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kitimeq · 6 months ago

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-ˋˏ ༻❁ surprise encounter 🤍 sylus 秦 ❀༺ ˎˊ-

❀˖°pairing: sylus x reader

❀˖°summary: You’ve been playing love&deepspace ever since the game came out and it became your comfort place now. You like all of the boys, but you have the highest affinity with sylus, who had your heart in a grasp ever since the beginning. Who would’ve thought that he shares the sentiment? And after your monthly absence from the game, he decides to pay you a little visit and finally confess to all of it (and maybe kind of try to kidnap you in the process too oho).

❀˖° tropes: fluff, angst to fluff, fluff to angst to fluff? fluff to angst to fluff to angst to fluff???? idk angst with happy ending!

❀˖°word count: no idea, it goes on for days sorry. (7k!!)

❀˖°warning!: i apologize for any mistakes, i am not a native speaker of english!! if you see any errors you can write me a dm and i will correct them for sure ♡ and i think it gets better later! i can’t write for shi, especially the beginnings, and the second part was fueled by my delulu so it is probably much more fun to read 🤍

•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙ ⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙

You liked days like these: quiet days, lazy ones, when you didn’t have any errands to run, meetings to attend, or people to please. You could just stay inside for the whole day, reading your favorite books and playing cozy games, spending your time however you wanted. Today was Saturday and you didn’t have to go to work until Monday and you decided that you finally deserved to have some rest after the last couple of weeks of almost working yourself to the bone due to the amount of the assingments you had to complete at work. You often had to stay after hours or work from home to complete everything in time. Your work was not usually that challenging, but there were certain times of the year when everyone at your job had their hands full and when it happened, you were almost completely cut off not only from your social, but also personal life. However, you never complained, because you actually liked what you were doing, and even if the occasional hard times were inevitable, your work brought you so much fun and satisfaction.

And today was a good day! You finally finished everything you had to do, so you could go back to your favourite game. You didn’t have time to play recently due to the amount of work, up to the point that you didn’t even bother to check in to grab some stamina. Usually, love&deepspace was an important part of your day - you logged in there at least twice a day, completed every task thrown your way and had a blast doing so, but these couple of weeks were so hard for you that you almost forgot about it completely. But even if you were too busy, you thought about the boys from time to time, as well as about the events that you were probably missing out on. You really hoped that if some new events had taken place during that time, that they did not involve Sylus, because if you had missed them, you would be slightly devastated.

Sylus was your favorite. Ever since the beginning, there was something about him that caught your attention. You downloaded the game after his announcement and haven’t looked back since. You played with other boys as well, but your time with Sylus was always the most memorable. Not only was he extremely attractive in your eyes, as well as the eyes of other players around the world, but you also understood his character, adored his little jokes and mannerisms, and could safely say that he made your life a little more exciting. You knew that it probably sounded lame to someone who didn’t play such games, and you were aware that he wasn’t real, but you enjoyed yourself regardless. In your real life, you had some experience with men and were pretty popular among them; however, you never felt comfortable enough to form more serious romantic relationships.

Here, with Sylus, you didn’t have to worry about such things. You were aware that he was only a game character and maybe that was why you were so honest with him from the very beginning. You knew that he wouldn’t judge you, misstreat you or make you miserable - he was created in a way that was supposed to make your playthrough enjoyable so you didn’t have to worry about your responses in the messages for him or your real life reactions to everything he said or did. You could just be yourself. And you loved how freeing that felt.

That is why you felt so excited ever since you woke up. Because you knew that today you could finally go back to playing l&d, and you could meet up with your Sylus after so much time apart. You quickly did your chores, spent some time on self-care to slightly relieve the fatigue from the weeks before, you put on your favourite cozy outfit and finally clicked the ”enter game” button.

And there he was. Sylus was standing in the cafe, wearing his extremally attractive biker outfit and you caught yourself sighing dreamily at the sight of him. You missed him so bad, you missed the little memories you shared and the sound of his voice. You missed playing kitty cards with him, catching plushies together and even looking for that bastard Tobias again and again. You couldn’t help but smile brightly at him.

“Hi Sylus, you have no idea how happy I am to see you.” You said cheerfully, feeling kind of dumb for it but you couldn’t help yourself. You often talked out loud to him during your playtime.

You watched him blink slowly once, then twice, and you started to think that there was something wrong with the server because his response should have already been uttered. But then the look on his face changed. At first, he appeared really shocked and relieved, but then a little frown appeared between his perfect little eyebrows.

“Where the hell have you been?�� He responded quickly and it shocked you. You didn’t know that they could swear in the game, but after connecting some dots you figured that it had to be included in the special responses after the player was away for some time.

“At work mostly, been so busy lately but now I’m back and ready to defeat some Wanderers!!” You fist bumped the air above you, you couldn’t contain your excitement.

You also noticed that his expression stayed the same. He was silent, looking at you through your phone screen with bewilderment, and he looked almost hurt. In an attempt to provide some comfort to him, you swiped your finger gently through his hair and across his cheek. However, when you touched his cheek, he closed his eyes and nuzzled into your finger, which made you widen your eyes in surprise. Was that always a thing? Was he always so responsive to your touch? It had to be a new feature; you didn’t remember him being so lively.

“Next time you decide to leave me without a word, I think I’m going to take more drastic measures, sweetie” He said while opening his eyes. You couldn’t help but notice he did look different than usual. More… realistic? Even the way in which he moved his body looked so smooth.

“If not for Mephisto, I would have worried sick about your safety. You can't do this to me every time you have more work than usual; you have to visit me, even if it's just for a minute. I won't exaggerate when I say that I almost went insane after the first week of your cruel silence” And at that you were completely stunned. Should he talk this much? He never talked this much. And how could he know that you had more work than usual? Was that a lucky guess on the studio’s side?

“That’s so weird…” You whispered and touched his hand to trigger some kind of reaction that would appear more usual than what was happening right now.

“Is that your way of catching me off guard? If you wanted to hold my hand so badly kitten, then you would have visited me sooner. I will not let myself be distracted by your cute little behavior” He raised the hand you touched and crossed his arms at his chest, while continuing to frown. And you were still so, so confused.

“Promise me that you won’t leave me again, I know where to find you now.” You raised your eyebrows and bit your lip gently. You started to feel a little bit out of place, you knew that he was not real, but he sounded kind of scary. His voice was demanding, and the part about him finding you? You shivered involuntarily.

“What happened? Cat got your tongue, kitten? Or did you finally understood the selfishness of your actions?” Sylus continued and you opened your mouth in awe. “Promise. Me.” He said slowly, his gaze unnerving. Suddenly you heard a series of loud caws outside on your balcony. The sound made you jump in place, and you dropped your phone on your bed. Was that a freaking crow?? Outside your apartament???

You quickly picked up your phone and cursed softly. You were going insane. You got scared just because the game had an update you did not know about. You almost wanted to laugh at how stupid that was. Almost. Because Sylus walked up to the front of your phone screen and spoke to you again.

“Why are you hesitating? Are you really planning to leave me again?” You swore you never heard him so hurt.

“No!” You said before you could think.

“No?” He answered immediately, which scared the hell out of you. “I am not sure I believe you. And I can’t stand it. I can’t stand being away from you anymore.” He took two steps back and closed his eyes.

That was when the game crashed. Your phone appeared to be broked too, after the colourful lines appeared on the screen, flickered a couple of times and the whole screen turned black. You threw the device away from you and your heart started beating so fast you could hear the blood pulsing in your ears. You were so confused and genuinely scared. Was there an update that switched the genre of the game to horror? You were stunned.

And then you heard the knock.

You almost jumped out of your slippers. You brought your hand to your heart in order to calm yourself down and you started taking slow, deep breaths. It’s just a game. It’s just a game. Besides, how did Sylus, of all people, managed to scare you so badly? You adored that character, and you should know that he was prone not only to exaggeration, but also to intimidating behavior. That was literally one of his characteristics. So you forced yourself to calm down and opened the damn door, because it was probably either a mailman, or one of your friendly neighbors, and here you were making a scene like some kind of a delusional psychopath.

One. Two. Three.

You opened the door, and at first all you could see was a huge cloud of black mist. You closed your eyes in order to keep the mist from clouding your vision and then you felt wind pushing you gently further into your apartament. You heard the door close and the sound of the key turning in the lock. Everything happened so fast. And when you opened your eyes your knees almost buckled.

Sylus.

Sylus was all you could see. He was standing in front of you, in your own apartament, looking so out of place that you wanted to laugh. The first thing that you noticed about him was that he was huge, you couldn’t really see past him, and the more you looked at him, the more real he appeared to be. Soft-looking silver hair, rugged skin, that perfect nose and those piercing eyes. They looked into yours now, and at first they seemed to be searching for something, and after one quick second they visibly softened. You could also see how his handsome, oh so handsome mouth started to display his signature little smirk. And that was when you started to tremble.

“W-wha—” You tried to say something, anything but your mouth was not working. You have never been so confused and scared in your entire life. “Who—W-who are—” He was starting to close the distance between you and that is when the panic finally took over your body. You flinched and went to take a step back, but you slipped on your soft carpet.

Yet you didn’t fall. You felt the gentle caress of the mist that managed to caught you before you hit the ground, and it streightened your posture so that now you stood tall in front of the man.

“Careful kitten, I do not think that falling on four feet applies to you.” He spoke out loud for the first time and the voice was so familiar to you. It was the same, deep, husky timbre that you loved to hear, the same voice that made you squeal in happiness, that lulled you to sleep countless of times. You couldn’t believe it.

“Oh my god, am I dead?” He laughed softly at your reaction and looked at you through his lashes. “This can’t be happening.”

“Oh but it is. I knew that I would find my way to you, I just needed time.” He said and tried to close the distance between you, but you didn’t let him. Every step forward he took, you took one back. “It was so hard to find you. But after you disappeared without saying a word I think I got desperate.” Something flashed in his eyes. You recognized it as determination.

He stopped walking when he noticed that you were getting too close to the balcony. He straightened his posture, and you almost released a gasp. He was huge. And he was real. Alive and so, so real, that you had trouble breathing. You were so scared, but at the same time, so happy to see him, that your body didn’t know how it should react. You just looked at him, taking him in, trying to assess whether it wasn’t your mind playing tricks on you, or if it wasn’t some random man breaking into your apartment and your brain had created a new, fantastic defense mechanism. But no, the longer you took him in, the more similarities you managed to notice: the scar in the corner of his eye, his unevenly clipped fingernails, strong but dry hands, olive skin, slim lips, long, slightly furrowed eyebrows. The not-so-hidden gentleness in his gaze as he was taking you in himself.

“It’s really you.” You managed to breathe out.

“You’re so beautiful.” He answered and his voice was slowly starting to make you feel these familiar butterflies. “So, so magnificent.” He continued. You felt your cheeks heat up and he seemed to drink that reaction in. “Will you talk to me more? You sound angelic. I did not think that you could sound even better than you did through the phone but I guess you will never fail to surprise me, sweetheart.” He did not move an inch. He just looked at you, and you still didn’t know how to react, but you were slowly coming to terms with the fact that it was not a weird dream. He was here and he didn’t appear to have bad intentions. At least you wanted to believe that.

“You’re still trembling. Are you really that scared of me?” He pressed his lips into a line.

“I’m sorry. I just… I’m just not sure what is happening. I had no idea you were… real.” He laughed softly at that.

“You wound me, kitten. Is that your way of unleashing your little claws?” He continued with a small smile on his lips and you couldn’t take it. He looked… stressed. And you thought that was new for him. You spend so many hours playing with him in l&d but you have never seen him so stressed.

Everything that came out of his mouth was slow and precise, not a word was spoken without a purpose. However you could see by his appearance that he was uncertain.

“Of course I’m real. And all the time we spent together is real too. Was it so wrong of me to expect that you would be at least a little bit happier to see me?” He was starting to look hurt. But not angry, not displeased. More concerned than anything, and that was when most of your worries started to disappear. He was your Sylus. He really was.

“I am happy to see you. I really am.” You said truthfully, the fear slowly dissolving. “What are you doing here? How did it happen?”

“When you left me, I was worried to death. I had to come see that you were alright for myself.” He said, not taking his eyes off of you. “I found a path between our worlds, and first I sent Mephisto after you. And that was how I knew you were fine, just busy.” He started explaining slowly and put two fingers at the bridge of his nose. This gesture was so familiar that you felt a slight pang in your chest. “Which l understand. But you stopped visiting completely and I panicked that I lost you. And that you lost your interest in me. And when you logged in today I guess I just lost control over myself.”

“I had to see you. I had to feel you. I needed to know that you will never leave me like that again. But how could I be so sure if you thought I was not real, sweetie?” His voice carried a hint of a ridicule. He smirked slowly and you allowed yourself to relax. You spend so much time with him on your phone, that you knew when he really needed reassurance. And it was the first time you saw him being so honest about his own feelings.

You decided to step closer to him and his eyes widened slightly. His body tightened because of the sudden change in proximity, and when you gently touched his hand bringing it to your mouth, he appeared to be rendered speechless.

“I would never leave you, Sy. At least not without saying goodbye first. You are my safe space, remember?” You said quietly and smiled at him brightly, reminding him of what you had written in your game bio. And then you brought his knuckles to your lips and placed a soft kiss upon them. His hands were much warmer than you expected them to be. They felt harsh, but gentle.

The next thing you heard was a soft grunt and you felt yourself being suddenly lifted in the air. You yelped and found yourself pressed against his big, solid chest. Sylus hugged your body to his by wrapping both of his arms around your torso, and when he realized that you weren’t comfortable, he put one hand under your thighs and brought your body to his by your waist. You let your arms wrap around his neck and squeezed, and he buried his head in the crook of your neck. You heard him inhale your scent and his breath became rigged, as if he could not contain his excitement. You also became familiar with his scent. He smelled so manly and comforting, you could catch some notes of wood and leather, and something surprisingly sweet.

“You smell divine. You’re so soft, so warm.” He breathed against your neck and you felt goosebumps spreading throughout your whole body. You were so embarrassed, you felt like you needed to release some tension.

“I did not expect you to be so open with me. You’re usually the teasing type.” He chucked deeply and put his forehead against yours, while closing his eyes. Your cheeks burned. You couldn’t believe it wasn’t a dream.

“There will be a time for teasing you, kitten.” He rubbed his forehead against yours slowly. “Right now let me enjoy you for a bit. I can’t believe I finally got to see you.” He squeezed you harder to him. You reciprocated the hug with all you had. You were actually kind of scared that your grip was too hard, but he seemed to bask in it. “Communicating through that small device was not nearly enough for me. I could always see you and I heard your little responses to everything I was saying. But it took me some time to figure out how to change some things up.” Your eyes went wide at the mention of your reactions, you knew that a lot of times there were beyond embarrassing, but you decided your blush to speak for itself. But what truly caught your attention was how he managed to appear in your home.

“Change things up?? You must have made such a mess, will it really be okay?” The concern in your voice made him look up and find your eyes with his. You were now looking at his beautiful red ones, so full of adoration and determination. You could see that the consequences of his actions did not matter to him at all.

“Sweetie, I would gladly burn the world down for you, even if it meant that I could see you just once.” You swallowed audibly and proceeded to shy away from his piercing gaze. You started to feel unworthy of such attention, you couldn’t quite grasp what exactly made him care about you to such extend. “Fortunately for everyone, the process did not involve starting an intergalactic war.” He smirked slowly, his eyes finding your lips and staying there for much longer than necessary. “Yet.”

You chuckled at that and proceeded to bury your fingers in his hair, stroking the strands with care. They were so soft to the touch, they reminded you of silk. He closed his eyes and let you touch him to your heart’s content. Your hand quickly found its way to his forehead, and then to his cheek, stroking the skin delicately. You couldn’t believe how someone so handsome could really exist.

“See something you like, kitten?” He said and nuzzled into your palm, pressing a kiss right there. “You will have all the time in the world to touch me when we arrive in the N109 Zone.” He seemed so peaceful, so content with himself, but the mention of the N109 Zone stopped you in your tracks. You tensed visibly and he opened his eyes, noticing the change in your posture.

“The N109 Zone?” You asked puzzled. “Are you taking me away for a weekend?” You took your hand from his face and he used his Evol to bring it back to his cheek. The mist around your fingers felt weird, but not unpleasant.

“For a weekend? No, no.” He locked his eyes with yours, his head slowly closing the distance between you. He licked his lips and looked at your mouth once again. “I am taking you away for forever.” And before his lips managed to touch yours, you flinched. Your hands quickly pushed him away and the panic returned to your features.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I meant what I said. Pack your bags if you believe there is something that I cannot provide for you quickly enough, and we will be off shortly.” He said matter of factly, kind of annoyed by the distance you decided to put between you. “Luke and Kieran have already prepared a room for you, although I think that you will have more than enough space for your belongings in mine.” His eyes brightened with excitement that you unfortunately could not share. Instead, you lightly pushed his torso, making him lower you to the ground grudgingly. His brows were once again furrowed.

“I can’t go with you Sylus. At least, not for forever”

“You can. We can stay together for the rest of our lives and no one would have any objections. I took care of everything.” He reached to grab your forearm and stroked it softly with his thumb. He was so sure of everything he was saying that you could feel how much he let himself get lost in his fantasy. It did make you feel wanted, loved even. But no matter how happy you were that he was real, and apparently shared your feelings, you couldn’t agree to his plan.

“No, Sylus. I need to stay here, I have built my whole life in this place.” You could feel how much your words shocked him. He was looking at you so puzzled as if he didn’t think that you declining his offer was even an option. “I can’t leave everything that I managed to achieve, I really am content with my life, despite how complicated it can be.” You said truthfully. A part of you wanted to go with him, to feel safe and cherished for, for the rest of your life but you knew that was not realistic. You wanted to achieve more, you wanted to have your own life and your own space. You needed to be independent, to feel that you were perfectly capable of caring for yourself and your own needs.

“I do not understand. Don’t you want to be with me?” It pained you how quickly he jumped to that conclusion. And you hated the look on his face - it made you feel like you were betraying him.

”I do want to! Oh my god— I really, really do want to Sylus. I don’t think that I can live without spending time with you anymore.” You smiled at him, and took hold of his huge, rugged hand. “But I can’t live with you in the N109 Zone. I can’t leave my whole life behind.” And the fact that he wanted to make you do that somewhat scared you. Made you feel distressed.

“I see.” He sounded deep in thought. Then, he broke the eye contact for a second, looked at his hand in your hold and before you could even react, he grabbed your body gently with his Evol and picked you up. Your whole body was above ground and although you felt secured, you looked at him with surprise.

“What are you doing?” You wanted to get free from the hold of the mist, but it was impossible with how tight it was. “Sylus, you have to let me go.” You tried not to panic, you knew that you weren’t in danger. But he looked relentless, unforgiving as if his mind was already set in stone.

“No. I can’t. Not now when I finally got to have you.” He looked up at you, with his eyebrows still furrowed, and you could hear a hint of a growl in his voice. “If you do not wish to go with me, I guess I would have to take you by force.”

It was then that you felt a sense of panic. You knew him, and you knew that if he wants something, he always gets it. It just did not cross your mind that he would ever go against your own wishes.

“No. No, no, no, Sylus, please calm down.” He narrowed his eyes and stood motionless before you, his face devoid of almost any emotion. Almost, if not for the desperation shining through his watchful eyes. “You cannot take me away. At least not for now. But I will do anything you ask me to! You can also stay here for some time, and visit me whenever you want to, I swear, I would be so happy to have you.” You just needed him to listen. You knew that you could change his mind, he always listened to what you had to say, he just needed a little bit of persuasion. Maybe he didn’t even think about alternative options?

“And I would make you happy in the N109 Zone with me.” You laughed with disbelief. He was completely missing your point. You decided to once again yank your hands from the grasp of his mist, and then hissed with pain when it did not loosen up its hold. “Your struggle is futile, please stop, I do not wish for you to get hurt.” He was annoyed with you and your disobedience. He did not think that you would have any objections, he started loosing his cool.

“You would never let me get hurt.” You answered, wanting to assure yourself of it as well. You didn’t like how commanding he sounded.

“Yes.” There was no doubt in his voice. “Yes, you know I would stop at nothing to protect you.” His gaze never wavered from yours. He truly thought that what he was doing was for the best. And you just had to let him know how wrong his approach was.

“Yes! Yes I do know that! Because I know you, Sy.” You started to sound as if you were pleading. Deep down it scared you, send uncomfortable shivers down your spine. “I know you, and I know that you also know me.”

He placed his hand on his heart.

“And I adore every single piece of information. And I still wish to know you much, much better.” You tensed when you noticed that his right eye was starting to glow. You did not know if that was intentional, or just a trick of the light.

“Then you MUST know how much this life means to me. How much I like my stupid job, and how much I love the people that are here for me. My friends, my family.” You noticed that your reasoning started to get to him when he clenched his fists and avoided your eyes for a second. “And you have to know how much it would hurt me if you were to take me away from them.” He appeared taken aback. It seemed that his longing for you clouded his judgement, and now he started to notice the faults in his plan.

“But I cannot stand to be apart from you anymore, sweetie.” In normal circumstances that would be so touching to you. But nothing about this situation was normal, and you guessed you just had to show him how normal looked like.

“You won’t be. You can visit me anytime you want. Stay for how long you want.” You wanted that too. So bad.

“But that is not ENOUGH.” It was the first time you heard his raised voice and you started to tremble. His outburst must’ve thrown him off guard too, because he wavered and the grip he had on you loosed. You acted instinctively. You freed yourself from the mist and started to run towards your door. And although he was stunned by your reaction, he quickly teleported so that you ran straight into his chest. His hands grabbed yours in order to protect you from falling due to the impact.

He gently caressed your now slightly red forehead and sighed loudly. You could hear that he was hurt. You cried out from frustration.

“If you really thought that you could run away from me then you must be a total fool.” He tucked your hair behind your ear and lifted your chin up with his finger. “Usually I like playing cat and mouse with you, but I do not like the fact that you appear genuinely scared of me right now.” He hugged your waist and brought you closer to him, lowering his head at the same time. “And that you tried to run away from me when I only want to offer you my protection.”

“It doesn’t sound like protection, it sounds like imprisonment.” You used strong words, but you sounded so small. You did not know what to do with him, you were so scared. ”I’m just scared. I tried to run away because you scared me, Sylus.” You sounded desperate for him to understand you. To look past his own clouded vision.

“You do not have to fear me. I just want what is best for you. For us.” His grip on your waist tightened, and he also proceeded to grab your wrist.

“No. You only want what is best for you. You are not listening to me. I do care about you Sylus, but I cannot leave this place.” You tried to stand your ground but you two never argued before. It was an unfamiliar ground to you, especially when it was the first time that you had a conversation in person. Everything felt more intense and dangerous when you remembered the extreme measures he was always willing to take to achieve his goals.

“You can. And I will make you leave.” He almost growled and a cloud of black and red mist surrounded both of you, and that was enough to bring tears into your eyes.

”Sylus, no, please, I don’t want to. Please, just listen to me, please.” And it was at that moment he started to came into his senses. Your quiet voice and your eyes full of tears made his breathing stop. It was the first time he was seeing you react like this. He hated how broken you sounded. How small. “I’m so scared, Sy, please stop scaring me.” Your voice sounded choked and you could feel that the tears started streaming down your face. Every single one physically hurt him. It was your first meeting and he already made you so miserable. He wanted to scream. “Please.” You tried once again and it shocked you that it finally worked on him.

