#i just want it to be over. i can’t wait until it’s over | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

4linos · 3 days ago

Text

crossroads.

lee felix x fem!reader, (slight seungmin x fem!reader)

synopsis/request: love turned to betrayal, hope turned to heartbreak. felix thought he could move on until you gave him a reason not to.

warnings: cheating, pregnancy, cursing, alcohol mentions.

wc: 4306

(a/n: non idol!skz.)

The morning light filters softly through the curtains, casting golden streaks across the bed. You shift under the blankets, sighing contentedly as you stretch. The space beside you is warm, but Felix hasn’t moved. He’s usually the first to stir, groggy and clingy, pressing sleepy kisses to your shoulder while murmuring something sweet.

But today, he’s still.

You blink the sleep from your eyes, rolling over to face him. His back is to you, stiff and unmoving. He’s sitting up, gripping his phone so tightly his knuckles have turned white. His shoulders rise and fall in uneven breaths.

"Felix?" you murmur, voice laced with sleep. You reach out, fingers brushing against his arm.

He flinches.

You freeze. A chill runs through you, despite the warmth of the blankets.

Your stomach twists, but you force a small smile, leaning in to press a soft kiss against his lips. "Good morning, love."

But he pulls away.

It’s not subtle. It’s not groggy or distracted. It’s deliberate. Cold.

Your smile fades instantly. "What’s wrong?"

The silence that follows is deafening.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he exhales shakily. His voice is hoarse when he finally speaks, like it hurts to get the words out.

"I know."

Your breath catches.

Something in the way he says it hollow, defeated makes your entire body go rigid.

“What?" Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Felix turns to you, and the second your eyes meet, the air is sucked from your lungs.

His brown eyes, usually so full of love, warmth, safety are unrecognizable. They’re red-rimmed, swollen. A storm of emotions swirls in them—hurt, betrayal, anger. But more than anything, devastation.

His lips part, like he’s trying to speak but can’t find the words. Then, after a moment, he lifts his phone.

Your heart plummets.

The screen is too bright in the dim morning light, but you can still make out the messages, the photos, the timestamps. It’s all there. Every text. Every late-night meetup. The exchanged pictures. The whispered I love you’s that were never meant for him.

It feels like the ground has been ripped out from under you.

"Felix, I—"

"Don't." His voice is sharp, colder than you’ve ever heard it. His whole body is trembling, his fingers curled into his palms so tightly they’re turning white. "Don’t you dare lie to me."

Your throat closes up. You can barely breathe.

He lets out a bitter laugh, one that holds no humor just pure, unfiltered pain. "God, I was so fucking stupid, wasn’t I?" His voice cracks. "I trusted you. I loved you. I gave you everything, and the whole time you were—" He stops himself, exhaling shakily as he squeezes his eyes shut, like saying it out loud makes it too real.

"How long?"

The words cut through the silence like a blade.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. What are you supposed to say?

Felix watches you, waiting for an answer that you don’t have. His jaw clenches. "How long have you been sneaking around with him? How long have you been looking me in the eyes and telling me you love me while you were fucking someone else?"

Tears sting your eyes. "Felix, please—"

"ANSWER ME!"

You flinch. He’s never yelled at you before. Never raised his voice, never spoken to you with anything but love. And yet, here he is voice raw, shaking, filled with something you never thought you’d be the cause of.

You swallow hard. "I never wanted to hurt you."

His expression crumbles.

"But you did."

Silence.

Felix’s breathing is uneven, like he’s barely keeping himself together. "Do you even love me?" His voice is softer now, but somehow, it’s even worse than the anger. "Or was I just—convenient?"

"I do love you," you whisper. "Felix, I swear—"

"Then why?" His voice cracks. His eyes search yours, desperate, like maybe just maybe there’s an explanation that could make this hurt less. But there isn’t.

You have no answer. No excuse.

Felix sucks in a sharp breath, like he’s trying to stop himself from breaking right in front of you. His hands shake as he runs them through his hair. "God, do you know how fucking humiliating this is?" His voice wavers. “I was walking around telling everyone how much I love you, how lucky I am, and the whole time—" He exhales sharply, shaking his head. "The whole time, you were lying to me."

Your heart is in your throat.

"Felix—"

"No." His voice is hollow now, like he’s shutting down completely. He stands abruptly, stepping away from the bed, like he can’t bear to be near you anymore. His hands are trembling as he grabs his phone, his keys.

"I can’t do this." His voice is barely above a whisper now.

Panic surges in your chest. "Felix, wait please, we can talk about this—"

"There’s nothing to talk about." His eyes meet yours one last time, and the finality in them makes your stomach churn. "I won’t be your second choice. I won’t be the idiot you come home to after running off with him."

His hands tighten into fists. "It’s over, I’m done."

And just like that, he walks out.

The door closes behind him with a soft click and it’s deafening.

The door closes, and the silence that follows is suffocating.

For a moment, you just sit there, frozen, heart pounding so hard it feels like it might break through your ribcage. Your mind races, trying to process what just happened, trying to convince yourself that this is some kind of nightmare you’ll wake up from any second now.

But you don’t wake up.

Felix is gone.

Your hands shake as you push the blankets off, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. The room feels unbearably cold. You want to run after him, to stop him, to tell him it was all a mistake, that you still love him, that it never meant anything. But you know deep down that none of those words will fix what you did.

You betrayed him.

And he’s never coming back.

Your eyes dart to your phone, lying face-up on the nightstand. Hesitantly, you reach for it, unlocking the screen with trembling fingers. The guilt in your chest tightens like a vice when you see the open messages, the proof of everything Felix saw.

The messages with Seungmin are still there, staring back at you like a death sentence.

Last night was amazing. I miss you already.

I love you.

Is he there now? Can I call?

Wish you were here with me instead of with him.

Your stomach churns.

You can’t even remember what excuse you gave Felix last night when you left. Maybe you told him you were meeting a friend. Maybe you said you had errands to run. It doesn’t matter anymore. He knows now. He knows everything.

You squeeze your eyes shut, gripping the phone so tightly your knuckles turn white.

And then, impulsively, you type a message.

Felix, please. I need to talk to you.

You stare at the screen, waiting. Hoping. Begging for the little “typing…” indicator to pop up.

Nothing.

Your hands shake as you try again.

I never meant to hurt you. Please just let me explain.

Still nothing.

Seconds turn into minutes. Minutes feel like hours. The silence is unbearable.

You try calling him, pressing the phone to your ear, heart hammering as it rings. Once. Twice. Three times.

Then..

Beep.

“The number you are trying to reach is unavailable.”

He blocked you.

The realization hits like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from your lungs. Felix, who never ignored your calls, who never let a text go unanswered, who always made sure you knew how much he loved you wants nothing to do with you.

And it’s all your fault.

Tears blur your vision as you lower the phone, gripping it tightly in your lap. A choked sob escapes your lips, the weight of your actions crashing over you like a tidal wave. You want to scream. You want to turn back time, undo everything, go back to before you ruined it all.

But you can’t.

Felix is gone.

And the worst part?

You have to live with it.

The days blurred into each other, an endless cycle of silence and regret. Weeks had passed since that morning, since Felix had discovered the truth, since he had walked out of your life without a second glance. And still, there was no sign of him.

You had tried everything. Calling, texting, even showing up at places you thought he might be. But the reality was clear. Felix wanted nothing to do with you. He had blocked you, erased you from his life as if you had never existed.

The loneliness was suffocating.

Seungmin had tried reaching out, his name appearing on your screen more times than you could count. But every time, the sight of it made your stomach churn. You had blocked him days ago, unable to stomach the idea of hearing his voice, of facing the person who had played an equal role in destroying the one good thing you had.

Deep down, you knew it wasn’t just his fault. You had made the choices. You had lied. You had let it happen.

But right now? Right now, you wanted to blame it all on him.

It was easier that way.

It had been weeks.

Weeks since he had woken up beside you, blissfully unaware of the storm that was about to rip him apart. Weeks since he had sat in bed, gripping his phone, reading through screenshotted messages that shattered his world piece by piece. Weeks since he had last heard your voice, seen your face, felt your touch.

Weeks since he had lost the person he thought he would spend the rest of his life with.

Felix had been staying at Chan’s place ever since that morning, crashing on his couch, refusing to go home. His apartment, the one he had shared with you felt haunted. Every corner of it was tainted with memories of you, of whispered confessions and soft laughter, of the love he had so foolishly thought was real.

He barely ate. Barely slept.

Sometimes, in the dead of night, he let himself cry. Other times, he drowned himself in alcohol, hoping it would numb the ache in his chest. But nothing worked. The pain clung to him, a suffocating weight that refused to let go.

"You can't keep doing this, Lix."

Chan's voice was soft yet firm, cutting through the haze of Felix’s misery. He was standing over the couch, arms crossed, watching his friend with barely concealed concern.

Felix didn’t respond. He just stared blankly at the ceiling, empty soju bottles littered around him.

Chan sighed. "I know it hurts, but this? This isn't helping."

Felix let out a bitter laugh, rubbing a hand over his tired face. “What else am I supposed to do, hyung?" His voice was hoarse, laced with exhaustion. "Pretend I’m fine? Go on with my life like nothing happened?"

Chan’s expression softened. "No. But you can’t just waste away here either. It’s been weeks, Felix. You haven’t left this apartment except to buy more alcohol. You barely eat. You barely talk."

A beat of silence.

“You need to get out."

Felix scoffed, sitting up with a groan. "And do what? Go on a walk? Act like my entire world didn’t just fucking fall apart?"

"No," Chan said simply. "Come to the bar with us, get your mind off of things."

Felix blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"Changbin and Hyunjin are meeting me there," Chan continued. "We’re going out, and you’re coming with us."

Felix shook his head immediately. "Hyung, I really don’t think—"

"I wasn't asking, Lix," Chan cut him off, his voice gentle but firm. "You need this. Just a few hours. Just… try."

Felix opened his mouth to argue, but the look in Chan’s eyes stopped him. It wasn’t pity, he knew Chan too well for that. It was concern. Genuine, deep concern. And Felix knew, as much as he wanted to argue, that Chan was right.

So, with a heavy sigh, he muttered, "Fine. Whatever."

Chan smiled slightly, clapping him on the back. "Good. Now go shower, you reek of alcohol."

Felix rolled his eyes, but for the first time in weeks, he felt something other than emptiness.

Maybe, just maybe tonight would help him forget.

The neon glow of the city reflected off the rain-slicked streets as Chan and Felix made their way toward the bar. The night air was crisp, but Felix barely noticed. He had spent the past few weeks numbing himself either by crying himself to sleep, drinking until his thoughts blurred, or scrolling through old messages that made his stomach churn.

But tonight, Chan was forcing him out of his misery.

Felix knew he needed it. He knew that staying locked up in his own head, reliving every moment, every lie, every whispered I love you that wasn’t meant for him was destroying him. But he didn’t know how to stop.

They stepped into the bar, the dim lighting and low hum of music immediately engulfing them.

Hyunjin and Changbin were already there, seated by the entrance on some bar stools. The second they saw Felix, their faces lit up with relief, but the moment they got a closer look at him, the relief was quickly replaced by concern.

"Jesus, Felix," Hyunjin muttered as Felix slid into the seat to him. "You look like shit."

"Thanks," Felix said flatly, waving the waitress over. "Whiskey. Neat."

Chan shot Hyunjin a warning look before sliding in beside Changbin. "How have you guys been?"

"Good. busy with work," Changbin said before giving Felix a pointed look. "You know, like normal functioning adults."

Felix rolled his eyes. "Just say I’ve been a mess and go."

Hyunjin sighed, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. "We were worried about you, man. You barely respond to our messages."

Felix hesitated, then sighed. He wasn’t sure why, but suddenly, he wanted them to know. He wanted them to understand why he had been like this, why the weight in his chest refused to go away.

So, he told them.

He told them everything.

And then, he showed them.

His fingers hovered over his phone screen before pulling up the messages. The texts. The photos. The ones he had seen over and over again, burned into his mind like a scar he couldn’t erase. The proof that he had been nothing but a fool.

Hyunjin and Changbin read in silence. At first, their expressions were unreadable. But as they scrolled, their faces twisted Hyunjin’s jaw clenched, and Changbin let out a slow breath as he sat back in his seat.

"No way," Hyunjin muttered, shaking his head. "I didn’t think Seungmin would ever—" He stopped himself, his hands curling into fists.

"Are you fucking serious?" Changbin muttered, his brows furrowing as he scrolled through the messages. "This is beyond messed up."

Felix scoffed, downing his whiskey in one go before setting the glass down with a dull thud. "Yeah, well, I was too blind to see it." His voice was bitter, laced with something close to self-loathing. "My own best friend, man. He was smiling in my face while—" He cut himself off, shaking his head as he clenched his fists. "I was so fucking stupid."

Chan, Hyunjin, and Changbin shared a look.

Chan, sensing the conversation was heading toward another downward spiral, cleared his throat. "You weren't stupid, Lix. You trusted the people you loved. That’s not a flaw."

"Doesn’t make it hurt less."

"No, it doesn’t," Chan admitted. "But drowning in it won’t help either."

Felix sighed, rubbing his temples. He felt exhausted. Like carrying the weight of this betrayal had drained him completely.

Sensing the tension, Hyunjin quickly changed the subject, shifting the conversation toward work. Slowly, the heavy atmosphere lightened, and for the first time in weeks, Felix found himself relaxing, just a little.

And then

"Hey there."

Felix looked up.

A girl had approached them, standing just beside Felix. She was smiling, soft and warm as she tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

"Mind if I sit?"

Felix blinked, caught off guard. He opened his mouth to respond when instinct kicked in, and he almost said, Sorry, I have a girlfriend.

But then, he remembered.

He didn’t.

His chest tightened, but he forced a smile, nodding. "Yeah, of course."

She slid into the seat beside him, offering her hand. "I’m Jiheon."

Felix hesitated for only a second before shaking it. "Felix."

Hyunjin, Changbin, and Chan exchanged glances then, as if on cue, they all stood.

"Well," Hyunjin said, stretching, "we’ll leave you two to talk."

Felix shot them a look, but they only smirked, winking at him before slipping away to a pool table.

He turned back to Jiheon, who was watching him with a slight smile.

"Can I buy you a drink?" Felix asked.

Jiheon’s smile widened. "I’d love that."

And for the first time in a long time, Felix didn’t think about you.

Felix hadn’t felt this light in weeks.

As he sat across from Jiheon, sipping on his drink and listening to her talk, he found himself forgetting, if only for a little while. The weight in his chest that had been suffocating him since that morning started to lift, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he laughed.

Really laughed.

Jiheon was easy to talk to. She was witty, charming, and had this infectious energy that made it impossible not to be drawn to her. Their conversation flowed effortlessly, from casual small talk to deeper topics music, travel, dreams, regrets.

Felix had been so caught up in their conversation that he barely noticed how much time had passed until the bartender approached their table with an apologetic smile.

"Hey, guys. Hate to break this up, but we're closing soon."

Felix blinked, glancing around. The once-bustling bar was now nearly empty, the music softer, the lights dimmer. Jiheon let out a soft laugh, shaking her head.

"Wow. Guess time really flew, huh?"

Felix smiled, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, guess it did."

They both stood, gathering their things. As they made their way toward the exit, Felix hesitated for a brief moment before pulling out his phone.

"Would it be okay if I got your number?"

Jiheon grinned, taking his phone from his hand and quickly typing it in before handing it back. "I was hoping you’d ask."

Felix chuckled, pocketing his phone. They stepped out into the cool night air, the city still alive with distant sounds of traffic and laughter from late-night wanderers.

"Well, Felix," Jiheon said, tucking her hands into her coat pockets. "I had a really great time tonight."

Felix exhaled, his breath visible in the chilly air. "Yeah… me too."

There was a pause, one that almost felt expectant. But Felix wasn’t ready for anything more. Not yet. Jiheon must have sensed it because she simply smiled and gave him a small wave.

"Text me sometime."

"I will."

With that, she turned and walked away, disappearing into the night.

Felix stood there for a moment, watching her go, then let out a small breath before turning toward the direction of Chan’s apartment.

And for the first time in weeks, his steps felt a little lighter.

When Felix walked through the door of Chan’s apartment, he wasn’t prepared for the way Chan, Hyunjin, and Changbin were all waiting in the living room, their expressions ranging from amused to smug.

Hyunjin was the first to speak, arms crossed. "So? How’d it go?"

Felix rolled his eyes but couldn’t fight the grin that stretched across his face. "Shut up."

Changbin smirked. "That good, huh?"

Chan chuckled, shaking his head. "You look like you just won the lottery."

Felix plopped down onto the couch, running a hand over his face. "I don’t know, it was just… nice. Talking to someone. Feeling normal again."

The room was silent for a moment before Chan spoke, softer this time. "You deserve that, Lix."

Felix looked at his best friend, and for the first time in weeks, he actually believed it.

Felix hadn’t felt this way in a long time.

For the past few weeks, he had been spending time with Jiheon, going on dates and slowly letting his heart feel something again. It felt... right. With her, the laughter was easier, the moments more effortless, and he didn’t feel like he was constantly walking around with a dark cloud over his head.

Tonight, they were at her apartment, and everything was perfect. Jiheon was snuggled up next to him in her living room as they watched her favorite movie. They had been laughing for the past few minutes, enjoying each other’s company with casual ease.

Jiheon fed him a piece of candy from the bowl she had next to her on the coffee table, her smile bright as she glanced over at him.

"You know, you're more fun to watch movies with than I thought," she teased, a playful glint in her eye.

Felix smiled back, his heart warming. "I try."

But then, just as the laughter was starting to die down and they were getting lost in the moment, his phone buzzed on the table beside him.

He reached for it without thinking, but as soon as he saw the unknown number, his stomach dropped. A sense of irritation crept up on him, he hadn’t even thought about you in days, but your presence still lingered like an unwelcome shadow in the back of his mind.

He hesitated for a moment, his finger hovering over the block button, ready to shut the door completely on you. But then, another text arrived, this one from the same number.

"Felix, I really need to talk to you. It’s important."

Felix let out a sharp breath, rolling his eyes. He wasn’t sure what you could possibly want anymore. It had been weeks since he had seen or spoken to you, and he had told himself a million times that he was done. Done with the pain, done with the lies, done with everything that had broken him.

But before he could press the button, the next message came through and it stopped him cold.

"Felix... I’m pregnant."

The words hit him like a punch to the stomach.

He sat up straight, his hand trembling slightly as he read the message again, as if his brain was trying to process it differently.

Pregnant?

For a moment, everything in the room faded away. The sound of Jiheon’s laughter, the soft glow of the TV screen, everything. It all felt distant as Felix’s mind raced.

Pregnant.

What did that even mean?

His thoughts scattered, conflicting emotions flooding his chest. The anger. The betrayal. The confusion. And then, deep down, something else. Panic.

Jiheon noticed the change in his expression immediately. She sat up, concern flickering across her face. "Felix?"

He blinked rapidly, trying to pull himself together. "I… I need to go."

Jiheon’s face dropped, clearly hurt by the sudden shift in his demeanor. "What? Is everything okay?"

Felix’s heart clenched, guilt washing over him for acting so abruptly. He didn’t want to leave her like this, not when she had made him feel so... seen again. But this? This was something he couldn’t ignore.

"Yeah, I just... I need to deal with something," he said, his voice quieter, as he stood up. His mind was still spinning. "I’ll text you, okay?"

Jiheon didn’t say anything at first. She simply nodded, watching him carefully as he grabbed his jacket and left her apartment in a hurry.

Felix stood outside her building for a long moment, staring at his phone as the messages from you lingered on the screen. Pregnant.

His mind was on fire. He didn’t know what to think, what to feel, or what to do. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He had tried so hard to move on, to rebuild, and now you were throwing this bombshell at him.

He quickly dialed your number, his hands shaking as he pressed the phone to his ear.

The line rang.

And rang.

Pick up, pick up, pick up…

Finally, you answered. Your voice was hesitant, almost shaky, as if you were nervous about how he would respond.

"Felix?"

"What the hell, Y/N?" He wasn’t sure if he was angry, confused, or just plain lost. "What do you mean you’re pregnant? How is this even possible?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before you spoke, your voice small but steady. "I don’t know, Lix. I just... I found out. And I didn’t know who else to talk to."

Felix’s breath hitched, frustration bubbling in his chest. He wanted to scream at you, to demand answers, but instead, he stood frozen, staring out into the night.

"You should’ve told me sooner," he managed, his voice cracking slightly. "You’ve ruined everything, Y/N."

Another pause.

"I’m sorry."

Felix didn’t know if you were apologizing for the right reasons, but the words cut deeper than anything else.

He hung up before you could say another word, standing in the dark, feeling like his entire world had come crashing down again.

As Felix drove back to Chan’s apartment, the weight of what you’d just told him crushed him with every passing second. He had been so close to moving on, so close to something real and new with Jiheon.

But now? Now he didn’t know what to do.

How could he walk away from this? How could he pretend this wasn’t his responsibility?

But how could he go back to you? After everything that had happened?

He didn’t have the answers.

And he wasn’t sure when he’d find them.

masterlist.

[a/n 2: yes, y/n made me upset while writing this too🙄. hehe i hope you guys enjoyed! thank you to the anon who gave me this idea for felix angsty dad fic 🤭.]

154 notes · View notes

3vln · 3 days ago

Text

Prologue, Part 1

Words: 5k+

C.W.: missions, galas, Spain, banter, pre-FATWS, no usage of Y/N, tried to keep Reader as vague as possible (might change in the future), Reader is Widow-trained but mostly uses training for combat training and espionage, dives a little into Black Widow plot, somewhat bilingual (2nd half is set in Spain, tw: Spaniards), no smut yet but will have (so MINORS DNI), smidge of exhibitionism (for the mission, right?)

A/N: If fleshed out how I want it to be, this should be a 4-part story: the Prologue I & II (pre-FATWS) and the Epilogue I & II (during FATWS or CA:BNW). Please, please, please, if anyone wants to proofread future stories, please lmk.

Pairings: Lt. Joaquin Torres x WidowTrained!Reader

Joaquín met her when they were both just starting out in the Air Force—young, restless, and burning off the weight of training with cheap drinks and too-loud laughter in some forgettable dive bar. She was adaptable, mostly quiet, and knew when to get rowdy to keep the vibes going. She wasn’t in his cohort, just another face in the sea of military friendships that came and went. He’d be lying if he didn’t try to get to know her a little in the beginning, but something in her eyes or tone said she wasn’t interested - he’s been met with rejection multiple times to know that tone - and left it at that.

Over time, though, their paths kept crossing. Base assignments, joint training sessions, overlapping missions—until familiarity turned into something steadier. As they climbed the ranks in their respective fields, their work intersected often. But while Joaquín’s role was clear, hers always felt… murkier. She never volunteered details, and he never asked. Still, he noticed things—the way she disappeared without explanation, the way her conversations died the second anyone entered a room. Whatever she did, it wasn’t standard military work.

"Remind me what you’re working on these days," he said, securing the wraps around his knuckles as he eyed the punching bag. He had just arrived at the gym as she was gearing up to leave.

She hummed, filling the environment with a light-hearted air. He knew better, she thought, so she shrugged, “Stuff.”

He chuckled back, shaking his head. “Always so secretive, swear to God,” he muttered, and continued wrapping the other hand. He looked up at her for a moment, and found her smiling at him. She shrugged again in an ��oh well’ manner, and went for the exit.

Joaquín felt his chest swell after she left, the flirty look she gave him engraved in his brain - and soon doubting himself if it was something he thought he’d imagined. He wished she’d stay a little longer to get to know her more.

She wasn’t like that. Or at least, had never seen her be flirty.

Deep down, she had to admit—he was cute. Not in an obvious, heart-stopping way, but in that boy-next-door kind of charm. Annoying at times, sure, but somehow still endearing.

"Hey!”

They were in the hallway now, the door clicking shut behind them as Joaquín lingered, still gripping the handle. She arched a brow, waiting. Seconds stretched. His lips parted slightly, as if a thought had almost formed, then—nothing. Joaquín, who always had a sharp remark, a clever comeback—something—found himself choking on silence.

Her brow furrowed. “No, yeah, good talk,” raising her thumb after a few long seconds.

“No wait,” he sighed, jogging toward her. “Listen, listen. This is… weird… to say,” he started, “and I acknowledge that, but I really don’t know anything about you, and…”

“Yeah….”

He sighed, “I’m not trying to come off wrong, but I’d really like to know you more, what you do – here, at least, you know? I’m just generally interested in your… line of work.” He swayed side to side in his words, trying to find the correct wording to things.

She considered his words. Trying to figure him out, understand what he can or can’t keep up with. He was smiling sheepishly, hoping she would open up a little by his nervous smile. But he was just irritating to look at, at this point, and turned away to walk towards her room, ignoring his protests.

Poor Joaquín Torres didn’t know what he was up against if she took up his request.

But of course, that wasn’t up to her, because if there’s something he’d do, is find a way.

