun to gather in thick gray bunches, and shadows had already started stealing the sunlight. “I don’t know… looks like it might rain.”

“Come on!” You threw your arms in the air dramatically. “It’s just sight-seeing, it’s not going to take long.”

Oscar shook his head, yet a fond expression tugged at his facial traits despite himself. “You’re impossible.”

He parked right here and there.

The beach was a place of wilderness. The rocky cliffs you’d been riding on blurred into the misty edges of the pale sand, littered with dark driftwood and the bleached skeletons of forgotten trees, left to rot amongst the seascape. You could have found poetry in it, about endings and new beginnings, but your mind was too tender to poke at metaphors, bringing you back to your own issues and the meaning behind them. You settled on the simple, superficial beauty of it all.

You and Oscar strolled along the shoreline, careful to keep your semi-new shoes away from the forty reach of the waves; neither of you wanted to risk soggy socks and the humiliation of having to resort to the abandoned loafers and heels. Bits of conversations floated between you, punctuated by the kind of comfortable silence only best-friends shared.

A blush-pink seashell, perfectly intact and glistening in the sand, caught your eye just before you would’ve stepped on it. You bent to pick it up, already imagining nestled in the little collection on your shelf back home, until—

A cold splash of water hit the thin cotton of your shirt. You gasped as more droplets splattered across your arms. You could have sworn it was the rain Oscar had warned about, at least if the latter wasn’t standing there, grinning, with dripping wet hands.

“You little—”

Before you could finish, he flicked another handful of water at you, his laughter joining the rising wind. You lunged, scooping up water with both hands and launching it at him. It hit him square in the chest, and he let out a high-pitched yelp you’d never heard from him before.

Water flew back and forth, each splash accompanied with screeches and half-formed curses. By the time the first real raindrops fell from the darkening sky, your hair was already clinging to your forehead and your clothes were sticking to your skin. Oscar caught your eyes, a tad breathless, and you both turned your faces upward just as the sky opened.

The drizzle turned into a downpour. 

“Shit, let’s run!” he shouted, grabbing your hand as you bolted toward the nearest cover: a massive pine tree at the edge of the forest line. You both stumbled underneath, breathing hard and dripping wet on the mix of sand and grass. The rain roared around you like a thousand tiny drums.

Oscar was laughing, really laughing. The kind of laugh he never let out in public, the one with the wide open mouth and the hand on his knees that shook his whole body and took his voice with it. It stole yours away too, reducing you to a look of wonder, taking him in between huffy intakes of air, a parody of the sound that was supposed to come out of your lips.

The reality of what this day had come to was a comic realization, and it struck you right in the chest when you and Oscar locked eyes. His smile was broad when he spoke up, loud enough to be heard above the pounding of the rain. “God, started with a wedding and ended drenched in thrifted clothes on some random beach. That’s wild.”

The giggle bubbled in your throat and escaped your lips, trembling in disbelief at the scene around you. The rain poured down harder now, piercing through the pine canopy and spattering your arm like cold bullets. The air was thick and heavy with fog, choking your lungs and turning the beach sweltering in a shroud of gray. The salt bit at your eyes. The waves roared in a relentless crash. The cold of the settling evening. The breathless laughter splintered into a sob—one miserable gargle at the back of your throat.

Everything came out at once.

You pressed your palms to your eyes in a final, useless attempt to dam the flood, but the tears wouldn’t be stopped. They streamed down your face, and your shoulders convulsed with the strength of them, the effort to hold yourself together failing with every ragged breath.

Oscar’s smile faltered. He stepped forward without hesitation, without a word, and wrapped his arms around you, strong and warm despite the chill. He held you against his chest, a shield against the wind and the rest of the world. You tried to anchor yourself to the steady rise and fall of his breath.

“It’s okay,” he murmured in your ear, one hair smoothing over your hair. “I got you, it’s okay.”

Beneath the shelter of the pine tree, with the storm raging and the ocean crashing in wild, beautiful chaos, you finally let yourself break. You fell apart for good, in ugly, keening sobs and pained wails clawing for blood at your throat, trembling but safe, held fast in the arms of the person who had carried you through everything.

Eventually, the rain relented, leaving a misty calm in its wake. The silence stretched, and stretched, until you felt brave enough to talk again.

“I just— Oh my god. I left him at the altar,” you choked out, your voice hoarse from crying. “I ran away like a coward. And you know the worst of it, Osc’?” You pulled back just enough to see his face, but your hands still rested on his chest. “I’m not even feeling guilty about it. I ran away from my wedding, I sold my ring in a sketchy pawn shop, I got hamburger on my dress and it just felt… freeing. Like— Like I could breathe again. Does that make me a bad person?” You sobbed. “It does, doesn’t it?”

Oscar studied you with that careful focus you’d seen a hundred times, like the night before a race, analyzing data while you dozed next to him on the couch, or after a weekend where the car let him down and he reviewed every lap. Only this time, his eyes were gentler. This time, he didn’t assume he knew the answer.

This time, Oscar asked.

“What pushed you to do it?” There was no judgement in his question. Only curiosity, along with an unbridled desire to understand you.

When you opened your mouth, you knew it was already too late.

“I don’t know, I— He was being rude to the officiant, when the bells rang. And I—” Your voice wavered. “I dropped out of the most prestigious marine biology programs in the country because he asked me to. I sat in his house alone for days while he called me from god-knows-where to ask me to buy a dress and show up at galas I couldn’t even speak at. He asked me to stop being so close to you because it could make him look bad with Alpine. He picked my wardrobe and told me how to stand and what to say, and I let him. I let him. All that— so he could treat the officiant like garbage on our wedding day?”

A sob tore at your throat. “And it’s such a small thing, so insignificant. There were probably a thousand telltale signs before that, but I just— I realized that I couldn’t live my whole life like that. I’m only twenty-four. I met him when I was nineteen, and I— I feel like I wasted such a big part of my life on… nothing. A whole lot of nothing. Delusions. I deserve more. I know I do, but… what am I supposed to do now? With all the things I wasted?”

Your question was met with silence. Truth be told, you hadn’t been expecting an answer—the question had been more directed at yourself than at Oscar. Yet, his hand rose to your cheek, and his thumb swiftly brushed away a tear that had clung stubbornly to your skin. His eyes were so full of tenderness, no matter what you just confessed, it made you shudder. More tears welled up as he smiled at you.

“I’m not… amazing at comforting people, you know it,” he started, “but it doesn’t take an empath to know you didn’t waste anything. Like you said, you’re twenty-four. That’s nothing in the grand scheme of things,” he shook you a little bit when he said that, and a strangled laugh fell from your lips. “You’re not a bad person for knowing what you want, you just had bad timing. You’ve got a whole lifetime ahead of you to decide what you actually want and to take it, instead of wallowing on what you’ve ‘wasted’.”

His thumb traced your cheek again, so gentle it felt like a balm on an old wound. “You’ve always deserved more than what he gave you.”

You blinked through the tears. Oscar’s words wrapped around your heart, swirled in between your ribs, chasing away all guilt and shame. Something in the way he looked at you, so open and certain unlike you’d ever been, hit you in a way you hadn’t quite prepared yourself for. A tremor of realization that cracked open a door you’d been too afraid to look behind.

Maybe the reason you’d run, the reason you’d found your strength, hadn't been just because of what you lost and left behind. Maybe, deep down, it had been because of what you’d always wanted, and who you wanted by your side. Among the corpses of feelings you’d been forced to bury, hopes, dreams, and softest truths, something had survived. Someone had survived. And maybe that someone had been standing right in front of you all along.

Your heart raced at the possibility. It felt as if Oscar could sense the sudden shift in the air between you, the weight of what you’d never dared to name.

You never had the time to figure out what love really was. You didn't know at nineteen any more than you had at sixteen, cradled by storybook fantasies. In reality, every chance you’d had to understand love had been smothered under the suffocating weight of a man’s expectations, with delusions of grandeur packaged as tenderness, objectifying greed dressed as devotion. Your definition of love had been shaped by cold beds and lonely nights, by a hand that hovered at your lower back only when cameras were near, by an iron-tight grip on your wrist and the wrong flowers arriving a day late. Love, to you, had been a cage—a brand name on a leash.

In the span of a single day, between thrift shop and laughter in the rain, you’d learned more about love than you had in the last five years.

Love didn’t need to be grandiloquent in order to be real. It didn’t have to be bought and paraded to matter. Love could be gentle, and match the rhythm of the heart it belonged to, quiet and careful. It could be found in the smallest gestures—wiping away tears, helping someone out of a corset, listening, asking.

You didn’t need grand gestures to know that you loved Oscar Piastri, and maybe you had for a long time now.

“Oscar?” you called, shaky.

Decide what you want and take it.

You could do that.

“Yeah?”

You wanted Oscar, so you took him by the mouth and made him yours.

The gesture was as clumsy as it was true, as hesitant as it was pure. Your lips had moved on their own, seeking the only warmth that ever felt like home. For one suspended second, Oscar froze and you could feel the tension in his body, the startled catch of his breath. In that heartbeat, every doubt you’d harbored came flooding back. Maybe it had been all in your head, that you’d mistaken friendship for something more and lost your best friend for good.

But that’s when Oscar kissed you back.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate, not the kind of kiss you’d expect after a day like this. It was soft, as though he was afraid of breaking something precious if he ever moved too abruptly. His hands found your waist, tentative at first, then firmer, drawing you closer until there was no air left between your bodies but the one you shared. Oscar kissed you the way you’d find peace in the eye of a storm: slow and patient, with a quiet devotion that made your knees go weak. He tasted like the sea.

No urgency, no hunger, just the relief of being known and being wanted exactly as you were.

When you pulled back for breath, your eyes fluttered open to find him staring at you, memorizing your face as if you’d vanish in the next second. A small, incredulous smile curved at Oscar’s lips, and his eyes shined with unshed tears of his own. He dipped his forehead to touch yours.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, breaking with emotion, “how long I’ve been waiting for you to do that.”

Your heart lost its rhythm, and something between a sob and a laugh escaped you as relief and wonder alike washed over you. Oscar’s arms tightened around your frame and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

“Me too,” you admitted. God, did it feel good to finally say it out loud.

But even in the midst of that newfound honesty, a quiet hesitation tugged at the hem of your being. You loved Oscar—oh, you did—and you wanted him. There wasn’t a single doubt in your heart about that, not anymore, at least. But you’d left your wedding just this morning. You’d left an entire life, five years of your life, and there were wounds you hadn’t even begun to understand, let alone heal.

You drew in a shaky inhale, eyes darting between his, searching for understanding. “I think…” Your voice cracked. “I think I need a little more time before we… you know. Before we start… us.”

Oscar’s gaze softened with a characteristic, unwavering kindness. He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes fully, and in them, you saw the steady promise of every whisper, every late-night talk, every wordless understanding you'd share. “Don’t worry,” he murmured. “We’ll figure it all out. Everything you want, everything you deserve—I’ll be there. I’m not going anywhere.”

The tears streaming down your cheeks were ones of relief. You exhaled a trembling chuckle. “I know you will.”

The rain had softened back to a drizzle by the time you both made it back to the car, the world around you washed clean. As you settled into the passenger seat, damp, messy, and more at peace than you’d felt in years, Oscar turned the keys and the engine hummed to life.

He glanced over at you, his smile easy and open, like it had always been just for you. “Where to, now?”

You didn’t have to think about it. Your head tipped back in a laugh, the sound unburdened. Free.

“Anywhere.”

And this time, anywhere meant home. Home in his apartment that already had a space carved out for you on the bed, and a toothbrush with your name on it. Anywhere, as long as it was with the man who saw every piece of you and never once tried to turn away, who was letting you reassemble the puzzle yourself. As long as it was with Oscar and no one else.

There wasn’t anywhere else you’d rather be, anyway.

©LVRCLERC 2025 ━ do not copy, steal, post somewhere else or translate my work without my permission.

[writingmochi]

lissie: hello adeline from part 2! love what you say in part 1 so i hope that my insight could continue adding more to the story! oh yeah, this is definitely the angsty side of the main two-part story

spoilers for all parts of laurel hell (read part 1 first) also there might be some heavy topic discussed as well

"Not hee calling his friends’ behaviours childish. I love that their friend groups did in fact merge, that makes me very happy" "I feel bad about this honestly like :/ youd think the fact that theyre having a baby together would change things but its doesnt really; at least not at this point"

heeseung was still feeling very much indifferent to mc, especially after the kiss (and the subtle jealousy of mc x beomgyu at the end of part 1). like, he still hasn't understand fully why his friends are so easliy enamoured by mc, hence why he calls them childish and mc is used to childish behavior because she is surrounded by children for her work (even though after reading this, we now know that one of them has an ulterior motive for being close to mc).

also, i also believe that around this part of the story as the group merges in, heeseung realises he had to let you in in the other aspects of his life as well. in a way, heeseung is pretty possessive towards mc and he felt "left behind". how mc goes to their apartment to talk with jimin or being invited to jeongin's stream instead of for him. i felt that he was already starting to like mc romantically around this stage. like he is mad at himself that he is not the one who made mc "glow" in joy

"American Football mention <//3 havent heard that name in forever"

oh you're gonna hear them next month. currently plotting a jake fic where he is a drummer for an alt rock/midwest emo band so american football is the main sound inspiration for that, alongside car seat headrest

“you don’t think that i don’t realize your crush on beomgyu, don’t you? with the way you’ve been pining over him ever since he brought you to the doula’s office. even if i still harbor unsavory feelings towards you, i’ll allow it cause it’s fucking natural when you interact with him as much. but to then see you slut yourself out to my friends-“

(the part where heeseung told mc how he realised her feelings towards beomgyu as ulterior motive to hang with him but, in return, neglecting her babies) "Oh that broke my heart. Her feelings were a bit obvious in part 1 and it being out in the open hurts"

and the fact that it is heeseung--her fucking rival--is the one that outed is hurts so bad. around this part, including the abortion implication mentioned, that's around the timing when heeseung clocked that he is genuinely attached to the baby while mc is slowly forgetting it. it's the reverse to what they were from the start of part 1 and shows the changes of priorities and such because she was very close to gaining her goal: beomgyu's love and care. i do think that around this part of the story, if heeseung gets the ability to bear the twins, he fucking would like that male seahorse that gives birth

"Rejection always makes me so ughfhsibd yknow, i feel so bad for her. Also the whole thing about beomgyu and ryujin??? Thats not nice :( now why would he string her along :/ did he really care for her friendship?"

the level of betrayal. i'm sorry. i'm sorry i had to. gosh when i was writing that scene, it was so vivid in my mind like when mc was pleading for beomgyu to like her back is like aughhhh (and i'm the freaking writer). speaking of beomgyu: at first, yes, he was stringing mc along just so that he can meet with ryujin aka his crush since high school because mc, ryujin, beomgyu, and heeseung went to high school together. but, he started to regret it during mc's hermit arc and after it, especially when he got rejected by ryujin (girl friendship right there). it's the reason why it takes him a year to let go of that whole thing cause it's a domino effect that haunts him and why, in the epilogue, when mc says to beomgyu to let go and move on, he does that and feel the weight falling off his shoulders as both share laughter with each other

I also feel super bad for Heeseung because it seems as if he has feelings for her but obviously their history makes it difficult and the act of being together to their parents

oh yeah, that whole mc's two-week hermit arc is the turning point where heeseung doesn't only care about the twins well-being inside mc, but also her well-being as well

"OMG ITS A BOY AND A GIRL I WAS HOPING😭😭😭😭😭"

i had to! already hinted that because they are fraternal twins after all

"AND THEIR PARENTS GOT THEM A NEW APARTMENT???/ WHAT.

supportive parents who are supporting these to be together aka the first shippers of heemc

“your mom and i are actually rivals in our school basketball athlete days.” your mom said, “we used to trash talk so much at each other that our teacher had the smart plan for us to do something for detention together.” "Its a shame they didnt get together 🚬🥀"

bahaha heemc wouldn't be born then :D also i think those two are like those women who like pda but the idea of something more romantic/sexual disgust them. platonic love is very much their thing and they love hyping each other up

“you have me, (l/n)(y/n). we can heal together, if you want, of course. or else, i just take care of myself better an-“ "This made me tear up a bit :("

this is the sequel to the basketball court scene and also the sleepover at mc's room. i love this sequence too so much cause this is when i think mc is like "i have this guy who genuinely seemed to care for me. i don't want my kids to be abandoned by their dad and he is nicer to me now. i might have also realised my feelings towards this guy and how he doesn't stop taking care of me even when we don't have direct contact" so this is when mc decided that, yes, heeseung could be part of my heart as well and she is also that to him

but of course, with a little comedy because they like to tease each other

"The interaction with the kids has me so soft oh my god"

i made that scene to show how ready heeseung is to be a dad lol because the boy started from zero basically so when heeseung can actually keep up with multiple kids, it makes mc much more fall in love with him

"Demiromantic rep!! That makes me super happy ahhh"

*writing this in june* happy pride! also ryujin in this fic is canonically demiromantic bisexual. she is one of my openly queer characters and (currently) the only character outside of my time wave universe characters who has mc (asexual spectrum), yeonjun (demiromantic pansexual), soobin (bisexual), and min who is a side character (non-binary aroace)

you could see heeseung’s hooded gaze as he didn’t hesitate to crouch down and give two kisses to each side of your bump—for his two kids—before he stood up and gave you another peck on the lips. "Oh im fucking soft ugh"

oh yeah this part is jsut so soft (but also genuinely, that "hooded gaze" ... bro is horny at that time)

“it’s time?” heeseung asked, his mind’s wiring not right as he saw you standing up, wobbling from your weight. but he also sees the front of your crotch all wet and the beanbag being the collateral damage. “oh fuck, it’s time- okay.” "Not me laughing, i love when men panic for childbirth"

oh yeah that birth scene is like heeseung is panicking and i love it so much. but hey! just what haseul the doula said: "the dad is usually the one panicking, not the mom."

aww i'm glad that you like the story. i could also see how you got laurel hell!mc in the quiz from your reactions. thank you so much for reading once again

on my way to reply to the epilogue reblog

part 2

cast: heeseung ✗ fem.reader (ft. the peeps, enhypen, and other idols)

synopsis: when you told your long-term rival and latest hook-up, heeseung, that you are pregnant with his child; you didn't expect said topic to be involved in your rivalry!

genre: romantic comedy, slice of life, coming-of-age, slow burn, drama, rivals since childhood to [redacted], college/university au, pregnancy au, future parents au, fluff, angst, mature content (explicit smut)

word count: 36351 (36.3k) out of 60550 (60.5k)

warning(s): so many curse words!, implication of abortion, rejection, depression, mention of cigarettes, mentions of consumption of alcohol, explicit description of active labor and childbirth, blood, explicit sex, pregnant sex, pretty rough sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up tho guys), hand job (m & f receive), oral job (m & f receive), dirty talk with pet names (daddy & mama), marking, multiple orgasms, creampies (if there is something that i forgot, let me know)

message of the moon: remember that this story is fiction and do be careful and read the warnings at the top. all the idols mentioned here are not what they are in real life.

i genuinely didn't expect THAT much attention on the first part! here is the rest and yes, the word count increased by 2k words. thank you so much for the love and support on the first part and enjoy! p.s. all the links will be edited including from the character intro and the first part!

soundtrack | read part 1 first!

3. the heat of lightning is 30.000° celsius

“bro, innie. your stream is starting.” chaeryeong calls out from the couch as the setup of jeongin’s camera and lights are standing in front of her. jimin brought in the snacks and put them on the coffee table right in front of ryujin and minjeong who sitting on either side of you. beomgyu and heeseung follow suit, sitting on the other dining table seats brought to the living area while jeongin is setting up his stream on obs.

you could see—from the mini setup of his—the chat scrolling up as you watched them get familiarized with the names that had come back from when jeongin asked you and the girls to join him on his last stream. his viewers seemed to enjoy it so much that another one was scheduled the next day, which is today after lots and lots of matching up free time schedules. as jeongin sat in between minjeong and jimin, he used his wireless mouse to change the static “starting soon” screen so chat could see all of you on the screen inside the boys’ apartment. the apartment that you’ve been hanging around about for the past month.

jeongin starts with, “ey, welcome chat!”

“WELCOME! WOO!” ryujin’s fanfare sounded as you heard the laughter being thrown all around you.

“since you guys have been wanting to for us to play again together since the last stream we did, well surprise, surprise! here we are!” the others seemed to hype him up as jeongin continued to speak. minjeong playfully slaps your hand as you try to not knock your headset that is lightly placed on your belly and playing classical music—something that heeseung’s mom told you could help with the babies inside you—as none of jeongin’s viewers have noticed your pregnancy bump with the successful oversized maternity top you shopped alongside beomgyu. jeongin continues to greet the chat on today’s stream.

“we did mario kart last time but now we will do mario party. but not just any mario party, courtesy of smosh games: we’re doing reverse mario party where the last place is the winner.”

“finally, (y/n) can win-“

“SHUT THE FUCK UP HEESEUNG.” you throw the pillow behind you, right towards him as beomgyu stood up to massage your shoulder, hyping you up while heeseung playfully glares at you.

“also, this is chaereyong’s idea. but we decided to not make this stream another "boys vs girls" type, but more so a mixed group with these wooden chopsticks inside the mug here helps in picking which person is in which team.” jeongin holds onto the mug as he pushes it towards each person, picking up the chopsticks one by one. in a countdown, all of you show the chopsticks you picked together as heeseung find his one marked—the same along with you, beomgyu, and ryujin: making you four a team.

the seating arrangements change as you are seated in between the two boys. you’ve already told them that you might not get too physical as you let ryujin and beomgyu play first, playing as luigi and waluigi, respectively. heeseung can hear how you are encouraging your team to play bad as your arms wrap behind beomgyu’s back, making heeseung feel a little iffy but he is just rolling his eyes watching the two using his switch controllers that jeongin asked him to lend out for the eight-peopled stream.

for the past month, as the two groups got closer, heeseung realized how strong your influence is. maybe it’s because you are used to taking care of children—just like his friends’ childish behaviors are—but your demeanor matches well with all of them. when heeseung heard beomgyu invited you and your girls over, he was taken aback by just how easily both groups can blend in with each other. but then he is reminded of what you said on that basketball court: how you want to have a truce with him. how he is so much more ahead of you that you deviate from the sport of basketball that you still seem to enjoy.

heeseung couldn’t join much of the hangout as he was being brought into the season’s games and competing left to right. the scream of his name from the bleachers rings in his ears as he recognizes a few of his fans and decelis’ fans supporting the team as he checks his phone during the break. he remembers how he caught a notification from jeongin’s stream, pressing the banner to see you appearing on it with him as you play guess the song or some sort of game similar to it. then, he remembered one day after you both came out of the doctor park’s office for your biweekly check-up. a sudden proposition you push to him as you hold your phone with the screen showing a familiar social media.

“i’ll follow your instagram and you follow mine back.”

“why?” he questioned, arms wrapped in front of him with squinting eyes.

“that’s another baby step for us to be like what our moms want it to be. you say so yourself.” you also replied with your own wrapped arms in front of you, letting the flowy cloth be pushed towards your body as he could see the shape of it and the appearance of your revealing bump. heeseung let out a groan as he said his username.

“which is your full name?” you raised an eyebrow.

“hey, it’s for personal branding and it’s rare to have a username to be your name…”

you snicker as you hit the follow button, seeing the three-digit number on top now becoming four.

“really? i’m your 1000th follower?” you playfully grab something out of the chest pocket of heeseung’s unbuttoned shirt, placing it near your heart like a badge of rare achievement.

“i’m honored.” your face scrunches, forcing out a tear that is not showing, making you blame your current stable hormone for that not happening. heeseung looked at the notification showing up, a snort coming out of him as he leaned his head closer.

“for fucking real? you’re asking me about why my username is like that while yours is mu- mune ga-“

“mune ga hachikire-sode, ‘my chest seems like it’s going to burst’.” you answered so quickly it’s like you have talked about it before that it became an automated response, earning a pregnant pause as you tilted your head towards him while he stares towards your vicinity. a small gap in between his lips as time passes by without sound between the two of you before he closes the gap and smiles.

“must be a freaking mitski lyric.”

you snorted out a laugh, wondering why he knows you so well.

heeseung gazes at how his friends and your friends seem to thrive under your hyper-ness, even making ryujin jokingly angry because you were unintentionally supporting the other team, making you let out the pout that he doesn’t expect to witness so much from when the semester starts. and now, as it approaches the end with the new year’s coming alongside the gender reveal party coming soon and the last matches for the tournament near the end of the year. life seems to go so fast for him, yet here you are thriving in it. as if you are influenced by some kind of deity that is making people around you notice and care about your presence, frolicking around as you seem to make their lives a tad bit easier to face with your motherly care and, what he acknowledge, your emotional intelligence.

something heeseung had also grown for the past 3 months since you told him you're pregnant with his kids.

the boy realized just how quiet he was when he sensed your shoulder touching his as you leaned back against the sofa to just stare at the screen of jimin screaming how he had to get another star, making him now in first place. a soft smile on your face as you glance at your friends having fun before you feel the trembles against your thigh when you catch heeseung’s leg jittering from how he is moving his achilles’ heel in a random rhythm.

“you alright?” heeseung looks down to find your hand on top of his pant-covered thigh. you give him a thin lip frown as you let your touch soothe him down, seemingly not minding the entire history you have with him. the boy is suddenly too embarrassed to see you as you watch the redness growing on both of his cheeks. you wanted to tease him about it—maybe it’s the awkwardness cause he was not there when you started to get close to his friends—that is showing up now.

as you look at your hand against his thigh, courtesy of your muscles' memory telling you to try soothing every nervous child in your way, you retreat it back to your space before beomgyu wraps his arm around your back to pull you into his embrace while you see the stars and coins are being tallied up alongside additional stars that are given. beomgyu has both hands around your and ryujin’s shoulders as you follow with the momentum, seeing that ryujin got last place–making your team win the first round of mario party.

beomgyu handed the switch controller to his best friend as the game resets for the second round where it is you and heeseung vs. minjeong and jeongin—said girl is focusing on the chat because she is convinced that she caught sungchan’s username there. your cursor instantly picks at rosalina whilst heeseung moves his to pick bowser. peeking to the side, you recognize the competitiveness that is shown from how heeseung is glaring towards the tv screen as you try to flick that same emotion on in your mind. when you feel it tainting you, you give minjeong a sly wink from where you are sitting. that even though she’s one of your best friends, you’re not taking her lightly.

the second game was a tad bit chaotic as physical play was done when jeongin seemed to make mind games by positioning himself behind where you and heeseung sit. yet, the rivalry doesn’t just create between your team and the other team; heeseung has also started playing dirty when he grabs onto your controller to stop you from failing the task.

“ughh!” you groan out as you hear the laugh coming from jimin on the other sofa, making you answer by covering heeseung’s eyes as he couldn’t see where his bowser was supposed to fell off the platform, proclaiming him to win the match and increase the ever-loving coins he owns, making him have to buy the star if he came across it: only five more spaces to go on the board. the way you hinder him from failing and he does the same to you creates a slapstick that jeongin’s chat seems to revel in as you spot jimin reading the text that is running to the top of the monitor as fast as the light goes.

“woah!” he proclaimed as you noticed chaeryeong snickering from the rapidly moving chat. “people seemed to ship you and heeseung, (y/n).”

“no kidding.” you reacted as you stared at the way your rosalina was three spots closer to the star—no choice but to buy one as you got over 20 coins. your body forces you to stand up as you kneel to see the chat, eyes glancing between four points on the screen of jeongin’s laptop: the chat who is now arguing on who are the “correct” ships within the people here, the screen as minjeong rolls the dice for her shy guy to move, beomgyu who leans back against the sofa’s backrest, and heeseung who is leaning forward to the screen before you caught his eyes for a few milliseconds.

“come on, chat. really? me and heeseung?” you audibly scoffed, glancing at your friends that is showing on the stream a few seconds later from the latency. “what about me and beomgyu? he’s also nice to me.”

“I SURE DO, (Y/N).” he said as you could detect him grinning with two thumbs up before he rested his hands behind the sofa by your empty seat. but you could see heeseung’s very obvious scowl as he didn’t say anything. the determination to lose against you may now be influenced with an even more push—because you did say to him that you’re the one losing in your battle.

“not your mods creating a poll for who shipped (y/n) with whom and the fact that (y/n) x jeongin is pretty high too.” chaeryeong stated as you tried to hold back your laughter. with the knowledge; which you’ve just known as you started hanging out with the boys; that jeongin’s mom is an ob-gyn doctor also, he has let you talk to his mom when it’s jeongin’s turn to “babysit” you—"per heeseung’s request" he said—making you show up on jeongin’s stream more often than the other girls as you and he create a more sibling vibe where he teaches you how to game. with the help of every woman around you including jeongin’s mom, you could say that you can expect what you’ll expect for your second and third trimesters and your birth. how jeongin’s mom and doctor park’s sayings are pretty much similar in a way as they remind you that you have to give birth to your twins before week 40 so that they could fit through your hip bone since you want to do it the normal way.

you were glad beomgyu had invited you to meet up. because you felt like you’d met brand new people with whom you seemed to have a sense of familiarity. like old friends having a reunion.

“WOAH! (y/n) x heeseung is no.1!” jimin reacted as all of you heard the chime of a gift sent to jeongin followed by a text-to-speech sound.

“(y/n) and heeseung’s bickering is something i aspire to have with my significant other.” the robot voice sounds as you watch ryujin’s wide eyes getting larger, knowing your real-life relationship as she has been there the longest as of right now alongside beomgyu who is just holding a subtle sheepish smirk.

“bickering because we aren’t compatible with each other? yeah right,” you give a verbal jab as you can see the comments updating a few seconds later when your words are streamed, making people send the sus emote in the chat column but also a few “opposites attract” and “you can get to know each more” comments as you looked at heeseung. the corner of his lips rose as you gave up on reading the chat before sitting down back to your empty seat. your body was instantly ignited in surprise as you could feel how beomgyu was holding your shoulder, stretching his arm behind your shoulders as you were trying your best to use your special dice to lose. then, you sensed a shift on your thigh as you find heeseung’s moving his against yours, either to distract you… or to tell you something you haven’t realized.

-

heeseung was heaving as the coach took him out of the court to the sidelines to bring sungho in as his replacement. drops of sweat are forming on his exposed forearm while he watches the score of his team nearing 50 in the game's last quarter. sunoo gave him a small towel as he looked to the back to only see none of his friends on the bleachers. other than ryujin, all of them are watching the want2dance crew showcase—you and beomgyu have no information circulating even though his turn to take care of you. heeseung should’ve been ecstatic that he got the ticket for the finale that easily. sure, the rival is strong enough, but with niki now standing as a center alongside sunghoon, they’ve been able to block the shots of the other team with their long limbs and agile jumps.

yet, all he could worry about was how much he had learned for the next appointment with the doula as he was trying to beat you with the advantage you had by the women all around you—including jeongin’s mom he had hidden as a wildcard now exposed to you.

he tried to familiarize his hands with how to hold a baby with a plushy jeongin still owned in his room before he tried using the full 2-liter water bottle he had that was identical to the real weight. heeseung had read the books that the doula recommended to him—well, heard the books that doula had recommended as he worked out with the audiobook version speaking to his ears. yet, the only thing that miss haseul said that he is stuck in his mind as he looks at you who is closing your eyes whilst you stretch your back because of his babies is…

“don’t just stand there.”

heeseung doesn’t just stand there, he does things he tried to help; preparing groceries so that you don’t have to worry about that, carrying your bags around so you don’t have to walk as your stomach is getting bigger than ever from the growing fetuses. yet he knew what the phrase actually implies.

“don’t just stand there.” take care of her, be there for her, love her.

but how could heeseung love you when you’ve been such a pest in his life? sure, that night at the basketball court is a step of progress towards normalcy in your relationship, but, just like you said. baby steps are needed as you both had hurt each other so much; after he now knows of what you feel in the catalyst of why you hate each other and how you also know of his.

the coach’s board is pushed in front of him as he traces the magnetic jersey symbol with the number 3 representing his position as the small forward if he got to be put on the court once again. since jake is playing as the point guard and how he had been killing it in slipping through the rival’s defense, heeseung’s job is to find an opening so he can throw the ball to either jake or sungho who will stay nearer to the half-circle if heeseung got put in.

“or just try to shoot as many 3-pointers as you like. we have the advantage here and our goal is to make that gap wider. passing 50 would be great.” coach min said, making heeseung turn his head towards the scoreboard, seeing the 45:36 bold in the red LED lights. and with his mind not wanting to wait more for his appointment, his gaze changes as he sounds his understanding to the coach. heeseung stretched his neck when he viewed the coach walk to the side referee so he could be switched back in.

heeseung explains as best as he able to the other four of the court about the plan, making jake and sungho nod their heads and niki with taesan at the back of their side of the court showing their own styles of understanding. the ball was thrown by the rival as taesan snatched it, pivoting on his legs before giving a bounce pass towards heeseung who was running pass the center line near the 3-pointer curve. his head is going into alert mode as he maneuvers the ball so that the rival who is pinning on him won’t steal it. a few passes between him, taesan, and niki; heeseung found an opening to go inside near the basket as he surged forward like a tank, making his own opening as he passed the ball to jake who scored a layup. heeseung recognized the rival could get a free throw chance, but he doubted it would go in as jake and sungho were prepared for a rebound with the second free throw.

the score is now 49:38 as he could see the time is now under 60 seconds. heeseung took control of the ball the most while he tried his best to find an opening for either jake or sungho, but with the change of two players from the other team coming in: they seemed to know his strategy as not one of them was bamboozled by how fast the passes are between him, niki, and taesan. the others figured out they had only one chance left to do a foul. they knew they only had 15 seconds till the shot clock ran out and under 30 seconds on the time of the scoreboard. heeseung realized something, something that can be stupid but will have a better chance of a happy ending in the end.

as heeseung bounces the ball on the ground towards niki—not strong enough like the last few times—the rival successfully robbed the ball as the shot clock resets. all the boys retreated as heeseung was the first one to hold off on the guy who was holding the ball, seemingly not knowing what to do with the ball in his possession. heeseung knows that they’re doing this to play defense against decelis because they don't want the gap to get even wider.

their passes aren’t as quick as his team's when taesan successfully clutches the ball and passes it to heeseung. the clock is under 5 seconds and he heard the growing sound of people counting down from the seats. he knew he couldn’t lay up as it would be too far or even shooting in the safer throwing area even if it gave a higher chance is risky. no, heeseung flung the ball as best as he could after passing the center line. the buzzing sound signals the end of the game as heeseung stares at the ball falling in an arch so perfectly that it gets caught by the net and instantly falls through with no theatrics, making everyone roar.

“there it is, folks. lee heeseung, number 1 from decelis, makes the game as he scores a 3-pointer buzzer-beater. AND SUCCEEDED. congratulations to hybe’s decelis. you will enter the grand finale after the new year’s celebration.”

he could sense the embrace of his teammates around him. jungwon is the closest as he playfully brushes his sweaty hair, making him glare, and wants to go out of the embrace when it’s two layers of players deep. coach min comes and gives his own thumbs up before guiding him near the referee's place as he and his team are met with the rivals, who show their sportsmanship by shaking their hands. heeseung recognizes of one of the players when said player wraps his arm around his shoulders. the announcer with a small bundle full of snacks.

“and here he is. player of the match, lee heeseung of decelis!”

heeseung hears the ovations coming from the decelis side of the bleachers as he receives the bundle, knowing that he would ravish this in one go because, my god, is he starving. congratulatory talks are spoken among the players as if it’s more of a friendly match rather than in a tournament setting, yet as heeseung walks around to meet the team he had his match with, the reminder of the appointment pinned on his mind rings once again.

pulling up to the assigned locker room, he pulls off his jersey so he can wipe his sweaty body using a smaller towel that is wet with water cause he doesn’t think that he has enough time to shower when the appointment is in an hour. feeling the clean wet towel getting rid of the stickiness on his body, he eyes his teammates who are still gleaming from their win of the ticket to the grand final. yet, for heeseung, he had been numb to the feeling. of course, he had to do well with basketball because it was for his scholarship, but knowing that he had possibly secured the scholarship for his final semester, he could actually relax from it and focus on other things in life.

his desire to be a sports journalist and, now, his preparation to be a dad.

“guys, i’m not gonna join to eat after this,” he spoke out after he heard jake asking him. a regular post-match meal is a tradition with the decelis guys. but heeseung has other places to go as he uses his body spray all over his torso and tucks his head and arms into his clean t-shirt, the decelis jersey’s bottom with the #1 still in place, and a pair of recovery sandals to let his feet breathe. heeseung gave the guys his bag of cheetos from the ‘player of the match’ bundle as little cookies and chocolates are enough to satiate his needs, knowing that he could buy takeout as he returned to his apartment, or if you also wanted to grab something to eat after meeting haseul.

the engine groans as the car turns alive. heeseung pulls out of the parking lot of the arena as he drives towards the office, the radio playing his own bluetooth-connected music as he recovers himself from the euphoria of the match, returning to the reality of his other responsibilities. he hadn’t heard from you for a while—when usually you are the one to nag if he has arrived or about his whereabouts as you prepare yourself to meet him. he was glad that he could enjoy the calmness even for just a few minutes, seeing the various silhouettes of the outside world passing by when the office building shows up in his sight from his windshield.

heeseung presses the button to lock the car as he approaches the office in his post-match outfit, a tote bag hanging from his shoulders that is filled with the notes haseul, doctor park, and jeongin’s mom gave to him printed as he might ask for some elaboration about it. though most doulas focus on the mom, he is glad that haseul can also handle first-time fathers as well because, as she said, “sometimes the dad is the more anxious one out of the two.” he acknowledges this because, as he had a talk with his own dad about this, the pregnancy is out of the dad’s control most of the time. especially in giving birth, as the only thing that they could do was to observe how the birthing was going. which means that he has to trust you to do your deed.

he recalled haseul given him and you a “bonding” exercise which is filled with laughter instead as both of you couldn’t be serious enough about this. how you both had to stay in eye contact for 5 minutes to “feel your connection getting tighter”. sometimes, he had to blink or look away from your eyes cause it was piercing with unknown emotions. but he got reminded of when both of you had sex, that final part when he is just staring at you as you sit on his shaft, grinding to find out who will cum first to break the tie. the feeling was similar—an unspoken bond created between the two full of complex history and emotions he has to untangle one by one.

heeseung’s knuckles knocked on the door as he heard the movement inside. the door opened to let him see haseul in her professional clothing.

“heeseung! come in.” she steps aside as he is met with haseul and…

nobody else.

“where’s (y/n)?”

haseul turns her head to him, “i thought you knew, she didn’t say that we’re cancelling today’s appointment.”

“hmm…” heeseung replied as he grabbed his phone, seeing the instagram notifications from the people who tagged him in the match for being the ‘player of the match’. but, when he sees your account profile flashing on the top—the newly followed account as you both did a follow-for-follow—he taps the icon to see you and beomgyu in your instagram stories, how you hooked your arm with beomgyu’s as you walk down a sidewalk, how you recorded chaeryeong dancing with her crew and tag her, how he had seen a photo of you, beomgyu, minjeong, jeongin, chaeryeong, and jimin after the show, and a photo of food at the end as he sees you tag all of his friends and yours, including ryujin who seemed to be available to do a get together because of her modeling appointment.

all except him.

to say that heeseung is heartbroken by that is an understatement. sure not all of his guys are available to watch him play all the time—only jeongin showed up to his quarter-final match last time, but to realize that the change of dynamic happened because of you is making the flint in his heart move faster to ignite the fire. and to know that you didn’t even cancel the appointment, to leave haseul hanging, when you have babies to take care of as you have used your own money to pay for the appointment, while you do a get-together that can be done anytime during the rest of the 3 months of your pregnancy. the changes within the dynamic for the past two months are ridiculous and heeseung…

all he could do was sigh as he closed his phone, glancing up to glance at haseul who had a warm smile on her face.

“well, i have a few things i hope you elaborate on.” the boy said, using this appointment to help him be the better parent.