He tensed and released you from his grip. The mist also dissipated as he took a step back from you. You could hear him breathing deeply.

“I cannot do this." He sounded panicked. “I did not want to scare you, and I cannot listen to your little broken pleas. They break my heart.” He hidden his face in his hands and curled in himself. He felt as if someone pierced his heart with a knife and twisted it. He could not bring himself to look at your beautiful heartbroken face again. “They really do. Please, just stop crying. You won.”

You sniffed softly and touched your wet cheeks. You tried to calm yourself down, he finally listened to you.

“It does not feel so good this time for some reason.” You answered, referring to your Kitty Card battles. You wanted to relieve the tension somehow. You knew that he didn’t want to hurt you, you understand that he lives in a different reality where danger awaits everywhere. You could understand why he wanted to have you beside him at all times. But it scared you how insistent he was, how brutal and final. “Do you really understand why I got so scared?”

He nodded helplessly. “I won’t steal you away. Not when I know how much you despise the idea of spending the rest of your time with me.” You noticed how hard he was pressing his hands to his face and you grabbed them in your own. He let you uncover his eyes and you saw how much it hurt him to let you go.

“Oh, Sy.” You whispered and hugged his hands to your chest. “You know that’s not the reason.”

“Stop calling me that. It drives me crazy.” He breathed and met your eyes. “You drive me crazy. What am I going to do with you? How can I make sure you are safe now?” You took his hands and made him follow you into your bedroom. You sat on your bed and urged him to do the same. This way you could finally talk with him more comfortably.

“Sylus, we have to talk about it.” You squeezed his hands and he looked at yours and took notice of how much smaller they were in comparison to his. So fragile, so breakable. He couldn’t stand it. His whole body longed to protect you. “I do not despise the idea of spending my time with you. I just can’t randomly leave everything I know and love. And this world is different from the one you know, we have our dangers but no one wants my head.” You explained to him slowly. “There are no Wanderers. No protocores.” He looked conflicted.

“I already know that sweetheart. I do. But when you disappeared for such a long time I couldn’t help but think that something bad happened to you” he gritted through his teeth. “I nearly lost my mind looking for you everywhere. It was terrifying, that thought in my mind and the idea that I would never have another chance to speak with you. To see you.” He touched your forearms and brought you a little closer to him. “And when Mephisto found you safe and sound I thought that I never want to feel that fear, that helplessness again. And the only way to do that is to keep you beside me at all times. To guard you with my own body and soul.” He took your hand and rested it on his chest. You could feel the fast and steady rhythm of his heart. You could feel his desperation, his complete devotion. And it almost made you tear up.

“I-I’m so sorry that I made you worry this much.” He studied your face with intention and you shake your head. “But I didn’t even know that you were real. I really thought it was just a game that made me feel less alone and now…” You swallowed audibly. “Now I know that everything I built with you during our time together was very much real and I’m still having trouble to wrap my head around it to be honest.” You smiled at him softly and he nodded with understanding.

“And then you came in and wanted to kidnap me to a world much more dangerous than mine where I do not have my close ones and—”

“I did NOT mean for that to be a kidnapping I though that you shared my sentiment, and also wanted to spend some time—”

“SOME time?? Sylus you wanted me to switch literal worlds and live with you in your freaking villa in the middle of nowhere—”

“I live in an apartment that has a fantastic location, mind you, and you would feel so comfortable in—”

”Apartament??? You cannot possibly be a freaking leader of Onychinus and live in an apartment complex, are you being serious with me right now??”

“Have you ever heard of a saying that the darkest place is under the candlestick, kitten? Besides there is no one in the whole N109 Zone that would pose an actual threat to me—” He cut off when he met your eyes full of laughter, and then he heard that beautiful sound. You burst into giggles right in front of him and you touched him by the bicep and brought his forehead to yours. He couldn’t help but chuckle too, understanding the absurdity of the situation. Feeling your forehead against his, hearing your adorable chuckles and inhaling your sweet scent made him feel so at peace that he closed his eyes to embrace the moment completely. He couldn’t believe that he almost ruined your relationship by being so selfish.

“I missed this. This back and forth with you” You said and he chucked deeply. “I really am happy to see you, Sy. And I swear that we will be able to talk and spent time with each other more often now. And actually see each other in person.” He nuzzled into your face more and you caught his smirk by the corner of your eye. “We can stay in touch at all times, so that you won’t have to worry about my safety so much.”

“So bossy, kitten.” He answered, but the small smile did not leave his face. He couldn’t make it go away even if he tried. “Forgive me for scaring you earlier. I was not thinking straight. I was just so elated to finally have you in my arms that I let my selfishness get the best of me, and for that I’m sorry. I did not want to ruin our first meeting, sweetie.” You hugged him by bringing your arms around his chest and he closed his eyes drinking in the proximity. You were too small, too adorable, too attractive for him to take it. Too honest. Too lovable. Made just for him to adore. To protect.

“You did not ruin anything.” You said into his shirt, hugging him tighter. “I understand you, Sylus. And I like you a little selfish if it means that’s what brought you to me” He smiled into your hair and reluctantly let go of your fragile frame. He touched your chin and delicately lifted your face up to face him. His eyes were once again drinking you in, committing every single one of your features to his memory. He sighed contentedly.

“Selfishness was not the reason of my visit.” You could see how his eyes softened and you felt your chest squeeze. You brushed his cheek, loving the way how he seemed to relish in your touch. His eyes wandered to your lips: pink, plump and so inviting. “Adoration was. The complete love and devotion that I have felt for you for quite some time now.” You gasped quietly and opened your lips slightly, which didn’t go unnoticed by him.

“Sy—”

“And I guess a little emotional push was what made me finally find my way to you, my beloved.” He half-whispered, leaned in, and pressed his lips to yours, locking you in a sweet, passionate kiss that went on and on, seeming to deepen with every minute you spent in his embrace.

*˚⁺‧͙ ⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*

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leupagus · 3 months ago

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Tuesday's House Budget Vote and what you may not have heard about

I'm reposting this from a reblog of a really great post about the work that Representatives Mullin and Pettersen did in voting against the GOP budget on February 25th, because I don't want to detract from that message.

Instead, I want to talk about the larger implications of H. Con. Res. 14 itself, and why the Democrats risked so much (in Mullin's and Pettersen's cases, actual harm) in order to show up for this vote.

The vote in question is starting the first of quite a few votes for the upcoming GOP budget; it's not a done deal by any means, this was just the vote to get it started, so to speak. But it was still a very, very, VERY important vote, because not only would failure be catastrophic, but so would a win that just barely squeaked by.

And this one squeaked like a fucking mouse in Murray's Cheese Shop.

Speaker Johnson has been waffling on putting this to a vote because there were several outspoken GOP members who talked a big game about opposing it. Usually this doesn't matter, since most bills get some bipartisanship, but at present the House is in GOP hands with only a three-member margin of error, with two seats vacant (note: those two vacancies are FL 1 and 6, which are holding their special elections on April 1 — lol — and which are EXTREMELY unlikely to flip but hey miracles happen! Donate or phonebank if you'd like!). And Democratic representatives have been voting in a bloc against...well pretty much everything the GOP's been pushing through since Trump took office. Not only that, but this budget is legit unpopular with a number of Republicans, so much so that Johnson pulled the vote at first on Tuesday because he knew it would fail if the GOP members who'd threatened to vote against it actually went through with it. What he needed was to either convince them all to fall in line, or resort to cheating.

So he did both!

He and Trump strongarmed all but one of the GOP holdouts into voting yes (Congressman Massie is in many ways a turd in a toilet, and his reasons for voting no were bad, but he did stick to his guns, I'll give him that). Reports of Trump actually screaming at one of the (female, naturally) GOP holdouts are...well, unsurprising, but that's how panicked they were about getting this bill started. Usually the Whip does this work, but Tom Emmer's been laughably bad at it and so they had to get Trump to actually do some work. Which is itself sort of astonishing. But even then, they weren't sure they could get it done.

Which leads us to part two of Johnson's plan: blatant cheating. During Pelosi's last session as Speaker, she allowed for proxy voting in light of COVID and, you know, the general state of things, but the second the GOP got back the gavel they nixed it right in the bud. This puts the Dems at a disadvantage right now because at least three of them are out for medical reasons — Mullin and Pettersen, as well as Congressman Raúl Grijalva who's fighting cancer at present. (He was the only Democrat who couldn't get to the floor for this vote, fwiw, and anyone who insists he should've can suck my left tit.)

So Johnson adjourned the House for the evening, sending everyone home, but told the GOP members to stay and then tried to rush through the vote before the Dems realized what was happening. His hope was that enough Dems would be caught flat-footed/not see the recall notice/be asleep watching Taskmaster (whoops that was me) by the time they got the message to get back to the floor. That way he could lose the holdouts but still pass the budget onto the next phase.

However! While Nancy Pelosi no longer rules the Democratic caucus with her iron fist and fabulous coats, my man Minority Leader Hakeem Jeffries learned quite a lot from her (and is pretty fucking genius himself). Not only did he and the other House leadership expect this kind of chicanery from Johnson, they had planned on it.

Because here's the thing: Mullin and Pettersen didn't get on a plane at the last minute on Tuesday; they'd gotten to DC on Monday, without telling anyone they were in town. They actually hid from the GOP members all day Tuesday in order to lull Johnson into thinking he had more of a margin than he did; if the GOP holdouts really had voted against the budget, then it would've failed. Which would have been a biiiiiiig problem for Johnson and Trump.

As it is, it's still a biiiiiiig problem for Johnson and Trump, because now they know just how razor-thin their margin is. More importantly, they also now know that the Dems will fuck with them just as much (if not more) as they will fuck with Dems. Congress (and the USA in general) has operated for years on the assumption that Democrats operate in good faith, while taking it for granted that of course the GOP ratfuck as much as humanly possible.

This moment is a chilling one for the GOP; they can't assume anymore that Dems will play fair or fight clean. Which seems like a very small thing in the larger picture right now, I know, and I also know that people would love for their Democratic representatives and senators to be more vocal and angry in public ways. I get that!

But this move on Tuesday night? Is actually going to have far bigger consequences than any meme or viral video or clever soundbite from a politician. Democrats are no longer playing by the rules that the GOP's ignored for years (if not decades); they're playing by the GOP's own rules, and they just might win.

#politics!#us politics #sidenote: remember that thing about no proxy voting? well #Congressman Byron Donalds voted yea with his GOP buds #but...he was on set with Bill Maher at the time of the vote #no of course no explanation has been offered #nor has any news organization sought on as far as I've been able to determine #but still: interesting! isn't it!

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requiemforthepoets · 4 months ago

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the story we won’t tell is my greatest fantasy ⟢ LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x female!reader

SUMMARY: seven years. you and lando had been together for seven years, but it all went down the drain the moment he decided to come clean about the mistake that he did.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, breakup, cheating, cheater lando, pregnancy, secret child, mentions of nausea and vomiting, fainting, angst, open ending, math is not mathing (but i tried), some inaccuracies, named side characters (except for the reader), single!mom reader, and minor typographical errors

WORD COUNT: 7.2k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this fic is inspired by niki’s song ‘apartment we won’t share,’ ik that we have diff interpretations for the songs, but i interpret it as the way how i wrote this fic. i’m not planning on doing a second part of this, and just leave it an open ending. but if someday i get inspired, i’ll try and make a part 2 for this, though for now, there will be no part 2 for this fic. i will be leaving the ending all up to you. you comments/reblogs is highly appreciated, and i hope that you’ll enjoy this one.

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It had been a long and exhausting week. The lingering ache from your family emergency still tugged at your heart, so to keep off your mind from things, you had spent most of the day sorting through Lando’s things, folding clothes and making sure his suitcase was ready for his flight to another race weekend. It was the kind of task you had done so many times in the last seven years, but this time, it felt heavier, like there was something wrong that you couldn’t quite place.

When Lando returned to Monaco a few days later, you expected him to be his usual vibrant self, but something was off with him. Lando’s eyes seemed heavier, his posture slouched, and smile lacked the spark that you were used to.

“Hey, can we talk for a second?” he asked, voice unusually subdued.

You set down the shirt you had been folding, brows furrowing. “Sure, of course,�� you replied, taking a seat on the couch. “What’s on your mind?”

Lando hesitated, hands fidgeting with the edge of his hoodie. He sat across from you, knees bouncing slightly as he stared at the floor. “You know I love you, right? More than anything.”

A faint smile crossed your lips. “I know, Lan, and you made sure to let me know everyday for seven years.”

He looked up briefly, gaze fleeting before dropping back to the floor. “I need to tell you something, I wanted to be completely honest with you…and it’s probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Lando’s tone, demeanor—it was all wrong, and you were getting really nervous by now. “What is it?” you asked, voice quiet, wary.

Lando took a deep breath, his hands now gripping his knees as if to ground himself. “When I was out for a night with the guys a month ago…I messed up.”

Your stomach churned. You didn’t want to interrupt him, waiting for Lando to continue, though every fiber of your being wanted to scream at him, to demand some answers.

“There was…someone at the club that night,” he said, words slow and measured, like he was forcing them out of him. “It was stupid, an honest mistake. I was so drunk, caught up in everything, and I wasn’t thinking.”

You felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. “W-What are you saying?” you managed, voice barely above a whisper.

Lando finally looked at you, eyes glistening. “I accidentally slept with her. It was a one-time thing, I swear, then she called me last week—I don’t even know how she got my number, but she told me that she’s pregnant.

Pregnant.

The words hit you like a freight train. You stared at him, mind completely blank, unable to process what he had just said. Tears began to blur your vision, but you didn’t wipe them away.

“Lando…” you tried to speak up, but your voice cracked.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he said, voice shaking. “I didn’t know what to do. All I could think about was how much I’ve hurt you. But I can’t let my kid grow up without a family. I know how much family means to you, to me. I have to be there for them.”

Your heart shattered into pieces. You could see how much Lando was struggling, the guilt etched into every line of his face. But the pain of his betrayal was unbearable.

“I don’t…I don’t have anything to say anymore, honestly,” you said finally, voice trembling. “Because you had already made your decision—you’re choosing them.”

Lando shook his head vehemently. “No! No, I’m not choosing anyone over you. You’re the love of my life. That hasn’t changed and never will.”

“Lando, you can’t have both,” you said, tears streaming down your face. “I can’t stay here knowing all of these. I can’t be a part of this.”

He reached out as if to touch you, but you recoiled. You couldn’t bear his touch right now. “Please love,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I love you. I don’t ever want to lose you.”

“You already have,” you said softly, standing up and wiping your tears. “I won’t hold you back, Lando. You need to do what’s right for your child. They deserve a family, and I will not be the reason why they don’t have one.”

You walked to your shared bedroom, your movements mechanical as you began packing your things. Every item you placed in your suitcase felt like a dagger to your chest. This apartment had been your home, your safe haven, and now it was just a place you needed to escape from. Lando just stood in the doorway, watching you pack all of your things, his face pale and tear-streaked. He didn’t try to stop you—he knew that he couldn’t.

When you zipped up your suitcase and grabbed your bag, you turned to him one last time. “Take care of both of them,” you said, voice barely audible. “Be the father they need.

With that, you walked out of the apartment, out of the life you and Lando had built together. You had loved him for seven years, trusted him with every piece of your heart. But now, all you had was the emptiness of what could have been.

The crisp night air bit at your skin as you stood by the entrance of the apartment building, clutching the handle of your suitcase. Your ride to the airport was just a few minutes away, but the wait felt eternal. You stared blankly at the sidewalk, mind is a chaotic mess, the weight of everything that had happened tonight pressing heavily on your chest.

You heard familiar voices approaching before you saw them, their cheerful tones instantly recognizable. Quickly, you wiped at your cheeks, hoping your red-rimmed eyes wouldn’t give you away. Plastering on a smile, you turned towards Max and Kelly as they walked towards the entrance, hand in hand, their expressions bright despite the late hour.

“Hey! What are you doing out here so late?” Kelly asked, brows knitting in concern as she noticed the two large suitcases beside you.

You hesitated, forcing your smile to stay in place. “I, uh, have a family emergency,” you lied smoothly, voice steady even though your heart was pounding. “I need to head back home for a bit.”

Max tilted his head slightly, sharp blue eyes scanning you with the protective gaze you had come to know so well over the years. “Two large suitcases for just a quick trip? That seems a bit much,” he remarked lightly, though his tone carried a hint of suspicion.

You shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “It’s just…really complicated right now. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone, so I packed extra, just in case.”

Kelly’s hand tightened on Max’s arm as she stepped closer to you, her concern evident. “Is Lando not home right now? Why didn’t you tell us earlier? We could’ve helped you pack, we can drive you to the airport.”

You shook your head quickly. “Lan’s already sleeping and I hate to wake him up, he just recently got back from his trip. I also didn’t want to bother you, I’ve already called a car, and it should be here any minute.”

They exchanged a look, clearly unconvinced but respectful enough not to press you further. “Well, we’re not leaving you out here alone,” Max said firmly. “We’ll wait with you until your ride gets here.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the determined set of his jaw told you it would all be just pointless. Instead, you nodded, grateful for their presence even as it made it harder to hold yourself together.

Kelly gave you a warm smile, trying to ease the tension. “It’s late, but P was asking about you earlier,” she said softly. “She’s been begging to have another day with her favorite Auntie.”

Your heart clenched at the mention of Penelope, and you forced your smile to widen. “I’ll miss her so much,” you said, voice thick despite your best efforts. “Tell her I’ll see her soon.”

Kelly’s brow furrowed slightly at your words, but before she could say anything, your ride had pulled up to the curb. Relief and dread washed over you in equal measure. Max then stepped forward immediately, grabbing your suitcases with ease.

“I’ll load these up for you,” he said, tone gruff but kind.

“Thank you,” you murmured, watching as he placed your suitcases in the trunk of the car.

When Max turned back, Kelly pulled you into a tight hug, her familiar perfume bringing a rush of bittersweet comfort. “Take care of yourself, okay?” she whispered. “Whatever’s going on, we’re here for you.”

You nodded against her shoulder, your throat too tight to respond. When she pulled away, Max had stepped forward, wrapping you in a hug that was strong and protective, just like he always was.

“Be back soon, okay? P will be missing her favorite Aunt.” he said, chuckling. “If you need anything, you call me or Kelly. No excuses.”

“I will,” you promised, though you knew that you wouldn’t.

As you stepped back, Kelly offered you a gentle smile. “When you get back, P will be so excited to see you again. You know how much she loves spending time with you.”

The lump in your throat grew, and you could only nod in response. You managed a faint smile as you climbed into the car, giving them one final wave.

“Safe travels,” Kelly called out as Max closed the door for you.

You watched them through the window, standing together on the curb, their figures illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights. They waved as the car pulled away, but you couldn’t bring yourself to wave back again. Instead, you turned your gaze forward, the city lights blurring through the tears that silently slid down your cheeks.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

When you finally arrived back home, the weight of the long hour of flight clung to you like a heavy fog. You dragged your suitcases through the familiar front door, exhaustion etched into every inch of your body. The warm, welcoming scent of your childhood home did little to comfort you, instead, it only amplified the ache in your chest. All you wanted was to collapse into your bed and wake up to a world where none of this had ever happened—a world where your heart wasn’t shattered into pieces. But this was your reality, as cruel as it was.

You definitely hadn’t anticipated seeing your older sister, Noelle, and her husband, Mike, in the living room, seated across from your mother, their laughter filling the space. The sound abruptly stopped when they noticed you standing in the doorway, your pale face and tired eyes a huge giveaway of the turmoil you tried so desperately to hide.

“What are you doing here?” Noelle asked, rising from her seatc brows knitting together in concern. “You didn’t tell us that you were coming home.”

Noelle’s brows knit together as she took in your disheveled appearance, her sharp eyes catching every detail—dark circles under your eyes, stiffness in your movements, and the forced smile you mustered.

“Yeah,” you replied quietly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I, uh, needed to come home for a bit.”

Your mother rose from her seat as well, concern etched into her features. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” she asked softly, gaze darting between you and the suitcases you had left by the door.

You hesitated, throat tightening. You had been dreading this moment, knowing full well how much your family adored Lando so much. They had welcomed him with open arms from the start, treating him as one of their own. Now, you were about to break their hearts almost as much as he had broken yours.

“It’s nothing,” you said, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. “I just needed a change of scenery, that’s all.”

Noelle stood, arms crossed as she gave you a pointed look. “Don’t give me that kind of excuse. You don’t just show up unannounced looking like this for no reason. What really happened?”

You swallowed hard, avoiding Noelle’s gaze. “Lando and I broke up,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

The whole room fell silent, the weight of your words sinking in. Your mother’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide with shock. “Oh, my darling sweetheart,” she breathed.

Noelle, however, was not so subdued. “What?” she exclaimed, voice rising. “What do you mean you broke up? What happened? Did he do something stupid?”

“No!” you said quickly, shaking your head. “No, it wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like?” she pressed, tone sharp.

You took a deep breath, willing yourself to stay composed. “We just…fell out of love. The both of us,” you said, hating the words even as you said then. “We’ve been together for so long, and I guess we just realized that we weren’t the same people years ago anymore. It didn’t make sense to keep on pretending, we’ll just end up hurting ourselves in the long run.”

Noelle’s eyes narrowed, clearly unconvinced. “That doesn’t sound like Lando at all. The man adores you so much, even worships the ground you walk on.”

“He did,” you said softly, chest tightening. “And I adored him too. But people change, feelings change.”

Your mother stepped closer, her hands reaching for yours. “Are you sure this is what you wanted?” she asked gently.

You nodded, the lump in your throat growing. “It’s for the best,” you lied, voice cracking slightly.

Mike, who had been silent until now, placed a hand on Noelle’s shoulder. “If this is what she’s decided, we should respect it,” he said quietly, giving you a small, understanding nod.

Noelle just sighed, clearly torn between pressing you for further information and letting it go. Finally, she relented, though her expression was still skeptical.

“I just don’t want you to regret this,” she said, voice more softer now. “You two were so good together.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep you from breaking down. “I’ll be okay, eventually,” you said, words hollow.

Your mother pulled you into a tight embrace, her warmth briefly soothing the ache in your chest. “Whatever happens, we’re always here for you,” she murmured.

“Thanks, mommy,” you whispered, blinking back tears.

As you pulled away, your sister gave you a long look, her expression unreadable. “If he hurt you—” she started, but you cut her off.

“He didn’t,” you said firmly, voice steady despite the storm inside you. “It just didn’t work out. That’s all.”

Noelle still didn’t look convinced, but she nodded, clearly sensing that there’s more to it, and you didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “Alright,” she said quietly. “But if you ever want to talk, I’m here, okay? We’re all here.”

You gave her a small smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes like it used to. “Thank you,” you said, words barely audible.

Excusing yourself, you retreated to your old bedroom, closing the door behind you gently and sinking onto the comfort of your bed. The familiar surroundings brought no comfort, only a stark reminder of the life you had left behind. While you lay down, staring at the ceiling, the tears finally came, silent and unrelenting.

You had still protected Lando from your family’s anger, even though he did not deserve any of it, and now, you were left to pick up the pieces alone.

The Nausea hits you like clockwork every morning. You found yourself rushing to the bathroom, stomach twisting in protest against seemingly nothing. It had started a few weeks ago, and though you had initially dismissed it as a lingering flu or perhaps the stress with work finally catching up to you, it was becoming harder to ignore. Rest didn’t seem to help you, but you assured yourself that it wasn’t that serious. Besides, you have work to focus on, and that was enough to keep your mind occupied, most of the time.