“I guess I’ll be joining you and the others for this one, huh?” He walked alongside her, too distracted by his own achievement of joining the woman next to him on the mission she’s leading, to notice her fuming. “I mean, it’s nice, and seems pretty straightforward, and–” in an instant of a moment, she grabbed his arm and shoved him in the nearest supply closet and debated locking him in before stepping in herself and setting things straight.

“Listen to me carefully,” she whispered inches from his face, a finger on his chest keeping him in place. This was the closest in proximity she’s ever been to him, her closeness putting him at unease. “You will hear my orders; you’ll follow my lead. Do I make myself clear?”

He looked down at her, the proximity intoxicating him, stilling him. Her face was lethally calm, collected, and serious. He wondered how she could express so much in her voice, while remaining cool and in charge. Something about this was new territory for him, but a new high was building; an excitement that was new to him. He wasn’t sure if it was her pointed finger giving this effect, but he felt his chest clench.

“Do I make myself clear?” she repeated, emphasizing each word. She dug deeper into his chest through his uniform, snapping him out from her trance.

He nodded stupidly. “No, yea-yeah, yes ma’am.”

She held his gaze and groaned after a while, resting her hand on her waist while the other ran through her hair, a headache already taking place. “Jesus.”

She took a moment to think ahead and plan the debriefs, the strategies, the roles her teams were going to have to play in this mission, and how Joaquín could be an active player in all of this…. from a distance.

“I think you should have a little faith in me,” Joaquín said, his voice light but laced with sincerity. She studied him for a moment, taking in the way his expression softened just slightly—earnest, hopeful. He was an eager guy. She’d give him that. “I’m just trying to learn, that’s all. I think it’ll be good to be a sort of jack-of-all-trades type, you know? Kick ass,” a karate chop, “be the ‘computer guy’,” fingers feigning typing; that earned him a scoff, “do spy stuff–”

“‘Computer guy’?”

“Yeah, the-the guy with the comms and stuff in the mission and the-” he snapped his fingers trying to find better words.

“Yeah I don’t know….”

“You do know,” he said, exasperated.

She blew raspberries, “You mean like a Communications Specialist?”

“Well, sure, and–”

She smirked. “Ok well, you have to get better at communicating,” she chuckled

The corner of his mouth twitched at her teasing, but something about the way she laughed, effortless and a little self-satisfied, made something twist in his chest. He tried to ignore it. Instead, he exhaled sharply and cocked his head. “Oh, you think you’re funny?”

“Yeah, hilarious, actually,” she stated matter-of-factly. She bobbed her head side to side, “It’s a burden, really. A gift and a curse.”

Joaquín let a beat pass before he gave her a lazy, knowing smirk. “Yeah?” His voice was lower this time, something smug and amused settling into the word. Something about that Yeah sent an inexplicable shiver up her spine. “More like a curse, I’d say.”

She clutched her chest, feigning hurt. “Woah, that was almost as sharp as my wit.”

“Yours is as sharp as a butter knife. Dull and mildly annoying.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms. “Oh please Joaquín, that’s all you.”

He mirrored her stance, crossing his arms right back, eyes twinkling. “And yet, here you are. Must be captivated,” he grinned.

She rolled her eyes, and started towards the door, “Whatever, more like suffering through it with grace.”

“Ah!” He nodded his head with a gotcha look, “so you admit I have a certain je ne sais quoi.”

“Yeah… ‘je’ no sé why I’m still talking to you,” she waved him off and started walking out of the supply closet. "Just, follow my lead when we get to Spain." Joaquín rocked back on his heels, smiling curiously to himself.

“Wait! So, when do we go into the details?” he called after a distance.

She didn’t stop, didn’t even turn around—just threw up a lazy wave over her shoulder.

It was during this mission that Joaquín started to understand her a little more. Before, she’d always been a bit of a mystery—never offering much about herself, never filling in the gaps. She never liked talking about herself. Maybe it was habit, maybe it was survival, but letting people in had never been something she did. Information was a liability. It could be twisted, used against her, turned into a weakness. And yet, here she was—sharing pieces of her past over frozen yogurt on a quiet evening in Madrid.

“I’ve heard about the Red Room, thought it was just a conspiracy,” he mused, spooning another bite of frozen yogurt into his mouth.

“Nope, was the real deal,” she nodded.

They had just wrapped up an infiltration, posing as CIA informants to dismantle an underground operation. Joaquín had handled himself well, but tonight, for the first time, he seemed to really see her. Not just as a teammate, or someone filling in the gaps between departments, but as a whole person—one with a history, one with ghosts.

“So why the Air Force?” he asked after a beat. His voice was casual, but there was something beneath it—genuine curiosity. “I mean, with everything you know, why not just—” he gestured vaguely, “S.H.I.E.L.D. or something?”

She considered that, tapping her spoon against the rim of her cup. “Oh, I am,” she admitted with a chuckle. “That’s probably why you barely see me.”

Joaquín blinked, then leaned back in his chair, nodding as realization settled in.

“What Dreykov did, it was rough. All of the Red Room thing in its entirety. But I learned to fly planes, it was my specialty, or trained mostly on. I figured the Air Force was the most straightforward choice. I just needed approval to join since ‘immigration’ and whatnot,” she yawned.

Joaquín hummed in understanding. He respected that. No probing, no need to drag out things she wasn’t willing to elaborate on.

He scraped the last of his frozen yogurt from the cup and grinned. “Alright, last question.”

She deadpanned. “It’s never the last question with you.”

“Promise, this time it is.” He held up two fingers in mock oath before leaning in slightly, eyes glinting. “Did you ever meet Natasha Romanoff? Like, the Avenger?”

She gave him a long, unimpressed look.

Joaquín just grinned wider.

She chuckled. “Nah.” She tried recalling back to her time while training, and heard about the infamous redhead that escaped Dreykov’s reach. She was the reason the Widows became chemically rewired to follow his orders–not that she blames her or anything. She mostly remembers the scientist one, Melina; she’d show up on base from time to time. “Anyways, I’m tired, and we have an early plane to catch tomorrow.”

As expected, his “last question” was never really a last. Walking to the hotel, he kept asking about her past, what she remembers about her childhood, questions about the chemical that had the Widows under Dreykov’s spell. A lot of them she didn’t really care to answer, others were just too personal to share. It was getting really exhausting, until she told him to shut up.

“How’d you learn Spanish?” he finally asked. It was like she told him something from one ear and out the other.

“Huh?”

“Don’t think I heard that little ‘no sé’ lingo in there from last week,” he shimmied. “Even here, hearing you speak Spanish, it’s perfect Spanish.”

“Honestly Joaquín, you’re like a nonstop yapper, how do you have the energy after all this time?”

“Wha–I’m just curious!” he grinned.

“Yeah good night.” She stepped into her hotel room, adjacent to Joaquin’s own room. The rest of the team had their own rooms as well, sprawled out across the hotel, all possibly in their bed asleep, or working on their briefs or reports. Others probably out partying. Whatever the case, she was just glad to be heading home soon. She sighed.

There was just one last thing to do before she could call it a night.

The night's mission wasn’t complicated—no intel to extract, no targets to eliminate. A simple side job. Something she could handle in a few hours, then return like nothing had happened.

She slipped into a black cocktail dress, the fabric sleek against her skin, something that would help her effortlessly blending in with the right crowd. She pinned her hair up with a clip-on fringe for a 90s updo, a few strands framing her face just right. The disguise wasn’t elaborate, but it didn’t need to be. The right outfit, the right posture, and people only saw what they wanted to see—a woman heading out for the night, nothing more.

She made her way down, weaving through the soft hum of conversation in the lobby, heels clicking against polished marble. She didn’t notice Joaquín sitting at the bar, sharing drinks and laughter with a few others from earlier.

But he noticed her.

At first, he barely registered her—a pretty stranger dressed to kill, a woman disappearing into the night. But then something tugged at his subconscious. The frame of her shoulders. The way she carried herself, poised yet alert. He frowned, lips parting slightly.

She had told him she was exhausted, ready to crash. But the moment she stepped under the golden glow of the chandeliers, something in the way she moved confirmed it. It’s her.

Joaquín straightened, setting down his glass. She looked different—glamorous, effortless, like a damn movie star. The strapless dress hugged her in a way that made it impossible not to stare. But beyond that, beyond how good she looked, something didn’t sit right.

He excused himself from the group without explanation, watching as she slipped through the lobby doors. His mouth opened to call her name, but he stopped himself. Instead, he followed, keeping his distance.

She didn’t hesitate at the curb, stepping into a black car with the ease of someone who had planned every second of her evening. As the car pulled away, the neon lights from the street flickered across her face, and for the briefest moment, her side profile was unmistakable.

Joaquín’s jaw clenched.

Something in his gut twisted. Whatever she was up to—it wasn’t just a night out.

And he wasn’t about to let it go.

“Follow that car,” he ordered the taxi driver, pointing out to the sleek car ahead of him. It’s not that he didn’t trust her, but he didn’t trust that she’d all of a sudden decided to get up, get pretty, and go clubbing. If she had, then this would be one big misunderstanding, and there was more to her he didn’t know. But what if this version of her is an evil clone and the real one was back at the hotel, injured? Guess he’d have to find out later.

He pulled up to a museum, an event taking place with lots of seemingly important people dressed up to the nines. He looked at his attire after stepping out of the car, and looked like he was ready to wander the wilderness or play pool, not waltz into high society.

Amongst the crowd, he spotted her messy updo, by some stranger’s arm, laughing. Given the fake bangs, making flirty eyes at this balding guy, and laughing, he deduced she was possibly on a mission. He frowned, something had to give.

He made his way to the back entrance, where the staff was most likely entering from. His palms were sweaty, not sure if this little rendezvous was worth the risk. He never really thought things through, just ran with his first thought, until he realized he needed to think things through more.

The museum kitchen was a controlled explosive environment. Expletives being yelled out in Spanish. Servers coming in and out of doors with equal enthusiasm with their own expletives. But everyone knew their place, and if he didn’t move past, people would catch on he wasn’t from there. But God the smell of the food getting prepped was incredible.

He moved past the kitchen towards what he thought were the lockers, and couldn’t believe his luck when he got his hands on an extra all black attire someone had left, likely what the servers were wearing for the evening, and one of someone who was most likely late. It was a little tight, but nothing he didn’t feel uncomfortable with.

“¡Cava! ¡Vamos, vamos chicos! ¡Que no tenemos toda la noche!” someone had started to yell to get the champagne out.

Joaquin walked out without anything in hand trying to find her-- that was a mistake.

“Oye, ¡tio! Pero que os haces? Aqui, valé. En andar.” The same man gave Joaquin his tray of Spanish champagne flutes to present to the guests and hurried him along. He muttered a quick “valé” to blend and started walking around, looking for his target.

The museum was grand. Artwork displayed for everyone, the guests looked wealthy - more than he would make in his lifetime. He would stop to occasionally look at a piece, and continue to play his part in pretending to be the flute guy, eyes in search of her.

He spent a good 10 minutes until he spotted the messy updo walk up a set of stairs with a different guy, smiling and laughing, making conversation and entering a secluded wing of the museum. He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to think. This wasn’t his mission, but his gut told him to keep watching. He needed to move without drawing attention, so he grabbed a new tray of champagne flutes from the bar, slipping into the role of an event server. The disguise wasn’t perfect, but in a place like this, people only paid attention if you gave them a reason to.

Balancing the tray in one hand, he made his way toward the wing—only to catch sight of her again, walking in the opposite direction across an overhead walkway, headed for the upstairs terrace. What the hell is she up to?

Joaquín hesitated for half a second before following. He had no plan beyond figure out what’s going on, but he’d deal with that part once he got there.

Stepping onto the terrace, he set the tray down, scanning the area. A breeze rustled through the cypress trees lining the edge, their dense branches concealing an exit. He was just about to check when—

A sharp yank at his collar dragged him backward.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Torres.”

Oh she’s pissed.

“Hey! Oh hey, I…” he started. He tapped his thighs, thinking of something to say. There was no use lying, she earlier mentioned she has a good bullshit detector, making him hyper-aware of every nervous tell he might have. He wasn’t a good liar, either way.

“Torres,” she pressed. “Go back to the hotel.”

“Why are you here? I thought you were too tired to go out,” Joaquín shot back.

“Confidential,” she curtly spit. She didn’t like that he was really prying now.

He frowned, “I don’t like this, we’re supposed to be a team–all of us. Why are you on a side mission? On your own?”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to know the truth, or how much she could tell him before he pressed for more. Or how much he could contribute to the mission now that he was here.

Joaquín took a step back, studying her. His gaze flickered up to her hair, and his expression shifted.

“And what's up with your hair?” He narrowed his eyes, then smirked. “Actually, this Pamela Anderson vibe you got going on? Real sexy, not gonna lie.”

She scoffed, taken aback, “What's up with your wardrobe, why are you dressed as a server? Are you spying on me?”

“No,” he shook his head, his high pitch tone giving him away.

“Santa María, madre de Dios…” she groaned, pacing back and forth. “Listen, I really don’t have time for this, just go back to the hotel, or be my ride for the night but just, keep yourself busy, I’m working here.”

“And another thing! That.” Joaquín pointed at her. “That’s what I mean, how do you know Spanish? That isn’t just textbook level Spanish you learn through fucking–Duolingo!” he gestured wildly.

Her patience snapped. “Joaquín, por favor, que te parto la madre. Hazte.”

He exhaled, dragging a hand down his face. He knew when to quit—mostly because he was sure she could and would kick his ass if he didn’t. He stepped aside, silently letting her pass.

On the way towards the entrance, she stopped before going in, he watched as she hovered there, shoulders tense, debating something. Then, finally, she turned back to face him.. “I… I have to do this thing later. If you want to make yourself useful, guard the door when I ask you to. And if you see anything, don’t… question it.”

He frowned at her curiously, and nodded.

She huffed, like she’d just given something away she hadn’t meant to, then slipped inside.

As if they had rehearsed this numerous times, she found Joaquín to make an excellent improv partner. As he was serving more flutes, and later hors d'oeuvres, she was schmoozing with the elites. He never really understood what she was doing. To him, it looked like she was networking, talking with peers. Flirting with men because she was bored. And damn she’s a natural. He wondered why he never saw this side of her. Whatever the case, she looked good.

But to her, this was part of the job. She didn’t mind the small talk, the ditzy persona. It was fun to play pretend, and flirt with the men and women available. This would end up leading to the main guy she was in search of.

“<<Yeah, Ivan and I go way back,>>” one of the drunk men slurred, leaning in close. “<<the guy’s great, I bet he’d like to meet your pretty face.>>”

“Ah, ¿si?” she grinned.

The man nodded eagerly, his eyes a little too glazed to be fully present. “<<He has a weakness for pretty girls, I can’t blame him. The dude can spot dimes from a mile away. You’re his type for sure. Maybe we can have a good evening together? And bring a friend for a good time all four of us.>>”

She bit her lower lip, feigning interest. “<<Don’t tempt me with a good time.>>”

“¿Croquetas de pollo?” Joaquín interjected with a plate of Spanish tapas, his eyebrow quirked in that teasing way he knew would annoy her.

The male just shook his hand, eyes not paying attention to Joaquín.

She followed his lead, shaking her hand to shoo him off. God, he was so annoying.

“¿Qué te parece si vemos ‘ese tipo Iván, hm?” she purred, letting her voice dip into something more seductive.

The male’s eyes lit, a type of hunger scanning her, thinking of the different ways he’d like to have her in. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but the smile never left her lips. This was the part she hated—this look they gave her—but it was all part of the dance. Keep it light, keep it playful, and lead them exactly where she needed them to go. “Vamos,” he said as he pulled her hand between his, caressing her.

Just before he strung her along further, she stopped in front of Joaquín to grab a piece of croqueta and held it up to thank him for it, silently telling him to standby. It was communication through the eyes, one where she was actually thanking him for sticking by, and not for the stupid piece of chicken meat he was offering her. He dipped his chin in understanding, barely mouthing a go.

Whatever this thing she was doing, it was one that he knew she could handle by herself, but he figured it was nice to have a partner in this. He watched her go up the stairs into the wing once more, and didn’t see her again. He wondered what she’d be doing, and felt sick if these were the types of missions she’d gone through during her years as a Widow.

He forced himself back into his fake role, serving tapas, keeping his hands busy, trying to anchor himself in the mundane. But his mind wouldn’t stay put. It kept drifting—to the slit of her dress, the way her long legs moved effortlessly through the crowd. The velvety fabric that clung to her, the shimmer at her collarbone catching the soft light.

To him, ella era la luna personificada.

Her lips—shining, plush. How they might feel against his own. How they might taste.

Joaquín exhaled sharply, shaking his head. Focus. He had croquetas de pollo to serve, champagne to pour. Not this.

This was Red Room training, he reasoned. The art of seduction. The carefully crafted illusion of a siren—luring men in with a glance, a smile, a whisper in the dark. And when the time called, strike at a moment’s notice.

He let out a breath. If she was anything like the person she was during the morning’s mission, he knew she’d be okay. He’d seen how she maneuvered, how she struck with precision. That woman didn’t need saving. She didn’t even need backup. The more he thought about her skill, the sharper his confidence in her became.

As he walked around carrying a round of, now champagne, for the guests, he was met with a hand on his back, making its way down his arm. He felt a chill go down his spine, and saw her, a little frazzled, but composed.

“Me parece que querrán más tapas y cava,” she murmured, smooth, practiced.

Joaquín smirked, inclining his head in mock obedience. “En seguida.”

And then, just like that—a wink. A blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment, and made her way to the women’s bathroom.

Joaquín wasn’t sure what was really going on now, but he was just glad to be a part of it. With a tray of Spanish champagne at hand, he made his way up the stairs with her, into the right wing of the museum. This side of the museum was dimly lit, and he started feeling unsure of himself. But she was leading him to a room, confidently walking with grace, as if she owned the place. He liked this about her. She was confident about everything. Never faltering to new things. She led with caution certain times, but confident nonetheless.

“You look real good,” his words escaped him. He mentally kicked himself.

She looked back, studying him for a moment if the champagne had gotten to him, but no. Figured this was the real Joaquín speaking. A little brash, or with little thought process, but still him. “Thanks,” she chirped over her shoulder.

“Now,” she began, stopping behind some big doors, “remember what I told you–if you see something, stay quiet.”

He nodded, unsure, “yeah, sure.”

On the other side of the doors, two bodies were over a couch, one on top of the other, half-naked. Joaquín’s eyes grew, and looked at her incredulously. She was making her way towards a desk, leaning forward to focus on what was on the display screen. He figured he'd ask about that later. “Get on watchdog duty; let me know if you hear steps nearby.”

He fake saluted and made his way out, leaving the flutes near the desk. “So what exactly are you doing?” he asked.

“Joaquín, hush,” she sang absentmindedly, and he closed the door.

The small USB drive she carried in her garter was taken out and inserted into the hard drive.

She thought she wasn’t going to need to extract information or execute anyone for the night. At least one of them is true. She was supposed to be pure arm candy and eavesdrop on a few conversations. But as soon as she got a hold of this Ivan guy, she knew she couldn’t miss out on this opportunity.

This wasn’t an overall SHIELD operation, but it was one she knew the information would be useful to pass along. She’d leave everything untouched after she was done, no proof that she was ever near the computer. As for the men on the couch? They were simply…asleep. Halfway through their ravenous evening, they were met with a strong desire for sleep, and she left them at that. In the morning, or if someone found them, they’d just think they had 1 too many drinks and that things led from one thing to another between them. She’d done her research on them to know it was a possible outcome.

She looked at the monitor, only 85% of the extraction was downloaded. It was a lot slower than usual, but there were a lot of orgs, addresses, and key clients to take down.

“Hey,” Joaquín stepped in, nodding towards the hallway, “footsteps.”

Fuck, she saw 87% on the screen.

She glanced at Joaquín, already knowing what she had to do. If this went sideways, he could not be caught up in it.

“Take the tray of flutes,” she whispered, nodding toward the passed-out men on the couch. “Put it on the side table near them. Then leave through those doors.” She flicked her eyes to the set opposite the main hallway. “They lead to a corridor of lecture rooms. Find the exit.”

Joaquín hesitated, eyes flicking to the doors. He hadn’t expected them to lead anywhere but another room.

“What about you?”

“I’ll be right behind you.”

He didn’t trust that she’d get this done in time, the footsteps were fairly close, but he needed to take the plunge. She was capable and he trusted that. He exhaled sharply and slipped through the doors.

Darkness.

Dimly lit artwork lined the corridor. For a split second, he thought he’d made a mistake and doubled back into the main hallway. He needed to find the lecture rooms. The exit. Fast.

Joaquín picked a direction and sprinted left. At the end of the hall, he skidded to a stop, swearing under his breath. No lecture rooms. No exit sign, just more hallways with artwork.

"Fuck… fucking—" He clenched his jaw. Why couldn’t she give clear instructions?

He heard the doors open of the room he’d just left, and quickly pressed himself against the wall, breath held. Heels clicked against the floor—sharp, steady. He risked a glance.

She moved fast, slipping through the opposite direction, already working to kick off her heels. Smart. In a matter of seconds, she was gone—disappearing around the left corner at the far end of the hallway.

The doors opened again, and this time, security. Joaquín stilled. One of them stepped out, scanning for movement. A pause. Then, they retreated back inside.

He figured it was now or never, and sprinted towards the opposite side of the hallway, hoping he wouldn’t get caught, and quickly turned to the left. He stopped to find a big lecture hall in front of him, and cursed her. Now where was that stupid exit?

The doors opened behind him again, “<<Yeah, I’m gonna check it out.>>” the security spoke, alerting their teammates.

Joaquín’s pulse spiked. He scanned his surroundings—options, options— there.

Joaquín spotted an empty conference room near the lecture hall and shoved the door open. Frosted glass walls—semi-private, good enough.

He caught a flash of silver from the corner of his eye, the movement a second too late, barely deflecting the knife with a high kick, twisting just enough to shield his ribs.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” he repeated, incredulous, steadying himself.

“It’s a wonder how you moved in that tight-ass suit.”

“Yeah, we’ll talk about that later—someone’s coming.” He adjusted his pants, glancing toward the door. Heavy footsteps. Too close.

She exhaled sharply, brain working fast. A stupid idea surfaced, ridiculous but effective. Her lips parted in amusement before she said it.

“Kiss me.”

Joaquín blinked. “What?”

She stepped closer, urgency in her gaze. “Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable. If we look like drunk guests sneaking away for some ‘alone time,’ they won’t question it.”

Joaquín hesitated, searching her face like he wasn’t sure if this was just part of the job, or if she was messing with him.

Trust me, her eyes seemed to say. And finally, he did.

His hand found her waist, the other tilting her chin up. A split second of hesitation, then—

Her breath hitched as his lips met hers, soft but firm, tasting of heat and something unspoken. It started slow, deliberate, but the second she parted her lips, it shifted into something else. Something dangerous.

Joaquín followed her lead, and she let him. His fingers tightened at her waist, pulling her flush against him, and—fuck—he was a fast learner.

To him, she tasted like something sweet and dangerous, like champagne and trouble, lips parted just enough to draw him in. Her fingers curled into his hair, and just like that, he lost the thread of where performance ended and something real began.

She pulled him in, deeper, fingers threading into his curls. The table pressed against the backs of her thighs, and she let herself be lifted onto it, legs bracketing him.

From the hallway, voices neared. Slowed.

She knew better than to react, but Joaquín turned slightly, just enough to see their shadows lingering. Watching. He tightened his grip, selling the performance.

For them. For the cover.

That’s what she told herself, at least.

But to him, the way she responded—the way she kissed back—made him forget, just for a second, that this was an act at all.

She made a small sound against his lips—something like a sigh, something like surrender——and any rational thought disappeared. His hand skimmed up her thigh, gripping firm, thumb pressing into soft skin, feeling the heat of her beneath the dress. She leaned into it. Into him. Joaquín deepened the kiss, angling it, molding her closer.

Was it still an act? Because the way she kissed him back—the way she melted against him—made his chest tighten, his stomach coil.

His thumb dragged across her jaw, slow, almost reverent—possessive—and he felt her shiver.

Fuck.

His hips rocked forward before he could stop himself, chasing some kind of relief from the tension knotting between them. Her breath stuttered, nails digging into his shoulders, and—

A muttered curse. The sound of footsteps retreating.

The second the coast was clear, she pulled back. Blinking. As if shaking off something thick and consuming.

For a beat, neither of them moved. The air between them felt thick. Charged.

Her lips were swollen. So were his.

Joaquín looked at her—really looked at her—like he was trying to untangle something he hadn’t expected to feel.

She cleared her throat, her voice almost steady. “Nice work,” she murmured. She meant it.

But she also meant, we’re not talking about this.

Joaquín didn’t answer right away.

He just looked at her. Like he was trying to solve something he hadn’t expected to want an answer to. And he wasn’t sure if the moment had ended.

And the worst part? She wasn’t sure either.