-

“shit!”

you had to stop yourself from walking as you perceived the contractions coming from your uterus, the same feeling when you had your period, yet it’s dimmer and longer. as the weather gets colder, you tucked your coat that is draping outside of your maternity dress and legging on. you have to thank chaeryeong once again for helping you put it on. the two of them continue to grow inside you as you walk the familiar path towards the boys’ apartment, as per heeseung request cause jeongin told him they wanted to play a game together and you, being the new addition to jeongin’s stream, seemed to be asked to join in.

you could deny it. but you can join cause you have nearly all of your class projects finished, especially the marketing research one as you use the daycare as the protagonist of your case study to figure out how to market a product to different parents. you still have two exams for the two other classes you took this semester and then, it’s all done for you. and with the warmth you receive from the boys, you want to give it back to them too.

you give a small nod to the security guard as you press the button for the elevator, seeing one of the two open as you are greeted with the empty elevator with reflective sheets of metal surrounding the side walls. as you practically waddle inside the elevator and press the correct floor button, you gaze at yourself through the mirror-like surface. turning your body to the side, you view how your coat protrudes from the front as it creates a right triangle shape. moving one side of the coat behind, you observe how your maternity clothes are stretched by your belly to show the growing lives inside of you. the growing lives you can feel are moving around, but haven’t reached out to you as you can only sense them within you. you need to blame heeseung because of the way they push up your intestines, making you very much nauseous all the time after you eat.

the ring of the elevator dings stayed as you walked and arrived at the front door of the boys’ apartment. no sound is heard from the other side—maybe jeongin is waiting for you to arrive so he can start the stream together. the sound of the doorbell is picked up as you gaze at the camera lens connected to the intercom inside before you to the door when you catch the footsteps approaching from behind the door.

appearing before you is heeseung in a white graphic t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants. he seems to have a slight pant with his breathing—like he was working out. you’ve opened your mouth as you saw, wanting to talk about something, but you forgot what as you see him rolling his eyes and a “come in” is spoken, leaving you alone by the cabinet for their shoes as you tried your best to slip out of it without the help of your hands.

the apartment is in the regular state rather than the group stream set jeongin had to do. a duffle bag of what looks like to be heeseung’s has a few pairs of basketball shoes—known for the tall shape as it guards your ankle more than regular sports shoes. the wooden floorboard is warm as you guessed he had to turn the heater on, making your way towards the hallways where heeseung and jeongin’s rooms are across from each other.

that’s when you hear a sound.

the sound of nothingness as you approached jeongin’s ajar bedroom door, seeing it empty.

“where’s jeong-?”

“we have to talk, (l/n).” heeseung cuts you off again as he turns his head to face you, his hand on his door so he can just push it open as you stare at him, agape.

“jeongin’s with his stray kids guys doing a group stream,” he added as he knows you wouldn’t stop asking if you don’t know, especially cause jeongin’s the one who invited you—which makes you finally think about how it’s so weird that he had to go through heeseung to invite you when he could just message you through the instagram dm. heeseung gave you one more gaze before going inside his room, leaving the door open as you could feel the swelling tension that was heavier than what your usual banter had been for the past few months.

walking inside, you were met with the wrinkled mattress and comforter of heeseung’s bed. the same bed that you and him copulate and in return, create the babies inside you. the last time you went into his room fully—cause you never went inside his room even though you visited often either beomgyu or jeongin’s invitations—was the night you and him fucked. you didn’t recognize the amount of basketball paraphernalia that is sticking to his walls last time as you finally view it, a poster of what looks like alternative rock bands cause you recognized the paramore, the arctic monkeys, and even the american football posters.

heeseung’s figure reaches his desk and he sits on the chair by it, caressing his face with his hands as you can see the way his facial muscles contort around his eyebrows and forehead.

“what are we talking about?” you lightly scoffed as you stood in front of heeseung, who lifted his head with a tenacious look on his face.

“where were you in the past three weeks?” you can pick up how he spoke with his teeth grinding against each other.

“why’d you care? you’ve seen me all the time. heck, i saw you last week when i came to visit beomgyu-“

“NO!” he stood up after you jumped from his sudden, unprovoked shout. taking a few steps, you are frozen on your feet as he approaches.

“you really don’t fucking care, huh?” heeseung now lets out a huge scoff as he rolls his eyes, very obviously. instead, he was met by another confused and offended look by you. "what does he mean by i don’t fucking care?” you spoke to yourself as he then reply, adding a needed context.

“the fucking appointments, (l/n)(y/n).” his nostrils are so wide that he might as well breathe fire out, making you stunned as your defenses are crumbling down when you realized what he is going to talk about.

you recall the past three weeks, jogging your mind through the endless activities you’ve done such as going out with the girls, going out with ryujin, beomgyu, and jeongin, busying yourself as your interviewing yoonah and the other coworkers for your study case, helping sungchan recover from his hangover as he stayed a night at your apartment—his frat house is overwhelmingly full so that he went back along with minjeong so they could fuck all night, helping ryujin styled for her photoshoot, helping chaeryeong bring the food to her dance crew so they could eat, meeting jimin whilst there, remembering the dance crew show-

the dance crew show you watched with your friends.

trying to comb the calendar in your mind, you’ve just realized that you missed that appointment that day. and then another one last week, the week when beomgyu introduced you to his bandmates as you visited their studio.

“oh fuck…”

“oh fuck, indeed.” heeseung sarcastically mimics you. you tried to hold your head up, but with the way the guilt for not showing up to your doula’s appointment, you could see the slight smirk that was threatening to grow on heeseung’s lips. but he seemed to hold it back as he let out a sigh, a shaky one.

“i’ve been trying, trying to be kind towards you. to give you the fucking benefit of the doubt with what you told me at the basketball court and i believe it. i believed it yet you don’t think about anything after that.” his hand reaches to be placed on his chest as you hold yourself still, fist pushing down to make you stand tall.

“you don’t think i don’t sacrifice as much as you do for them? i sacrifice my time and my friends' time to cater to you who is growing my babies inside you. yet you started to not think about them when you seemed to get everything on your way.” the man says as you can see the way he is grinding his teeth down, yet it still sounds so clear as you get your mind to think straight. heeseung is shaking his head as he can’t hold back the smirk that is slowly growing.

“you don’t think that i don’t realize your crush on beomgyu, don’t you? with the way you’ve been pining over him ever since he brought you to the doula’s office. even if i still harbor unsavory feelings towards you, i’ll allow it cause it’s fucking natural when you interact with him as much. but to then see you slut yourself out to my friends-“

“WOW! OKAY!” you take a step back as the spreading shock of what he told you were triggering the same ever-fiery feelings you also have inside. “that’s a fucking low blow, lee.”

“what other word should i say it with? you’re having my babies, yet here you are being touchy with my friends and forgetting your freaking responsibilities-“

“but slutting myself is such a fucking wrong word to use. that’s too fucking much.” you retaliate back, crossing your arms in front of your stomach as you feel the instinct kicking to protect them. “other than me carrying your babies, you don’t fucking own me, lee heeseung. i can establish whatever relationships that i want and you’re just making yourself look like a jealous boy who can’t seem to make his, fucking, whatever, partner be happy yet the people around you can.”

it is now heeseung’s turn who is stunned, yet his scrunch face still telling him that, even though the word he uses is such an overkill, he is still telling the truth. the truth that seemed to make you fired up to do the offense on him.

“heck, i could’ve terminated them if i didn’t consider you-“

“don’t you fucking dare say that, 'cause,” he says as you looked at him exhaling, the tears of anger brimming in your eyes as you let your mind analyze what you say and how messed up it is. “don’t you see? you thought you were the losing one here? no, (y/n).”

he lets his muscles relax, yet you can recognize just how glassy his eyes are also, mirroring yours. “you have much more powerful control over this relationship than me. you have the fucking right to do whatever you want with yourself. but what’s in it for me? i gave you my savings and we are paying for the appointment together and you become so ungrateful as time goes by not going to them. like i’m just a wallet to you.”

heeseung’s hand reaches towards his cheekbone, his fingers grazes near the corner of his eyes as you watch the whites becoming pink—holding the emotions that he wants to let out but knowing that his friends could be collateral damage to it too now that they have a good relationship with you and your friends.

“i don’t even know what will happen after you give birth to them? are you still going to ignore me and raise them on your own when i have sacrificed even my savings money to pay for this stuff we have to do?”

your throat is dry as you listen to heeseung’s little sobs and sniffles, sensing the way your heart has dropped until it reaches the depths of your being. to then being told the truth that, yes, you are selfish for getting everything you have at the expense of heeseung, who you just now realized is retreating. how the glances at you when you’re with beomgyu, jeongin, or jimin give an annoyed but also a tinge of sadness in them. you now realize that even with heeseung being their roommate, he might not have much time with them anymore because of his basketball practices and with the way you and your friends are hoarding them from him.

“i-“ heeseung’s eyebrows raise as he hears you speak, “i gotta go.” you shake your head, not wanting to openly bawl in front of heeseung as you quickly exit the suffocating space.

the way his voice is calling your name echoes and makes you move faster as you slide your feet inside your shoes before opening the door and quickly and uncomfortably running toward the elevator. pressing the button as fast as possible as the elevator dings, pushing the close button as fast as you can as if you can pick up heeseung’s approaching footsteps.

the elevator door closes as it will bring you to the lobby. you lean back against the wall as you feel the uncomfortable folded-back part of the shoes you wear. damn you for deciding to wear a high-ankle one. you knew it would be hard to fold your leg to just slip the back to cover your heels. but the only thing you could resort to is to sit down on the elevator floor to put them on. quick!

you curse to yourself when your belly is the thing that makes it hard for you to slip it on. you still eye the ever-decreasing number of floors as you are reminded to try sitting with your knees so you can reach the back more easily. your body is doing acrobats more than the exercises haseul has told you to do, but when you feel the flaps now resting behind your feet, you can just stand up and go your merry way-

the elevator door opens when you hear the familiar exclamation of your name before buff arms are helping to make you stand up on your feet.

“did you fall?” jimin is looking at you with worry, leaving his bag outside as you can predict he has finished his class for today. but, with the way that heeseung told you of his friends, the guilt boils up to burn you once again.

“ji-jimin, i gotta go fast. so sorry,” you replied as you pushed yourself out of jimin’s grasp. sure, you could talk to him on what his opinion of you and what heeseung thinks of you. but, you aren’t as close to him as you are with beomgyu.

and that’s where you are bringing yourself.

remembering the band practice he had talked to you about through chat, you walked into the familiar studio area of the campus where he usually is. the hallway inside was getting darker as you entered, the evening time reminding the students to rest for the day as you watched many of them going towards where you came from. the hallway by the door of the studio is dark with only the light and sound of a guitar coming from behind the door’s window. taking a glimpse, you can see beomgyu who is riffing on one of txt’s songs. his long hair shielded his face enough to cause your heart to beat faster than before. well, before remembering what heeseung has told to you. yet, here you are, trying—in a way—to validate that the reason you’ve neglected your appointment is for a good cause for yourself.

beomgyu’s head is lifted as he hears the knocking, looking at the window as his smile widens to see you. you want to reply with the same—you always have been able to—but the underlying emotions you’re experiencing stop you as you try to give the widest smile you can at that moment. the handle turns as you push inside, sensing the warmth of the studio competing against the breeze of the cold weather.

“why are you here?” beomgyu said, his guitar dangling in front of him by the strap.

“so, i can’t be here?” you try to banter, a frown on your face that you usually share with him now has a different reaction as he pulls off the guitar and places it on the speaker before approaching you.

“no, no. of course you can be here,” he replied, the giddiness fell out of him as you noticed why he did that: the swollen eyes that you probably got from tearing up on the way here. remembering your wrongdoings that hurts more than what you and heeseung have gotten through in ages.

as beomgyu leaned closer, he opened his embrace to you, letting you in his arms as you felt the warmth enveloping you, trying to brush away every cold patch that touched your body. yet, it couldn’t touch your heart as much as you want. you wanted to bawl. maybe beomgyu can allow you to bawl into his shoulders. but with what you are doing next, the probability of that will be split.

you were the first one to lean back, hands holding onto his shoulder as he gaped at you with a curious smile before it slowly droops down as you gaze between his eyes and lips. leaning forward, you lean your head and let your lips meet his. the grip on his shoulders was strong as you tried not to tremble. finally. finally, giving in to what you wanted for a long time now.

you could feel the familiar tingling feeling warming your heart as beomgyu just… stands there. for you, that’s enough because at least you told him what you feel based on your actions. but the pausing was too much for your liking, and you can perceive the warmth in your heart getting hotter, too hot, that is giving you searing pain once again.

leaning back, you can see the blank face that is showing on beomgyu’s face. with a heavy heart, you still try to give an optimistic smile that isn’t reciprocated with what you expect. instead, beomgyu is shrugging, a normal expression on his face and you can sense the tears once again forming.

“please,” you whispered, “please tell me you feel the same way as i do for the past few months.” you silently cry.

the boy in question, beomgyu, gives a solemn smile instead. “i’m so, so, sorry (y/n). but i don’t feel the same way.” he is shaking to signal to himself that yes, he doesn’t reciprocate.

however, this is making you question everything.

“then why are you so nice to me? why are you always asking about me or my friends? why are you always joining us?”

“i do like you, (y/n). but, i can’t like you like that-“

“why?” the sound of everything seems to pause as you see beomgyu glances away at something before an unknown yet warm smile that exudes from him startles you.

“first, you’re pregnant with my best friend’s baby- sorry, babies. plural,” he corrects himself, “and second, the night that you and heeseung hooked up. ryujin and i also hooked up-“

“wait WHAT?” your heart is already hurting from the denial because you are heeseung’s baby mama. but the thing about ryujin shocks you.

“so yeah. we both hooked up at your apartment and i got more hooked. i was already hooked when we all were in high school and,”

you couldn’t continue hearing him ramble about ryujin just like how you ramble to the same girl about beomgyu since freaking high school. gosh, that fucking hurts. to know that your crush has a crush on your best friend really hurts. your crush who is best friends with your rival. you want to get a grip on your high school self so she could find out about it because you were too lovesick about beomgyu but despised heeseung as best as you can to not see that. now it just depends on ryujin, but you don’t want to pressure her like that. she’s discovering her queerness and you love her for that and you don’t want a boy to get in between you.

but between you and the boy… well…

you actually let out such an unserious laugh as you realized how totally bamboozled you have been for the past few months. it is helping you spread the pain so that it doesn’t hurt your heart and brain so much.

“you’re using me, ME, so that you can get closer to ryujin,” you sounded with exasperation as while you laughed, you could feel the tears free-falling on your cheek. “to use the attempt to bring boxes of ingredients, picking me up, just to have a glimpse of ryujin once in a while.”

with the quick succession of changes in your emotions, beomgyu just realized what eldritch horror he is summoning: a girl with a broken heart.

“you must be so fucking happy when i say yes to going out with you. a hook, line, and fucking sinker as you get the fish that will lead you to ryujin. yet you’re fucking stringing me along all this fucking time.” you got reminded of the group streams yours and beomgyu’s gang done twice now, to finally noticing just how touchy beomgyu is with ryujin—wrapping his arm behind where she sits—that when you lean against him, you didn’t realize that he was leaning against her too.

“fuck you, choi beomgyu!” you exclaimed as you retreated, tucking the front of your coat to cover your belly once again as the feelings hit you one by one, rushing out of the studio as you run. your tears clouding your sight as you don’t care where you are going. rushing past people as you are met with the pink evening sky as the sun is setting.

you stood by a sidewalk, the tears falling out as you sobbed into the space in front of you. looking downwards, you can see the babies you are holding. you just want to be alone now to wallow in your sadness that is kicking harder because of the hormone you must have to grow them inside them, holding them so you know they are there with you. it really is just you and them against the world.

and they agree with the thought of you buying fried chicken because you can feel them kicking against your touch.

-

it actually worries ryujin that you didn’t go out of your room for anything other than work, exams, or appointments.

her eyes gaze at the door to your room that has been haunting her mind for the past two weeks. a systematic cycle was built as, even with chaeryeong’s persuasions as your mood maker, you won’t go out of your room to even eat.

it started on the day when she and the rest of the girls were worried when you weren't home by midnight. ryujin believed they blow your phone up so bad that it makes you more reluctant to go home, but she remembered she got your phone saved on her find my phone app and they decided to track you using it. their discovery leads them to find you sleeping in a booth of a chicken fast-food restaurant as the leftover bones are left behind. the restaurant is nearly empty with only the employees who work the graveyard shift remaining there to cater to the night people. ryujin doesn’t mind carrying you into the backseat of chaeryeong’s car, but she can definitely feel the heat that is growing on your forehead as the car skidded home.

she heard you grumble as they helped to place you on your bed, making you lay down as they helped you change your clothes. minjeong comes in and brings a wet towel to be put on your forehead before chaeryeong gives you a bowl of cream soup that she hopes you will eat when you are awake. ryujin couldn’t get mad to see you like this—she recognized the dried tear marks fallen from the corner of your eyes. but, the way it spilled into your everyday life for the next two weeks is something she couldn’t comprehend. because you have never been this depressed before.

every time she hears the clicking of your door, she lets out a smile and a warm greeting to then meet you who gives her a small smile yet with no spoken reply as you carry your backpack to wherever you want to go that day. minjeong tried to come along with you, but with a stretch of a hand forward and an open palm; still showing the same small smile, you mouthed a no to her as you went out of the apartment.

because heeseung was busy in doing his exams, beomgyu is still coming by to give the box of ingredients for the week. but ryujin sees that something is bothering him as much as it bothers her. he replies with the same smile and greeting to her—maybe a bit more forward than what she used to—but it feels different when she is used to hearing your greetings towards him as you stood beside her to pick the box up.

this week, it wasn’t even beomgyu who is at her front door.

heeseung stood at the door with the box as he took a glimpse in as best as he could, asking for your whereabouts and why you didn’t answer his texts. ryujin wants to tell him the truth—that you’ve begun your hermit arc as you stay in your room. but she knows how sophisticated your relationship is with him that she can’t bear to let out the truth, saying that you’re outside at that time. but then heeseung told her something.

“help me reach her. she’s been rescheduling all the appointments with both the doctor and doula without me knowing and canceling the ones that we have scheduled together.”

“the receptionist doesn’t tell you anything?” she asked.

“patient confidentiality. and haseul is also by her side cause she won’t tell me when is (y/n)’s appointment.”

ryujin thinks that, if you are not with a child right now, you might not even open the door to get your meal in and you might never even go out other than for your work and exam. it seems that you are preparing yourself to be the vessel for your babies so you can give birth to them healthily, eating and drinking for them, but not for you.

she knows just how sad you are by the way you are wailing with the sound of your guitar muffled in your room. she listens to your rendition of mitski songs from behind the walls that are still small enough to not annoy the neighbors on all sides. with the exam season nearly done as you are there to finish up your research project, it makes you not go out of your room at all unless it’s for the bathroom. nobody is ever asked to pick you up for appointments or work at the daycare because you will then arrive and go back to your room all by yourself.

it’s sad to see you like this. so ryujin hopes what minjeong is doing could help you.

the guitar wailing is still heard as chaeryeong and minjeong walk from the kitchen with the buckets of popcorn, a homemade burger just for you, and juices around them as they still promise to follow your diet—though not as strict as you. minjeong walks towards your room as chaeryeong reads the synopsis of the cd cover of tonight’s movie.

“hiya, (y/n). i know we have been so busy for the past two months or so,” ryujin listens to minjeong words after her knocking on your door killing the sound of the guitar from your room. “we’re having a movie night and it’s one of the japanese movies in your watchlist. you are very much welcome to watch with us.”

there’s a long, pregnant pause as minjeong says the last words, turning her head towards ryujin who gives her a tight-lip smile as she looks at the hallway from the end of the sofa. minjeong lets out her own small smile as she turns her head towards the living area to grab the cd from the table and crouches down to put it onto the player. ryujin glances at chaeryeong who gives her own solemn smile, whispering, “just by the look of the cover, i know we will be crying.”

just then, they heard the sound of a door opening. all of their eyes turn towards the entrance of the hallway to see you emerging. no words are spoken because all of them still want to give you space as you’re the one now reaching out to connect to them after their trials and tribulations.

chaeryeong pats the seat between herself and ryujin as you let out a chuckle, letting them see just how big your belly is getting for carrying your still ever-growing babies. ryujin gives you the burger plate as you give a warm yet solemn smile, making chaeryeong lean close to you as minjeong turns off the lights and lets chaeryeong press play.

the movie starts with a scene on a train. a green filter filled the screen as only the white noise from the moving train filled the room. a young girl and young boy sit across from each other, a large suitcase in between them. and the boy whose clothes are similar to the suitcase—tattered—clutches onto it so gently.

to say that the movie is profound is an understatement. it is filled with wholesome scenes of children—siblings—playing with each other. that is, before the realization hits all of you as they had to fend for themselves to live. but it definitely hits you hard as you lean against ryujin’s shoulder, her hands in fist because of how furious she is while watching everything is going badly for the children. while you, you are actually sobbing. maybe because you have a profound relationship with children, and are a future mom yourself, your emotions exploded as you felt the despair, happiness, and rage all throughout.

it definitely is cathartic to you because you have been burying your feelings back. to see the children being abandoned is hurting you because you have seen children like them firsthand when you are volunteering in your second year. you definitely are mad at yourself for putting nobody knows in your watchlist, but you can now say that you’re grateful for minjeong to remember it because it is definitely the cathartic release you need after burying so many emotions at the same time.

as the credit rolls, you can feel the way your babies are moving inside of you. as if to remind you to at least, please, don’t abandon them.

the waterfall of tears as you sob caught the attention of your friends, who are also in various levels of tearing up in the eyes to full-on bawling with rage. you can only let out a small smile as you hear minjeong sniffle before standing up, making you open your arms to let her into your embrace. you can sense actual warmth for the first time in a while as it shields you from the cold, literally and figuratively. more arms come to wrap around you as you felt both ryujin and chaeryeong’s faces beside your ears. to know that they understand it hits you more because you are with a child.

maybe, there is still warmth in life than what you expected. after contemplating so much about the actions that you’ve done—ranging from the earliest memories of when you and heeseung were young to the way beomgyu broke your cracked heart into pieces when you confessed—you realized that you are selfish. that you haven’t got the ability to step back and take in everything and to find your priorities, because now with babies growing inside of you, your priorities are changing as you start to love them more and more.

the pettiness that you and heeseung have for each other really shielded you from what heeseung truly is: a good man. a man who cares for others. a man who is willing to trust you, even with the amount of history you both have. how he also has his own priorities and needs, but he decided to give them to you—well, your babies. sure, he’s not perfect. his anger making him say something that is so out of line in your relationship. but you understand where he is coming from. you understand the amount of jealousy seeping through when the doula gives you instruction yet he is just there, doing nothing other than being reminded to always have a good communication line with you.

maybe, it is the time for change. because if you can allow yourself to have his children, you should also allow yourself to let him into your life.

so that your children will not be abandoned by both of their parents.

-

to learn that his mom is so excited is an understatement. to know that both his and your moms have been planning for your joint gender reveal and baby shower—because of your busy schedules—is like seeing them being kids once again.

heeseung looks to the backyard of his house, the venue of the event, which is filled with more neutral earthy color from the theme that they asked you about. he didn’t chime in because he is busy—but he also wants to at least forget the way genuine hurt show up on his face when he called you a slut. to then lose contact with you for the past month as he is frustrated. yet again, you were the one blocking him from the information he has the right to know. and with the way you try to avoid him as much as possible on campus, you are now entering your third trimester, the end of the year is near, and both of your families believe that you both are together, all of those complexities are swirling in his head as he has to try his best to face one by one.

“heeseung!” he heard his dad speak loudly from outside the room, “the guests are here, come greet them. it’s your party to host.”

“coming.” he took one last look at his outfit, a simple creme-colored shirt tucked into his black jeans, as he walked outside of the door towards the living area and the backyard when he caught the appearance of the table with shiny bracelets and flower-charmed bracelets: a jewel for a boy and a flower for a girl. he could see that some of his boys were there, picking between two types of bracelets so they could guess what are the genders of both of his babies.

“come on! the idea of heeseung hyung having two boys will be scary.” jake says towards jay who picked up gold and silver bracelets, respectively.

“but it’s plausible…”

“so is hyung having two girls, right?” jake replied as heeseung looked down to find the different color flower-charmed bracelets in his hand. the other guys are also talking to each other as sunoo was the one who approached him first.

“hey, heeseung hyung. how are you feeling?” the kind boy asked as he could feel his emotion lighten up when seeing the younger boy’s eye smile.

“oh… you know, a bit nervous actually.” heeseung chuckled as he looked at the boy’s wrist, seeing both kinds of bracelets on each of his hands.

“i’m team ‘heeseung hyung is boy-girl dad’ and the guys don’t believe me actually.” sunoo replied, seeing sunghoon turning to him and saying, “that’s cause it’s rarer, sunoo-yah.”

“i know,” said boy replied as heeseung chuckled, looking towards another table that is full of gifts often found in baby showers. since nobody knew of the genders of his babies, he saw all different types of clothing of all colors there, a few baby diapers, and essentials that would be helpful to stock at home. most of them are gender neutral but he sees a few of specific gender ones he has to think to give away if his pair of kids will be only gender specifically–or he could hold on to it so that he can make them dress neutrally.

“we didn’t give much other than two sets of baby clothing. broke college students, after all.” sunoo speaks as if to explain the situation he recognized so much.

“that’s definitely enough, sun.” heeseung chuckled as he patted sunoo’s shoulder. that’s when he heard the commotion from inside the living area from behind the glass doors, the room where his mom is with his extended family and a few mutual friends of his. he looked through it to watch a crowd coming inside; what looked to be your side of the people—your friends from college like yunjin and kazuha, your roommates of course plus sungchan who is bringing eunseok too, to what it seemed like your extended family before he sees you coming in: taking his breath away.

you are bigger than the last time he saw you. you are also wearing a color similar to his, but in a midi dress style, and he sees his mom hugging you before holding onto your belly. he let his eyes watch you comfortably as you looked around the familiar and unfamiliar faces before you connected your own sight with his.

heeseung thought you had almost forgotten the fake dating aspect of this whole fiasco you are in with him. but when you open the sliding door and in a one-way direction towards him, he lets himself being embraced by you as his hands automatically move to wrap around you. he couldn’t lean in closer because of your pronounced baby bump, but you moved back a little to look at him. a smile on your face as he sees you seemed to be more at ease, maybe because of your classes being finished and such, but you are on a completely different side of the spectrum because he is here, still struggling to juggle all the things.

“you okay?” you are the one that asked as you gaze at heeseung’s unreadable expression, making you chuckle as you can’t help the influence you have on him, but also the influence he has on you as you could pick up your heart beating faster.

“yeah…” he replied, making you lean in.

“follow my lead 'cause your mom literally introduced me as your girlfriend. unless you get a grip to know what it implies, hee,” you whispered as his eyes changed, his hand now traced down to your lower back as he stayed by your side.

acting with himself is something so easy for him. after all, he has to act while in front of your parents when he is facing you, which he has done since he knows how. but, now, acting with you seems so natural. too natural, actually. how you’re bringing him around as he introduced yourself to your aunt and your now first-grader cousin—"that’s the kid that i babysit for the first time" you added—and the way you acted like nothing happened for the past month stuns him so much.

the way your facial expression moves along as you and his friends seem to be low-key teasing both of you—he caught a glimpse of jimin recording him being dragged by you past the crowd on video—just seemed so much more than acting. but you are acting, correct?

well, that was when you caught onto beomgyu’s gaze that he could see your expression chipping away; when you returned him with only a small smile before pivoting towards heeseung as he could see your nose crunching while smiling. with that, lee heeseung actually kind of regrets by telling that to you. he kind of regrets that he hurt you.

the festivity was very modest to say the least, especially since both of your parents are the ones paying cause they’re just too happy to have grandchildren with each other. the pile of baby items is stacking up as more people are picking their guesses. all the party needs is the arrival of your coworker and it’s done.

when said coworker arrives with what looks to be a bag of crowns: a pair of faux gold crowns and a pair of flower crowns. he looks towards you who is smiling before biting your lips as you approach her and give her a hug, bringing her to him.

“this is yoonah from the daycare, well technically, she’s my boss,” you spoke, introducing the woman who is older by a few years.

“and this is heeseung, the baby daddy.” yoonah pulls out her hand as heeseung shakes it, pain surging through his hand as the grip on it is so hard.

“listen to me, heeseung. if you ever hurt her again, i swear to any kind of god out there that i will hurt you first.” yoonah said with gritted teeth and menacing eyes before pulling back, making heeseung’s doe-like eyes turns towards you who was giving him a shrug as you tell your mom on the main event.

“gather around, friends and family. the main event is going to start!” she said so giddily as his mom brought both of you to the other side of the backyard, facing towards the house where the people you invited were in front of both of you.

“thank you so much for everyone for coming to the baby shower/gender reveal combo for (y/n) and heeseung’s babies.” yoonah hosted with both poise and excitement in her voice—no wonder that she also works in a daycare. “i have here two pairs of crowns that will show the genders of both babies, which i know since (y/n) asked me to be with her for her latest appointment. i will put the corresponding crown on the two parents’ heads.”

heeseung can see the crowd gleaming at the thought of seeing both you and heeseung wearing the corresponding crowns according to their guesses. he glances at his boys who are sporting all the flower-charmed bracelets; except for jeongin, who has one silver bracelet and one flower bracelet on his wrist. and then to your girls who are sporting mostly both kinds of bracelets except for ryujin who wears two gold bracelets.

“(y/n), heeseung, please close your eyes and take a bow,” yoonah said as he turned to you, who gave him a subtle nod. your hand reaches to grab his as you both face forward and he closes his eyes before bowing his head forward.

all he could feel was the way the cold breeze blew against his skin and how his grip on yours tightened as he could feel something on his head, making the sound of the crowd growing before the grass ruffles in front of him to where you at as the crowd lets out a huge ovation. he can hear his friends’ laughter when he picks up yoonah saying, “you both can open your eyes.”

lifting his eyelids, he lets the shiny view come in as he turns towards you, seeing the shock on your face as he gazes at you wearing a golden crown. he grabs onto his own crown as he touches the petals of flowers on it, picking yours up also to show you what’s on your head. you can’t help but step towards him, taking in a big embrace that heeseung reciprocates as he sees both crowns on his hands behind you.

a boy and a girl.

heeseung was actually speechless when he retreated, letting you take the flower crown before placing it on his head, scrapping around his hair so that it looks better as he lets the gold crown glide on top of your hair where he puts it.

he could see the way his friends crumble and glee in excitement because of the revelation. sunoo’s cackling comes from the basketball guys and it combines with jeongin’s who is also recorded jimin and beomgyu, jokingly weeping because they’re wrong. your friends are also teasing ryujin for picking the wrong combination as heeseung rests his hand on your back.

“ok, sorry, one last thing everyone.” your mom interrupts the total chaos of emotions being spilled before turning towards you two. “i know that we have the gender reveal and baby shower together and we have so many outfits and items that will be useful for you to raise both of your babies. but you might be asking ‘where are we going to put this?’ well…”

your mom opens her arm so that his mom comes into her hold. the grin that they are trying to say signals that they're now fully loaded for something.

“we don’t want you two lovebirds being apart while raising babies. well… let’s just say that your parents and (y/n)’s parents have paid the down payment on a new apartment…”

heeseung actually reacted the same way as you, jaw dropped, eyebrows scrunched as you and he turned your heads at the same to face each other. you mouthed a ‘what the fuck’ towards him as he shakes his head, saying to you he also don’t know shit about this.

you and he are going to live together.

he could actually read your face this time, the face that he has already recognized for a long time—the face of when you want to refute. but, with the way your eyes seemed to crease as the rest of the bafflement poured out, you realize you couldn’t refute back to them unlike how you do to him. your eyes, though with the same sparkle in them as he sees you throughout the day, seemed to tell a different story. a story that he also seems to recognize.

that’s what he thinks as he says the goodbyes to the guests departing, leaving only your family, his roommates, and your roommates behind as they all gather to help clean up the props and bring the stuff inside. heeseung carried the last of the two baby carry-ons for the car inside the house as it is stacked by the garage door so he could pack them up and carry them to your new shared apartment.

“i swear, gang. i don’t know shit about, fuck, this,” he says as he walks back and forth to the two groups sitting in his proximity.

“also, ‘lovebirds’? the last time i met you, i don’t think (y/n) is dating you.” ryujin called back to what his mom said. but she still understood it was the message you and he sent when you were walking around together to greet the guests.

“well, we imply to them we are together to let them know of our situation so that’s where that actually came from…” heeseung replied when he caught beomgyu who was looking at ryujin’s curious and furious combo face as he could feel the awkwardness of the moment is. since the last time you left his room, he never hangs with your roommates anymore, nor did they come to his apartment to play. sure, he has met all three of them as he became the one to give the box full of ingredients, but the situation is so awkward that after he asks for your well-being and is given the answer, he instantly speed walks to the elevator because it triggers him so much.

he really realized just how interconnected you are to everybody. he can see with the way beomgyu arrived home on the same day you left from him—whom you presumably talked to—and discover how his usually giddy face now has a small stain of sadness in it before going back to ignorance. how jimin never heard of chaeryeong again as she is working with her main crew on a routine whilst jimin is focusing on creating a choreography. all because he wants you to explain from your side.

to heeseung, he had let the things that created a plaque in his heart alone by themselves: seeing you being too selfish of your own self that you couldn’t find any priorities for even your babies and how he said it to you seemed to besmirch him more. yet, he also takes to the heart what you say on the basketball court: that he is miles ahead in front of you and how tired it is staying in the rivalry. that there is a side of him capable of competing, yet he pours it into your petty rivalry. he has already implemented the side of him you were talking about on his day-to-day after it, mostly during basketball, as he seemed to be some sort of assistant coach to coach min as he helped with training the junior players. he sure hopes that you get what he meant on why he asked for you two to talk after every factor created changed him in a way.

because he cares for you.

“the boys are staying with me,” beomgyu said as he stood up along with the others while the girls also stood up, presumably to stay the night with ryujin because she is also from here—alongside heeseung, beomgyu, and you. heeseung brought them out of the front door as they went their separate ways, closing the door as he walked deeper into the house.

he heard the sound of the sink running when he found his mom cleaning the utensils. your mom is packing up the leftovers as the sound brings him towards the kitchen.

“hey, bambi.” his mom greets him as heeseung lets out a small smile. your mom opening her arm so he could come into the conversation that is now being talked about.

“i sure do hope that you and (y/n) like the apartment we picked. it’s a two-bedroom one, but it is big enough because i know you have your exercise equipment and that gaming pc of yours that you will have to reassemble,” his mom said from behind him as he stared at the leftover food on top of the kitchen island, standing beside your mom.

“that’s more than enough, mom. thank you.”

“you gotta have to say thank you to auntie as well. she helped to pick the location so that it is pretty close to your campus and your friends.” his mom told him as he took a peek to see your mom, catching onto the similarities both of you have.

“we have the rent up for a year so we can give you freedom if you wanna move away from it after it is done.” your mom continued to talk as heeseung nodded. his head turned downwards as he tried to pick out the right words to say. instead, he literally blurted out something that came out first from his mind.

“(y/n) and i don’t get along with each other.”

he stares at the two women who turn their heads to face each other. both of them sharing a look before your mom replied, “we know.”

“well… both of you used to get in trouble with each other a lot at school that it makes us realize that you both don’t get along with each other.” his mom added, making heeseung’s face return to the shocked face as he can’t help but laughs. why would he and you hide it if they already know? oh, young minds…

“i, i, okay…” his stammers died down as he couldn’t help but bite his lips, “then why i do seem to care for her so much?”

he’s able to hear his mom chuckle as she turns the water tap off before standing on the other side of his figure, seeing how he is taller than both moms who are looking at him so expectantly.

“the line between love and hate is so thin it’s actually near existence.” his mom said first, “and don’t worry about that, the rivalry doesn’t actually start with you.”

“what?” he retorted as he watched the two women communicating through a glance shared between them.

“your mom and i are actually rivals in our school basketball athlete days.” your mom said, “we used to trash talk so much at each other that our teacher had the smart plan for us to do something for detention together.”

“cleaning out that forsaken storage filing room.” his mom cuts in as she helps to collect the leftovers and grab the plates they were on so she could wash them.

“arranging them up and all. good thing during your time now you have online databases because, i swear, those teachers just blatantly putting the documents down so that they can make a student clean it up somehow as punishment.” your mom adds as his mom just laughs about it, thinking of said memory as heeseung could picture a large dim room full of shelves with stacks of papers on them—not arranged into a certain manner at all.

“but it works. after that, we became closer and we don’t see each other as rivals, but as equals.” the tap is turned off as his mom’s words go back to his ears, “and we become the best friends you now see us as.”

heeseung can’t hold back his laugh as he imagines his mom being in the same position as he is during school—cursing your mom’s ears off or even tugging the ball from each other to show who is the better player. but to know that they resolute it so fast makes him feel shame for actually allowing such rivalry to grow for more than a decade. it’s because you and him don’t see eye to eye, but sometimes you do. it’s because of the ambition you both have to also be like your parents. but growing up changed that. there are many ways to resolve such rivalry, yet he chooses the having-a-baby-together-route; the extreme challenge mode out of all.

“since you stayed at our house, (y/n) is now staying in your room for the night, heeseung.” your mom said as she gathered the leftovers, which were divided into two for each household. “also the apartment already has a bed complete with the frame and mattress and a wardrobe big enough for both of you. so you can move in if you want by tomorrow as you gather your items from your rooms at each of your apartments.”

“alright, thanks for telling me,” he said before your mom jumped with realization one last time, picking up the white envelope that he remembered yoonah brought.

“this is from the last doctor’s appointment (y/n) went to with yoonah. she knows you will ask her for your own copies.”

the word “third trimester” is spelled out on the front as heeseung pulls out the content. a few ultrasound pictures grace his vision as he gazes at the visual of his babies inside of you, the word markings at the top now assigned them as baby a and baby b grazing his touch as he sees one of them each in their own scan and both of them together by their heads. he felt someone standing behind him and a finger pointing something out in one picture of the individual baby.

“you can see baby a has a nub protruding. that’s the penis, so he’s the boy.” his mom has spoken, making him let out a small “wow” before seeing that baby b has no nub. she’s the girl.

“well, all the leftovers are split up, so i think we’re going to get going. we don’t want the husbands to smoke one more stick of cigarette.” your mom says as his mom laughs in reply.

heeseung adds after tucking the pictures in the envelop, “i also want to go to bed.”

“you absolutely should. you have to pack the baby shower gifts and bring it to your new apartment in the morning. or let it stay in your trunk until you move it in. you’ve done so well as a host,” his mom responded as he nodded, saying his last “good night” before retiring to his room.

his nightlight on the bedside table is on when he gently opens the door, he looks at the silhouette of you lying down on your side facing away from him. a duffle bag stands in front of his wardrobe which he presumes is filled with your clothes as he can identify you wearing a headset while the light of your phone shines your face. for him, it’s the correct time to freshen up as he had to come to terms that you will stay in the same bed as him—because he couldn’t bear himself to push you off his bed especially with you being in the third trimester, where he has learned from haseul is when your back pain is at its worst.

drying the droplets of water and tucking his sleeping outfit on, he walks back into the dim room to find your headset and phone on the bedside table. you have moved to sleep with your left side up; the only space for him is on the right of the bed beside his desk. though the weather outside is cold, the heater is still on as the heat exudes out to balance the temperature. he walks towards the empty bedside when he can’t help to make out the sound that is so much more noticeable in the quiet air’s white noise.

the sound of sobbing.

heeseung sits down on the bed, his back facing you while he looks one last time at his phone before putting it away when he hears you talk.

“do you know about beomgyu liking ryujin when we talked a month ago?”

his head turns to the side, taking a glimpse behind his shoulder. he can see the fragment of your expression in the darkness, making him want to make his eyes adapt to it faster.

“ever since high school, (y/n).” he acknowledged. of course, he knows. he had seen that lovey-dovey look every time he and beomgyu moved past you and ryujin in the hallway. he still has it—the subtle version of it—when his gang hangs out with yours. to be that naïve wasn’t heeseung’s forte, but he does realize just how naïve you could be.