Two months had already passed since you had left Monaco for good, and life had begun to settle into a new rhythm. Yes, the ache in your chest was still there, but it had been dulled into something manageable. You were slowly rebuilding yourself, piece by piece, though the nausea was an unwelcome distraction.

It was a normal afternoon, while you were curled up on the beanbag chair in your bedroom after a long and tiring day, your phone buzzed. The caller ID that was displayed on the screen made your breath catch for a moment—Kelly. You hesitated before answering, already bracing yourself for the conversation. Her face appeared on the screen, bright and concerned.

“Finally, I caught you!” she said with a smile, though her tone was tinged with worry. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

You shook your head, chuckling and offered her a small smile. “I’m so sorry, Kelly. Things have been so busy with me lately.”

Kelly’s brow furrowed slightly as she studied your face. “You look tired. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, it’s just a silly flu,” you said quickly, but the faint edge in your voice didn’t go unnoticed.

“Don’t lie to me,” she said gently. “Max and I found out about it already, about you and Lando.”

Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “Oh.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she asked, expression softening. “We would’ve been there for you. You’ve been through this all alone.”

You sighed, your shoulders sagging. “I didn’t want to drag anyone else into the mess, and I didn’t even know what to say.”

Kelly’s voice grew firmer. “You didn’t have to say anything, we would’ve understood. Max is furious with Lando, you know. So is Carlos. I even have to break the two of them away from Lando.”

Your heart sank at the thought. “Please don’t be mad at him. It’s not worth it.”

Kelly shook her head, lips pressing into a thin line. “It is worth it. What Lando did to you was unforgivable. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

“It’s okay,” you murmured, though the words felt hollow. “I’ll move on, eventually.”

Kelly’s expression softened again, and she leaned closer to the camera. “I just wish you’d let us help you. You know we love you, right? You’ve always been family to us.”

“I know,” you whispered, tears pricking at your eyes.

Her face brightened slightly. “But speaking of family, someone’s been dying to talk to you!”

Before you could respond, the screen shifted, and Penelope’s little face appeared, her eyes lighting up when she saw you. “AUNTIE!” she exclaimed, voice high with excitement.

”Hi, P!” You said, heart aching at the sight of her.

“I miss you so much!” she said, pouting slightly. “When are you coming back? Mommy says you’re not in Monaco anymore.”

You hesitated, unsure of how to explain. “I miss you too, darling. I just…I had to be somewhere else for a while.”

“But you’ll come back, right?” she asked, her big eyes staring at you expectantly.

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “We’ll see, P. For now, you have to be good for your mommy and Maxie, okay?”

“I’m always good!” she declared, puffing out her chest.

Kelly’s voice chimed in from the background. “That’s debatable,” she teased, earning a giggle from Penelope.

You couldn’t help but smile, even as your chest tightened. “You’re the best, P. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Okay!” she said brightly before turning to Kelly. “Mommy, can we call Auntie again tomorrow?”

Kelly returned to the screen, giving you a knowing look. “We’ll let her rest for now, P. But yes, we’ll call Auntie again soon.”

“Promise?” Penelope asked, her eyes wide.

“Promise,” Kelly said, smiling before turning back to you. “Take care of yourself, okay? And if you need anything, anything, just call me.”

You nodded. “Thank you so much, Kelly. I will.”

After ending your facetime call with Kelly, you stumbled into the bathroom, your stomach churning violently. The moment you stepped inside, you collapsed in front of the toilet, heaving uncontrollably. It felt as though your insides were twisting, every muscle tensing in protest. When it finally subsided, you shakily wiped your mouth, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You looked pale—paler than usual, and eyes were bloodshot from the strain.

It took you a couple of minutes to compose yourself before heading to the kitchen, hoping the water would help settle your spinning head. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, you poured the water, but as you lifted it to your lips, another wave of dizziness hit you. This time, it was stronger. Your grip faltered, and the glass slipped from your hand, shattering loudly as it hit the floor.

The sharp noise brought Noelle and Mike running into the kitchen. They froze when they saw you swaying on your feet, barely managing to stay upright. You blinked, trying to focus, but everything around you was growing hazier. Before you could say anything, your legs gave way beneath you, and you crumpled to the floor, your vision blackening as you began to lose consciousness. Noelle was by your side in an instant, her hands gentle but urgent as she checked your pulse.

“Don’t worry, she’s alive,” Noelle muttered, voice steady despite the fear in her eyes. “Mike, call an ambulance now!”

Mike didn’t hesitate, rushing to grab his phone and calling for help. You could hear Mike’s voice in the background, muffled and frantic as he spoke to the operator.

“Yes, we need an ambulance,” Mike said, tone clipped, almost too calm for the situation. “My sister-in-law collapsed, and we need help immediately.”

Noelle’s voice cut through your haze, trying to keep you steady. “Come on, stay with me, okay? Just hold on.”

You couldn’t respond, couldn’t even make a sound, but you could hear them both, voices blending with the rush of adrenaline in the air. Mike’s footsteps moved swiftly, his voice growing more distant as he spoke with the ambulance on the phone.

The minutes that followed felt like hours. The sound of the ambulance siren grew louder, and relief flooded Noelle’s face as the paramedics rushed into the house. They quickly assessed the situation, asking Noelle questions about your symptoms and recent health conditions.

“She’s been experiencing dizziness for weeks now,” Noelle explained. “She’s stubborn, didn’t want to see a doctor. This morning she was nauseous, and now she’s fainted.”

The paramedics nodded, lifting you onto the stretcher carefully. Noelle and Mike followed closely as they carried you out to the ambulance. “I’m coming with her to the hospital,” Noelle said firmly, climbing into the back of the ambulance without hesitation.

Mike stayed behind, watching the ambulance doors close with a worried expression. “Alright, I’ll be informing your mother when she arrives, but call me as soon as you know something,” he said to Noelle before they drove off.

Inside the ambulance, Noelle held your hand tightly, her fingers trembling against your own. “You’re going to be fine,” she said, though her voice was thick with concern. “Just breathe, okay? We’re almost there.”

You couldn’t focus on what Noelle was saying. The world had gone dark around you, only the pulse of your own heartbeat reminding you that you were still there, still fighting to stay conscious.

The steady beeping of the machines was the first thing you registered as you slowly opened your eyes, the sterile smell of the hospital room making everything feel surreal. Blinking against the harsh fluorescent light, your gaze landed on your sister, Noelle, sitting in one of the chairs beside your bed, her expression a mixture of worry and relief when she noticed you stirring.

“Noelle,” you croaked, voice hoarse from sleep and dryness.

She shot up almost instantly, coming to your side and helping you adjust into a sitting position in the hospital bed. Her hands were gentle but firm as she propped a pillow behind your back.

“Hey, take it easy, okay?” she said softly. She reached for a bottle of water on the bedside table, unscrewing the cap before handing it to you. “Here, drink up. Small sips.”

You followed her instructions, taking slow, careful sips, the cool water soothing your parched throat. “What happened? Why am I in the hospital?” you asked weakly, mind still foggy.

“You fainted in the kitchen,” Noelle explained, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You scared the hell out of us. Mike called the ambulance, and I came with you here. Mom and Mike are both on their way. They’ll be here soon.”

Before you could respond, there was a knock at the door, a doctor entered, her expression professional but kind. Noelle immediately stepped aside, letting her approach you.

“I’m glad that you’re awake now, my dear,” she began, smiling at you. “We’ve run some tests to determine the cause of your fainting and other symptoms.”

You nodded slowly, stomach churning with apprehension. Noelle moved closer to your side, her presence grounding you.

“We’ve reviewed your results,” she continued, glancing at her clipboard before meeting your eyes. “The dizziness, nausea, and vomiting you’ve been experiencing for the past weeks are all consistent with early pregnancy symptoms. Congratulations, you’re seven weeks pregnant!”

Pregnant. Pregnant.

For a moment, the words did not register. The hospital room seemed to grow impossibly still, the doctor’s voice fading into the background as you processed the news. Seven weeks. The timeline clicked into place, and your heart sank as realization hit. Seven weeks pregnant. You could hear the faint ringing in your ears, a sharp contrast to the quiet gasp from Noelle beside you.

“I…I’m sorry, what?” you managed to stammer, voice shaking.

“You’re pregnant, dear,” the doctor repeated gently. “Seven weeks along. Your vitals look good, but it’s important to start prenatal care as soon as possible. We’ve referred you to an OB-GYN who will guide you through the process and answer any questions you might have.”

You nodded numbly, unable to form any coherent response. The doctor continued to explain what you should expect in the coming weeks—dietary recommendations, plenty of rest, and the importance of regular check-ups. But her words felt very distant, as if you were hearing them through a fog.

When the doctor finally left, you were left staring blankly at the sterile white wall, the weight of the revelation crushing you. Seven weeks. You did the math in your head, mind racing. By now, you know that the woman Lando had gotten pregnant would be around three months into pregnancy.

Tears began to well up in your eyes, the enormity of the situation was starting to overwhelm you. You were carrying Lando’s child. That man had broken and shattered your heart into pieces, and who had chosen someone else, was now bound to you in a way that you could not escape.

“Noelle,” you whispered, voice breaking.

She knelt beside the bed, taking your trembling hands in hers. “I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m here, okay?” she said softly, her tone steady and reassuring.

“I don’t know what to do,” you cried, tears streaming down your face. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. How am I supposed to handle this?”

Noelle’s grip on your hands tightened slightly, eyes full of concern. “I don’t have all the answers,” she admitted, “but you don’t have to go through this alone. Whatever you decide to do, I’ll be here for you—Mom and Mike, too. We’ll all figure this out together, okay?”

Two years had already passed, and your life was a world away from where it had been. Astrid, your little ray of sunshine, was turning two today. She was the center of your universe, your whole life, her giggles filling every corner of the house you had worked so hard to call your own. It was a beautiful home, just three doors away from your mother’s home, ensuring that Astrid was always surrounded by the love and warmth of your family.

Noelle and Mike, ever the doting aunt and uncle, spoiled her endlessly. They brought over toys, books, and clothes—sometimes more than you thought Astrid needed, but you couldn’t deny the happiness on Astrid’s face when they arrived with surprise in hand.

It’s true that your pregnancy and the early days of motherhood had not been easy, but you were able to survive. More than that, you thrived. With a promotion to a top position at work and a comfortable life for you and Astrid, you finally felt at peace. The past—Lando, was no longer a wound, but now a distant memory you had learned to accept. Your family also had long stopped asking questions about the details of your breakup, and while they knew Lando was Astrid’s father, they never dwelled on it. Astrid had all the love she needed, and that was what mattered most.

But there was one part of your life you had not reconciled yet—Max and Kelly. Despite keeping in touch with Kelly through regular facetime calls, you had managed to keep Astrid a secret. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust them, it was just too complicated to explain everything. It was already enough that they found out what Lando had done that caused your breakup.

However, when Kelly had mentioned that they would be spending their vacation in your home country and would be arriving the day before Astrid’s second birthday, you had a window of opportunity. It was time to take a step forward. So you had invited them to what you described as a simple gathering at your home. You didn’t explicitly tell them that it would be Astrid’s birthday party—just that it would be a chance to catch up and spend time together.

As the day drew closer, you found yourself torn between excitement and anxiety. What would they say when they realized the gathering that you had talked about was actually a celebration for your daughter? Would they feel hurt that you had kept Astrid a secret for so long?

These thoughts lingered as you finalized the decorations, baked Astrid’s favorite cake, and prepared the house for your guests. But when you looked at Astrid, happily playing with her toys in the living room, the doubt began to fade. This was your life now—a life filled with love and laughter, even if it was different from what you had once imagined.

The backyard was a colorful dream, adorned with streamers, balloons, and a banner that read, Happy 2nd Birthday! and Astrid’s favorite colors painted every corner of the space, and the laughter of children filled the air as they played games and ran around laughing. Astrid herself was the picture of happiness, twirling in her pretty dress, a bright smile on her face as she clung to her grandmother’s hand.

You excused yourself from the backyard, your hands brushing against your dress nervously as you stepped back into the kitchen to double-check the desserts. Rows of cupcakes sat neatly on the counter, each one topped with swirls of frosting and sprinkles. You picked one up, turning it slightly to make sure everything was perfect. Then the doorbell rang.

Your heart skipped a beat, a wave of nerves rushing through you. It had to be Max, Kelly, and Penelope. You wiped your hands on a towel, took a deep breath, and walked to the front door, steadying yourself before opening it. The moment you opened the door, cheerful shouts of ‘surprise!’ had greeted you. Kelly was the first to throw her arms around you, pulling you into a warm hug.

“It’s so good to see you!” she exclaimed, stepping back as Max swooped in for a hug.

“You’ve been hiding!” Max teased lightly, squeezing your shoulder before stepping aside to let Penelope in.

“Hi Auntie!” Penelope chirped, small arms wrapping tightly around your waist as she hugged you with all her might.

You bent down to her level, pulling her into a proper hug. “Hi, darling. I missed you so much!”

Penelope pulled back, her face beaming. “I missed you too, Auntie! Can I see your house?”

Before you could respond, the sound of children’s laughter drifted in from the backyard, catching their attention. Kelly tilted her head curiously.

“What’s going on back there?” she asked, brows furrowed. “That sounds like a lot of kids.”

Max glanced at you, an eyebrow raised. “Is this the simple gathering you mentioned?”

A nervous smile tugged at your lips as you stepped back, gesturing for them to follow. “Come on, follow me.”

You led them through the hallway and out through the glass doors that lead to the backyard, where the yard was buzzing with activity. Children were playing games, some of them are having the time of their life on the bouncy castle, parents chatted near the tables of food, and Astrid was in the middle of it all, her laughter carrying above the noise.

Penelope gasped in delight. “Can I please go play?” she asked, bouncing on her toes as she looked up at Max and Kelly.

Kelly nodded with a smile. “Of course, go ahead.”

Penelope dashed off, her excitement blending seamlessly with the other children. Kelly and Max, however, stood frozen, their eyes scanning the scene. It wasn’t long before they realized that this was not just any gathering.

“Is this…” Kelly began, voice trailing off.

“A birthday party?” Max finished for her, tone laced with confusion.

You nodded slowly, your smile nervous. “Yes. Actually,” you glanced at Astrid, who was now in your mother’s arms, laughing as your mother tickled her sides. “It’s her birthday party.”

Their confusion deepened as they followed your gaze. Max opened his mouth to speak, but Kelly beat him to it. “Her?” she asked, voice soft, almost uncertain.

Taking a deep breath, you walked over to your mother and gently took Astrid from her arms. Astrid immediately snuggled into your shoulder, her tiny hands clutching at your dress as she peeked at the newcomers. Turning back to Max and Kelly, you smiled, though your heart was racing.

“Guys, this is Astrid,” you said softly. “My daughter.”

For a moment, there was only silence as Max and Kelly processed your words. Kelly’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide, while Max stared at you, his expression a mix of shock and something deeper.

“You have a daughter?” Kelly finally asked, voice trembling slightly.

You nodded, holding Astrid a little tighter. “I do.”

Max’s voice was careful, almost cautious. “Where’s her father?”

The question hung heavy in the air, heavy and unspoken truths lingering just beneath the surface. You looked down at Astrid, avoiding Max’s gaze as you shifted your weight uncomfortably.

“He’s…not in the picture anymore,” you said quietly.

Max’s eyes narrowed slightly, jaw tightening. It was clear he had pieced everything together, but decided not to press further. Instead, his gaze softened as he looked at Astrid, who was now peering curiously at him. Kelly stepped forward, her initial shock melting into warmth.

“Can I hold her?” she asked gently.

You nodded, carefully handing Astrid over. Kelly cradled her as if she had been waiting for this moment forever, her face lighting up as Astrid stared at her with wide, curious eyes.

“She’s so beautiful,” Kelly murmured, voice thick with emotion.

Max crouched down slightly to Astrid’s level, his serious expression softening. “Hey there, little one,” he said, playfully covering his eyes with his hands and then revealing them. “Peekaboo!”

Astrid blinked at him, tiny lips began curling into a smile as Max covered his face with his hand again and revealed it with a loud ‘boo!’ Astrid’s laughter was immediate and infectious, filling the air and making Max grin wider.

“She likes you,” Kelly said with a laugh, glancing at Max as she bounced Astrid gently.

Max looked up, his expression a mix of amusement and something more tender. “What can I say? Kids love me.”

Penelope had run up to you with little Astrid in tow, face glowing with excitement. “Auntie, can Astrid play with me? I promise that I’ll take care of her,” she said, her little hands clasped together as she gave you the most earnest look.

You smiled, crouching down to their level. “Alright,” you said gently, brushing a strand of hair out of Astrid’s face. “But remember, she’s still very small, so be careful with her, okay?”

“I promise!” Penelope chirped. “Come on Astrid, let’s play!” she took Astrid’s hand and led her back towards the group of children.

Once they were settled, you turned to Max and Kelly, who were waiting nearby, their expressions a mix of curiosity and seriousness. You gestured towards the patio table, and the three of you moved to sit down. For a brief moment, there was an awkward silence, only broken by the distant sound of children laughing.

It was Max who spoke first. “So,” he began, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, “are you going to tell Lando about Astrid?”

“No.” you said firmly, meeting his gaze.

Kelly’s brows furrowed. “No?” she repeated, voice a mix of confusion and concern. “You don’t plan on telling him that he has a daughter?”

“Telling him that he has a daughter is not included in my plans,” you said quietly, glancing briefly at Astrid, who was now sitting on the grass with Penelope, giggling as they played.

Max exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. “But why?” he asked, voice steady but tinged with disbelief. “Don’t you think he has the right to know?”

You looked at Max, expression calm but resolute. “He had already made his choice and I made mine,” you said softly. “By the time I found out that I was pregnant, he was already committed to building a life with someone else—for their child. I’m not that ignorant, I’ve seen the articles, Max. It’s clear as daylight that he’s happy with them, he’s being the father that the child needs.”

Max sighed. “This isn’t about the articles or public perception. It’s about Astrid. She has the right to know who her father is, and Lando has a right to know about her.”

Kelly nodded in agreement with what had Max just said. “And what happens when she grows up and starts asking questions?”

“I’ll tell Astrid,” you said. “I’ll tell her when the time is right, I’ll explain everything to her. But for now, I’m protecting her. I don’t want her to feel like she was a second thought or an obligation. I don’t want to make her feel unwanted.”

Max shook his head slightly. “It’s not fair to Astrid, or to Lando,” he said, voice low. “He deserves to know. He deserves the chance to be a part of her life.”

“And what if Lando doesn’t want to be a part of her life, Max?” you said, voice cracking slightly and gripping the edge of the table. “What if yes, I ended up telling him, and he rejected her? What if I ruin the good thing he has now, for nothing? I’m not going to be the person who will bring chaos to my daughter’s life by trying to force something that might not even work, and I most definitely won't be the one who will tear Lando’s life apart just to ease my conscience.”

Kelly reached out, placing a hand gently on yours. “I understand that you’re scared,” she said softly. “And I understand why you’ve made your choice. But you don’t have to do this alone. Whatever you decide, we’ll support you. But please, just think about it, okay?”

You nodded, though you knew that your decision was firm and wouldn’t change. “Thank you,” you said quietly, looking between Max and Kelly. “I just need you both to trust me on this one. Trust that I’m doing what’s best for Astrid.”

Max hesitated, then finally nodded. “We’ll be keeping this just between the three of us,” he said, though there was a note of reluctance in his voice. “But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find us.”

Kelly smiled faintly, her grip on your hand tightening briefly before she let go. “Astrid is lucky to have you as her mother,” she said, voice warm. “She’s amazing and gorgeous, you know. She’s already so full of life.”

You smiled softly at Kelly’s words. “She is,” you said. “She really is.”

Glancing back towards the yard, you watched Astrid and Penelope play together, the sound of Astrid’s uncontrollable laughter filled the air, warming your heart in a way that words could never even describe. Her happiness was infectious, an important reminder of everything good in your life despite the path it had taken to get where you are now. But as your eyes lingered on her, there was a familiar ache that settled deep in your chest.

You couldn’t deny it—Astrid’s features were very unmistakable. Her eyes, so full of wonder and innocence, were a mirror image of Lando’s. Every now and then, when she turned her head a certain way or smiled just so, it was like seeing a glimpse of Lando again. The resemblance was undeniable, and it only grew stronger as Astrid got older. It was a bittersweet reality you carried with you every day.

Yet, despite the pain that came with those reminders, you were happy. Truly, deeply happy. Astrid was surrounded by love—a love so abundant that it filled every corner of her little world. She didn’t need anything else, not when you, your whole family, and everyone who cherished her. That love was enough, it had to be enough.

Letting Lando go was not easy. It had taken every ounce of strength you had to accept that the life you once imagined with him was not meant to be. But you had done it, you had learned to let him go. You had made peace with the fact that you were not the one he chose, and the woman you would never be was the one who was not his.

Someday, you knew, the time might come when you were ready to tell Lando about Astrid, ready to introduce him to the child you both brought into this world. But that day was not today. For now, you would let him continue living the life he had chosen, with the person he had chosen. You wished him nothing but happiness, even if it wasn’t with you.

You also hoped that Lando would one day find everything he was searching for, that he would feel fulfilled and content in the life he was building. Even if it hurts, you wanted that for him, and while he was busy living that life, the daughter you both would not raise together would still be here—waiting for him, even if he didn’t know it yet.

The breakup, heartache, and the choices you made were not what you had wanted, but they were what you needed. Sometimes, it’s hard to accept the fact that love is not enough to keep two people together, and that’s okay. It didn’t make the love you once shared with Lando any less real.

But for now, everything else could wait.

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yan-lorkai · 6 months ago

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Kicks the door open I have come! to request a Self-aware AU with the Twst bois. When they and the Darling/MC/Player/S/O switch bodies. However, the Darling isn't inside the game. So it's like the Darling waking up in the boys' bodies inside the game, and the boys waking up in the Darling's body in the real world. Thankyou very much 🙏👍🫂✨

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ a/n: self-aware au, my beloved. It was so fun to write this and I wrote a lot too 🥺💓. It took me a while to finish, so I hope you like it, darling!

Azul could always feel your presence through the puppet you control. He felt calm when you looked at him. He felt delighted at every laugh you laughed, and he wanted nothing more than to be beside you. The real you. He wished really hard for it to be possible someday, not knowing that this was exactly what was going to happen. Although his request was successful, there was just one error in the equation: he was in your body, your holy, beautiful body. Which means... You were in his horrible body.

While others would feel happy (and he really is happy to an extent), Azul feels a sense of trepidation knowing that you were awaking in his body and there was no way for him to check on you. Or could he? He tried calling his own phone but it wasn't possible. Resigned, he then took to explore your room and home and if you have any roommates / lived with your parents, Azul would try get along with them and collect information on you. While this isn't the ideal, Azul still has to think ten times ahead so when he take you to Twisted Wonderland (not a matter of if but more of when), he could make you sign a deal.

By the way, he definitely try to unlock your phone. And since he is in your body, Azul may try to unlock your phone with your fingerprint or your face if your phone has that function. If he is successful Azul will read your messages as if it were a magazine, he would see what type of songs you listen and videos you like to watch, what's in your history. Basically he is your fbi agent seeing everything on your phone, there's not a thing he'll not see. Good luck for you, reader. That's why I always I always delete my history lol.