#joaquin torres #banter #espionage #galas #danny ramirez #joaquin torres fic #joaquin torres x reader

124 notes · View notes

revelboo · 3 days ago

Note

I was wondering if your still updating the Vortex story I really like where it is going but no rush or pressure /pos / nf 💜🦆

He’s one of the ones I tend to forget until someone reminds me- too many storylines. 18+

I Can’t Decide Pt 4

Vortex x Reader

• His visor cracks with the first shot and you empty the clip, heart racing. Because you’d done the math all day long. Realized that you weren’t just walking away from this situation. That you couldn’t condemn someone you don’t even know to be Vortex’s new toy. But you’d really hoped the gun would have at least hurt him. Watching a chunk of his visor fall, a red optic stares at you while you wait for him to crush you in his fist. To drop you to break bones and then step on you. To use that giant, awful blade on you. What you don’t expect? For him to start cackling.

• You’d shot him in the face? You’re either very brave or very stupid. But either way? Definitely not boring. Laughing as you throw your pitiful little gun at his face, he lifts you high over his head, hears you gasp as you grab onto his servos for dear life. Angry and terrified. “You didn’t bring me a new toy,” he croons, straightening a servo. Then another. Watching you frantically cling to him, eyes wide. Another servo. “I made you such a good deal, too.” Scaring you with the threat of being dropped.

• Breath ragged, you struggle as he straightens another servo until you’re dangling from only one as his head tips up to stare at you. That one optic you can see absolutely unhinged. “Stop! Please!” Don’t regret not bringing him a new victim, but you do regret not hurting him. Because he’s a monster.

• Watching your struggles, his head tips. Hadn’t predicted that you’d try to attack him. That you had a tiny bloodthirsty streak. And he could nurture that, see how awful you can be. Because that mixture of anger and fear he’s seen from you is almost intoxicating. Throw into the mix Megatron’s warning about fragging humans? Making that a possibility? Suddenly, you’re a lot more entertaining alive. Especially if you like inflicting pain. If you get off on it. So many possibilities. “You want to make me bleed don’t you? Does it feel good?”

• Legs kicking as you stare down at him, you hook your arms around his servos. He’d threatened you. Terrified you. Saved you from that guy, but only because he wanted to hurt someone. He’s a monster. But he’s right. Shooting him the face had filled you with a savage delight up until you’d realized your gun wasn’t enough. That you couldn’t hurt him. “You need to target my mesh,” he says, other hand lifting to touch his servos to his throat. “It’s softer. Easier to pierce.” And he’s grinning up at you as he says it. Telling you how to hurt him. Like he wants you to as much as you want to.

• Spike aching behind his plating, he curls his servos around you and presses one against your own neck. Feeling the frantic thrum of your pulse. Could break you so easily, but where’s the fun in that? You hate him, can see it in those expressive eyes and he just wants to twist you. To give you power over him, let you cut him and then take it away. Force your submission. Let you dominate him only to turn the tables. See you struggle, feel powerful and lose it again. Over and over. His spike hard just imagining it. Anger and fear and despair all tangled together. Spike buried inside you, while you press a blade into a seam in his plating. That exquisite mix of pain and pleasure that he needs to overload. And he’s going to have fun teaching you. Seeing if you’ll bend to his will or break.

#transformers x reader #vortex x reader #idw vortex

124 notes · View notes

thedensworld · 1 day ago

Text

Out The Door | l. c

Pairing: Idol Chan! x Reader!

Genre: exes au!

Type: angst, fluff

Word count: 15k

Summary: Chan was certain that you two should never have broken up. So, he made up his mind—he was going to find a way to be with you again.

Chan smirked at the bouquet of roses sitting on his counter, the vibrant petals almost mocking him. He felt betrayed—by himself, by the memories that refused to fade. Who was there to blame? It was February 14th, after all. A day that used to mean something. A day when he’d pick out flowers for you—never chocolates, because you didn’t like them.

Now, he was on the verge of laughing at himself. How pathetic was it that, even after a year, he still remembered every little thing about you? The way you preferred lilies over roses but accepted them anyway because he had terrible taste in flowers. The way you’d roll your eyes at grand gestures but secretly adored them. The way Valentine’s Day had never really mattered to you—until it did.

And yet, here he was, staring at a bouquet that wasn’t even meant for you, feeling like a fool.

"That's pretty," you had said a year ago, your gaze lingering on the red roses displayed in the flower shop window as you passed by.

"You want it?" Chan had asked playfully, his tone light but his intent obvious. He would have gotten them for you in a heartbeat.

You chuckled, shaking your head. "There's no reason to get me flowers."

Chan had only smiled, his fingers brushing gently against your cheek as he steered the wheel with his other hand. His voice was soft yet certain when he said, "I don't even need a reason to give you the world."

Now, standing in his kitchen, Chan exhaled sharply, shaking his head at himself. How pathetic. How utterly ridiculous that even after a year, the memory still clung to him like a ghost that refused to be exorcised.

Pushing himself up from the barstool, he grabbed the bouquet in one swift motion. His strides were long and deliberate as he walked to the bin, gripping the same exact roses you had once admired. Without a second thought, he tossed them in.

The petals rustled against the trash bag, a quiet, almost mocking sound. Chan stared for a moment longer, then turned away, jaw clenched.

It was just a bouquet of flowers. Just another February 14th. And yet, it still felt like letting go.

The doorbell rang. Chan let out a sigh, already knowing who it was. It had to be Hansol and Seungkwan.

Dragging himself toward the monitor, he glanced at the screen and chuckled when his guess was confirmed—his two friends stood outside, waiting.

"Go," Chan muttered as he pressed the button to let them in.

He barely lifted his finger before Hansol’s amused laughter came through the speaker, followed by Seungkwan’s dramatic whine. "Why? We brought chicken!"

Shaking his head, Chan unlocked the door. Moments later, they strolled into his living room like they owned the place, setting down a box of fried chicken and a few cans of beer on the coffee table. Chan simply stood there, watching them move around, as if they had done this a thousand times before.

"Why are you guys here?" he finally asked, settling onto the couch.

"Can’t we visit our favorite little brother?" Seungkwan teased, grinning.

Chan cringed. "Never say that again."

Hansol chuckled, stretching his arms before reaching for a can of beer. "There’s a new chicken shop nearby. Everyone says it’s good."

Chan smirked at the excuse. Yeah, right. Deep down, he knew the truth.

A year ago, they were here too. Sitting in this very spot. Eating chicken. Drinking beer. Trying to distract him the night you walked out of his life.

Chan stepped into the bakery, his eyes instinctively scanning the space. The warm scent of freshly baked bread filled the air, but it did little to calm the nervous hammering in his chest. His breath hitched at the thought of seeing you again.

Hansol—completely out of sobriety that night—had blurted out something that caught Chan off guard. His so-called "new favorite bakery," the one where he always grabbed kaya bread before practice, was your bakery.

"She opened a bakery?" Chan had blinked, his voice laced with disbelief. Opening a bakery had always been your dream.

Hansol had nodded, looking almost guilty. "I've known since, like, half a year ago."

Seungkwan had chimed in with a sigh, "We’ve known. I told him about the bakery… and we met her."

Chan had tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing. "Why are you telling me this?"

Then, as if catching himself, he shook his head. "No—I mean… That’s great news. She always wanted this." He let out a forced chuckle, but the nervous energy lingered. "I just don’t get why you’re telling me now."

Seungkwan and Hansol exchanged glances before Seungkwan exhaled. "I met her last week," he admitted, pausing for a beat before continuing. "And… she asked about you."

Chan's stomach twisted. He swallowed.

"Now—hear me out," Seungkwan pressed on, his voice softer, more careful. "I know the breakup wasn’t great. I get it. But from where I’m standing, it seems like you two still have feelings for each other."

What made him say that?

Had he been that obvious? Had he been showing everyone that he still had feelings for you?

Chan didn’t like the thought of it. The idea that his emotions were visible—that anyone could see right through him—made his stomach churn. He didn’t want people to think he was pathetic, still holding on to someone who had walked away.

Still loving someone who had already left him.

"What can I help you with?" a shopkeeper asked as Chan wandered through the bakery, his eyes subtly scanning the space.

He turned his head, expecting—hoping—to see you. But it was just the shopkeeper.

Forcing a polite smile, Chan bit down on his lower lip, trying to push away his disappointment. "Do you have any recommendations?" he asked, shifting his attention to the employee.

The shopkeeper's face lit up as he gestured toward the sandwich section. "Here’s our new menu! We have tuna, beef, and bacon sandwiches—perfect for breakfast."

Chan nodded absentmindedly, barely registering the words. "I’ll take ten bacon and ten beef, please." He pulled his wallet from his pocket, handing over his card.

The shopkeeper quickly packed the order, then, to Chan’s surprise, handed him a cup of Americano with a bright smile. "This one’s on the house. Thank you so much!"

Chan hesitated before lifting the cup slightly in acknowledgment. "Oh, you don’t have to… but thanks," he murmured, accepting the drink.

Once he settled into his car, he glanced at the neatly packed boxes of sandwiches in the backseat. He let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head at himself. Pathetic.

Taking a sip of the Americano as he pulled onto the road, he let the familiar bitterness settle on his tongue—except, something was different. His brows furrowed as he pulled the cup away, eyeing it curiously.

That taste.

Americano with berry syrup.

Your favorite.

Chan scrunched up his face the moment the taste hit his tongue.

You burst into laughter at his expression, quickly pulling the cup away from him. "Why do you look like that?" you teased, amusement dancing in your eyes.

"It's weird!" Chan exclaimed, wiping his lips as if that would rid him of the lingering taste. "It’s bitter, sweet, and sour all at once. Coffee shouldn’t taste like this."

You smiled, holding the cup close to your chest. "No… it tastes good. It has everything—the sweetness, the bitterness, and the tang of berries. Just like life."

Chan let out a chuckle, raising a brow. "Since when did you get this sentimental?"

You gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest. "Excuse me? I’ve always been a sentimental person!"

Chan shook his head, giving you a playful look of disbelief. "You? Sentimental?" He scoffed. "You literally just leave my goodnight texts on read every night."

You giggled, tilting your head at him. "That’s because they’re too sweet. I was speechless."

Chan rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. "Oh, so you were so speechless that you couldn’t even type a single reply?"

Chan shook his head, exhaling as he tossed the empty cup into the trash before stepping into the practice room.

From across the room, Seungkwan’s sharp eyes immediately caught sight of the plastic bags in Chan’s hands. He recognized the logo instantly—it was your bakery. His gaze flickered to Chan, suspicion creeping into his expression.

Hansol, however, was too excited about the food to notice anything. The moment he got his hands on a sandwich, he eagerly unwrapped it and took a huge bite. "This is delicious!" he mumbled, already reaching for another.

Seungkwan, still observing Chan, took a bite of his own.

"It does taste good. Where did you get this, Chan?"

Before Chan could answer, the other members in the room—who had also helped themselves to the sandwiches—started chiming in.

"Whoa, this is really good."

"I could eat this every day."

"Seriously, where did you buy these?"

Chan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at the growing pile of empty sandwich wrappers. He hadn't planned for this much attention.

"This is from the place where I always get my kaya bread," Hansol said nonchalantly, taking another bite.

But the moment the words left his mouth, his chewing slowed. His eyes widened as realization sank in, and he snapped his head toward Chan.

"Wait—really?!"

As if finally processing his own words, Hansol immediately glared at the younger, his eyes practically screaming, You went there?!

Chan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he avoided Hansol’s accusing stare. He knew this was coming. Meanwhile, Seungkwan let out a knowing exhale, arms crossed, as if he had expected this exact scene to unfold.

The other members, noticing the sudden shift in Hansol’s behavior, exchanged confused glances.

"What’s up with him?" one of them muttered, glancing between Hansol and Chan.

Seungkwan, ever the smooth talker, quickly waved them off with a casual grin. "Ah, you know Hansol. He’s just being a little extra again."

Hansol scoffed but kept his mouth shut, though the way he kept side-eyeing Chan made it obvious—this conversation wasn’t over.

"He came again today."

You glanced up as you packed the leftover pastries into the boxes Sunoo had set up on the counter. You knew exactly who he was talking about—Chan, your idol ex-boyfriend. But for the sake of keeping up appearances (and maybe your own pride), you feigned ignorance.

"Who?" you asked, keeping your voice light.

Sunoo shrugged, his legs dangling off the counter like a kid who had just discovered something amusing. His knowing smirk didn’t help.

"That well-known ex of yours," he mumbled.

You snorted. "No one even knows we were dating. Never got caught." There was a hint of pride in your voice, as if that secrecy had been some kind of achievement.

Sunoo rolled his eyes. "I mean that well-known person who also happens to be your ex-boyfriend. Stop pretending you're not affected! He’s been coming here almost every day for a week."

Your hands stilled for a moment, but you quickly resumed packing, forcing a chuckle. "Maybe he just really likes the sandwiches."

Sunoo gave you a deadpan stare. "Right. And I’m the Crown Prince of Korea."

"And?" you asked, sealing the box filled with leftover donuts before heading to the sink to wash your hands.

"And you’ve been hiding in the kitchen every single time he comes in, i thought you still love him." Sunoo huffed in frustration, arms crossed over his chest. The pout on his face made him look even cuter than usual, which only made you laugh.

"I do..." you admitted, drying your hands.

Sunoo’s eyebrows shot up. "Then?"

"That’s it," you shrugged, lifting the box into your arms.

Sunoo let out an exaggerated sigh, grabbing another box and trailing behind you as you made your way to the exit where your car was parked.

You popped open the backseat door and carefully placed the boxes inside. Tonight, you’d be dropping off the leftovers at the nearest police station—something you did regularly.

Sunoo, still not letting the topic go, leaned against the car with a pointed look. "With him constantly visiting, don’t you think it’s time to get back together? I mean, he might feel the same way."

You froze for just a second before turning to face him. Sunoo shifted under your gaze, suddenly looking unsure.

"Having the same feelings isn’t enough to get back together," you said softly.

Sunoo shrugged. "But at least it gives you a reason. Isn't love about finding a reason?"

You chuckled at his comment. "You're right. But how do you know that? Didn’t you just graduate high school?"

Sunoo snorted as if you had just said the dumbest thing he’d heard all year. "I might’ve dated more people than you, and I only graduated high school."

You rolled your eyes, but before you could respond, his voice softened. "But really. Stop denying your feelings. That’s what’s hurting you the most."

You sighed, slipping into the driver's seat. Sunoo stood there, watching you expectantly, but you simply started the car and drove away.

You weren’t denying your feelings. You never had.

You let them flow, like water, even after breaking up with Chan. You still celebrated his birthday and his band’s anniversary by preparing special treats at your bakery. You still kept up with his activities on social media.

You never once denied the warmth that still lingered in your heart.

But you refused to give yourself false hope.

The idea that Chan might still feel the same way—it was too dangerous to entertain. When Seungkwan and Hansol had shown up at your bakery out of nowhere, catching you off guard, they reassured you that they held no resentment toward you. Then, just as casually, they mentioned that Chan had gone through the hardest year of his life after the breakup. That he hadn’t shown a single sign of moving on.

And that was unlike him.

This was Chan—a man who had never let himself be alone for long. A man who, before you, had always found himself in a relationship.

Yet, a year had passed since you walked out that door. And he was still alone.

Meeting you at the police station wasn’t something on his to-do list—not today, not this month, not even this year. Yet, here you were.

Chan had just been about to step out, his younger brother trailing behind him, when he saw you standing there, frozen in place, holding a box of what he assumed were pastries. The sight of you made his heart race, and he felt a mix of surprise and anxiety.

Beside him, his brother cleared his throat awkwardly, as if he wasn’t the reason Chan was here in the first place.

Great. Another reason to slap the remaining puberty out of his high school brother:

1. Getting into a fight with another student.

2. Making Chan come all the way here to pick him up.

3. And now—leading him straight to you.

Also, what the hell were you doing here with pastries?

Chan's mind raced. He hadn't seen you since the breakup, and now, here you were, looking as beautiful as ever.

Before either of you could speak, an officer approached, breaking the thick tension hanging between you and Chan.

"Ms. Ji, good evening. Long time no see," the officer greeted politely.

Chan immediately shifted his gaze, suddenly very interested in the interior of the police station. He kept his expression neutral, but his ears burned at the sound of your name.

You smiled at the officer, handing him the box of pastries. "Good job for today, Officer. Thanks for the hard work." Your voice was soft—just like it used to be when you’d ask him if he had eaten after a long, exhausting day.

The officer beamed at you. "You didn’t have to come all the way here for this, Ms. Ji. But thank you so much!"

Then, as if only just noticing the thick, unspoken air between you and Chan, the officer glanced between the two of you.

"Do you two know each other?" he asked, clearly curious.

Chan stiffened. He wanted to say something, anything, but his throat felt dry.

But you? You barely hesitated.

"We’re acquaintances," you replied smoothly, sparing Chan the briefest glance before looking away again.

"I should go, good evening." You bid the officer goodbye with a polite nod, turning on your heel to leave. The officer walked you out to the entrance.

Chan looked conflicted, exhaling sharply before running a hand through his hair. Then, with a pointed look at his younger brother—a silent command—he made his intentions clear.

Go hail a cab.

For once, his brother didn’t argue. He simply sighed, pulling out his phone as he stepped toward the curb. Thank goodness. Even though he had just been detained for fighting with another student, at least he had the decency to recognize that Chan’s love life was a bigger mess.

Chan, however, had no time to dwell on that. His long strides carried him after you, his heartbeat picking up as the crisp night air bit at his skin.

"Hey."

You stopped.

Your fingers instinctively tightened around the strap of your bag before you slowly turned to face him.

"Hey."

It had been over a year, yet your voice still sounded exactly the same—soft, steady, untouched by heartbreak.

Chan swallowed, his hands digging deeper into his pockets. How did you still manage to look so unaffected?

"You, uh… come here often?"

A dry breath of amusement left you as you tilted your head slightly. "If you’re trying to make a joke, that was a terrible attempt."

He huffed out a short chuckle, shaking his head at himself. "Yeah, figured." His gaze flickered to the police station building, then back to the box in your arms. "You do this a lot? Bringing pastries to the station?"

You shrugged, adjusting your grip on the box. "Yeah. They work long hours, and I always have leftovers. Seemed like a good way to put them to use."

Chan nodded, but his expression remained unreadable. A small muscle in his jaw twitched, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite figure out how.

Of course you’d do something like this. Thoughtful. Considerate. Always looking out for others.

Still the same.

And yet, he couldn’t say the same about himself.

The silence between you stretched, thick with unspoken words. The last time you had been this close, it had been different. Warmer. Familiar. Now, there was a distance that couldn’t be measured in steps.

Chan exhaled, his breath visible in the cold. "It’s been a while."

You gave a small nod, your gaze unreadable. "Yeah, it has."

There were a million things he wanted to ask. How have you been? Are you happy? Do you still think about me the way I still think about you? But instead, all that came out was—

"You look good."

The words settled between you, heavier than they should have been.

You pressed your lips together before offering a small smile, the kind that didn't quite reach your eyes. "Thanks."

Chan wanted to say more, to keep you standing there just a little longer, but before he could, a car honked nearby. His brother waved him over from the curb, signaling that the cab had arrived.

You took that as your cue to leave, adjusting your grip on the box before turning slightly. "I should get going."

He nodded, even though everything in him wanted to stop you. "Yeah… me too."

Another pause. Another breath caught between the past and present.

"Take care, Chan."

And just like that, you were walking away.

Chan stood there, watching as you disappeared down the sidewalk, his hands clenching into fists in his pockets.

Funny. He had spent so much time convincing himself that seeing you again wouldn’t change anything.

But now, he wasn’t so sure.

That night, Chan found himself doing something he never thought he would—scrolling through your social media. The account he had unblocked just hours ago.

You didn’t post often, just the occasional pictures with friends or snapshots of your bakery. But as he scrolled, his eyes caught on the details—the way your hair had grown out before you cut it again, the soft waves framing your face in a way that tugged at something deep in his chest. That image stayed with him longer than he expected, lingering in the back of his mind like an old song he couldn’t shake.

Then his finger stopped.

A photo of your bakery.

Decorated for his birthday.

Chan’s eyes narrowed, his breath catching slightly as he took in the details. His face on the banners, the pastries colored to match his band’s theme—every little thing meticulously arranged. And the post date? Just last month.

Why would you do this?

You had no reason to. You weren’t together anymore. If anything, he thought you resented the fact that he had chosen his career over you.

Wasn’t that why you broke up in the first place?

A strange feeling curled in his stomach. He didn’t know what it was—regret? Hope? Confusion?

But then, as he scrolled further, the feeling twisted into something else entirely.

A group photo.

You, smiling, standing among friends. And beside you, a man.

His arm slung casually over your shoulders. Too casual. Too comfortable.

Chan’s jaw clenched. His fingers tightened around his phone as he zoomed in slightly, analyzing the guy like it was second nature. As a man himself, he knew that kind of touch. It wasn’t just friendly. There was something in the way the guy stood close to you, the way he seemed at ease, like he belonged there.

"Who the hell is this?" he muttered, brows furrowing.

Like a magnet, his eyes kept finding the same man in different posts. Sitting beside you. Standing beside you. Slinging his arm around yours. Even touching your cheek in one picture—something that had Chan’s stomach flipping uncomfortably.

"What’s up with this guy?" He snorted, irritation creeping into his tone.

He tried to check the guy’s profile, but you hadn’t tagged anyone. Not a single name. Smart. Frustratingly so.

And then—

A notification.

You had just posted an Instagram story.

Chan tapped on it immediately.

A simple, cryptic sentence:

“Even if there’s a reason… could it be the reason?”

His brows shot up.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He stared at the words, trying to decipher them, trying to connect them to the birthday post, to the pictures with that guy, to you.

And for the first time in a long while, he felt something unfamiliar creeping in—

The unsettling thought that maybe, just maybe—

He had been too late.

"That's your problem, Lee Chan. You're too possessive but insecure at the same time."

Seungkwan didn't hold back as he took a sip of his drink, lounging comfortably in his apartment. He, Jeonghan, and Chan had settled into an impromptu drinking session after Chan had shown up unannounced, dragging along bottles of soju and cans of beer—clearly looking for an outlet.

Jeonghan raised a brow, intrigued by the turn of conversation. “That could be true…”

Seungkwan chuckled, shaking his head. “That is true. If you want to have a good relationship, you only need one—either confidence or possessiveness. Look at Mingyu and Seungcheol hyung.”

"Seungcheol is a bit possessive, though," Jeonghan pointed out.

Seungkwan waved a dismissive hand. "That’s just a concept. It makes him look cute."

Chan groaned, running a hand down his face. “But think about it—how could I not be insecure when she never wanted to introduce me to her friends? Was it because of that guy?” His voice tightened on the last part, irritation creeping in.

Seungkwan sighed, exasperated. He pointed a finger at Chan to Jeonghan. “Look at this fool. You’re an idol, Chan. How could she introduce an idol as her boyfriend? Where’s your brain? Did you leave it behind at practice?”

Jeonghan nodded, though he was still weighing both sides. "I actually get where Chan’s coming from, though. Y/n is very beautiful, and she’s competent too—a lot of men want her. But she never really made it clear that she was off-limits.”

Chan’s eyes widened in relief. “Right?! And I was so patient, trying to understand her, trying to make it work. But she was the one who broke up with me?” His voice rose slightly, frustration evident. To anyone else, it would have sounded like a fresh wound rather than something that had happened a year ago.

He put his can of beer down a little too abruptly, the sound echoing in the quiet of Seungkwan’s living room.

Jeonghan glanced at him, amused but also slightly concerned. “What did she say when she broke up with you?”

Chan inhaled sharply, closing his eyes. The memory crashed into him like a wave—too vivid, too raw, even after all this time.

It had been the day after Valentine’s Day.

Chan had just gotten back from a three-day trip abroad, exhausted beyond belief, desperate for nothing more than a proper rest. He had been on edge all day, feeling sensitive after the long flight. But the moment he stepped into his apartment, his fatigue was replaced by confusion.

Your suitcase was sitting in the living room.

Your bag rested beside it.

His heart sank.

Hadn’t you two been arguing all week? Was this about Valentine’s Day? Had it really come to this?

"Let’s not do this," Chan had said the moment he saw you emerge from the bedroom, another bag in your hand.

You didn’t look at him. Didn’t even pause. You simply walked forward, grabbing your luggage as if he wasn’t even standing there.

Chan moved quickly, stepping in front of you, blocking your path. “Where are you going?”

Your expression was unreadable when you finally met his gaze. "Home."

Chan’s chest tightened. "This is your home," he insisted.

But you shook your head. "Let’s take a break."

Chan had never believed in breaks. There was no such thing in his dictionary. A break was just a softer way to say breakup. And if you wanted to break up, then he deserved to at least know why.

"Is this because I chose work over spending Valentine’s Day with you?" he demanded, irritation creeping into his voice.

You frowned slightly. "That’s what you think of me?" A bitter smile tugged at your lips. "Then let’s say that’s the reason."

Chan’s frustration spiked. "What do you mean? At least explain it to me!"

You just shook your head again, gripping your luggage and moving past him.

"How can I let you go if you don’t tell me the real reason?"

That was when you turned to face him, your voice quiet but firm.

"You said it yourself— you chose work over me. That’s the reason."

Chan had stared at you, searching for something in your face. A crack in your expression. A hesitation. Anything that would tell him that you didn’t mean it.

But you nodded, steady. Unwavering.