“and is that why you commented on my crush on him? because you know that i’ll be hurting at the end?”

heeseung let out a small hum as he pushed himself off the floor and looked to the front, extending his legs as he sensed the similar, albeit lighter, pain from walking around and standing up too much as he let his legs stretch out to make him relax and let the blood flow clearly. you chuckled as he helped to pull the comforter on his childhood bed on top of him and your figure. if he could communicate with his younger self that he has you in his room and in his bed, he could see young heeseung strangling him, complaining to his older self about why he allowed that person to even be in his room.

he sees movement from your end when he lets himself lay down on the mattress. your hand brushing against your face as he turns his head towards you.

“well… you won, lee heeseung.”

your words caught his attention as he let his head be on the same level as you, shifting so he could finally see your face clearly with the nightlight still on. you have another pillow wedge between your legs, something he knows can make you feel more comfortable as he had also learned about pregnant woman’s sleeping positions. yet, your face tells him and the world that you aren’t 100% comfortable.

“i went to him, wanting to make what i felt come true because i truly, truly thought that he felt the same way. then bam! another gutter punch to me and that’s a freaking k.o,” you informed him, letting him experience the rest of the day from your view as, at that time, he was wallowing in disappointment and shame for using a wrong word to describe what you are doing with his friends.

“that fucking broke me. and i still remain in that belief even with the catharsis of watching a japanese movie about child abandonment makes me fracture and heal myself at the same time. now, with our parents renting us an apartment…” he could hear the pitch of your voice rising alongside how many words you had spoken. heeseung turned his whole body to face you, making you exhale and inhale, “i think it’s going so fast. too fast, i mean.”

your breathing makes you a bit hyperventilating as you want to turn some other way from him because you can’t bear to see his doe-like eyes staring at you with concern. you try your best to calm down, looking at the slam dunk poster on one of his walls while blinking your eyes to get rid of the glistening eyes. that’s when you sensed a hand on your cheek. heeseung’s hand reached out as you let his fingertip graze near your eyes, wiping away the single tear that came out after enough of them accumulated on the corner of your eye.

“you don’t think i’m not also scared? that my life is also going too fast?” he asked in such a warm tone. “you think that i’m not also broken? with how you and the world had shown me so much knowledge i have to expect to understand quickly, it also broke me. i can see what a positive influence you have over our friendship as a group and with you being idle for the past month, it has affected everyone. it affects beomgyu too, you know?”

you push your lips to one side, feeling your cheeks getting warm as you frown while taking in the words he had meant. that even if you confess just how much you have lost in this eternal battle with him; for the first time, he confesses he is the same.

that you are now equal to him.

“i don’t know. i retreated to being an egotistic antisocial while thinking about all of that. i’m glad you’re not like me then.” heeseung giggles as he overhears you uttering such a depressing sentence. but he continues to caress your face as he tugs himself closer to you, sensing his bent knees touching your own and the pillow that is wedged between the legs. he is the one to lean in first.

the kiss feels all too familiar now, the same as the one you had while conceiving your babies, the same as the one at the basketball court. but months have passed since those two moments, yet it only becomes richer as it goes. your hand lifts to grab his luscious locks and cradle it so you can bring him closer, tilting your head as you feel his breath right against your philtrum. yet, when you let go to take a breather, he leans in closer to connect your foreheads, lips right in front of each other’s—hovering so close that no one could able to steal each other away from the moment.

“you have me, (l/n)(y/n). we can heal together, if you want, of course. or else, i just take care of myself better an-“

you playfully roll your eyes as you meet his lips once again, feeling both of your pairs already knowing the right ways to satisfy both of your needs to sense each other. you nodded your head—hoping he felt it too—even with your lips on his. and he seemed so as he traced his hand down to your side.

“let’s heal together,” you answered, breaking the string of saliva that connected both of you as you grabbed heeseung’s hand on your body to let him touch your bump. sure, you are used to them kicking inside you now. but, heeseung never felt them when you discover them during your hermit days. to see just how the sparkles in his bambi eyes increased when you could feel one of them kicking to your uterus wall so hard, you let out a chuckle as he let you move his hand and press down to sense the movement inside you.

“i have to be angry at you because both of your babies are kickers. it triggers me to vomit just how much they kick me.”

“sorry for that!” he takes responsibility with a grin as you let his hand go, letting him have the free rein to press up against your womb where your babies are in.

“also, you’re going back with me to campus tomorrow. should i just bring you back to your apartment? the parents expect us to set up the place with the baby shower gifts.” heeseung asked as you let his hand roam to press against the bump. at the same time, it was your turn to caress his cheek, feeling how he wanted to stay in your touch when he unconsciously leaned in, but his head seemed to be too heavy to lift from the exhausting day that is today.

moving in with him is going to be hard. other than the knowledge that you learned about him which you can take advantage of, you don’t know who heeseung is as told by himself; only from his friends and parents. but with the more contact you both have with each other during this phase of both of your lives, you can tell that he is decent. you can already figure out how to rearrange the domestic chores you and him have to share. and to learn that the apartment is semi-furnished with the kitchen, bathroom, and main bedroom in place, you could actually go and live with him as fast as possible.

you’ve made up your mind.

“you know what? you don’t have to bring me back to my apartment.”

“hmm?” he questioned, lifting his eyebrows.

“i’ll help you unpack the baby shower gifts at our apartment.”

-

4. mended broken hearts

“thank you so much!” heeseung spoke with a sense of gladness as he took a last glimpse at the crane beside the balcony, watching it being retreated down to the truck that is part of the moving truck ensemble for his apartment. the officers there were so helpful as they didn’t mind being moved around between three different apartments since the morning. the machinery always fascinated heeseung as it’s not the same when it comes to houses. to use a crane to help move boxes easier at the same time is stunning heeseung; because he didn’t get the same luxury when he moved into the boys’ apartment. that’s when you told him that that kind of service actually exist too.

turning around inside his still blank living room, heeseung scans boxes upon boxes of his and your stuff, some are inside suitcases—which is mostly clothes—and boxes are filled with stationary and other items you both owned. the kitchen where the island counters are and a few sturdy boxes you both haven’t unpacked become your dining area as—other than the bed frame, mattress, and wardrobe both your parents have bought alongside the apartment rent—they want you two to decorate the apartment to your heart's content. that means buying pieces of furniture and assembling them yourselves.

heeseung still remembers how his dad arrived to tell him the different tools in the toolbox that he gave him as they both assembled a few pieces themselves. you stood on the side, sometimes helping with bolting something with a screwdriver in your overall get-up that he seemed to not get enough of. with your shelves done for the living area, you both focused on the babies’ room rather than your own room first. knowing how to assemble things now, you both choose the cribs, changing station, and cabinets for your both of your babies’ needs. viewing the room in the default look without more color is enough because you don’t know if the landlord allowed for any modifications of the apartment. so you both waited for customizations when you decided on a much more permanent residence after you graduated.

but, overall, the way you and him work together in creating a liveable place for yourselves for the next year is something to be proud of. how you and he bounce each other’s thoughts as you think of using the boxes of the new furniture bought to your advantage, making a makeshift cabinet you can put the unnecessary stuff you have while you allow heeseung to buy a desk for his gaming pc setup and some stools in making the kitchen island your permanent dining table. none of you are thinking about buying tvs or sofas, so a few beanbags and a futon is enough with a mini projector that can be useful for projecting the movies or shows you want to watch.

it’s admirable honestly, just with how open you are with each other after having such an emotionally charged seven months along with years upon years of bad blood to see you and heeseung actually working together and not complaining much about it. your friends even tease that maybe bodysnatchers caught both of you and you both are some alien species who don’t know the complex history of the humans they’ve abducted. yet, you both beat the allegations when you still have fits against each other in front of your friends. though in your domestic life, you try to dim it down by doing the relationship exercise haseul has taught you. twice a week, just you and heeseung sitting across from each other on your bed, holding hands, and looking at each other—building that connection.

heeseung placed the aptly label pc box on top of the desk he had assembled yesterday after he and the moving worker helped in organizing which boxes were yours and his. two beanbags are sitting by the front door as he will wait for you to discuss how to rearrange them for both of your liking. the boxes create some sort of half-wall maze he has to navigate to find your shared bedroom, the babies’ room, and the bathroom where some of your dirty laundries are piled he has to remember to bring it to the laundromat. he remembered that you have your own ironing kit so that you don’t have to pay more to iron out the creases of your clothes. he had already talked to the landlord about how to connect to the internet as he has his own router that he just needs to connect. and voila, a living place enough until the next year as you both awaited your graduation and your babies.

the sound of a muffled ringtone rings from another room as he walks towards his bedroom, seeing the tall box from the crib becoming your bedroom table as it rattles against the material. he looked at the screen to see the alarm reminding him of what you told him. picking the phone and some necessary items up, he left the apartment to go to his car in the basement, turning the engine on as he left the building.

the road is empty enough for him to arrive early to the daycare—even earlier than the guardians of the children who are finishing their day so they could pick their kids up. heeseung turns the car off as he stares at the entrance because you’ll probably be far from being done, yet something in his mind tells you to just wait inside rather than be left in the cold in the car; also to save the gas. locking the car with the remote key, he walked towards the daycare as he stared at the trees around that were shedding their leaves in the mid to end of december date it is currently in.

he hears a twinkling jingle when he steps inside the heated lobby area of the receptionist area, seeing it empty as he could observe the walls of the various playrooms that are there; all of them leading towards the outdoor playground that seemed to be closed out because of the snow falling a few days before. heeseung sees the children doing their various activities, some are playing around by drawing and some are playing with dolls and figures while an attendant takes care of each area. that’s when he saw you, sitting cross-legged in another overall outfit as he could see the large bump you’re sporting whilst sitting, reading what is supposed to be a children’s book for your audience of 4 to 6-year-olds—though you also have the experience of taking care of younger when you told him of your babysitting experience.

your eyes gaze between the writing of the book and your audience of children intrigued by what you are saying. your free hands move animately whilst describing what you are reading, making a few kids holding onto their plush or blankets so hard as they imagine what you’ve said. every time he sees you like this, he can’t help but be enamored like you. like you are a goddess of storytelling and your stories capture people’s attention in such the right way that it influences them too. why did he think about that? because he had seen it. he had seen his friends being influenced by it, and he had felt it himself.

your gaze breaks between the two planes of existence towards the window where heeseung is standing behind, making him chuckle as he sees you startled. eventually making some kids turn around to look at him. he can read the changes in your face as you realize the time, looking at the other areas, before pushing your hand as you point to where you at, mouthing,

“you want to come in?”

“right now?” he also expresses as you read his mouth and answer by nodding. he slowly tugged his shoes off and put them beside the shelf where the employee’s slippers were as he pushed the door open after turning the handle. softly—from the little pairs of eyes looking at him—he settles down beside you as some kids are looking at him with differing emotions, some with admiration, some with jealousy, some with timidness; especially because of how much of a giant his own body is compared to them. that is before one boy spoke up,

“miss (y/n), is that your king?” he says, making you puff out laughter as heeseung’s eyes widen before looking at you. with the way the other children seem to realize what the boy implies, he realizes you have told them something before about that.

“i think you’re right, woonhak oppa.” a girl said before she reached her hand out, “queen (y/n) is going to have her babies soon.”

“okay, kids. hyunseo…” you gaze at the kid who is giving you a cute eye smile. you know just how brutal it is for kids to tease you about your relationship; even kids are having a more dramatic love life than you are here. but with heeseung here, after they believe you don’t have your own king or queen, you understand just how confused they’ve become.

glancing toward him, you open your hand and whisper, “the floor is yours.”

he gazes at the kids before letting out his signature charismatic smirk, “well, you are correct, woonhak and hyunseo.” the two names mentioned now have sparkles in their eyes. “i’m queen (y/n)’s king. my name is heeseung.”

“heeddeung?” you listen to hyein trying to pronounce the name, making you chuckle.

“it’s heeseung, hyein. with a sssseu…” you tried to help her pronounce the s sound in heeseung’s name as the kids were now singing the chorus of heeseung’s name, making him giggle.

“you’re so cool, mister.” another boy spoke out as heeseung seemed to be taken aback, doing some theatrics with his expressions before bowing down and saying a “thank you”.

“then, you have been lying to us, miss (y/n)?” rami’s question makes your eyebrows crunch as you don’t know how to word out your complicated relationship in simple words.

“king heeseung has been here the whole time, actually.” you lean forward with your hand covering one side of your mouth so that heeseung can’t see, “but i hide him so that his awesomeness doesn’t compete with mine,” you said yet still with your normal volume, making heeseung snicker before he tried to remove your hand. the children nod their heads as they’ve been in on a little secret of yours.

“both miss (y/n) and mister heeseung are awesome.” you heard a girl said at the back, making you let out a thumbs up before you saw the boy beside her refute her answers; making them bicker about who was more awesome between the two of you. you exhale such a big breath as you shift your head to face him when he sees you with a look of horror—him realizing just how loud children do when bickering with each other. you stretch your arm upwards before slowly scooting yourself towards heeseung and place your head on his shoulder, making you pick up his giggle as he brought his hand behind you to stabilize your gravitational pull because of the weight.

“let’s hope that our babies are not gonna argue like that when they can talk.” heeseung mumbled, making you glance at him.

“arguing like us too, you mean?” you nudged his rib, finally knowing his opinion on the topic you voiced out months before. “i know you’ve felt tired of that like i am.”

heeseung hums before he sees a boy raising his hand toward you two, making you say a "yes" as yujin asked you an unexpected question.

“since queen (y/n) has king heeseung and they have the baby on the way…”

“oh no…” he caught your mumble.

“where does the baby come from between the two of you?”

if heeseung’s horror gaze doesn’t turn into dread, he must be sick or something because you even have a similar look showing on your face before it went away a few seconds later. that’s when you heard your own alarm from your phone ringing; making the kids let out such a chorus of disappointment because they have to go home.

“your family can definitely help you answer that, kids. let’s prepare your belongings so you can go home, okay?”

“okay!” they said in their various voices as heeseung sighed so large, avoiding such a lightning bolt because if you couldn’t answer it, then how could he do that? of course, he doesn’t want to imprint the idea of copulation on them at such a young age. and he is glad as the bell saved him.

heeseung helps to stand you up and you walk towards the lockers for the kids before glancing outside to see the familiar faces of their guardians picking them up. he even helped with a few of them before he felt a tug on his shoulders when crouching down. turning around, he sees the same girl that had pronounced his name wrong giving him a paper. he remembers the girl has a few sheets of paper and crayons when she is there with the crowd, hearing your stories.

“for you, mister heeseung…”

he sees the picture of a simple drawing of three figures: a smaller triangle with a circle and smile and hair, a larger one with the same as the little figure with a crown on her head, and beside it, a stickman with a black rectangle filled and the same circle as a head with face and another crown. the color of their triangles corresponds to the girl’s purple outfit and your own light blue denim.

the girl, you, and himself.

“thank you, uhh…”

“hyein.” she smiled.

“thank you, hyein.” he replied correctly before turning around as he saw her retreating body to you who was holding her purple backpack strap, giving him a knowing look before you focused on hyein as he stared at the drawing in his hand.

after you send the kids to their respective guardians with coats that appear so big on them as they have to traverse the cold weather, you say goodbye to yoonah and your other coworker; seeing her nodding her head at heeseung who is picking you up as she mentioned, “you almost forgot to send me the complete research so i can give it to sohee in marketing.”

“will do it right away,” you said as you tugged your puffer coat, said your goodbye to her, and entered the warmth and comfort of heeseung’s car.

after sending yoonah the file of your final research work that could help with helping in promoting the daycare, you lean back on the seat as you let heeseung’s r&b-based playlist flow through the speakers.

“what are we having for dinner?”

“what are you craving?” he asked before turning to you, who had a smile on your face. he already knows what it is.

“what’s with you and jjampong?”

“gochujang is my craving now and jjampong, being the soup food it is, helps with making my insides warm from this cold weather.” you hummed, thinking just how satisfying to consume jjampong again for the past three days. well, what gives. it is what you are craving.

“yet, you don’t want kimchi jjigae? they’re similar.”

“but jjampong has seafood, heeseung. plus jjigae is too thick and it’ll feel weird on my tongue.”

heeseung could only sigh as he smiled to himself, knowing that he had to call the chinese food delivery when you arrived at the basement of your apartment building.

a shower and the clean empty bowl of chinese foods you and him bought later, you and him are doing your nearly-regular routine of sitting and staring at each other. because it is nighttime, you let your lamp light the room in its own dim brightness as you see it being reflected in heeseung’s eyes.

when you smile, he follows. when he moves his lips a certain way, you follow as best as you can. but you can feel how both of your pulses are syncing up from you both holding your hands. thoughts are running in your mind about him, mostly the ones you have an obvious answer to. but there is one that is stuck that you just remember.

“why?”

“hmm?” he hummed, eyebrows lifted.

“why did beomgyu mention to me that he can’t be with me because of you?”

heeseung tries his best to not break eye contact even if he wants to, having the answer showing up clearly in his head because of the vulnerable stare he is in.

“did you tell him something, seung?”

but he just can’t say it, still holding it back even with the way you stare at him with such glistening eyes. your hormone seizing the wheel as you let go of your hand to wipe it before holding it again. he shakes his hand as you just let out a disappointment tight-lipped smile. but you didn’t expect heeseung to also ask,

“why didn’t you stop me that night?”

your eyebrows are lifted. that night has been a while and the last time you spoke of it is when you mentioned how you are pregnant with his child. sure, why didn’t you stop him? why didn’t you stop yourself? you are also wondering that.

and because of that, you lean forward as your lips meet heeseung’s. the kiss is so light yet loving. and even that, it’s enough to answer the question for your own self. well, it’s now his turn to think…

“why didn’t you stop me just now?” you questioned back.

near the end of the 5-minute-ritual, heeseung finally understands why he didn’t stop himself today and why didn’t he stop himself and you that night.

-

the end of the year is today and here you are, tucking yourself in one of your flowy maternity dresses as you pull the straps up so you can put your hands through the sleeve and tug the dress so it adjusts to your own liking. your makeup has been sitting on your face for five minutes now as heeseung is preparing himself in the bathroom. you tie the strap of the back of the dress as best as you can when you can feel yourself stretching your back, making you groan at how satisfying the feeling is. the sun has already set outside as you clasp your small black-colored chain necklace at the front before rotating it behind your nape. you glance at how cute you look as you can’t help but take your own photo in the mirror that you brought from your old room that is leaning against the wall corner.

the door of the bedroom opens and you find heeseung in a white shirt and black trousers ensemble, “you ready?”

“i guess, can you check if the ribbon of my dress is straight?”

heeseung steps closer to you as you puff out the sleeve of your dress so that the seam can be placed correctly. a slight tug comes from behind you as you glance at heeseung repairing the ribbon of your dress. after it’s done, he leaves the ribbon as he looks up at you, who is staring at him from the mirror, a sheepish smile on his face as he glances at your phone in your hand.

“you want to take a picture of the occasion?” he asked, gently tucking his head on your shoulder.

“if you want to,” you reply as you catch him nod his head. his hands that are on your back move forward and rest on your large pregnant belly. you took a few pictures of the two of you—something that past you couldn’t see yourself in—as you put it on your instagram story and typed the caption, “night out (+ 2)”.

“you want me to tag you too?” you peek at heeseung, who has moved one of his hands to be in front of your clavicle, seeing the black necklace adorning your skin next to the rolled-up sleeve of his white shirt and the veins protruding on his forearm.

“of course,” he said as you typed in heeseung’s username and pressed send.

“we haven’t updated much of our instagram and i surely know that our old friends will be shocked to see us together.”

heeseung’s muffled laugh comes from behind your head as you follow, wiggling yourself out of his hold as you pick up your bag and strap it on across your body. you glance at the living room that still has boxes left but with the beanbags and projector set for your usual game night set up—courtesy of heeseung’s nintendo switch—as you see his rgb light inside his pc crate lighting the dim living room by the balcony. walking to the fridge, you open its door and pull out a flask of your own lemon-infused carbonated water so you can pretend to at least be drunk for the new year’s night. you feel your coat being hanged on your shoulders by heeseung as you tuck the flask inside your bag; slipping on a pair of ballet-style shoes as you both walk down to the lobby.

“you sure we don’t have to use a car? don’t want to make you too tired…”

“yeah, i’m sure. i gotta have to stretch my body to exercise, hee.”

you were glad that it hasn’t snowed for the past few days as the pavement is all dry and safe for you to walk. the apartment complexes are close enough to each other and you want to use that as an advantage to move your body so that it doesn’t lock and make you too stiff. your fingers are interlocked with heeseung’s as he allows you to guide him through the shortcuts on your way to your old apartment; where the new year’s eve party is at.

“one last reminder: you’re allowed to drink tonight. you deserve to have a break time,” you said as heeseung glanced at you.

“then, who’ll be taking care of you tonight?”

“i can take care of myself, you doofus,” you replied to him, “and i’m most certainly could take care of you too.”

you glanced up at the apartment you moved from as you greeted the security guard, who is still greeting you even if you’re not the tenant here anymore. bringing yourself to the elevator as you press the familiar button, your eyes stare at the changing numbers on the way to your floor as it opens when you both arrive. you could hear the muffled loud voice that you’re hoping would be alright—"it’s okay! the neighbors are away for new year’s eve so we can party all we want" minjeong reassured you—as you approached the familiar door and put in the keypad: they still didn’t change it.

the door opens as you pick up the speaker playing in your small get-together with your people. you can hear the shout of yours or heeseung’s names as you slowly pull your shoes off by the door that has already littered with so many shoes of other people. the get-together is only for the seniors in hybe uni who are linked to your friend circle and, not going to lie, you didn’t expect for it to still be this many.

you see chaeryeong approaching you as she tugs your coat off before hugging you, already knowing that she is tipsy just by looking at her.

“you’ve come back, mama,” she teases you as you hug her too while you can pick up jeongin’s voice greeting heeseung with their usual bro hug. ryujin comes in as she brings a bucket of popcorn to be given to the crowd gathering by the tv that is playing a playlist of kpop songs. minjeong and sungchan come to hug you together as you find eunseok and chenle behind you.

“i’m so sad that you can’t drink.” sungchan said as he gently touched your bump. “she’s carrying my niece and nephew, of course, i don’t want her to drink,” minjeong cuts her boyfriend off as you playfully pull out your flask, making them widening their eyes before you say, “it’s just lemon soda water. i’ll be okay.”

you let them move away as you glance at yunjin, who is now using your room after you moved. she seemed to scream when she saw you as you instantly hugged her, “look at you, mommy.”

“thanks, jen.” you replied, “how’s it been living here?”

“fun as fuck. i don’t care that i only have 6 months of uni to live here but anything i would do to allow boys in my room-“ you playfully nudge her forehead as the laughs between the two of you combine with the sound of the people talking in the apartment. the boys greet you now as jimin and jeongin let heeseung talk with keeho, jiung, and theo.

“how have you been with heeseung?” jeongin asked genuinely as he got cut off by jimin, “hopefully his snore doesn’t turn you off much-“

“aish. YA! don’t cut me off.” jeongin nudges him away as jimin shows his own grin towards you as you ponder.

“he does snore, but i’m getting numb to it-“

“i don’t snore, (l/n)(y/n).” heeseung shouted from the other side of the room.

“you do!” you heard yourself, jeongin, jimin, and somebody—somewhere in the apartment—replying. knowing the strength in power, you and jeongin giggled as you continued to catch up.

“who’s having heeseung’s room?” you questioned, making jeongin pull someone out of the conversation as you see the familiar face that makes you giggle.

“yoon jaehyuk?”

“hey, (y/n)!” he hugs you as you pull back, confusion on your face.

“i thought you were still rooming with asahi…”

“ahh… yeah… so he decided to do an internship back in japan and he’s not coming here often unless so that’s why i room with the boys. gotta have to thank seung again for telling me the vacancy,” he said as you saw him smirk. you nod your head as you allow yourself to be taken by the flow of the conversation. conversing with the likes of hyeju, yerim, wonjin, and hyunsuk, before you can feel yourself getting tired as you walk towards the sofa, seeing beomgyu being left alone with one plastic cup in his hand and the other on the remote control—as if he is the music man of the night—as you can see him changing the playlist to play a sing-along playlist for songs of 2000s emo alt-rock.

“can i sit here?” beomgyu lifts his head from your question. you want to ruffle his hair for it being too messy, but knowing the aftermath of your last duo interaction, it feels totally different.

“of course,” he replied as you sat on the space beside him. he seemed to notice just how messy his hair was as he moved it so you could notice his flushed face from the drinking.

“oh yeah, apologies. you can’t drink-“

“nah, i can.” you pulled the flask out as beomgyu widens his eyes. “lemon in soda water. so that i can feel the festivity alongside all of you.”

beomgyu lets out a sheepish smile as he nudges his cup out, “cheers?”

“cheers.” you meet the cup with your flask as you both drink from it, feeling yourself sigh as you thank yourself for finding such a safe remedy so that people know you can still “drink”. but when you retreat your thoughts back to beomgyu, you can still see a familiar tinge of sadness on his face.

“what happened?” you decide to throw away any leftover feelings just so you know he is alright. beomgyu scoffed as he wanted to answer.

“i confess to ryujin and guess who got denied?” he points his thumb toward himself and you can’t help but let out a pout. you can think of so many reasons why she rejected him, but you know she might be doing that because of you and your unresolved feelings for him—especially since you’ve learned she is sexually attracted to him because they hooked up.

“you gotta have to be patient with that. she’s a demiromantic, so you have to coax her into that part of the relationship. make her trust you enough.” you decide to lecture him. many people have been trying to get with ryujin even when you both are in high school, but because of terrible experiences, you understand how she realized who she is now. you were with her through thick and thin at that time and you know that if beomgyu is the one asking her out first, it’s definitely a legit attraction from his side because ryujin remained romantically single for her nearly 4 years of college life.

“and i should tell her i gave the blessing. she might still be holding back because of me and my feelings towards you,” you say what you thought out loud, showing beomgyu just how effective his rejection is not only to you but also to himself.

“i’m sorry once again, (y/n). i shouldn’t have used you like that,” he said as you blinked your eyes, letting out a hum as your answer.

“but truly, i couldn’t reciprocate your feelings because-“

“because i’m your best friend’s baby mama. i remember.” you slice his sentence and put in your own. but you didn’t expect him to add to it more.

“yeah, that but also,” beomgyu lifted his head towards one point in the room as you followed, finally letting the sound of the fall out boy song in your hearing as you listened to heeseung singing along with it with a similar cup in his hand, taking a deserved break just for the night to let loose. that is when after he sang the high note that he caught your gaze and you see the corner of his lips tugging upwards.

“it’s heeseung too. he had never been this caring towards someone. even to his previous girlfriends where he only dated for like three months top.” he said as you can remember heeseung dating in high school and he had only had a girlfriend for like a month before they broke up. it’s a teasing material you and ryujin used and you can remember how fuming he became before beomgyu calmed him down. beomgyu’s word makes you realize something as it definitely is a fragment of the answer that he couldn’t answer when you asked him nights before.

“i have a guess that he has been having feelings towards you that he is willing to monetarily fund you throughout your pregnancy. it’s hard to find a guy like that unless he is honest and sincere.” beomgyu continued as you jumbled the words to find the answers hidden in them because—true to what the boy beside you said—if he is not sincere, he wouldn’t be leaving you alone to face this phase of your life. your mind suddenly thinks of a world when you say nothing to him about you being pregnant, letting it be a secret that he might only know after you give birth to the twins. but, you still won’t lie the sexual attraction is there to make them in the first place.

“thanks for answering the age-old question, beomgyu.”

“you’re welcome,” he said as he saw heeseung approaching the two of you. you can see with the way he has a little sway in his movement that he is definitely tipsy: nearly drunk. he pulls you up before sitting down on your previous space and tugging you down so you sit on his lap. his hand moves towards your bump and you can feel the babies reacting by kicking around the skin where he puts his palm.

“oh yeah, txt’s coming back with a gig. would love to see you both there cause we might spoil a new single for our next album.” beomgyu said as both you and heeseung stared at him.

“no shot. we’ll be there, right, hee?”

“uh huh,” he replied as you could see the cringe on beomgyu’s face, not used to seeing his best friend being disgustingly lovey-dovey towards his partner as he stood up from the couch.

“i’m gonna grab more snacks. hold the remote for me, won’t you?”

you picked the remote from his hand as you replied, “good luck on ryujin. be patient.”

“i will!” you heard beomgyu reply as heeseung’s nose seemed to distract you by tracing it against your cheek.

“what was that?”

“you know the love triangle i mentioned?” he hummed to your question.

“beomgyu got rejected by ryujin, so i was giving him tips to get into her heart romantically and i have to give a blessing to ryu if she wants to pursue him.”

“ah... that. well finally. beom’s brave enough to actually confess.”

“how is he like about her during high school?” you turn to examine heeseung as he sways your body on top of him.

heeseung chuckles before answering, “he is definitely whipped for her. he was so angry for being late to confess when ryujin suddenly got a boyfriend…”

“that guy was a bad boyfriend in the end.” you fill out heeseung’s story as he let out another hum.

“speaking of high school, i’m guessing i’m not the only that is having my phone setting off so much from the story i repost?” he squinted his eyes, making you let out a sheepish smirk.

“ooh, let’s actually see how they react!”

you and heeseung see the messages that are being exchanged of how you both are together and some congrats to the people who notice the baby bump. but still, the overwhelming census says “HOW ARE YOU TWO TOGETHER” exactly with the caps on. all you and he could do was laugh as you waited for the next year to start in just a few minutes.

the new year that you are ready to face with him.

-

you are rummaging through heeseung’s side of the wardrobe as you hopefully don’t want your expectation to be wrong. that he, AT LEAST, still has the uniform from the last season in his wardrobe.

heeseung left hours before to train some more for the championship finale tonight and as a former basketball player and his “partner”, you gotta have to show him support—"or i will actually kick you out" he jokingly said. you knew of his predicament so well, being the captain of the team but also as the versatile player who his teammates have to rely on. but you definitely can trust him for this because, of course, he wins against you when it comes to the basketball category.

you can feel the vibration of the notifications on your phone, telling you that your friends are here to pick you up at the arena as you let out the breath you were holding and tug your tank top lower to cover your bump. you have finally found last year’s decelis basketball uniform as you see the words “h.s. lee 01” so clearly on the back. it still smells so clean because he probably has not worn the top in a long time—but you have seen him wear the bottoms as some house clothes. you tug your head through the collar and put your hand through the sleeveless strap as you pull the top down, seeing the excess of his clothes covering the rest of your bump as it hangs on the end.

when you hear the sound of the doorbell ringing, you quickly walk to the door and open it, turning off the bell from the intercom before you are met with ryujin hugging you.

“you look sexy. i didn’t know you were that possessive, (y/n).”

“oh shush, the babies have to know that i’m also rooting for their daddy, of course. now, can you help me put on my shoes, please?”

after all of that is done and none of your things are left behind, you tuck your jacket as you enter charyeong’s large-ass van—probably from switching the car she brought from the previous semester back home during the break—as you are greeted by the whole gang when you enter with beomgyu driving and ryujin on the shotgun, noticing just how comfortable they are in conversing with each other now. you could see just how fast they’ve been getting it on as you don’t want to comment on it that much.

“tickets are with me.” jimin said in reply ryujin’s worrying scold when you let beomgyu drive the van towards the arena. you recognize the large arena from the many times you went by it, but also the distinct yellow neon color of hybe uni’s university color as it is the town’s signature arena. stepping out of the car, you felt the winter air hitting you as you and the rest are going inside the arena with jeongin holding some banners they made for heeseung that you don’t know shit about.

but the thing is: heeseung doesn’t know all seven of you will be here. because you didn’t tell him you don’t have work today when he thought you had.

well… that’ll be a major surprise for him.

you greeted a few of the juniors you recognize as the people who you worked with for in uni events or your junior in the business major. many of your peers’ juniors are also here as you discover some of them fangirling about beomgyu and how they are excited for his next album coming soon from the single they have released. even jeongin got recognized even if he is a small-time streamer. but he was raided by a bigger streamer during his subathon at the start of the year and has more collabs with the stray kids collective. safe to say he is set in his pursuit to be a streamer—"or a pro gamer if that doesn’t work," jeongin had said to you.

you recognized some of the cheerleaders as you have pretty good ties with them too when you helped one of them in bringing them to the hospital because of an injury during outdoor practice. though, you might not be as famous as your friends—you and minjeong actually—you are pleasant enough to recognize the satisfaction of your balanced socialization but also be at home watching movies with her for your 4 years of college.

“gosh, has it gone that fast?” you think to yourself. there’s a sense of melancholy towards it as you are here to do your last semester. to separate from the friends you made whilst being here as you open a new chapter, which you decided it will be with heeseung as you only have a month until your babies arrive.

the arena lights dim as you can hear the mc introducing the teams, both universities are cheering for each of their team until it’s decelis’ time.

“decelis number 1, playing in his last season before graduating, it’s lee heeseung.”

you actually let out a scream that shocked your friends as you watch heeseung coming out and stand in front of the opposite’s no. 1. then you pick up the recognizable names of heeseung’s teammates, mostly the juniors, sophomores, and freshmen, coming to take their place beside him. the names that you’ve heard so much is because of heeseung who was asking about on how to position his teammates in the right way with you—who will be ones in the court first and how can they do in facing the opponent. you actually had to use the basketball insight you haven’t used in a while to help him strategize, making you recognize just how well the players are in each category.

with his hands behind his back, heeseung’s gazes at the bleachers where the decelis supporters were. he was hoping he could see jeongin on the right side of the bleachers, but not going to lie, he wanted to see you in his game—answering the joking taunt he gave. the strategizing you help with is being taken seriously by coach min as he agrees to let the first people you helped him pick to be the one on the court first. the spotlight blinded him but he could see someone wearing darker clothing than the yellow and white colors of decelis is using this season.

as the light’s brightness increases, his eyes stay on that certain spot as he recognizes it is you. he can feel his heart pulsing swiftly when he recognizes the top you are wearing, scanning the number 1 on the front: his last season’s uniform. you stood right beside the aisle of the bleachers just three rows back from his own benches. he could definitely bring himself to you right after if he wants to.

after the players shake their hands and return to their benches, you finally notice how heeseung recognizes you as you catch his sight, but then he lets his eyes trail to the people beside you to see the gang fully completed when he actually does a face-palming motion. you turn to view the banners the boys are lifting, “DECELIS’ KAEDE! ALL OF US ARE HERE NOW!” the little inside joke that you and the girls also understand as none, and yes, none of the games heeseung played has all the gang there to watch. only this one: his final one.

heeseung steps out first alongside jaehyun, niki, jake, and sunghoon. niki is at the front as he waits for the referee to blow the whistle. he jumps and uses his long limbs to push the ball towards the decelis side as heeseung gets it and immediately passes it towards jaehyun. the screeching sounds from the shoes make the quick side stepping and pivoting be picked up as you listen to the sound of the supporters fighting against each other in how loud and united the support is. jake got the ball as he easily slips under the reach of the opponents and he halts and quickly shoots, an easy two-pointer at the start. but the opponents: they are not that easy to beat.

8 minutes in, the score is so tight at 17:15 to decelis. niki and sunghoon have such a good time as they successfully dunk an alley-oop together. jake is killing it with the lay-ups while heeseung has gotten one three-poin- wait no, make it two three-pointers as the score rises to 20:15. but you realize just how weak the defense is as you can actually hear coach min saying to focus on offense on one timeout still in the 1st quarter. and they still focusing on the offense, making the current score for the 1st quarter being 20:17.

heeseung rested out for the 2nd quarter as coach min let a few nimble ones play on the court such as jungwon and sunoo. lay-ups and shoots scored the most in this round but jay was the primary target of the opponent as he always got free throws. maybe because they just recognize how good jay is at scoring three-pointers but if he is inside near the ring, he could do a backboard bounce or even a dunk. you actually feel your body sweating as you understand just how worrisome the situation is. it makes you pull off your outer jacket as you can pick up gasps and surprises to your wearing heeseung’s uniform. you look at his side profile as you sit behind him, discussing with taesan on what to do about this as coach min seems to get taesan out after calling another time out. the score at the end of the 2nd quarter is 34:32.

“i swear to god, (y/n).” you heard minjeong said beside you, “why is this so high school musical 3 vibe?”

you actually let out a pout whilst holding your laughter, because what she’s saying is so true. during your winter break—because you and heeseung are “home”—you and him binge-watch the high school musical trilogy. the way, you remember, heeseung cackling as he watches how the bleachers sit down to show gabriella as troy was having this existential moment when they only have 16 minutes on the clock is ridiculously funny. but you can see him bopping his head to the basketball practice song that is “get’cha head in the game” that you might believe it’ll be his guilty pleasure practice song. “please, bet on it is so good though.” he also said as you watch the second movie, and how he is shocked to watch you remember the lyrics of “gotta go my own way” with how you karaoke the shit out of it. yes, both troy and gabriella’s parts.

to experience similar moments being imitated in life makes you rethink how it happens in the first place. like, no, you aren’t gabriella and heeseung isn’t troy and you both are not in high school when all of this is happening. but you’re thinking about what could’ve been. but, as many people have said, high school isn’t like high school musical.

the 3rd quarter started and you watch heeseung playing once again, focusing on his part as a forward but also helping in defending because of his tall body that can shield the hoop from the opponent. but, the morale seemed to have dimmed down as you see the way the opponent’s score now flips over decelis’ even by one point. but then the gap widens as both teams are doing well with defenses. however, decelis seemed to have some slip-ups. you can see the opponent’s player with number 2 on their back—seemingly the ace of the team—that is put in this round is turning the tides, focusing on quick motions, passes, and attacks. and just like that, the 3rd quarter ends with a score of 42:44. just one shot of difference.

and, unlike those 2000s rom-com movies you watched that have a couple with one of them being an athlete, you go down the bleachers as heeseung watches you when coach min is telling of the plan with the rest of the team. you grab his hand towel and help to dry the drops of sweat dripping down his head. a loving gesture that is hiding something as you lowly whisper to only him.

“target number 2. making him tired.”

heeseung nods his head—as if he is thinking of the same thing—when you let yourself lean in and give him a kiss on his forehead before letting the towel go so you can return to your seat. his eyes follow your retiring figure before turning towards his coach, who is tracing the board with a marker.

“i think we also have to target their number 2. if he plays.” heeseung said, making the others turn to him.

“we need someone with a wide reach and nimble enough to catch up to him. someone who hasn’t had a foul yet to stick right to him. he’s good with his lay-up but he has taken a few inside shots and misses, which means he might be weaker at free throws. so you need someone who doesn’t have any fouls who isn’t scared to bump into him when he starts doing lay-ups, then we can score through rebounds,” he stands beside coach min as he puts his forefinger on the board, tracing the path of one of the pins as he continued, “we do a two-time pass and maybe the forwards will be on standby as they can do a layup or dunk.”

the coach glances at him, rethinking of the new information the captain gave him as he nodded, “who doesn’t have any fouls?”

heeseung sees sunoo, riwoo, and leehan raising their hands as the coach continues, “i’ll be switching you up every four minutes, and remember what heeseung says: take the foul. as long as you don’t have five fouls, you are alright. we have to be brave enough to play dirty. i’ll be having taesan, sunghoon, and niki switching between each other for the center and power forward positions. jake, sungho, and jungwon will take over for point guard and heeseung, jay, and jaehyun for shooting guards, okay?”

“yes, sir!”

“team!” the coach pushes his hand in the center as the rest put their hands on top of his. coach min nods towards heeseung.

“decelis!”

“dece- dece- fighting.”

the supporters roar as he see the opponent doing the same thing to taunt them. heeseung has his eyes on their number 2 before looking back at you who is standing up as you give him a thumbs up.

10 more minutes.

1 time of 10 minutes and it is done. for heeseung, it will be the last time he played as a college basketball athlete as he will graduate later in the year. for him, it is now or never.