Meanwhile you. You wake up on Azul Ashengrotto's body, the octavinelle dorm leader. Geez, are you dreaming? But everything is so real and feels so real. Jade and Floyd seems so real. And their voices, mocking and teasing, almost condescending as you tried your best to act like Azul. They seemed to know that something was wrong but neither choose to ask, brushing off as you being busy with a new scam plan. You were overjoyed but also anxious, without knowing what to do. Could you even return to your body at all? Only time will tell.

⠀⠀

Jade always knew that something was strange with this world, it was almost too... Surreal? He can't quite put into words the things he feel but everything was so much clearer whenever he could feel your presence when he was studying or riding his broom. He could feel your presence when he was cooking, when he was talking about this terrariums, when he was beating people who broke their part of the deal. You seemed to favor him, to love him. He could feel your affection seeping through your cellphone. And he wished to see you, to know you as intimately as you knew him.

And that wish became real. One day he woke up in a different bedroom, in a different body, then, while he is a little surprised, Jade just brush this off as something you did. Perhaps you wanted to show him your world? You wanted to show him your life? Or were you trying to show him something else? Either way, Jade is having the time of his life in your body. Though, as if he was mesmerized by it, he caught himself looking himself at the mirror to see your face staring right back at him. He looks like an excited kid making silly faces in front of the mirror. Honestly he is so unserious. Making faces and silly dances, and laughing because of it.

⠀

Floyd is instantly thrilled, if somewhat bewildered. At first, he messes around with everything he can find, marveling at your surroundings and taking a deep dive into your belongings — he finds it all so fascinating. He’s absolutely entertained by exploring your room, your things, and all the little details that give him insight into your life. But once the novelty wears off, his mischievous nature kicks in. He wants to know everything about you — what you like, your habits, your friends — and he’s not afraid to dig deep. Floyd starts exploring your social media, searching for anything that brings him closer to you and your world. If he finds anyone he thinks might be close to you, he’s ready to make them uncomfortable with cryptic messages or odd behavior, wanting to make it clear that no one knows you better than him.

Meanwhile, you, trapped in Floyd’s body, have to navigate his spontaneous, unpredictable moods and intense physicality — whether in class, on the basketball court, or during his shenanigans. He's having the time of his life while you are fighting for yours, even more when Azul send you to squeeze some people. Like??? How are you supposed to do this????

⠀

Silver always dreamt of you. He knew you, the feeling of your love and affection, the tone of your voice, even if when he woke up he forget everything. A blurry line separating you two. For a while, he thought that you were some higher being that he created on his mind, a simple part of his imagination. That is until this magicless student come around and your presence was all over them, controlling them, talking through them. He wanted to get closer, he wished he could talk to you, to bask on your presence. But he couldn't. He couldn't break his code. Not yet.

But when he slept that night something was different. He couldn't jump into another dream, his voice was different, his height was different, then when he inched closer to the mirror, he saw. A different face. And he knew instantly that it was your face. It was a very beautiful face, exactly how he had imagined. Though it was not what he wanted. He wanted to talk to you, to tell what he felt whenever your gaze was upon him. He didn't want to be you. Or for you to be him.

⠀

Riddle wakes up in your body, feeling completely disoriented and frustrated with the lack of control he has over the new, unfamiliar world around him. But soon, the shock turns into curiosity and then into obsession as he realizes he now has full access to everything about you, your routines, belongings, even your weaknesses, and insecurities.

Riddle’s meticulous nature drives him to organize your life, make everything as “perfect” as he can, so when you’re back, it’ll be clear that he knows what’s best for you. He spends hours exploring your things, setting up strict plans, and making lists, even going so far as to cut out people he feels are a bad influence. All of this, in his mind, is for your “own good.”

In Twisted Wonderland, you’re now bound to the rules of Heartslabyul, balancing Riddle’s strict schedule, navigating his many routines, and dealing with his high standards as you struggle to maintain his reputation without causing a commotion.

⠀

Jamil is quick to adjust, immediately masking his initial confusion in favor of stealthily gathering information about your world. He keeps a low profile, but behind that calm facade, he’s strategically piecing together every part of your life, figuring out who’s important to you and how he can stay in your life even if he returns to his world. Jamil moves through your world with subtlety, observing your friends and family with a quiet intensity, noting who to trust — and who to remove from your life. He’s ready to make subtle changes to your social circle or behavior, aligning your life with what he thinks is “best.”

Meanwhile, back in Twisted Wonderland, you’re handling Jamil’s carefully hidden responsibilities, feeling the pressure of his dual life between serving Kalim and managing his own ambitions, all while trying not to slip up and reveal your true identity. It's difficult.

⠀

Kalim wakes up in your body with sheer joy and fascination, his excitement overriding any initial confusion. He’s absolutely delighted to be in your world, taking in every little detail with childlike wonder. Kalim sees this as an opportunity to become even closer to you, and he goes about learning everything there is to know about your life, friends, and family, brimming with excitement to be part of it all. He’s incredibly affectionate with anyone he meets, happy to share his thoughts, and may unintentionally end up sharing details about “you” that leave people puzzled. He can’t resist splurging a bit on your behalf, thinking he’s treating you.

As for you, adapting to Kalim’s responsibilities in Twisted Wonderland is overwhelming, as you’re thrown into his high-energy life and surrounded by his devoted friends and followers. His cheerful, social world is a whirlwind of activity and expectation, especially with Jamil by your side, assessing every move you make with a scrutinizing eye.

⠀

When Ruggie wakes up in your body, he’s initially thrown off but quickly realizes the opportunity in front of him. Instead of panicking, he takes a strategic approach, savoring every moment as he explores your life and digs into your personal world. His tendencies kick in subtly but intensely; he’s not one for grand, showy gestures, but every action is deliberate, aimed at securing his presence in your life as deeply as possible, as he changes your wallpaper for fanart of him and enters the game to level up all his cards for you.

He begins by poking through your belongings, finding small things that give him insight into your personality, routines, and friends. Ruggie is careful to go unnoticed, learning as much as he can about your relationships and keeping mental notes about anyone he thinks poses a “threat” to his place in your life. He’s not above making subtle changes, distancing you from people he dislikes and reshaping your social circle to align with his preferences, but he does so with skillful subtlety — most people won’t even realize he’s manipulating things from behind the scenes.

If you have a job, he’ll blend right in, charming your colleagues and subtly gaining their favor, leaving an impression that makes it hard for anyone to forget you. He’s naturally resourceful, too, so he takes a look at your finances, maybe even setting aside a bit of extra money “for emergencies” (which, of course, he intends to use for things he thinks you’ll need down the line).

Meanwhile, back in Twisted Wonderland, you’re adjusting to the gritty pace of Ruggie’s life in Savanaclaw. His resourcefulness is evident in every little aspect of his world — from balancing odd jobs to navigating the intense social structure under Leona’s rule. You feel the constant need to stay alert, manage his reputation, and keep up with his never-ending hustle. It’s a life of quick thinking, constant negotiation, and clever shortcuts that keep you on your toes, giving you a firsthand taste of Ruggie’s way of surviving in a world that doesn’t make things easy. You made a note to dote on him when you get back to your body, he deserves.

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highdramas · 1 month ago

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in terms of your recent post, maybe abbot x professional athlete! reader — (volleyball/gymnastics/swim/soccer etc.) she comes in for a devastating ACL tear or something of the like and he’s the one who treats her? maybe jack recognizes her because robby & him would catch your teams games every now and he’s caught off guard seeing you up close, and afterwards reader stops by a couple days later to drop by some tickets to the next match and perhaps her phone number…

spinning out | dr. jack abbot

pairing: jack abbot x f!figure skater!reader warnings: language, angst with a happy ending, age gap (unspecified, but reader is late early 30s and jack is mid/late 40s), almost certain medical inaccuracies because i have no idea what i'm talking about but i researched and did my best <3 word count: 3.4k summary: you are pittsburgh's sweetheart, the ice princess, the hometown hero. when you come into the emergency room on the worst day of your life, jack is the one who meets his match. notes: if you are under 18 do not interact with my work or this fic. i once again took some liberties with this request, but i hope that you enjoy it! i decided to make reader a figure skater! one of my many favorite fixations! not proofread so apologies for errors <3

the screaming that comes from chairs is enough to get the attention of any tuned-in physician or nurse. but it especially gets jack’s attention– because it’s not just screams that indicate pain, or fear. there’s just… general commotion. and that can be a lot more dangerous than anything else.

everyone in the chairs is on their feet– if they can be. jack and dana barrel out, trying to parse out what exactly it is that’s happening. but the second that he lays his eyes on you, he knows why.

you’re the face known all around pittsburgh. your face is on many billboards, definitely in the newspaper, and regularly on the local news. and it’s been this way since jack moved to pittsburgh, back in 2015. at the time, he remembers you looking so fresh faced– only twenty, and you were on track to be one of the best figure skaters in the world. call it morbid curiosity, but jack had kept up with your career, loosely, in the way that most people who lived in pittsburgh is. that's what he told himself, anyway.

“alright, alright, everyone sit the fuck down and stop crowding around her,” jack calls, approaching you and the gaggle of people who surround you. you still wear a dazzling outfit, catching every single light and refracting it back out. your feet are socked but there are no skates to be found, and two people on either side of you helping hold you up right-- barely. you look abysmal, when you finally make eye contact with him– mascara trails down your cheeks, hairs are out of place, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen an expression so… hardened. “come on, we’ll help you. dana– get a wheelchair.”

jack helps the people he learns are your coaches transfer you to the wheelchair. you still haven’t uttered a word– you just look down at your hands, pick the skin around your cuticles. “we think it’s an acl tear,” your coach says to jack. “happened during a competition. a smaller one, thankfully. we don’t need that kind of scrutiny.” this makes jack’s face screw up slightly, but he continues to listen. “we just– we’ve gotta have her back on the ice next week.”

“dana, go ahead and wheel her back to south-9, i’ll be right in.” jack turns his attention to your coach. a stark woman, small eyes, full lips, very obviously tanned. “alright,” he claps his hands together. “you all are going to have to stay out here. we’re very packed in the er, so i can’t have you back. we’ll come out and grab you when we have an update. okay?”

he can tell that this doesn’t please her, but he doesn’t really care. because while she’s bemoaning the possibility of more people bearing witness to what is likely one of the worst moments of your life– not for your sake, but for the sake of image… jack knows himself. he won’t be able to work effectively with that type of squawking in his ear.

when he goes to central, he points at dana. “don’t let coach and company in. feel me?”

“i feel you, boss,” she says without looking up from her computer. “donnie’s in there right now, but she’s ready for you.” she looks up at jack, plucking her readers off. “never a dull moment, huh? we got celebrities now!”

he tries to find it amusing, but then he remembers the look on your face, and he can’t find the humor within the situation. he simply squeezes dana’s shoulder, turns around, and takes a deep breath before he enters south-9.

–

the door opens. click shuts. you hardly hear it– all you hear is the blood in your ears. all you feel is the throbbing in your knee. all you know is that it’s over.

you took pride in what you do. you love ice skating– as an art form, as a way that you have honed your body over many, many years. you’re proud of all of the regional, national, world competitions you’ve won– you’re proud of all of that. and really, you only wanted one more thing. you knew it was a stretch, you knew it was a strain on your body, you knew, at 30, some think you’re too old for your sport… but it didn’t matter.

you just wanted to win gold. once in your life.

you’ve had silver, and bronze, you’ve gotten close to gold the last two olympics– neck and neck with your competitor, who ultimately, worked harder. was better than you. that’s what you tell yourself. that’s what your coaches have told you, to push you. your family doesn’t say it, but you feel it radiating off of them.

you don’t need the doctor to tell you that it’s over. you felt it the second that you landed wrong and crumpled to the ice, a glittering pile of dreams that will never be realized. you cried, not from the pain– you know pain intimately, have walked side by side with pain your entire life. you cried because it was all for nothing.

“hi. i’m dr. abbot.”

you don’t respond.

he sits in one of those spinny stools that all doctors use. you finally glance at him. “you don’t have to say it,” you wipe at your cheeks. “6-8 weeks until i can get back on the ice after an ACL tear. this isn’t my first tear, so i’ll likely need grafting surgery. so who knows how much further that would set me back.”

“wow. you want my job?” he tries to crack the tension but it’s no use. not really.

you’re approaching catatonic.

but it’s like a nail pops a balloon, and suddenly, all that you are is a heaving, sobbing mess.

the doctor– dr. abbot– sits with you. at one point, he offers you a tissue. then, the trash bin to throw it. and then, his hand.

you don’t think twice before you take it. you take it and you squeeze and you use it to tether yourself because everything feels like it’s floating away from you– a career, a dream, a desire.

but other things, too.

pain. being talked down upon. only being useful for one thing.

he doesn’t leave. he doesn’t even move a muscle. others try to come in and swap out and at one point you swear he says, “shen, fuck off, i’m busy.”

you don’t know how long you cry. you’re exhausted after. and itchy, because this stupid outfit clings in every spot that hurts and it feels like a humiliation ritual more than anything else, at this point.

“can i–” your throat is scratchy, and jack hands you a water bottle. you chug at it, greedy. “can i get a gown? and–” you look around, as if scared that they might be there behind you. “tell my coaches to fuck off and go home?”

a small smile creeps onto jack’s features. “yes, i can do that.” he hesitates before he stands up. “we’re gonna get you all checked out. see what we can do for you, and what orthopedic surgery is going to need to do. and we’ll be able to determine how long until you can skate again. alright?”

you nod your head. he finds your eyes. “we got you. alright?” tears are still brimming, hanging off your eyelashes like the saddest dew drops known to man.

–

it doesn’t look good. your assessment of your injury was largely accurate, jack found, when he began his examination of your knee with a delicate touch– being as intune with your body as you are, jack isn’t surprised. he comes back with x-rays and brings in ellis to observe. “you’re smart, i’ll give you that,” he says as he enters the room, and he’s proud of himself when you smile. you’re changed, and he thinks that someone must have given you a makeup wipe, because your face is fresh and beautiful and he has to clear his throat before he continues with his diagnosis and what he’d recommend for treatment.

“you’re looking at, maybe 16 weeks before you can get back out. and that’s entirely dependent on how you heal after the surgery. and even if you do start skating, you’re going to need to take it slow.” he finds your eyes. this is the kind of news that he hates delivering, and he thinks if he has to do it, he can at least look someone in the eye while doing it. they’re beautiful– and they have a depth to them that he doesn’t find in most. you’re not scared off by his eye contact. you maintain it with little effort. “i’m sorry.”

the chuckle that you let out causes a shiver to run down his spine. it’s so humorless, that it creates a chasm inside of him that wants nothing more than to make it better. “yeah, of course it is.” you lean your head back. “the press will be here soon.”

jack and ellis share a glance. “your team is talking to them outside, we believe,” ellis says with a wince.

you smirk. “ah. of course.” you look back to abbot. “thank you for your help. i’m sorry i’m wretched. just…” you shrug. “what a shitty fucking day.”

“yeah, i don’t doubt it.” he chews on his lip. “can we arrange to have someone else pick you up once you’re cleared?”

“there’s no one else,” you say seamlessly. “i’ll call an uber.”

it’s odd, he thinks to himself. seeing you up close and personal, real. he would’ve thought you were entirely delicate, a beautiful flower kept in a box, plucked out, and put onto the ice to entrance everyone who watches you. but you’re so human and alive and he can sense this way that you’ve been treated, and when you say there’s no one else except these people who look at you as a product, a brand, a liability… something snaps.

“we’ll arrange to have someone take you home. it’s a risk to have you take any sort of public transportation where someone can’t assist you into your home.”

you look between the two physicians. your eyes land on jack and he thinks that you might fight it– but then, you concede, and give a meek nod of your head, and he feels that tightening in his chest that he keeps experiencing. he wants to wrap you up and hide you away– far away from those people taking advantage of you.

he’s just starstruck. that's what he decides to chalk it up to.

–

dr. jack abbot does ensure you’re driven home by someone. he is very professional, and polite, as he instructs you on when to return to the hospital for a pre-op appointment, and how to manage your pain in the meantime.

eventually, you do have surgery. eventually, you’re back in PTMC, and your eyes trail on the emergency department as you go past it, wondering if you might be able to sneak a glimpse of him.

you fire your coaches. you tell your team to fuck off. your publicist can hardly get ahold of you, and, naturally, everyone wants a statement. it makes you laugh to think about it. yeah, you’d like a statement too, you think. bitter. always so bitter in those first weeks after.

once you start recovering from surgery, the bitterness dissipates, but you certainly don’t sweeten to what has happened to you. you watch with bloodshot eyes, the footage of it happening. you’re rapt with it, and it’s a little sadistic, you think to yourself– but you can see the exact moment of the tear. the exact moment everything shifts.

that night, you write find a therapist down on a to-do list.

your first session, as you recount the story to her, you get hung up on the portion in the emergency room. you explain it in great detail, and when it gets to your doctor… “i broke,” you admit with a shrug. “i broke in the emergency room. and the doctor, he stayed. you know– sonja, and marci, they were both out there. yes, he asked them to stay back, but it was because even the doctor could see it. that they didn’t care about me. they didn’t care if i was okay. they cared that i wasn’t functional anymore.” you stop yourself. steel yourself. “but he stayed with me. he held my hand when he cried. and i can’t…” you look down at your hands, pick at already raw cuticles. “i couldn’t remember the last time someone was so nice to me, just for the sake of being nice.”

your therapist suggests you go back, and thank dr. abbot. you think this is a good idea, but you’ve spent so much time being an ice skater, you don’t know if you really know how to be a human being anymore. how do you talk about anything that’s not a diet, choreography plans, workout regimine, or regional scores? do you know how to be earnest, and real, and honest?

you hobble towards the emergency room, the brace you wear restricting your mobility, but you’d finally gotten off the crutches, thank god. you hold a box of cookies that you had baked yourself– with all this newfound free time, and with the fact that you could actually eat, freely, in a way that was almost certainly healthier than whatever restrictive nonsense you were doing before, you’d picked up baking as a hobby. you weren’t great. but you weren’t horrible, either.

it felt so good to just be mediocre at something. to not care. to just enjoy it for the sake of enjoying it.

you approach the registration desk. she– lupe, her nametag says– recognizes you instantly, you can tell. you say hello, and introduce yourself by name anyway. “um– dr. abbot treated me here, about five weeks ago. i was wanting to say…” you attempt to slow you breathing, your nervousness. “i was wanting to see if i could say thank you.”

lupe gives you a warm smile. “oh, that’s sweet, honey. we all heard about what happened– i am so sorry.” your lips press into a line. the sentiment is kind– but it strikes you, anyway. “let me go see what i can do.”

–

it’s never good when lupe is coming back.

jack snatches the sterile gown, soaked in blood from a woman that he was unable to save, and shoves it into the proper disposal. he rubs sanitizer into his hands and he eyes lupe, trying to muster up a smile. “can i hold onto hope and a prayer that you’re about to tell me something good, and not bad?”

“yes, actually. for once, right?” lupe laughs and she begins to explain to him that you’re outside. when she says that, jack’s eyes go wide. “she wants to thank you. can i bring her to the family room?”

“uh– yeah. yes, please do.”

you go to central to finish up on a chart when robby approaches jack at his side. “i hear ice princess is back,” he says with a small smile, crossing his arms over his chest.

somehow, a rumor got around that you had cried in jack’s arms in south-9. that he had cradled you and held you and stroked your hair– he’s fairly certain it was princess and perlah. no, he knows it was princess and perlah. all good ER rumors start and end with him.

“don’t call her that,” jack says without looking up from the screen. “not cool.”

“oh, my apologies.” robby’s eyes trail to the family room, where you’re limping in. “she’s walking on that knee.”

jack snorts. “that’s the least surprising thing i’ve ever heard.” after an interaction with you that barely went over an hour, he felt like he understood you. he understood that, of course you were walking. you were determined, and you were used to your body bending to your will– not the other way around. he looks over at the family room as the door shuts with a faint thwick.

“go get ‘em, tiger,” robby says and it makes jack scowl.

he’s a good, professional physician. he doesn’t have crushes on patients.

he opens the door. and you’re sitting there, beautiful, clear eyed– there’s still a storm cloud or two burrowed within you, he knows, but not the same as when he met you the first time.

you go to stand up, but he instantly shakes his head. “oh– no. in fact…” he looks at the couch and grabs a pillow. “elevate.”

you look at him incredulously. “my surgeon said i only needed to elevate for 3-7 days post-op.”

“it’s always good to elevate when resting. especially since you’re walking on it.”

you roll your eyes. “the crutches slowed me down,” you mutter, mostly to yourself.

“that’s kinda the point, sweetheart.”

–

sweetheart.

your lips curl into a smile and you raise your eyebrows at him. he looks at you like he would like to crawl under this couch, and die, probably. he squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. “i don’t know why i said that.”

“i do,” your smile is saccharine. “because i’m a sweetheart. obviously.”

“they called you pittsburgh’s sweetheart in the paper, once.”

“oh– so you knew who i was?”

“you can’t go anywhere in this city without seeing your face!” you’ve gotten him exasperated now, riled up, and you’re thoroughly happy with yourself. this is the most fun you’ve had in you don’t even know how long, to be perfectly honest. you’ve begun to recline on the arm of the small loveseat, and jack maneuvers the pillow beneath your knee. his hands are confident, his words are not. it’s a combination that you think you could watch all day.

he takes a seat across from you, once he’s gotten you settled to his liking. and there’s that stare, again– people always said that you had a staring problem, but they must not have met jack abbot before. that man had a staring problem.

you take it almost as a challenge. you maintain the eye contact and slowly slide the box of cookies to him.

he glances down. “what’s this?”

“cookies. i made them.” you run your tongue over your teeth. “to say thank you.”

he hangs his head. looks up just enough to peer at you through eyelashes– long, pretty eyelashes. “you don’t need to thank me. i just–”

“oh, no. i do.” you clear your throat. think over the little script that you had written in your journal, all of the vulnerable and real things that you wanted to say. “i don’t know what i needed, exactly, in that moment. and in don’t know if it would be possible for one person to be exactly what i needed. it was–” you feel that swell of emotion start to rise like a tide in your abdomen, but you push through. “it was the single worst night of my life. but not because of the injury. because i just… i realized how sad my life is. i don’t have friends. my family situation is dysfunctional in a way that is not healthy. my coaches and team and everyone around me just looked at me like a thing. an item. and you looked at me and cared for me like a human being. so.” you have to clear your throat again. “thank you.”

jack’s eyes didn’t leave you, one single time. and he only looks away not to close them, rub at them. when he opens them, they’re misty, and he chuckles. “fuck,” he drags the word out, and you feel it run through the center of you. you move to stand up but he stops you. “you are a human being,” he blurts out. “and fuck anyone who has ever treated you like anything else, or less– fuck. them. seriously.”

“yeah, i fired my team.”

“good.”

“yeah.”

a comfortable quiet takes over and you go back and forth in your mind as you stand up, for real this time. “i know you’re working. and i know this is probably unprofessional, but…” you take a piece of paper from your coat pocket and you hand it to him. “when i get back on the ice, i’d like to do it for myself. but, you know, could be good to have a medical professional there to make sure i’m not fucking myself up even more, so…” you suck in a breath. “that’s my phone number.”

he opens the piece of paper and stares at the string of numbers. looks back to you. “i’ll be there.”