"Yeah."

And then you walked out of the door, left him.

Back in Seungkwan’s apartment, silence stretched between the three of them after Chan finished recounting the memory.

Seungkwan was the first to break it, crossing his arms over his chest. "If I were you, I wouldn’t believe it."

Chan shot him a skeptical look. "Why? She said it herself."

Seungkwan sighed, shaking his head. “You know… sometimes women don’t tell the truth—not because they want to lie, but because they don’t want to hurt you more than necessary.”

Jeonghan, who had been silently listening, hummed in agreement.

"And maybe," Seungkwan added, his voice softer, "that was the least painful thing she could say to you."

"I'm sorry, but we're clo—"

Your words faltered the moment you saw who stood in front of the entrance.

Chan.

There, standing just beyond the threshold, was Chan. His presence felt almost out of place against the warm glow of your bakery’s lights, his frame silhouetted by the dim streetlamps outside. He held a paper bag in one hand, gripping it just a little too tightly. He looked unsure—out of place, as if he wasn’t sure whether he should be standing there at all.

For a second, neither of you spoke. The quiet between you was filled with things unsaid, memories neither of you had dared to touch for too long.

Then, finally, you found your voice.

"Chan… Hey," you greeted, pushing open the counter divider to step closer to him.

You glanced at the clock. 10 PM. The bakery had closed an hour ago, yet here he was, standing at your doorstep like he had something important to say.

"I haven’t come here in a week," he said abruptly, as if that explained his presence.

You nodded, already aware of it. It wasn’t hard to notice when someone like him stopped showing up. He had been coming almost every morning—until that night at the police station. After that, he disappeared.

Your eyes flickered to the bag in his hand. Before you could ask, he extended it toward you.

"I was in Italy for a week," he said, shifting slightly. "I got you a bottle of wine from a local winery there."

Surprise flickered across your face as you carefully took the bag from him. You peeked inside, fingers tracing over the sleek packaging before your eyes landed on the label.

Made in 1999.

Your lips parted slightly. That was the year Chan was born. The wine was as old as he was.

"You didn’t have to," you murmured, glancing up at him. "This must’ve been expensive."

Chan shrugged, his eyes darting toward the bakery’s interior instead of meeting yours. "I just… I wanted to thank you. For the birthday event. The fans must’ve loved it."

Your heart clenched at that. He was referring to the special decorations you had set up last month—his face on banners, pastries in his band’s colors. At the time, you weren’t even sure why you had done it. Maybe it was just an old habit you couldn't shake, or maybe it was something else.

You bit your bottom lip, your gaze shifting to the wine glasses sitting on a cabinet nearby.

Without thinking, you walked over, grabbing two and setting them on a small table near the counter.

"Let’s drink it together," you said, glancing at him over your shoulder.

Chan immediately waved his hand. "No, it’s a present. You should keep it."

You smiled, tilting your head slightly. "It’s okay." A small chuckle escaped your lips. "I don’t like drinking alone."

The moment the words left your mouth, you regretted them.

Because once upon a time, he had been the one you shared drinks with. Late-night conversations, quiet moments, the kind of familiarity that felt effortless.

And now, standing across from him, you weren’t sure if you were trying to relive a memory—

Or trying to forget one.

"Your worker..." Chan started, his voice casual yet laced with something unreadable.

You turned to him as you poured the deep red wine into his glass, the rich aroma filling the small space between you. He looked as charismatic as ever, effortlessly commanding attention even in something as simple as denim pants and a loose white shirt. His long hair, tucked neatly behind his ears, framed his face in a way that made your breath hitch—a sight you hadn’t expected to affect you so much. Unfair. So much unfair.

"Sunoo?" You guessed, already knowing your overly enthusiastic employee was the likely subject. Sunoo had a knack for keeping the bakery alive with his energy and charm, but sometimes—just sometimes—you wished he’d mind his own business, that little menace.

Chan nodded, confirming your suspicion. "Yeah, I think it’s Sunoo. He always makes me that Americano with berry syrup."

You froze.

Oh, dear god.

You needed to sit down. Or disappear. Preferably both.

Internally, you launched into a full-scale attack on Sunoo. That little rascal. That absolute traitor. You should’ve known better than to trust him near the espresso machine unsupervised.

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. "Oh my god. Chan, I am so sorry. You hate that flavor, don’t you?"

Chan chuckled, waving it off. "Yeah, but it’s fine. He didn’t know."

"No, it’s not fine!" you wailed dramatically, gripping the wine bottle like a lifeline. "I can’t believe he’s been sabotaging your morning coffee all this time. What should I do to make it up to you? Free pastries? Free coffee for life? A legally binding contract that bans Sunoo from touching the espresso machine ever again?"

Chan laughed, shaking his head. "You don’t have to do all that."

"No, I do," you insisted. "And while I’m at it, I might need to stage an intervention for Sunoo. What was he thinking? Who just decides to put berry syrup in an Americano?!"

Chan grinned, watching your mini meltdown with mild amusement. "Maybe he was just trying to be creative?"

You pointed an accusatory finger at him. "No. No. We do not encourage Sunoo’s creative coffee experiments. That’s how we ended up with the Matcha Espresso Disaster of last year."

Chan laughed even harder, and for a moment, the bakery felt a little lighter, like you weren’t two exes dancing around old wounds.

Still, you were going to have a very serious conversation with Sunoo in the morning.

"Have dinner with me."

Chan’s voice cut through the quiet hum of the bakery, steady but carrying something unspoken—something heavy.

Your breath hitched for just a second. "I’m sorry, what?" The words tumbled out before you could catch them, your brows furrowing in disbelief.

Chan didn’t flinch. He only nodded, his gaze locked onto yours with a quiet urgency. "Have dinner with me this weekend. You said you wanted to make it up to me, right?"

A soft, nervous laugh escaped you, but it did nothing to ease the sudden tension that thickened the air. "Chan… I don’t think—"

"As a friend," he cut in, his voice quieter this time, almost pleading. "Just as a friend. Please." His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his fingers curling slightly against the counter. "It’s been a while since we really talked."

Your chest tightened. You glanced down at the glass in your hand, as if the deep red of the wine might offer you an escape. "We’re talking now, aren’t we?" You tried to sound casual, but your voice came out softer than you intended.

Chan let out a breath—part scoff, part something else. Then, he leaned in just slightly, the warmth of his presence making it impossible to ignore him.

He licked his lower lip, eyes still on you, unwavering.

"Are we?"

You stepped into his house just as the clock struck seven. Chan’s eyes immediately landed on the plastic bag in your hand—probably filled with your favorite food, just like always. It was a habit of yours, bringing something to eat whenever you came over, as if his kitchen wasn’t enough. It was something so familiar, so you, that it almost made him forget how long it had been since you last stood here.

He held the door open as you slipped off your shoes and made your way to the living room.

"It's clean…" You remarked, your eyes scanning the space with mild surprise.

Chan let out a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous tick. "Yeah… I try to keep it that way. But, you know, sometimes a hectic day hits, and it turns into a shipwreck."

You chuckled, settling onto his couch like you belonged there. And maybe that was what threw him off the most—you still fit into this space.

Chan swallowed and turned on his heel, heading toward the kitchen. He quickly grabbed a couple of containers for the food you brought, his hands moving on autopilot. But as he reached for a dish towel, he caught himself—he was stalling. Wiping down a bowl he’d already washed an hour ago just to keep busy, to calm the subtle panic creeping up his spine.

Because if he stopped moving, he’d have to face the fact that this was completely insane.

It had been an impulsive text, one he barely thought through before hitting send. Asking his ex to come over and hang out in his barely put-together apartment on his day off? He should’ve known better.

But what shocked him more was your response.

"Sure."

So casual. So effortless. So unlike the emotional mess he’d expected.

Chan had to check his phone twice to make sure it was actually you who replied.

And now here you were, sitting on his couch like it was the most natural thing in the world, while he stood in his kitchen trying to push down the ridiculous amount of effort he put into cleaning just because you were coming over.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

Or maybe… he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

Chan approached you, setting the containers down on the coffee table before crouching beside you to help unpack the food. His fingers brushed against yours briefly as he pulled out a box, and for a moment, he wondered if you noticed. If you cared.

"You didn’t have to bring anything," he commented, glancing at you as he reached for another container. "We could’ve just ordered something."

"You say that like you don’t miss my good taste," you teased, but there was something softer in your voice—something familiar.

Chan let out a chuckle, shaking his head. But the moment his eyes landed on what you’d brought, he froze.

His favorite snack.

He blinked, his fingers still hovering over the box as realization settled in.

"I brought this for you," you said, casually, as if it wasn’t a big deal. "It’s from your favorite place."

Chan finally looked up at you, a flicker of surprise in his gaze. "That’s pretty far…"

He knew neither your place nor your bakery was anywhere near the restaurant.

You shrugged. "I went there this morning and got this on my way home. It’s already cold, though."

Cold? Did he care about that? Not at all.

The only thing that mattered was that you thought of him. That you saw the place, remembered him, and stopped to grab something for him.

His chest felt tight, like something warm was curling inside it, something he couldn’t quite name. Instead, he exhaled a quiet laugh and nudged the box closer to himself.

"You remembered," he murmured, more to himself than to you.

And for the first time that night, he let himself believe—just a little—that maybe, just maybe, he still had a place in your heart.

Chan cleared his throat, pushing away the warmth creeping up his chest. He didn’t want to dwell on it—not now, not when you were sitting here in his living room, casually unpacking food like old times. So instead, he latched onto the first neutral topic that came to mind.

"What about your bakery?" he asked, picking up a piece of the snack you’d brought. "Who’s taking care of it while you’re here?"

You glanced at him before reaching for a pair of chopsticks. "It’s closed today."

"Really?" Chan raised a brow. "You barely take a day off."

You nodded, leaning back slightly against the couch. "Sunoo, my part timer, his grandmother passed away. He went back to his hometown for the funeral."

Chan’s expression softened at that. He remembered that part timer, the one that always gave him americano with berry syrup. "Ah… That’s tough. He must’ve been close to her."

"He was," you said, stirring the food absentmindedly. "She basically raised him. That’s why I went to his hometown this morning—to pay my respects."

Chan stilled for a second, his grip on his chopsticks tightening just slightly.

You went all the way there?

His eyes flickered to you, studying your face, but you looked calm—like it was only natural for you to go.

Of course. That was just the kind of person you were. Always showing up for the people you cared about.

Chan exhaled, setting his food down. "You must be exhausted then. Going all the way there and then coming here?"

You tilted your head, as if just realizing it yourself. "Maybe a little," you admitted. "But it’s fine."

Chan clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "You should’ve just gone home to rest."

You shot him a small smirk. "And miss the chance to see your shipwreck of a house? No way."

Chan let out a laugh, finally letting the warmth settle. Once again, maybe, he wasn’t the only one holding on to things that felt familiar.

Chan woke up feeling refreshed this morning. He stretched his limbs, tossing and turning in bed to shake off the lingering sleepiness before finally rolling out and heading to change into his workout gear.

On his way to the gym, his fingers were busy scrolling through his phone, instinctively opening your chat from last night after you went home. He hovered over the keyboard, debating whether to send you a message.

A morning text? Too much.

A witty text? Maybe something playful—

"Hey... I dreamed about you last night ;)"

Chan grimaced. Nope. That sounded like a terrible idea for a text to an ex.

Before he could think further, his thumb betrayed him.

"Hey.."

His eyes widened. He gasped.

Did he just—

Chan stopped in his tracks, staring at his screen in horror. Maybe if he deleted it fast enough—

Ding.

Your reply came almost instantly.

"Hey."

Chan blinked. Then exhaled, pressing his lips together to suppress a stupid smile.

Chan: In your bakery?

You: Yup!

Chan: Can I visit after my gym session?

You: Sure. I'll get your sandwich ready then. Bacon?

Chan: Perfect. See you then!

Chan breathed a sigh of relief, his heart feeling oddly lighter as he continued his walk to the gym.

Upon arriving, he spotted Jihoon—a rare sight at this hour. Given that it was still their day off, the older guy usually wasn’t functional before 1 PM.

"You’re here early," Chan noted as Jihoon finished his set, placing the dumbbells down with steady breaths.

Jihoon nodded. "Got an agenda this afternoon."

Chan smirked, whistling playfully. "Oh? That sounds suspicious—"

Jihoon shot him a glare. "Don’t look at me like that as if you weren’t with your ex last night."

Chan’s smirk instantly dropped. His eyes widened. He stepped closer to Jihoon, lowering his voice. "How do you know?"

Jihoon gave him a flat look. "I saw you sending her off. We live in the same area, genius."

Chan groaned, running a hand through his hair. Right. He forgot about that.

Jihoon tilted his head slightly, arms crossed. "So… you two back together?"

Chan shook his head, trying to dismiss whatever was running through Jihoon's mind. "We’re just talking again. As friends, I guess? Yeah..." He nodded, as if saying it out loud would make it more true.

Jihoon hummed, wiping his hands with his towel. "Uh-huh."

Chan shot him a look. "What?"

Jihoon shrugged, tossing the towel over his shoulder. "Nothing. Just funny, that’s all."

Chan rolled his eyes and checked the time. "I don’t know why I still talk to you."

Jihoon chuckled. "Because you need someone to call you out on your denial."

Chan groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I'm not in denial."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," Jihoon said, patting his shoulder before grabbing his own water bottle.

Chan sighed, running a hand through his hair before finally giving in. "Alright, fine. I’ll tell you what happened."

Jihoon raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. "Go on."

Chan leaned against a nearby bench, crossing his arms. "Yesterday, I invited her over. It was kind of impulsive, but she said yes."

Jihoon nodded, waiting for more.

"So, I spent the whole damn day cleaning my place—like, deep cleaning, man. I don’t even know why, but I just wanted it to look nice."

Jihoon smirked but didn’t interrupt.

"She showed up with food, her usual thing, right? But this time, she brought my favorite snack. And guess what? She got it from that place across town—the one that’s way out of her way."

Jihoon let out a low whistle. "That’s commitment."

Chan ignored the way his stomach flipped at that. "I didn’t even know what to say. I just—man, she thought about me while she was out there. That kind of messed with me a little."

Jihoon gave him a knowing look. "And you’re still calling this just talking?"

Chan shot him a glare. "Let me finish."

Jihoon held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. Continue."

Chan exhaled. "We talked, she told me about Sunoo, her staff—he’s dealing with some family stuff, so she visited his hometown earlier that morning."

Jihoon’s expression softened. "Oh, that’s rough."

"Yeah, she closed the bakery for the day because of it. Which means she didn’t even have to be up early, but she still went out of her way for all that."

Jihoon hummed, the teasing tone fading slightly. "She cares, Chan."

Chan rubbed his neck. "I know."

A beat of silence passed before Jihoon smirked again. "And then this morning?"

Chan let out a short laugh. "Woke up feeling... I don’t know, refreshed? Like, it wasn’t a bad feeling, but it wasn’t exactly normal either."

Jihoon raised an eyebrow. "You felt happy."

Chan groaned. "Why do you have to say it like that?"

Jihoon chuckled. "Because it’s the truth."

Chan shook his head. "Anyway, I’m stopping by the bakery after this. She’s already making my usual sandwich."

Jihoon grinned. "She remembers your usual? And you’re still trying to act like this is casual?"

Chan shot him a look. "Hyung."

Jihoon laughed, slapping Chan’s shoulder. "Alright, alright. But I’m telling you, man, this? This is not just talking."

Chan sighed but didn’t argue. Because deep down, he knew Jihoon was right.

Days passed, and without either of you realizing it, things started to shift.

It wasn’t a sudden, dramatic change—it was subtle, natural, as if the distance that had settled between you was melting away piece by piece. Conversations stretched longer, laughter came easier, and before Chan knew it, you were slipping back into his life the way you always belonged.

And then, one night, it happened.

A kiss.

It wasn’t planned, it wasn’t talked about—it just happened. Maybe it was the way you looked at him when you laughed, maybe it was how the night air felt warmer with you by his side, or maybe it was just that deep, undeniable pull that had never really left.

But the moment his lips met yours, he knew.

This is it.

This was the cue. The silent signal that everything was starting again, that whatever had broken before was slowly, steadily piecing itself back together.

From then on, Chan didn’t hesitate. After his schedule, he would drive to your bakery just to pick you up, sometimes without even texting beforehand. He’d lean against the counter, watching as you wrapped up the last orders, his presence so familiar that even your staff stopped questioning it.

"Long day?" you’d ask, handing him a cup of tea or whatever you’d decided he needed that day.

And he’d smile, nodding as he took the cup from your hands. "Better now."

Sometimes, the two of you would just drive around with no real destination, the quiet hum of the car and the city lights making everything feel weightless. Other times, you’d take slow walks through empty streets, talking about your days, about nothing and everything at once.

It felt easy. It felt right.

And Chan?

Chan felt like he was finding a part of himself that had been lost all this time.

You.

Chan stepped inside your house, his gaze instinctively sweeping over your living room. It looked different from last year. The cute trinkets and soft pastels that once decorated every corner were gone, replaced with a more refined, mature aesthetic. The change was subtle, but he noticed. It wasn’t just the decor that had shifted—something about the entire space felt different, as if time itself had settled into the walls.

His eyes drifted to the kitchen, where a few dishes sat in the sink, remnants of breakfast still lingering on the counter. Maybe you hadn’t gotten around to cleaning, or maybe you’d spent the night experimenting with new recipes for your bakery. Either way, it was lived-in, real—you. And Chan liked that. It felt warm, like home, like the way you used to make his kitchen feel.

"You want tea? Coffee?" you asked, already moving toward the kitchen.

Chan shook his head, stepping closer. "No need to get your hands busy. Just sit with me," he murmured, tapping the empty space beside him on the couch.

You hesitated for a second before joining him, barely getting comfortable before he pulled you into his arms.

"I like this…" he muttered, his voice low, as if he was admitting something to himself more than to you.

A soft laugh escaped you. "Like what?"

"This," he whispered, arms tightening around you just enough for you to notice. "Being here with you again."

Your breath caught for a moment. His warmth, the quiet rise and fall of his chest, the familiar scent of his cologne—it all felt so natural, so right. Like something neither of you had ever truly let go of.

You sighed, relaxing into him. "I missed this too."

The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the city outside and the steady rhythm of your breathing against Chan’s chest. His arms tightened around you slightly, as if grounding himself in this moment, as if afraid that if he let go, you’d slip away again.

You shifted just enough to look up at him, and Chan’s gaze met yours—warm, searching, lingering. His fingers brushed lightly along your arm before trailing up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

"You’re staring," you murmured, a teasing lilt in your voice.

"Yeah," he admitted without hesitation, his lips curling into a small smile. "I missed looking at you."

Your breath hitched slightly, your heart betraying you with the way it picked up pace. There was something so effortless about Chan, the way he could make you feel like the only person in the world with just a look.

"Then make up for lost time," you whispered.

His eyes flickered down to your lips, hesitation flashing in his features for just a second—one last moment of restraint before he closed the distance between you.

The first brush of his lips was slow, careful, almost like he was testing the waters. But the second? The second was deeper, fuller, laced with all the unsaid words and emotions that had been hanging between. His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your face to his as he pressed in closer, his thumb stroking gently along your cheek.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his hoodie, pulling him even closer as the kiss deepened. It wasn’t rushed—it was unhurried, savoring, like both of you wanted to memorize this moment, to make sure it wasn’t just a fleeting dream.

Chan sighed against your lips, pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. "Tell me this isn't just nostalgia," he whispered, voice slightly breathless.

You shook your head, brushing your fingers through his hair. "It’s not."

Relief washed over his face before he captured your lips again, this time with more certainty. Like he wasn’t just falling—he was diving headfirst. And this time, he wasn’t afraid of the landing.

Chan woke up with you in his arms almost every morning. Not that he planned it every time, but he tried—and he could. Sometimes he crashed at your place, claiming it was too late to drive home. Other times, he dragged you to his, using the excuse that his bed was bigger, softer, warmer. The truth was, he just wanted to see you first thing in the morning.

Like now.

He blinked against the morning light filtering through your curtains, the weight of your body pressed against his chest grounding him in the best way. Your face was buried in the crook of his neck, your hand lazily resting on his hoodie, the fabric bunched slightly in your grasp as if even in your sleep, you didn’t want him to go.

Chan smiled, his fingers brushing along your back, tracing idle patterns. You stirred slightly, a soft hum escaping your lips before your body relaxed again.

"You're staring," you mumbled, voice still heavy with sleep.

Chan chuckled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Yeah. I like looking at you."

"You say that too much," you whined, but the way your fingers curled against his hoodie betrayed the warmth spreading through you.

"Then you should get used to it," he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple. "Because I don’t think I’ll ever stop."

You sighed, tilting your head up just enough for your lips to find his. It was slow, lazy—like the morning itself, like neither of you were in any rush to move, to leave the bubble of warmth you’d created. Chan sighed into the kiss, his hand slipping under the hem of your sweater, resting against the bare skin of your waist.

"You have to open the bakery today?" he asked between kisses.

You hummed, but made no move to pull away. "Not until ten."

Chan smirked. "That means we have at least two more hours."

You rolled your eyes, but your lips were already curving into a smile as Chan flipped you onto your back, leaning over you with that mischievous look in his eyes—the one that always, always made you weak.

"Two hours," you reminded him, though the way you pulled him closer told a different story.

"Plenty of time," he whispered before capturing your lips again.

"You're back together."

Hansol mentioned it too casually one day during their recording session for the next comeback, his voice carrying over the hum of instruments and the quiet chatter of the producers.

Chan raised a brow, glancing at him from his seat. "How do you know? Jihoon hyung told you?"

Hansol furrowed his brows. "Jihoon hyung knew?"

Chan let out a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his neck. "I mean—he saw us. So..."

Hansol nodded slowly, then sighed, arms crossed over his chest. "I saw her in your clothes this morning. That shirt—I gave it to you."

Chan’s mouth formed an "O" as realization hit. Right. That oversized, faded gray shirt you had grabbed from his closet before rushing out the door.

"You're right..." He huffed a laugh before shrugging. "And yeah, we’re talking again."

Hansol smirked. "Isn’t it a bit much to be wearing your clothes in the morning while still in the ‘talking again’ phase?"

Chan scoffed, shaking his head. "Hey, respect all the effort. It took me a whole year to finally realize everything."

Hansol’s smirk softened into something gentler. "Well, I’m happy for you, though." His voice was quieter now, more sincere.

Chan met his gaze, the corners of his lips twitching up. It felt nice, hearing that from Hansol—like the pieces of his life were finally clicking back into place.

"Did Seungkwan know about this?" Hansol asked suddenly, a knowing glint in his eyes.

Chan blinked, then quickly shook his head. "Haven’t told him yet."

Hansol snorted. "Oh, that’s gonna be fun."

The next day, Seungkwan strolled up to Chan with an unreadable expression, arms crossed over his chest like he was about to deliver some sort of life-altering news.

"You’ll never guess who I ran into yesterday," Seungkwan started, watching Chan’s face closely.

Chan barely looked up from his phone, tapping out a quick message before pocketing it. "Who?"

"Wonha."

That got Chan’s attention. He blinked, brows furrowing slightly as he tried to place the name properly. Wonha. His ex from his early twenties. One of the few exes he actually had a good relationship with after the breakup.

"Huh," Chan muttered, tilting his head. "How’s she doing?"

Seungkwan raised a brow. "She’s doing well. And—" He leaned in slightly as if dropping a bombshell. "She asked for your number."

Chan blinked again, this time in mild surprise. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Said she wanted to catch up."

Chan leaned back in his chair, processing that. Wonha had always been a good friend, even when they realized romance wasn’t for them. There was no dramatic fallout, no resentment. Just two people who grew apart but still wished each other well.

"Did you give it to her?"

Seungkwan rolled his eyes. "Would I be telling you this if I didn’t?"

Chan chuckled, shaking his head. "Guess not."

And so, he waited. Not anxiously, not with any particular anticipation, but with a vague curiosity. He knew he wouldn’t reach out first—that wasn’t his style. If she really wanted to talk, she’d text.

And she did.

A simple Hey, Chan! It’s been forever. How’ve you been? popped up on his screen later that evening.

Chan hesitated for half a second before typing back.

Hey, Wonha! Yeah, it has been. I’ve been good. You?

The conversation flowed easily after that, casual and familiar. Like two old friends catching up. Because that’s all it was. A friendly catch-up.

Or at least, that’s what Chan told himself.

The next day, Chan found himself spending the entire afternoon at your bakery, pretending he was just there to help out but mostly just looking for excuses to be near you. He chatted with Sunoo, stole a few samples of the new pastries you were testing, and even helped clean up when things got a little messy in the kitchen. But really, he was just waiting for the clock to hit nine.

And the second it did, he was already grabbing your coat from the rack and tossing it over your shoulders.

"Let's go," he said, nudging you toward the door.

You raised a brow, amused by his impatience. "I need to close up first, you know?"

"I’ll help," he insisted, already moving to flip the sign to closed and gathering whatever needed tidying up.

It barely took five minutes before he was pulling you to his car, a familiar routine by now—one that neither of you questioned anymore.