“heeseung,” coach min’s hand on his shoulders, “thanks for telling me about number 2.”

he lets out a smirk before answering, “you should thank my girlfriend for that.” and he walks to the court, seeing leehan placing himself right by number 2 with the ball at their side as taesan passes it to niki. niki dribbles forward as heeseung and sungho is at the front near the ring. leehan sticks by number 2 with taesan now by the ring, but niki notices how sungho is empty as two people are trying to defend taesan. he passes it towards sungho who immediately dribbles inside, not scared to move in as he finds the right path to the hoop and does a layup.

score!

heeseung pushes his hands out so he can high-five sungho as they retreat behind the center line. he notices the opponent’s forward passing to number 2 who is so fast and already in a way to do a layup where leehan pushes him, making him prematurely shoot and miss the backboard. a foul given by the referee.

heeseung stood near number 2 as he hoped his theory would come true. number 2 shoots his first free throw and misses. his eyes are on niki and taesan nearest the ring, telling them to pass the ball to him as they read his signals, nodding in return. number 2 shoots his second free throw and misses when taesan rebounds the ball and passes it to niki as heeseung runs backward to the outside of the half circle. the ball flies up as niki passes towards heeseung, who feels someone near him as he jumps and quickly pivots away from the opponent behind him. he sees the small sliver of empty space outside of the half circle and dribbles there before shooting his shot.

a three-point score!

with the opponent’s plan to use number 2 becoming a failure as there is a three-score gap in the scoreboard, the decelis team remains in the same strategy of guarding number 2 and fouling to fail their attempt to shoot. heeseung sees coach min tally up their scores when he calls for a timeout, changing all five of the players with their replacements in their assigned positions. heeseung sits down on the bench as he stretches his legs, wanting to look back to gaze at you before he feels a tap on his side to see jungwon smirking.

“girlfriend, huh?”

heeseung raises his eyebrows.

“you said to coach to thank my ‘girlfriend’, since when is (y/n) noona your girlfriend?"

“honestly, i don’t know.” he looks to find you before fully focusing on jungwon, “something just tells me that it’s correct to refer to her as that.”

“also, did she play basketball? how does she know that number 2 is their ace?”

“well…” heeseung smirks as he leans towards jungwon, basking in the way his team has found the right way of play as the gaps between the teams are getting longer and longer. jungwon also has an air of surprise when heeseung tells him that you were a former basketball player—a point guard like the boy he is talking to.

“but why did she stop?” jungwon genuinely asked, making him chuckle.

“let’s just say that she knew she wouldn’t beat me when it came to playing basketball.”

the opponent team did a timeout as heeseung said “good luck” to see jungwon now being called to play on the court. seeing jay, the three-point master playing on the court when there are 2.5 minutes of the match is done as if to terrorize them more. not only did they have riwoo who hadn’t had a foul yet, sunghoon and taesan are now playing as they have used their tall arms to defend and attack successfully, and jungwon who is ready to be the point guard. heeseung can feel the pride oozing out of him at how unstoppable his team is. coach min seems to contemplate whether to put him on or not, but heeseung shakes his head.

“let them be. it’s their chance.”

and it’s their chance indeed, as he sees the time counting down at rapid speed. when it is under the 30-second mark, the opponent successfully gives another score but they are too far from decelis as all they have to do is defend the hoop. one of them takes their last chance, watching the ball hitting the rim as sunghoon grabs it—10 seconds left—before passing it towards riwoo who is moving on the court, doing an ankle-breaking turn to his opponent before passing it to jay, who instantly shoots the ball as heeseung sees the perfect arch. he heard the siren calling the end of the game and the ball falling perfectly into the opponent’s basket.

they won.

all the decelis players approach jay on the court as they hug him, but heeseung is nowhere to be found.

instead, he jumped from the bench and climbed up the bleachers where he saw you cheering. your expression changes when you notice him approaching, a euphoric smile on his face as he grasps your cheeks and brings his lips to yours, making you instantly close your eyes as you move your hand to caress his sweaty-ass nape. you can hear the cheer of your friends beside you as you remember they were recording, making them record both of you as you felt heeseung’s hand drops to give a gentle grip on the bump.

you could see heeseung’s hooded gaze as he didn’t hesitate to crouch down and give two kisses to each side of your bump—for his two kids—before he stood up and gave you another peck on the lips.

“go down to the court!” you push him away from his celebration as he sees his team already gathering, waiting for him. he approaches the court with a sheepish smile as they seem to chuckle while seeing their captain so in love.

you wait as you eye heeseung’s figure that is being embraced by his teammates. minjeong showing you her point of view of the kiss as you can sense how passionate the two of you are; reminding her to send it to you as sit down and lean back, feeling a weight from you also falling down alongside heeseung’s.

the mc talks about who the player of this match is and the team was so excited to know that jay won for his numerous scores in the three-pointers—he deserves it after all. but he also had one more thing.

“at the end of every season, we also have the most valuable player of the season and for this year, for the third time in a row, mvp is decelis’s no. 1, lee heeseung!”

heeseung does a deep bow as he gets the mvp trophy and he sees some package for him that he could give to his teammates and bring the rest home to share alongside you. his vision looks at the mvp trophy, tracing the figure of a basketball player in action when he sees his reflections on its golden sheet surface. his smiles dropping as he can feel contempt.

“any words?” the mc asked as he was being offered the mic.

heeseung grabs the mic and rests it in front of his lips, finding the right things he will say as he utters, “i would like to thank my decelis family for being with me since i started my college basketball career, the hybe uni supporters for cheering us on, and to my friends who are here all complete with all 8 of us here.”

he sees how beomgyu seems to shrug as he wants to hide–cause beomgyu, especially, has only been to heeseung’s game once every season.

“to our opponents, you have done such a terrific job and i see you, number 2. you’re going to do so well.” said number 2 also bowed his head, knowing just how highly regarded heeseung is—one for the legends.

“this is also my last season with decelis as i’ll be graduating this year. thank you for having me and i’m sure the decelis will be in safe hands with them.” he turned towards his teammates as they looked at him with glimmers in their eyes and flatters in their hearts. heeseung gave one more deep bow before giving the mic to the mc as they waited for the medal ceremony.

heeseung could sense the festivity floating around in the locker room as he felt the hug of each of his teammates. he could see the enormous bags of snacks from the package beside him on the bench, as he knew he wouldn’t be eating them all anyway, giving it to the rest of the team as he packs a few of the little snacks in his duffle bag.

jake approaches him and asks, “so you really aren’t going pro?”

“hmm… nah… but i might be still seeing you if i got the right job to discuss college basketball.” heeseung answered as niki approached, “gosh, you are light years older than us, old man.”

“i’m only 4 years older than you, nishimura. you were supposed to be in high school if you didn’t have an accelerated class.” he nags as the others still basking in the euphoria of winning the medals. he, of course, wants to celebrate, but he has another thing to do in his mind that is much more important than celebrating with the guys.

“the victory party is tomorrow, right?” heeseung asks.

“yeah, it is hyung.” jaehyun answered, “all of us needed a rest after that shit.”

“i need a soak!” heeseung hears taesan complaining as all of them change from their shoes to their respective sandals.

“rest well then we can have fun tomorrow,” jay answers as he gently grabs his player of the match package and puts it in his duffle bag, making heeseung pat his shoulder. while preparing their bags as they left the arena to go home for the night, heeseung glanced at his phone to see the numerous notifications from social media of his victory and retirement speech before he landed on your simple notification.

(y/n) :P : i’m by your car.

he lets his feet bring him to where he parked his car hours prior, seeing you leaning against the front of it with the light of your phone shining on your face. you lifted your head as you heard the sound of his footsteps approaching. put the phone away, you brace for his hand holding onto yours, gripping you hard as he gives you a long, breath-taking kiss.

“congrats,” you say to him as his nose touches yours, bringing you in for another kiss as both of you are moving your lips around to adjust, earning a muffled moan from you as he felt your hands scouring around on his body.

“where’s your car key?” you whispered to him as you saw him shake his head, making you frown.

“if you genuinely want to take me tonight, you have to be strong. let me drive, heeseung,” you asked with your voice tone lower, making him flow into a dazed state as he zips open the front of his duffle bag and dropped the car key in your hold, making you push past him as you open the driver’s seat. heeseung instinctually walks to the backseat as he places the bag in the center. the sound of the car engine starts after you push the start button. heeseung closes the door and gets in the passenger door as you still adjust your seat. you knew you wouldn’t see your legs, but driving is a muscle memory thing so you hoped it would kick in you.

from your perspective—and because you have a smaller car—his car is massive. but as you adjust all the mirrors to your liking and with the new sensors on the side mirror to help detect blind spots, heeseung’s car is definitely more technologically advanced than yours.

moving the gear to drive, the car stumbles forward as it pulls out of the arena’s lot with headlights switched all the way on. heeseung has his seat leaning back, cannot wait on what he’ll get and be getting back at your home as he places his hand on your thigh.

-

why is the elevator ride so long?!

you stare at the rising number with both of your hands behind you, not even minding slipping on the coat that you were wearing because you can feel how hot heeseung’s touches are the whole time you’re driving back to your apartment.

speaking of heeseung, you took a peek from the corner of your eyes to see him staring at you, not breaking away as he trails behind you after parking the car in the basement and going to the elevator. both of you in your decelis’s lee heeseung basketball paraphernalia when you can feel the tension steadily building. because you know from the hooded eyes he gave you in that arena that he wants to celebrate his last victory with you.

the sound of the medal hanging on his chest creating thuds that harmonically tie with both of your footsteps. none of you said anything as heeseung lets you lead the way to your shared apartment. you can still imagine the distinct image of when you turn your head towards heeseung to see him biting his lip lower lip under the shining red traffic light, teasing you throughout the drive as he trails his hand up and down your thigh, closer and then farther to your core.

you can sense him leaning his figure on the wall beside the door, enclosing you with his body as you type in the keypad to unlock the door. the ringing chime tells both of you that the door is unlocked as you push open, already swiftly pulling your shoes off because you just know that it might slow you down with whatever you’ll be doing if you take your time. tugging your bag off of you as you walk and drop it with your coat on the nearest beanbag, the eerie silence makes you alert on every step you take.

“heeseung-“

you felt your body being turned around as heeseung pushed you to the wall. your breath being taken away by the small thud as he pushes his lips to yours, finally showing that passion he is holding back when he gives you his victory kiss. his hold on your cheek is gentle, but the way his lips mesh and move against yours is the opposite. you can feel the desperation and pent-up emotions flowing out, maybe because that’s one reason you never heard of him hooking up with someone as you can sense the frustrating grit of not getting off showing in his performance during his ball game.

your hands reach for his back as you playfully caress and tug the hair falling on his nape, making him gasp and let out such a hot low-toned chuckle before slipping his tongue into your gaping lips, exploring your mouth and trying your best to hold you close. to hold you and both of your babies close to him. he leans back and lets his forehead and nose caress against yours. both of your eyes close as you bask in his touch.

“you look so fucking good in my uniform.” he pecks your lips before giving kisses all over your face.

“your uniform is so comfortable to wear,” you reply as he groans, trailing his hand down your sides before resting by your waist with the bump, gripping it hard.

“all of my babies look so beautiful in wearing what’s mine.”

his words making you giggle as you grip his chin to make your lips connect, biting lightly on his pouting lip as you can sense his hands now underneath your top, feeling his touches on the skin that is two layers deep of tank top and bra you are wearing.

“sorry, kids. but i just have to thank your mom for sticking right by me,” he says a bit loudly as he caresses the bump before his hands move to your hips and thighs, lifting it up and making you gasp as you can feel how you are slightly lifted off of the floor.

“heeseung, aren’t we too heavy-“

instead, he lifts you higher against the wall and you can feel your top being dragged by it. cutting your words off as he connects his lips and grinds his crotch against yours.

“i can definitely lift heavier than you, woman. believe me and wrap yourself around me so i can ravage you.”

“shut the fuck up, you aren’t a literature student.” you giggle at his uncalled pretty words when you wrap your legs and arms around him, taking all three of you with him to your shared bedroom that is only being lit up by the orange-tinged lamp—making the entire atmosphere a bit more romantic. you try to move your weight to help him balance before he drops you down in front of your shared bed.

linking his lips with yours once again, his touches becoming more vulgar as he is not embarrassed to touch your breasts, making you gasp as you caress the exposed side of his uniform to feel the ridges of his ribs. his hands are raised as you tug his uniform off of him. the last time you looked at him this way was that night you two fucked and he look a bit more ripped than 8 months before—his muscles seemingly thicker from the workout he had to endure to maintain his body. his biceps and triceps are more pronounced from dribbling and shooting the ball to the basket as you can feel the cool traces of his skin because of his sweaty sheen meeting the cold weather. your lips trail from his to underneath his jaw, giving little suck as you trace them to his pronounced clavicle, remembering his sensitive nipples from the last time as you can hear his small moans from the combination of light pinching and sucking that blooms small but many amounts of your marks on him.

you turn both of your figures as you sit on the bed whilst heeseung peers down; him shaking his head at realizing what you're doing as you trace your fingertips on his abdomen.

“it’s your fucking victory, heeseung. you deserve it,” you mumbled as you give a kiss to his growing cock before tugging the band of his underwear down, seeing it bounce up in its semi-erect glory. you didn’t hesitate to spit on your palm and wrap your hand around it, stimulating his tip as he could feel the shivering spreading in his body.

“fuck-“ he spoke near a whisper as he leans his head back, showing the expanse of his neck from your position because you also can’t wait to ravage it with your marks. one hand stroking him and the other stimulating his own balls, he hisses as he felt your warm mouth taking him in, making him looking down to see you with your eyes close as you wet him, opening your eyes as you move your head back to examine his cock glistening with your saliva. his hand caressing softly of your hair as you continue to take him.

“ah hah…” heeseung moans as he has one hand on your head and another by your cheek, feeling it hallowing as you take him. the way you gag before pulling back as you cough makes him lean down to kiss your spit-covered lips before you push him away as you take his dick in your mouth once again. you can sense him getting longer and thicker as the blood flows into his dick when you push him deeper into your cavern once again, feeling the tip of your nose brushing his pelvis as you heard his groan getting louder, making you moan as it also stimulates him more.

the hand that was pushing your head suddenly pulled you away as heeseung went down on his knees to connect your lips, making him taste his own pre-cum that was ever-flowing as he felt the sliver of skin when both of your tank tops rested just above your belly. he lifts both his uniform and your tank top underneath off of your body as he is met with you in your black maternity bra and your bump where you have been incubating his kids for the last 8 months.

“ah…” you moan out as heeseung’s hand caress your sensitive nipple while he focuses on kissing your bump and the stretch marks it produces. he remembers clearly how you are always wearing the skin lotion that could help with your stretch mark after showering before going on your bed, making him stare at you who is in front of the mirror as he sees you gently spread the remedy on your skin. he also remembers how your face sometimes falls as you see the thick stretch marks, making him also pull out a little frown.

“you’re so fucking beautiful.” you heard his muffled words against where your stretch marks at as you reached behind you to unclasp your bra, letting your girls breathe as you try to rub them as you sensed how tender they are. dr. park said that it’s because you are on your way of producing milk and it is very normal to feel it so tender and full.

putting your hands behind you to support you upright while you push your upper body towards the bed, heeseung’s hand playfully snaps your underwear band before tugging it down along with your socks, taking in your naked self that he couldn’t help but think even in such situations as when he is practicing and even during the doctor's appointment as he sees you getting your ultrasound done.

“lay down for me,” you caught his voice as you turned your body and stretched to get a pillow so you could support your head. his touches and kisses litter your thighs as you feel his fan of breath on your moist core that dripping down your essence. you felt one of his fingers picking the dropping pre-cum before pushing into your opening.

you can’t see him from this angle—the baby bump not allowing you—as you can only feel and listen to what he is doing to you. the finger pushes past the opening and you can hear him let out an exhale from the way your walls engulf him.

“how are you still so fucking tight?” heeseung seemed to also wonder as he felt his finger being covered in your natural lubricant, hearing you say from the bed.

“it feels so wrong to fuck people when i’m pregnant with your child.”

“me as well.” your eyes widen as you hear his nonchalant confession before you can feel him pushing in and out his sole finger from your core. that is when you feel the wet muscle of his tongue flicking your clit before giving the nub its own suck. your legs curl as you put your legs on top of the mattress, making him groan as he pulls your hips so your legs don’t have anything to support on before he lets you wrap them around his shoulders.

your bump doesn’t allow you to tug on his hair as he deliciously devours you, making you grab onto your sheets until your knuckles turn white while one of the hands stimulates your lips to make it seem like he is kissing you. another moan is out of you as heeseung adds another finger and interchanges his fingers and tongue into your hole. you can feel yourself getting tight as the band of your stomach is so close to being snapped.

“i’m going to fucking cum-“ you said in such a raspy voice as heeseung doesn’t stop, teasingly adding a third finger as you feel the band snap and you cumming on three of his fingers, making it much easier for him to penetrate you when you heard him hum as he licks the spillage from your cum. the sound of his heels planting on the floor makes your breath hitch as he rises from the floor, wiping the corner of his mouth as you can’t help but giggle and roll your eyes.

“take me like this.” you moved the pillow from your head to your hips as heeseung stood in between your legs that he was holding in both of his hands before leaning it against his torso. you can finally feel the head of his cock as it nudges your entrance, making you roll your eyes back as he kisses the calves of your outstretched leg against his body. when you sense his head pushing to stretch your lower lips, you let out a huge exhale and feel your arousal slowly being satisfied. your natural lubricant easily takes him in as he moves his body forward. both of your jaws slack as you sense him inside you, making you feel full once again after a long time.

“you’re so tight, mama,” he spoke in such a pet name that you could feel your warm face getting warmer with the rush of blood. heeseung’s gentle touches contrast with the rough ones he gave during your one-night-stand as he is reminded of the babies now existing between the two of you. you nodded your head as you reached for his hand that was gripping your waist, making him move in and out of you at a faster pace.

“fuck, you make me full, daddy.” you see how heeseung grins as he continues to thrust into you. he has his lips move from fully open to biting as he looks at your face reacting to each movement, wanting to kiss your delectable lips but knowing that he can’t because he doesn’t want to press up his kids. so, he lets his body move that thought to how he thrust in you and feeling how you reacted to that. your legs curling from the sensation as he moves his hand to your boob, groping it as you grab the hand to lock it with yours. you let out similar doe-like eyes like what he usually shows as you let out a raspy sound every time he plunges deep inside.

with your mind slowly floating from your head, you can feel the dizziness associated with laying down on your back for too long as you let your fingers out from his and wrap them around his wrist, hard.

the tight grip alerts heeseung as he sees you trying to push yourself up to sit down. pulling himself out as you felt the air in your gaping hole from his thick dick, you sit on the bed and grab his cheeks to bring his lips to yours. finally tasting him once again as you both tease the heck out of each other when both of you bite your respective bottom lips to make you both counter with something else. heeseung doesn’t hesitate to let his teeth bite your bottom lips before you let your tongue slip in and push into his mouth so you can battle each other.

letting him go and with a push so he steps away, you turn your body around and fold your body as you rested both of your feet on the ground and your upper body on the bed. your belly hanging from the suspension as you present yourself to heeseung who is groaning behind you.

“look at you, nasty girl who is slutting yourself for me,” he words out as you feel his slap on your ass, making you wiggle your hips.

“i’m your fucking slut, hee,” you said with your head turning towards him, a smile growing on your face as you felt the familiar sensation of his head plunging through your lower lips. you lean your head down on the pillow as he drives into you, making you let out a muffled moan as heeseung traces his hand down your spine.

“my slut who allows me to breed her.” you moan out as you listen to how his breeding kink is coming back. your belly jiggles along with each thrust as you lay your head on the pillow, turning your head to the side to watch your hand forming a fist before a hand reaches down to open the curled up fingers and place it down flat on the mattress: his hand enveloping yours as he curls his fingers into you. you can feel breathing against your ear as heeseung bites into your shoulder, marking you down as his while his thrust doesn’t stop.

“i’ll gladly breed you again and again.”

“fuck, daddy.”

“yeah, you like what daddy tell you, mama?”

you hummed as heeseung had his other hand pressing down your upper back so you could feel his tip kissing your cervix that is protecting your babies. yet, it still stimulates you so much that heeseung sees tears falling down the corner of your eyes, licking it up with his tongue.

“don’t hold back, shit, breed me, hee.”

heeseung—excited—grasps underneath both of your elbows as he pulls your limp body back, making you arch towards him as he makes his pace faster. your head leans back as you can’t even close your jaw, silent screaming coming out of you as he takes you in its entirety. you feel his lips kissing your head before you limp forward to let your head hang as he rests his own just behind your nape.

“you’re taking me so fucking well, (y/n). body just for me.”

he spoke as you felt your walls clamping up against him when his kisses contrasted with his thrust. heeseung feels your body trembling as he reaches his hand around to rub your clit, making you squirm once again as you mumbled, “c-cum…”

“cum for me, baby.” that is followed by your exasperated, pornographic moan as you can see white flashes while you cum, feeling heeseung’s thrust slowing down as he wraps his hand across your body now. with his own moans entering your ear, you can feel his cum staining your walls. both of you have to slow down to breathe well when you felt him kiss your shoulder blades before he pulls out, making a few of both of your cum fall down to the floor and trail down your thighs.

yet, your libido is still ongoing as you tug on his hand that is wrapped around your body. you turned around between his arms, thighs closing in on each other as you kissed his swollen lips so none of your essences would fall out again—because of your kink.

“sit down against the headboard for me,” you whisper against his lips before lazily kissing him once again as you let go to see him climbing on top of your shared bed and resting right in the middle of it. sheets already crumpled as he rearranged the pillows for his head and back on the headboard. his legs are stretched out in front of him and his arms resting behind his head. his face tells you to take him like he takes you, especially with his cock that is getting erect once again after seeing your hungry eyes.

you slowly crawl up to him on your hands and knees and widen your legs to slot him in between you. in the kneeling position, you crawl to his lap as his hands shoot to grab your waist, helping you as you grip his thick cock in your hand and bringing him to your entrance, slowly sinking down as your hands move to grip his upper arms. with such a fast pace coming from the last round exhausting both of you, you wanted to make this one slow—reminiscent of the unspoken tiebreaker between you two when you can feel a different feeling you have of him from the familiar ones you always get when you argue the hell out of each other. that feeling has bloomed throughout this journey as labels changed in so many turns and iterations. and here you are, sitting with heeseung inside of you, just taking in your feelings for each other as your zen mindset comes back to the ones you usually have during your daily ritual.

your hands wrapped around his back as you slowly move against him, not breaking eye contact even with how good the feeling of him rearranging your walls again, feeling every ridge of him against you. this position finally allows him to caress your body more, allowing his hand to softly soothe your bump as he can’t imagine how shocking this might have been for the babies. it allows him to hold on to your growing breasts that are producing milk for them, making you hiss as you continue to let him message them so that they’re not too stiff. it allows him to lean forward and kiss your own swollen lips with his, seeing the excess of your eyeshadows being smeared by your tears from how hard and delicious he had fucked you. it allows him to make hickeys on you, indent from bite marks alongside the skin turning dark littering the neck and collarbone, showing people you are his. it also allows you to do the same, creating abstract art between the two planes of his skin from the promise you made to yourself.

when he leans back to rest his upper body against the headboard, you ask him the dreaded question—not even slowing down your pace as you still continue to move.

“what are we?”

heeseung stops you from moving, knowing the severity of the question as he seems to read your face. you could see his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed down, all of your senses seemed to become so hypersensitive that even you could feel the small pinprick of pain in your skin cells at the way heeseung broke it to create one hickey on your neck. you see his eyes darting to different points of your face, also trying to read what you’re thinking.

“from the rivals to future parents to fake dating, i, i can’t pinpoint one.” you tried to voice out your answer, making heeseung seem much more comfortable in doing his bid.

“i refer to you as my girlfriend multiple times since it’s easier for naïve people to understand. but, i agree with you 100% that defining us.” he points between the two of you, “it’s hard.”

“hmm…” you nodded your head before lolling to the side, moving your hips so slowly just so that you also don’t make limbs too numb. “well, do you actually like me?”

“like you?”

“romantically, do you?” you let out a pout that makes him poke his finger to your cheek before you return it by scowling. it takes long for him to reply. a few breaths are taken and leave as you also allow yourself to match his rhythm as you slowly chase both of your highs. the way your facial changes expresses what emotions you are feeling: wonder from the way your eyes seemed to sparkle, fear as he sees that light dimming down, anger at how long he replied as he sees you wanting to poke tongue to your cheek. it switches even in such a minuscule way. but heeseung got to be reminded as to why he didn’t stop you or himself from following on this path.

“i do like you like that. romantically.”

you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, feeling the weight transfer to yours as you think of the past months, the ever-changing label, and the ever-changing feelings you have for him.

“me too. i do like you like that too.” you start to move faster as your grip on his torso tightens, “but calling us boyfriend and girlfriend will be too inappropriate cause we don’t have dates.”

“what about when it’s just the two of us?”

“the appointments, really heeseung?” you can see his smile widening, “you call those dates?”

“i can call that a date because we usually eat after each appointment,” he answers with the right vigor as you change the way you see. that, hey, maybe they are dates.

that’s when you laugh right in front of him, “we’re really doing it backward. the have-a-baby to can-i-have-this-date route.”

heeseung also laughs at your new phrasing, trying to define what your relationship is as he helps move your hips faster with his hold. yet, not wanting to make you two seem so haggard to discuss something so vulnerable.

“maybe companionship is the right word,” he said, lifting his hand to brush away the hair that is sticking to your skin. he sees you gnawing your lips as you nod, bringing him to your embrace as you move faster, feeling his shortness of breath by your skin as you nip on his earlobe.

“companionship is a great phrase,” you sense heeseung’s head nodding beside your own head. yet, you continue, “but i’m also ready to fall in love with you.”

heeseung pulls your chest off of his as he looks into your eyes, your lips parted as you breathe out, not wanting to stop because you can feel just how tight your walls are sticking onto him. he leans his head close to you, rubbing his forehead on yours as he brushing his nose tip with yours, one of his hands moving from your hip to your belly that is carrying his children. your children.

our children, heeseung corrects himself.

“i’m also ready. if you let me,” he replied, making you nod your head as you leaned forward to connect your lips to his. he leaned back and brought you along so he could sit against the headboard, helping to hold your hips as he helped his hips move to chase down both of your climaxes. you stare at each other in proximity, a smile growing on your face as you kiss his temple, enveloping him in your arms.

“i’m close-“ your breath hitches as he doesn’t stop. you helped by rubbing your fingers to your clit as your mouth widen, a silent moan coming out of you as you kiss him while you heard his muffled groan, feeling your walls a tad bit relaxed as he rides your climax and chasing his own. his grip on you is so tight that you can sense the weight of gravity that seems to bring you and him down, feeling his release within your walls as it drips onto his lap. you lap his lips with your tongue like before when heeseung then connect it with his, pouring out the remaining unspoken emotion you felt for each other before you both retreated, feeling his breath combining with yours.

“whose gonna shower first?” he asked.

“of course you. you are so grimy it’s actually disgustin-“

he pushes you so you fall from his lap and land on the empty space on the bed, making it easier for you to push him out as he had tired you, body and soul. as you see his butt naked self walking towards the bathroom outside of your room, you still think that you can’t believe he calls you his and how he allows you to call him yours.

-

5. that's our lamp and that's where you love us

you know that you’ll not be getting the whole 40 weeks of pregnancy experience when you have twins. average twins are born in week 37 to 38. well… you are now in week 36 and you just want the babies to come out!

the braxton hicks contraction is driving you crazy as you can see heeseung panicking beside you whenever it comes. with the postponement of your internship—allowed by the uni—you just want the babies to come as fast as possible that you might want to come to the hospital so that dr. park can break your water. heeseung sits beside you, letting out his hee hee hoos as you follow along with the exercise before you change your sitting position to feel it disappear.

“another fucking braxton hicks, goddamnit.”

heeseung can only shake his head, seeing his companion wanting to let it end and actually getting crankier every day when it is getting closer to the due date. he has been helping with the living situation, especially when it comes to cooking based on the recipes ryujin gave to him when you just seemed to not be able to cook anymore because of the sudden contractions. but your appetite is getting lower because you don’t have the thought of it with the pain you are in. he has tried contacting the doula for questions but her answer is to try to calm you down and make you relax. or to distract your crankiness towards something else. for him, his answer is mario kart 8.

“can it get any faster?” you are practically screaming as you sit on the beanbag with heeseung sitting on his own. the projector between you projecting his pc’s desktop of mario kart 8 as you race through maple treeway track.

“babe, we’re already in 200cc. you’ll get a bullet bill and it’s going to be okay.”

“i fucking know,” you answered, but he didn’t reply as hard because he knows that it was just your hormone reaction. you can watch your wiggler racing through the position as the number rises. the box on the corner shows that you’ve gotten a star and you don’t hesitate to use it; making the likes of donkey kong, mario, and baby bowser bounce out of the way as you are approaching heeseung’s yoshi who is in 1st place. going up the half-pipe of the maple treeway track is when you get the three red shells by being in 3rd place, knocking princess peach out of 2nd place as this is the final and tiebreaker course for both of you.

you almost want to press to throw your red shell when you see a blue shell flying, aiming towards heeseung.

“blue shell!”

“oh fuck-“ heeseung can’t avoid it as the blue shell hits him while he is gliding to the last section of the course, making you fly past him as you have the red shell prepare to throw backward. you quickly drive above the tree roots and throw your red shell behind you, hitting heeseung one last time before crossing the finish line.

“YES!”

you cheer from your beanbag as you lean back, feeling it soften your impact as you close your eyes and rub your face with your hands. you can hear heeseung’s voice when he tells you “good game”.

“gg to you as well, babe,” you replied, feeling yourself much more relaxed than ever as you felt the fake contraction gone.

but that’s also when you feel your crotch is wet.

as you see the projector showing you the trophy of your win, you don’t hesitate to plunge your fingers in between your thighs inside your pants as you can feel the overwhelming wetness coming out of you.

“heeseung?!”

“what? you’ve won-“

his eyes gaze at your glistening fingers to your shocked yet measured face.

“it’s time.”

“it’s time?” heeseung asked, his mind’s wiring not right as he saw you standing up, wobbling from your weight. but he also sees the front of your crotch all wet and the beanbag being the collateral damage.

“oh fuck, it’s time- okay.”

he rapidly moves to the babies’ room where he already has the bags packed for your hospital trip as you turn off his nintendo switch. he helped you wear one of his sweatpants to cover the stain as he brought you out of your apartment and brought you to the elevator. you can feel one contraction coming as you hold on to the elevator wall, eyes on your phone as you count the seconds in your head.

“40 seconds…” you mumbled as you arrived in the basement, “remember it’s 40 seconds…”

“yeah yeah. stay here, i’ll bring the car to you.” heeseung ran towards the car as you stood there, eyeing the phone as you called dr. park to tell her you were on your way to the hospital. you can hear the ringing of the phone by your ear before the call is picked up.

“hi, (y/n). i was just going to go back home-“

“my water broke, and, and, we’re on our way to the hospital.”

“oh my- okay, we’re having the room prepared for you.”

“thank you.” you hang up the call as you then move to call haseul when you hear the wheel skid in front of you as heeseung helps you in the car before scurrying away to the hospital.

“how’s your contraction?” you hear her ask.

“it’s in 40 seconds and- ugh…” you can feel another contraction coming as heeseung takes one glance at you before going to the road. you see the minute from the clock on the center dashboard of the car console as you mentioned to haseul, “10 minutes.”

“you’re in early labor. i’ll meet you at the hospital, okay?”

“great, thank you.”

heeseung had his eyes on the road as he overheard you calling your parents and his parents, not stopping until he had parked in front of the ICU to call one of the staff.

“my girlfriend’s in labor.” he voices out in panic, seeing a few staff gathering around you as heeseung leaves you alone to park the car.

you were brought into the vicinity by a wheelchair as you mentioned your name to the receptionist. recognizing your name, one staff told you that your hospital room is currently in preparation as two nurses come to take care of you. the nurse brings you to the room as you are greeted with dr. park who is asking you for your contraction, which you have counted to make you sane as you can feel the expanding pain across your body now.

“last time, it was 40 seconds and 10 minutes. the last contraction is 35 seconds-“

“okay, okay. let me check your dilation okay? your bathtub is being prepared as well as the midwives,” the doctor said, making you nod your head as she helped undress you and put you in the hospital gown.

now you understand why people want a fast and safe labor. it fucking hurts as hell, like a tiger munching away through your hip joints kind of hurt—not that you have experienced it yourself, but any kind of hyperbolic phrase you could think of cannot compare to this amount of pain. you had no other choice but to exaggerate because this is the most pain you have ever felt in your life.

“3 cm in dilation…” dr. park mentioned as you see one nurse helping you with checking your pulse when you feel yourself getting another contraction, sensing your womb’s clenches so hard against itself.

“8 minutes…” you voiced after looking at your phone. the doctor nodded her head as she went out of the room to check on the other things for your active labor. the nurses helping in prepare the room as you asked one of them, “when is it the right time to move to the tub?”

“usually when you’re in active labor, it’s 10 cm in dilation. but we can put you in the tub by 7 cm,” she answered rapidly, preparing the machines near you for later as you are prepared to go to your waterbirth room soon. you hear the swift footsteps approaching your room from outside as you see haseul alongside heeseung there. he instantly drops the bags to the side as he grabs your face, giving you a few kisses to pacify you as you can actually see tears also running down his face.

“what’s the dilation?” haseul questioned, furrowed eyebrows showing as she sees your body curling up from the pain.

“3 cm,” you replied, holding onto heeseung as you could feel another contraction incoming.

“we have to make her dilate faster cause she’ll be going into active labor in minutes now. can you dance with her, heeseung? just slowly.”

“i’ll try,” he said as he held you by your waist, swaying you from side to side as you heard him hum a song.

ever since your revelations towards each other, most of your time has been spent with him. sometimes you even dance around in your living room just because you want to, letting him know the mitski songs you have inherited in your mind and heart. how you also cathartically sing to them as heeseung has to take in the lyrics, because of how complex it is with its layers of analogies and metaphors. though slower, you let him guide you into a state of lull as your face shows him just how in agony you are to him.

heeseung feels guilty as fuck seeing you like this, knowing that you are the only one who holds onto the pain to deliver his children. he had wished there is some technology out that could let him share the pain to help alleviate yours because seeing you only mumble out words as haseul help you sip on your sippy cup while trying to make you ready is hard to look at. heeseung holds you so close, feeling your body quivering as you let out another moan from another contraction. with haseul beside you, she helps in counting down the contraction while the nurse you asked for information is standing by as they will help in checking your dilation. he could help distract you by nipping your earlobe as you gaze at him, making him caress your face so softly when he can hear the vibrating phone coming from his and yours as your family and friends are on their way to the hospital.

“6 cm.” the nurse checked your dilation as haseul added, “50 to 60 seconds every 4 minutes. do you wanna go to the tub, (y/n)?”

“yes, please.” you take a sharp intake as the nurse helps to bring you to the waterbirth labor room. haseul walks beside you as she elaborates on a few more important things because she can’t be with you during it as it is only family, talking to both you and heeseung.

“since you’re going to have twins, they’re will be a 3 to 30-minute interval between your labor. i’m hoping that after baby 1 is born, you can push out baby 2 immediately if the midwife gives you the ready sign to know if the baby is positioned correctly. we will be more concerned with baby 2 and we can give you an option to do partial waterbirth so you can birth no. 2 outside the tub. luckily, the midwives here have numerous water birth experiences and have the skill to give birth to multiples with water birth. will that be okay for you?”

“most definitely okay,” heeseung replied for you as the nurse sped to the room first when he stopped haseul, “how can i help?”

“when it comes to water birth, the midwives usually allow the partner to step inside the tub to help them. an advantage for the partner that normal or caesarian birth doesn’t give. are you okay with being in the tub with her?”

“i’m okay with that.” heeseung doesn’t hesitate to reply, making haseul taps his shoulder as she tells him to call him when you’ve given birth before she is leaving. heeseung watches the woman who has helped both of you so much walking away before bringing himself to you once again.

inside the labor room, he could see the hecticness of the midwives and nurses as they helped to pull your gown off your body, leaving you in your bra as he saw dr. park giving you an injection in your lower back before turning towards him.

“this is anesthesia to help her feel less pain. are you here to be with her?”

he nodded before saying his complete answer, “please let me in the tub with her…”

“of course, you can. we can help bring you water and such for her.” dr. park said as the nurses seemed to pick up what she was saying—already on their way to prepare for the stuff that can help him and you. heeseung walks to where you are, seeing one midwife checking your dilation before nodding her head to the doctor. he takes off his top and lets his shorts on as you feel his touch from behind you, seeing him stepping inside as well after you.

“slowly…” he whispered to your ear as you tilt your head to him, seeing him guiding you to kneel into the bathtub.

“hi…”

“hey,” he replied to your weak greeting.

“i don’t think you want to join me in the tub. it could get bloody and it’ll be pretty disgusting.” you slur out your words as heeseung sees the midwives preparing on the other side of the tub. both of you kneel as you feel the water rising to your waist before he is the one laying down first, tapping his thighs so you can sit down on them.

“i’ve seen you bloody before when you got a nosebleed after i threw the basketball too hard at you and we have showered together before. this definitely will be the highlight of our relationship,” heeseung jokingly said before tugging you into his embrace, feeling your body shaking as another contraction is currently ongoing.

“remember your hee hee hoos, babe,” he whispered to your ear as you nodded, the midwives checking in on you as you are now in active labor.

“i will signal you to push when it is time, miss (l/n). do your breathing exercise,” the midwife says beside you as you see dr. park in her surgeon outfit, ready to help you as best as she can. your tired eyes are now wide open as you feel a surge of force within you from hearing what she said, enough force that turns into strength as you have one mission blaring in your mind.

to deliver your babies as safe as possible.

“okay, when you feel your muscles contracting, count down and push okay?” you nodded your head as you felt heeseung kissing your temple to soothe you. his eyes full of admiration as he can see your face being alive once again. you grunt as you feel the contraction—starting your breathing exercise.

“this one is a push. 1, 2, push.”

you let out a scream as you can feel the movement from underneath you, trying your best to push with your might as you can feel the weird sensation of pushing out like you were called by nature. but this, now this actually hurts.

“good job, two more pushes. ready when you are,” the midwife continues as two of them inspect from the side. heeseung has his lips near your ear. you can hear him whisper.

“they’re almost here, you can do it, (y/n).” his voice sounded so soft, rather low timbre as he helped you relax.

you’ve gone through the next two pushes, and are now on a pause as you awaited your next contraction before pushing again and again. right now, you feel both the most powerful and most helpless you have ever been. everything depends on you and the way your body’s primal instinct kicks in as you just want baby no. 1 to get out. blood has mixed with water as your mucous plug broke making you feel helpless once again because you are the only one being able to deliver the birth. all the others—including the midwives, dr. park, and heeseung—are there to support you in your painful moment. that’s when you feel it, the dreaded ring of fire that haseul has told you about.

you let out such a primal scream that you can feel your voice box getting sore as the ring of fire burns with your skin stretching from it, hearing the midwives and doctor talking about the crowning as heeseung focused on giving you water to drink from behind you. he could only be there as a hand to hold from you, feeling your nails breaking through his skin as he also bleeds. but he has all his focus on you.

the burning hurts so bad but when you feel the big part coming out from one final push, the rest feels like a slug as you see one of the midwives have their gloved hands inside the crimson water. your head leans back against heeseung’s shoulder as he sees the other midwife bringing the surgical scissor when he sees a blurry small silhouette of a grayish being. the other midwife immediately clamps the cord that is hanging out of your canal as you are reminded of how twins share a placenta.

heeseung’s eyes seemed too focused on the small figure being carried away when he felt your trembling body slow as the other midwife pressed her hands up against your belly, feeling if baby 2 was in the right position or not. the midwife gave him a nod as he looked down to see you nearly passed out; your eyes were blurry as you looked at the shining light from above you before it was covered by his face.