“great.”

you sling your purse across your body. “that won’t be for awhile, but…” you brush past him, towards the door. “you know, i can still go out to dinner with a torn acl.”

jack smiles, dimples out. holds the door for you. “sounds like we’ve got a date.”

#jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #jack abbot imagine #jack abbott imagine #jack abbot #jack abbott #the pitt fanfic #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt x reader #the pitt #dr abbot x reader #my writing

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foolinafable · 6 months ago

Text

squeeze you in

SYNOPSIS: Viktor barely has the time, but he makes it for you PAIRING: Viktor x reader WORDCOUNT: 5.2K TAGS: S1 Arcane, set around Act 1 and before Act 2, 5 year age gap, assuming arcane uses weekdays and seasons. Fem pronouns towards the end NOTES: spent all weekend writing this, hope you all enjoy. try not to mind any editing errors

This was decidedly a bad idea. Wandering the halls of the academy at night wasn’t dangerous, even with the recent attack from the undercity, that's if you could even really call it an attack. To you, it seems to be children getting involved in things they shouldn’t. You could remember them now, the swirls of brown, red and blue running along the roofs of Piltover after the explosion in the apartments of the academy. While many around you felt fear, all you saw were children. Sure, they looked only a few years your junior, but even Heimerdinger tells you that you are only on the cusp of adulthood, still shadowed by childish tendencies. You suppose that he is correct; twenty is only one year off nineteen, and that age is considered a teenager despite its adult allowances.

You take a deep breath as your hand curls around the handle to Heimerdinger's office, unsure as to why you feel so nervous. It’s not as if you're stealing anything but rather retrieving it. You had foolishly left behind your notebook during your meeting with him when it had been interrupted by the council having an impromptu meeting, something you are sure had something to do with Talis. You needed it for a meeting the next morning with another professor about your dissertation, your last piece of work as a student at the academy, and you couldn't go to the meeting without it. Least you look unprepared, surely your job offer as a researcher for the academy could be rescinded if you didn’t appear completely committed.

So, despite your better judgement, your anxiety outweighed it as usual as you slowly opened the door to the dean, your mentor's room. You crept inside, even though nobody was around, afraid even the slightest noise could get you caught snooping after hours. Quickly, you found your notebook on the chair. You had left it opposite Heimerdinger's desk; he preferred it when you told him of your research and studies without the aid of your writings, so you had placed it next to your body on the chair. You picked it up, signing in relief that this was as easy as you hoped, when another notebook caught your attention, one that certainly wasn't on the desk when you left. Curiousity about getting the better of you as you reach for it, opening it to the first page, eyes widening at the text ‘If found, please return to Jayce Talis'. Your mind quickly remembered an interaction you had overheard in this very office earlier that day.

You were walking the path towards Heimerdinger's office, only this time it was daytime, the sun was out despite the slight winter chill warming anyone in its path. You slowed as you got towards your mentor's office, frowning at the sound of voices coming from inside. Did you get the time wrong? You wondered, looking down at your watch, showing that you were, in fact, on time. Your hands are sweaty now, anxiety crawling at the idea of interrupting, deciding to stay outside for a few moments to calm down.

“Why can’t I read it?” An exacerbated voice rang out, his accent making your face feel hot

“That Talis’ work was dangerous; the explosions in the city were proof of that; you don’t need to be involved, Viktor”, Heimerdinger's voice rang out, proud as always

“I hardly see how simply reading what he was working on is such a bad thing. I thought the greatest scientific ventures were the ones that bent the rules of the institution.” The man Viktor, you assume, tries to manoeuvre the conversation to his favour, but Heimerdinger is seemingly having none of it. Moving closer to where you are by the door as if to get the boy out of his office, you quickly knock on the door, worried that he would open the door and see you eavesdropping. Both voices stop at the sound of the knock, and Heimerdinger quickly opens the door. You awkwardly smile at the dean, eyes rising to meet the amber ones of the other body occupying the room.

“Can I come back later?” You twiddle your fingers, nervousness wracking your body at interrupting whatever this is

“No, no, come in”, Heimerdinger exclaims, pulling you by the hand into his office, yelping at the sudden contact as he continues to speak. “We were done here anyways”, his eyes solely on Viktor, who seemed to have mellowed out your presence, quickly giving his goodbyes before leaving the room, closing it behind him.

So this was what the man was interested in, what he was forbidden from reading. You tap your fingers on the book cover before quickly placing your notebook on top of it, drawing your bottom lip into your mouth with your teeth as you quickly depart from the office, might as well make all your worries worthwhile.

—

It wasn’t until later the next day you saw the man you were looking for; it was early afternoon, and you were packing up after having lunch when a head of unruly brown hair caught your eye, sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, coffee in one hand sandwich in the other. Grabbing Jayces book, which you had procured the night before, you quickly made your way towards the man before you lost your cool. Unceremoniously dropping the book in front of the man whose eyes darted from you to the book, mouth opening and closing in clear shock.

“I hope whatever is in there is worth it,” you muttered, adjusting your bag on your shoulder before turning to leave.

“I-how?” Viktor called out, but you only replied with a cheeky smile, finger covering your mouth in secrecy as you walked away, thinking that to be the only interaction you would have with your mentor's other protege when his voice called out to you, not so far behind

“Wait”

You stood stock still as he approached quicker than you would’ve thought given his cane, but you suppose it was a silly thought that an ailment could stop a man on a mission. Once he catches up with you, he continues to walk, so you join him, slightly confused as to what he may now want.

“Have you read it?” he asks.

“It would be a lie to say I don't know of its content,” you replied, noticing his smile at your remark, eyes sparkling with wonder.

“What did you think?”

“I think...” You trail off, trying to come up with the right words as you both round a corner. “What he wants to do is revolutionary...” Your words scamper off slightly as you notice his eyes on the side of your face.

“But” he reads your mind.

“But”, you echo “I am unsure if he completely knows what he is doing or how he plans to do it”, trying to be as vague as possible due to the students scattered all around “I wrote some notes”, you gesture to the book “Things I thought could be helpful, I assume that's why you wanted it, to learn”

“And how did you get it?” he wonders aloud. “Last time I checked, Heimerdinger wasn't giving out illegal independent research to anyone”, he said with a smile on his face.

“Let's just say it certainly wasn't by asking nicely,” you tease, matching his grin with one of your own “Well, you should probably go read and hide that before Heimerdinger sends out a search party for it.”

“I probably should” Viktor smiles as he turns back the way the two of you came, the book held tightly in his unoccupied hand.

Continuing to walk the way you had been, you couldn’t help but feel relief at the fact that the book was now out of hands and the man, Viktor, seemed just as keen to keep this a secret as you did, even if you did spend all night essentially peer reviewing Jayce Talis’ work, unfortunately, your need to stay out of trouble with your superiors greatly outweighed your want to indulge in what he and assumedly Viktor was planning, you could only hope that your words you had spent all night working on where a help instead of a hindrance. You especially wanted to know how Viktor would take the words you wrote specifically for him at the front of the book:

‘The greatest scientific ventures are the ones that bend the rules of the institution’

—

One of the benefits of being the dean's newest protege was that the academy gave you your lab, a small space just for you, it even had your name on a metal plaque on the door, probably due to the academy's narcissism, thinking that they would keep you even after your graduation, not that they were wrong. A fact that slightly irritated you.

You didn’t usually get many visitors, just Heimerdinger, to see what you were working on, but those meetings were usually scheduled so he could ensure you were tallying in your lab and not at one of your usual haunts like the library. So you couldn’t help but jump at the sound of a knock on your door, eyebrows furrowed as you called out to whoever stood outside your door.

“Come in!”

Your confusion lingered as Viktor walked in. It had only been a few days since you’d given him Jayce’s book, and from what you had heard, the two were now employed to continue Jayce’s studies non-illegally this time, being funded by Councilwoman Medarda, which they have named ‘Hextech’

“You’re not an easy woman to get ahold of”, Viktor claims as he takes a seat at your desk “I have been stopping by your room for a few days, but you were never in”, he continues, eyes piercing as he takes in the view of you, stood by another desk filled with colanders and Bunsen burners

“You sound like Heimerdinger when you say that” You smiled slightly in truth, scoffing at the face he made, clearly not appreciative of your parallel “What?” you laugh “he has said similar things on various occasions”

“I understand why,” he remarked.

“I spend a lot of time in the library, researching. Especially at the moment with final deadlines coming in, as I’m sure you remember,” he hummed at your explanation “And it’s not as if I’m a professor with allocated office hours, I don't need to be here,” you tell him passively looking back at your work at the table, deciding to turn off the flame not going to get any worthwhile work done until he's gone.

“So what can I do for you?” you asked when the man still sat in silence, seemingly comfortable to just watch you work he blinked, taken away from wherever he went upon registering your words.

“Oh well, I just wanted to thank you, Jayce, as well, for getting his book and your notes, they were more than helpful with working through the kinks in his theory- instrumental really to the breakthrough”, he admitted somewhat bashfully, stumbling over his words a little not that you noticed nervousness crawling up your spine at his approval of your words.

“Oh, um, you're welcome. I mean, a fresh pair of eyes is always helpful..” you murmur, unsure of yourself now as he stares at you, not daring to make eye contact, knowing it will only make your nerves worse.

“We were wondering, Jayce and I, if you would read some of our other research in the future, help us out. We would give out any references in the future for any work you do after study” he speaks delicately, soft and slow and if worried, he would scare you off like a child being caught doing something they shouldn’t. Your heart seems to slow from its anxious thumping as you contemplate his offer.

“I don't see why not”, you ponder absentmindedly, but your mind is already made up.

“Really?” he asked, though he didn’t sound shocked, more like he was trying to egg more words out of you.

“If you can find me, that is” You smile, the nerves falling away from you as he laughs a little

“I’ll go tell Jayce the good news; he's going to be over the moon. You didn’t hear it from me, but he has always wanted to work with you. He said something about loving your approach in an article about the arcane:” You looked at the man again, but he simply walked out of the room, not sparing you another word. You had honestly forgotten that your last article had been published, and the fact that academics that you knew had read it and enjoyed it made a smile appear on your face, maybe this was going to be better than you had thought.

—

A routine had been established this past few months, as winter made way for spring, you had found yourself in a comfortable pattern with the boys.

Once a week, on a Wednesday, you would spend the entire day in your lab working, and at some point, Jayce or Viktor would drop by with some work for you to look through and maybe a comment or two on things you had written the week before. These meetings were usually brief as they quickly needed to get back to work, so you would spend hours going through papers, tweaking diagrams, and sometimes even trekking to the library for a book that might help them. It wouldn’t be until the sun had made way for the moon in the sky that you would be done, taking the work down several corridors and stairs to get to their workspace, where they would still be working to drop them off. The two would then call it time for a break, so the three of you would scamper your way to the cafeteria for a change of scenery while you all ate the food you packed for lunch but had yet to get to.

Today, however, Viktor seemed hellbent on breaking the schedule the three of you had unknowingly created. He had appeared at your lab, maybe a little earlier than he or Jayce usually decided to grace you with their presences, but it was of no matter to you, honestly, the earlier, the better, as it meant you may finish earlier than the hour of the wolf. He did bring a stack of papers with him, but instead of dropping them at your desk, sharing a few complimentary words, and then leaving, he dropped the work at your desk and then sat himself in the new chair he and Jayce had procured that was placed on the other side of your desk so they would have somewhere to sit, not that either of them had used it up until now.

“You alright?” you ask, grabbing the top paper from the pile, you could immediately tell this was Jayce’s as the handwriting is much neater and the use of a very inky pen you quickly grabbed your pink pen and started to read the words on the page only to look up and give the man a sarcastic glower at his lack of words to which he simply smiled, not even the slightest bit disheartened by your look.

“Jayce is off for the day, something to do with his sponsorship with the Kirammans. Told me to take the day off” he shuffled in the chair, attempting to get comfy as his hand grabbed at your notebook, deciding that he would read through some of your work for once

“And you have decided to spend your time here? Doing more work?” you questioned, though not paying the man much attention, mumbling to yourself on the words on the page, completely unphased by Viktor’s lack of decorum, it’s not as if it’s the first time he got bored and decided to read it. “Would mixing it with metal only make it more unstable?” you mutter, not expecting an answer “As an alloy, maybe, or would that make it worse..” you tap the pen on your cheek in thought before scrambling to write your thoughts in the margins of Jayce’s research

“I don’t see reading through your essays and research papers as work”, he admits, a shameless smile gracing his face as he watched you mumble to yourself “More of a palate cleanser, really”

“I just thought that a rest day was supposed to be resting, like having time away from work?” you tried to put the idea of leaving and maybe getting some sleep into the man’s head, his eyebags were becoming a permanent feature on his face like a shadow he cannot be rid of.

“Quite hypocritical, don’t you think?” a teasing look on his face at your words “Is today not also your day off?” he questioned even though he knew the answer. You simply rolled your eyes, trying to smile as he barked out a laugh.

While today was your break from lessons, it had quickly become anything but a rest day after you took the boys up on their offer, there was no way that you could complete your last year's work and help them if you didn’t give up your rest day- so undoubtedly you were a hypocrite, much to your chagrin.

“Just because I give up my days off to help you doesn’t mean you need to do the same,” you tell him, not wanting the man to feel obligated to help you.

“Maybe I want to?”

Well, you can’t argue with that.

The two of them work on your rather small desk with an ease you wouldn’t expect, but you find yourself very comfortable working alongside him and somehow, the work seems to go by faster.

Maybe it was because you wouldn’t need to spend countless hours trying to figure out what chicken scratch either of them had written on your own. Instead, a second pair of eyes, Viktor’s eyes, made the process go by much faster, albeit with some laughter at what on earth either of them had written. You had even managed a trip to the library, something you rarely had time for, usually going to pick up books for the boys the day after, or Jayce would go the day after with a slip of paper. Not only did you and Viktor have the time to pick up some books, but you also went through and verified if they could have something useful inside.

The sun was still shining bright in the sky when you and Viktor had dropped everything off at his lab, still a few hours left of the day. It was an uncharacteristically nice day outside, certainly warmer than you would’ve expected from the spring in Piltover, so the two of you decided to eat your packed lunches outside on a bench within the academy grounds, both too tired to bother going exploring the city for somewhere nicer.

“Now you have helped me, do you think I could convince you to go home and get some sleep, the bags under your eyes are also large enough to be considered their entities” You smiled, laughing quietly at the man sitting next to you as he coughed back his food, clearly not expecting your smartmouth

“As if you’re one to talk”, he quipped as you let out a shocked gasp, though quickly matching his smile

“How about I promise to go back to my apartments and take a breather if you go to yours?” you propositioned. Honestly, some time in bed sounded heavenly

“Only if I walk you back, I don’t want you to sneak back to your office, I hear you can often find yourself in places you aren’t supposed to”, he joked

“It’s a deal then” Both of you chose not to comment on the matching grins on your faces.

—

When Heimerdinger said your last year of study would be the hardest, you believed him. But never did you imagine you could be so swamped.

This past week, you had corralled a table in the library to yourself, spending more time sitting in the uncomfortable seat than anywhere else. It was deadline season, and to say it was hitting you hard was an understatement. No matter how well prepared you thought you were, the workload was unimaginable, leaving you with barely enough time to sleep or eat. Jayce had joked that during his last year, he essentially became a book within the library, and while it was funny at the time now, you understood why, feeling more and more like an encyclopedia by the day.

Luckily for you, your self-imprisonment was soon coming to an end; all you needed to do was read through your coursework one more time, and it would all be done, your last piece of work as a student of the academy. You would dwell on its bittersweetness another time as you read through another paragraph, completely absorbed in your work, completely missing the familiar sounds of footsteps and the tapping of a cane coming your way.

“I swear I need to get a tracker on you” Your head shot up at the sound of Viktor’s voice

“I’m not that hard to find”, you complain as he sits himself down in the chair closest to yours, cane leaning against the table

“I don’t think you get much of a say on the matter, your not the one who has to aimlessly wander around the academy”

“Whatever”, you glower, attempting to get back to your reading when his hand reaches out to grab yours. you jolt, looking up as he intertwines your fingers

“How are you doing be honest” he holds eye contact as his thumb rubs at your index fingers, stopping just after he knuckle before traveling back up

You smile “I’m drowning”

he hums “I can tell” You slump rather unceremoniously into your chair, eyes closed as he continues to rub affectionately at your knuckle, a half-hearted attempt to seep all the tension away from you “Have you got much more to do?” he questions voice soft

“No, just need to read through it once more, then it should be good to submit” You let out a large breath of annoyance, wishing you were finished, wanting nothing more than to crawl into bed and sleep

“Then you’re done?” he probes

“Completly done, well, until my contract starts as a researcher in the summer”, you clarify, eyes opening slightly, not missing the slight smile on his face, looking down when you heard a rustling of papers only to see Viktor’s non-occupied hand grabbing at your work.

“Take a break; I’ll give it the last read-through. Knowing you, it’s already perfect.” his soft yet stern voice didn’t leave much room for argument, so you closed your eyes again, only for a moment letting the constant feel of his thumb lull you into a calm you had never known.

It was only, however, when you heard the unmistakable voice of Jayce that your eyes opened again, you sent a sheepish smile his way at the admittance that you had, in fact, fallen asleep, trying not to laugh too loudly at his remarks on how much Viktor must have been boring you, if only he knew.

—

Since you had officially handed in all your work and your classes had finished, you now found yourself with a lot of free time, a prospect Viktor and Jayce very much enjoyed. Coming every morning to your door to walk you to their lab for a day of work. Not that you minded, but before Hextech, your plans for the summer would’ve been reading or doing whatever Heimerdinger would see as befitting, so the work was beneficial to you, stopping you from going extensional on what it is you want to dedicate your academic life to, especially since you had no ideas, other than those to help the boys revolutionalise hextech, their current program with the hexgates you were sure was due a breakthrough any day.

You found yourself sat at Jayces desk, him gone for the afternoon schmoozing with some counsellors to try and get as much funding off them as he could. You found yourself tapping along to the melody of the song Viktor had put on, the only time you could have music was when Jayce was out, as he claimed it was too stimulating for him. Working exactly where the man had left off, creating a small prototype of the hexgate, one of many that were to be used in tests planned for later in the week. You barely batted an eye as Viktor appeared next to you, used to him appearing closer than most would

“It’s looking good”, he gestured to the model in your hand you simply hummed in response, adding the final gear, shoulders slumping when you put it down.

“How many do we need again?” you ask, hands rubbing at the tension in your neck from huddling to get a good look at what you were doing.

“Too many”, you groaned at his sheepish admittance. It was silent for a moment or so before he spoke again, an unknown quality to his voice that made you look up at him in confusion.

“Jayce and I were thinking..” he trailed off slightly

“Oh no”, you joked, smiling when you caught the amusement now on his face

“I know, how scary”, he smirked “Anyway, as you’re coming back as a scientist for the academy, we thought, why not make your place with us permanent.”

“Really?” you questioned, do they honestly want you to help them all the time with the work that could improve lives and be the history pages?

“I don’t think we’d be able to function without you now” he admitted

“I’d love to,” you tell him smiling

“Good”, the relief flooded the man “Because we already asked and got the go-ahead from Heimerdinger”, he confessed

“That confident?” you teased

“Obviously”

—

You thought you had done a good job at pretending that today was just any other day, but clearly, as Viktor sat next to you with a cupcake with a candle in it - you had been wrong.

“How did you know today was my birthday? I didn’t tell anyone?” you asked, astonished.

“Heimerdinger told me”, he revealed after you stared at him, clearly pleased with himself

“How does that end up in conversation?” you wonder

“Don’t be so nosey”, he teases, hand coming to grab at your nose

“Says the one who went to our mentor to ask about my personal life”, you accused, but the large smile on your face showed no malice in your words

“Touche”, he forfeited this round, lighting the candle on the cake before pushing it back into your face you simply sent him a look of victory before blowing out the candle, he quickly disposed of the candle before giving you the cake to eat

“Got any big plans for twenty-one?” he wondered aloud

“Work with you” You shrugged your shoulders, laughing lightly as you dug into your birthday cake

“A noble pursuit, I’m sure” It was silent for a short while as you finished your cake, but you didn’t make a move to speak, knowing the look on his face, he wasn’t done “Not going out celebrating? With a boyfriend, maybe?”

“No, no boyfriend, never had the time for any of that. Heimerdinger told me that when a woman dedicates her life to academia, she does not bother dreaming of a family or a relationship, and I agree not many would be able to handle it. Why do you ask?” you admit

“Don’t want to be stepping on anyone’s toes is all”, he speaks nonachanlty despite his words being anything but

“Well, your not”, you promise, lacing a hand with his

“Good” he brings your hand up his lips

—

You both had way too much stuff. The prospect of moving in together while still exciting the amount of work you had left made you gnaw at your bottom lip. You had a lot of help from Jayce and a rather reluctant Caitlyn to get the boxes into your and Viktor’s new home, and while she commented on its quaintness, it was certainly bigger than anywhere the two of you had ever dreamt of living in

“A family home”, Heimerdinger had teased the two of you when you told him, and you suppose he was right. You didn’t think much about the two spare rooms when you had purchased the house, thinking they would probably be offices, but Viktor absolute reluctance and disdain at your idea to turn one of the rooms into a library after looking at the sheer amount of books the two of you owned made you think differently, it wouldn’t take a smart man to know what he wanted to do with them.

“Stop that” Viktor pulled your bottom lip away from your teeth, an annoyed glint in his eyes, clearly thinking about how many times he had told you those same words you simply kissed his thumb, making him smile at your affection

“There’s so much to do”, you inwardly groaned as you rested your head on his shoulder, making sure not to put too much of your weight on him

“We have the week; don’t need to do it all tonight”, he reminds you, giving a kiss on the top of your head

“Come on, I’ve already started in our room” You straighten up and follow him into your room looking at the picture frames he had already put around the room, one was placed on his bedside table, a photo Jayce had taken at your graduation with your cap and gown arms warped around Viktor a huge smile, all teeth as you look at the camera while Viktor is smiling proudly looking at you, smiling at the photo you move on to the frame he placed on the dresser, a piece of paper framed within it your hands grip the frame looking at the familiar words you had written:

‘The greatest scientific ventures are the ones that bend the rules of the institution’

You turned to the man who was busying himself with a box filled with jumpers you had never seen him wear

“You kept this?” you smile as he turns around, noticing his bashful expression at being caught.

“You holding it, arent you?” he asked, trying to drive the conversation

“Why,” you asked, not giving up so easily even as he caressed your face in an attempt to distract you groaning, he relented, he could not give you what you wanted, ever so spoiled by him you were

“At first, it was to remind me that it was all worth it”

“At first?” you echo

“Then I kept it because it reminded me of you, of the future I want us to have, and that will only be possible if I kept working, even if it means going beyond the council and what they want.”

“I was only shadowing your view, what you had said to Heimerdinger, something I wasn’t even supposed to hear”, you remind him.

“Well, I’m glad you did”, he admits “And I’m even more glad that you stole Jayces book because bending the rules is what brought us together”, his hand not on his cane gripped at your hip.

“I’m glad I did, too”, you confirm your words with a kiss.

#viktor arcane x reader #viktor x you #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor league of legends #arcane x reader #arcane

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asxgard · 2 months ago

Text

A Lesson in Firsts | alternate ending

Resident!Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x resident!f!reader

Alternate ending of A Lesson in Vulnerability, but can be read as a standalone.