"Where to?" he asked, fingers drumming against the steering wheel as he glanced at you.

You hummed, thinking. "Han River. Convenience store. Instant noodles and maybe a can of beer."

Chan grinned, nodding as he shifted gears. "Classic."

The drive was smooth, city lights blurring past as the two of you fell into easy conversation about your day. It was moments like this that made Chan realize how much he had missed this—the late-night drives, the effortless company, the way you made him feel like no matter how exhausting his schedule was, this was always worth it.

When you arrived, the convenience store was quiet, only a few other night owls scattered around, either enjoying their own late-night snacks or lost in their own worlds. Chan grabbed a basket, filling it with your usual picks—two cups of instant noodles, a can of beer for you, and a bottle of water for himself. He threw in a bag of chips for good measure before heading to the cashier.

As you both settled at one of the outdoor tables overlooking the river, the crisp night air wrapped around you, but it wasn’t cold. Not with Chan beside you.

"You ever think about how we always end up here?" you mused, watching the steam curl up from your noodles.

Chan chuckled, tapping his chopsticks against the rim of his cup. "Yeah. It’s like our thing, isn’t it?"

You nodded, smiling softly. "Our thing."

Chan watched you for a moment, something warm settling in his chest. Maybe it had always been this simple. Maybe it had always been you.

After a while, between bites of noodles and sips of beer, the conversation flowed effortlessly—talking about anything and everything, teasing each other, reminiscing old memories. The laughter came easily, and for Chan, it felt like breathing.

Then someone approached.

"Chan?"

He looked up, chopsticks frozen mid-air, and his eyes widened in surprise. "Wonha?"

She smiled, standing there with casual ease, as if running into him was the most natural thing in the world. They greeted each other, the familiarity still lingering despite the years apart.

Then her gaze shifted to you, curiosity flickering in her expression. "And you are...?"

Chan blinked. He hadn't thought about this. Hadn't thought about how to define this, to define you. Girlfriend? Ex? Friend? What were you now?

"We're close," he finally said, the words feeling strange on his tongue.

You, ever composed, simply smiled and extended a hand. "Nice to meet you, I'm Y/n."

Wonha shook your hand, offering a polite nod. The conversation that followed was friendly—catching up, lighthearted small talk. Wonha mentioned she was back in town for a while, talked about work, asked about Chan’s schedule. But despite the casual nature, there was an underlying awkwardness, a tension Chan couldn’t quite shake.

And when Wonha finally excused herself, the silence she left behind was even heavier.

You didn’t say anything at first, just finished the last of your drink, eyes focused on the rippling water of the river. Chan shifted in his seat, glancing at you, waiting for you to say something—anything.

Then, after what felt like forever, you spoke.

"Let’s go home."

It was simple, but it carried weight.

Chan let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Finally, the silence is cut.

He nodded, standing up and grabbing the trash, his mind racing as he followed you back to the car.

Chan couldn’t reach you for almost a week. At first, he thought you were just busy. He texted, called a couple of times, but the replies were short, if they came at all. He even stopped by your bakery, only to have Sunoo mention in passing that you had gone on a business trip to another town.

That was when the uneasy feeling started creeping in.

You hadn’t mentioned anything about a trip to him. And worse—when he thought about it, he realized you had been slowly distancing yourself for the past week. Maybe even longer.

He wanted to believe he was overthinking, but deep down, he knew better. You were avoiding him.

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, another problem decided to make an appearance.

That morning, his phone was bombarded with notifications—texts, calls, mentions. At first, he thought it was just another work update or a group chat going off. But then Seungkwan's name flashed on his screen.

"Congrats, man. So, when were you planning to tell us?"

Chan frowned. "Tell you what?"

Seungkwan sighed dramatically. "The dating news, obviously. Your article is everywhere."

Chan's heart dropped. He pulled up social media, and there it was—a headline with his name splashed all over the place:

"Seventeen's Dino spotted on a date? Rumors of a relationship surface after café sighting!"

Accompanied by a picture.

A picture of him sitting across from a girl at a café.

And the girl in the photo?

It wasn’t you.

It was Wonha.

Chan froze, staring at the screen in disbelief. His members started chiming in one by one—congratulations, playful teasing, all assuming the article was true.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. "This isn’t true."

The only thing he could do now was call the company, demand a clarification, and make sure the world knew that Wonha was just a friend.

But even if he could fix this problem, there was still you.

And right now, you were already slipping away.

"Why don’t you ask the girl you met at the café about her?"

Sunoo’s response was sharp, his words slicing through the tension in the air. Chan had barely stepped foot into the bakery before being met with that cold remark.

It had been a week since the scandal broke, a week since he had last seen you. And now, here he was, standing in the familiar warmth of your bakery, trying to explain himself.

“It was a misunderstanding,” Chan started, his voice firm but laced with frustration. “The media twisted it, like they always do.”

Sunoo didn’t look convinced. He crouched behind the counter, rummaging for something, before standing back up and placing a small sign in front of the register.

Chan furrowed his brows, reading the words aloud.

"House reserves the right to refuse service to anyone."

"Wait—this is a thing?" Chan asked, blinking in disbelief. He had never seen that sign here before.

Sunoo nodded, arms crossed. "House rule. F&B industry stuff. You wouldn’t understand since you come from entertainment."

Chan let out a dry chuckle, rolling his eyes. "You keep talking about industries. Why don’t you just tell me where Y/n is?"

Sunoo’s expression hardened. He leaned against the counter, gaze unwavering. "Why? You want to see her? Talk to her? Do you always check in on your ex like this?"

Chan felt his breath hitch. "What are you talking about?"

But before Sunoo could respond, the bell above the door chimed, signaling a new customer. In an instant, his demeanor shifted.

"Welcome!" Sunoo greeted with a bright, polite voice, flashing a smile at the guest. But just before he turned away completely, he cast Chan one last glance—one filled with something unreadable.

And just like that, Chan was left standing there, feeling as though the ground beneath him had suddenly become unsteady.

"He's gone..." Sunoo murmured, still watching through the bakery window as Chan disappeared down the street.

You stepped out of the kitchen, wiping your hands on a towel before settling onto one of the bar stools. Your expression was unreadable, but Sunoo could see the tension in your shoulders.

"You okay?" he asked, leaning against the counter.

You let out a chuckle, though it lacked humor. "Why wouldn’t I be okay?"

Sunoo raised an eyebrow. "Well, for starters, you’ve been avoiding him for a week. And second, you were just hiding in the kitchen the moment he walked in."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "I was busy."

"Right," Sunoo drawled, crossing his arms. "Too busy to tell him you were going on a business trip? Too busy to tell him you're upset?"

You exhaled, resting your elbows on the counter as you looked down at your hands. "What do you want me to say, Sunoo?"

"Maybe the truth?" he suggested. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're running away."

You bit your lip, but didn’t say anything.

Sunoo sighed, softening his voice. "You know, whatever it is you're feeling, you're allowed to feel it. You don’t have to act like nothing happened."

You glanced at him, eyes flickering with something close to hesitation. Sunoo didn’t push further, but he didn’t back down either.

"Just… think about it," he said before turning back to work, leaving you with your thoughts.

You went home, exhausted, only to halt in surprise at the sight of Chan squatting in front of your unit, scrolling through his phone. The glow of the screen illuminated his furrowed brows, but the moment his eyes caught yours, he stood up immediately.

"Now we meet," he said, his voice firm. You could hear the frustration laced in his words, see it in the way his shoulders tensed. But you were more upset than he was, and in your mind, he deserved every second of silence you'd given him.

"You're just going to give me the silent treatment? Like you always do?"

Your hand froze on the door handle. Slowly, you turned to face him.

"I thought we were over a year ago," you said, your tone indifferent.

Chan sighed, raking a hand through his hair. "And here I thought we had a chance."

You crossed your arms, looking at him with unreadable eyes. "What do you want, Chan?"

"You have no idea how crazy I’ve been this past week. After everything between us, you just disappeared, like you always do. This isn’t how you handle things. You don’t just vanish when things get tough."

You scoffed, shaking your head as you looked down at your shoes. "Oh, sure…" Lifting your head, you met his gaze with something sharp, something cold. "You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? Playing with someone’s heart."

Chan's brows furrowed, his expression a mix of confusion and hurt. "What are you trying to say?"

"You’re good at it," you said, voice unwavering. "Messing with people's feelings."

His frustration cracked into something closer to disbelief. "You’re the one who left me. A year ago and now. Don’t make it seem like I was the one who walked out that night."

Your jaw clenched as you turned away, gripping the door handle once more. "You have no right to tell me that."

"Grow up."

You stopped.

"Nobody in this world is a mind reader," Chan continued, his voice quieter but no less firm. "So grow up and say what’s in your head. I can’t guess what you’re thinking, and I need you to tell me what’s wrong, what needs fixing. I know I lack a lot, but after everything—after seeing you again—I want to be better. But the way you treat me... it's making me feel small."

You didn't respond immediately, your heart pounding in your chest. His words hit you in places you weren’t ready to acknowledge.

"Have you ever thought," you started, voice softer now, "how things would’ve been different if you had asked me to stay that night?"

Silence.

You let out a breath, your lips curling into something bitter. "You wouldn’t know, would you? Because you never even tried. And that’s what hurt me the most."

Finally, you turned fully to him, looking straight into his eyes. "You never knew how hard it was to speak my mind just to be ignored. And that’s why you never understood how much it hurt."

Chan exhaled sharply, as if your words had physically struck him.

"And now, you want me to speak?" Your voice didn’t waver, but there was a slight tremble in your fingertips. "Tell me, Chan, if I do—will you actually listen this time?"

Chan stared at you, his lips parting as if he had something to say, but no words came out. The weight of your words sank into his chest, heavy and suffocating. He had spent so long trying to understand you, but he had never really asked himself whether he had truly listened.

His silence was enough of an answer.

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head as you turned back to your door. “Exactly.”

Chan stepped forward, desperate. "I know I messed up. I know I should’ve done things differently, but Y/n, do you really think I didn’t want you to stay?"

You let out a dry laugh, gripping the doorknob but not turning it yet. "Wanting and actually doing something about it are two different things, Chan. And I waited—God, I waited for you to just say something. But you didn’t."

"I was scared," he admitted, voice raw. "I didn’t know how to ask you to stay without being selfish. I thought maybe—maybe if you left, you’d be happier."

You turned around, eyes narrowing. "And who gave you the right to decide what would make me happy?"

He faltered, guilt flashing across his face. "I—"

"Chan," you sighed, your voice softer this time, tired. "I don’t want to do this again if it's just going to end the same way."

"Then don’t let it," he pleaded. "We can be better this time. I can be better. But I need you to talk to me. No more running, no more silence. Just us—figuring this out together."

You searched his face, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, the desperation, the regret. But was it enough?

"You broke my heart," you whispered.

Chan swallowed hard, his own heart aching at your confession. "I know," he said quietly. "But if you let me, I'll spend however long it takes putting it back together."

The air between you was thick with emotion, the past lingering like a ghost neither of you could quite shake. The choice was yours now. To let him try—or to walk away for good.

You let out a quiet sigh before pushing the door open wider. "Come in."

Chan hesitated for a second, as if he didn’t expect you to actually let him in, but he stepped inside nonetheless. You didn’t want anyone witnessing the two of you arguing in the hallway, and frankly, you were too tired for a public spectacle.

The door clicked shut behind you as you walked to the dining table, pulling out a chair and sitting down. You didn’t look at him. Instead, you focused on the smooth surface of the table, tracing invisible patterns with your fingertips.

Chan, meanwhile, stood by the window, three meters away. His hands were in his pockets, his back against the frame, his posture tense yet composed. His eyes weren’t on you either. The space between you was filled with silence—thick, suffocating, and louder than any argument you could’ve had outside.

Seconds stretched into minutes, neither of you speaking. The weight of the past, of everything left unsaid, settled heavily in the room.

Eventually, Chan broke the silence. His voice was quieter this time, hesitant but firm.

"Why did you leave that night?"

Your fingers stilled against the table. You swallowed, debating whether to answer honestly or give him the same indifference you had been holding onto.

"Because I was tired," you finally said. Your voice was calm, but the bitterness in it was unmistakable.

In the past, you had always known that Chan was friendly and well-liked. That wasn’t the problem. The problem started when you kept hearing from other people—friends, fans, even strangers—that he was still close with all of his exes. Some people even made jokes about how he had never been single for more than a month before jumping into another relationship.

At first, you brushed it off, trusting him. But over time, it started to bother you—not just the rumors, but the way Chan never reassured you about them. Instead of addressing your concerns, he dismissed them like they were insignificant.

“Why are you listening to those people? You know me.”

“Come on, it’s just people making up stories. Don’t let it get in your head.”

“So what if I’m on good terms with them? It’s called being mature.”

Every time you tried to talk about it, he shut it down, making you feel like you were overreacting. He never cheated, but he never made you feel secure either. And that’s what hurt the most—his failure to recognize that trust isn’t just about being faithful, it’s about making your partner feel like they’re the only one who matters.

As months passed, you tried to hold on, tried to trust him, tried to ignore the way doubt kept creeping into your heart. But it became exhausting—feeling like you were the only one fighting against the rumors, the only one trying to hold the relationship together.

Then, there was one final moment that broke you. Maybe it was another passing comment from someone about him still being close to a particular ex. Maybe it was seeing a picture of him with one of them, looking too comfortable, too familiar. Whatever it was, you tried one last time to make him understand.

“Chan, I’m tired of always hearing about you and your exes. I’m tired of feeling like I’m competing with ghosts.”

But instead of listening, he got defensive.

“You don’t trust me at all, do you? Why are you making this such a big deal?”

You sighed deeply, crossing your arms over your chest, as if trying to hold yourself together. “I was tired of fighting with my own thoughts. Because whenever I tried to bring them to the table, you brushed them away.”

Your voice was steady, but Chan could hear the exhaustion beneath it. That quiet kind of hurt—the one that lingers long after the wound is made.

He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “I did that?”

You let out a small, bitter laugh, shaking your head. “Yes. And I started to feel alone. Alone… alone… while you were out, hanging out—a lot—with your exes. And I was left by myself. I saw you that night. You were with your friends, and there was her…”

You didn’t have to say her name. He knew exactly who you were talking about.

Chan exhaled sharply, looking away. The weight of your words pressed against his chest, tightening like a vice.

He remembered that night—the night everything between you fell apart.

He could still hear his phone ringing, your name flashing on the screen. He had answered casually, thinking it was just another call. You told him you were at his place. You wanted to talk.

He said he’d be home soon. But he hadn’t meant it.

Instead, he stayed. Another drink. Another story. Another hour.

When he finally did go home, you were already waiting—but not in the way he had expected. You weren’t curled up on his couch, waiting to be held. You weren’t upset, demanding an explanation.

No, you were standing there—rigid, distant, already pulling away.

And before he could even process what was happening, before he could even reach for you—

You ended it.

Just like that. No screaming, no accusations, no dramatic fights.

Just quiet devastation.

“You didn’t trust me.” His voice barely broke the silence.

You met his eyes, and it sent a shiver down his spine. There was no hesitation when you answered.

“You’re right.”

The finality of it crashed into him like a wave.

Chan clenched his fists, his mind spiraling back to that night. He had stood there, watching you walk away, unable to move, unable to say a single word. Because at that moment, he was too caught up in himself.

He hadn’t thought about you. About how you had tried—again and again—to tell him what was wrong. About how you had begged, without ever raising your voice, for him to reassure you.

Instead, he had let his own frustration consume him. He had spent so long convincing himself that you were the problem—that you were overthinking, being irrational, asking for too much.

But now, hearing you say it so plainly—

You didn’t trust him. And he had given you every reason not to.

His voice was quieter this time, almost hesitant. “You never told me why…”

Your eyes flickered with something unreadable—hurt, regret, maybe even disappointment.

“Because you weren’t on the same page as me.”

Silence.

And it was deafening.

Because he knew it was true. Even if you had explained back then, he wouldn’t have understood. He would’ve dismissed it, convinced himself that you were just being insecure.

But this wasn’t insecurity.

This was trust breaking, piece by piece, until there was nothing left to hold onto.

And suddenly, he realized—you hadn’t left because you wanted to. You left because, at that moment, you had no other choice.

And that realization hurt more than he ever thought it would.

Chan knew he had lost you once because he failed to listen. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

He stood there, leaning against your window frame, the weight of everything sinking in. The silence between you was thick—so many words left unspoken, so much hurt neither of you had truly acknowledged until now.

But this time, he wasn’t going to brush it aside. He wasn’t going to let his own emotions overshadow yours.

Chan took a slow breath and finally spoke, his voice steady but filled with raw sincerity. “I was selfish.”

You didn’t say anything, but the slight twitch in your expression told him you were listening.

“I thought I was doing enough just by being with you. I thought… if I wasn’t doing anything wrong, then there was nothing to fix. But I never stopped to ask myself if I was making you feel safe with me. If I was making you feel like you mattered.”

He pushed off the window frame, stepping closer. Not too close—just enough to show you that this time, he wasn’t running from the conversation.

“You were right to leave me that night,” he admitted. “Because I wasn’t ready to hear you. I wasn’t ready to understand. But I am now.”

The room felt smaller with Chan standing there, his presence filling the silence between you. The weight of everything—the past, the heartbreak, the unspoken words—pressed down on both of you, but for the first time, neither of you looked away.

You exhaled slowly, your arms still crossed, the shield you had built around yourself refusing to fall so easily. "You say all the right things now," you muttered, your voice quieter than before. "But words don’t erase what happened."

Chan nodded, his expression serious. "I know." He took a cautious step forward, just enough to close the emotional distance without overwhelming you. "I know words aren’t enough. But I’m not saying this just to make you forgive me. I just... need you to know that I finally get it."

His voice carried none of the frustration or defensiveness you had once been so used to. Instead, there was something raw—an understanding, a regret that felt real.

You let out a dry chuckle, shaking your head. "It took you losing me to understand?"

"Yeah," he admitted, a small, humorless smile on his lips. "I guess I had to lose you to really see how much I took for granted."

Your shoulders eased just slightly, the tension in your chest loosening. You weren't ready to forgive him, not yet. But something about the way he was speaking—**without excuses, without pushing blame onto you—**made you feel like, for once, he was truly listening.

He glanced down at his hands, exhaling deeply before meeting your gaze again. "I don't expect things to go back to the way they were. I don’t even expect you to give me another chance. But if you ever think there’s even the slightest possibility of trusting me again..." He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "Then I want to be someone worth trusting."

Silence settled again, but it wasn’t as suffocating this time. The anger that had once flared between you had softened into something else—something uncertain, something hesitant, but no longer painful.

You sighed, finally lowering your arms. "I don’t know if I can just believe you overnight."

Chan nodded, the corner of his lips twitching into the smallest, most understanding smile. "Then let me prove it to you. No rush, no expectations. Just… let me be here. This time, I’ll listen."

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like maybe, just maybe, he would.

"Have you seen this?"

Attached was a screenshot—an official announcement from Pledis Entertainment.

"Dino of SEVENTEEN is currently in a relationship with a non-celebrity. We ask for your support and understanding."

The news took you by surprise.

Your name wasn’t mentioned in the official announcement, but you knew. You were the non-celebrity. The one the world was suddenly talking about. The one they were wishing happiness for.

Your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing—friends, acquaintances, even people you hadn’t spoken to in years, all reaching out with the same excitement. "Is it true?" "Are you really dating Dino?" "How did this even happen?"

You stared at the screen, overwhelmed, heart racing.

And then, there was the photo. The one of Chan in an apron, standing behind the counter of your bakery. Box on his hands, sleeves rolled up, a soft smile as he handed a customer their order. It had been taken just last weekend, completely candid. You knew because you had been standing right beside him, laughing as he struggled to tie the apron properly.

You weren’t sure how the photo got out. Maybe a customer had snapped it. Maybe a fan had recognized him. Maybe it didn’t even matter anymore—because now, the world knew.

And surprisingly, they were happy for you.

You had been terrified of this moment. Afraid of what people might say, of the scrutiny that would come with being associated with him again. But as you scrolled through the comments, you saw nothing but excitement, nothing but support.

"Dino looks so happy!"

"He really found someone special."

"He’s literally boyfriend goals, helping out at her bakery like that."

"I hope they stay together for a long time."

Your chest tightened. It felt surreal.

It had taken months to get here. Months of hesitation, of slow conversations, of learning to trust again. Months of Chan proving to you—through actions, not just words—that he had changed.

That he had finally understood.

You thought back to the first time he had shown up at your bakery. He hadn't said much, just stood there awkwardly, asking if you needed help. You had been hesitant, but you let him stay. Then he kept coming back. On his free days, between schedules, whenever he could.

And somewhere in between rolling dough, wiping flour off his face, and sneaking bites of pastries when he thought you weren’t looking—he became part of your life again.

Not as an idol. Not as the Chan you once fought with. Just as him.

You put your phone down, heart still racing.

Chan had yet to text you about the announcement. He was probably waiting, letting you process it on your own.

And for once, you weren’t afraid.

You looked toward the kitchen, where he was now—tying his apron, completely unaware that the world had just found out about you two.

You took a deep breath, stepped forward, and smiled.

"Hey, boyfriend," you teased, leaning against the counter.

Chan looked up, confused for a second, before his phone finally buzzed. His eyes widened.

"You okay?" he asked immediately, concern flickering in his gaze.

You nodded. "Are you?"

He exhaled, then grinned. "Well… at least they got my best angle."

You rolled your eyes, but you laughed. And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t looking at the past anymore.

At first, you weren’t sure how things would change.

Chan had always been social, always surrounded by people, and a part of you feared slipping back into old patterns. The nights where you’d feel left out. The moments where you questioned your place in his life. But this time, things were different.

He made sure of it.

The first time he invited you to hang out with his friends, you hesitated. You still remembered how it felt before—watching from the sidelines while he laughed with people who had known him longer, had history with him in a way you didn’t. But Chan noticed.

And instead of brushing it off, he reached for your hand.

"Hey, come here," he had said softly, pulling you into the conversation. "They’ve been wanting to meet you properly."

Properly.

Not as someone in the background. Not as just another presence in the room. But as his girlfriend.

From that day on, he never made you feel like an outsider. You were part of his world now, not just someone looking in.

Whenever he was with his friends, his arm always found its way around your shoulders. If you were feeling quiet, he’d gently pull you closer, pressing a quick kiss to the side of your head, whispering, "You okay?" If he laughed at an inside joke, he’d take the time to explain it to you. If his friends teased him, saying he had changed, he’d just smile and say, "Yeah. I did."

And then there were his exes.

Chan never cut them out of his life—not because he was holding onto the past, but because he had learned how to balance things. He didn’t hide it from you. He was transparent, always telling you if he happened to run into them, if they caught up once in a while.

But the difference now? He never let it make you feel small.

If his exes were around, he made it clear where he stood. His hand in yours. His attention on you. His presence next to you, always.

"You don’t have to worry," he’d say, eyes sincere. "I know what I want."

And he showed you.

When someone brought up his dating history, he never entertained it. If an old friend joked about how he’d never been single for long, he’d only shrug and say, "That’s in the past."

And if there was ever a moment—even the smallest second—where doubt crept into your mind, he always knew.

One night, after a dinner gathering, he noticed how you grew quiet as an old conversation about his past relationships resurfaced. He didn’t wait for you to bring it up.

In the car ride home, he reached for your hand and held it against his chest.

"Talk to me," he murmured.

You sighed, unsure how to put it into words. "I know you’re close with them. And I don’t want to be the kind of person who’s insecure about it. But sometimes…"

"Sometimes it still lingers?" he finished gently.

You nodded.

Chan didn’t get defensive. He didn’t dismiss it. He just squeezed your hand and said, "I get it. And I’m not asking you to ignore your feelings. Just… let me remind you, whenever you need it."

You looked at him, heart softening. "How will you remind me?"

He turned to you, eyes full of certainty.

"Like this."

And before you could react, he leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips.

Not rushed. Not just for reassurance. But because he wanted to. Because he chose you.

And he would always make sure you knew that.

Seungkwan had absolutely nothing in his head as he stood near the break room, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. It was one of those rare moments where his brain wasn’t running a hundred miles per hour—no schedules to stress over, no members to yell at for losing their things nor refusing to take their vitamins. Just mindless scrolling.

That was until he overheard Hansol’s voice from inside the room.

“She sent me some pictures. It looked good.”

Seungkwan barely paid attention at first, but then Chan’s voice followed, casual as ever.

“Yeah, she was developing a new recipe last night. She told you about that? Jeez, you’re still her favorite member, hyung.”

Seungkwan’s thumb froze mid-scroll.

She?

Recipe?

His eyes narrowed. He replayed the sentence in his head, dissecting it like a scientist analyzing a new discovery. There was only one “she” in their circle who was obsessed with baking.

His heart dropped to his stomach.

His brain took a second too long to process the words. The next thing he knew, he was barging into the room, his eyes darting between Hansol and Chan.

"WAIT, WHAT?! WHAT’S GOING ON?!"

Chan looked up lazily from his phone, blinking at Seungkwan like he had just asked if water was wet. "Uh… what do you mean?"