“you’re doing so well, baby. one more left,” he said as he eased to pivot your head, letting his lips placed against you as you could feel yourself waking up. that and the loud sound of a baby crying as you and heeseung look towards the source. seeing the crowd opens up as the midwife and dr. park helps examine the baby to see if they’re healthy. he can hear your exasperated laugh as you let out such a wide smile that makes his heart calm, making him rub your bump carefully as he also stares at the location of where his baby is.

the midwife responsible for them approaches you with a bundle in a towel, making your weak body sit up as you carefully position your hands so that she can put the baby into your hold. when you look at them, you can’t control your tears as the midwife helps to push the towel to let your skin touch the baby’s.

“it’s the boy…” the midwife says as the other ones are talking with the doctor about your second twin’s condition. his eyes are open and you can’t help but coo when you look at him, hearing his cry calming down when he senses your skin. the color coming to his skin as you heard heeseung gasp from behind you while you felt your heart beating faster as you watched his little face. heeseung’s head rested on your shoulder as both of you were speechless.

his head nudges to yours as you can feel the familiar contraction building up once again. your head already has one thing in your mind as you stare at baby no. 1. that you are going to deliver his sister as safe and clear as he is.

-

“she’s sleeping right now.” heeseung said as he turned around to see you sitting with your back leaning against the lifted upper half of the hospital bed, suspending you as you unconsciously hold on to both of your babies who are resting their cheeks against your skin.

your parents and his parents arrived on time when the nurses escorted your sleeping self to your room. heeseung beside the two incubators with a towel around his torso, gazing at the two newborn babies as they move around and wiggle their limbs, seeing their chubby cheeks as they gaze around the room with both confusion and wonder. to see the light outside of your womb for the first time while the nurses and midwives check their conditions and record them as part of society. he sensed his mom’s hand wrapped around his shoulder, hearing her sniffles as she cooed at the baby.

“be patient, dearest. you’ll be brought to your mama soon,” he recalls hearing his mom say while her son can only stare at them, a smile urging to come out as he can feel the tears of joy forming once again.

turning to face the people, he watches the faces of his friends gazing at their new niece and nephew with various versions of happiness—some including tears. he sees ryujin having both arms behind chaeryeong, who is looking giddy, and minjeong, who is snorting into the tissues she’s holding.

“what are their names?” he hears jimin say, seeing his rare pout as he eyes all three of the sleeping figures.

“we’ve decided on it and we named them siwoo and siah,” heeseung replied with the names you and he had chosen together nearly two weeks before their arrival.

“lee siwoo and lee siah…” minjeong mumbles out, hearing the pitch of her voice rising before she weeps once again to her tissue, making ryujin tug her head to the crook of her neck.

“how are you feeling, hee?” jeongin innocently asked before beomgyu cut him off.

“what do you mean ‘how is he feeling’? he’s freaking crying,” the boy pointed out as heeseung sensed the dried tear tracks on his cheeks before another set seem to threaten to fall. yet, it is still vague for them to actually read what they meant.

“aww, heeseung…” chaeryeong coos as heeseung walks to the extra bed beside yours and sits down, rubbing the areas near both of his eyes with his hands as he felt chaeryeong sits beside him and soothing him down with a hand on his back—he now understands why you seem to love chaeryeong’s hugs so much. he bites his bottom lip to hold himself to not let a tear fall again. yet he failed once again when he looks up to see you holding both of your babies in your arms.

“i’m so fucking proud of her and i just feel awful that she’s the only that could feel that immense amount of pain,” he said his truth, wiping the tears with the hand that has a bandage brandishing his lower arm from the scratch you gave him as you gave birth. the only physical evidence of your pain that he can fully feel. chaeryeong’s soothing hand continues to calm him down as he senses another weight sitting by his side when a hand comes to push him closer to that side, smelling the familiar fragrance of beomgyu as he tucks heeseung’s head to his crook while he lightly messaged his arm.

“you’re going to be the best dad, hee,” beomgyu said as he watched the rest of them nodding their head. yet his eyes are stuck to your sleeping form, feeling the spark now catching fire as he had found the light at the end of the tunnel of guilt, shame, and despair for not being there enough for you for the past months and especially today.

to be the same dad for them and the best boyfriend for you.

-

the same thing couldn’t be said to you as you can feel your mood swinging about when you come home with the babies.

haseul has been helping you within the apartment as she teaches you to use the milk pumper and prepare the breastmilk for them, teaching you various tips to get your pre-pregnancy body back as you felt the belly wrap bound tight around you when you sleep in your shared bed. that’s when the baby monitor turns on when you hear the sound of one of the babies waking you up from the room across yours.

you sit up on the bed, no wick of sleep clear on your face, as heeseung stirs in his sleep when the baby’s cry gets louder from the speaker.

“whose turn is it?” he mumbles, as you stare down at him beside you. you have done graveyard shifts of taking care of your babies numerous times as heeseung couldn’t keep schedule because of his internship. so it is supposed to be his turn now to care for them.

“it’s my turn,” you replied, letting him sleep once again as you heard him hum and slip away into the slumber. his hand reaching to grasp yours before letting out a “good luck” that he has always given to you when it’s your turn to take care of them on the latest of nights.

you step out of your shared bed as you make your way across to the babies’ room to see siah wriggling in her crib, making you walk quickly so that she doesn’t wake her brother up. slowly picking her up, you lift your oversized t-shirt as you brought her lips to one of your nipples.

“come on. latch,” you mumbled as you support siah’s head as best as you can when you felt her latch onto your boob, sucking on the nipples as you feel the milk coming out so she could consume it.

“you’re a hungry, hungry baby, are you?” you lightly nagged her as you stood still, looking at siwoo who was sleeping peacefully with his pacifier even though his sister was crying her heart out. you eyed the room that you and heeseung had decorated as best as you could with the budget you set and your unpredictable schedule of staying here longer or leaving within the year of the rent. in one corner of the room sits the baby gifts people brought to the baby shower. you see the silhouette of the baby car seats you can imagine them using when they’re older so you can take them out and the set pajamas that were bought by heeseung’s family member before you turn to look at the decoration hanging from both of the cribs of animals and stars. another gift from the pile of gifts.

you rested siah’s head on your shoulder and you lightly pat her back, helping her to digest the milk she was drinking—doing everything haseul, mama, heeseung’s mom, and jeongin’s mom have told you. hearing the small burp coming out from her, you wanted to put her down so she could sleep when you sensed her gripping onto your lifted shirt, not wanting to let you go just yet. you sigh as you step to one of their cabinets to find the baby wrap, placing her on the changing station as you wrap the soft, stretchy fabric around your upper body before placing her in her designated slot; securing her legs with the wrap holding onto you tight as taught by haseul who teaches you the right way to use it.

heeseung’s hand reaches for your side, expecting to meet your body or at least your hand in his touch when he feels... nothing.

nothing but your unkept side of the comforter and the creases of the bedsheets as they are the remaining of your being.

he remembered he was woken up by the sound of the baby crying from the monitor. but with it now gone, he was already expecting you to come back to him. yet when he taps more around the surroundings of your supposed side of the bed, his eyes instantly open to see the dark empty space where you should’ve been. he doesn’t care that he has such heavy lids and wobbling steps, he just wants you back in his arms as he sleeps through the night.

opening the door to the babies’s room, he didn’t find your apparatus by the crib soothing one of the babies. heeseung lets his body glide towards the cribs, rubbing the edge of his eyes to make him awake. he eyes siwoo’s crib to find him there, looking like a cute sleepy angel. but he can’t call the same about siah’s as he finds it empty.

“(y/n)?” he calls for you, voice so small with a raspy throat as he didn’t hear your answer, waking him up with a jolt as he realizes that both you and siah aren’t here in the room.

his feet—still wobbly as fuck—brought him to the hallway as his eyes adjust to the dark; seeing the nightlight and his rgb light turned on in the living area helps him to search easier. that’s when he picked up such a clear gush of wind when he turned towards the balcony to see its sheer curtain flowing inside. he then scanned the room to discover one beanbag missing from the other as he approached the window to see it being sat by someone. someone who is sobbing.

drifting the sheer curtain away to the side, heeseung finds the face of his daughter on top of the shaking shoulder wearing a familiar pajama set. head leaning down to the front as the figure adjusts its weight on the beanbag. your hands covering your face as heeseung figures out the sound of the muffled sob coming from you.

“(y/n)?”

you jumped and turned your head around to find heeseung’s alert figure, feeling the weight of siah on you as you wrapped the cloth so tight that it was secure for you to move safely before turning back to gaze at the 3 am sky on the balcony.

“go to sleep. you have work in the morning,” you mumbled out, rubbing your hands against each other.

“i will not sleep if you aren’t,” he answered, joining you as he stepped forward to lean against the railing. the cold wind woke him up as he heard your remaining sniffles, eyes gazing at you as the tranquility seemed to turn your tear’s faucet on once again. he hasn’t noticed just how deep your panda eyes have become, knowing that the babies have awoken you for feeding time at ungodly hours. but that’s when realize how jittery you also become, how you don’t eat as much as you focus on returning your body back to how it was before you’re pregnant; how you can’t seem to define yourself after giving birth.

“i don’t think i’ll be anything other than a mom.”

his ears perk up and he swallows his saliva, processing just how concise yet poignant your words are. reminding him that you have your own perspectives, too.

“i, i don’t know. how can i be anything other than a mom when i’m here, even with all the preparation we've done, still isn’t ready to face it…”

baby blues, he remembered the doula told him as he saw you taking care of the two babies while haseul helped in cleaning the baby bottles up for you.

“you have to be prepared if she got baby blues, heeseung. especially since she’s taking care of two now. she may be hiding some things for you, but you can see it when you see it.”

“how could i help her?” heeseung said, seeing you with siah wrapped with the stretchy cloth on your back as siwoo is currently feeding off of you. a slight glow on your skin as you seem to lightly rock your body to satisfy both of them at the same time.

“help her make time for herself. she is also human with her own mind, body, and soul. help her take care of herself first by taking charge to care for both siah and siwoo.” haseul replied, turning her head so he could see her smirk of acknowledgment—heeseung is one of her students that she is proud of alongside you.

“i know you can.”

“you are also everything including being a mom, (l/n)(y/n),” he spoke, kneeling down beside your figure on the beanbag as he watched your eyes swell.

“you are your parents’ daughter. you are getting a degree in business. you are part of the most chaotic group of friends in the existence of the world. you are a caretaker of so many children who would remember just how fun you are. you’re a guitarist who can keep up and jam out with musicians. you’re a mitski fan who likes to cathartically sing your heart out to her songs. you’re a film watcher and you love japanese movies so much.” heeseung gently grasps both of your chilly hands as he monologues, seeing your swollen eyes closer under the light from the balcony’s ceiling.

“and, you’re my girl. i’m your boy. and i do think you need to embrace that more. let me take care of you.”

you let out a big exhale as a smirk pulls out of you. “if you do, well, take care of me. who would take care of the babies?”

“i would, your parents and my parents would,” he answered, big doe-like eyes trying his best to convince you, “share your burden with me, especially when i’m under your arsenal. i can definitely ask my supervisor to allow me parental leave so i can have time to take care of you and the babies. you can even apply for work-from-home internships during that.”

“then our rivalry will just… stop?” you jokingly asked, but genuinely.

“make it more of like a friendly or romantic rivalry,” he says, leaning upwards as he pecks on siah’s sleeping head on your shoulder. “besides, how could i compete with you if we aren’t on equal terms?”

you hummed as you felt him moving towards your face, kissing your forehead before trailing down to your nose bridge, your eyelids, your cheeks, then your lips—feeling the flattery jump-starting inside you.

“you’re stuck with me now, lee,” you mumbled against his lips, feeling his hand helping you to stand up from the beanbag as he gently held you, foreheads connected as he stared into your eyes that are also sparkling like what the night sky has.

“i’ve been stuck by you for years now and i’ll gladly stick onto you until the fucking heat death of the universe.”

epilogue: one year later

taglist: @raeyunshm @leilasmom @evidive @boba-beom @kwiwin @heesw1fe @aloverga @endzii23 @fluffyywoo @camipendragon @hiqhkey @wccycc @cha0thicpisces @y4wnjunz @yeehawnana @beansworldsstuff @kimipxl @blurryriki @amazzwon @reallysmolrenjun @stelanity @deobitifull @mheretoreadff @gandaengene @amaraeofsunshine @possibly-zoe0218 @enhypenilycometoaus @jaysupremacy @jungwoneez @iwuvjay @erenshawtybae @nctislifue @vixensss @smilefordongil @lhspeachie @b9chira

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[hard-core-super-star]

ruin my sleep [L.Calderu]

pairing: top!lilia calderu x bottom!reader

summary: after beating around the bush for far too long, you ask lilia to show you the darker side of her desires.

warnings: SMUT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT -> bondage; impact play; SO many petnames; mommmy kink galore; praise + degradation; allusions to domme lilia; fingering; teasing; a dash of overstimulation; AFTERCARE; soft but kinda mean lilia; lilia's boobs deserve their own warning fr

wordcount: 1.7k

a/n: HELLO! am i about to start finals week? yes. do i have a bunch of essays to write? also yes. did i start a bunch of series that i still haven't finished working on? yes x3. did this idea grip me and force me to write it instead of doing anything else? right again, you win a prize and that prize is this fic. this is straight up just filth with feelings and i hope you enjoy <3

* * * * * * *

The only sound in the room is your heavy breathing and your speeding heart. Despite the lack of danger, your heartbeat still rings in your ears, making every second feel like a lifetime. It's dramatic, sure, but if you didn't love dramatics, you wouldn't be willingly tied up in Lilia Calderu's bedroom.

"Don't tell me you're already tired, sweetheart?" Her voice is equal part soft and dangerous. "We're just getting started."

The words draw out a groan from between your lips, the ache between your legs stronger than the ache in your limbs. Even though you want to complain, you know you can't. After all, you did ask for this.

You practically begged the witch for this moment. For the opportunity to submit. To explore the depths of your devotion to each other.

In your defense, Agatha had been the one to put the idea in your head and once Lilia found out, well…you didn't exactly need to break any of her rules to earn yourself a punishment. Not that she had many rules to begin with.

Despite all her years, and the kinks she'd acquired a taste for during them, she tended to be quite simple with you. While she loved the power she knew she held over you, she wanted your relationship to have a solid foundation before she rushed into anything too intense.

It was sweet in its own way. Almost like she wanted you to be completely sure about what you were doing. About the feelings you both knew were growing between you.

Her hesitation, her patience, made you take matters into your own hands. The few rules she had for you weren't ones you wanted to break, since most of them had been put in place to give you an incentive to take care of yourself, so you found another way. Or well, Agatha found another way.

The witch was far too nosy for her own good and while Lilia wasn't a jealous person by nature, she wasn't too thrilled when she learned you were sharing so many details about your sex life with someone else. At least, until you told her the reason why.

As embarrassing as it was to admit, if it wasn't for Agatha, you wouldn't be here right now.

Tied up and at your girlfriend's mercy. Just like you wanted.

"Please," you mumble, voice already hoarse from your constant begging. "Need you."

"Oh, I know, sweet girl but you asked for this. You wanted mama's attention, didn't you?"

The ease with which her title slips from her lips makes you clench around nothing, your legs fighting against the restraints in an attempt to rub together. The corners of her mouth quirk up into an amused smile and she moves forward to trail her fingers across your inner thigh.

The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, your back arching into her despite your attempts at staying still. You've never been good at controlling yourself around her, though. Especially not when she has that look in her eyes. The one that's equal parts soft and cruel. The one that lets you know she's not letting up until the only thought inside your head is her name.

Her teasing touch ligers for a few seconds more before she brings her hand down with a sharp smack. You gasp, your hips bucking against the air. "Mama-"

"Shhh, I know," she coos. "Just a little more. You can take it, can't you? You'll be good for me?"

Your answer rushes out before you can second-guess yourself. "Yes! I'll be good. So good for mama."

"Good girl." Her praise is honey sweet and replaces the stinging across your inner thighs with a delicious ache between them instead. "You're doing so well."

You're practically dripping onto the sheets, your skin reddened and marked from your girlfriend's harsh treatment and constant spanks. Even the fact that she had avoided your ass and decided to torment your thighs was a punishment on its own. A punishment you enjoyed, although you weren't too keen on sharing that information just yet.

Clearly, your cunt had other ideas.

"Oh, baby, you're soaked." Lilia chuckles, landing a quick slap to your puffy clit just to watch you arch for her. "You're enjoying this far too much."

"Maybe," you mumble, eyes fluttering closed as her fingertips ghost up and down your folds. "Can't help it, feels so good."

"I know, you've been moaning like a slut since we started."

The word makes you whine although you're not sure if it's in pleasure or protest. "Mama…"

The witch simply shushes you as she settles between your legs, front pressed against the mattress and chin resting on your knee. "Settle down, little one, or you won't get what you want."

That gets your attention.

Instantly, your eyes fly open, and you crane your neck down until you're able to see her. Seeing and feeling her proximity helps your tense muscles relax, the ropes around your wrists helping you ground yourself.

Lilia's careful eyes notice every movement, every twitch of your lips, every crinkle of your brows. She waits, though, one hand stroking the outside of your leg as you settle back into the scene. "Breathe, darling. Color?"

You take a moment to do as she says, breathing in and focusing on the air in your lungs and her steady presence. "Green. I'm okay."

She hums in response. "Good girl. Taking everything I give you so well."

The praise is exactly what you want but like always, the witch keeps you on your toes. She shifts closer only to land three quick slaps to your cunt, directly onto your clit.

The breath gets stolen from your lungs as your mouth drops open into a long moan. Your body jerks uncontrollably, the stinging pain turning into pleasure that flows out of you.

There's no doubt in your mind that you look like an absolute mess but your girlfriend doesn't seem to mind. In fact, she seems to be enjoying it more than you.

"Look at that," she murmurs. "So beautiful. And all mine."

"Yours," you confirm before she even asks. "Please-"

"Such good manners, too."

Despite her almost absent-minded tone, her fingers make their way to your cunt, teasing through your folds before she easily slips inside. The relief is immediate, even though she's purposely starting with only one finger.

You're far too ecstatic to care, though, mumbling senseless profanities while your hips buck into her touch. "Mama…"

"Patience, sweet thing, don't get ahead of yourself."

You try to follow the soft instructions, to savor the feeling of her filling you up slowly, but you're far too wound up for that. As much as you crave the slow intimacy you two usually have, there's no denying that you need more. You need to fall apart completely.

And she knows.

You're sure she knows because she can't stop herself from smirking. From watching you with half-lidded eyes and darkened pupils. Watching you like she's drinking up your pleasure.

Slowly, almost reverently, she adds another finger, working you up with a satisfying stretch. Your cunt clenches around her, beckoning her in deeper until she's the only thing you can feel.

"You take me so well, tesoro. So good for mama."

The praise turns into molten need inside your veins and you cry out when her lips trail across the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. She hadn't gone that hard, you knew that on some level, that despite how much she had enjoyed being fully in control, she hadn't wanted to hurt you.

That didn't mean she hadn't left you ridiculously sensitive, though. A few well-placed spanks and a subtle incantation had made every graze against your inner thighs feel like the lash of a whip. Just because she wanted to start slow didn't mean she didn't love driving you wild.

Her kisses continue up your thigh, her teeth grazing the skin in the most maddening of ways. Her free hand lands on your stomach and she holds you down as much as she can, forcing you to stay still and take what she gives you.

And endure what she doesn't.

She curls her fingers inside your wet cunt, her thumb grazing your clit just enough to make you gasp. "What do you want, darling? Use your words."

"Wanna cum," you say shamelessly. "Please, please let me cum."

Her fingers slow down for a moment, stopping with her knuckles buried inside you and her thumb slick with your need. She waits there, watching you tremble and whimper until the silence makes tears well up in your eyes.

Once you're teetering on the edge of too much and not enough, she starts again. Her thumb draws relentless circles while her thrusts speed up once again. "Go ahead, baby. Cum for me, let me hear you."

Your body responds to her before your mind can even catch up. The pressure in your stomach snaps and you're thrown head-first into the depths of pleasure, your body shaking beneath Lilia.

She works you through it, peppering kisses across your thighs and letting you feel how well she fills you up. You don't even register when the stimulation grows to be too much, floating somewhere between your orgasm and the pleasure that begins mounting once more.

All you can do is gasp and whine, begging her to keep going until your throbbing clit can't take it.

It's either one long orgasm or two intense ones but you don't know or care. All you know is her and that's all you need.

You don't know where you go or how long it takes you to come back but when the fuzziness in your mind clears and your eyes focus again, you're wrapped up in Lilia's arms, your head tucked safely into the crook of her neck.

When you lift your head to look at her, she coos, her hand coming up to cup your cheek. "There you are. Where'd you go, sweet girl?"

The question makes you giggle and you lean further into her touch. "Dunno. Felt nice, though."

"I gathered that much," she says with a chuckle. "I didn't go too far, did I?"

You shake your head before shifting down and resting against her chest. Her hand moves into your hair, lightly scratching your scalp as you recover.

Her skin is warm under your cheek and you can't help the way your lips make their way onto her breast, kissing the soft wrinkles scattered across her chest. "Can we stay like this?"

She hums, a soft smile on her face. "Only for a little. You need a bath and some ointment."

"Later," you grumble.

Her laugh is indulgent and sweet as she agrees. "Okay, later."

[kxsagi]

hihi u need to hear me out on this ok

i think its pretty obvious im a BIIIIG fan of grumy x sunshine so imagine v. expressive reader who also happens to be a professional swooner (constantly compliments ppl and swoons over them, like they'll see someone do smth cool and immediately start swooning temporarily & it's so obvious because they don't hide their feelings) with post-wc kunigami who is mostly the victim to being the only one who can tolerate them enough to be around them most of the time

i think it'd be rlly cool to see how two people (reader & kunigami) with opposite personalities can fall in love with the other despite their differences.

“𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝”

a/n: oooh more kunigami fics i see (i'll gladly write for him bc i know a certain someone loves kunigami)

there are many mysteries in life. how the pyramids were built. why post wild card! kunigami came back from the wild card arc looking like a final boss. and most importantly, how someone like you, swoony! reader, ended up orbiting around him like a caffeinated planet circling a dead star. 

“oh my gosh,” you whisper-squeal, clutching the goal post like it’s the only thing keeping you from collapsing. “did you see that header?! ren, i swear, you make physics look like a suggestion. your neck muscles deserve their own fan club.” 

kunigami, who’s jogging off the field after practice, doesn’t look at you. or anyone. he just grabs a towel from the bench, wipes his face like it personally offended him, and grunts. it might’ve been a “thanks.” or a “please perish.” hard to tell. 

to everyone else, that grunt would be a conversation ender. to you? that grunt is a legally binding contract to keep talking. 

“seriously though,” you say, speed-walking next to him with zero shame. “how do you not walk around breaking door frames with those shoulders? you could do anything. break walls. carry me. emotionally ruin me.” 

he keeps walking. you keep talking. this is your dynamic. 

at some point, everyone else has learned to leave you two alone. they tried, truly, to keep up with you. but you are too much – too bubbly, too expressive, too prone to clutching your chest dramatically when someone opens a water bottle in a hot way. you are a human romcom montage, and kunigami is the only one with the emotional stability to endure you for more than ten minutes. 

“why do you follow him around?” reo had asked once, watching you beam at kunigami while he lifted dumbbells like they were paper towels. 

“because he’s my muse,” you replied, hand over your heart. “have you seen him? he’s a greek statue come to life. if i don’t swoon, who will?” 

reo blinked. “you’re insane.” 

“and in love!” you shot back, twirling dramatically before crashing into a weight rack. 

kunigami had dragged you away by the collar like a misbehaving puppy. no words. just that stern, long-suffering look like he was questioning every life choice that led to this moment. 

but the thing is, kunigami doesn’t hate you. 

which is saying a lot, because kunigami, these days, looks like he hates most things. joy. peace. emotions. breakfast cereals with mascots. he doesn’t even talk much anymore – just grunts, glares, and occasionally sighs like the weight of the world rests on his monster-sized traps. 

but for some reason, when it comes to you, he tolerates. no, endures. worse: lets you stay. 

it’s almost funny how opposite you are. 

he wakes up at 5 AM for protein and silence. you wake up at 9 AM singing about the birds outside your window like a disney princess with a caffeine addiction. he bench presses his trauma. you process yours by giving his biceps names. 

“i think i’ll call this one hercules,” you say one afternoon, poking his right arm while he’s tying his shoelaces. “and this one hector. very greek tragedy. very my type.” 

kunigami doesn’t even flinch. he just yanks the knot tight and mutters, “go bother someone else.” 

“no one else will let me,” you sigh dreamily. “they all tell me to shut up. you’re the only one who tells me to bother someone else, which is basically a soft ‘stay’ if you think about it.” 

he stares at you. expression unreadable. you stare back with heart eyes so aggressive it’s practically harassment. 

“you’re lucky you’re cute,” you whisper. 

he walks away. you follow him like a devoted cult member. 

and guess what? the breaking point doesn’t come with fanfare. no dramatic kiss. no enemies-to-lovers arc climax. no moment of him pushing you against a locker and growling “you talk too much” before your lips crash together like a bad wattpad fic. 

no. the moment it changes is stupid. absurdly mundane. 

you’re both at a vending machine after evening practice. kunigami’s trying to get a protein bar. you’re trying to decide between grape juice or being annoying. grape juice loses. 

“you know,” you say casually, leaning against the machine, “if this was an anime or romcom or whatever, this is where i’d pretend to trip into you and then fall in love forever.” 

kunigami doesn’t look at you. “don’t.” 

“i wasn’t going to!” you protest, flailing dramatically. “i respect boundaries. mostly. but if you did fall in love with me forever, hypothetically, i’d be really good at being your trophy wife. i have practice. i once married a body pillow in vegas.” 

he glances at you. finally. slow. deadpan. “you’re exhausting.” 

you clutch your chest. “say it again.” 

and that, somehow, makes him laugh. not a full laugh. not even a real laugh. just a snort, a half-smile twitching at the corner of his mouth, like his face is trying not to betray him. 

and in that moment, you realize something genuinely terrifying: you’re not just joking anymore. 

because under all the swooning and sparkling eyes and anime-tier speeches about his delts, you actually like him. not just the looks. not just the grumpy energy. but the weird kindness he shows in quiet ways. the way he watches over people without saying a word. how he puts up with your chaos without ever once calling you annoying. how he sees you, not just as comic relief, but as you. 

and worse? you think he might like you, too. 

“you never shut up,” he tells you one night, sitting beside you on the rooftop after practice. 

you’re sipping from a juice box and kicking your feet like a child. he’s watching the skyline like it personally offended him. 

“i do shut up,” you reply. “just not around you. you make me nervous. it’s easier to talk than feel.” 

he glances at you, quiet for a long beat. “you’re not nervous,” he says. “you’re fearless. annoying. bright.” 

“aww,” you sigh. “you’re flirting.” 

he doesn’t respond. just keeps watching the stars. but when you lean against him, all sunshine and sugar and a thousand different versions of too much, he doesn’t move away. 

you smile to yourself. it’s not perfect. it’s not poetic. but it’s real. 

and if kunigami’s okay being your gravitational anchor, then you’re more than happy to orbit forever. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[milla-frenchy]

Damn, I'm speechless. Angst and bitterness are flirting with such hot moments, all wonderfully written 🤌👌

I loved every word of it. The way you express their feelings is so raw and vivid. I loved reading about their shared past. And this moment between them, wowwwww

Thank you so much for writing a fic with these prompts, it's perfect ❤️❤️❤️

Beautiful mood board, as always. I just love your aesthetic 😍😍

“You wanted to see me?” “Long day?” you ask, unable to kill off that instinct that makes you want to take care of him. He snorts. “You could say that.” Then he empties his glass with one big gulp. You watch his throat work, follow it down to where his light blue shirt is undone one button too many. How often did you kiss his neck until he was complaining about your tickling breath? You stop yourself before you can think about it for too long. Nothing good can come from going down that particular path.

wow. I can only imagine how she feels 🥺🥺

“Do you want another drink?” You glance at your cocktail, the glass still almost full. “Javi, please –,” you start, but he stands abruptly. “Be right back.” You sigh, watching him head back to the bar. Months of trying to chase him down, months of your lawyer trying to get him on the phone … you should have known this wouldn’t be easy. But there is no reason for him to make this quite so hard. “Tell you what,” he says as he lets himself fall back into his chair, another glass of whiskey in his hand, “tell me how you’ve been and I’ll sign those papers.” “Don’t act as if you care.” The words are out before you can stop them, years of hurt erupting violently like a geyser. His lips thin into a straight line. “I don’t care what you think of me, but I’ll always care about you.”

The beauty and the cruelty of it all. After spending years with someone, wow!

Your eyes move back to the bar and land on the man who approached you earlier. He’s with a young woman now, the cleavage of her dress cut so low there isn’t much left to the imagination. Still, his eyes keep searching for yours, and a strange heat begins to simmer in the pit of your stomach. There was a time the man sitting opposite you desired you like that, and you miss that feeling like a former junkie misses the high. “He just wants to fuck you,” Javi interrupts your thoughts, still the observant cop you’ve known him to be. You hate the crude way he talks to you and you want to make him hurt. “Maybe that’s what I want.” Javi smirks. But by the way he knits his fingers together you can tell you’ve landed a blow. “Don’t make me jealous.”

This is so, so good

“Tell me, how many women have you been with since you walked out on me?” You’re surprised at your own question, steeling yourself for an answer you never wanted to hear. “It wasn’t about that, and you know it.” For a split second, Javi’s eyes drop to where the thin straps of your dress rest against your shoulders. You sigh. “I know. But it still hurt.” “And I’m sorry about that,” Javi says quickly as if trying to get out words that are threatening to choke him. “It’s who I am though. You knew that when you married me.” For the first time since he sat down, you allow yourself to smile at him in soft familiarity. “I did. It’s why I found you so attractive, too.” Javi returns your smile. “So how have you been?” You laugh then. “Is that how you get your suspects to make a confession? Rile them up, pretend to lower your walls, and then go in for the kill?”

This hurts. But I understand her, so much. She knew him. She ran towards him, and he broke her heart. I would have done the same.

You flex your hand in frustration. “Why are you making this so difficult?” “Maybe I like hearing from you.” He empties his glass a second time. “Once I’ve signed these, you’ll be out of my life for good.”

Damn the angst is chef's kiss 👌🤌

“One drink,” Javi replies, one finger raised in reprimand. “I just never clarified when I would have mine.” You like this. You shouldn’t, but you do. “Alright,” you say. “I’ll allow it.” Javi huffs in satisfaction and leans back in his chair. “I always liked it when you were like that.” “Like what?” “So confident.” Your face heats up. Standing up for yourself (in front of others but in front of Javi too) – that used to lead to … interesting consequences. “What else did you like?” you ask, the vodka warming your blood. Javi runs the knuckle of his index finger over his lips. “Better not ask something you know you’re not gonna like the answer to.” Your heart skips a beat. “How do you mean?” “Baby …” That name, so familiar, sounds like a plea coming from his lips. You inhale sharply. “Tell me, Javi.”

Ughhhhhhh they're playing with fire and I'm SO here for it 😍😍😍

Javi finally raises his eyes to look at you. “Do you think you’d show me? How much you liked it?” The air in the room is thick now, like it is right before one of those tropical storms you’re used to by now. Your tongue is heavy when you reply, “I could do that.”

OH MY GOD HOLY FUCK 🥵🥵🥵

And then, the smut. Oh wow. Criminally hot 🫠🫠🫠 I'm so in love with this man, damn...

The ending... I saw it coming, ofc. But still 💔💔💔

Such an amazing fic!! Thank you so much for sharing ❤️❤️❤️

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Word Count: 5.8k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You've been estranged from your husband for years. When you finally track him down to make him sign the divorce papers, you get what you want and what you need - but it comes at a price.

Warnings: divorce | angst | alcohol consumption | masturbation (f) | fingering (f) | pussy pronouns | multiple orgasms | oral (f receiving) | (protected) p in v sex | some butt stuff �� (but in a blink and you'll miss it kind of way) | to no one’s surprise there’s some stuff with hands and fingers too

Notes: Do you guys remember my 10k follower celebration I started about a year ago? I'm still working on all your prompts, I promise!! This one goes out to @milla-frenchy who requested "My tongue still remembers the way you taste.", "I cannot change my feelings for you, believe me, I fucking tried.", and "Don't make me jealous." with Javi P, so naturally I had to make this about estranged married people who have a lot of history. This is set during S3E6 ('Best Laid Plans') btw because I couldn't stop thinking about Curaçao (the pink shirt doesn't make an appearance though 😔). As always, huge thanks to Dani @alexturner who not only came up with the divorce plot but also with the ending, and yet she still said this fic is one of her favorite things I've ever written like 🤯 and the truth is, I really really like it too 🤭

The heat is oppressive, even during the evenings and nights when the sun is taking a break. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to it, not even after the three years you now have been living on Curaçao. Your dress sticks to your back and your whole body sticks to the leather chair you’re sitting in, while your palms are slick with sweat. That, at least, you can’t blame on the heat.

You take a sip from your strong cocktail and resume your vigilant watch of the hotel lobby that you can make out perfectly through an open doorway. Despite the late hour, people are still checking in – old men with young women on their arms, families with children sleeping in strollers or in their mothers’ arms; young couples who can’t keep their hands off each other, even when the receptionist looks like she’s about to despair at the line forming behind them.

You were like them once, you and Javi. Not that you would have been able to afford a place like this for your honeymoon. But you remember the feeling of being newly-weds, the way you couldn’t let each other out of sight, how it felt like you were the only two people in the world, and nothing else mattered. You despise them, all the young people who arrive. You want to grab them by the shoulders and shake them. Wake up, it’s all a lie, leave right now and save yourselves the heartbreak. You don’t do it, of course. Instead, you take another sip of your cocktail, the cool glass moist with perspiration, and straighten the envelope that is lying on the table in front of you.

A man approaches you, asking if you need company. You touch your neck self-consciously, wishing there was a way to soothe your burning nerves. “I’m waiting for someone, I’m sorry,” you tell him with a sweet smile. You truly are sorry; any other night, you would have said yes, despite the cruel streak around his mouth. Loneliness doesn’t ask questions.

The man accepts your rejection with a shrug, but his eyes linger on you, even when he has retreated to the bar to order himself another beer. For the first time in an hour, you turn your attention away from that familiar doorway and watch as his thick fingers grab the bottleneck tightly. Heat rises into your cheeks and you shift in your chair, tired and frustrated and sore.

“Hi.”

Your head snaps back toward the doorway, but he’s already standing right in front of you. You knew this moment was coming, had two whole days to prepare for it, yet the sight of him makes you lose what little composure you had left as you sharply suck in air, your heart leaping into your throat.

“Sorry I’m late,” Javi goes on when you don’t acknowledge his greeting. “I – give me a minute.”

He too moves away toward the bar, then leans on it right next to the man and his already empty beer bottle. You use the moment to gain back some control, straighten your back, calm your nerves with another sip that turns into a gulp. It wasn’t supposed to go like this, his sudden appearance wasn’t supposed to rattle you so. But it’s been so long since you were in the same room together, so long since the thought of him didn’t feel like a knife being plunged into your heart, that you have completely forgotten how to be around him without it feeling like you’re dying.

He lets himself fall into the chair opposite yours, groaning with relief as he sinks into it. In his hand, he holds a glass of whiskey, neat, and in his expression he holds nothing but exhaustion.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Long day?” you ask, unable to kill off that instinct that makes you want to take care of him.

He snorts. “You could say that.” Then he empties his glass with one big gulp.

You watch his throat work, follow it down to where his light blue shirt is undone one button too many. How often did you kiss his neck until he was complaining about your tickling breath? You stop yourself before you can think about it for too long. Nothing good can come from going down that particular path.

“It’s about these.” You pick up the envelope and open it. Your hands are steady after having practiced this moment over and over again. Now you’re supposed to say, “It’s only three signatures,” but he’s already holding out his hand, waiting for you to give him the papers.

It’s with a creased brow that he looks at them, eyes skimming from the header (“Divorce Agreement”) all the way down to the bottom where he has to place his first signature. You feel compelled to justify it, even after years of living apart and not being faithful to each other, but you hold your tongue. You owe him nothing, and he knows that.

Finally, he says, “And you’re sure about this?”

You laugh. “When was the last time we acted like husband and wife?”

“It’s not about that …,” he says slowly.

“I don’t care what this is about,” you snap, nerves frayed from the heat and the tension of the evening. “I’m not leaving until you sign these.” You rummage around in your bag, pull out a heavy, silver fountain pen, and hold it out to him.

He accepts it but doesn’t make any move to use it. “Beatriz tells me you live here now.”

You lean back in your chair and cross your arms over your chest. “I do,” you confirm.

“Do you like it?” Immediately after he’s said it, he pulls a grimace.

“You were never good at small talk.” There’s no malice in your voice, but you speak those words so softly you’re not sure he catches them. “No, I don’t,” you answer honestly. “I hate the heat and the tourists. But the money is good.”

He nods as if he knows exactly what you’re talking about. Then he places the pen and the papers on the low table between you. “Do you want another drink?”

You glance at your cocktail, the glass still almost full. “Javi, please –,” you start, but he stands abruptly.

“Be right back.”

You sigh, watching him head back to the bar. Months of trying to chase him down, months of your lawyer trying to get him on the phone … you should have known this wouldn’t be easy. But there is no reason for him to make this quite so hard.

“Tell you what,” he says as he lets himself fall back into his chair, another glass of whiskey in his hand, “tell me how you’ve been and I’ll sign those papers.”

“Don’t act as if you care.” The words are out before you can stop them, years of hurt erupting violently like a geyser.

His lips thin into a straight line. “I don’t care what you think of me, but I’ll always care about you.”

You know there is some truth in that, or at least you want there to be. Your eyes move back to the bar and land on the man who approached you earlier. He’s with a young woman now, the cleavage of her dress cut so low there isn’t much left to the imagination. Still, his eyes keep searching for yours, and a strange heat begins to simmer in the pit of your stomach. There was a time the man sitting opposite you desired you like that, and you miss that feeling like a former junkie misses the high.

“He just wants to fuck you,” Javi interrupts your thoughts, still the observant cop you’ve known him to be.

You hate the crude way he talks to you and you want to make him hurt. “Maybe that’s what I want.”

Javi smirks. But by the way he knits his fingers together you can tell you’ve landed a blow. “Don’t make me jealous.”

“Tell me, how many women have you been with since you walked out on me?” You’re surprised at your own question, steeling yourself for an answer you never wanted to hear.

“It wasn’t about that, and you know it.” For a split second, Javi’s eyes drop to where the thin straps of your dress rest against your shoulders.

You sigh. “I know. But it still hurt.”

“And I’m sorry about that,” Javi says quickly as if trying to get out words that are threatening to choke him. “It’s who I am though. You knew that when you married me.”

For the first time since he sat down, you allow yourself to smile at him in soft familiarity. “I did. It’s why I found you so attractive, too.”

Javi returns your smile. “So how have you been?”

You laugh then. “Is that how you get your suspects to make a confession? Rile them up, pretend to lower your walls, and then go in for the kill?”

Javi just sips on his whiskey, waiting for you to answer his question.

“I’m okay,” you say after brief consideration. “I got a promotion at work. And I’m not seeing anyone, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“And how are you really?” Javi presses.

The smile vanishes from your face. “Lonely.”

He nods at the papers. “And you think that’ll change when I sign these?”

“The closure won’t hurt.”

“Neither will staying married if there isn’t anyone in the picture.”

You flex your hand in frustration. “Why are you making this so difficult?”

“Maybe I like hearing from you.” He empties his glass a second time. “Once I’ve signed these, you’ll be out of my life for good.”

“You’ll have to let me go eventually.” Your voice trembles slightly. “You can’t have your cake –”

“I know,” he interrupts you sharply. “But this,” a wave of his hand to encompass the two of you locked in your stand-off, “it reminds me of how good we were together.”

“We were,” you agree, “and I’d rather remember us that way than as the couple who dragged things out until they hated each other.”

“I could never hate you.” He says it quickly, and he doesn’t quite look at you.