Summary: A positive pregnancy test flips your life on its head. You try to take it one step at a time.

[ My Masterlist ]

Note: Expect some things inspired by this Robby and Reader! I can’t stop thinking about the possibilities lol

sorry she took awhile, she turned into something else while I was writing lol the ideas kept coming (gender was a coin toss, so don’t be upset with me)

Enjoy this monster💜she was so fun to write

Word Count: 8.2k

Most of my works are 18+ due to adult language and content

Warnings: afab!reader, established relationship, foul language, unplanned pregnancy, medical inaccuracies, ANGST, y’all disappointing your parents, fluff, SMUT (MINORS DNI), pregnancy sex/unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!!), p in v, pet name (sweetheart), hospital mentions, violence at said hospital/combative patient, it’s the 90s, vague birth descriptions, I’ve never been pregnant so forgive any errors

not beta read

It was reassuring to have Michael by your side, holding you steady in his tiny bathroom as you both waited to see what your future may hold. After puking at the hospital and realizing how late you were, the next course of action was logically this: taking a pregnancy test in Michael Robinavitch’s apartment.

You were thankful he was there, but worries ate at your mind. While he had promised to stick by your side regardless of the results, you wondered how much you could believe him. That didn’t even begin to touch your worries about your residency, and to an extent, his as well. You hoped your life didn’t have to change — you hoped you could figure out your relationship with Michael on your own terms, not by something now out of your control.

“Are you ready?” He asked gently beside you.

You were not, but you nodded regardless.

You both stared down at the tests, two little pink lines on each staring back at you. All three showed positive.

You were pregnant. You nearly threw up again.

“Are you sure it’s mine?” Was out of his mouth before he could think about it.

“Do you want to keep it?” Was out of yours before you could process the question.

You both stared at each other for a long time as you silently digested his question. How on earth could he think it was someone else’s? Sure, you weren’t in an official relationship, you were in…well, you weren’t certain what you were to each other. He cared about you. You cared about him. But other than whispered words, you felt like you had no leg to stand on with whatever this was or was going to be.

“You think I’d tell you I thought I was pregnant if I didn’t know it was yours?” You whispered, irritation building. “I’ve only been sleeping with you.”

His dark brown eyes watched you like he was still thinking — and your brain was running a mile a minute. You found annoyance was the first emotion you had begun to process, wondering if his doubt was simple shock or something more. The second thing you digested was your fear for the glaring unknown future you now had to face. The third thing was sheer panic, making your knees shake.

You moved out of his tiny bathroom, the walls slowly starting to cave in on you. Would he really stay with you? Help you? Face this with you? Your chest felt tight and you had the urge to cry.

“Hey, hey,” Michael followed you, putting his hands on your arms. “We’re in this together, yeah?”

“You thought—fuck.” Tears came, blurring your vision, forcing you to blink rapidly and turn away from him.

He let out a long sigh, “I know, I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting—”

Even through your teary gaze, you found his eyes. He blinked quickly, but you caught the emotion setting in, tears building. You wrapped your arms around his neck and cried, and while you could not feel him crying, a few drops of tears landed on your shoulder. You gripped him tighter.

“I’m so sorry.” You breathed out against his shoulder, trying not to hyperventilate.

Michael stilled in your arms, moving his arms from around your middle and looking at you in the eyes. His brows were drawn together, tear tracks on his cheeks. “It’s not your fault.”

“No, no. I could’ve—we might’ve—I—”

He shushed you, bringing you back into his chest.

“I don’t want to ruin your life.” You whispered. “I guess I could—”

“What? No. No. I’m not going anywhere.” He swallowed, bringing a hand to your head and holding you close. “I’m more worried I ruined your life. Your residency.”

You exhaled, all the air leaving your lungs as you thought about it. You would likely be able to finish your second year before needing to take any time, but who knew about your third year. Maybe they would let you continue without much hassle. But childcare—the money to raise a child.

You held each other for a long time, worries bleeding together, but he never let you go. Not once.

When you finally moved, your tears had dried, but the weight in your chest had not dissipated. He moved silently behind you, both of you settling in his kitchen, leaning against the countertop while he started some hot water.

You knew you both were going to have to have a deeper conversation about this — you were going to have to come up with a plan. Despite how devastated you were at the results, both of you seemed to be on the same page about keeping it. A baby.

Your baby.

—

The first OBGYN appointment came with a flood of nerves, uncertainties crashing together. Michael had been unfocused throughout your night shift together, but both of you had decided several nights before to keep your relationship as private as possible. You both taking that part step-by-step, wading through the water of your new circumstances with small, careful movements.

After the nurse took urine and blood, you ensured that your OB didn’t do any work at Big Charity — not wanting to get the two lines of your life crossed. You were relieved to find she did not.

She was cheery when she entered, subtly taking in your energies and bringing a sense of calm. No judgement crossed her face, but she did ask about your residency after reading your file.

“Well we’ll start with a pelvic exam, and then make sure there’s proper placement in the uterus with ultrasound. Then we’ll go over your medical history, alright?” Dr. Lyons said, moving to grab the machine and get the gel.

You only nodded silently at her, still having a hard time processing it all. Michael squeezed your hand, bringing you out of your head.

“Are you a resident, as well?” Dr. Lyons asked casually, squirting some gel onto your stomach.

Michael cleared his throat, “Yeah, year three.”

“Very nice, what specialty?”

“Emergency department,” He said, small smile forming. Despite the circumstances, you knew he was proud of it. “It’s how we met.”

She got the transducer ready with a hum, “That can be very stressful.” She eyed you only briefly.

“I can cope.” You told her, but after a moment, you felt like you were more trying to convince yourself. Stress and pregnancy? Bad mix.

Her smile returned, “Just keep an eye on her blood pressure, yeah?”

Michael nodded, eyes going to the screen once she started. She was unable to see much detail, and so she switched you over to a transvaginal ultrasound. It was grainy, but the unmistakable form of a fetus took center stage.

“Measuring at about 3.1cm,” Dr. Lyons said. “About seven weeks, I’d say, based on your last menstrual period.”

Michael’s grip got tighter and you looked away from the screen to peek at his face. You found tears in his eyes, and he looked like he was trying not to cry. You rubbed your thumb over his fingers.

“Let me get the doppler, hear that heart activity.” She gave you a few tissues and allowed you to scoot back up the exam table.

The sound of your baby’s heart filled the room, racing like a speeding train at 119bpm. It filled your heart up with warmth and tears leaked from your eyes.

After your exam, Dr. Lyons gave you some more information, went over her concerns with your stress levels and a few prenatals she wanted you to take. You assured her that your residency would not interfere and she sent you on your way — scheduling for another appointment in four weeks.

In the quiet of his car, Michael grabbed your hand. “We’re having a baby. We’re really having a fuckin’ baby.”

You chuckled, wiping a tear from your cheek. “We’re going to be parents.”

—

“A shotgun wedding is awfully cliche.” You said one afternoon on Michael’s couch, channel surfing. “My mom would be so disappointed.”

Michael walked into his living room with a sandwich, ham and cheese by the look of it. Your stomach grumbled, eyes trying to focus on the television as he took a seat beside you.

“I live to be a disappointment.” He said with a shrug and a smirk, biting into his sandwich.

You huffed a laugh, “Seriously though. I think we should put that thought to rest for now.”

“Oh, don’t wanna marry me now, huh?” His tone was light.

You hummed, your hormones flaring within you, suddenly souring your mood. “I don’t want you to marry me just because I’m having your baby.”

He looked over at you in surprise at your shift in mood. “Are you alright?”

You huffed, turning your eyes away from him. “What are we really even doing, Michael? We have no plan, no fucking money, loans up the ass…what? You gonna stay with me because you knocked me up?”

“What the hell has gotten into you? I thought we decided to try this out?” He placed the plate down onto the coffee table to give you his full attention.

“What the hell has gotten into me?” You scoffed, barely looking at him. “I’m trying to be realistic here.”

“It feels like you’re doubting everything I’ve been telling you.”

“Most of what you told me was in your bathroom, before we found out. You said you’d try and I still feel like we barely know each other.”

“I think I’ve made it obvious how I felt.” He said, tone low, eyes burning the side of your face.

“Oh, did you? I must’ve lost the memo.” Now you were just being mean, but you couldn’t help it. Doubts had been eating away at your mind, and you had been terrible about voicing them. A crippling flaw, it seemed.

“I don’t care about you just because you’re fucking pregnant with my baby. Jesus Christ.” He stood quickly, running a hand through his hair.

The tears came unexpectedly; you blinked once, barely registering his words and his tone, and then there they were, blurring your vision.

He stalked back into the kitchen, footfalls heavy, shoulders rigid. You watched him go.

Part of you wanted to sink into the couch and be swallowed whole. The other part of you wanted to rise to follow him. You felt stuck between both — fear and anger equally eating you alive. You moved to flee instead, avoiding both altogether.

Despite your blurry vision, you found your bag filled with extra clothes next to your purse.

He was on you in an instant, “No, no, no.” His tone was still hard, annoyance coming off him in waves. “We’re gonna sit down and talk about this like adults.”

Your eyes did not move from your hand and his on the strap of your bag, tears freefalling. One hit the top of his hand and he let out a long sigh. With his other hand, he tipped your head up so you would look at him instead of the floor.

“Come on, talk to me.” He said softly, the frustration on his face giving way to concern. “Where did this come from?”

You struggled to find your voice, though when you did, there was really no explanation. “I—” You broke down, a sob coming from your lips as you tried to look away from him again.

He brought you into a hug, bag dropping back to the floor, forgotten about. He kissed your hairline and shushed you.

It was too much. Neither of you had even told anyone yet, or discussed much more than vague details of your plan. It was still early, you both had said after your first appointment, we have time. It felt so foolish now, dancing around your problems like neither of you had learned anything in that bathroom a week ago. Like hiding your feelings was still a suitable option.

“I—I’m sorry,” you cried. “I didn’t—I didn’t mean to take that out on you.”

He hummed against your hairline, “Thank you for your apology. Just breathe for me.”

You followed his advice, taking a deep breath in and then releasing it. It did little to solve the tension in your shoulders.

When you looked at him, he brushed your tears away with his thumbs. “Do you wanna sit and talk about it?”

You nodded silently and you moved back to the couch. You sat quietly for a few minutes, fiddling with your fingers.

“I’m just having my doubts, you know?” You let out a shaky breath. “Like this is still so new and I don’t know. There’s still things to figure out. I don’t want to rush this between us, but I don’t know—it’s just another uncertainty and it’s making me so anxious.”

He processed your words with pursed lips, watching you with those pretty brown eyes of his. He fully turned toward you and grabbed your hands in his.

“This won’t be easy, but I want to be by your side. I want to be in your life. I care about you and I have long before we found out.” He took a breath. “I don’t want to rush our relationship either, but I want you here. I want you to let me in.”

You met his eyes, “I want you to let me in, too.”

He smiled, “Are you busy tomorrow?”

—

The pizza place was not the intention for your first official date together, but you took one step into the place Michael had chosen and nearly thrown up. The meats cooking seemed to strike straight to your stomach, and the nausea was immediate. He had worriedly ushered you out of the nice restaurant, rubbing your back while you leaned over, hands on your knees trying to breathe.

No vomit came, thankfully, that would have been so embarrassing.

“I’m so sorry,” you choked out. “That place was lovely, I swear.”

He did not take it to heart, hand not moving from your back. “Don’t sweat it.”

Hunger grumbled in your stomach, and a few store fronts down was a little pizza spot. The smell of cheese and yeast was actually a welcomed one when you stepped inside. You both looked a little overdressed for it, but you sat down after ordering a few slices without being fazed.

“Are you looking forward to your fourth year?” You asked, sipping your clear soda — Michael insisting, even after you assured him your stomach had settled.

“I am,” He nodded, “Is it weird I still feel wildly underprepared?”

You shook your head, “You? You’re the best person we’ve got in there aside from Dr. Long.”

He blushed heavily, shaking his head. “No way.”

“You should consider going for that chief resident position.” You told him with a grin, winking, “I love a man in power.”

He sputtered a laugh, “Ulterior motives? I’ll consider it.”

“You should, though, seriously. You’d be very good at it.”

“Thank you.” He said, “Are you going to tell your PD soon?”

You frowned, thinking about the program director in question. It was the logical next step regarding your residency. “I was thinking about next week? I’ll try to tell Long then too. I’m just nervous, I didn’t really look over the benefits with this sort of thing when I started.” You chuckled lightly. “Didn’t really think it would affect me.”

He smiled sheepishly, sipping his soda, “Happy accidents.”

You grinned at him, “I’d cheers to that.”

So you did, laughing and enjoying his company over greasy pizza.

When you returned to his apartment, heat had settled low in your belly. You had been spending much of your free time at his place, leaving more and more of your clothes behind — even doing a shared load of laundry.

His quick kiss once you had gotten inside had turned into something much deeper, hands roaming and clothes falling to the floor. The date you had gone on had made you feel worlds better about this whole thing working out. It was a small step, but it lifted the weight from your shoulders.

Michael had you against the wall, one hand beside your head and the other gripping your hip. You deepened the kiss, slipping your tongue into his mouth and gripping his hair in both hands. His hand on your hip slipped to where you wanted him most, ghosting over your clit before settling by your slick entrance.

“You’re so wet. Fuck.”

You whined against his lips, trying to desperately pull him closer.

It wasn’t long before you were on his bed, wrapping your legs around him, kisses sloppy and his lips searing the skin of your throat. You rocked your hips up, eager for more friction and he groaned. He fumbled off you, reaching towards his nightstand.

You blinked curiously at him, pulling him back to you. “We don’t need that.”

“What?” He asked against your lips.

You giggled, moving your hips up again to feel him. “I’m already pregnant, Mike. Let me feel you.”

He moaned at your words, making you smirk. He was lost in your kiss when you moved your hand between your bodies to line him up with your entrance. His breath hitched before pushing in slowly.

“Jesus Christ.” He exhaled once he was fully sheathed, eyes screwed shut like he was trying to focus.

It felt like all your nerves were on fire, so much more sensitive to the feel of him, each drag of his hips. His pelvic bone and patch of hair brushing up against your clit. You whined, simultaneously already over stimulated and needing so much more.

He tried not to be too rough with you, while also trying to consider your pleasure above his. He adjusted his movements until you were responding, clinging to him, one hand gripping his back desperately, the other between your legs.

“Mike, holy shit. Michael.” You moaned against his shoulder, the band in your lower belly growing more taut by the second.

“Fuck.” He breathed against your jaw, “Let me feel you cum, come on, sweetheart.”

The tension in your belly snapped with a moan, and your pussy gripped him impossibly tight.

“I’m gonna—” He hissed.

“Please. Please. Please.” You begged, arching your back.

The warm feeling that filled you was different, but you found it felt so good. His hips stuttered, moan swallowed by your mouth, and you tightened your legs around him.

Ragged breathing filled his bedroom, and his forehead rested against yours. He peppered a few kisses to your cheeks, making you grin. He rolled off of you with a groan low in his throat when he slipped out of you, both of you unmoving for another minute.

“Well that’s a first I can get used to.”

He laughed.

—

The first people you told were your PD and the chief attending, both men, and despite the disappointment clear on Dr. Long’s face, it went over well. Dr. Long assured you that he would work with the schedule to ensure you would be able to take your leave once you gave birth — six paid weeks. Anything additional would need to be vacation time, plus a slight risk to your residency. Thankfully it all lined up enough that you would be able to start your third year without a hitch, seven weeks after your due date.

You did not mention Michael to them, but you had both discussed that he would attempt to take a few days to a week around your due date to stay with you. You knew they would likely pick up on the overlap.

The first people Michael told were his parents, who had gone quiet on the other line as he paced his kitchen. You stood still leaning against the dining table, watching it unfold.

His mother’s voice rang out like a bell on the other side, “Oh, honey, did you forget to tell us you were engaged?”

He physically deflated, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “No, mom. We’re not engaged.”

The other line was quiet for a few beats, then it was his dad, “Son, how the hell could you be so reckless? First, choosing to be a damn emergency room doctor, and now what? Got some broad knocked up?”

Michael’s jaw tensed and you looked away, guilt filling your gut.

“Don’t call her that.” His tone was hard, the serious edge to it making you look back at him.

“...some golddigger…whore…does she even know you’re not a real doctor yet? Ha!” His father was ranting in the background.

“She’s a resident, too.” Michael snapped back. “You don’t have to be proud of my decisions, but this is happening. I’m having a baby, that’s a fact. You don’t even need to stay in my life, but she is going to be, so deal with it.”

“Michael, honey, you don’t mean that—”

“No, I do. You don’t get to shittalk her, I won’t tolerate it.” His voice cracked, “I wanted you to be a part of it, but it’s clear you don’t want to be.”

“Michael—”

“If you’re going to be this fucking stupid, fine. Don’t come crying to us when—”

Michael hung up, the weight of it crushing him, tears coming. You moved quickly, taking him into your arms before his knees could buckle. He held onto you like you were a lifeline, sobs wracking his body. You were silent, rubbing circles onto his back, knowing no words would be enough.

You felt an anger brewing in your stomach over how his father had spoken to him, but he had revealed a few weeks prior that his parents had wanted him to be a surgeon. Michael said it took awhile before he got the nerve to tell his father he had chosen the ED over trauma surgery. Now you knew why.

You brought him to the couch, kissing his face and running your nails along his scalp. He curled up, resting his head in your lap, while you ran fingers through his hair. You knew he should not have to bear the weight of their disappointment, especially since he was such a good man.

Flicking on a random baseball game, you didn’t let your fingers stray from his hair.

His anger seemed quick to follow his sadness, moving to sit up, face scrunched together.

“They don’t even know you! How could he even—he has a lot of nerve—”

“Hey, hey,” you placed a careful hand on his shoulder. “I’m not going to take what he said to heart. I appreciate you standing up for me, that meant a lot.”

His eyes softened when they met yours, “You don’t deserve that.”

You nodded in agreement.

Later that night, your parents took it a bit easier, though their voices were still thick with disappointment.

“What about your residency?” Your mom asked, “How could you be so foolish? You worked so hard for this!”

“I know, I already figured it out. I’ll still start my third year on time.”

“Baby’s aren’t easy, and if you go back to work full time? What about childcare?”

It was unnerving how silent your father had been.

“There’s a daycare at the hospital, we’ve been thinking about that.”

Your mother sighed, “Well we can’t stop you. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

You really did not, but you didn’t dare say that.

—

Michael’s mother warmed up roughly a month later, right around your appointment to find out the gender. She had explained that his father would come around, but hadn’t yet, but she expressed wanting to meet you. They lived all the way in California, so them coming to meet you (or you going to meet them) seemed more placating than realistic. Still, you agreed, voicing over the phone you would love to meet her.

Michael anxiously tapped on the steering wheel the entire way to your OB.

“Do you wanna bet on it?” You asked, trying to pull your own anxious mind from running wild.

“Bet on what?”

“The gender.” You said with a smile, looking over at him.

He raised an eyebrow, glancing at you before looking back at the road. “What’re the stakes?”

You contemplated with a hum, “I could really go for ice cream.”

He laughed, “Ice cream?”

Shrugging, you added, “Or a beignet.”

“Not quite as high stakes as I was thinking.”

“And what were you thinking?”

“You should move in with me.”

You choked on your saliva, coughing, “Excuse me?”

It had not been long enough to consider that, even if your relationship was going well. It had only been official for a month.

“Not right now!” He said, swallowing thickly. “My lease is up in three months. Might be smart to consider a two-bedroom, you know, even if you don’t move in.”

“Oh.” You looked at the road ahead of you. “That might be too high a stakes.”

“You’re right, that was stupid.”

“No!” You objected. “No, it’s a smart thing to consider. It would be easier once they’re here to live together. But are we ready for that kind of commitment?”

“Sorry to inform you, but we’re going to have a baby together. Surprise!” His lighter tone was back, as was the smirk. “I think just about everything else is much lower stakes than that.”

“I would like to seriously consider that.” You told him quietly. “Just not over a bet.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry to spring that on you. I’ve just been thinking about it.”

You grabbed his right hand and squeezed. “I really just don’t want to fuck this up over spontaneous decisions. I’ll think about it.”

He nodded, “So higher stakes than a sweet treat, but lower than moving in together? Hm, oh! What about that craft beer festival I was telling you about?”

You barked out a laugh, “I’m not going to a craft beer festival. I can’t even drink!”

He smirked, “You’ll be a perfect DD, then! Plus, they’ll have those fancy craft sodas and music I know you like.”

“Fine!” You huffed out, trying to hide a grin. “If I win, then you’re taking me to the next stupid rom-com that comes out.”

“Pfft, I love a rom-com. Think bigger!”

You thought for a moment, “I want to go to the next Comic-Con fully dressed up as whoever I want.” While you had no strong feelings about the con either way, you knew Michael did.

He groaned, “Dressed up, too? At least you’d be able to enjoy yourself at mine!”

“What? I’m sure there’d be a panel on that comic you like so much.”

His tongue moved over his lip, his eyes narrowed at the road.

“So, do we got a deal?” You asked, eyebrow raised.

“Fine. I’ll even let you pick first.”

“Oh, what a gentleman.” You laughed. “A boy.”

“You sound confident.” He noted, turning into the parking lot.

“Call it mother’s intuition.”

The smile that came over his face made your heart stutter, sweet and soft.

“Alright, if it’s a girl then we’re going to the craft beer fest. A boy and we go to comic con.”

“Dressed up.” You added, smirking. “Oh! I also want a beignet right now, too.”

He laughed, “Alright, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

You even shook on it.

You waited anxiously for Dr. Lyons to confirm the gender, your gaze holding steady with Michael’s. You held his hand while he rubbed circles on your knuckle with his thumb.

“A girl!” She said, turning the screen to face you both, pointing to your baby.

Your head whipped over to look at the grainy image, disbelief settling in — more so upset at the fact that you lost rather than the gender itself. It was fleeting, however, and a cozy, warm feeling replaced it.

“A girl.” You echoed, smile forming.

Michael moved from the stool he was sitting on to kiss your forehead, whispering a subtle, “I win.”

You shooed him away. “Sore winner.” You whispered back.

Dr. Lyons left a few minutes later, leaving a few prints on the counter for you and Michael to take home.

You stared at the photos, pointing to a few features you noticed. Little feet and nose. You began to wonder what she might look like — who she might take after more, or if she would be a perfect mix. Your heart swelled.

“I’ll go buy tickets this weekend.” Michael told you, a triumphant grin stretching across his face.

You scoffed, moving off the exam table to put your pants back on.

He wrapped you up in his arms, twirling you around, “We’re having a baby girl!”

You laughed, holding him tight, echoing him. When he set you back on the ground, he kissed you tenderly and your eyes grew teary.

“I may be a sore winner, but let’s go get you that beignet.”

—

Michael first told you he loved you while you were making dinner one night. It had been your first night off together in nearly a week, and you were thankful to be in his company again, craving his touch and his voice. You moved to place something in the oven and stood back up to find his eyes already on you.

He had a goofy smile on his face, making your cheeks warm. So many feelings were swirling in your stomach — and something you felt was dangerously close to love. It had been enough time to call it that, surely, but part of you worried it was mostly your hormones talking.

Until he voiced it first.

“I’m in love with you.”