Seungkwan’s jaw dropped. "DID YOU JUST SAY SHE—AS IN Y/N?!"

Hansol smirked but said nothing, sipping his drink.

Chan nodded, still looking completely unbothered. "Yeah? Why?"

Seungkwan’s face contorted in a mix of betrayal and disbelief. "YOU’RE BACK TOGETHER?!"

"Uh-huh."

"AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME?!"

Hansol chuckled, leaning back. "Dude, it’s been months."

Seungkwan gasped dramatically. "Months?!" He placed a hand on his chest as if he had just been personally attacked. "And I was the last to know?"

Chan shrugged, completely unfazed. "We didn’t exactly keep it a secret. You were just… too busy freaking out over the whole scandal thing."

"Busy freaking out—Chan, I lost SLEEP over that! I thought I ruined your life! I was having nightmares about it!" Seungkwan clutched his head as if reliving the trauma. "And the whole time, you two were just happily together behind my back?!"

Hansol patted his shoulder, failing to suppress a laugh. "Yeah, man. You really stressed yourself out for nothing."

Seungkwan groaned, collapsing onto the couch. "Unbelievable. This is betrayal. I feel so betrayed." He pointed an accusatory finger at Chan. "You should’ve told me! I deserve better than this!"

Chan chuckled, finally setting his phone down and walking over to ruffle Seungkwan’s hair. "Alright, alright. I’ll make it up to you. How about we all hang out at the bakery tomorrow? She’s testing out her new recipe."

Seungkwan’s ears perked up slightly, but he kept up his sulking act. "...The one with the cream filling?"

Chan smirked. "Yup."

Silence.

"...Fine," Seungkwan muttered, crossing his arms. "But only because of the food."

Hansol shook his head. "He forgives fast."

Seungkwan scoffed but didn’t deny it. "You’re lucky I love desserts. But I’m still mad at you."

Chan laughed, slinging an arm around him. "Sure, sure. I’ll let her know her favorite member is coming by."

Seungkwan rolled his eyes, "liar. You said it was Hansol earlier." But he couldn't help the small, satisfied smile that tugged at his lips.

And just like that, the weight of the past lifted, leaving only laughter, warmth, and the start of something even better.

End.

131 notes · View notes

terraswallows · 3 days ago

Text

Had an encounter today with a transphobic asshole.

So, this guy—big neckbeard looking dude, reeked of sweat and cheap deodorant. Like i mean full neckbeard, beer belly, sunglasses, the works—walks into the store where I work wearing a "Make America Great Again" hat while waiting for his family to buy a chess set. I know the family; they’re super chill, but apparently, this guy is their uncle or something.

While I’m ringing up the chess set, the mom compliments my nails and asks where I got them done. We’re chatting when this guy walks over and, with zero hesitation, says, "Real men don’t get their nails done. You one of them faggit types?"

I was so caught off guard that I barely had time to react before the mom nervously tried to brush it off, telling me to excuse him for being rude.

After taking a moment to collect myself, I just smiled and said, "It’s fine, these things happen. And you’re right—real men don’t get their nails done. But I’m not a real man. Well… not really. I’m actually transfemme."

His face twisted in confusion until his eyes landed on my trans flag belt. That’s when his expression shifted.

Before he could say anything, the mom smiled at me and said I looked wonderful. But then the guy grunted and muttered, "Ugh, it’s one of them. No wonder… I’m glad he’s doing what he’s doing. You people need to be stopped."

I was still processing that garbage when the mom apologized again, quickly packing up the chess set in a bag she’d brought. She said they’d be leaving now since they didn’t want to cause a scene.

But of course, the guy wasn’t done. He kept going: "You know, he’s right. Your kind really is a problem. We can’t have you corrupting our kids."

Through clenched teeth, I gave him my best customer service smile and said, "Everyone’s entitled to their opinion. However, I’m going to have to ask you to leave." Then I turned to the woman and said, "I’m sorry for the inconvenience. I hope you have a wonderful day."

The guy tried to keep ranting, but the mom snatched his hat off his head and dragged him out of the store, muttering under her breath about how he just had to do this here, on her kid’s birthday, of all days.

Later, my boss came over and asked if everything was okay. I nodded, but honestly? It’s infuriating. The same hate is spreading here, too (for context I live in South Africa). The bullshit happening in America is bleeding into everything and everywhere.

#trans #trans community #transgender #mtf trans #transfem #trans woman #transgirl #lgbtq #lgbtqia #vent

113 notes · View notes

mikkomacko · 2 days ago

Note

responding to the call…

can we see reader’s reaction to Nico doing skin on skin time with his newborn twin babies?🥹

Ok I am gonna drop the name of the twins rn but keep in mind they might change because I don’t know how attached to them I am lol

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’re exhausted.

Sore almost everywhere on your body, even in places you had no idea could be sore. It’s only been a few hours since the twins were born and you feel sticky with dried sweat, drained to the core but you can’t bring yourself to care.

Even though you’ve been told to sleep when the babies do, to rest up for the journey home from the hospital tomorrow, you can’t sleep.

You don’t want to miss a minute of Bella and Luna’s lives.

Or a minute of Nico meeting them.

He’s been quiet since the moment they handed you two pink swaddles, more quiet than you’re used to him being. He just…watches them with this look on his face you can’t quite place.

It’s like he can’t believe they’re here, in front of him for the first time after nine months of feeling them kick, of satisfying every craving they sent your way, of baby proofing ever corner of the house, of Nico wrapping his arms around you and lifting your ballooned belly even for just two minutes. Two minutes he got to carry them for you because two babies in one belly was hard.

And he’s got those big, sturdy arms, made like they were meant to hold and comfort your girls.

Just as they do now.

You blink slowly, stirred from your nap by the sound of Nico getting up from the hospital chair. He’s quiet as he moves, but in the dark and still room, you can still hear him. Now that they’re here, it’s like you’ve got a sixth sense for any movement around them, like your body is ready to jump up and get to them at the slightest disturbance.

Nico must have it too, because they girls have barely made tiny noises of complaint before he’s standing over their bedside, his back to you as he looks over the two of them tucked together in one bed. Neither of you wanted to separate them, not after they’ve been side by side for months and only in the world for a few measly hours.

You can’t imagine ever separating them actually.

Staying still, you watch Nico’s arms move, careful but sure as he reaches into the crib. One of the babies let out a lone cry, quickly shushed and soothed by Nico. In the light of the muted hospital tv, Nico swiftly tugs his shirt over his head, draping it over his left shoulder and you fight back a sleepy grin.

He’s been waiting so long to do this, read every article and dad book about bonding with newborns. He never said it, but you knew he was worried about creating the same gap his father created with him.

Despite his shy behavior all day, he looks perfectly at ease as he leans over the bed and manages to scoop both babies up in one arm, immediately shushing them with little bounces when they complain.

Something raw and sensitive inside your chest throbs as he turns, carefully peering down at them snuggled together in his left arm and he makes his way back to the chair on soft feet. He don’t look to you, too caught up in looking at them and you can’t blame him.

They’re the most beautiful little things you’ve ever seen.

He lowers himself into the chair, and you calculatedly turn your head to keep watching him. He’s unwrapped them from their swaddles and clothing, tiny pink bodies clad in just little diaper.

As if he’s been doing it for years, Nico maneuvers the girls until they’re lying on either side of his chest, curled into him on their bellies like they’re trying to fuse together with him. You’d imagine it’s how warm he is, how comfortable that exact spot on his chest always is. You know that all too well.

Steadying them with a large hand splayed over both their backs, Nico shrugs off his discarded shirt and lays it over them like a blanket, completely wrapping them up in his scent.

Maybe you lied, you think, maybe he’s the most perfect thing you ever seen. Hair falling over his forehead, chin tilted down to look at them sleeping on his chest as he takes calming breathes.

Startlingly, you realize you’re crying and you sniffle, quickly swiping at your cheeks with the hospital bed blanket but the damage is done. Nico looks to you, a closed lip smile spreading across his face.

“S’perfect,” you whisper, voice cracking just a bit and he chuckles through his nose, but at least he doesn’t comment on your roller coaster emotions. “They look like they belong right there.”

He nods, dark eyelashes touching the apples of his cheeks as he looks back down at them. “Yeah, they do.” He agrees, spreading a hand over each of their backs.

Then, as if he’s worried you don’t believe him, he continues in a quiet, soothing voice. “They’re warm, but they can’t regulate themselves yet ya know? They’re just too small still.

“But they learn if you hold them like this. They’ll match your breathing and your heart rate and body temperature too.”

It’s sweet, him reciting the information to you. Even if you already knew it and even if he doesn’t have to explain himself. He’s reassuring you and him, proving to himself that he knows what he’s doing.

“Yeah,” you murmur wetly. “And they’re safe there. It must be so scary, leaving all they’ve ever known.”

Nico hums. “They know us, baby. At least you but now…”

“Now they’ll know their daddy.”

He smiles, all dimples and moony eyes. “Yeah they’ll know their daddy. And they’ll know that I’ve got them.”

#mob boss nico hischier #him and i chats

103 notes · View notes

hees-mine · 19 hours ago

Text

Best friends - L. Heeseung

Pairing: heeseung X reader!

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, teasing, cum eating, cursing, alcohol consumption, multiple sex scenes, fluff, best friends to?.

WC: 7k+

The clock had just struck 12 you and your best friend had danced drank danced some more and drank some more and it was time to go home since you guys had one two many.

Around ten p.m., you both gave up on trying to find hookups for the night.

The men were nothing short of sleazy, and the girls fawning over your best friend, heeseung, weren’t his type.

Sharing one last shot together, you both make your way outside, the soft thump of bass following you closely until you exit the club. You both take in a deep breath of much-needed fresh air after being stuffed in the confined space with so many bodies.

Sitting on the sidewalk, heeseung pulls out his phone and gets an Uber for the night. You weren’t knocked out drunk, but there’s no way either of you would get behind the wheel recklessly.

“My head hurts” you leaned over on your best friend resting your throbbing head on his shoulder while you await the Uber.

“Told you to slow down, silly.” he laughs softly and playfully leans into you.

“I know I should have listened,” you agree, too tired to put up a fight with him.

“Here” he slides over a bottle of cold water that he got from the bar before you two left knowing you always needed some after you leave a party but you always forget to grab some.

You give him a tired smile, twisting open the cap and gulping down the liquid, feeling more refreshed already.

A couple more minutes later, your car arrives. Heeseung opens the door for you and jogs over to the other side, buckling you and himself in before your Uber takes off.

You both agreed you’d spend the night at his place instead of ubering back and forth to save time and money.

It’s quiet in the back, both of you resting against the headrests, your eyes closed as you wait for the buzz from the alcohol to finally wear off.

When you arrive, heeseung opens the door for you again, thanking the driver as you head up to his apartment with him holding onto you so neither of you tipped over.

When you reach his door, you stumble inside, go to the familiar couch, and throw yourself down on its purse, still dangling off your wrist.

He chuckles a little more sober than you as he shuts the door, removes his shoes, and tosses his keys to the side.

He flicks on the kitchen light, and it spreads to the dimly lit living room.

Opening the fridge, he grabs water for himself and then kicks back on the couch beside you.

You move your legs and make more room for him to sit comfy. “Here” he pats his lap signaling you to straighten out your legs and get comfortable again.

You hum and stretch out on the couch, relaxing after a full night of partying.

He takes a swig of water and sets it on the lamp stand.

“My feet are killing me.” he smiles faintly, and without a word, he lazily slips off your heels.

“Next time, wear flats, please?” He whispers softly and begins rubbing the balls of your feet as you groan when he presses a particularly sore spot, but the release of tension feels good.

“Yes, Dad.” Your eyes roll behind your closed lids, and you hear him scoff.

“It’s just common sense” he moves to the other foot massaging it lightly. “Besides you’d look just as pretty without them” he leaned back on the couch your feet on his lap as he rubs them for you.

You hum in response not thinking much of his compliment you both gave them to each other often so it was nothing new for either of you.

“Can’t believe we both failed tonight” he sighs referring to both of you guys not getting any play tonight.

“We technically didn’t just have standards, okay?” You chuckle, feeling a bit more awake now as you lie on your back.

He tilts his head to the side, his lazy eyes looking into your own as he smirks. “Fair point.” It’s silent for a moment before he interrupts it. “Still wanted to get laid tonight, though.”

“Same,” you nod in agreement.

“What if we just…. you know?” He raises a brow a teasing smile on his face. “Do it,” he suggests.

You burst out laughing, knowing that he’s just joking with you, and he can’t help but join you in laughter as well.

Except the both of you stare at each other, laughing a bit too long until it dies down in your throats, and now you just sit there staring at each other, and now that he brought up the idea of you two having sex, there’s undeniable tension rising in the room.

It’s only a matter of time until someone makes a move, and you beat him to it. Before you can think twice, you brush your barefoot along the front of his pants.

He gasps lightly at the contact, looking down at where your foot is stroking the bulge in his slacks.

You bite your lip at his reaction, and a mischievous smile forms on your face as he throws his head back against the couch in disbelief.

“You’re crazy,” he whispers hoarsely and closes his eyes, gulping harshly when you add more pressure to his groin.

You giggle in response. If this makes you crazy, then he must be insane with the way he lifts his hips to brush himself against your foot. “We shouldn’t be doing t-this,” he hissed, looking down and watching the way your pretty foot looked pressed against him.

“Why?” You continued teasing him through his pants with your foot, loving the reactions he’s been giving you so far.

“C-cause we’re-“ he cuts himself off, opting not to even say anything 'cause he can’t sit and pretend he wasn’t enjoying whatever this was that the two of you were doing. “Fuck” he sighs, his bulge growing with each passing second, and you feel him go stiff beneath your foot.

Read full fic on Patreon

#heeseung smut #enhypen heeseung smut #enhypen heeseung #lee heeseung smut #lee heeseung #enhypen #heeseung #enhypen smut #enhypen hard hours #enhypen lee heeseung #enhypen fluff #enhypen fanfic #enhypen scenarios #lee heesung smut #lee heesung x reader #enhypen hyung line #e

95 notes · View notes

astars-things · 1 day ago

Text

what the hell y/n

Jack hughes x daughter!reader

where jack finds vapes in y/ns room

reader is 16

warning very angst

Jack had always prided himself on being a good dad. He wasn’t perfect—far from it—but he had always tried to do right by Y/N. He worked his ass off to give her a good life, to teach her right from wrong, to make sure she knew that no matter what, she could come to him.

But now, standing in his daughter’s room, holding the evidence of her bad choices in his hands, Jack felt like a failure.

The vapes sat in his palm, neon-colored with stupid fruity flavors written across them. He gritted his teeth, his chest tight with frustration and disappointment. His little girl—the one he’d raised, protected, loved—was doing this?

His hands shook as he shoved the vapes onto the kitchen counter and waited. Y/N was out with friends, probably laughing and having the time of her life while he sat here, stewing in anger. He didn’t even know what he was going to say. How could she be so reckless? How could she be so stupid?

The front door finally opened, and Y/N walked in, humming to herself as she kicked off her shoes. Jack wasted no time.

“Y/N,” his voice was sharp, cutting through the air like a knife.

She blinked, clearly startled by his tone. “Uh, yeah?”

He pointed to the counter, jaw tight. “You want to explain what the fuck those are?”

Her eyes flicked to the vapes, and in an instant, he saw it—guilt. Panic. She tried to mask it, crossing her arms over her chest. “I don’t know. They’re not mine.”

Jack scoffed, shaking his head. “Don’t lie to me.” His voice cracked, raw and furious. “Don’t stand there and act like this is nothing. You know better. And if you don’t, then I failed as a dad.”

Y/N’s lips pressed into a thin line. “You’re overreacting.”

That made Jack snap. “Overreacting?” His voice was sharp, almost a yell. “Do you even know what this shit does to you? You’re sixteen! Your brain isn’t even fully developed, and you’re putting this crap in your body?” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Everyone does it, Dad.”

Jack slammed his hand down on the counter, making her jump. “I don’t give a shit what everyone else does! You’re not everyone else—you’re my daughter!”

She swallowed, but the defiance was still there. “It’s not a big deal—”

“It is a big deal!” Jack cut her off. “Who gave them to you? Did you buy them? Did someone give them to you?”

Y/N looked away.

“Answer me!”

She huffed. “I—I got them, okay? It doesn’t matter how.”

Jack let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, it fucking matters. You think I’m just gonna let this slide? No car, no going out, and you’re giving me your phone until I decide you’ve earned it back.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “What? Dad, no—”

“You don’t get to argue with me on this,” he snapped. “You clearly can’t be trusted to make smart decisions, so I’ll make them for you.”

She let out an angry noise, turning away. “This is bullshit.”

Jack ran a hand over his face, trying to calm himself down before he said something he’d regret. His heart ached. He wasn’t just angry—he was disappointed. He’d thought she knew better. He thought she’d respect herself more than this.

The front door swung open, and Luke walked in, grinning. “Hey, Jack, you see my—” His words died when his eyes landed on the counter. His face paled. “Shit.”

Jack’s blood ran cold. Slowly, he turned to face his brother. “Your what?”

Luke swallowed hard, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh—”

Realization crashed over Jack like a tidal wave. His stomach churned as he looked between Luke and Y/N. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he muttered.

Luke’s gaze flickered to Y/N, who refused to look at him. His shoulders sagged. “Y/N…”

Jack’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt. “You stole them from Luke?”

Silence.

Y/N stared at the floor, but she didn’t deny it.

Jack exhaled sharply, his hands shaking. “You stole from your uncle. And you thought what? That I wouldn’t find out? That I wouldn’t care?”

Y/N finally looked up, and for the first time, he saw it—the regret, the shame.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered.

Jack let out a dry laugh, completely void of humor. “Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it, Y/N.”

Luke cleared his throat. “Jack, maybe—”

“No, Luke,” Jack snapped, cutting him off. “She lied to me. She stole from you. And she doesn’t even think it’s a big deal.”

Y/N’s face crumbled. “I do! I—I just…” She trailed off, shaking her head.

Jack sighed, his anger still burning, but exhaustion was creeping in. “Go to your room,” he muttered.

Y/N opened her mouth to argue but stopped when she saw the look in his eyes. Defeat settled over her as she nodded, disappearing upstairs.

Jack braced himself against the counter, gripping the edge like it was the only thing holding him up.

Luke sighed. “She’s a teenager, man. She’s gonna make mistakes.”

Jack let out a bitter chuckle. “Yeah. And it’s my job to make sure those mistakes don’t ruin her life.”

Luke was silent for a moment before nodding. “You’re a good dad, Jack.”

Jack didn’t feel like it. Not tonight.

#imagines #send in requests #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x daughter!reader #jack hughes as a dad #jack hughes fic #x daughter!reader #nj devils #nhl x reader #nhl imagine

77 notes · View notes

littlesoulshine · 2 days ago

Note

Can you do a nsfw fluff piece between Clark x reader?

They get married and are off to their honeymoon location, which is like a nice tropical place away from the people. And when they arrive they can't get enough of each other?

Please and thanks ❤️💙

you barely made it out of the reception before his self-control started to unravel. every moment of the night chipped away at his restraint until he was tugging you toward the exit, murmuring apologies between fevered kisses as your guests laughed and cheered your departure. even now, with miles of sky and ocean between you and the world, he looks like he's hanging on by a thread.

"how much longer?" his voice is low, rough, barely keeping the hunger at bay.

"twenty minutes," the pilot answers from the cockpit, oblivious to the way clark's grip tightens around your fingers.

his jaw flexes, blue eyes darkening, and you can see the exact moment he decides waiting isn’t an option. his free hand drags up your thigh, slow and deliberate, as he shifts closer, his breath warm against your ear. "twenty minutes is too long."

he doesn’t ask permission. not when you’re already tilting your head, inviting him to press his mouth against your pulse, to let his tongue taste the skin that alredy belongs to him. his lips ghost over your throat, down to your collarbone, and then lower, hands following, claiming, and truly worshiping.

the jet's cabin is slightly lit, golden and bright beautifully lights catching on the sharp lines of his face, the soft curl of his dark hair, and the hard muscles tensing beneath his shirt as he pulls you into his lap.

he groans when you grind against him, the heat of his body searing through the thin layers between you. his hands are everywhere—spreading wide across your back, fisting in the fabric of your dress, pushing the delicate white lace up and over your thighs. his mouth is relentless, hot and urgent, sucking love-bruises into your skin like he wants to brand you with his devotion.

"you have no idea what you do to me," he rasps, dragging his teeth over your shoulder. "how much i need you."

your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling just enough to make him groan, and the sound is molten, dripping down your spine. his control is slipping, unraveling thread by thread, and it’s exhilarating to watch the strongest man in the world fall apart for you.

when the jet touches down on the secluded island, clark carries you off the plane, like he can't bear to stop touching you even for a second. the private villa is all warm wood and open air, a paradise built for two, but neither of you pay it much attention. the second the door clicks shut behind you, he has you pinned against the nearest surface, mouth on yours in a desperate, claiming kiss.

“you’re fully my wife,” he breathes against your lips, like he still can’t believe it, like he needs to say it out loud to make it real. his hands roam your body, memorizing, relearning, reverent in their worship. “mine.”

he undresses you slowly, reverently, peeling away each layer with gentle fingers, kissing every new inch of skin revealed to him. his mouth finds your breasts, warm lips enclosing around sensitive flesh, sucking slow, teasing, before his tongue flicks and drags, sending heat pooling between your thighs. he takes his time, savoring your reactions, mapping your body with a devotion that leaves you breathless.

the bed is soft beneath you, but it’s his weight over you that anchors you, his body warm, solid, safe. he parts your legs, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, pausing only to glance up at you, his eyes dark, pupils blown wide with desire.

he groans at the sight of you bare for him, spreading you open with careful, adoring hands. his tongue replaces his fingers, dragging through your folds, and the first slow strokethat makes you arch off the bed. he drinks in every sound you make, every plea, working you open with an aching patience, like he has all the time in the world to unravel you.

when he finally rises over you, his body fits against yours like he was made for this—for you. he sinks into you with a low, shuddering groan, forehead pressed against yours, whispering your name like a lovesong. his hips roll slow, deep, stretching you inch by inch, filling you completely, and he watches your face the entire time, eyes full of worship, of need, of love.

outside, the ocean crashes against the shore, waves rolling in time with the steady, unrelenting rhythm of his hips. his pace is slow, torturous, drawing out your pleasure until you’re trembling beneath him, gasping his name. he whispers sweet praises against your skin, tells you how perfect you feel, how beautiful you are, and most importantly how he’ll never get enough of you.

when you climax beneath him, he follows, burying himself deep, groaning against your throat, holding you as if he could fuse your bodies together. he kisses you through the aftershocks, soft and lingering, before rolling you onto your side, pulling you close, his arms tightening around you.

“i love you,” he murmurs, voice hoarse with spent desire, pressing his lips against your forehead. he doesn’t let go, doesn’t move away, just holds you against him as sleep pulls you both under, tangled together, inseparable.

and when morning comes, sunlight spilling through the open windows, you wake to his arms around you, his breath warm against your shoulder, and his heartbeat steady beneath your palm. he stirs when you shift, pulling you closer, pressing a sleepy kiss to the nape of your neck.

“morning, mrs. kent,” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep, with love, with the promise of forever. and as you turn in his arms, pressing your lips to his, you know exactly how you want to spend the rest of your honeymoon.

notes: thank you for sending a request! 🤍

#queued𒌩 #soul's requests༺#clark kent #clark kent smallville imagine #clark kent x reader #clark kent x you #clark kent x y/n #superman comics #clark kent x female reader #smallville #superman #smallville x reader #tom welling #clark kent fluff #clark kent smut #smallville clark kent #smallville 2001 #clark

74 notes · View notes

thehypnone · 2 days ago

Note

Hyp, I need a continuation of just what Mountain can do to Swiss if he comes to him with more time

That stressed out Multi needs some proper stress relief

“…next time do tell me earlier if you’re stressed. I can do way better with more time.”

Mountain’s words have been bouncing around Swiss’ head ever since that memorable day a few weeks ago. What he can only assume was an offer is incredibly tempting, but he's simply...scared.

Of what?

He doesn’t know, but he is, and that’s why it takes substantial amounts of desperation for Swiss to go to Mountain and simply ask for the help.

“I can’t play a show like that…” the multi ghoul whines as he stands in the threshold of the other’s dressing room with a raging boner.

“Yeah, not really,” Mountain chuckles, looking him up and down with a smug expression.

“It’s not funny!” Swiss whines. “I need some help…and we have an hour.”

“Oh, we have an hour now, huh?” the earth ghoul teases.

If Swiss’ face was only hot before, now it’s ablaze. “I–I’m sorry for…assuming. I’ll go handle myself…”

“Wait, I’m just teasing you. Get in here and lock the door.”

Now Swiss feels as if a bucket of cold water got dumped over him. Still, he obeys, and when he turns back around to face Mountain again, the earth ghoul is shrugging off his shirt.

“Sure you want my help?” he asks.

“Yes,” Swiss replies shakily.

“And you’re okay with me doing…way more than last time?” Swiss nods, Mountain zipper goes down.