You can’t make him that same promise in return. Right after he left, there was a time … hate might be too cruel of a word to describe what you felt then, but you cursed him every day for choosing his job over the perfect thing you two had. You would’ve gone anywhere in the world with him, just not straight to hell where all you could have done was sit at home and wait for that cautious knock at the door preceding the news that he had been killed. And he went anyway. You still can’t quite bring yourself to forgive him for that.

“You made your choice when you took that plane to Colombia.”

He looks at you, cheeks flushed, a sheen of sweat on his brow, pupils blown wide by the darkness of the bar and the alcohol in his blood. “Come up to my room. Just for a little while. Just to talk.”

You shake your head. “Why do you think I asked you to meet here instead of at my apartment?” He shakes his head too, acting as if he has no idea how to answer that question. “Please, just sign the papers.”

“Why did you want to meet here?”

This man sitting opposite you used to be your husband. Legally speaking, he still is. And even though you haven’t seen him in years, you still feel that same old pull tugging you toward him. “I’m not setting foot in a room with a bed. And I don’t think I need to explain why.”

He laughs, something he so seldomly does. “We don’t need a bed for that.”

It’s loud now in the bar, and the ice in your cocktail has melted. What was supposed to be a quick meeting has eaten away your entire evening. You blink fast, and let your gaze wander across the bar. The man who approached you is gone.

“Come up to my room with me,” Javi tries again. “Just for one drink. Then I’ll sign your papers.”

He’s an asshole, and you have every reason to hate him, set your lawyer on him, but he knows you won’t do that. You know it too.

“One drink,” you say emphatically. “That’s it. And then I’m gone.”

He nods, his face serious. But there is a sparkle in his eyes as he stands, victorious. He straightens the papers and picks them up, hands you back your pen. You take it and stand too, straightening your dress.

“I should warn you though,” Javi says as he offers you his arm, “there’s a bed in my room.”

You shake your head, your shoulders tight with determination. No matter how charming he is, no matter how much he tries, you won’t let him in. It’s just one drink, and then you can finally put this marriage behind you.

Javi leads you to a large elevator that opens just as you approach it. An old couple steps out; he’s walking a few paces in front of her, not checking if she can keep up, while she hobbles after him, braced on a cane. At least you didn’t stay married to Javi long enough he started to resent you, you think as he crowds you into the elevator and presses the button for the third floor.

He's standing too close to you – you can feel his hot skin right next to your own naked arm, making your heart do a little dance in your chest. It’s funny how the body remembers, and how much it craves things that are decidedly a bad idea. Javi shifts, and moves closer still, his eyes firmly fixed on the closed elevator doors. You’re alone, there’s no need for him to put on this little show, but it still feels like you’re being claimed.

Javi’s room feels small compared to the grand entrance hall and the broad hallways of the hotel. He opens the door and lets you in first, but he doesn’t turn on the ceiling light once you’re alone with him. Instead, he walks over to a desk in front of the window and switches on a small lamp.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.” He gestures at the bed, neatly made by the hotel staff.

You think about pushing past him to sit in the upholstered chair that comes with the desk, but he lets himself sink into it, crossing one leg over the other. The bed it is, then.

While you try to find a comfortable position to sit in, one that lets Javi know you’re not here to play, he opens a small door in the desk, and the minibar hidden behind it. “Vodka or whiskey?” he asks.

“Vodka,” you answer without thinking about it.

He shoots you a surprised look but hands you a small bottle without questioning your choice.

You unscrew the bottle, the seal breaking with a satisfying sound. “What do you want to talk about?”

Javi places his bottle of whiskey on the desk. “Nothing, really. I’m just not done being in your company.”

You laugh and take a sip. It tastes cheap. “Well, we should talk about something.”

“Or we could just enjoy each other’s company.”

“You were never good at that,” you remind him. “Always answering calls, always jumping when your pager went off. There were times I thought you’d do anything just so you wouldn’t have to be in my company.”

“I did make it feel like that, didn’t I?”

You’re caught off-guard by this rare moment of reflection. “I’m enjoying this, you know. I don’t think we ever spent this much time together when we were married.”

“We still are,” Javi reminds you.

You take another sip of your tiny bottle. There isn’t much left now.

“Ah,” Javi makes, “but I haven’t even opened mine yet.”

It shouldn’t catch you by surprise, the way he reads you so well. “You keep changing the rules of the arrangement.” An hour ago, you would have crossed your arms over your chest and glared at him. Now it’s a soft smile that accompanies your words.

“One drink,” Javi replies, one finger raised in reprimand. “I just never clarified when I would have mine.”

You like this. You shouldn’t, but you do. “Alright,” you say. “I’ll allow it.”

Javi huffs in satisfaction and leans back in his chair. “I always liked it when you were like that.”

“Like what?”

“So confident.”

Your face heats up. Standing up for yourself (in front of others but in front of Javi too) – that used to lead to … interesting consequences. “What else did you like?” you ask, the vodka warming your blood.

Javi runs the knuckle of his index finger over his lips. “Better not ask something you know you’re not gonna like the answer to.”

Your heart skips a beat. “How do you mean?”

“Baby …” That name, so familiar, sounds like a plea coming from his lips.

You inhale sharply. “Tell me, Javi.”

He shakes his head, lowers his eyes to the floor. The light from the single lamp casts soft shadows across his face. Maybe you overstepped a line you didn’t know was there. Or maybe you should push him just a little bit further.

“Tell me, Javi,” you repeat.

He remains seated in his chair, the perfect image of composure, wound tighter than a coil. “I liked watching you,” he answers finally, eyes still downcast, “when you knew I wanted you.”

You stop breathing as the memories wash over you. You, wearing that pretty red dress, Javi’s pupils blown wide when he sees you. You, lying on the bed, naked, Javi standing at its foot, tearing off the well-pressed shirt he was in the middle of buttoning up. That one night you danced for him in that shabby motel room, your hips stiff, your arms always awkwardly in the way, but when he palmed himself through those tight jeans all the shame and embarrassment evaporated. You miss them, all those little moments. And you miss how Javi made you feel beautiful, worthy, desired. You miss that most of all.

You try to play it all off by taking that final sip of your bottle. “Yeah,” you agree, “I liked being wanted by you.” Your voice is steady. Right?

Javi finally raises his eyes to look at you. “Do you think you’d show me? How much you liked it?”

The air in the room is thick now, like it is right before one of those tropical storms you’re used to by now. Your tongue is heavy when you reply, “I could do that.”

Javi nods, as if you’ve just come to an understanding about who is going to pay for dinner. He reaches for his bottle of whiskey, opens it, empties it with one big drag. You watch his throat work as he swallows, think you see the flutter of a nervous heartbeat at the base of it. He runs his tongue over his lips, chasing the taste, before giving you the smallest of nods.

You kick off your sandals slowly, your heart thundering in your chest. The wooden floor of the hotel room is pleasantly cool beneath your feet when you place them there, chasing something solid. Because you feel like you’re floating, high on the way Javi’s arms flex as he balls his hands into tight fists. The air is so thick now you can barely breathe.

Your dress is long, a light cotton blend, and it feels soft between your fingers as you bunch up the fabric and pull it up toward your hips. Javi’s eyes shoot to your legs as more and more skin is exposed – calves, knees, thighs. It’s as if he’s seeing you for the very first time, and he clears his throat almost bashfully as a light giggle escapes you. Both these things do nothing to ease the tension.

You manage to take off your panties without the dress falling down your legs, and Javi’s eyes shoot to where you drop them to the floor. He licks his lips again, a sight to which your body responds with a throbbing sensation at the base of your spine. It’s impossible to stop your hand from shaking as you lightly touch your thigh; it’s impossible to deny how much it affects you when Javi shifts in his chair in eager anticipation either. You shift too, spreading your legs a little further, but leaving the fabric of your dress draped over your thighs as it is – there is no point in giving it all away at once.

You’re soaked. It catches you by surprise, more so than the familiar touch of your fingers, made unfamiliar by the way Javi is watching you, both fists pressed tightly against his thighs, as if he’s trying to control himself. Your mouth forms a surprised O, a gasp escaping from it, as the tip of your index finger brushes your clit and your hips jerk forward, desperate for more. Javi’s mouth falls open too, his chest heaves with deep pants, his eyes now glued to where your hand vanishes beneath the hem of your dress. You push yourself into your touch, your fingers drawing tight little circles over that swollen bundle of nerves, while you clench around nothing, desperate to be filled.

You didn’t expect your body would remember so well.

“I’m so wet,” you breathe before you can stop yourself.

Javi groans in response and shifts in his chair, but his fists remain firmly planted against his thighs. That won’t do. You spread your legs even further and lean back on one elbow while moving your hand lower. You feel yourself flutter against your fingers, and it brings a smile to your face, one that makes Javi bite down on his bottom lip. Hard. Normally, you like to work yourself up to accommodate a bigger stretch, but tonight, two fingers glide into you with ease, and you moan at the sensation, nothing bashful about the way you throw back your head. You pump them out, then back in, once, twice, before you add a third finger, burying them three knuckles deep. Your entire body is shaking with arousal.

Your eyes land back on Javi, whose chest is heaving. “Guess how many fingers I have inside of me,” you challenge, your voice unsteady. You pull them out slowly, teasingly, the sensation making your head spin.

“Shit,” Javi groans, and now you notice the bulge straining against the fabric of his jeans. “Shit. I don’t know – two?”

“Three,” you correct him with a self-assured smile.

He breaks. One fist uncurls, and he palms himself, his hips jerking up into his touch. “Let me see her,” he rasps.

You’re not sure if you heard him correctly, but then he repeats the words with sharp command in his voice, that tone making you clench around your fingers. You fall back against the mattress and pull up your dress until it’s bunched against your stomach, leaving the bottom half of your body exposed. Javi’s chair creaks as if it’s about to break, but when you look at him, he has stopped touching himself. He has stopped breathing too as he takes in the sight before him, eyes impossibly dark.

You press the fingers of your free hand against your clit, and your hips jerk upwards, a movement that Javi’s hips mirror. What you can see of his chest is flushed in a deep, dark red, and the sight spurs you on. There is nothing gentle or teasing about the way you’re pumping your fingers into yourself now, nothing gentle or teasing about the way you’re rubbing your clit. Javi ruts his hips in desperate little circles, but you’re not sure he’s aware of it at all, too busy drinking in the sight of you sprawled on the bed, too far gone to care about what you’re doing. Everything tightens, and suddenly your toes are pressing down against the hard floor as you push your hips up into your hand, shoving your fingers impossibly deep. Your cunt clenches around them eagerly as you come with a deep, drawn-out moan of “Yesyesyes!”, eyes closed now, completely lost in the sensation of one of the best orgasms you’ve had in years.

When you open your eyes, Javi is kneeling in front of you, unbuttoning his shirt deliberately. Everything still feels soft and hazy, so you don’t protest as he gently takes your wrist and pulls out your fingers. “She’s just as beautiful as I remember,” he whispers, his breath tickling your thigh.

You try to push your dress down to cover yourself, but he only tightens his hold on your wrist. “No, no, no.” He’s determined, the pleading from earlier having long since disappeared from his voice. “Can I taste you?” he asks.

You hesitate. Not because you don’t want him to, but because this is so much more than that single drink you agreed to. You should tell him no, make him finally sign those papers and leave this godforsaken room that now smells of sex. But your body is still thrumming with arousal, and the way he’s kneeling between your legs, dark eyes looking up at you, makes it impossible to refuse him anything.

You nod.

You expect him to approach this cautiously, but he delves in like a man starved. You hiss from the overstimulation, but he strokes your thigh soothingly, and you let him lick a broad stripe from your opening all the way up to your clit. Both your moans, and the sounds of his wet tongue against your wet cunt – it’s lewd. It turns you on so much the way you clench around nothing is actually painful.

Javi pulls away, teases your folds with a curious, probing finger. His dark mustache glistens in the dim light as he looks up at you. “My tongue still remembers the way you taste,” he admits, slinging one of your legs over his shoulder, his biceps flexing with the movement. “Especially with your cum all over you.”

“God, Javi,” you groan and, unable to keep looking at him, you let yourself fall back into the mattress.

He kisses your clit, licks it, sucks it in between his lips. You squirm, but he holds you down tightly with both hands, making it clear who’s in charge. You inhale deeply, but there is no way you can hold on for much longer. When he moves lower, licks at the wetness he finds there, has the audacity to moan as if he’s tasting heaven, you break.

“Please, fuck me, Javi,” you groan, arm slung across your eyes so you don’t have to look at him.

He chuckles, and you can feel the sound vibrate all the way into your core. “Didn’t you say you wouldn’t fuck me?” he asks before rolling his tongue over your clit.

It presses all the air from your lungs. You raise your hips so your clit bumps against his nose. “You’re very confident for a man who just got hard from watching his ex-wife touch herself.”

With a growl, he lets go of you and your eyes fly open, worried you offended him. Instead, you’re greeted with the sight of him unbuckling his belt with shaking fingers before throwing his wallet down on the bed next to you. You think you hear him murmur, “You’re still my wife,” as he pushes down his jeans, but you could be mistaken because you’re busy pulling your dress over your head. Then you’re both naked, the air between you crackling with unspoken challenges.

Javi grabs his wallet and pulls out a condom. “Turn around,” he growls, before tearing the wrapper open with his teeth.

You’re too transfixed by the way he’s rolling it onto his thick length, hanging heavy between his thighs.

“Turn around,” he repeats sharply.

You snap to attention and do as you’re told. Lying flat on your stomach, breathing in the smell of the hotel’s detergent, you await the inevitable. The mattress beneath you dips as Javi climbs onto the bed behind you, pulling your hips up toward him. Then there’s a finger inside of you, and you flutter around it, eager for more. It’s replaced not by his cock but by his tongue, and you grab the duvet, pushing back with a loud moan. He curls it inside of you while spreading your ass cheeks with both hands, and before long, you feel another orgasm approaching.

“Javi,” you warn.

He pulls out and runs his tongue upward to where he’s spreading you open. With a strangled moan, you press your face into the duvet and push against him, chasing the crest of the wave that’s building inside of you. But instead of giving you the release you so desperately crave, he pulls away.

“No man’s fucking you like me.” It isn’t territorial possessiveness. It’s not even a question. It’s just a simple statement.

He pushes down your hips, the force of being pressed into the mattress knocking the wind out of you. One hand he braces right next to your head, the other he uses to guide himself into you, spreading you open so much wider than your three fingers ever could. Then both his arms are caging you in, and the weight of his chest against your back holds you right in place where he wants you.

It's a deep groan and the way his hips stutter that pull you back from the edge. You kiss his hand, then his arm, eyes half closed as your body adjusts to him.

“No other pussy feels as good as yours,” he mumbles into the sudden quietness.

That confession hits you like a bullet right to the heart. “You need to forget about me.”

He swears, but you don’t quite catch the word. “I cannot change my feelings for you, believe me, I fucking tried.”

You wish it were true. You need it to be true, actually. Because when Javi starts moving, you know you’ll never want another man in your life. He has ruined everyone else for you. And it doesn’t matter where he wants to live or what kind of criminals he wants to chase down – you’re prepared to follow him wherever he might go.

“Shhh,” he makes, and strokes your hair. “You’re thinking too loudly.”

You clear your throat and lift your hips slightly, his cock sliding in impossibly deeper. He grunts at the sensation.

“Wait,” he says, then pulls out and flips you over with ease.

It’s exactly like it was on your wedding night, when he fucked you just like this, telling you to keep your eyes on him. Now your eyes widen at the memory as he pushes back into you, chest pressed against hot chest. Then two of his fingers are resting against your lips and before he even tries to pry them open, your jaw goes slack. He pushes them inside and your eyes flutter close in utter bliss.

“Yeah,” he grunts, “I remember how much you like sucking on these while I fuck you.”

He starts to pump into you, as both your hands close around his wrist to keep his hand in place. His fingers lightly press against your tongue, rich with the salty taste of sweat and arousal, and you massage them, sloppy, wet, eager moans vibrating in your throat.

He’s fucking into you now, the sounds of skin slapping against skin echoing through the air around you. You’re dimly aware of slinging your legs around his hips to pull more of him into you, and of him kissing your neck, but you’re so fucked out of your mind you might be imagining these things. When he pulls his fingers out of your mouth, your eyes fly open in protest only to see him gaze at you as if you’re the prettiest thing he has ever seen.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he says.

His tongue finds his way in between your parted lips, and then you’re returning the kiss, chasing the sensation of coming home. He must feel it too because his hips are moving faster, and the entire bed is shaking beneath you. You moan, sounds that start low in your throat and come out high and breathless. They make him shudder against you.

Javi breaks the kiss first. “I want you to come for me.”

You nod eagerly and push a hand between your bodies, brushing against his stomach. God, there is so much of him waiting to be rediscovered.

As soon as your fingers find your clit, you give him a clipped, “Javi,” as a warning. It feels like you’ve been right there on the edge for hours, and now that you’re about to break, you’re no longer in control of anything. He bites down on his lip in concentration and then in bliss as you wrap your free hand around his biceps and dig your nails into his skin.

He stills, and groans, and gives you another three desperate thrusts, pulling you over the edge with him. Your orgasm catches you by surprise, makes you cry out with the force of it, and he leans down to reclaim your mouth while he empties himself, engulfed by your hungrily clenching cunt.

*******

Soft morning light tickles you awake. You stretch your aching muscles, then breathe in deeply. The scent surrounding you is unfamiliar and yet familiar all the same. Then you remember.

Javi!

Your eyes fly open. He’s not lying in bed next to you or getting dressed, and you also don’t hear the shower running in the bathroom. Maybe he went out to get breakfast. Maybe he got called into work. All you know is that you were so tired you didn’t hear him leave.

You sit up and roll your stiff shoulders. Sometime during the night, Javi must have draped the blanket over you. The blanket that still smells of sex. Your face heats up.

The empty whiskey bottle is standing on the small desk, right where Javi left it. If he went out to get breakfast, you should clean the desk so you’ll have a place to eat. If he got called into work, you should still tidy up – you don’t want the hotel staff to gossip about him.

As you approach the desk, you notice the divorce papers spread out on top of it. It seems silly how you came here last night in an attempt to make him sign them. You make to push them into a pile when you spot it – a neat signature on a line right next to yours. “No,” you whisper, but there’s the second one, and the third.

Right there on the line where it says “husband”, his signature flashes up at you: Javier Peña.

If you enjoyed the fic, I’d love to hear from you 🥰 feel free to leave a comment or drop into my inbox anytime …

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[heartyluv]

— 1K Follower Celebration —

Click this to jump right into the celebratory fic in case you don’t want to read all of this. No sweat, I get it LOLLL!!!

Never did I think that when I started writing on here ONLY A LITTLE OVER TWO MONTHS AGO…that I would be making a post like this.

I’ve always loved books, reading, writing, and indulging in fanfic, yet no matter how much—it never crossed my mind to write my own to share with others.

The one who sparked the idea in my brain to do it without even trying or knowing was @hislily00 because of her content on TikTok that I just fell in love with. Every filthy headcanon she spoke about and the community she built, gave me this wave of motivation for some reason, but I will always be so thankful for it because I’ve been having an immense amount of fun interacting with you luvlys, writing stories about the men that we swoon over, and getting to talk to you all.

I’ve never been able to speak so openly like this—about sex and kinky things period—with people that I know in real life. It’s either they make it feel like I can’t, I’m not comfortable enough to, or they’re simply not interested (100% fair). But here? YOU GUYS GET ME, YOU PRAISE ME AND MY IDEAS AND I LUV YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR IT.

This blog and you beautiful luvbugs have become my safe space. I could go on and on forever telling you how much I adore each and every one of you, but then that would have to be like fifty different posts LOLLLL.

And omg…these pretty babies are my ROCKS up here. @asiatic-apple @stargirlygirl @klossnite

You girls…I love you so much. Every single word of encouragement and every bit of support has been monumental—I could weep just thinking about them. You already know how much you mean to me, but in case you don’t—I WOULD LITERALLY FIST FIGHT SYLUS TO PROVE MY LOVE FOR YOU (he’d whoop my ass) BUT FOR YOU, I’D DO IT!!!

And to all the anons who sent me such fun ideas—even to the ones sitting in my inbox (I’M GONNA GET TO EM)—the ones who leave comments, likes, and reblogs, if I could @ every single one of you, I would. I luv you all just as much.

BUT LET ME GIVE YOU WHAT WE CAME FOR!!!

Now —in this post— I explained why this is what I chose to do. I know you’re probably like “you already do this on the regular”. You’re not wrongggg, but this is different because it’s to CELEBRATE!!!

I hope you enjoy reading, babesss. It was so much fun writing and imagining it (I need him). Let me stop chatting and let you get to it.

But again, thank you. So, so, so, so, soooooooo MUCH! I’m kissing all of your foreheads.

Click here to read so you don’t have to scroll back up if you did read all of that. 🫶🏽🫶🏽

[stellaspectral]

Hi there! Do you think you'd be down to write a fluffy 2003 Raph x tomboy reader fic? Like maybe she works at an axe throwing place that Casey goes to and one day he forgets his stuff so she offers to go drop it off and accidentally walks in on Casey and Raph having a beer and watching a wrestling match? Which leads to an awkward meet cute and Casey introducing the two of them and teasing Raph about having a crush on her when she leaves?

A/N: For some reason, I can’t remember whether Casey had a cell phone in the 2003 series? But he does here (because I’m sure April insisted he have one.)

Enjoy! 💖

Axe Marks the Spot (fluff)

❤️ 2003 Raphael/Female Reader ❤️

CWs: Fluff, mild language, alcohol consumption, discussions of sports violence, a bit of an unconventional meet-cute, and some teasing. All characters are aged-up.

You adjust your stance, the worn leather grip of your favorite throwing axe a familiar comfort in your palm. With a practiced flick of your wrist and a smooth follow-through of your arm, the axe arcs through the air, embedding itself dead center into the painted bullseye.

“See?” you say, turning to the nervous couple you’re instructing. “Just commit to the throw. Don’t overthink it. Feel the weight, aim, and let ‘er fly.” You retrieve the axe from the wood. “Any other questions before you give it a go?”

They shake their heads and shuffle towards their lane. As they start their practice, you spot a battered duffel bag left abandoned over at lane three—and you know immediately whose it is: Casey Jones, a regular here and practically a friend at this point. And this isn’t the first time he’s left his stuff behind, either.

Matter of fact, this is the third time this month.

“Seriously?” you mutter under your breath as you go over to it, scooping it up before slinging the strap over your shoulder. “For a guy with such a good arm, he’s real bad at remembering his crap.”

You check your phone, shooting him a text as you head to the employee break room.

You: You forgot your bag, dumbass.

You wait. No reply.

You: Want me to come over and drop it off for ya?

Again, no response. You sigh, checking the time; your shift is almost over. You know the guy well enough, so you decide to stop at his place.

After punching out, you leave Axe the Landing and hop on your motorcycle to drive to Casey’s pad. His place isn’t far—just a half dozen blocks away. In the meantime, you allow yourself to enjoy the ride. You like the city at night, the wind whipping past your face, the neon signs of late-night diners and closed storefronts blurring into streaks of electric color. You weave through the traffic, grateful for the familiar rhythm of the road.

You pull up to Casey’s apartment building, a brick structure that looks like it’s seen better decades. Parking your bike, you kill the engine and dismount with his bag and your helmet tucked under your arm. You’re still grumbling to yourself about his chronic forgetfulness while you enter the building and take the steps, two at a time, to his third-floor apartment. Even before you reach 3E, you hear a commentator getting overly excited as you approach the door.

You knock. No answer. You try again, louder this time—even though you know he probably can’t hear you because of his TV blaring.

“Casey? You in there?” you call out.

There’s the sound of yelling—someone getting body-slammed, maybe? Then it finally clicks. Of course he left in a hurry, forgetting his stuff; tonight’s the wrestling match he’s been looking forward to all week. He talked your ear off about it a few days ago, and you humored him, even though you’re not much into this sport in particular.

You reach for the knob, finding it unlocked. “Casey?” you repeat, pushing the door open a crack. “You left your junk again!” You proceed further into the apartment.

The wrestling match blasts from the TV while two figures are sprawled across the worn couch, illuminated by the flickering screen. Casey is the first to notice you. He turns with a start, a beer halfway to his mouth.

“Yo!” he blurts, eyebrows shooting up as he forces a grin. “Uh … didn’t hear ya knock!”

“Clearly,” you deadpan. “Figured I’d just bring your bag by. Again.”

You toss the duffel toward the cluttered corner where it always ends up, but your eyes don’t stay there long. Because sitting next to Casey—slouched comfortably with his arms crossed, a beer in one hand—is someone you most definitely weren’t expecting.

A red-masked turtle. With broad shoulders and a physique that makes even the wrestlers look scrawny. He turns his head at the sound of your voice, and you see intelligent eyes widen slightly in surprise.

You blink, hard, as you struggle to register what you’re seeing. An awkward silence descends upon the room, broken only by the grunts and slams from the TV where two dudes are beating the hell out of each other.

Your brain stutters, and so does your mouth. “Uh … Sorry, I didn’t know you had company.” A giant, bipedal turtle. Drinking beer. Watching wrestling. It’s a lot to take in on a Thursday night after a long shift.

“Uh,” the turtle says. Voice low, gravelly. “Hey.”

Casey’s eyes flick between you and his companion. His grin falters, replaced by a sudden, dawning ‘oh crap’ expression. He clears his throat and stands abruptly, almost sloshing his beer. “Right! Uh, yeah—this is … this is Raph. He’s, uh, a friend.”

You raise an eyebrow at Casey. “Right. A friend. Who happens to be a tall talking turtle.”

Casey laughs loud, tipping back his beer. “I just got weird friends, ya know?”

“Weird? You’re one to talk, Case,” Raph retorts.

You blink again, not sure if you’re tired, hallucinating, or both. But Raph doesn’t disappear. He just gives you this look, like he’s trying to gauge whether you’re about to scream, faint, or bolt. You do none of the above.

Instead, you shrug. “Cool shell.”

Casey nearly chokes on his drink.

Raph stares for a second before a quiet, raspy chuckle escapes him. “Didn’t think you’d take it that well. Not many humans do.”

“Honestly?” you say, setting your helmet on the counter and crossing your arms. “After working customer service for four years and dealing with bachelorette parties hyped on tequila for another two, this barely cracks my top five weirdest nights.”

That gets a full-blown laugh out of Casey. “Knew you two’d get along!”

Raph’s eyes flick over to you again, this time with a little more curiosity—and maybe something else. You’re not sure if it’s the lighting or just the way his posture subtly straightens, but he looks … intrigued.

“Anyway, Raph,” Casey begins, “this is the axe-chucking badass I keep telling you about.”

You raise a brow, tearing your gaze from the mutant turtle to frown at Casey. “You’ve been talking about me?”

Casey grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Only, like, every other day! Gotta sing your praises, right?”

Raph’s low chuckle rumbles from the couch. “He ain’t wrong. He said you were a real pro with those things.”

You blush, a faint warmth spreading across your cheeks. “I just throw them. It’s not rocket science.” You shift your weight, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious under Raph’s steady gaze. He’s looking at you again, that same intense, curious look. It’s almost like he’s trying to figure you out, piece by piece.

“So, you do this for fun?” Raph asks, leaning forward slightly, his eyes still fixed on you. “Or is it just a job to you?”

“Both, I guess,” you reply, shrugging again. “It’s my job, but yeah, it’s fun. Good way to blow off some steam.” You glance at the wrestling match, then back at Raph. “Speaking of blowing off steam, you guys are really into this, huh?”

“Nothing beats a good old-fashioned beat down,” Casey declares, raising his beer in a mock toast.

Raph nods in agreement, a small smile playing on his lips. “Gets the blood pumping.”

You smile, too. It’s strange how quickly you’ve already adapted to the idea of a talking turtle. Maybe it’s just how laid-back he seems, or maybe it’s the sheer absurdity of the situation that winds it back around to being almost … normal.

“Anyway, nice to meet you, Raph,” you say. “I didn’t mean to interrupt boys’ night. I can bounce—”

“But you’re already here,” Casey interjects. “Grab a beer, chill a sec.”

 “If ya want,” Raph adds, his tone almost … hopeful?

You hesitate before answering. “Fine. But if this match sucks, I’m holding you personally responsible, Jones.” You grab a beer from the fridge—Casey’s stocked up on the cheap stuff, as usual—and sit in the beat-up recliner across from the couch.

To your surprise, things are actually getting exciting in the match. Two guys in spandex are trying to murder each other theatrically while the crowd loses their minds. You take a sip and glance at Raph. He hasn’t looked away from you much, and now he leans forward, forearms on his knees, like he’s about to say something else.

“So,” Raph begins, “you ride?”

You smirk. “Yeah. Bike’s downstairs. You?”

“Yup. I’ve always liked ‘em. Loud. Fast. Kind of like you, huh?”

You arch a brow. “Was that a compliment or an insult?”

Raph smirks, and there’s this little spark in his eye that wasn’t there before. “Guess you’ll have to figure that out.”

“Okaaayyy,” Casey cuts in, dragging out the word. “Don’t make me get the hose.”

You stick your tongue out at him. “Jealous you’re not the most interesting one in the room anymore?”

Casey gasps, clutching his chest like he’s wounded. “Et tu, axe queen?”

Raph chuckles quietly, but you catch it.

The match continues. Casey yells encouragement and insults at the screen, fully invested. You find yourself getting caught up in his enthusiasm, occasionally wincing at a brutal-looking move or laughing at the commentators’ ridiculous lines. Raph is quieter, but his eyes are fixed on the action, and you see his fist clench a few times.

During a commercial break, Casey heads to the kitchen, presumably for a beer refill. An easy silence settles between you and Raph. And he’s still watching you with that same half-guarded, half-interested expression.

You don’t hate it.

You swirl the cheap beer in your hand, watching the fizz settle. The sound of Casey rummaging in the kitchen is background noise now. Raph shifts on the couch, glancing sideways like he’s trying to figure out the best way to break the silence.

“You always this chill around mutants?” he asks, his voice low and just a bit unsure.

You turn your head to look at him fully. His posture is casual, but you catch that subtle tension, like he’s bracing for judgment. “You always this self-conscious around girls with axes?”

His lips twitch, and you spot the faintest hint of a smile. “Touché.”

You lean back in the recliner, letting your shoulders drop. “Look, I’m not saying it’s normal. But I’m not gonna freak out either. Casey trusts you. That’s enough for me.”

His eyes hold yours a second longer than necessary. It’s intense but not threatening. More like he’s not used to being looked at without flinching. And maybe you’re not used to being looked at like you’re interesting.

“So what’s it like?” you ask, “y’know, living in New York when you kinda stand out?”

Raph raises a brow ridge. “Loud. Smelly. People suck. But the pizza’s good,” he replies, and you’re unsure if he’s joking to cover up the actual answer.

Still, you laugh, and he smiles, pleased he got a reaction out of you.

Before you can ask more, Casey returns with three more beers and an open bag of chips and flops back down on the couch. He tosses you a can, which you catch one-handed, and sets the chips between himself and Raph, who gives him a look.

“Don’t look at me like that. You’re the one who didn’t wanna stop at the bodega.”

You crack the beer open, watching the two banter with a comfort that speaks of years of friendship. As you take a sip, you still try to wrap your head around how easily you’ve settled into this moment. Then again, you’ve always been the type to go with your gut, and right now?

Your gut says this feels right.

Raph glances at you between bites of chips, and there’s a pause in the air that he doesn’t seem in a rush to fill. You notice he’s quieter when Casey’s not teasing or poking at him. Like he’s used to blending into the background, or maybe just doesn’t know what to say to someone new.

So you decide to say something first.

“You ever tried axe throwing?”

Raph tilts his head, considering. “Nah. Never really had the chance. Closest I’ve come to it was, uh … throwing my sai at bad guys. Not quite the same vibe.”

You grin, making a mental note to ask about the ‘bad guys’ thing later. “Not unless they were painted with targets.”

That gets a genuine laugh out of him. Low and rough, but real. It sounds good. You like it.

“Anyway, I could show you the ropes sometime,” you offer casually. “You know, if you ever wanna hurl sharp objects at hunks of wood and feel mildly powerful.”

Casey coughs pointedly from the couch, muttering something about mildly powerful under his breath. You ignore him.

Raph shifts slightly, his gaze lingering on you, contemplative. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Eventually, the match ends, and Casey throws his arms up in celebration. “Called it! Dude’s undefeated!”

You shake your head, finishing your beer. “You’re way too invested in fake fights, Jones.”

“Blasphemy,” he gasps, feigning offense. “Fake?! That was peak drama!”

You snort and stand, stretching your arms over your head. “Alright, I’m heading out. Gotta work tomorrow. We have a booked party with a bunch of finance bros who’ll probably try to flirt and fail at throwing straight. Can’t wait.”

You grab your helmet from the counter, catching Raph’s eye one last time. He’s watching you again—quiet, attentive, like he wants to say something but can’t quite figure out how.

“Later,” you say, flashing a quick smirk. “Try not to break anything—or each other.”

“Good luck with the suits,” Casey calls out with a grin, lifting his beer in a lazy salute.

You nod, and your gaze flicks back to Raph one last time. “Nice meeting you, Raph.”

His reply is slower, softer, his eyes lingering on yours for a beat longer. “Yeah. You too.”

You’re halfway out the door when you pause, your hand resting on the worn wood of the doorframe, turning back just enough to catch Raph’s eye over your shoulder. “Before I forget,” you say, “you still think you’re up for that axe-throwing lesson?” You arch an eyebrow, daring him, just a little.

A grin pulls at Raph’s face, the kind that reaches his eyes and makes them crinkle at the corners. It’s a surprisingly disarming expression, softening the rugged lines of his face and making him look younger. “You free sometime soon?”

Your heart does a little flip. “Ask Casey for my schedule. Or just show up. I’m usually there.” You smile. “Looking forward to seeing you.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Your gaze flicks to Casey, who’s been watching the entire exchange with a wide, almost comically invested grin. “I’ll return your bag in a week when you forget it again.” Before Casey can retort, you say, “See you around, Raph.”

You go out into the hallway, closing the door behind you. You’re only four steps away when you hear Casey’s—and Raph’s—voices muffled but distinct, through the door.

“Dude! Seriously? What was that all about?”

“What’re you talkin’ about, bonehead?”

“Oh nothing,” Casey says, his voice dripping with fake innocence. “You were totally checkin’ her out! I saw you! That little half-smirk thing you do when you’re tryin’ not to look impressed?” You hear a can being opened. “Never seen you so quick to agree to a ‘lesson’ before.”

“She offered. It’d be rude to say no.”

“Rude?” Casey snorts. “Since when do you care about being rude, Raph? Especially with humans you just met.” He pauses, probably taking a swig of his beer. “And that whole ‘loud, fast, kind of like you’ line? Real smooth, Romeo. Did you come up with that all by yourself?”

“Shut up, Case! I was just makin’ conversation.”

“Conversation, huh? Looked more like you were tryin’ to see if your eyeballs could actually pop out of your head from starin’ so hard. I thought you were gonna start droolin’ when she said she was lookin’ forward to seein’ you.”

“I was not starin’! And I don’t drool.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Casey sing-songs. “You were quiet as a mouse when she was talkin’, too. Usually, you’re all grunts and one-liners. But with her? Suddenly you’re Mr. Chatty.” There’s a brief pause. “Admit it, tough guy. You like her.”

“Casey, I swear—”

There’s a thwack, followed by Casey’s yelp of mock pain.

“Hey! Violence! I’m tellin’ April!” Casey’s voice, still laced with laughter, rings out.

Raph’s growl is too low for you to make out most of the words, but the exasperated, defensive tone is clear as day, even through the closed door. “Just … shut it, Jones!”

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips as you continue down the stairs, the echoes of their bickering fading behind you. As you hop on your bike and put on your helmet, you replay Raph’s voice in your head. You hadn’t expected that kind of softness from someone who looks like he could bench-press a sedan.

The engine growls to life as you start your bike, rolling your shoulders once to shake off the adrenaline buzz. You’re not flustered. Not really. But you are smiling like an idiot as you pull away from the curb, a strange flutter in your chest.

You’ve taken plenty of shots before—but none of them were ever as interesting as him.

[fardwader]

you’re too good to me (and you know it, too) pt. 4

pairing: peter parker x fem reader

summary: For some unknown reason, Peter Parker cannot stop finding new, inventive ways to humiliate himself in front of you.

And for some reason, you keep helping him up anyway.

Or, the 5 times you save Peter— and the 1 time he saves you.

pt 1, pt 2, pt 3, pt 4, pt 5, pt 6

a/n: im alive!!!!! oh my god i have been in the worst writing slump ever, this chapter actually took everything out of me to write (also i am so sick helpme), anyways URGHHH im so sorry for the late upload i hope u guys like this i lowkey hate it but its whatever...

wordcount: 3k

taglist: @ladylokilaufeyson5 @wlnut @lonenymphaea, @moon-shampoo, @elfypineapple

tags: 5+1 fic, slow burn, friends to lovers, reader is annoyingly oblivious, peter is a sad dork, no use of y/n, sarcastic peter and an even more sarcastic reader, multi part, past gwen and peter, not canon compliant, gwen stacy is so beautiful...., crazu overuse of italics, reader is terrified and in denial, reader highkey lowkey doesnt like her boyf...

(four)

Jonah had impeccable timing.

He bumped into you– quite literally– at your cousin's birthday party, sending a huge chunk of chocolate fudge cake off of his plate and onto the only decent evening dress you owned. 

You looked up, ready to physically tear him a new one, and there he was: tall, sharp-jawed, and already offering you a napkin with a sheepish grin plastered on his face.

“I promise you that was not the first impression I was going for.” 

All the insults you had mentally prepared died on your tongue as he smiled, warm and disarming– like sunlight breaking through the sky.

Normally, you’d roll your eyes and mutter something snarky under your breath while you walked away, but instead, a quiet burst of laughter escaped you– a surprised, breathy huff that honestly surprised the both of you.

You quirked a brow. “Do you usually throw dessert at girls you like, or am I just special?”

“Nope,” he said, smile widening, “just you.”

That made you laugh again, fuller and realer this time. Maybe it was the soft haze of the champagne that was making you more agreeable, or the ridiculousness of the entire situation– but suddenly the night didn't seem all that bad.

“Alright, cake boy,” you sighed, dabbing at your ruined dress. “You owe me a drink.”

“I was hoping you’d say that,” he said, shooting his hand out, “It’s uh– Jonah, by the way.”

One drink turned into two, then a shared plate of fries, then lazy conversation about seemingly everything and nothing at the same time. 

Jonah was quick-witted and so very easy on the eyes– muscle in all the right places and dimples that punctuated every warm smile.

He was the kind of guy who, for some reason, knew how to make you laugh without trying too hard. He didn't ask too many questions or try to dig deep. 

He just let things happen. Light, casual, and uncomplicated.

And that was the part you found most appealing.

Because after weeks of quiet, suffocating tension—of tiptoeing around feelings you weren’t ready to name and fearing what might happen if you did– “uncomplicated” felt like exactly what you needed.

So when he asked for your number at the end of the night, you gave it to him without even thinking.

It didn’t feel like a big deal.

Just… nice.

You honestly weren't looking for anything serious, and to Jonah's credit, he never made it feel like you had to be.

Your dates were simple, nothing to write home about. Tacos at a food truck on a Wednesday night, or a walk through Central Park with his hand brushing yours like he wasn’t sure how to hold it just yet, or a movie you barely remembered because the seats were too comfortable and the company too easy.

Jonah never pushed or prodded.

You liked that about him.

You weren’t exactly sure when it shifted— when an easy distraction started to feel like something real.

Maybe it was the night he waited with you at the subway station in the rain, holding his jacket over you both—though it did little to stop you from getting soaked. Still, it was the thought that counted. 

Or maybe it was the morning he showed up at your door with bagels and that dumb, dimpled grin, just because he “had a feeling you forgot to eat breakfast again.”

There wasn’t a single grand gesture. No fireworks. No earth-shattering kiss that rewrote the entirety of your being.

Just a slow, steady bloom of something tender inside of you.