Several beats of silence echoed in his kitchen as you stared at him. Emotion constricted your throat, and you blinked away the coming tears.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

He kissed you deeply, one hand holding your head while the other moved to the small of your back.

“Say it again.”

You giggled against his lips, “I’m in love you, Michael Robinavitch.”

He kissed along your jaw, “Again.”

So you told him, again and again, in every way you could until dinner was ready. He made sure you knew how much he loved you later that night.

—

At twenty-three weeks, you had a much more noticeable bump, though your scrubs hid it well. You had announced it to your co-residents weeks ago, to a weird mix of congratulations and odd looks. Your relationship with Michael was still primarily private, and you barely talked about your boyfriend while in the hospital so your pregnancy was very out of left field to all of them (which, it had been to you as well).

Michael had grown increasingly protective after you started your second trimester, moving to take the more combative patients or shoulder the more stressful cases. Part of you appreciated him, but the other part was finding it increasingly frustrating.

Dr. Long already had you parked in triage for a majority of your shift, and you definitely did not need Michael treating you with kid gloves, too. Your senior resident gave you a bit more leeway, but you could see Dr. Rivera was picking what to give you just as carefully.

After a possible DV victim had come into your care, you assessed her injuries and found she was not critical. Her husband hovered while you asked questions, answering most of them for her, which set your teeth on edge. You brought her into the back, placing her in East 3, and put her on the list to get a head CT. You moved to inform a senior attending of what you suspected, and he noted it and sent you to find the social worker.

Not long after you had, you also noted to try to talk to her while she was alone, but then an ambulance rolled in, stealing your attention. Michael was the first one to get to the patient, assessing quickly.

The patient struggled against the soft restraints, making Michael keep stepping in front of you. You were never going to learn this way.

You pushed past him, checking the man’s vitals and pupils. Likely an overdose, by the look of it, but you still wanted to run urine and blood. The man was also talking in riddles, so psych might be a good call to make, too.

Grabbing hold of Michael’s wrist after the patient was settled, you pulled him into the hallway, moving towards the staff lounge.

“I’m never going to learn if you keep preventing me from every mildly combative or stressful case that wheels in.” You told him sternly in a hushed voice.

He blinked his eyes at you, before his eyebrows furrowed. “I’m not trying—”

“No, you are.” You said. “I appreciate the concern, trust me. But I’ll never be a good doctor if I only see the easy stuff.”

He rolled his tongue over his front teeth, “I’m just trying to keep you safe.”

“I know, Robby,” you said, exasperated. “Dr. Long is already benching me from a lot going on back here.”

“He’s not benching you. You’re an asset in triage.”

You wanted to scream.

A code sounded, interrupting any thought you might have had, both of you turning and running into Central 1. You figured the conversation would be shelved for another time.

The woman was older, but had gone into asystole, and despite all the best efforts of yourself and those around you, her time of death was called a half hour after that. It had left you sweaty and in need of a cold drink, so you departed to do just that.

You had no idea what had come over you when you heard shouting back in East 3, but you beelined for it. A wide eyed Maya, a nurse, exited and was calling for security. You stepped behind the curtain to see the husband arguing with another man while the woman was sobbing, begging them to stop.

“Hey! Hey!” You shouted, moving between them. Your first mistake.

Your second? Getting in range to be hit — the man’s elbow coming back and hitting you in the nose as he moved to punch the husband. You tripped backwards, turning just in time to catch yourself with your hands. You quickly noted that you had not landed on your stomach, but your nose was bleeding, dripping blood onto the tile.

Security was in the room in the next second, moving the curtain and revealing you on the floor to the hallway. You felt Michael’s eyes almost immediately. Fuck.

He was next to you within moments, hands on you while you tried to move to stand, your name on his lips. “Are you okay? Fuck!”

“Peachy,” you replied, your hand absentmindedly moving to your belly.

“She got in the way! I wasn’t trying to hit her!”

“That’s enough!” Security moved the man out of the room.

You had never seen Michael so angry, and it rattled through you, his murderous gaze following the man until he disappeared at the end of the hall. You silently followed him into an empty room across the hall and he pulled the curtain shut.

Michael assessed you silently, still clearly fuming, but you were glad he had not moved to attack the man who had accidentally hit you. His hands were gentle, moving along your cheeks to your nose until you winced.

“I’m ordering you a head CT and an ultrasound.” He said, wiping a bit of the blood from your face.

“That’s not necessary, just give me a few minutes.”

“The fuck it’s not necessary, you’re pregnant with my child. Are you kidding me?” His gentle tone had disappeared.

You blinked owlishly at him, stunned by his anger now directed at you.

“What were you thinking? Why didn’t you get security?”

“Maya was already getting them, I wanted to see what was going on.” You said, already feeling stupid.

He let out a long, annoyed sigh, rubbing a hand down his face. “I’m going to go order those tests and get you some ice.”

You frowned as he disappeared, bringing your fingers to lightly touch your face. You moved your hand back to your belly and rubbed circles onto your skin. You had been reckless, you realized, and if you had done anything to threaten—you felt sick.

“You’re next for CT, I’m gonna do the ultrasound now. Probably smart to call your OB, so she can check you, too.” Michael said, coming back into the room with an ice pack in hand, voice switching to how he sounded with a patient.

“I’m sorry.” It was barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t thinking. I—I—”

“Hey,” he was in front of you now, touching you tenderly, gently, like you would break. “Relax. Take a deep breath.”

You did so, trying to calm your racing heart by breathing in through your nose and out through your mouth.

“I just—you and Long are keeping me from some really good cases. I didn’t want to have to sit another one out…I thought I could handle it.”

His frown was still on his lips, but he grabbed your hand and kissed along your knuckles. “You scared the shit out of me. You were just—you were on the ground and you were bleeding. Nothing else mattered, I thought—fuck. I don’t mean to be overprotective. At the end of the day, this is still the ED and things are just going to happen, but you really have to think about the situations you’re putting yourself in. I’ll back off a bit if you promise me one thing.”

You nodded, grabbing his fingers.

“Just promise me you’ll be more mindful. You’ll get security first, ask questions second. You’ll get me, or Long or Rivera, or whoever’s on if you sense something going south.”

“I promise.” And you meant it.

He nodded, kissing your forehead — not even caring to cut back the PDA, like you both had agreed to within the walls of the hospital. You were thankful he had, assured by the gestures of affection.

The doppler sounded with a steady, normal heart rate which calmed every nerve you had. A long breath left you and relief was clear on Michael’s face.

The ultrasound revealed normal movement, your baby thankfully finding their time to shine, kicking against your womb much to Michael’s amusement. He moved the transducer to touch your belly to feel for himself, and a large grin lit up his features.

It was the first time he had been able to feel her, your baby girl. He left his hand on your belly for a long time, and you put one of your hands overtop of his.

His brown eyes met yours, “She’s moving.”

You returned his smile, “She’s saying hi to her daddy.”

He nearly cried.

—

Your first apartment had come with a decent amount of stress. Your roommate had been upset when you explained you would not be renewing your lease with her, but ultimately understood. It was unfortunate that since your lease had finished first, you had to crowd Michael’s apartment with the random odds and ends from your old apartment until his lease was up the following month.

You were thankful to find something in your price range, and even more grateful to find something nice. It was a simple two-bedroom place, with enough room to breathe in, and would suit both of your needs until your residency was over.

Michael insisted on moving most of it, with the help of one of the resident’s you knew from the hospital, who was sworn to secrecy before he even came over. Michael told you he considered him to be a friend. He put you on supervising duty, dictating where each piece of furniture should go. After all the furniture was in the apartment, all that was really left to do was furnish the baby’s room.

You wanted this place to be your home, and so there was a bit of weight on your shoulders to fill it. Make it cozy, make it yours.

The furniture for the baby’s room was a bit complicated. Your style clashing with Michael’s more simplistic one. You couldn’t help it! It was your first baby, of course you want to go a little overboard with the design.

You both eventually settled on lighter woods and pastels, not necessarily having the budget for frivolous. You did go a bit overboard on clothes, but hey, pick your battles.

Folding some of her clothes sitting cross-legged on the floor, Michael was trying to put together the crib behind you. It was a fairly simple sight, watching him screw together several pieces, but it still got you all hot and bothered.

“How about Jasmine?”

Michael made a small noise, indicating a simple no. “Patricia?”

You responded as he had. “Susan?”

“Marie?”

You thought about that one, before shaking your head. “Eleanor?”

He considered it. “Ellie’s cute. I like that one.”

You smiled in victory, moving some of her clean clothes into the hand-me-down dresser.

“Eleanor Robinavitch.” You said, testing it on your tongue.

“Eleanor Robinavitch.” Michael echoed, placing his tools down to give you a kiss.

—

Your due date came too quickly. You had thoroughly been enjoying Michael’s company, just the two of you, but by your thirty-eighth week, you would have done anything to get the baby out of you. Though, true to how she had been conceived, it came as a bit of a surprise.

Michael’s shift had not yet finished, though it was close enough that you did not want to call him at the hospital. You only had to wait two hours. Besides, statistically speaking, first-time pregnancies usually had a longer laboring period as opposed to subsequent labors.

The contractions were brutal. More than you had been expecting. Those breathing exercises you learned in those classes did very little to help with the pain, but it did help you get through them.

By the time Michael stepped through the front door, you were leaning over the coffee table, finding the position to be the most helpful. He was by your side in an instant.

“Why didn’t you call?”

“Figured…I could wait…still about seven minutes apart.” You breathed out, the pain in your abdomen beginning to ease again, allowing you to take a big breath.

He kissed your forehead, “I’ll start getting everything to the car. Your bag still in the closet?”

You nodded, leaning back onto the couch and relaxing, hand on your belly.

Michael moved quickly, grabbing his bag, your bag and your baby’s bag and putting them into his car. His anxious energy made you want to stand, moving around the kitchen and bedroom like a tornado. You tried to close your eyes and rest, knowing it was not going to be much longer.

Nearly a half hour later, contractions at nearly six minutes apart but in short bursts, you wandered into the bathroom. You were overly thankful since as soon as you stepped foot onto the bathroom, your water broke. You stared down at the puddle you had made in shock, before glancing at yourself in the mirror.

This is really happening. You were about to have a baby.

After putting a towel down over top of it, you let yourself sit on the toilet. You called Michael to get you some new pants, with a sheepish smile.

“My water broke.” You explained.

He only glanced down at the towel and was off to do as you had asked.

It was not long after that that your contractions moved down to five minutes apart, lasting one minute for nearly an hour. For as level headed as Michael was around the ED, he was eager to get you to the hospital. During the drive, he had you breathe with him, in and out, even when the pain made you want to throttle him.

“Can we seahorse next time? Fuck.” You complained, leaning back in the passenger seat, gripping the door handle tighter.

“Had I the parts, absolutely.”

“I’m still blaming you.” You said through clenched teeth.

You could tell he tried not to laugh, but you were glad he wasn’t taking it to heart.

“What did we cheers to on our first date? Happy accidents?”

You did your best not to curse at him.

After eight long, excruciating hours, you were ready to push. Despite how much you had wanted to throttle him, Michael really was a trooper — he breathed with you, helped you walk around when a nurse suggested it would help, and held you upright while you leaned on him. All things considered, he was a perfect birthing partner, if not a little anxious.

He had read every book about pregnancy, wandered up to L&D at Big Charity to ask random questions, and brushed up on all the latest studies. You knew he knew what was going on and he still asked stupid questions despite it.

If you weren’t in the throes of labor, you might have laughed.

After getting your go ahead, Dr. Lyons let Michael “help”, mostly just to catch the baby. She was on your chest the next second, crying her little lungs out, which you found quite relieving.

Your eyes were blurry when they met Michael’s gaze, looking down at your daughter and whispering to her. Michael kissed your forehead.

“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.” He told you, and you could tell he was being earnest.

“I did just push out a baby.”

He smirked back at you, before glancing down at your daughter. He brushed a gentle finger against her cheek, smiling with an expression you had not seen before — but it was something you were experiencing, too.

When she was cleaned, you could tell some obvious features were all you, but you could pinpoint several of Michael’s features. And her eyes? In both shape and color, they were all Michael.

—

In the months that followed Eleanor’s birth, there were still so many things to still figure out. You dreaded returning to work and being away from her, but you also wanted to complete your residency more than anything.

Michael was an excellent father. Handling night feedings, while also trying to take care of you in the first few weeks, and also working. He was compartmentalizing well, but you could see it weighing on him.

You tried to pick up the slack, but postpartum was no joke. Your hormones returning to normal and the sleepless nights really took most of the wind out of your sails most days. You were grateful when Michael would get off shift to give you just a tiny break before you each went to bed, but the dynamic shifted when you returned to work.

The daycare at the hospital was truly a dream come true, with a reduced rate and easy access that made you less anxious whenever you were working. As it stood, the plan was to stay at Big Charity until your residency was done, Michael hoping for an attending position after his fourth year was completed.

You both had vaguely discussed moving out of Louisiana eventually. Perhaps closer to your parents, or to his, or somewhere different entirely. Pennsylvania or New York, perhaps. It was too far into the future to be able to focus on it.

In a rare day off for each of you, Michael convinced you to head to the park, have a picnic and enjoy the weather. Eleanor was more engaged, and was making her biggest effort to crawl. She could sit up on her own without much assistance, and your heart constricted whenever she hit a milestone. She was growing up much too fast for your liking.

The breeze felt nice on your skin, sitting on a picnic blanket under the shade of a tree. Eleanor was talking nonsense to Michael, bringing one of her toys to her mouth.

In her babbling, she said something awfully close to dada, which made your eyes go right to Michael, who was beaming.

“Was that—”

“She does not get to say dada first,” You said in a huff, but your tone was light.

He laughed, “Can you say that again, Ellie? Dada, come on, da-da.”

It warmed your heart, even if you were a bit jealous.

Lunch was simple sandwiches, and some baby food Eleanor had been more and more interested in lately. After, Eleanor settled down for a much needed nap, and you enjoyed the quiet with Michael.

“I’ve really enjoyed this last year and a half with you — it’s been some of the best moments of life.” He grabbed your hand, stealing your attention from your sleeping baby. “It has been such a privilege to raise Ellie with you, and I really could not imagine life without either of you. You mean so much to me, I love you so much.”

Your face warmed, a fuzzy feeling in your chest. “I love you, too. So much. You’re a wonderful father to Ellie, and I’m so lucky to have you in my life.”

Your heart halted when he moved from beside you to rest on one knee.

“I know we’ve been doing things a bit backwards, but you said shotgun weddings were cliche. So would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

There was a ring box in his hand, but you did not even look at it before throwing yourself into his arms, “Yes, oh my god. Yes.”

You kissed him, holding him to your body. You knew you would not have picked any other path, knowing this was the one for you.

Michael Robinavitch was the one for you, wholly, undoubtedly, unconditionally.

[ continuation ]

All Dr. Robby Content: @cherriready @kittenhawkk @seeyalaterinnovator

Did I pick Dr. John Carter’s mother’s name? Yes, yes I did.

I feel like I could’ve kept going, but I ended up liking the stopping point. Might take these characters forward into the Pitt timeline!

#the pitt #michael robinavitch #dr robby #michael robinavitch x female reader #michael robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader #michael robinavitch/you #resident michael robinavitch #female reader #asxgard writes #wtf is this update #it’s subtle #but I hate it #my John Carter era is coming #I can feel it #Carter with a beard is just young robby #are you gonna look at me and tell me that I’m wrong??

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notanactressyayy · 7 months ago

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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭. | natasha romanoff

. ݁₊ 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 . Natasha and you were the only 'constant' in each other's lives. poor you, to think you could get over her so easily.

. ݁₊ 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 . smut! i am not responsible for your content consumption! — making out, g!p Natasha, guided masturbation, orgasm denial, unprotected sex (p in v), choking, swearing, homesickness, fluff, reconciliation.

. ݁₊ 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑠 . english isn't my first language (🇧🇷) so i apologize for any spelling errors. been in love w Nat for a damn long time — i've been away for a while, but turns out i can't really live without her. i miss my red so much :(

Natasha Romanoff rarely had the chance to see the same face twice. She saw a lot of people throughout her life — as a spy, as a superhero, or simply as Natasha. The thing is: it was unlike she would return to a place she’s been before. It wasn’t uncommon for her to be on the run. Thus, she traveled around the whole world, and saw thousands, millions of different faces. Destiny made sure not to let her cross paths with the same individual again. It wasn’t only the diversity of people that she witnessed, though. This woman saw the world. She knew life’s ups and downs, and at some point in her life, she just got used to the idea that it would forever be like this: boring. Boring experiences, boring women, boring men, boring relationships. Nothing was ever exciting, thrilling. It felt like she was advanced in time, and the rest of the world wasn’t following her. This wasn’t a complete lie, she got her maturity at a very young age, which made her pay the price now, in adulthood.

For a spy, the most important thing is to learn not to be caught off guard. But it seemed like life was never on Natasha’s side. And this time — it felt good. Oh, it felt so good.

At first, she didn’t want to get high hopes. It would be just another temporary friendship to help her pass time, nothing more. However, you managed to surprise the red haired Avenger in the best way possible. When she decided to spare a little time of her life and get to know you more, it was really mind-blowing the side of herself she discovered. She never thought she could actually be.. giddy. Like a silly, hopeless romantic girl. That is what she became whenever it was time to see you. She got excited. Actually excited. She couldn’t see through you, read your emotions or body language, like she did with other people; It was a natural thing, sometimes she didn’t even mean to do that. But you, something within you, kept her at bay. Like you effortlessly turned Natasha into a normal woman. Somebody who could love. Somebody that wasn’t raised and enhanced to be a killer. Not that you went through anything like she did, but you weren’t naive. You showed her that people didn’t necessarily have to be traumatized to be aware of things, of reality, of the surroundings. And for her, you’re the most beautiful person in the whole world. Inside and out. She adored you.

Opening up was never easy. Revealing the broken parts of herself wasn’t like having a simple chat. But patience is a virtue and thankfully, you followed that say just fine. Little by little, the secrets came out. Most of the parts you already knew — it’s not like she wasn’t a worldwide known superhero. What you mostly had to acknowledge were her feelings, the point of view of the little girl who was experiencing it all, and becoming a strong woman, with built up walls around her heart. Doing that was no problem. Natasha couldn’t be more thankful.

She couldn’t be more infatuated. More in love.

She’d always remember that one day: in the bar with her team, and you — chattery, music, tons of drinks and laughter. Stolen glances. Stomach butterflies, wild. The moment Clint pulled Laura a little closer to himself, and Tony kissed Pepper’s cheek. How she used that as an excuse to pull you into her lap. Your breath getting labored. Eyelashes gently fluttering, to the point she could count them. Your gentle yet tight grip on her shoulders. Your goddamn eyes staring right into hers. And the part where everything would change: her own bodily reactions to all those little details about you. When you restlessly shifted on her lap, quietly gasping when something poked you through your dress. Eyes going wide at the bulge showing on her black jeans.

From that point on, you belonged to her.

Or so, she thought.

The sex was great, but she was in conflict — she couldn't tell if the only reason for it to be that enjoyable was because you were both tipsy, almost drunk, or if it was really meant to be that way. It felt right, yes, to have you in her arms like this — naked, piles of discarded clothes laying by her bed.. the sound of your quiet snoring as you cuddled into her. It was also a relief to her. To have someone care for her, desire her, after so long, after forever. The night had been amazing. She was a mature woman anyway, wasn't she? She could sort her feelings out without messing up everything.

Wrong. By the morning, everything would change.

You stared at her as she got up and got dressed again, eyes still a little blurry from sleep, eyebrows ceasing into a small confused frown. "You're not staying?" you'd ask, sitting up and leaning against the headboard, bringing up the sheets to cover your unclothed body. "Ugh, my head hurts like hell,"

"Got things to do." she simply answered, cradling the side of your face and kissing your forehead. You could swear the look on her face was.. apologetic. She tilted her head towards the nightstand, where some aspirin and water waited for you. "Take these. I'll text you later."

"Okay.." you mumble, disoriented. As she leaves, you reach out, shoving the aspirin in your mouth and downing the pills with water. Was there something you were missing? Because all you could remember was how good her hands felt on you, the way they wrapped around you neck while she—

You shook your head, lying down again, and closing her eyes. All the fun and pleasure you had been given from the previous night was slowly vanishing and being replaced by a feeling of uncertainty and confusion. Natasha was an enigmatic person, okay, but you thought you knew her better. She had no reason to leave you just like that, especially when she had already vented about all her past experiences, flaws and failures. Nah, it was probably nothing, you were overthinking. Perhaps she indeed had something important to take care of. You closed your eyes as fatigue took over, and slept for a little bit more.

Natasha went back to her apartment — one of her apartments, and for the whole day, her thoughts ran like crazy. Her emotions were all over the place. She had just fucked her best friend, the one person she felt comfortable and at ease with. She considered her feelings carefully; this.. dinamic, between you two, had not been platonic for a considerable amount of time. But not being platonic doens't necessarily means being romantic. It could either be love, or lust. What happened the day before was carnal, once the two of you were way too much in a drunken haze to actually feel anything.

And, like always, Natasha didn't want to think about falling in love. She felt scared just by thinking about this. It was a new territory, one she wasn't willing to deep dive in. So she took her phone and deeply sighed, opening her chat with you.

"Yesterday was fun. But I need some time. I don't think this can work. Hope you're doing okay. xx"

That text just completely shattered you.

You had no idea what you did wrong. It was not like Natasha was pushing you away forever — but while being with her, the only thought running through your mind was: I wanna be with her. I wanna explore this with her. And Natasha didn't give a single sign that she thought the opposite. You felt... disappointed. With yourself and her. For hoping.

Yeah, getting involved with an ex kgb Avenger killer spy probably wasn't the best idea.

You wouldn't simply forget everything you shared together, so the easiest way here not to create a big tension was.. being fake. The two of you weren't stupid, you were aware of the unspoken feelings going on. But what happened that night should not happen again. So your friendship was what prevailed. A friendship like the start. But obviously, with a few changes. Natasha and you didn't lose touch — on the contrary, you were closer than ever. You spoke and flirted (a lot), but with one small rule, a rule that you subconsciously added to this.. situationship. No feelings involved. It would be singularly that. Friends, some casual hookups, and nothing else.

It didn't last, because that's not what you both wished, longed for.

Little by little, this turned boring again. Not that you were the boring one and she just didn't realize this before. Far from that. The thing was: Natasha and you were supressing your feelings, consequently, supressing all the thrill, the delicious tension that hanged in the air whenever she, once again, crossed paths with you. The russian wanted nothing more than just grab you and kiss you hard, pour all the emotions that she kept bottled up throughout her life into the kiss. But unfortunately, she couldn't. She had a duty to fullfil, as someone born, destined to save the world.

And with all of this, you and her settled a distance. You with your previous and trivial life, and her, saving little girls from bad guys, and bringing down cats from tall trees. It was truly shocking: one day, you lived for Natasha Romanoff. She was your everything and everything you'd ever want. In a blink of an eye, it ended. You followed your paths, like two completely different people, with different purposes.

Right person, wrong time.

Fool her, to think she could get over you that easily. Poor you, to try and put that inside of your head as well.

Sometimes, when normally doing daily tasks, you would catch yourself thinking about her — when you were going to watch TV and put your legs on the coffee table, instead of simply sitting. It was an habit of hers. Or when eating something with peanut butter. It was her favourite late night snack. When it rained. She liked to watch the rain. With somebody else's hands on you. It wasn't right. It was never right to have somebody else touch you. You were constantly thinking about your life before things with her changed — the memories brought comfort, a sense of nostalgia.. at some point, you weren't living in the present anymore. Just faking. Faking your feelings. Pretending it was okay to let her go.