He points to the vanity by the wall. “Bend over, then.”

The multi ghoul’s legs are jelly as he walks over to it and follows Mountain’s order, dropping his pants to his knees. Cold air hits him and suddenly he’s as shy as a virgin.

Mountain hums in approval. Swiss can hear him approach and then rough hands land on his cheeks and spread them.

“Pretty,” he breathes. Swiss drops his head against the mirror and braces for whatever’s about to happen. When something does happen, it’s gentler than what he was expecting.

Mountain squirted some lube onto his hand and warmed it up between his fingers before bringing it to the multi ghoul’s ass, but it still startles him some.

Swiss is breathing heavily before Mountain even puts one finger in and all but hyperventilating and moaning like a whore by the time three of his digits are petting inside him. He really is desperate. “Fuck, you’re so good at this.”

“So I’ve heard,” the other chuckles, “but I’m ever better at something else.”

With that, Mountain pulls his fingers out and only gives himself a short moment to look at and admire Swiss’ stretched out ass before putting the wet tip of his cock against it.

“Ready?” he asks one last time. Swiss is already blissed out; he nods so fast and hard that he knocks the mirror with his horns a few times. Mountain laughs at it. “Alright.”

He starts pushing in and at first it’s slow, excruciatingly slow, but it doesn’t stop. The earth ghoul keeps pushing in and Swiss’ hungry hole swallows keeps swallowing it up until it’s so, so deep inside him.

“Oh, my dear–Lord–Lucifer, AH–fuck!” he moans, holding onto the edge of the counter for dear life. “You’re so–fuck–so big.”

“I’m aware,” Mountain states and his hips finally press against Swiss’ ass. He gives the poor ghoul under him a moment to adjust and, most importantly, breathe. “You alright?”

“Ngh–move,” the multi ghoul begs, making the other shake his head with a smirk. “Please.”

Oh, and move Mountain does.

He grabs onto Swiss’ hips with an iron grip and starts to truly pound into him, making the whole vanity shake with the intensity of it, and the multi ghoul…well. He’s all but sobbing with pleasure, finally getting fucked six ways into Sunday; by Mountain, most importantly.

He might just be ascending.

The earth ghouls keep thrusting into him with purpose, getting spurred on and on by Swiss’ shameless moans and groans and whines. Particularly pretty sounds, if you ask him, and the pitch of them tells Mountain exactly when it’s time to double down.

“Now cum, so I’ve got some time left to take care of you,” Mountain growls straight into his ear and if Swiss still wasn’t on the very edge, he certainly is now. Three more powerful jams of the earth ghouls hips driving his cock against the other’s prostate and he’s spilling onto the floor with a scream.

He thinks he can feel Mountain cumming inside him, but he’s floating further and further away by the second and then–

“Welcome back,” the earth ghoul chuckles. They’re on the couch and Swiss is wrapped up in a blanket, his uniform under it.

“That–that was…” he tries to choke out, “definitely stress relief.”

Mountain laughs and Swiss melts a little.

#hypnone writes #the band ghost #nameless ghouls #swiss ghoul #mountain ghoul #swissalps

74 notes · View notes

frenchkisstheabyss · 12 hours ago

Text

♡ 𝔹𝕝𝕒𝕟𝕜 𝕊𝕡𝕒𝕔𝕖♡

♡ Pairings: fratboy!jaehyun x chubby!fem!reader, fratboy!johnny x chubby!fem!reader, fratboy!nct members

♡ Genre: college au/angst/fluff/smut

♡ Summary: Jaehyun has made it a habit of playing with your heart. One day he loves you, the next he hates you, with nothing in between. Growing tired of his games, you find your attention drifting somewhere else. Toward his roommate and frat brother Johnny to be exact.

♡ Word Count: 10k-ish

♡ Warnings: jaehyun's a fuckboy, nct frat is full of fuckboys actually, two couples having sex in the same room (not an orgy), unprotected sex, a lil spanking, partying, kissing, drinking, casual/meaningless sex, sexual fantasies, fingering, heartbreak, pet names (baby), mucho crying, & that's all my loves

♡ A/N: I started this fic months ago but I posted a pretty unfinished version of it because I was just not in the best space so I decided to go back and give my lil fic the love that it deserves. If you've read it before, there's new sections thrown in the mix and it now has an ending. If you've never even knew it existed then I hope you enjoy reading. I'm low key considering making this a series ✨NCT frat boy cinematic universe ✨ I've also gotta thank @anyamaris for always being there to read things for me and @tofethee for being the literal reason that I remembered my lil unfinished fic existed xoxoxo

It was exciting at first.

Weekends at the frat house partying with Jaehyun. No rules. No limitations. Everything a girl could want just waiting to be given to her if she asked. And the sex? The sex was incredible. Jaehyun could be a real asshole sometimes but he always knew how to make you cum so hard your ears were ringing.

You knew from the start that it’d be delusional to think you were anything more to him than a pretty face and a dependable fuck. Jaehyun’s killer bone structure and gorgeous features make him what one might imagine a fairytale prince to be. All the girls on campus dream of being with him and he knows it. He loves it.

That man has an ego bigger than his cock which is unfortunately rather large. There’s so much of himself floating around in his head that there’s just no room for anyone else. Still he has his endearing moments, ones that make a girl feel special, and that’s what keeps you coming back when you begin to think better of tolerating his bullshit.

That’s why you’re here tonight, knees digging into his mattress, cheek pressed to his pillow, as he fucks you from behind. You feel it, the force of his hips snapping against your ass, his cock pulsing deep in your core. But it feels like nothing. It’s like getting a tooth pulled after the dentist has numbed you up real good. The force of the movement is there but the feeling’s gone.

A few feet away another bed creaks as a girl you’ve only met once or twice rides Jaehyun’s frat brother Johnny like one of those mechanical bulls. This isn’t abnormal. During these parties sex happens any time, anywhere, and that almost always includes being in the same room together. But you can’t help feeling like a pervert for stealing a few glances of the adjacent couple.

Jaehyun never formally introduced you to Johnny. Come to think of it, he's never formally introduced you to anyone. It was Johnny who introduced himself one night when you’d had a few too many drinks for your own good and ended up hunched over the toilet with Jaehyun nowhere to be found.

Johnny sat with you for hours making sure you were hydrated and feeding you snacks until he was sure you were okay. You can’t for the life of you remember what was said. You can only recall that you felt comfortable and safe with him. It was enough to make you develop the tiniest crush that’s only been made worse by how sweet he’s been to you since.

Jaehyun slaps your ass, interrupting your train of thought. Almost simultaneously Johnny begins to caress the other girl’s hips. There’s so much tenderness in the way he touches her and you envy it. You wish Jaehyun could give you even a fraction of that. Just once. Pulling the girl in for a kiss, Johnny wraps his arms around her, holding her close to his chest. With her head nestled in the side of his neck, he cradles her gently as he lifts into her at a slow, rhythmic pace.

You imagine that’s you, not being hammered into but actually feeling something, and magically the friction of Jaehyun’s cock rubbing your walls feels good. In fact, far better than it ever has before. You let out a moan, a whisper, “Aah, oh god.” Jaehyun takes notice of it, loving the way you clench too much not to hit that sweet spot again and again. He’s so distracted by the delicious jiggling of your body, his vision curtained by messy dark brown hair, that he can’t see that he isn’t the only one captivated by you.

But you notice. Johnny’s staring back at you now, his eyes glued to yours as he takes in all those pretty faces you make. This isn’t the first time he’s watched you either. He and Jaehyun were roommates long before you came into the picture. Johnny’s seen more than a few girls naked in Jaehyun’s bed but you’re the only one he’s cared to sneak a peek at. The crush you have on him is so mutual. How you never picked up on it he doesn’t know but it’s oh so obvious now.

The longing behind Johnny’s eyes is immense, luring you further into his gaze until he’s all you see. Setting your bodies on autopilot with your respective partners, you begin to quietly explore each other. Your minds indulge in every dirty thought you’ve had about each other. Thoughts you’d suppressed out of fear that you were doing something wrong. You find yourself getting wetter than you’ve been all night, walls dripping twice as much as they hug Jaehyun’s cock.

“Damn, you feel so good, baby” Jaehyun praises, planting kisses down the middle of your back. He shifts to a position he knows will have you trembling and you let out the sexiest moan. So sexy it makes Johnny’s cock twitch inside of the other girl, heat washing over both of your bodies.

“You’re so fucking cute” Johnny whispers in a way that seems to be for the girl in his arms but is meant for you and only you. His face lights up like the 4th of July at every broken moan or arch of your back. You can tell how badly he wishes the pussy warming his cock right now were yours and you get the filthiest rush out of that.

As the pressure inside of you reaches its peak your legs begin to shake, knees threatening to give out from under you. A faint smile creeps across Johnny’s face and he mouths to you, “Cum.” And you do, as if on command. Burying your face in the pillow, you bite down on the fluffy cotton and let it fill your cheeks. It’s a gag of sorts, a desperately needed one incase you should cry out the wrong name on accident.

You know in your heart that even by frat boy standards you’ve crossed a line. You’ve stumbled into territory there’s no coming back from. But when it feels this good it’s difficult to want to turn back anyway.

“You’re overreacting. It’s not like you’re my girlfriend.”

You know this to be true, Jaehyun isn’t your boyfriend, but it hurts all the same to wake up to him texting another girl. Your heart sank when you rolled over this morning, still in his arms, to find him making plans to meet up with her tonight.

It was so blatant, he didn’t even attempt to hide what he was doing, and maybe that’s what hurts most of all. You thought he cared enough about you to at least pretend he wasn’t playing the absolute fuck out of you. It’s clear now that you thought wrong.

“You’re such an asshole, you know that?” you shout, gathering your things from the floor, the sheet from his bed still draped around your naked body.

A fully dressed Jaehyun casually searches the dresser for his keys, the smile on his face so cocky you want to slap it off. “Right, I’m going to the gym. You know how to see yourself out right?”

Picking up one of your heels, you channel all your strength into throwing it at his head. “I never wanna see you again!”

Jaehyun opens the bedroom door in time to take cover behind it, the heel of your shoe leaving a dent where it would’ve hit him. “Ooh, feisty” he teases, cracking the door to throw you a wink, “Save some of that for next time, hmm?”

There’s so much you want to say but none of it will change anything. He walks away from you like it’s nothing and that’s precisely what you feel like. Nothing. Unable to hold back anymore, you burst into tears where you stand, gathering up some of the sheet to sob quietly into. You can’t recall the last time you cried like this. A chest tightening, nose dripping, lip quivering type of cry that makes you want to double over in pain.

“Hey, come here” a voice whispers, the rasp of sleep still hanging over it.

You feel a tug on the back of the sheet and turn to see Johnny sitting up in bed, one hand rubbing his barely open eyes while the other clings to the sheet around you.

“I’m sorry if I woke you up” you apologize, too embarrassed to make eye contact, “I’ll just get my things and—”

“No, come here” he insists, pulling you closer to his bed, “Come lay with me.”

Something in you says to resist it—you shouldn’t be crawling into bed with Jaehyun’s roommate—but Johnny’s already taking you by the hand, guiding you down into the empty spot beside him. No words are spoken as he pulls the soft blanket over the two of you, tucking it at your side to keep you warm.

His head hits the pillow, heavy lids closing, as he pulls you into his chest. There’s tension at first, on your part only. A hesitance to allow yourself to fully relax into the gentle embrace you’ve been desperately pining for. But the longer he holds you, his palm massaging your lower back in soothing figure eights, the more you soften.

“You don’t deserve this, you know?” he finally says when your tears have subsided and your breathing has evened out enough for you to speak. There’s exhaustion in those words as he says them, giving the impression that this is something he’s wanted to ask you for a long time.

“Is this gonna be a lecture?” you sniffle, nervously patting the tears from the dips between his muscles, “Because I really don’t need a lecture right now.”

Johnny laughs, letting out a yawn, “Nah, it’s too early for a lecture. My brain’s not heated up yet.”

“Not heated up yet? What does that even mean?” you giggle, leaning to look up at him, your nose scrunched in confusion. Johnny opens his eyes, staring back at you with those starry brown orbs, and you’re transported back to the way you felt last night. If you thought his gaze made you want to melt from afar, it’s reducing you to volcanic ash at this distance.

“Well, it’s like, when you first wake up your brain’s cold. Your thoughts are all jumbled so you’ve gotta wait a little, let it heat up” Johnny explains, the tips of his sable hair kissing your face.

“You’re, uh…” you stutter, searching for the perfect word, “Really…interesting? Yeah, you’re interesting, Johnny Suh.”

The most genuine smile takes over that handsome face as he lets out a joyful squeak, sincerely flattered by your comment. “Yeah? Well, so are you. You’re really interesting and cool and cute. I did mean that last night. You are cute.”

You tuck your head, trying to hide a smile of your own, but Johnny caresses your cheek, bringing you right back. “Why do you let him treat you like that?” he asks without the slightest bit of judgment. Your smile fades as you contemplate a question you aren’t even sure you know the answer to. You file through 1001 possibilities before coming to the raw, painful truth.

“I was trying to prove something, I guess” you confess, feeling an odd sense of relief at admitting this to him and yourself. “I thought if I could attain the unattainable it’d be proof that I was special.”

Johnny scoffs, rolling his eyes, “Jaehyun? Unattainable? I could fuck him if I complemented him enough.”

“Thanks, that makes me feel so much better” you huff, beginning to regret that moment of vulnerability.

“No, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it like that. I just mean that he isn’t one of those people that can appreciate when they have something special.”

You shrug in defeat, letting your fears fall freely from your lips, “Yeah, I don’t know if any guy can at this point.”

“So you think we’re all the same?” he asks, tilting your head to let your lips brush his. His lips are like static, making the little hairs on your arm stand on end. Your heart’s running a marathon and the butterflies in your stomach are throwing fits. This can’t be happening. Only it is.

You swallow hard, inhaling the scent of the fresh morning air meddled with his cologne. “Well, I…I mean no one’s really shown me any different.”

Johnny presses his lips to yours, lingering there for a moment to savor the warmth of your kiss. “Can you give it some time?” he whispers, fingers charting a course across the curve of your hip to take your hand into his.

“It or you, Johnny?” you ask, silently begging him not to say a thing if it’s not something he means.

“Hmm,” he hums, bringing your hand up to gently kiss your inner wrist, your palm, your fingertips, “Me.”

Your phone vibrates in your hand, Jaehyun’s name flashing on the screen.

You’d think it was a bomb by how delicately you’re holding it, careful not to breathe too hard out of fear that it’ll somehow answer the call. It’s the 5th time he’s called today, probably the 9th in the last 24 hours, but you can’t bring yourself to pick up the call. There’s nothing he can say that the dozens of unanswered text messages he’s sent in the last week haven’t already.

He didn’t mean to talk to you that way. The girl he was texting meant nothing to him. He hadn’t even gone to see her that night. He only cares about you. Only wants you. If you just give him the chance he’ll prove it to you. Just pick up the phone. Just let him see you.

“Block him” your best friend AJ whispers, sneaking up behind you.

“Fuck!” you scream, nearly jumping out of your skin. You thought that the walk in fridge at work was the perfect place to hide but you only managed a couple of seconds without being caught.

AJ giggles, hugging you from behind, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you, girl. I just saw you sneaking off and you know I had to check on you. I mean it though, you really should block him. He’s never gonna change.”

You let out a long, heavy sigh knowing there’s no way to deny the truth. In the past you’ve made excuses for him. You’ve cried in her arms too many times to count. You can’t justify it anymore. Not to her and not to yourself.

You shove your phone down into the pocket of your apron, your mind set on blocking him as soon as your shift’s over. “You’re right. He can be some other girl’s problem. I’m over it.”

“See, that’s what I like to hear. Now that he’s out of the way, you ready to scope out some new cuties?”

You’re too familiar with the mischievous look on her face. You’ve seen it a million times before and it means trouble every time. “AJ, what are you talking about?”

“Well, these guys just came in looking for you. They asked to be seated in your section and they’re hot, like…” AJ fans herself dramatically, “Hot.”

You roll your eyes, pretending not to be interested, but you both know that you’re faking it. “Which table?”

“That’s my girl!” she cheers, grabbing you by the hand and dragging you out into the chaos of the busy kitchen.

15 seconds. That’s how long you’d known peace. It seems short but that’s an eternity during dinner rush. Sometimes it gets so hectic here that you hardly have time to catch your breath and it’s shaping up to be one of those nights.

“Table 7, off you go” AJ hums, ushering you out into the main dining area.

You turn back to ask her questions. Did they give a name? Did they say what they wanted? Any defining details other than “hot”? But one of her tables is waving her down and she’s already scurrying off to help them. It’s up to you to solve the mystery now and there’s only one way to find out.

Smoothing out your clothes and straightening up your hair, you make your way to table 7 as casually as you can, trying not to seem too eager to greet the patrons that await you.

“I don’t care about food. I need alcohol” one of the guys whines, flipping through the menu in search of the drink section.

“Who fixes a hangover with more alcohol?” his friend laughs, raking his fingers through his long brown hair.

“You can fix a beer hangover with wine. I’m pretty sure.”

“I feel like that’s not true” you say as you approach the table, “Actually, no, that’s definitely not true.”

All conversation halts at the sight of you. AJ was right. They are hot, every single last one of them, but especially the one seated closest to you, his eyes beaming as he stares up at you.

“Hey” Johnny sighs, his voice light and floaty.

You feel your cheeks warm, an unexpected shyness overtaking you, “Hi Johnny.”

“Hi Johnny” the guy next to him teases, tucking his hair behind his ear.

Johnny elbows him in the side, never taking his eyes off of you, “Ignore him. He was dropped on his head as a kid. That’s Jungwoo” He points to the two across from him, “That’s Doyoung. Yuta.”

“Nice to meet you” Doyoung smiles, reaching out to shake your hand, “We’ve heard a lot about you. Johnny won’t shut up about you actually. You know—”

Yuta throws an arm across Doyoung’s shoulder, covering Doyoung's mouth with one hand, “Can we get a couple of waters to start?”

“Uh, sure, no problem. I’ll be right back” you nod, pretending that Doyoung’s little slip up hasn’t left you feeling all fuzzy inside. Johnny talks about you to his friends? Something like that hasn’t happened in so long that you almost forgot what it feels like.

“Wait, one more thing” Johnny says, jumping up to block your way before you can leave.

You giggle at the urgency in his movement. You’d think you were going to war in another country instead of just a few feet away to grab some water. “Sure, what’s up?”

Noticing that he might’ve seemed a bit too excited, Johnny tries to calm down but his cool image is already shattered. He can’t go back. “I just wanted to ask what time you got off work tonight.”

You glance over at the clock hanging from the wall near the entrance, “Hmm, like, another two hours.”

Johnny takes your hand, nervously fidgeting with the delicate silver ring on your finger. “There’s somewhere I wanna take you tonight. Would it be okay if maybe I hung around and waited for you?”

“You’re gonna sit here for two hours and wait for me?”

“Well, yeah, we still have to order our food and I’ll just eat really, really, really, slow,” he says, leaning into you until your lips just barely brush. “Okay?”

You’re at work. He can’t be this close to you. It’s unprofessional. Yet you don’t move an inch out of his way. You can hear your heart beating in your ears, your body so flush with heat that you’re on the verge of begging someone to crack a window in here.

“Yeah, okay” you whisper and he presses his lips to yours, unable to resist his intrusive thoughts. Not even this once.

The kiss is quick. Quick enough that not everyone could see—quick enough not to get you in trouble on the clock—but the tingle that it leaves behind lasts the rest of your shift. It’s enough to make you forget all those missed calls and text messages. You’re floating on a cloud, your head so lost in stolen glances and passing contact with Johnny that your shift’s over before you know it and he’s taking you by the hand, leading you across the street to where his car awaits.

“Have fun you two!” Doyoung calls back as the others split in their own direction.

“And Johnny don’t say anything stupid!” Jungwoo throws in.

“Yeah, don’t do that thing you do where you like a girl and your palms get all sweaty” Yuta teases.

Johnny hurries you into the car before his friends can say anything else but you can still hear them taunting him, even as their voices fade down the street. Hopping into the car Johnny lays his head on the steering wheel, letting out a huff of frustration. “I’m going to kill them. Every single last one of them.”

You reach over to rub his knee, putting on your sexiest voice, “I happen to think sweaty palms are very sexy.”

Johnny turns to look at you, a moment of silence passing before he rewards you with the exact laughter you wanted to shake out of him. “Sexy, huh?”

“Yes, actually” you swear, batting your eyelashes, “I love a man with good…perspiration.”

“So you’re cute and you’re funny” he muses, “Guess I’m doomed.”

“Doomed? To what exactly?”

Johnny shrugs, looking you up and down, giving himself time to take you in. He’s always thought you were gorgeous. Any time you came to the frat house all dolled up he couldn’t take his eyes off of you and even now, dressed in your work clothes with not a drop of makeup on, he can’t think of anything more beautiful. Is it even possible?

Snapping out of it, he clears his throat and sits up straight. “It’s nothing. Forget it. You ready to go?”

Curious but not wanting to press the issue you just snap on your seatbelt and nod, “Mmhmm.”

You’re even cute when you’re taking safety precautions. It’s sickening. He wants to lean over and kiss you again, maybe for a little longer this time, but he knows if he does he’ll never leave this spot so instead he starts the car, fighting to keep his mind on track. Truly a task when he’s next to you.

At first the ride’s quiet. Not awkward. Just quiet. Neither of you knows what to do—how to act. You’ve exchanged a few texts here and there since that morning you crawled into his bed. You’d even seen each other in passing on campus, shared a few brief hugs, but you hadn’t been alone together since. Are you really doing this? What is it that you’re doing anyway? It’s a question that you both want to ask but somehow it seems too soon.

“Only serial killers drive in silence. I need music” you blurt out and Johnny laughs off your comment, happy to finally meet someone as random as he is.

Digging in his pocket, he pulls out his phone and hands it to you. “Here, it’s connected to the car. Play whatever you want.”

Cradling his phone in your palms like a newborn baby, you stare at him in shock as his lock screen awaits a code.

“020995” he says, waiting for you to tap in the digits. When you don’t he repeats it, slower this time, “02…09…95.”

“Huh?”

“The password. To my phone.”

The information hits you on a delay, only adding to your shock. “You’re giving me the password to your phone?”

“Yeah, how else will you use it?” he asks, unsure what exactly has you so confused.

Not wanting to make the moment any more awkward than it already is, you tap the numbers into his phone, navigating his apps until you find the music. The anxiety is nauseating. The last time you looked at a guy’s phone you ended up crying and you never want to feel that way again. But Johnny seems so calm, so totally unbothered by you having his phone, that your worries begin to subside. After all you’ve been through it’s easy to think that every guy has something to hide but maybe, just maybe, this one doesn’t.

Pushing your insecurities to the back of your mind, you settle into your new job as the resident DJ and find yourself having fun—actual fun—for the first time in a long time. It’s enough being in the car with him, jamming out to your favorite songs, sharing stories about concerts you’ve been to, that you aren’t even concerned about the destination. It isn’t until you’re pulling into a spot off the side of a pitch black road that you begin to wonder where exactly he’s taking you.

Johnny hops out of the car first, circling around to the trunk for something. You crack your door open, just enough to get a peek at him. “I know I joked about that whole serial killer thing but—”

“Turn the flashlight on” he instructs, ignoring your second implication of him as a killer.

Flipping on his phone’s flashlight, you shine it in his direction to find him standing there with a blanket. He slams the trunk closed and approaches you, leaning against the back door, “I definitely brought you out here to kill you. Death by a really cozy blanket.”

You slip out of the car, hesitantly scanning your surroundings, “Then what are we out here for, hmm?”

“Just hold the flashlight straight and trust me for a few minutes” he says, grabbing your hand and leading you through what slowly reveals itself to be a park.

There’s trees and benches. A few trails leading in each direction. Wooden signs are painted marking which way to go for camping and where to find the small creek you can hear rushing nearby. You’re grateful to have worn sneakers to work. A pair of heels would've never survived the stone pathway you have to traverse to make it deeper into the woods and closer to wherever he’s taking you.

You remain silent for a few minutes, doing your best to trust the process, and just as you’re about to question this plan of his the hard stone beneath your shoes turns soft and grassy. The trees break open into a small clearing where the moon beams down, brightly illuminating the world below. You gaze up at the sky in awe. You’ve never seen the stars this vividly before. They seem so close that you could touch them.

“It’s so beautiful” you gasp, nearly tripping over the blanket as Johnny begins to lay it out behind you.

“See, told you I wasn’t trying to kill you” he teases, kissing you on the forehead, “I come out here sometimes when I’m feeling overwhelmed. I figured you might be pretty overwhelmed too lately so I thought it might be nice for you.”

Johnny takes a seat on the blanket and you slip down beside him, your eyes still fixed on the stars. “I didn’t know you were the stargazing type.”

“Surprised?” he asks, gently stroking your cheek.

Without a second thought, you lean into his touch, letting yourself enjoy the sensation of his skin against yours. And just like that you can’t be bothered with the stars anymore. He’s all you can see. All you can feel. “I’m surprised by a lot of things when it comes to you.”