You found yourself texting him when something stupid happened at work, reaching for his hand when the sidewalk got too crowded.

And he was always there.

It didn’t make your heart race, didn’t make you feel like you were flying. But it was there.

Steady. Predictable. Safe. 

And honestly, that felt like enough.

That’s why it stung a little more when he canceled on you for the third time that week. 

It wasn't a huge deal. Just a trip to the movies to catch some shitty slasher movie that came out recently. Something as chill as all the other dates that came before it.

But it was supposed to be your thing, a tiny pocket of time carved out of a week all for you.

'hey, work ran late. raincheck? promise i'll make it up to u?"

You typed out a quick response, yeah no worries its good :), before sighing and chucking your phone face down onto your bed– digging the heels of your palms into your eye sockets– because that felt easier than telling the truth.

Because the truth was, you actually tried. Like, really tried.

You'd put on that soft brown sweater he said he liked—that skirt he bought you. You even tried to do something with your hair– for once.

All in a stupid attempt to actually impress him. To matter.

And now, here you were, dressed up for no one. Your chest tight in a way that always came after expectations were left unmet.

You stayed like that for a while– palms pressed against your face, trying to push back whatever ugly emotion that was clawing its way up to the surface. 

Disappointment, maybe. Or just that crushing feeling of someone not showing up for you the way you'd hoped they would.

Eventually, you peeled yourself off the bed and padded into your kitchen. 

Might as well go out or something, go get food while you're actually put together, so the night wasn't as unsalvageable.

But that’s when you saw him.

Peter, looking like death incarnate, slumped against your kitchen counter– practically bracing against it like it’s the only thing holding him up, a hoodie about two sizes too big draped over his form.

His skin is alarmingly pale, contrasted by the flush of his nose. His eyes are glassy, and his hair– usually messy in an endearing way– now just looks sad, flopped against his damp forehead.

“You look like hell.”

“Aw, thanks,” he rasps. “You always know how to make a guy feel special.”

You cross your arms against your chest, leaning against the doorframe, “You’re sick.”

“I’m fine,” he says, voice all muffled and nasally.

“You’re absolutely not fine, you sound like a congested lawnmower,” you say, shooting him an unimpressed look.

“I gotta–I gotta go,” he sniffs, grabbing for his backpack and missing by at least six inches. “Dr. Connors is waitin’ on those tissue samples and I—achoo!—can't just not show up—”

“Come on, Patient Zero,” you grab him by the shoulders, dragging him to the couch, “sit down before you pass out.”

Peter opens his mouth to argue before being interrupted by a violent cough that practically doubles him over.

You arch a brow.

“...That could’ve happened to anyone,” he manages to rasp out when it’s over.

“Sure. Anyone who’s extremely, definitely sick.”

“I heal fast,” he says, still fighting. “I’ll be fine in like, twenty minutes—just need some Dayquil and maybe one of those throat lozenges that taste like May’s purse.”

You place a hand on his forehead.

He leans into your touch before he can stop himself– he’s burning up,

“Pete,” you say, softer now, “please don’t make me tie you to the couch. Because I will.”

His eyes flutter half-closed at your touch. 

“You don’t have rope.”

“Not the point.”

He hesitates–wobbles a little, then lets out the world’s most dramatic sigh and finally sinks down onto the couch.

“You shouldn’t have even left your bed in this condition,” you say, digging through your junk drawer for a thermometer.

He groans, muffled through the throw pillow. “I had things to do.”

“You have a fever,” you call back, “I doubt you could be useful in the lab right now, Parker.”

When you return, he’s slumped sideways, eyes half-lidded. You nudge his shoulder and hold up the thermometer.

“Open.”

“Wow, at least buy a man dinner first.”

“Peter.”

He opens his mouth. The thermometer beeps after a few seconds, and you frown at the number that flashes on the screen. 

“39.4°C”

He shrugs weakly. “That’s not that bad.”

“Parker.”

He blinks up at you, sluggish and glassy-eyed, the fever clearly fogging up whatever filter he has left. His gaze drifts, moving from your outfit and lingering somewhere around your face—though it’s hard to tell exactly where he’s looking.

Then, inexplicably, he smiles.

"You look nice today."

You blink, momentarily stunned. Not because of the words themselves– you've heard compliments before, of course– but because of the way he said it. 

Soft. Offhanded, like it had slipped out before he could catch it.

You glanced down at yourself– the version of yourself you had put on all in an attempt to get your boyfriend to notice you. 

And now here was Peter Parker, feverish and flushed and somehow still managing to see you better than Jonah had in weeks.

“Don’t try and change the subject, Peter–” 

“No seriously,” he hummed, already halfway unconscious, blinking up at you like he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming. “You always look nice and stuff. Just… extra nice tonight. Fancy.” 

"Mhm," you muttered, heading back into the kitchen under some flimsy excuse to get some medicine to try and hide the flush that climbed its way onto your cheeks, "I had plans. They got canceled."

Peter doesn't say anything, not right away. 

Then: 

"Cake Boy?" 

You snort, "Jonah. Yes." 

Earlier, you hadn't really told Peter about Jonah and how far your relationship had actually progressed. Only the faint mention of some guy who spilled cake down your dress.

It wasn't like you were hiding it or anything. It just felt weird to tell him.

You weren't sure why. 

Maybe because saying it out loud made it feel more real. Maybe because the second you told Peter about Jonah, it would become something that mattered—and you weren’t ready to admit that it did.

Or maybe it was because Peter has always been the person you told everything to. 

The one who stayed up with you on the fire escape at 3 a.m. eating greasy pizza, the one who binged watched cheesy horror movies with you– the one who somehow always knew what you were feeling, even when you couldn’t find the words for it.

So yeah, maybe bringing Jonah into the conversation felt like inviting a stranger into something private.

You rummaged around your cupboards for some Ibuprofen and a mug, more for something to do with your hands than any real purpose.

“We were supposed to catch that new slasher movie tonight,” you said, trying to keep your tone light, like it didn’t bother you. “Third time he’s bailed this week. But you know. Work."

There’s a grumbled noise that comes from the couch that sounds suspiciously like a judgmental hmmph.

You raise your brows as you return to the living room, bottle of water in one hand, two pills in the other. “What was that?”

"Nothin'," Peter says, barely lifting his head.

“Seriously, he works a busy job,” you defend as you sit beside him, handing him the pills, “he works in finance, he’s in line for a promotion, I think.”

“Sure,” he croaks, sniffling into the collar of his hoodie.

You shoot him a look as he takes the pills from your hand, dry-swallowing them without blinking. You hold the water bottle out anyway, but he just shakes his head.

You cross your arms. “Okay. Dude, what’s your problem with him?”

Peter shrugs one shoulder weakly. “I dunno. Doesn’t seem like your type.”

You scoff, settling back against the couch. “What is my type, then?”

He opens his mouth, then hesitates. His eyes flick toward you– like he might actually say it. Like he wants to.

You feel it hang in the space between you– another one of those moments that’s all potential and no follow-through.

But instead, he coughs– long, wheezy, miserable.

You hand him a tissue and let it go.

He blows his nose dramatically. “Thanks, Nurse Ratched.”

“I should’ve let you suffer.”

“You kind of are,” he says, voice muffled through the tissue. “You just keep talkin’ about your perfect, rich finance boyfriend while I’m dying.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter, fighting a smile. “You are so dramatic.”

Before you can roll your eyes, he shifts– slowly, like it’s second nature– and lets his head drop into your lap with a quiet, exhausted sigh, cheek pressing against your thigh.

You freeze. Just for a second.

Then your hand hovers awkwardly in the air like it isn’t quite sure what to do with itself. Peter’s curls are tickling your arm. His breath is warm against your leg. 

He’s got the smallest, softest smile on his lips. 

"So, finance guy. Huh?" You can feel him smirk against your thigh.

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite behind it– there’s never any bite behind it.

Your fingers twitch, finally settling in his hair– gently carding through the curls that are still damp from his earlier fever-sweat.

“Yes, finance guy,” you reply, your voice dry but fond. “He wears loafers and talks about stocks unironically."

Peter lets out a hoarse chuckle. "Sexy."

“Oh, incredibly,” you deadpan, scratching lightly at his scalp. “Every woman’s dream.”

His eyes were barely open now, lids even heavier with your hand carding through his hair. “I’m sorry your plans got canceled,” he mumbled into your thigh, voice rough. “But I’m kinda glad you’re here.”

Your hand stills for a beat in his hair.

It’s subtle, barely a hitch, but Peter notices.

Because, of course, he notices.

He seems to notice everything when it comes to you—every shift in your voice, every change in your routines, every text you type a little too quickly, and every laugh that was a bit too warm.

So when you started dressing a little nicer, started canceling on him last minute, started smiling down at your phone in a way that wasn’t meant for him– he knew.

And he let it happen.

He didn’t ask. Didn’t pry. Didn’t say a word, even when it stung more than he cared to admit. Because he knew he didn’t have the right, you weren’t his– and he knew that.

But here you were. His head in your lap, your hand tangled in his hair, and something about it feels dangerously close to hope.

You gently tap his shoulder, “C’mon, up, Parker. You’ve gotta get up.”

He groans, low and muffled, pressing his face further into your thigh like that might somehow make you take it back. “Five more minutes,” he mutters, voice thick with sleep and congestion.

You bite back a smile, trying—and failing—not to sound as fond as you feel. “Get up, I’ve gotta get you some soup.”

He groans again.

You huff, amused, and your fingers brush over his scalp again before you catch yourself. “Peter…”

He finally looks up, just barely. His eyes are glassy with exhaustion but still achingly soft, locked on yours. “I like it here,” he admits, quieter now. “Don’t make me move yet.”

But, to his disappointment, you gently shove him off. 

He lands back against the cushions with a dramatic oof, flopping onto his side like his bones were made out of jelly.

"Rude," he mumbled, squinting up at you through red eyes. "I bare my soul and you throw me to the wolves."

"You were melting into my thigh," you say, standing and stretching with a small smile. "I need circulation, and you need soup, Peter."

"Who needs sustenance when you’re comfortable?" he counters, eyes fluttering shut again as he dramatically clutches at the throw pillow you hand him like it’s a poor substitute for you. "You’re cruel. Heartless. 0 stars, no bedside manner."

You shake your head, laughing softly as you drape the blanket over him– walking over to the kitchen.

Peter watches you move around the room, your silhouette softened by the dim glow of the kitchen light. 

You’re humming—quietly, absentmindedly—and it makes his chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with the fever. 

He pulls the blanket tighter around himself, coating himself in its warmth. But it's not as warm as your lap, or your fingers in his hair, or the sweet sound of your voice up close and soft just for him.

For a second, you were there, and you let him have it. That intimate and easy quiet, and then it was gone.

Because you’re not his, never was, never will be. 

He needs to start reminding himself of that.

He hears the clink of a spoon, the cupboard shutting, the soft pad of your feet returning—and he plasters on a grin like it doesn't matter at all.

“Any chance my nurse also makes toast?” he rasps, winking.

Because if he keeps it light, maybe it won’t feel so heavy.

You arch a brow, setting down a small bowl beside him on the coffee table. "Your nurse made soup. Homemade, by the way. Well, semi-homemade. I just added some garlic and salt to the canned stuff. But whatever."

Peter grins up at you– it’s lazy, foggy at the edges, but it still carries that boyish charm that seems to emanate from him. "Gourmet."

You flash him a smile. “Don’t say I never do anything for you.”

Peter takes a slow, careful sip of the soup, wincing a little at the temperature but grateful for the warmth.

You settle beside him again, brushing a stray curl from his damp forehead and tucking it behind his ear with a tenderness that catches you both off guard.

“You just focus on getting better,” you say softly, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest. “I’ll handle the rest. Soup, tea, maybe some actual toast if you're good.”

He tries to protest, but his voice is too weak, so he just lets out a tired chuckle. His eyes close briefly, his breathing evening out.

You stay there, watching over him, fussing– let’s be real, when do you not fuss over him.

And slowly, imperceptibly–  he starts to look a little less like the sick, feverish mess from earlier and more like the Peter you know and love. 

And for a moment, you forget about Jonah, him canceling, and the way he made you feel.

And, honestly– for now, that’s enough.

previous chapter !!

[nocturnebite]

Clickbait [+..••]

(is this real) - gamer! Ni-ki x fem! reader

synopsis: He wasn’t supposed to swipe back. But now you’re trading late-night calls with a too-perfect gamer, and it feels real—until his past comes crashing in. Was he genuine… or just another kind of clickbait? fic notes: dating apps... ew || banter || mild trust issues || fluff :3 wc: 4.87k

ash's notes: this idea has been in my head for so long and i really wanted to write it and now i'm finally done! i've got so many drafts i need to post it's unreal. but i hope you enjoy this little story :3 !!

“Okay, spill. How was it?”

You blink at your friend, the flickering glow of the café’s fairy lights reflecting in her eyes as she leans forward, resting her chin on her palm like she’s about to hear the juiciest gossip of the year. The table between you smells of burnt caramel and overpriced matcha, and you’ve barely touched your drink. You draw a slow breath, the kind that tastes like disappointment, and offer a flat smile.

“Just more clickbait,” you say.

Your friend groans like it physically hurts her. “No way.”

You nod, slouching in your chair as if gravity itself has finally gotten too heavy to resist. “He said he was six feet. He was five-seven, max. His pictures were from, like, 2018. And he talked about crypto for an hour straight. I didn’t even know people still did that.”

She winces. “Oof.”

You sigh again, softer this time, letting the frustration settle in your chest. “I’m so tired of people pretending to be someone they’re not. I get it—it’s a dating app. Everyone's performing. But why does it feel like I’m the only one actually showing up as me?”

Your friend plays with her straw, thoughtful. “So... you’re giving up?”

You shrug. “I think I’ve officially retired. I’ll knit. Adopt a cat. Maybe start writing angry Yelp reviews.”

“Oh, come on.” She bumps your arm. “You can’t just quit. I had a good date last week, remember? It’s not all trash.”

“Yeah, and I’m thrilled for you,” you say honestly. “But you’re, like, the one-in-a-million success story they use in the ads. I’m the cautionary tale.”

“Stop it,” she says, dragging out the last word like a scolding mom. “You’re gorgeous, funny, smart. You deserve something good.”

You smile, a bit tired around the edges, and tilt your head. “Tell that to the last guy who said ‘no thoughts, just vibes’ on his profile.”

She groans and grabs your phone from the table. “Let’s just look, okay? You don’t have to marry anyone tonight.”

You eye her skeptically. “You’re relentless.”

“And you’re tragic. Come on.”

You sigh but relent, taking the phone back. The app lights up like a slot machine as you open it. Familiar profiles slide past your thumb: shirtless mirror selfies, vague bios with gym stats, a suspicious number of “entrepreneurs.”

Some match with you. You don’t swipe back. Some are clearly bots, or worse—people who look like they borrowed someone else’s face.

And then you see him.

Your thumb freezes.

Tall. Jet-black hair, slightly tousled like he just got up from a gaming chair but still looks model-ready. Hooded eyes. Full lips. That smirk—cocky, unreadable, like he knows something you don’t.

“Holy—” your friend leans over the screen. “Swipe. Now.”

“No,” you say immediately, locking the phone like it just burned you. “Absolutely not. He’s definitely fake.”

“Are you kidding me? That man looks like a Greek god and you’re not even curious?”

“He looks like trouble,” you mutter. “He’s hot. He knows it. Probably a Twitch streamer with a Discord full of girls who call him ‘daddy.’ I’m not signing up for that.”

Your friend laughs so hard she nearly spills her drink. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” you insist, though your heart is pounding for reasons you can’t explain. “It’s written all over his face.”

“But what if it’s not? What if—plot twist—he’s the one that breaks the pattern?”

You hesitate.

“Just swipe,” she pleads. “Worst case, you don’t match and never see him again. Best case…”

You shake your head, but you can already feel yourself giving in. Still, before you can decide, your friend snatches the phone and swipes right with a dramatic flourish.

You gape at her. “Did you just—?!”

“No match,” she says, showing you the screen. “Happy?”

You exhale, weirdly deflated. “Honestly? Yeah. I mean, he’s probably got a million people trying to match with him.”

“Maybe. Or maybe it just wasn’t your moment.”

You nod, lips pressed together as you slide your phone into your bag. “Well, I’m done for the night. I’m going home, washing my face, and watching something stupid.”

She stands with you, grinning. “Good. You deserve to turn your brain off. But hey…” she pauses, her smile softening. “Don’t give up completely, okay? I’ve got a good feeling.”

You roll your eyes but give her a hug goodbye.

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

That night, you toss your keys onto your desk, the screen of your phone lighting up just as you’re about to plug it in.

1 New Message - [Tinder]

You frown, opening it automatically, expecting another “hey cutie” from someone who can’t spell your name right.

But the screen shows something else entirely.

You matched with Riki.

Your heart stops.

Your hands go cold.

You blink at the message, then again—just to make sure your eyes aren’t playing tricks.

The same face. The same smirk. The guy who was too good to be true…

Matched with you.

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

You don’t open the message right away.

You tell yourself it’s because you’re busy—brushing your teeth, feeding the dog, picking at dinner you don’t even taste—but deep down, you know it’s because you’re scared.

You already decided not to get your hopes up again. You’ve already been down this road before—the one where a hot guy matches, flirts, builds you up like you’re the only girl on earth, only to ghost you the second things feel real.

Still.

You tap the app. His message is waiting.

Riki: Thought I was imagining things for a sec. Didn’t expect the girl with the death-glare profile pic to swipe back 😅

Your nose scrunches. Death glare?

You flip to your own profile, stare at the photo your friend picked—half-smiling, eyes a little dead inside.

Okay, fair.

You: Yeah well. Didn’t expect the cocky gamer guy to swipe either. So I guess we’re both glitching tonight. Riki: I’m not cocky. I’m just... factually confident. And good with my thumbs.

You roll your eyes and try not to smile. You fail.

You: That’s exactly something a cocky guy would say. Riki: Damn. She’s clever too. I’m in trouble.

You don’t respond right away. Not because you don’t want to—but because something in your chest tightens at how easy it is. The flow. The banter. Like slipping into an old sweater you forgot still fit.

And somehow, it stays like that.

No “wyd” texts. No pressure. Just long, meandering conversations that start late and end later. You find out he streams sometimes, but only for fun. He has a little sister he’s protective over. He learned to cook because his mom works nights. His favorite genre is horror, but he’s a total baby when it comes to jump scares.

He doesn’t ask for selfies. Doesn’t hint at anything sketchy. In fact, half the time it feels like he genuinely just wants someone to talk to.

Which is kind of nice.

It turns into a rhythm: He messages. You reply. You laugh. You tease. You talk until your phone is warm in your hand and your eyes sting from lack of sleep.

Riki: You’re fun. You: You’re not what I expected. Riki: That’s either the best compliment or a red flag in disguise. You: I’ll let you know which later.

It’s two weeks in when he says it.

You’re half-asleep, curled in bed, squinting at his message through one heavy eyelid.

Riki: Random idea You should come visit sometime

You blink. Sit up a little.

You: …what? Riki: Like, no pressure. Just throwing it out there. I’ll even pay for the flight if it makes it easier.

You stare at your screen like it just called you by your middle name.

You: Uhh. Red flag alert. Guy offering to pay for your flight? That’s how true crime documentaries start. Riki: Rude. I don’t even own duct tape. You: That’s exactly what someone with duct tape would say. Riki: Touché.

You toss your phone onto the bed, pull the blanket over your face, and scream into it.

Then obviously you FaceTime your best friend.

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

“You’re being dramatic,” she says, chewing a mouthful of chips. “You two have been talking nonstop for, what, three weeks?”

“Two and a half.”

“Exactly. That’s like, seven months in internet time. Honestly, if you were dating IRL, people would be asking when the wedding is.”

You throw your head back with a groan. “It’s not like that. We’re just… friends. Kind of. With... light sarcasm and subtle tension.”

“So... dating.”

“NO!”

She levels you with a look. “You like him.”

“I like the version of him that lives in my phone. That doesn’t mean he’s real.”

“Then FaceTime him.”

You blink. “What?”

“If you’re nervous he’s not who he says he is, video chat. If he’s a catfish, boom—case closed. If he’s real... then you’ll know.”

You sit with that for a second.

Then you do it.

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

The first FaceTime is awkward in a cute way. He’s lounging in a hoodie with messy hair and a controller in his lap. You’re in your worst pajama shirt, already regretting not putting on concealer.

But he smiles when he sees you—no hesitation, no filters, no pause.

“Yo,” he says like it’s no big deal.

“You’re real,” you blurt before you can stop yourself.

He laughs. “That’s what I was gonna say.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

One call turns into two.

Two turns into three.

Three turns into four—until it’s a quiet comfort, this unspoken ritual of being online together, even when you’re not talking.

You study. He games. Sometimes he curses under his breath. Sometimes you hum without realizing it. Neither of you hangs up first.

The screen just stays on.

And somewhere between late-night calls and sleepy “goodnights,” it stops feeling like a maybe.

It starts to feel like something real.

One night, while adjusting his mic and opening some game you don’t recognize, he says it again:

“You should come visit.”

This time, it sounds less like a joke.

And more like a hope.

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

“You should come visit.”

It’s not the first time he’s said it. 

But this time… it’s different.

His voice is soft through your laptop speaker, his hoodie bunched up around his elbows as he clicks through some loading screen. You’re lying sideways on your bed, textbooks open, highlighter uncapped, but your focus vanished the second he said those four words.

You don’t answer right away. Just chew your lip and stare at the screen where he’s pretending not to look at you.

“That’s like the fifth time you’ve asked”

“I’m serious,” he says after a beat. “I mean… if you want to.”

There’s that voice again. Casual, light, no pressure. Like he’s talking about ordering takeout, not asking you to fly across the country and see if he’s actually the person you’ve been falling asleep on FaceTime with every night.

You close your textbook.

“Riki.”

He glances over. The game’s paused now. You can see the flicker of the screenlight reflected in his cheekbones. He looks tired. Warm. Real.

“Yeah?”

“You’re not like… secretly plotting to harvest my organs, right?”

He snorts. “I literally stream Minecraft, not organ trafficking.”

“Not a convincing alibi.”

He grins, then sobers. “I get it. It’s a big ask. But I meant it when I said I’d help. I’d book the flight. You’d stay at a hotel if you want, no pressure. I wouldn’t be weird.”

“That’s what all the weird ones say.”

“Okay,” he says, deadpan. “I’d be only a little weird. Like, manageable-weird. Charming-weird.”

You laugh, and that’s the problem.

Because you like him. More than you meant to.

You liked the idea of him at first. A distraction. A match your friend forced. But now… it’s not just the banter or the voice you’ve memorized or the ridiculous way he says “dude” when he’s excited.

It’s how he makes you feel like the only person in the room—even through a screen.

And that? That’s dangerous.

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

The next day, you bring it up to your best friend over lunch.

Her response is immediate: “You have to go.”

You blink. “Okay, but what if he’s not—”

“You FaceTime him literally every night.”

“What if he’s different in person?”

“He watches K-dramas and talks to your dog through the phone. You already know him better than half the guys you’ve actually dated.”

You stare at your untouched sandwich.

“I just…” You swallow. “What if I go and it ruins it?”

She’s quiet for once.

Then: “What if you don’t… and it ruins you?”

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

That night, you don’t say yes.

You say, “I’m thinking about it.”

You say, “It’s a maybe.”

And he doesn’t push.

Instead, he smiles at you—gentle and slow, like he knows you’re a scared thing on the edge of something, and he’s not going to rush you off it.

“I can wait,” he says simply.

You believe him.

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

The next week, something shifts.

Not in a dramatic way—no confessions, no intense moment of clarity—but in all the quiet ways that matter more.

You fall asleep on call, and he whispers, “Goodnight,” like a secret. You wake up to a message from him with a screenshot of a dumb meme he swears “just felt like you.” He starts calling you by your name more, not just your username.

One night, in the middle of a game, he glances at his screen and says, out of nowhere: “Do you always look at me like that?”

You blink. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying not to.”

You don’t have an answer.

So you call again. And again.

By the time it’s the sixth night in a row, you’re not even nervous anymore. You’re just… used to it. Comfortable. You study, he plays. You breathe. He listens.

Sometimes you don’t talk for twenty minutes.

And it feels like home.

That night, he says it again—quieter this time.

“You should come visit.”

And this time… You don’t say no.

You just look at him—pixelated and beautiful—and whisper, “Maybe.”

And he smiles like maybe is everything.

- - - - - - - - - - - - 

It starts with a ticket in your inbox.

No subject line. No message. Just an email that reads:

“Your flight to Seoul has been confirmed.”

You blink.

Then your phone buzzes.

Riki: Don’t panic. You can still say no. I’ll cancel it in a second if you’re uncomfortable. Just… wanted to make it real. In case you say yes.

Your heart is doing weird things.

You stare at the screen, your thumb hovering over the keyboard, your thoughts a loud chorus of what ifs and you’re crazy and this boy could be everything or nothing or both.

You: Give me three days. If I don’t back out by then… I’ll go.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

You don’t back out.

Your friend screams when you tell her. She helps you pack—overpacks, really—like you’re heading into battle instead of a long weekend. She even shoves a tiny pink can of pepper spray in your purse “just in case he’s secretly a weirdo.”

(You both know he’s not. But still. Pepper spray is ✨ aesthetic ✨.)

The night before the flight, you barely sleep. You FaceTime Riki and end up playing “21 questions” until 2am, your voices slow and sleepy.

“What if it’s weird?” you ask.

“What if it’s not?” he replies.

You hate that that makes you smile.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

At the airport, your nerves riot inside you. The terminal smells like pretzels and nerves and new beginnings.

By the time the plane lands, your hands are cold and your thoughts are loud.

You look around baggage claim, eyes darting.

Then—you see him.

He’s leaning against a pillar, hoodie half-zipped, hair tucked under a black cap. There’s a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He’s scrolling his phone, one hand in his pocket.

He doesn’t see you yet.

And in that second, you think—he looks like trouble. But the good kind.

Then he looks up.

And smiles.

Not the polite kind. Not the awkward oh-hi-nice-to-meet-you kind.

The I know you already kind.

And just like that— You’re not nervous anymore.

The first five minutes are weird.

Of course they are.

You both talk too fast. Or not at all. He goes in for a hug, and you kind of flinch, so he backs off and jokes, “Guess I deserved that.” And you say, “No, I’m just—processing,” and then neither of you talk for five minutes straight in the car.

But then he says, “You hungry?” And you say, “Always.”

And suddenly… you’re fine again.

The first night is a blur of fast food eaten in his car, music playing low, and a midnight walk through a neighborhood you don’t know but don’t mind getting lost in.

At one point, he bumps his shoulder into yours and says, “You’re taller than I expected.”

You deadpan, “You’re not.”

He laughs so hard he nearly drops his drink.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

The next day, you hang out at his place.

He’s more nervous than you’ve ever seen him—rambling about his cable setup, offering snacks every five seconds, adjusting his monitor like he’s auditioning for HGTV.

But you sit on his bed, cross-legged, and just watch.

And after a while, he calms down.

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

You shrug. “You’re real.”

He gives you a look. “Still convinced I was a catfish?”

“No,” you say. “But this part still doesn’t feel real.”

He sits beside you. Not touching. Just close.

“Same.”

- - - - - - - - - - - -

At night, you fall asleep on his couch watching him game—your legs draped over his lap, your heart refusing to chill out. You pretend to be tired just to stay where you are.

He doesn’t move.

Just shifts the blanket higher over your knees, one hand resting lightly on your shin. You catch him glance at you once. Twice.

But he never says what you both know.

Not yet.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

And then—on the last night—you’re both lying side by side, watching some movie neither of you are really paying attention to. His fingers are brushing against yours on the bedspread. Barely. But enough.

He turns his head. “Hey.”

You look at him.

He looks nervous.

“Do you ever think… if we’d met in person first, it wouldn’t have worked?”

You blink. “Why?”

“I think I needed to know you before I liked you. Like, for real. The real you.”

You smile. “I was a mess when we met.”

He laughs. “You still are.”

You kick his leg. “Hey.”

He looks at you then—really looks.

“Still the best kind of mess I’ve ever met.”

Your breath catches.

But before either of you can say anything else—your phone buzzes. Loud. Jarring.

You frown and reach for it, expecting your friend checking in.

It’s not.

It’s a direct message request.

From someone you don’t recognize.

And it says:

“You think you’re the only one he’s talking to?”

Your blood goes cold.

You look up.

And Riki—still smiling, still relaxed—doesn’t notice the shift in your face.

Yet.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

You read the message again.

“You think you’re the only one he’s talking to?”

The screen blurs. Your chest tightens. The room—warm and dim and full of the scent of Riki’s hoodie you’ve been curled in—suddenly feels foreign. Hollow.

Riki says something beside you. A dumb joke. You don’t hear it.

“Hey.” His voice cuts through. “You okay?”

You lock your phone and force a smile. “Yeah. Just my friend checking in.”

A lie.

You’ve never lied to him before.

It feels worse than the message.

You try to ignore it. Brush it off. A troll. A bot. A jealous girl with no life. Whatever.

But the message festers.

The next day, you wake up to another.

“I hope he told you about me. Or about our FaceTimes.”

You don’t reply. You can’t.

You don’t know what to believe.

So instead, you test him.

“Hey,” you say casually, the next time you’re lying on the couch with him.

“Hmm?” he says, eyes on his screen.

“You ever… talk to other girls on here? Like, before me?”

He pauses. Glances at you. “You mean on Tinder?”

You shrug. “Or in general.”

He leans back. “I mean, yeah. Before you. But nothing like this. Nothing real.”

You nod. Try to smile. But the words loop in your head.

Before you. Before you. Before you.

But what if before never ended?

- - - - - - - - - - - -

By the third message, it’s not subtle anymore.

“He sent me the same flight email. I still have it.” [Attached: a screenshot]

Same subject line. Same dates. Different name.

You feel sick.

You don’t want to accuse him. You don’t want to need to.

So you ask.

“Riki… have you ever done this before?”

He blinks. “Done what?”

“This. Flying someone out. Meeting people from the app.”

There’s a beat.

Then: “Why are you asking?”

He doesn’t deny it.

And that hurts more than any answer.

You go silent.

The car ride back to the hotel is heavy.

He notices. Of course he does.

“Okay,” he says, pulling into the parking lot. “What’s going on?”

You don’t look at him. “Just tired.”

“You’re lying.”

You snap. “So are you.”

He goes quiet.

The kind of quiet that confirms everything.

You swallow. “Someone messaged me. Said you were FaceTiming them. Said you flew them out. Same message. Same dates.”

His jaw tightens. “It’s not what you think.”

You laugh, sharp. “That’s funny, because it looks exactly like what I think.”

Then—softer: “I didn’t expect this to be perfect, Riki. I just didn’t want to be stupid for trusting you.”

He doesn’t say anything.

And that silence? It feels like betrayal.

You go inside the hotel alone.

The second the door closes behind you, you slide to the floor.

You don’t cry. Not yet. You’re not sure you’re allowed to. Not for someone who was never yours.

But your phone buzzes again.

Riki: I didn’t lie. Not about you. Can we talk?

And you don’t know if you’re ready.

But your heart?

It already misses him.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

You don’t answer his messages.

Not at first.

Not because you want to punish him—but because you’re scared that if you open the door, you’ll let him talk you back into something that maybe wasn’t even real.

You need space. He gives it to you. For about twelve hours.

Then your phone rings.

It’s your friend.

“You need to check Twitter,” she says.

Your stomach drops. “What?”

“Just… look.”

- - - - - - - - - - - -

It’s a clip.

From one of Riki’s streams.

He’s laughing in it, leaned back in his chair, wearing a hoodie you recognize because you wore it two nights ago.

One of his friends says something off-screen:

“So you’re just gonna disappear for four days and not explain why?”

Riki shrugs. “I’m flying someone out.”

“A girl?”

He grins. “The girl.”

The chat explodes. Emojis. Screaming.

His friend hoots. “You’re in love.”

Riki doesn’t deny it.

Just goes quiet for a second. Then says, low and sure,

“She’s different. You’ll see.”

You stare at the screen.

Your breath stutters.

You scroll down. The comments are a storm. Most of them are pure chaos and ship names and thirsty fans screaming “SOFT LAUNCH???”

But some…

Some are ugly.

And one account keeps showing up.

One you recognize from the message requests.

@ KikiLuvsRiki: don’t fall for his act. i used to be “different” too. he just wants content. @ KikiLuvsRiki: bet he sent her the same flight confirmation template he used last year LMFAO.

Your hands shake.

Then a post from her, timestamped four hours ago:

“Imagine thinking you’re special to someone who rehearsed the same lines with me. He just swapped the name.”

There’s a screenshot attached.

Of a flight confirmation email.

But it’s dated last year.

Same airline. Different destination. Different name.

But the same tone.

You click the profile.

Scroll.

And what you find?

It’s not a random hater.

It’s his ex.

That night, your phone rings again.

Riki.

You don’t want to answer.

You do anyway.

“I should’ve told you,” he says, voice low, rough. “I just didn’t think she’d find out. I didn’t think it would matter.”

You sit on the edge of the hotel bed, silent.

“I mentioned you on stream. I never do that. You know I don’t. And I didn’t even say your name—I was just… talking. I couldn’t help it. I was excited. I’m always careful, but this time I wasn’t.”

“Because of me?”

“Yeah,” he says, barely a whisper. “Because of you.”

Your heart twists.

“She saw the stream,” he adds. “And I guess she still had old screenshots or whatever. She’s not wrong—I flew her out once. A long time ago. We weren’t even a thing for more than a couple weeks, but she stuck around online. And when I stopped responding, she got weird.”

You exhale. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I was scared you’d think I was doing the same thing again. That I was collecting girls off the internet and making them fall for me or something.”

“And aren’t you?” you ask, voice quiet.

Silence.

Then:

“No.” “I wasn’t trying with anyone else.” “I didn’t even plan to swipe on your profile. I saw you, and it just—hit me. Harder than I expected. You weren’t just pretty. You looked real. Like someone I could ruin myself for if I wasn’t careful.”

You bite your lip.

He continues. “I didn’t swipe right first. But when we matched… I knew. I’ve never been like this with anyone else. Not even her.”

Your chest aches.

“But I should’ve told you,” he says. “That’s on me. I’ll make it up to you. Or I won’t. If this ruins it, I’ll live with that. But you deserved the truth.”

You let the silence sit.

It’s not that you don’t believe him.

It’s that you want to.

And maybe that scares you most of all.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

The airport feels colder than it should.

Maybe it’s the early flight. Maybe it’s the sleep you didn’t get. Maybe it’s because you thought he’d fight harder.

You roll your suitcase forward.

Every step feels heavier than it should. Like maybe your heart stayed back at the hotel. Or in that voicemail you haven’t listened to yet.

“I get it if you’re done. But I’m not.” “Not with you.”

You clench your jaw. Shake your head. Keep walking.

You did what you were supposed to.

You gave him a chance to explain. You didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. Didn’t make a scene when your feelings got kicked around like some bonus level prize in his online world.

You let him talk.

You just didn’t stay.

Not this time.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Your gate is five minutes away.

You wrap your arms around yourself and try not to think.

The check-in lady takes your ID.

“Round trip?” she asks, typing.

You hesitate. Then shake your head.

“Just one way.”

She nods, unfazed. Prints your ticket.

You turn around—

And nearly crash into him.

Riki. Standing there. Breathless. Hoodie crooked. Hair messy. Like he ran.

And didn’t stop.

You freeze. “What—how did you—?”

“I tracked your flight.” His voice is hoarse. “Don’t be mad.”

You blink. “Are you serious right now?”

He swallows hard. “I wasn’t gonna let you leave thinking I didn’t mean it. That you were just some... random screen name.”

“Riki—”

“No,” he says, stepping closer. “Let me talk. Please.”

Your heart races. Your throat tightens.

He exhales. “I don’t care who’s watching. I don’t care if this is pathetic. I’ve never wanted something like this before. Not like this. I didn’t know how to handle it.”

You don’t say anything.

He runs a hand through his hair.

“I messed up,” he says. “I should’ve told you. I should’ve known she'd try something the second I opened up. That’s on me. But don’t let her be the reason we don’t happen.”

You feel the tears sting before they fall.

He sees it.

Softens.

Steps forward like he’s trying not to scare you off.

“I’ve never had what we have,” he whispers. “The FaceTimes. The quiet. The way I don’t need to perform when I’m with you. You didn’t fall for the persona. You fell for me. And I—I need you to know I fell right back.”

You sniff. Wipe your eyes.

“And if that means I have to fly to every city you run to just to say it again, I will.”

You meet his eyes.

“I wanted to believe you,” you say. “I still do.”

“Then do,” he whispers. “Let me prove it.”

You pause.

Search his face.

And for the first time in days, the panic starts to melt. The ache eases.

Not completely. But enough.

You step closer.

And his shoulders drop—like he was holding his breath for too long.

“I hate you,” you whisper.

He smiles.

“No you don’t.”

You shake your head. “I don’t.”

Then, softer: “You’re lucky I like dramatic airport gestures.”

And when you wrap your arms around him, burying your face into the hoodie you never gave back—he just holds you.

Not like he won.

Like he’s grateful you stayed.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

BONUS :)

Later, after the flight you didn’t take…

You’re on his stream.

Just your voice.

He reads a question from chat:

“Are you guys together now?”

He looks at you off-camera.

Smiles.

Then to the chat: “She’s sitting right here, isn’t she?”

You groan. “You’re so annoying.”

He grins wider. “But you like me.”

And you don’t deny it.

Not this time.

tl: (read rules before asking to be added to any list ᥫ᭡. )

[loxoels]

♡ binondo date with paige

a/n: hi guys! sorry for being inactive. here's a little fic for reaching a hundred followers <3 <3 thank you guys so much. all of you motivated me to write more. im really jealous of those who are having dates in binondo, so I just daydream about it instead. this is a filo au!!

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ever since summer started, you've been stuck in your condo, doing nothing but lying in bed. you’ve been craving something fun for a change.

now you’re back in bed again, glued to your phone, doomscrolling through random posts—until a TikTok catches your eye.

it’s a video of a couple on a date in Binondo, a place that’s been trending lately thanks to the newly restored Jones Bridge.

you pause and think, “It’d be nice to go there with someone…” but then the question hits you—with who?

you sit with that thought for a bit, and that’s when your best friend Paige walks in. you both wanted to go out somewhere, but neither of you ever found the time—so this felt like the perfect chance to finally ask. even though you’ve been close for a long time, you still get nervous about asking her out. why? because you’ve liked her ever since the day you met.

psst

binondo

g?

you nervously wait for a respond.

after a few minutes that felt like forever, you finally see the three little dots appear on the screen—she’s typing.

ok

when?

she simply replied.

tomorrow?

you replied.

ge

see you.

naka punta ka na ba dun?

'di pa, tol

ge ako na bahala pre

you didn’t bother replying anymore—instead, you buried your face into your pillow, screaming and kicking your feet, suddenly overwhelmed with giddy excitement for reasons you couldn’t quite explain.

you decided to put your phone down to calm your nerves. taking a deep breath, you got up and headed to the kitchen to make yourself some lunch. but just as you were about to open the fridge, you heard your phone start ringing from the other room.

you hurriedly go to the bedroom and answer it.

"hoy"

“ano? binondo? ano meron?”

“what about it?”

“porket wala kang ka-date, ako niyayaya mo”

“bakit? couples lang ba pwede pumunta dun?”

“I’ve been wanting to go too, actually.”

“oh tapos?”

“pero hindi ikaw yung kasama.”

“wow okay edi wag na tayo pumunta”

“eto joke lang eh”

you kept the phone pressed to your ear, her voice in the background as you made your way back to the kitchen. one hand grabbing ingredients, the other holding the phone, you smiled quietly to yourself.

eventually, you both got quieter—your voices softer, words slower. Until at some point, without saying goodbye, you both fell asleep. Still on the call. Still connected.