“Like what?”

You know that you should be careful with your words but you can’t control what comes out of your mouth next. “Like why you’re doing all of this. Why you even care about me?”

Johnny sits with your question, giving it as long as it needs to truly sink in. “Remember that night you came over and got sick?”

You cringe at the thought of it, “Oh god. Unfortunately, yes. Tell me that has nothing to do with this.”

“You weren’t as bad as you think” he swears, “I’ve seen much worse, trust me. I know you might not remember a lot about that night but you were there for me too. I wasn’t in the best headspace then and I didn’t really wanna go to any of the guys about it then I found you and it was, like, comforting to be with you. Once you stopped throwing up.”

“Johnny, please” you whine, burying your face in your hands out of embarrassment.

Johnny pulls your hands away, trying to hide his laughter, “I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. Messing with you is fun. But seriously, it felt nice being with you and every time I saw you after that I just kept finding things that I liked about you until I couldn’t avoid the fact that I had to have you even if you were his.”

“I was never his. He never owned me” you make it a point to say, “You could’ve had me whenever you wanted me. You only had to say it.”

Tucking his arms around your waist, he brings you onto his lap, your legs resting on either side of him. His hands find their way to your hips, smoothing over your pleated skirt to feel the softness of your bare thighs. Your breath catches at the pad of his thumb gliding over your inner thigh, inching your skirt up.

You drape your arms over his shoulders, letting yourself be drawn into eyes that reflect the moonlight so gorgeously you might as well be staring right at it. “Johnny…” you gasp, feeling his cock harden between your legs.

The friction between his pants and the moistening silk of your panties has you on the verge of moaning. Thumbing your clit through the fabric, he coaxes that moan right out of you just in time for this tongue to invade the space between your lips. Your fingers find his hair, tangling themselves within it as you raise your hips, giving him all the space he needs to tuck your panties aside.

You were so wet the other night, wet enough that he could hear it, but feeling it himself is beyond his wildest dreams. You’re so slick, so soft, like the petals of a flower after fresh rain. Droplets of your arousal coat his fingertips as he pets your entrance, sinking his fingers into you deeper and deeper with every stroke. Your moans dance off of your tongue and right onto his as you rock back and forth in his lap, mindlessly riding his fingers.

“Can I keep you?” he whispers, curling his fingers into your sweet spot, hitting it perfectly, “I’ve wanted you for so long and I…I need you to be all mine.” He stares you dead in the eyes, meaning every word that he says. He wants you and he won’t share you. Not with Jaehyun. Not with anyone.

“You can keep me. I’m yours. I’m—aah” you whimper, your pleasure only heightened by his need, “All yours.”

What are you even saying? What are you doing? Falling onto your back. That’s what. Lying on this blanket with your legs spread and your back arched, watching the night sky twinkle above you as Johnny’s fingers drive into you while you pledge your pussy juice drenched allegiance to him.

Somewhere in the car, buried in your purse, your phone’s vibrating again. Another missed call from Jaehyun. But you’re too far out of his reach in more ways than one. Further than he could ever imagine.

You fight. You cry. You get back together again.

Fight. Cry. Get back together again. That’s the way things have always been between you and Jaehyun. He knows it isn’t healthy but, in his own twisted way, it’s the only way he can trust that you care about him. There’s no justification for it, nothing you did to him in the past that warrants such cruel and unusual punishment.

Jaehyun’s addicted to the rush of getting back together. The desperate, passionate moment when your bodies collide after a week or so apart. Both of you too filled with need to care about what tore you apart in the first place. He can only get that with you, he only wants it with you.

But this time he took it too far, did a bit too much in his attempt to make you jealous, and now you won’t even speak to him. When he knocks on your door your roommate lies and says you aren’t there, refusing to open it more than a crack to shoot him down. Every call goes to voicemail, every text message left undelivered, and on the rare occasion that you run into each other you treat him like a ghost.

Seated on the sectional couch at the heart of his living room, Jaehyun stares into the void of faceless partiers swarming the frat house. The beer cradled between his fingers has the top popped off but he’s barely been touched. The chattering of his frat brothers scattered across the couch might as well be miles away.

A girl in a black mini skirt sneaks up behind him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, “You look sad, baby. Need me to cheer you up?” She licks her lips, planting soft, wet kisses down his neck the way she did a few nights ago when he was in need of some rebound sex that more than failed to satisfy him.

Jaehyun pats her on the arm, shrugging her off, “Thanks but, uh, no thanks.”

“Wait, what?” she frowns, arms folded across her chest, “You’re joking right?”

Scooting closer to Jaehyun, his frat brother Taeyong places a sympathetic hand on hers. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I don’t think he wants to play with you anymore."

At the other end of the couch their brother Yuta raises his beer, winking at the girl, “But I will. I volunteer!”

“Fuck you, Jaehyun and your asshole friends!” the girl huffs, storming off into the crowd.

“Wait! Are you sure?” Yuta calls out after her, “Don’t you know what they say about Japanese guys with long hair? We’re perverts. The best kind!”

“Did she say fuck her in the asshole?” Doyoung asks, his ears turning red from one too many shots.

“Who’s getting fucked in the asshole?” Mark asks, flopping down beside Yuta on the couch. He’s younger than the other guys, probably shouldn’t be here, but they all have a soft spot for him, especially Yuta, so he gets to stick around.

Yuta pouts, laying his head on Mark’s shoulder, “No one, sadly.”

“Can you guys not be pigs for two seconds? Grow up” Jaehyun snaps, chugging down his beer so fast it makes him dizzy.

“Ooh, someone’s cranky tonight” Taeyong teases, “What’s got you so uptight? You’re usually the worst of us.”

Doyoung pours himself another shot, taking a quick, adorable sip of it. “She blocked him. On everything. Won’t even talk to him. So sad.”

Jaehyun’s tempted to throw the empty bottle at Doyoung’s head and, unlike when you threw your shoe at him, there’s no way he could miss the shot. But Mark swoops in, wedging himself between Jaehyun and Taeyong to provide some comfort. “Aww, man, your girl broke your heart? I’m sorry. Hugs?”

As Mark embraces Jaehyun, Yuta scoffs at the display. “His girl?” Yuta laughs, “Hardly. He fucked her. By that standard mini skirt was his girl too.”

“Oh and her!” Doyoung adds, pointing to the curly haired girl in the corner.

The others pile on, making a game out of spotting girls Jaehyun’s slept with. Jaehyun snatches free of Mark’s hug, refusing to sit through anymore of this. He’s ready to storm off himself but doubles back to clarify something. “She’s not like them, alright? So respect her or I’ll hit you so hard every meal you have until next semester will need to be through a straw.”

Taeyong throws his hands up, leading the others in easing up on Jaehyun. “No problem, bro. We were just fucking with you. We’ll respect her—or whatever”

“Uh, excuse me, am I interrupting something?” you ask, clearing your throat. The sound of your voice makes Jaehyun’s heart skip a beat and when he turns around to find that pretty face staring back at him, his heart all but stops.

“N…no, we were just, wh…what are you doing here?” he stutters, a glimmer of emotion showing through for the first time in a long time. “I thought you hated me.”

You knew this day would come. It’s going on 3 weeks of evading any form of interaction with him but you knew that one day your luck would run out. You’d have to experience this moment. This conversation. The feelings you had for Jaehyun haven’t subsided easily. It stung to accept that he could never feel for you the way you wished he did but it was easier to let go when you had someone soft and loving to land on.

Johnny hasn’t been your rebound, he’s been the furthest thing from it. You adore being with him. He does all the things you ever wanted a guy to do. He’s silly in ways you don’t always get but that’s just a part of his charm. He’s thoughtful and patient, never making you question if he has eyes for any girl other than you. You don’t hate Jaehyun. You don’t even have the time to when Johnny exists.

“Hate you? No but have you—” you begin to whisper, burning under the spotlight of his frat brothers’ gaze. The ones that know already know but it’s clear they haven’t dared to speak up either. “Have you talked to Johnny?”

Jaehyun’s a statue, rendered immobile by his confusion, “Talked to Johnny about what?”

“Baby!” Johnny cheers, popping out of the crowd to sweep you up into his arms, “What are you doing here? I told you I’d come get you.”

“I know but my roommate was headed over here so I thought I’d save you a trip.” You try to clue him in that something’s happening but he’s showering you in so many kisses that you ultimately give into it, giggling like the happiest girl in the world.

“Johnny, people are watching” you finally manage as your feet meet the ground again, Johnny’s arms secure around your waist.

“Baby, I don’t care about people—” Johnny stops himself short, noticing precisely which people you happen to be referring to.

The sadness on Jaehyun’s face tells you that he and Johnny haven’t talked about this. Not once. You catch yourself feeling bad for him, knowing the pain he feels oh too well. It’s the same pain that he dished out to you without remorse or reason and the thought of that turns your empathy into satisfaction. Revenge, bittersweet but successfully acquired all the same.

“Jae, I’m sorry, really” Johnny apologizes, approaching Jaehyun to make peace but peace isn’t of interest and apologies aren’t enough.

Jaehyun barrels past Johnny, nearly knocking him down in the process, “Fuck it, you can keep her. Have fun.”

“Wait! I’m really—” Johnny calls after him, torn between chasing down his friend and staying here with you.

Patting him on the shoulder, you give him a tender peck on the lips, encouraging him to go ahead. “Johnny, I’ll be fine. Just do what you need to do.”

“Are you sure?” If you ask him to stay he will, no questions asked, no second guessing. If chasing after Jaehyun means hurting you he’d never do it in a million years.

You crack a gentle, reassuring smile, “I’m sure. Now get out of here.” You playfully push him on his way and he kisses you on the back of the hand before letting go, rushing off after his friend.

Jaehyun deserves a bit of pain for all he’s done to you but in both of their absences it sets in that maybe he isn’t the only one being hurt in all of this. Imagining how hurt Johnny would be at losing a friend, you feel the sudden weight of guilt the likes of none you’ve ever had to bear. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Especially not here in front of everyone.

“Aaah, a good old fashioned love triangle. The tragedy! The heartbreak!” Mark says, head thrown back dramatically.

Taeyong tosses a pillow at Mark, shushing the younger man. Mark catches it, cuddling it in his arms like a plushie. “What? I like love stories. I wonder, how’s it gonna end?”

Yuta grins at you, kicking his feet up on the coffee table, “Yeah, cutie, you’re the one they're gonna kill each other over. You tell us, how’s it gonna end?”

Wiping your increasingly sweaty palms on your dress, you feel the spotlight on you growing brighter and you can’t stomach it. You take off out into the night, navigating the minefield of passed out partiers to get across the front lawn. Yuta’s words echo in your mind, “You tell us, how’s it gonna end?” Like you have all the power. Like you’re the only one responsible for any of this. How’s it gonna end? You have no clue but you wish that the ending, however bad or good, would come already.

It’s not fair.

You should be at a movie theater right now cuddled up beside Johnny eating overpriced snacks. Instead you’re standing in the frozen section of a fluorescent lit gas station contemplating which freezer burnt pint of ice cream you’ll drown your sorrows in tonight. The adult thing to do would be to go back to the party and face this problem straight on. Or you could demolish the snacks piled into your arms and drown your issues.

“The second one, for sure” you decide, fumbling with the freezer door handle to retrieve your ice cream of choice.

“Is there another party going on that I don’t know about?” Jaehyun asks, watching you from the end of the aisle. You groan, abandoning your ice cream mission to get as far away from him as possible. He steps in front of you, blocking your path, “I’m not stalking you. I promise. I just needed some air and I—anyway, let me help you.”

Jaehyun skips over to the ice cream, popping the freezer door open. He pokes out his lip, eyebrows furrowed in as he scans the options. “There we go” he grins, plucking your favorite ice cream from the shelf on the first try. You’ve never explicitly told him which one it was and you try not to be impressed by the fact that he cared to take note of it.

“Come on, I’ll pay for it” he insists, leading the way to the register. It takes him a few steps to realize that you haven’t followed and he spins around on his heels to find you staring at him in disgust. “What I meant to say was, may I pay for your things, my queen?” A group of passing girls giggle as he bows to you with all the elegance of a man who’s in the presence of royalty.

“Cut it out. You’re embarrassing me” you whine and he responds with a twirl that brings him closer to you, the already defrosting ice cream jumping from hand to hand.

“Aah but I just want the queen to be happy and I do hear this is her favorite.”

“Oh, I’m a queen now? And what does that make you? My royal court jester?”

Jaehyun stares into your eyes, his expression turning severe, “If that’s what you want me to be.”

“It’s a little too late to be what I wanted you to be, isn’t it?” you shoot back, your voice trembling more than you’d like it to.

“I don’t know, is it?” He asks you the question like his whole life depends on your answer.

He’s always been the one who had the upper hand, standing over you, his whimpering prey, with a knife to your throat that could end you at any time. It’s strange to be on the other end of it now but, unlike him, you’re prone to taking mercy on poor, wounded little animals. While you may not have it in you to strike the killing blow, you’re content to let him lie here and bleed out.

“You know what? Suddenly I've lost my appetite” you say, emptying your snacks into his arms, “I’m sure there’s enough girls in your phone to share that with.”

This isn’t some melodramatic exit where you walk away expecting him to follow you. Running into him in the first place wasn’t the plan. Yet you’re barely out of the gas station parking lot when the tiny hairs on the back of your neck begin to stand on end and you just know he’s trailing behind you.

“Will you at least let me take you home? You shouldn’t be walking alone. There could be psychopaths out here!”

You pick up speed repeating to yourself, “Don’t turn around. Don’t turn around. Don’t—”

“I love you!” Jaehyun shouts for the entire block to hear. It’s his voice but those can’t be his words. Fueled by rage, you ignore your own advice and turn to confront him.

“Take it back!” you demand, refusing to accept his profession of love. Of all the things he’s ever done to manipulate you this has to be the lowest he’s gone.

“No, if I mean it then why should I?”

“Because you’re lying! You’re a liar! It’s what you do. It’s what you always do!” you scream, the anger you’ve held in for months overflowing.

“Okay, I am a liar. A liar and a piece of shit who couldn’t commit to you cause I was too afraid of getting hurt so I hurt you first” he admits, “And that’s not for you to fix. Maybe I need fucking therapy, I don’t know, but I do love you.”

“That’s not enough!”

Jaehyun sees you motion to leave again and grabs your wrists, locking them at your sides. “Then tell me what’s enough and I’ll do it. It can’t be too late for us. I’m falling apart without you.”

Tears run hot down your cheeks and he cradles your face, kissing them away. It feels nicer than you want it to, more calming than repulsive. You were out, done with him forever, and look at you now, standing under the streetlights melting into the palms of his hands. But this time is different from the others and far more dangerous because for once the liar isn’t lying. He loves you and it means it. Why the fuck does he have to mean it?

“I know this is a lot right now and you don’t have to decide. You don’t have to do anything. Just let me drive you home. Let me take care of you. Please?”

A tragic side effect of being around Jaehyun is the way that you magically find yourself right where he wants you. You know better than to accept his offer. You shouldn’t be anywhere near this man, let alone in his car, but you blink and you’re in the passenger’s seat, his hand on your thigh as he navigates the familiar streets leading back to your dorm.

Snapping back to your senses, you push his hand away, refusing to so much as look at him as you stare out of the window losing yourself in the glow of the street lights. Even when he pulls up to your dorm, you storm off to your room without a word, praying that he’ll just go away.

If you don’t talk to him he can’t say things that mess with your head. If you don’t look at him he can’t pull you in with those eyes…with that gorgeous fucking face. Navigating the halls of your building, you tell yourself not to look back. Just make it to your room and this night will all be over. You’ll be on the other side of that door and you can pretend that this never happened.

You breathe a sigh of relief when you finally push the door open, flinging yourself into the safety of your room only for your moment of peace to be shattered in an instant by the sound of footsteps following closely behind you.

“I didn’t say you could come in” you snap, stopping Jaehyun before he gets ahead of himself.

“I just wanted to say hi to my son. I haven’t seen him in weeks” he pouts, hands clasped together, begging for mercy. “Have a heart.”

“Whatever” you groan, too exhausted to argue any more than you already have, “You’ve got one minute then you need to leave.”

Jaehyun gives you a quick kiss on the cheek, slipping past you to get inside. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Slamming the door behind him, you kick your shoes off, counting down the seconds in your head. When you said a minute you meant it. 60 seconds exactly. Paying you no mind, Jaehyun heads straight for the fish tank in the corner of the room where a single, golden fish swims around a tank decorated with coral reefs and shiny glowing pebbles.

He taps at the glass, making kissy faces at the fish inside. “Sup, Mister Bubbles? Long time no see. I missed you.”

It’s sickening and unfortunately adorable how attached Jaehyun is to that little fish. He won him for you at a carnival when you first started dating. You chose to name him Bubbles because of those tiny bubbles he kept blowing on the ride home. Jaehyun had insisted upon adding the “Mister” to make it more official and you let him have his way.

Jaehyun picks up the container of fish food tucked beside the tank. A special exotic blend he purchased at some upscale pet store. “You got the child support I sent, I see.”

You giggle despite yourself, throwing in a fake cough to cover it up, but it’s too late for you.

“I think I just made your mom smile” he whispers to Mister Bubbles.

“No, I just had something in my throat” you snap, “Anyway, your minute’s up. Get out.”

“Strict woman” he sighs, sparing one last incredibly dramatic glance at his legless son. “You’ll let me know if you need anything, yeah?” Mister Bubbles blows a few bubbles which Jaehyun takes as a ‘yes’ so he turns to you next. “And you’ll let me know if you need anything too?”

Joining him by the fish tank, you snatch the food from him, returning it to its rightful place. “We’re good.”

He watches you for a moment, picking apart your expression, your body language. All the things he knows how to read so well when it comes to you. “If you aren’t good, promise you’ll tell me? If he isn’t good to you—”

He reaches out to bring you closer and much to your frustration you don’t pull away. You don’t even flinch. Instead you’re overcome by the same feeling that left you speechless in the parking lot. Your body seems to vibrate where he touches it, longing for more. It…misses him? You miss him?

“Please don’t do this to me” you beg, close enough now that every breath makes your chests meet. “You can just let it go. You can just leave.”

You say that like it’s so easy. Jaehyun’s never been able to do that when it comes to you. That’s what always scared him so much about his feelings for you. No girl has ever had a hold on him this way. He could throw anyone away, replace them like it was nothing, but not you. You’ve always been irreplaceable and the dumbest thing he’s ever done is let you go. He won’t make that mistake again.

“You’ve always had the cutest cheeks, you know that?” Jaehyun sighs, cupping your cheeks. He leans in closer to get a better look, his gaze dancing across your features, “Your nose too and your lips.”

His thumb traces the bow of your upper lip and you shiver at the contact. The nearer his lips are to yours, the faster your pulse races, your own body betraying you when you need it most. The chance to stop him passes, the quickest millisecond of your life, and he’s kissing you like it’s the last time he ever will. And maybe it is. Maybe he’ll never get to taste the sweetness of your lips again and all he’ll have left of you is what lingers behind but, if that’s really what this is, he can’t let this go to waste.

When he finally breaks from the kiss you’re left breathless, trying to make sense of the mess of emotions swarming your heart.

“All I ever wanted was for someone to love me” you say, your voice ripe with pain.

Jaehyun can see the damage he’s done to you, it’s written all over your face, and it breaks him in ways he never knew it could. “And you deserve to be loved. I hate myself for ever making you believe that you didn’t but if you give me the chance to fix this I promise I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you know how special you are.”

You must admit he has a talent for it. He knows how to string words together and make them sound so pretty a girl could forgive all the tears, all the shouting matches, all the numbers in his phone. But you aren’t so sure you’re that girl anymore.

“Baby! Are you there?” Johnny shouts, knocking at your door.

Your blood runs cold at the reality of your situation. Johnny’s out there probably worried sick over you having disappeared from the party and here you are in the arms of the man you were supposed to leave behind.

“I can answer it” Jaehyun offers, Johnny’s sudden appearance clearly triggering something within him. He takes a step back, heading for the door, but you jump in front of him, pushing him back with enough force to nearly knock him over.

“Don’t you fucking dare!”

In your anger you speak louder than you should’ve, throwing your hands over your mouth at the realization. Any movement out in the hall pauses and you stand still, wishing to gain the power of invisibility just this once. Slowly the knob turns, the door inching open to shine the light of the hall over the shadows of your room. You don’t want to turn around but you have to. Johnny’s standing there, you can feel it, and you can’t just leave him like that. He wouldn’t do it to you.

Facing him is like a knife through your stomach. You want to drop to your knees and cry. You’ve only ever seen Johnny laugh and smile. All he’s ever done when he glanced in your direction was bubble with joy but “joy” is nowhere near what he watches you with now.

“Johnny…” You reach out to touch him but he pulls back. He’s not in the mood to be touched by you right now and it wouldn’t be fair to blame him.

“I was coming to check on you to see if you were okay but…” he glances behind you at the space where Jaehyun waits, far too close to you for comfort, “Looks like you’re all good in here, huh?”

“It’s not like that.”

“No? Then what’s it like? You’re too busy to answer my calls but not too busy to be here with him. What’s that like?”

“I get it, you’re pissed, but I can’t let you talk to her like that” Jaehyun says, irritated by Johnny’s tone of voice.

Johnny laughs, taking a few steps towards Jaehyun, “Let me? You can’t let me do anything. Everyone else might be afraid of you but I’m not. You can’t beat me. We both know that.”

Jaehyun shrugs, unbothered by the threat, “Why don’t we find out?”

“Shut up! You aren’t helping!” you shout, throwing him an icy glare, “No one’s fighting! We just need to calm down! Everyone calm down!”

“You’re the one that’s yelling right now, baby” he whispers and you swear you could choke the life out of him.

The sound of Jaehyun calling you baby is enough for Johnny. If he stays any longer he doesn’t know what he’ll do and he doesn’t want to find out. “I hope you two are happy together.”

Jaehyun leans back against your dresser, content to watch Johnny walk out that door. Only you aren’t. You run behind Johnny, throwing your arms around him before he can leave.

“Johnny, don’t leave” you weep, painting the back of his jacket with tears. You hold him so tightly that your arms dig into his stomach and he can barely breathe. “I mean it, it’s not like that. I don’t want him. I want you.”

You can’t see the shock on Jaehyun’s face but it’s in his voice loud and clear. “You what?”

Johnny grabs your arms, gently prying them away, “Doesn’t seem like he knows that.”

“I want to be with Johnny” you say to Jaehyun without hesitation.

“What do you mean? After everything we talked about? After everything we’ve been through? I told you that I loved you. I love you!”

He keeps using that word—love—but you aren’t even sure he knows what it means. In fact, you’re positive there’s no way he ever did. Your heart broke to see Johnny hurt because of you. You instinctively want to protect him—to do anything in your power to make it right because that’s what you do when you love someone. You choose them because the risk of losing them is too unbearable.

“In all the time we were together you never let me have anything, Jaehyun. Just let me have this one.”

Jaehyun wants to ask if that’s really what you want but you’re clinging to Johnny’s hand with such desperation that he knows it’d be a waste of breath to ask. You want one thing, just one, and it isn’t him.

It’s strange to see him leave. You’re so used to regret pooling in the pit of your stomach each time he walks out of your life that the absence of it is odd but you don’t miss it. It’s freeing and the feeling that takes its place—the longing to be with someone new—is infinitely sweeter. Still, this is no time to celebrate. Even in Jaehyun’s absence, Johnny’s back remains turned to you, his body language cold and tense.

“Johnny” you whisper, tip-toeing around him, “Say something.” You search his eyes for any sign of warmth for you but it’s like he’s hiding it, too afraid to let it show.

“Do you love him?” he asks plainly, “Please don’t lie to me. I just…I can’t do this if you still love him.”

You think back to when Jaehyun kissed you. It stirred up so many feelings inside of you and every single one of them was for Johnny. “I love someone but it isn’t him.”

Johnny’s cheeks redden, the warmth you were in search of returning little by little. “Wh-what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I love you, Johnny Suh. If that’s okay with you” you smile, petting his cheek.

“I mean, yeah, it’s more than okay. I lo—”

“Ssh” you say, placing a finger over his lips, “You don’t have to say it back. Not until you’re ready. I just wanted you to know.”

Johnny swats your hand away, pulling you into him, “I love you too. If that’s okay with you.”

You just smile, a fluttery sensation invading your body, “Of course it’s okay. It’s more than okay. It’s perfect.”

Johnny backs you up against the door, locking it tightly as it slams shut behind you. He lulls you into a slow, passionate kiss that slips every broken piece of you quietly back into place.

There’s no confusion. No fear. No wrongs that need forgiving. All you ever wanted was someone to truly love you and now you’ll never have to doubt that you’ve found someone who does.

#nct x reader #nct x you #nct 127 x reader #jaehyun x reader #johnny suh x reader #jaehyun smut #jaehyun angst #johnny suh smut #johnny suh angst #johnny suh fluff #nct angst #jaehyun x you #johnny suh x you #nct smut #nct 127 x you #nct 127 angst #nct 127 au #chubby reader #plus size reader

96 notes · View notes