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the next morning, you suddenly wake up and glance at the time. you see that Paige ended the call, probably to get ready for today’s… date? Friendly date? Whatever you both want to call it.

after finishing your morning routine, you’re now rummaging through your room, trying to find an outfit that makes you look a little better than usual.

after hours of finding, you finally found an outfit you love. you immediately do your make up when paige messages you.

on the way na baby

paige always flirts like this—not just with you, but with everyone. that’s why loving her in secret is so painful. you never know when she’s being serious or just playing around, but maybe it’s your own fault for believing her, even though deep down you know it’s all just for fun.

you quickly spritz on your perfume and slip on your shoes.

now, all that’s left is to wait for her.

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After a few minutes, you finally hear a knock at your door. You rush to open it and there she is—wearing a short-sleeved polo over a white top, baggy jeans, and a cap turned backwards on her head.

she gives you a once-over, her eyes lingering just a second longer before a small grin forms on her lips. "looking good, baby," she says, casually.

you roll your eyes with a playful scoff—but inside, a swarm of butterflies flutters in your stomach.

“you look fine yourself…” you mumble, avoiding her gaze as you look away, a slight frown tugging at your lips.

she notices and lets out a soft giggle. “muntanga tara na, let’s go,” she says, nudging you gently as she leads you down to the lobby.

outside, you glance around, scanning the area—but there’s no car in sight.

“nasan kotse mo?” you ask, brows furrowed.

she shrugs casually. “baby, sa binondo tayo pupunta. sa tingin mo may parking dun?"

you’d had enough of her flirting, so you just started walking ahead.

“san ka pupunta? alam mo ba kung paano mag-commute dun?” she calls out, half-laughing.

you stop in your tracks and glance back at her. “of course. ano tingin mo sa’kin? tanga?” you say, rolling your eyes.

"sungit naman neto." she mutters with a chuckle as she walks up to join you.

the two of you start heading toward the corner of the street, side by side, to wait for the jeepney that’ll take you to binondo.

as soon as Paige spots a signage on a jeepney’s front window that says it’s headed to Quiapo, she quickly raises her hand to signal the driver to stop.

when the jeep halts, she hops in first, then offers you her hand to help you climb aboard. she guides you to sit at the far end of the jeep, making sure it’s just the two of you with no strangers nearby.

“libre mo muna pamasahe ko, pre,” she says casually, flashing you a grin. You roll your eyes but sigh, knowing you don’t really have a choice.

you dig through your purse, fingers scrambling for coins, then hand them over to her without a word.

“bayad po, pasuyo,” paige says as she passes the payment to the other passengers so it can reach the driver.

“san ‘to?” the driver asks.

“Quiapo lang, boss,” she replies smoothly.

then she turns to you with a playful wink. you raise a brow at her, giving her a confused and irritated look, unsure of what she’s up to this time.

while waiting for your stop, she glances at you with a soft smile. you meet her gaze with a blank expression, unamused.

she chuckles, then gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “wag ka na masyadong masungit, baka i-kiss kita diyan,” she teases out of nowhere.

you shoot her a disgusted look. “as if!” you snap, immediately turning to face the other way, hoping she doesn’t see the heat rising on your cheeks.

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“para po!” paige calls out to the driver.

the jeep slows to a stop. she hops down first, then reaches up to offer her hand to help you down—just like before.

the first thing the two of you do? food trip. you walk side by side through the busy streets, stopping at every stall that catches your eye, buying and trying everything you can—one bite after another, laughter and crumbs shared between you.

"oh wait lang wait lang" she suddenly says, stopping in her tracks.

you glance at her with a curious hum. before you can ask, she pulls out her film camera and starts recording—pointed straight at you.

caught off guard, you quickly cover your face, flustered. “stoppp,” you whine, turning away, but she keeps filming with a grin.

“tell them where we’re going, baby,” she says in a playful, almost sultry tone.

you stay quiet, refusing to entertain her antics, which only makes her laugh.

“may topak siya, guys,” she says to the camera, still giggling.

“I know what could cheer her up,” she says to the film camera with a smirk, walking over to a local tusok-tusok stand.

“pick whatever you want. ko na magbabayad,” she adds, already pulling out her wallet.

You give her a small frown. “you don’t have to. I have money,” you tell her honestly.

but she scoffs, waving you off. “binayaran mo na yung pamasahe ko, so let me treat you,” she insists.

you sigh but smile a little, letting her win this one.

she hands you a cup of your favorite street food, kwek-kwek. she finally earns your smile as you eat. she buys herself a cup as well, eating while filming you. you notice this and you look at the camera with the food in your hands with a big smile.

she hands you a cup of your favorite street food—kwek-kwek. the moment you take a bite, a genuine smile finally escapes your lips, and she catches it.

pleased, she buys a cup for herself too, munching on hers while still holding the camera up, filming you again.

you notice her this time, and instead of hiding, you look straight into the camera, holding your food with both hands and flashing her a big, playful smile.

after a few more minutes of happily eating, the two of you continue your adventure—still centered around, of course, eating even more street food.

stall after stall, you try different snacks, and with each one comes a photo—sometimes of the food, sometimes of each other, and sometimes just blurry candids full of laughter.

before you know it, the sky has turned dark, and the streetlights now glow above you. It’s officially nighttime, but neither of you seems ready to stop.

you’ve been walking around all day, your hands full of snacks and your phones full of memories. Eventually, your steps lead you both to the glowing stretch of Jones Bridge. the lights reflected on the water, the breeze cool on your skin—and right by the bridge’s edge, there it was: the photobooth stand that’s been all over social media.

without saying much, you and Paige decide to go for it.

as you make your way toward the booth, she starts snapping candid photos of you again—your side profile, your little smiles, the way your eyes light up when you look around. you offer to take a picture of her too. She hands you her phone without hesitation, and for once, she stands still and lets you capture her.

then comes a quiet moment. no cameras. no teasing. just the two of you walking side by side on the bridge, voices low, conversations soft and unhurried.

she looks at you then—really looks. it’s not the playful look she gives when she’s joking, or the usual flirty glances you’ve seen her throw at others. this one is different. her gaze is warm, steady, full of something that makes your chest feel tight.

but you don’t let yourself read too much into it. because Paige is like this with everyone… right? right.

you turn your focus to the path ahead. your hands brush against hers. It’s subtle, barely there, but you feel it. you think she doesn’t notice—but she does.

before anything could happen, you both arrive at the photobooth. While waiting in line, you spot a diverging mirror just beside the entrance and pull out your phone.

“mirror pic,” you say, raising your phone.

she leans in beside you, then suddenly presses her finger against the mirror right where your mouth reflects—making your lips look ridiculously wide. You burst into laughter, swatting her hand.

you return the favor, poking the spot on the mirror where her mouth is, making her grin stretch in the reflection. She giggles, but after the laughter fades, there’s this pause.

just the two of you, looking at each other.

like there’s something unsaid, lingering in the silence.

but again—you brush it off. It’s probably just you.

your turn finally comes.

inside the booth, you sit close. ten shots in total, and you get to pick four.

the first five go smoothly—smiles, peace signs, cheek-to-cheek poses, goofy faces.

but as the camera counts down for the sixth shot, you both run out of poses. Paige uses the opportunity to lean in, pressing her cheek against yours, smiling softly just as the shutter clicks.

seventh shot—your faces are close now. every time you glance at her, she’s looking at the camera. when she glances at you, you’re looking at the camera. it’s like a dance neither of you planned, faces inching closer without fully realizing it.

eighth shot, ninth shot—your knees touch, your pinkies graze.

then, the tenth.

it happens fast, like it wasn’t even a decision.

she turns to you at the same time you turn to her.

and just before the flash goes off—

she kisses you.

a quick, soft press of her lips to yours, just enough to make your heart skip.

click.

the last shot captures it perfectly.

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[effetsecndaires]

࿐ 𝙘𝙖𝙢! — 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙧𝙚𝙚; 𝙜𝙮𝙪𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙤 𝙨. ⋆ 𐙚 ̊.

cw: modern setting, human gyutaro, camgirl reader, sex work, mention of sex, masturbation, hygiene neglect, misogyny, toxic masculinity, inaccurate description of onlyfans bc I have no idea how it works lmao | wc; 2,4k

an: im so sorry this chapter took so long to come out. I needed a break from this fic because I honestly have no idea where it's going and it’s started to feel like I’m just writing a whole bunch of nothing. I have never been good at writing multiple parts fics and idk why I thought this time would be different LMAO. I’m aiming to wrap it up in 2 or 3 more chapters, but I can’t promise anything :( Read on AO3

CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2

Scan. Total. Change. Repeat.

Every beep of the scanner feels like a tiny jab at Gyutaro’s sanity. Groceries slide across the counter in a boring parade of the usual—cereal boxes, milk cartons, bags of apples.

His eyes glaze over as he watches the belt crawl forward, the monotony broken only by the occasional odd item: a rubber chicken, some miniature plastic hands or a single box of condoms.

But even these quirks barely stir his interest anymore.

It’s hard to keep up when the minutes drag like hours, when his back aches from standing too long, when his feet beg for a break but the clock refuses to cooperate. The endless line of customers blends into a blur of faces, each one as disengaged as he feels. A forced tight smile, a quick "Have a nice day," and then it’s back to the loop.

Scan. Total. Change. Repeat.

Even his shifts at the bar don't give him so much headache. It’s busy, it’s loud, he often has to break up fights, but it’s never dull. There’s always something new happening, and it’s a lot more exciting than the same old groceries sliding across the counter every day.

Right now, though? What he really wants is a moment of peace.

Normally, he’d be counting down the last twenty minutes until clocking out, but not tonight. He's asked to stay longer— another hour, maybe two. As much as his body screams for rest, rent won’t pay itself and the thought of an empty fridge waiting for him at home is enough to keep him going.

So he pushes through, works his ass off until 10pm and finally clocks out when the sun starts going down. He smokes one last cigarette outside the store, flicks the butt onto the ground then stomps on it, extinguishing the embers under his shoe before he heads toward his bike.

The ride home is quiet, just the hum of the engine as he weaves through the nearly empty roads. It’s a little over a 30-minute drive, but it feels longer when he’s this drained. The cold air helps keep him alert, but by the time he pulls into the lot outside his apartment, all he can think about is crashing into bed.

-

Inside, the place is quiet. Too quiet.

Ume’s not here. He barely registers the note she left on the counter—something about another girl’s night out, don’t wait up. He tosses it aside and heads straight for the fridge, already expecting the worst.

And sure enough, it’s almost empty. A half-empty carton of milk, a few eggs, some questionable leftovers he doesn’t trust enough to reheat. Not much else.

For that reason, he’s thankful for Ume's friends. They’re the type of people who insist on paying for everyone’s dinner without a second thought, perks of having rich friends. It’s a small comfort, knowing she’s cared for in ways he can’t always manage. At least she’s eating better than he is.

With a sigh, Gyutaro grabs a pack of ham from the deli drawer and pulls some (thankfully not moldy) bread from the cabinet. It’s not much, but it’ll do. He throws together a simple sandwich, not even bothering to toast the bread, and eats it standing by the counter. No plate, no effort. Just something to fill the emptiness in his stomach.

He checks his phone then— just a few system notifications staring back at him as usual. A reminder from the weather app about incoming rain, an alert from some forgotten fitness tracker urging him to move, and a low storage warning. Nothing new. Twitter and Instagram are both dry as hell, if not for Tengen’s neverending story that keeps him somewhat entertained for maybe thirty seconds, just long enough to remind him that his life seriously fucking sucks compared to other people’s.

Gyutaro sets the phone face-down on the counter with a dull thunk and rakes a hand through his hair, exhaling a heavy sigh. It’s probably the hundredth one today. The realization almost makes him snort.

He figures he doesn't really have a reason to stay up any longer. Might as well brush his teeth, maybe rinse his face, try to stop the creeping headache from taking over completely and get some well deserved sleep.

He makes a beeline for his room, plugs in his phone with barely a glance before pushing open the bathroom door — only to freeze at the sight waiting for him.

Makeup brushes scattered across the sink. A curling iron still plugged in, its cord snaking dangerously close to a puddle of water. Towels—two of them—crumpled in a soggy heap by the bathtub.

“Fucking hell, Ume.” he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How hard is it to clean up after yourself?” he grumbles.

He steps over the chaos, carefully avoiding the puddles, and starts picking up the mess. It’s not his responsibility to pick up after his sister, but he knows that if he leaves it, it’ll be there for at least a couple days.

Once the counter's cleared and the clutter shoved back into place, Gyutaro straightens up slowly. His gaze catches on the mirror and he hesitates, his expression a little more critical than usual. He frowns, grabbing his messy, greasy hair with a slight look of disgust.

He opens the faucet and lets the water run until it's warm, then bends awkwardly over the sink, letting the water soak through his hair. He doesn't use proper shampoo, just a bit of hand soap and scrubs roughly at his scalp, trying to rinse away the worst of it.

It’s a poor substitute for a real shower, he’s well aware of it, but he doesn’t have the energy for anything else. Without Ume around to nag him, to wrinkle her nose dramatically and shove clean clothes at him, it can wait until morning.

So yeah. That'll have to do.

He cleans his hair roughly, brushes his teeth, strips out of his shirt, kicks off his jeans, and leaves them in a heap on the floor. Then he flicks off the bathroom light and trudges to bed, the sheets cool against his skin as he slides under them.

He reaches for his phone again without thinking, the screen lighting up his face in pale blue.

His thumb moves before his brain fully catches up. OnlyFans.

He wastes no time, immediately pulling up your account and sure enough, the brand new ‘erotic audios’ are right here— shoved in his face.

Surprisingly, he doesn't do anything with them at first. Doesn't press play. Doesn't touch himself. He just scrolls through your more modest free content (if lace panties and sheer bras count as modest), mindlessly zooming in on your tits and reading through the comments like it's the local newspaper. There’s a whole thread under one of your mirror selfies debating whether your tits are natural like it’s a scholarly fucking discussion.

Then, Gyutaro pauses, thumb hovering above the screen as a different thought creeps in.

Have you spent his money yet?

He doesn’t know why it matters. It’s not like he can get it back, and getting pissed over you spending the money he handed over would be pathetic. Stupid, even.

It's no longer his money. But the bitter feeling clings to him anyway, wedged somewhere in the back of his mind, like this whole ordeal is somehow your fault.

You're a relatively new content creator after all. He figures the money probably hit your account and vanished just as fast. Rent, maybe. Groceries. Some twisted part of him hopes you spent it on something necessary instead of treating yourself.

The idea of you walking into some store with that cash in your pocket, picking out new lingerie for your streams, or makeup, or even something stupid like fancy clothes—it makes him boil. Gets under his skin badly.

So much that his frustration nearly makes him do the responsible thing. His thumb hovers near the lock button for a fleeting moment, ready to toss the phone aside and pretend he might actually sleep.

It's totally short-lived though, as he almost instantly finds himself sinking further into the mattress, gaze sharpening as he reaches for his earbuds and slips them in easily. Then he starts scrolling again; more deliberately this time, until he finds them.

Four audios, lined up in a neat little row.

“Family gathering."

"Late-Night Confessions"

"Your Little Secret”

"After Hours"

Like you said, the first one’s free. But it's not like it matters to him. He’s already subscribed, already paying for full access like a fucking regular.

Part of him tells him to forget it. He’s tired—bone-deep, the kind that sinks into his limbs and makes even breathing feel like an effort. He doubts he'll even be able to fully get it up tonight. He’s not sure he even wants to touch himself.

But curiosity wins out in the end.

He swallows down the shame and presses play on the first audio. He adjusts his earbuds, the sound of door opening then closing setting the scene.

“Shh, we have to be quiet…”

Your soft giggles fill his ears. Then, kissing sounds.

“What? I can be quiet. If anyone's going to draw attention to us and get us caught, it's you. Don't act like it hasn't happened before.”

There’s another soft, teasing giggle. “I can’t believe you pulled me in here.” You pause, and then, a sound—more kissing, this time hurried, frantic. “Mmm… everyone’s right outside.”

Gyutaro listens carefully. The audio starts mild, with mostly kissing sounds and teasing words. That alone is enough to contradict his earlier thoughts and make his cock harden. He swears under his breath and slips his hand into his boxers, shutting his eyes as he listens.

“We’re gonna get in so much trouble… what if my dad hears?” You sound giddy, almost like you’re smiling against his lips. He begins to stroke his cock slowly, imagining the way you’d look — flushed, your eyes lit up with that mischievous spark.

Another kiss, deeper this time, followed by a muffled moan. “They’re all gonna wonder where we went… but you couldn’t wait, could you?” The sound of your breathing fills the silence, hot and heavy. Then, the distinctive sound of a buckle being undone. Gyutaro's hand continues to work his shaft, his palm gliding over the birthmarks nice and steady, coaxing it to full hardness as he listens intently.

“You’re so bad… sneaking me away like this.” Another wet kiss. “I love it, though. The way you can’t keep your hands off me.” There’s a rustle, like clothes shifting, bodies pressed closer. “Mhh, fuck, You're so big,”.

Then, you let out a small yelp. There's a bit of shuffling, followed by soft laughter. “What are you doing?” The kissing sounds continue as you speak, and Gyutaro has a pretty good idea of what's going to happen next. “You really don't have to, baby.”

A quiet moan slips through the audio, making his cock twitch.

He hears everything—every whimper, every echo of your voice in the cramped space, even the faint, slick sounds that perfectly mirror what he imagines to be his own actions. It sounds real, so real that he can't help but wonder if you're actually getting eaten out, or if you're just that good at making sound effects.

Your moans are breathless and shaky, and you can't seem to form a coherent sentence even if you try. The only words that seem to leave your mouth are a series of shaky gasps, whimpers, and muffled moans of "babe", “right there” and “just like that” over and over again.

Behind his eyelids, Gyutaro pictures himself in a random bathroom with you. Down on his knees, his head between your spread legs while you sit pretty on the counter and his mouth devours your pussy.

His breathing is quickening, shallow and uneven as he picks up the pace, his chest rising and falling with every pump of his hand.

“Fuck.” he grunts to himself as his head presses back into his pillow. His cock is slick with precum, his thumb swiping across the tip, a slow, shaky pass that nearly undoes him—but he holds back. He wants to know what happens next. He wants to cum when you do.

“Mmh yes. You make me feel so good, baby.”

“I'm your good girl. I’m yours.”

“Please—”

His body jerks, hips thrusting upward as he imagines your pleading eyes looking down at him.

“Don’t stop—”

Then it hits him. His vision blurs, everything going white as his orgasm hits, his release spilling over his hand and stomach in thick spurts. His jaw clenches, a low, guttural sound tearing from his throat as he rides the aftershocks. His toes curl, his legs twitch, and for a fleeting moment everything else fades away—no worries, no guilt, just pure, blinding ecstasy.

Afterwards, he just lies there breathless, the silence in his room overwhelming, broken only by the faint rush of blood pulsing in his ears and the relentless tick of the clock above his door. Slowly, the fog in his mind clears, and reality settles back in.

He wipes his hand on his boxers, the satisfaction fading much quicker than he’d like, giving way to that stupid post-orgasm clarity which always leaves him feeling gross.

His hand trembles slightly as it reaches for the lighter and cigarettes on the nightstand, fingers grazing over the clutter—empty beer cans, crumpled tissues, the usual mess he never bothers to clean. He pulls one out and flicks the wheel once, twice, three times before the lighter finally ignites. The flame catches the edge of the cigarette and he pulls the smoke deep into his lungs, letting it drift from his lips with a slow, tired exhale.

Gyutaro isn't sure how long he lies there, eyes unfocused as the minutes drag by in silence. Eventually though, something tugs at the edge of his awareness and his gaze starts to shift— slowly, almost reluctantly— back to the laptop that's still open on his desk, the screen dimmed but not dark.

He stares for a moment before letting out another long exhale of smoke.

Fuck it.

To: VelvetVixen

Subject: 250$ tip

hi,

i’’m glad you enjoyed the tip… I’m not sure what to ask for though. I guess I’d be happy if you just acknowledged me in the chat and said my name

take care,

gyutaro

Sent: 00:27 AM

[blackwall-my-tiny-husband]

Thursday Bangers 6/4

Lyric game started and hosted by @woundedsoul12 this week

Rules: Free from a blurb or drawing based on the weekly lyrics prompt. It doesn't have to include the prompt just whatever you're inspired to write, write it! Then tag some friends so they can play as well. It doesn't have to be finished on Thursday just post it whenever you can (you have a whole week between Thursdays)

Baby I'm so into you // Darling, if you only knew // All the things that flow through my mind - Fantasy by Mariah Carey

Very Alternate Universe for this fic c:

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

The air was cold in the little village. Zalan breathed it in although his chest still felt tight and locked up. Emmrich would probably say it was stress from fighting, and killing, gods. Viago would tell him it was emotions better packed away where they had no control. Lucanis would say it was everything finally catching up to him, it had been too much to put on someone, and the first talon would know.

Zalan exhaled past the feeling and drank, the liquid warm going down his throat and he looked up with a tired smile as Harding approached. He held out a hand from his spot in the back of some dark little bar some place in southern Tevinter. She rolled her eyes at him but accepted the hand and slid into his tiny booth.

“Isn’t it a little early to be drinking?” She teased setting her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands, staring pointedly at him and his flask.

“Couldn’t sleep.” He explained, sleep had been hard to come by after killing Elgernan and ruining Levellan’s chances of being with Solas. He shouldn’t have let his temper get the better of him and he should have reasoned with the Dread Wolf instead of choosing to fight the elf. He’d seen the inquisitor just off to the side, eyes wide and pleading and still chosen to lunge for Solas. It had been a mistake, he should have talked with him.

“You have to let it go.” She told him, looking sympathetic. But the look on the woman’s face would haunt him, he’d taken her love from her. He wouldn’t be able to forget it. It swirled with all the other regrets he still held. He’d escaped the prison of Solas’ design but his choices plagued him.

“Lace…” He said her name like a drowning man. He looked up at her soft eyes, she hadn’t moved away, and set a hand on his shoulder so lightly he almost couldn’t feel it.

“It just takes time.” She told him with a quiet sigh. He felt his heart clench at the words. How many times had he heard them after getting back from the prison, after finishing the job Viago had assigned him all those months ago? Too many and he didn’t think they were right. How could they be? Time wouldn’t make him feel better. He nodded though, automatically despite the bile raising in his throat.

Harding leaned away from him and he took another swig of the drink. Capping the flask and tucking it back in his shirt, he looked to the scout.

“Will you ever forgive me?” He asked. The inquisitor and her had been close. He almost wanted to ask the elf the same question but feared the answer would be yes she would forgive him.

“You know I already did. I could never have blamed you.” Her voice was soft and she leaned back over, wrapping her arms around the one arm she could reach. He desperately wanted to press his nose into her hair, he wanted to smell the soft earthy scents that lingered there. He wanted to tell her how much he loved her and all the things he’d wanted to tell her since offering to spend the night with her to keep away nightmares. He had so much Lace Harding flowing through his head that it swam with her.

But he couldn’t. It would hurt him too much to say any of those things out loud now. He tipped the flask- when had that gotten back into his hand- and drained the contents.

Familiar voices were coming unexpectedly from the doorway to the little tavern and he blinked and tried to look over. He thought he succeeded but it was blurry and hard to make out. Harding was leaning away from him again and the panic was pressing in his chest at her withdrawal. She couldn’t leave him, not yet.

But then Davrin was standing in front of his table, Bellara beside him. Bellara let out a little gasp but Zalan ignored her, fumbling with the flask. He shook it desperately but there wasn’t even a splash left. Davrin scooted into the booth beside him while Bellara snatched the flask from his hand bringing it to her nose to sniff. Davrin was in his face, Harding was standing near Bellara in front of the booth looking sad.

“You can’t keep living this fantasy. You know what you have to do.” She said and Zalan could feel his heart break again. Bellara made a noise and Davrin who was trying to get a good look at the crow’s eyes glanced over his shoulder at her.

“It’s Lyrium.” Her eyes were wide and horrified.

“No wonder he looks so bad- he’s been taking that.” Davrin turned back to zalan with a sadness in his eyes, “Come on let’s get you back to the lighthouse.”

But Zalan wasn’t looking at him and instead at the space between the two,

“Harding…” It was a plea, and the scout sadly shook her head. Bellara looked at him then, pulling her attention away from the container in her hands.

“Is that why you disappeared after the gods? Why you’re taking lyrium?” Davrin asked while Bellara looked so sad, eyes shiny with tears, but Zalan was trying to look past her at where Harding had been. Only it was so blurry and he couldn’t tell where she was. Which made more of the panic set in. He needed more lyrium, that would fix it.

“We all miss her Zalan. But she wouldn’t want you doing this to yourself. She’d want you to keep living.” Bellara’s voice wobbled and she looked like maybe she wanted to cry. Zalan couldn’t see the scout at all now and the world was blurry, from the effects of the drug or because of the tears welling up in his eyes he wasn’t sure.

“I just wanted to see her again.” It was mumbled, voice broken. It was hard to see, Davrin might have been trying to wrestle him out of the booth and into his arms but he was numb to it. But it didn’t matter, Lace Harding had died on tearstone, sacrificing herself so everyone could live, and wherever the two elves took him she’d still be dead. Their help wouldn’t fix that.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Hi welcome to my Worst Case Scenerio AU (jazz hands)

This fic is dedicated to @woundedsoul12 you made me sad so I had to be sad too

Zalan decided since Harding got hurt in solas’ ritual because he took her this time he’d send her to the B team at tearstone to keep her far away from the main fight. This worked super well (definitely) and she died. Because she died he went full scorched earth and chose to fight solas at the end despite Levellan’s pleas because he wanted to blame solas. He feels guilty for this after and leaves the team and antiva after the final battle.

I did play this scenerio out in one of my playthroughs hoping that I’d get some ending credits for beating the game with my LI dead but sadly no (I was really hoping for that flower photo but like the love interest flower wilted or cut so I did it myself)

Gently no pressure tagging (most of you have probably done this but just in case) @davrinsleftpectoral @jukkaricity @chaosherald @hedwigoprah @therivercrow @falcatas @kabsey @therivercrow

[luv-again]

We know what happened to Shadows parents but what are your headcanons for Amy’s parents? Would Shadow and Amy share their stories?

ahhh hi !! i was just wondering when you were going to drop by next and a minute later, there you were. the intuition has been wildly on point these past couple of days, haha. but yippee !! you're just in time for my weekend so i can crack this out, no holding off this time ! <33

shadamy's parents

can i just start this off by telling you that both ironically and unironically i love gerald and black doom. it's so funny to me ?? playing shadow 05 for the first time and discovering that cutscene prior to cosmic fall where shadow finds out '[gerald] created [him] with black doom' is so ??? and while i was paraphrasing that line, the little flashbacks paired with it- idk about you guys but my old man yaoi goggles were on that day. shadow's two deranged divorced dads :) the concept is both downright hilarious but something i accepted a little too readily LMAO

ANYWAY

i have a couple of headcanons about amy's parents, and it kind of depends on what i'm writing for and how that background would impact her psyche and judgement. i can never give you one answer, can i lol

TAHI (1) : amy's parents abandoned her as a child (whether that be by accident or intentionally)

idk a lot about the classic games as i haven't had the opportunity to play them yet, but sometime prior to cd with never lake and little planet and all, amy's parents abandon her and is left to fend for herself. this, of course, causes her to have abandonment issues further down the line. arguably, this could be backed up by scenes in sa2 where she gets left behind by the boys so often — at one point she doesn't even realise she's part of the team when she finally gets acknowledged. that breaks my heart. however, it would all add up

i touch on a little bit of these issues in one of my fics, where amy has a hard time believing shadow will stick by her in the events of cryptic castle because nobody really has stuck by her with total consistency. but without a word, he convinces her that she's worthy of stable support and in turn she puts her full trust in him. actions speak louder than words and all <3

RUA (2) : amy actually has loving parents who support and respect her independence

kids are pretty impressionable, so it would make sense that amy's boundless love had to come from somewhere ! amy's parents would be the type to love each other very much, resolve their spats diplomatically (despite one of her parents' hot temper - i always hc this to be the mother for some reason) and that's likely where amy developed a lot of her ideas about love from. amy's an adventurous spirit, always has been and her parents know this. they trust her to be able to handle herself, hence why she lives alone. amy keeps her parents updated on her life when she can and rarely ever keeps secrets from them

i've done an angle of this in another of my projects, but it developed into something far more complicated that i won't get into here, for brevity's sake

absolutely shadow and amy would exchange stories about their parents ! if amy experienced the first point i made, perhaps she'd have trouble navigating and discussing that topic due to trauma, but so would shadow, so i feel like they'd ease themselves into having that conversation or it occurs naturally sometime into their relationship when deep discussions don't feel like a scary boundary to cross. if it was the latter point, amy would be thrilled to share with shadow about her childhood, so long as it doesn't gut him to be reminded of what happened to him on the ark. she'd eventually take him to meet her parents, no doubt and if they're anything like her, they'd embrace him with open arms :)

thank you for these asks as always, i always have so much fun writing them out for you !!!! love <3

[aurorasdaybreak]

close to you, a late night playlist

summary: it’s been a while since you’ve been back in linkon city - staying in one place is hard when you’re one of the most celebrated pediatricians of your time, after all. your constant movement is disrupted when an unexpected invitation to be an honorary professor at linkon university has you packing your bags and settling into a new apartment, excited to create new memories in the city you once called home.  there’s just one problem with your carefully laid-out plans, though: a well-known cardiac surgeon who’s going to be co-teaching some classes with you - the same cardiac surgeon who just so happens to be your ex-fiancé. info: cardiac surgeon!zayne x afab!pediatric surgeon!reader | exes to coworkers to lovers | angst, fluff, smut | 24k words author's note: haha heeeeey everybody :')) after months and months of writing and fighting writer's block, i've finished the zayne fic™!! she's a labor of love and still going through edits so i wanted to make a lil fic teaser/playlist kind of thing :')) i listen to a lot of music when i write (i tend to form plots if i listen to a song on repeat if you couldn't tell) so this just fits!! with all that being said, close to you is scheduled to release this upcoming saturday @ around noon time PST. i hope you guys enjoy!! if you wanna leave a little thought or be tagged, drop an ask and i'll get to you :)

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ afterglow by taylor swift ⤷ "why'd i have to break what i love so much?"

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ close to you by gracie abrams ⤷ "break my heart and start a fire, you got me overnight/just let me be close to you"

“Who am I co-teaching with?” Zayne exhales sharply, as if he’d been waiting for you to finally prod at the snoring bear in the corner of the room. Dr. Chung looks at you with mild surprise, eyes flickering between the two of your bodies before laughing once more. “Why, ____, did Zayne not tell you? You two are going to be co-professors!” Fuck…you’re going to be teaching with Zayne?!

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ delicate by taylor swift ⤷ "sometimes i wonder when you sleep, are you dreaming of me?"

“I’m glad you’re here now,” you reply. You playfully bump his shoulder, your smile widening when you see the corners of his lips tilt up. “Now you get to relax!” “It’s hard for me to relax.” His head dips down lower so his lips are right by your ear, and you feel yourself shiver at the way his mouth barely brushes your skin. Eyes threatening to slip shut, you reach up and wrap your fingers around his bicep - earning yourself a low groan and another thrilling sensation racing up your spine.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ fortunate change by joshua of seventeen ⤷ [trans.] "more vivid than yesterday/warmer than yesterday/to me you're my fortunate change."

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ is this love (piano ver.) by xg ⤷ "i don't know if it's meant to be/but it feels like everything."

“It’s not on you, ____.” Yvonne’s voice is firm and she squeezes your hand tightly as she bumps you lightly with her shoulder. “It was a mutual agreement to keep the engagement private and you guys were so happy. Transferring to a different hospital was reasonable and you did it so you could move on - no one faults you for that, ____.” You freeze slightly when you hear move on - a phrase loaded with implications and uncharted feelings. Have you moved on?

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ multo by cup of joe ⤷ [trans.] "even if i can't see anything, i still feel your touch in the dark."

Your hand reaches up before you can stop it, and you rest your palm against his own hand. Your breath trembles, but you still find it in yourself to tap your pointer finger three times: a signal only the two of you know. His eyes widen, but his thumb taps against your bottom lip once…twice…

[datfearlessfangirl]

to see you in a new light

My entry for Day 5 of @sonicfemslashweek! I saw the prompt and the plot of the fic came to me immediately. It's a bit shorter than the oneshots I usually write, but I hope it's short and sweet!

AO3 link

Everybody wore them. There was nothing particularly good or bad about them. They were glasses. They fixed your vision when you couldn’t see things that were too far away or too up close. Amy Rose started wearing glasses and it didn’t mean a thing. Besides, she was sure she was still cute and pretty with them on.

But…

See, there was just a teensy problem.

Everyone else had reacted pretty well to her new look. She’d even gotten compliments from Shadow, which was a win in her book. So it was fine! Sort of. Maybe. Except one person had reacted… ok? Not bad, certainly not rude it just… confused Amy.

Because, even despite Amy trying her best to update her style since getting her glasses.

Despite making sure she got the cutest lavender frames to match her color scheme (among other things).

Despite annoying Sonic with a rant about how finding a bow that was pretty but didn’t press up against the frames was nigh impossible and how designers should have thought of this by now.

Blaze always seemed to react the same way. Staring at Amy like a deer in headlights before turning away. The same way she was right at that moment, right when she was invited as an esteemed guest to the Sol Empire. Given the five other times it happened, this usually meant that Blaze would avoid directly looking at her for the entire time she was there. 

Again, not bad. Certainly not the worst reaction she could get. But Amy was getting a little tired of it. She had waited (very patiently, she might add) for Blaze to tell her herself. As it stood, though, she didn’t seem like she was going to open up about it at all. 

So this time, Amy took matters into her own hands.

“Blaze, why do you keep doing that?” she asked, trying and failing to keep the whine out of her voice.

Blaze turned her incredulous gaze Amy’s way, and she almost claimed victory before Blaze froze up and turned away… again.

“Ugh, that! Why do you keep doing it?” Amy grumbled.

“Miss Rose, I’m- I apologize if I have offended you,” Blaze coughed, “I simply uh…”

Amy raised an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation from the person still looking away for Pete’s sake!

“Well, you see I… am not used to you wearing glasses,” she reasoned, like that explained anything.

Huffing, Amy crossed her arms, looking away herself. Two can play at that game, princess!

“Miss Rose, again, I mean no offense by it!” Blaze reassured.

Now that Amy was looking away, she couldn’t tell if Blaze had deigned to look over to say the things she was saying. She wasn’t betting money on it. A tiny, silly, whiny part of her told her it’s because, no matter what she did, she looked stupid with her glasses and that was what Blaze “wasn’t used to”.

Unfortunately, that part of her was winning out.

“So you think I look weird in them?”

She heard sharp intake of breath next to her.

“No! No, it’s nothing like that!”

“Then why won’t you look at me?” Amy complained, whirling around to look at Blaze.

She’s mildly surprised to see Blaze actually looking at her this time around, but experience had taught her this wasn’t going to last long. Apparently, she was wrong, because Blaze was still looking at her (she was still stiff as a board). Now that she had a clear view, Amy noticed the slightest hint of a blush on the princess’ cheeks. It was… cute. Very cute in fact. 

Amy gulped.

Blaze looked down, eventually, and Amy was still recovering from seeing Blaze blush to care that she was looking away.

“I have not been completely honest as to why I invited you here, Miss Rose,” she confessed. “I had wanted to tell you something and it is part of the reason I react so strangely to your new glasses.”

From Blaze’s posture, it was clear that the princess was having a hard time coming clean with what she wanted to say. Amy took one of Blaze’s hands in her own and gave it a little squeeze, fighting back a coo when she saw Blaze look back up at her with a blush twice as red as the last one.

“Ah- um… you see I… I have found myself feeling strange things about you. I was confused at first, but upon consulting others I realized what it was,” Blaze sighed. “I believe I may have fallen in love with you.”

It took Amy a second to process what she heard, but when she did, her smile was a mile wide.

“You are?” she asked.

This time, when Blaze looked away, she saw it for what it was, and goodness did that make the whole thing something out of a rom-com. Amy could scarcely breathe with it.

“I have little doubt. I understand if you are opposed,” Blaze reasoned.

Amy brought her other hand up to the hand she was already holding and pressed it to her chest.

“Blaze, I changed my wardrobe twice so that you would notice me and say something now that I have these glasses on,” Amy chuckled. “These glasses have helped my eyesight a lot. Do you want to know some of the things I see now?”

If Blaze was confused by the question, she didn’t show it, instead nodding minutely.

“Well, for one, I can finally see that wonderful Sol Empire skyline. I can see the bird perched on that tree. My favorite thing I’m seeing, though, is the beautiful blush on your face.”

She felt a tug on the hand she was holding, watching as Blaze covered one cheek with her free hand.

“I can see a lot more than that too! You wanna hear?” Amy asked, grinning when Blaze nodded again.

“I can see us getting ice cream together. I can see us holding hands. I can see us cuddling together watching a movie on my couch,” she listed as Blaze watched Amy with a look that she could only describe as awestruck.

Blaze smiled, that soft and small one that always made Amy’s heart flutter. Did Blaze’s heart flutter when Amy smiled? It might have if she took all this effort just to confess that she loved Amy. Oh goodness, she couldn’t contain her joy!

“Amy, how is it that you know exactly what to say to endear me to you all over again?” Blaze asked.

Amy squeezed the hand she was holding again as she replied, “Well, I have to return the favor somehow don’t I?”

Blaze laughed, and part of Amy knew she was ready to hear that laugh for the rest of her life.

[persephoneflouwers]

Hi Angie, i hope it is alright that im calling you Angie, this is C.

Sorry for not replying earlier, I hope you are doing good. I’m also sorry to see that you lost someone so important to you, hope you are feeling better now.

I kinda screenshotted your answer to get back to you at a more suitable time (I see that I have the best timing now that the circus is back in town like talk about that wasted time eh Harry, anyway..)

I’m sorry that the fandom evolved into a place where you (and me and I’m sure many others) are feeling bad for voicing opinions that are essentially the fundamentals of being a larrie. The way this has been happening is particularly disheartening when people accuse us of apparently not respecting their closet or blaming them for their closets, like that is some level of gaslighting and guilt tripping.

I guess the fandom became this way now because louder voices are more occupied with following the biggest popstar (their words definitely not mine) of recent years than two closeted musicians that they can see past all the bs H and his team pull to the point where them voicing all the praise and how this fuck-boy persona is a must to make it big are drowning out the reasonable judgments of many levelheaded fans that can still manage to be here.

It really makes me wonder how it would be now with H and L if the fandom could have been more open with our criticism towards their recent way of handling fame, business etc, like im not trying to attribute more importance than we deserve to us as a fandom in their lives or saying we know better than them but we experienced firsthand how they were attuned to the chatter of larry fandom, maybe some tough love is what they need to hear instead of all the coddling (especially H) they are oddly receiving mostly from this part of fandom.

Also, im not trying to sound insensitive but it feels like they are missing Jay-like figure in their lives who im firmly believing was the voice of reason for them (I dont wanna get into this too much out of respect for Jay)

I have so much respect for you (and other blogs like you) bc you guys refuse to give into pressure of following whats come to be “the truth” and still speak your truths, there is nothing off putting about that believe me, it is admirable.

Im sorry if this ask feels incoherent, if it is so, you are gonna understand why in my following ask which would be just for you.

Hello, C 🦋 it’s so comforting to read your messages every now and then. I hope life is treating you well.

I know I made myself a reputation of an hater, but I’m not. I’m just constantly pushing back whatever stupid move they make. I don’t care if it’s good for their business, it’s not worthy on a human level and I fear the day people will start prioritising job and money and commercial success.

I also understand ignoring whatever thing you don’t like is a way to cope and go through this and curate your experience, but still it won’t make it go away. It’s hard at times, especially here - I’m not particularly close to anyone here so it feels like my experience is just me speaking into the void, you know? - and in this isolation sometimes I feel like the evil character but I don’t think I am. I’m a fan like everyone else, except I am very opinionated and more often than not I don’t agree with what I see/read here and there.

But thank you for coming back. I will not post the other part II because I like that little secret between us 😌 you’ll find me here when you decide to share more of your thoughts of course <3