This woman ruined you for everything and everyone else.

Natasha could relate to that. In a life that could be resumed in one word: a 'whirlwind' of a life, and you were her only 'constant' among all of this... she couldn't bear this anymore.

So she made an important decision.

The decision was today.

Today: she'd take you out again, praying that, if not reconciliation, she wanted at least to say everything she had to say. Because if life taught her one thing, was to make choices that she wouldn't regret in the future. And it was damn right she would regret choosing not to meet you tonight.

Sitting in the stool of the bar, in a more secluded corned, her eyes followed your figure as you approached — purse hanging on your shoulder, dress exposing your back and a little bit of your waist, eyes so awfully soft and gentle as you looked at her. It wasn't fair. A pang of guilt hit her hard. Oh, she regretted letting that go. She wanted you to be mad at her. But you were not. She shakily rises to her feet to kiss your cheek as you stand in front of her, thankfully not stumbling. Your eyes lock again, already in a trance. Just like that other day.

"How are you doing?" you ask. Natasha could cry. She missed that voice everyday. "Did I take too long? I'm sorry."

"No, no. Don't worry." she swallows hard. You both sit on the stools by the countertop. When the bartender comes, the redhead dismisses him. She wanted the two of you sober for this. "I'm... so much better now that you're here, honestly. How about you?"

"Amazing." you chuckle, tilting your head to the side and watching her. She didn't change a bit. Hair braided, black jeans, leather jacket. That was your Natasha. "I didn't expect you calling me here, to be honest..—"

"Me neither." she admits, in a whisper. Her tongue darts out to moisten her lips, eyes involuntarily starting at your mouth. She sighs and looks into your eyes. "But I had to... I can't get you off my mind."

Her sincerity never fails to amaze you. With each second that passes, the butterflies in your tummy return, to remind you of the past — feelings and sensations resurfacing. You bite on your bottom lip and look around the bar, quickly scanning to see if there was anybody paying attention to the two of you. Maybe a few eyes here and there, which didn't linger. Everyone else was too busy minding their own business — and it's not like you'd care if someone was staring anyway. Natasha turned some heads. You felt greedy for that. You were the one having her. The only one having her.

"You live in my head rent free, Natasha." you tell her, voice having a sultry edge to it. You slowly stand, walking closer.

You take her hands and open her arms — making it possible for you to straddle her thigh. She tenses almost immediately. Her head tilts up to stare into your eyes, arms circling your waist to keep you close, where she wanted. You shake your head when you see a small frown between her eyebrows — lips pressing against that small spot, coaxing a little exhale of hers. She missed you. Everyday. Every minute. She wanted that respect and care all the time.

"What are we even doing here?" she whispers, so quietly you almost can't hear it. Her hands cup your waist and gently roam up and down your sides, palms brushing against your bare skin every now and then, all thanks to the waist slits of your dress. Your face leans closer to hers, noses bumping — the smallest of touches, making you both crave what you once had. "Why didn't I just invite you to my place right away?"

"I don't know. Why didn't you?" you raise one eyebrow, fingertips caressing her jawline. Her hands give your waist a squeeze — and you almost moan. She swore she could hear it. It replayed in her head, the beautiful sounds you made for her. She wanted to hear them again. She was going to make you sound like that again.

It wasn't just a physical thing — your body and mind craved her touch, her presence, so much that just the mere thought of being on her bed again got you soaked. She felt something wet through the rough fabric of her jeans, and that got her brain spinning. She fell for you hard. So painfully hard.

"Let's get out of here," she groans, hands firmly grabbing your thighs and lifting you up — wrapping your legs around her waist and carrying you out the pavement. Her hardness pressed right against your core — you blushed, hiding your face on her shoulder, wrapping your arms around her neck.

In a heartbeat, you were back at your house.

Your place, because it was the fastest way, when taking the cab. No words were exchanged, not yet. The aching, burning need had to be taken care of first — before properly talking. Your back hits the wall hard as Natasha pushes you against it — her body trapping you between herself and the hard surface — hands hardly, possessively holding you by the hips. Desperately, even. Making sure you wouldn't slip away from her grasp. Her lips dance with yours, tentatively, yet naturally, tongues tasting one another after what felt like centuries. She felt so good, tasted so good.

"Nat..—" you moan against her lips, having her bottom lip trapped between your teeth, then releasing it. Your forehead against hers, eyes soft and filled with desire. Your hands hold her cheeks, traveling to her jaw. Needily, you press kisses to the side of her throat, breathing shaky, heart hardly thrumming. "I never stopped thinking about you..."

"Yeah?" she hums, grabbing the hem of your dress and lifting it up, bunching the fabric by your hips. Her fingers hook around the elastic of your panties and pull them down, pooling around your feet — making you gasp, and pull away from her neck. Eyes wide open. The air hits your heat, making you needier for her.

You almost mewl.

"God, I need you." Natasha utters. She grabs you again and smashes her lips against yours once more, now with so much more passion, more need, more anxiety. Her bulge presses against your now unclothed wetness, coaxing a tiny cry of need out of you. You breathlessly pull away from her, reaching down and fumbling with the buttons of her jeans — until she stops you.

"No—"

"Quiet." she shushes, maneuvering you back, until your body hits the mattress. She climbs onto the bed and stays in a kneeling position, hungrily taking you in. Messy, needy, all for her. Sober, like she wanted planned from the first time. "That dress goes off."

Her voice is commanding, yet not harsh — and her eyes betray her a little. Her eyes are almost pleading, that it is clear how much she needs this. To have you all to herself, to show you how much she wants that. Her underwear becomes even more tight as she sees your trembling fingers, pulling the dress over your head and tossing it aside, lips parted. Just by her look, you can tell she wants the bra off, too. So you reach behind your back and grants her silent wish, breasts now exposed to her sight.

"There you are..." she moans to herself, shamelessly taking in the sight of you. You're a work of art. With her hand, she coaxes your knees open, and parts your legs. "My... you're so wet. So perfectly wet."

"You're still with a lot on.." you quietly complain, feeling hot and shy at the same time. But her gaze is enough to wipe away the confusion from your eyes. She had a plan.

"Touch yourself for me." she breathes out.

Your eyes briefly widen with the unexpectedness of this statement. You had certainly done this before — touched yourself thinking of her — but the idea of showing this, while she watched, never crossed your mind. But it wasn't an unpleasant idea. It was actually... hot. Sensual. They darken, pupils blown wide as you make yourself comfortable against the pillows, eyelids fluttering as your legs spread a little more, palm resting on your stomach, then moving down. Deliberately, it reaches your sex, a shakily sigh leaving your lips when your middle and ring finger collect some of the slick coat covering your sensitiveness, using it to slowly rub your clitoris, getting you to gasp louder.

"Natasha..." you whisper, eyes falling close, thoughts wandering.

Wandering back to the start — when you first discovered your feelings for her, then the climax, when you both got in bed due the alcohol — then the aftermath, when you needed her so much, felt so alone at night, that your fingers were the only solution. Little wet sounds echo within the room as you rub circles on yourself, applying just the right amount of pressure, that it doesn't take long for the pit in your stomach to manifest itself.

"Faster." Natasha rasps out, taking her jacket and quickly throwing it away. She pulls her tank top over her head, then undo the buttons of her jeans — leaving the bed, just so she can get rid of all the uncomfortable fabric, and climbing it again. She crawls closer to you — eyeing you as you worked on your pussy, her hands caressing your thighs, adding to the stimulation.

"Please...!" you whimper, doing as you're told — rubbing yourself faster — slipping one of your fingers inside your entrance, almost cumming, that quickly. "Please, I need you..!"

"I need you too," she moans to herself, and harshly grabs your wrist, pulling your hand away. You moan loudly in protest — Natasha wouldn't tease you. Not today, when you both needed each other so much. She discards her undergarments, finally — groaning as she's set free. Your eyes lock on her hard length, which was practically hitting her abs now.

"Put it inside me." you beg, grabbing her shoulders to pull her closer. She hovers over you, bracing herself on her forearms, on each side of your body. Your fingernails gently graze her back. Natasha was feeling so much, so much more than she ever felt. Your eyes were sparkling so much, like you were crying — shimmering with the depth of your adoration for her. You grab her cheeks and press your lips to hers, in a gentle peck. Knowing her past, she didn't have to explain her reasons for what had happened. She was scared before, and you respected. "Go on. Love me."

She couldn't wait no longer. She lowers her forehead to your shoulder and places her hands on your hips — her chest against yours, as she lined herself with your hole, effortlessly pushing inside. Stretching you out, like she once did. Having the chance to hear that delicious sounds again.

"You're mine... shit," she groans, rolling into you gently, getting you used to the feeling first. You're so tight, so perfect around her. Natasha's overwhelmed. Her hands press against the base of your throat, squeezing firmly, yet leaving enough room for air. She's so hot. "That pussy is mine. You're mine. You're all mine—"

"Yes," you moan, wrapping your legs around her middle. You wouldn't take long to come tonight. Maybe she'd make you come over and over. She rocks into you, pace not too slow, not too fast. Just right. The right tempo to bring you both the pleasure and connection you so much needed. "Mhm.. fuck, Nat, missed your cock,"

"You're gonna take it over and over—" she comments — kissing your shoulder, roaming her hands up your body, her right palm cupping your breast and giving it a firm squeeze. Your head lolls back, mouth opening to allow a satisfied moan out. "I'm never fucking letting you go again,"

She accelerates, pulling almost all the way out just to slam back into you again — feeling her climax approach. She moves her mouth close to your ear and moans — her own sounds now mixing with yours.

"Natasha...! Fuck, you feel soo good," you gasp, a wave of pleasure washing over you as you get closer. She takes the hint immediately, cupping the back of your knee and pushing it up, allowing her a better angle. "Ah, gimme more,"

"My greedy girl," she groans, her head tilting back. Her cock twitches inside of you — precum already painting you white. She glanced down at where your folds swallowed her, eyes darkening impossibly more. "You're so goddamn tight... 'm not gonna last, moya krasivaya malysha,"

"Okay.. 'ts okay... Cum with me..." you beg her, tangling your fingers into her red strands of hair, pulling her down more, so her forehead rests against yours — the eye contact increasing the intimacy of the moment. She didn't know what to expect now. Didn't know what to think. Only that she had to fill you up.

"C'mon.. nhg, darling.. c'mon.. cum around me," she encourages, feeling her own legs shake as her orgasm washed over her.

She grabbed your hips hard and slammed into you — once, twice, three times, filling you up with her hot release. You squeezed your eyes shut as your body shuddered forwards, breasts pressing against her own as a long, strangled moan flowed out of you, nails digging into her back, pressing her body against yours as you finished. Your walls clenched around her cock, swallowing her more, not allowing her to pull away just that. "God.. I love you!"

Natasha blinks, not sure if she heard right. Her heart squeezes in her chest, arms wrapping around your body. Her back hits the bed and she flips you on top of her, still inside of you — but now, her member softened. The adrenaline was running wild, but you had calmed down a little bit. Just a little. Because this time, it wasn't pure sex. It was lovemaking.

Your face is buried in her chest as she brings up the covers, creating a cocoon of warmth around you. She buries her face into your hair and inhales deeply, staying silent. Just to process things.

"I love you, too. So so much." she murmurs into you hair. She felt terrified to say this. But once you're someone who she already showed her scars to, it's not that bad anymore.

"You do?" you ask expectantly, feeling tired, drowsy. Natasha smiles at that. She feels her eyes burning with heavy emotion. She nods.

"Yes... I love you so much." she confirms, softly stroking her hair, brushing some strands away from your sweaty forehead. "And I want you to be mine. Will you be mine?"

"You're asking me to be your girlfriend after the sex?" you chuckle quietly, but happiness was evident in your voice. Now you could sleep at peace. The first night of rest you'd have in a long time. In the arms of the woman you cherished, worshipped.

Natasha had won now. She was so fucking relieved. All because of a phrase.

"Of course I will, you idiot."

"I'm never, ever, ever letting you go again." the room is messy, smell of sex lingering around you. But now things were sorted out. By the morning, you could have a more direct, serious conversation. For now, you'd rest together, wrapped up in each other's arms, like it was always meant to be.

#natasha marvel #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanov #marvel #natasha x you #natasha romanoff smut #g!p natasha romanoff #natasha x y/n #natasha romanoff soft smut #black widow #black widow x reader #i miss her so much

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jazziejax · 11 days ago

Text

𝐉𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧 𝐈𝐕 *𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Modern AU | Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x Black!OC & Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore | Modern AU

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - Things get a little heated between Smoke and Juicy…more than once. But it’s also kind of cute.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Mild sensual tension, soft dom undertones, food play(??), suggestive dialogue, light language. (let me know if I missed any!)

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - this was honestly just something cute after all the love from my last chapter. If you guys keep it up with the feedback, trust, you’ll get more and more chapters out of me. ALSO, before you even start, this is heavily out of character. Halfway through, I realized this is more Stack coded and unless you’re nit-picky like me, it might not bother you. If you are, just close your eyes and imagine this is Smoke without all the trauma. I hope you guys enjoy! Sorry for the grammar mistakes and spelling errors!!

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 5,966+

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 °❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐨𝐧, 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢 | 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟑

Ever since that day after the skating rink, ever since the kiss they shared on her porch, Juicy had been over the moon whenever it came to Elijah Moore. Simply seeing him made a huge smile appear on the girls face, and though they hadn’t really agreed on what they were, even talked about it really, they were less than subtle.

Their eyes met every time the other entered the room, with stares that said more than they knew. Their lingering touches went untied, but they each felt the connection that seared between them. Their laughs were shared as usual, but there was a softness behind them that wasn’t there before.

They were not different. They were still the same.

But now new feelings were in the mix and things had started to shift into something more. Something more longing. Something more…lustful.

It first started after a long day Juicy and Mary working during the hair salon rush, she and Smoke sit on the porch alone. Stack was on her couch, asleep after the meal she and Sinclair made, and Mary was at home, getting ready for a date. Juicy was tired, barefoot, her legs in his lap while she eats from a bowl of peaches she’d sliced earlier.

Smoke watches her, his thumb brushing over the soft skin of her ankle.

“Why are you eatin’ like that?” He asked, and his voice was a bit hoarse from not speaking for a while, and now that he did.

“Like what?” The girl questioned, just before she slurped an another peach slice into her mouth.

“Like you tryna drive me crazy, girl.” He responded, causing her face to heat up at his innuendo. She let out a small laugh, but her voice is breathier than she means.

Ever since their kiss, sly comments like that have been having more of an impact on her than before. At first, she’d simply blush with a small laugh as she tried not to let her mind race, but now, she had this primal urge to pounce on him whenever she saw him, and his words didn’t make it any better.

Feeling bold, she leans forward, with the objective to feed him one of her slices and maybe say something as suggestive in response. But, just like that, his face was in bed from hers. And the world seemed to still around them as her breath got caught in her throat.

She slowly raised her fork to his lips, the dripping fruit leaking into the bowl she held up under his chin. Her eyes flickered from his intense eyes that never left her, and the fruit hanging between them.

He didn’t open his mouth until the peach was rubbed against his plump lip, and Juicy wanted to clench his legs as she watched his long tongue peek out as he took the fruit into his mouth.

He was barely done chewing before they were both leaning in, their eyes closed. And when their lips touched,she couldn’t help but think that the peach tastes way better on his lips. It wasn’t until he his tongue graced her lips didn’t she pull back from the kiss, an overwhelming feeling taking over her.

But Smoke took it as something else. He simply nodded before speaking gently. “Whenever you ready.” He said, his large hands subconsciously rubbing at her leg.

And Juicy simply continued eating her peaches, though they seemed a little closer now. And that moment stayed between them, warm and glowing like the sun touching her skin.

And those moments became more bold as time went on. Tension rose, feelings peaked and moments lingered.

The overhead bell of the Crown & Glory Beauty Supply store jingled softly as Smoke pushed the glass door open. It was dead in the store—just the faint buzz of an old fan rattling from a corner and a box TV in the top corner playing 106 & Park on low. The air-conditioning was working overtime, but it still couldn’t keep up with the summer heat beating against the glass windows. It was hot outside—real hot—the kind of heat that made everybody move just a little slower.

Juicy was behind the counter, leaning over a fashion magazine with a chewed-up pen between her fingers, glasses low on her nose, lips glossed just enough to look edible. It was new, a sparkly peach color that had a bit of flavor. He’d know, he’d tasted it when she first bought it.

Her hair was up in a messy up do, a slightly puffy roller set that was in need of a redo by her standards, with two curls escaping at the front to frame her face. She wore her name on a gold necklace and a cherry red tank top that clung to every curve like a second skin. She looked up when she heard the door, and saw Smoke stepping inside, her whole expression shifted—eyes bright, mouth soft, body leaning back with that familiar little grin she always tried to bite back.

“You ain’t supposed to be here.” She said, but there was no real protest in her voice. Only that teasing lilt he had grown addicted to. “You might make me forget I’m on the clock.”

Smoke grinned and held up a white plastic bag with ‘Thank you’ plastered over the front. “What if I said I brought you lunch?”

Juicy’s stomach answered before she could, and she rolled her eyes, laughing as she grabbed her little purse from under the counter. “Let me tell Keisha I’m takin’ my lunch break before you turn me into a damn stereotype.” Smoke chuckled low as he watched her lean over the little half-door to call into the back. “Keish! I’m takin’ my lunch now. I’ll be back in thirty.”

“You got forty-five.” Keisha called back. “But only if you bring me a pineapple soda.”

Juicy didn’t answer, just gave Smoke a playful side-eye as she walked out from behind the counter and toward the door, hips swaying with nothing but pure temptation in her denim shorts. “Come on, Mr. Delivery Boy.” She said as she passed him, while Smoke watched her as she licked his lips.

The sun hit them hard the moment they stepped outside. Smoke held the door open to his cutlass for her, parked just under the shade of a half dead oak tree off center of the stores entrance. The inside smelled like Black Ice air freshener and a little bit like him, clean clothes, cologne, and something vaguely minty.

He slid into the drivers seat and handed her the paper bag before she’d even fully shuffled into her seat. She took it, eyes wide with creepy delight, already knowing what he’d gotten her. Smoke helped her take the food out, and held the white Styrofoam to-go plate like an offering. “Figured you’d forget to eat. Got you the ten piece lemon pepper from Dock’s.”

Juicy blinked, then her lips parted in a slow grin. “You got me the good fries?”

“Seasoned and crispy. Just how you like it.”

“Mmm.” She reached out for the plate and brushed his fingers as she took it, her nails freshly done in that glittery nude pink he noticed last night when they were tangled up on her bed whispering secrets into each other’s necks. “You’re spoiling me.” She said with a little smirk, already opening the box and letting the smell take her over. “You’re gonna make me expect this every shift.” She said as she grabbed a fork to pick her fries.

Smoke leaned back in his seat, his eyes taking her in without shame. “Maybe I like spoilin’ you.”

Juicy tried not to blush, but it came anyway, spreading warm and rosy across her cheeks. She sat back in the passenger seat and picked at the fries first, licking the Cajun salt from her fingertips like she didn’t know it was killing him slowly. Smoke leaned back and watched her pick at the wings, the smell of zesty spice thick in the car. She took one bite and hummed.

“I swear, this might be better than sex.” She said with a mother full.

He arched a brow, watching the way she licked her fingers. “Might?” He questioned.

She smirked and didn’t answer, reaching for a fry instead.

For a while, they sat in easy silence. The windows were cracked just enough to let the summer breeze tease its way in. Smoke tapped a beat against the steering wheel while Luther Vandross’s ‘Take You Out’ played low from the stereo.

They hadn’t exactly told any one of their…relationship, yet. That much was understood without it needing to be said. Not Mary, not Stack, and definitely not Martin, needed to know about why they had going on. It wasn’t out of shame—at least not for Juicy. It was protection. Privacy. It was not wanting to hear her brother’s mouth or deal with Mary’s need for graphic detail or the way girls in the neighborhood would start watching her.

Smoke didn’t push. He never did. He just kept showing up.

At the end of her shift last time, he’d been parked out front with the windows down and Aaliyah playing low, just waiting to walk her to her car. The time before that, they sat in the backseat of his Cutlass for thirty minutes saying goodbye with their mouths and not a single word. His hands had found the small of her back, the inside of her thigh, the curve of her neck. None of it was ever rushed. He was always asking for permission with touch alone.

Now, watching her eat, he had to stuff his hands into his pockets to keep from reaching out.

“How long you got left?” He asked.

“’Til six. Bianca’s mom coming to drop off some things, and I gotta tag ‘em and put ‘em up front.” She took another bite from a wing, eyes fluttering as she chewed. “This so good. I should slap you.” She hummed.

“You wanna slap me?” He teased, leaning in just a bit. “What happened to all that lovin’ from the other night?”

Juicy’s eyes met his as she sipped from the stare of her cup, and for a moment, everything else went quiet. The radio, the passing car, even the hum of the air conditioning within the vehicle.

“You keep bringin’ me food and walkin’ me to my car like some gentleman, you can get some lovin’ alright.”She said softly, lips curving into a grin. “You gon’ mess around and make me soft, Smoke.” She pouted, faking annoyance with him.

“Maybe I want that.” Smoke said, his voice low, head tilted. “You already soft in all the right places.” He smirked, his head tilted as he looked her up and down.

Juicy didn’t know how to respond to that, she just looked at him for a long second. Her eyes were deep brown, like pools of warm syrup, and they narrowed just enough to let him know she was feeling it.

“Anyway.” She said, turning her eyes back to her plate. “You don’t gotta keep doing all this.”

Smoke leaned closer, his hand sliding across the center console to tap her wrist. “You don’t want me to?”

Juicy’s lips parted just enough to suck in a breath. “I didn’t say that.” She murmured.

He gave her a crooked smile, one that pulled slow and easy like honey off the spoon.

“Then hush and eat.”

She smiled like she couldn’t help herself. “You gon’ wait here until I’m off?” She asked, playing with a fry.

“Maybe.” He said before glancing at his gold watch. “Maybe I’ll wait outside. Or maybe I’ll go nap and come back. But I’ll be here.”

Juicy rolled her eyes, but it didn’t match the quiet joy stretching across her face. ��You need to stop acting like we go together.” She said, letting her impulsive thoughts win as typed with him.

Smoke leaned closer, voice brushing her ear. “Oh, we don’t?” He questioned, already knowing what game the bratty girl was trying to play with him, so he decided to play a different one.

She paused, the bite of her fry halfway to her mouth. Her lips twitched again, this time with something softer—something unsure but open. “Boy, go on somewhere.” She whispered, turning her eyes away from him.

But he stayed right there. Watching her eat. Watching her smile. Watching her pretend like they weren’t already wrapped up in something they couldn’t name yet—but it was definitely felt.

“Oh, I can’t be on your space now?” He questioned, leaning a bit closer over the console, his eyes trailing her face. “This my car, I can be where I want.”

“You’re gonna smell my breath, Smoke, move.” Juicy said, leaning away from him a bit, just as he was trying to trial his lips closer to her.

He didn’t flinch. “So?”

“My breath probably smells. And that fruit punch ain’t made it no better.” She said, looking over at him, her hand over her mouth as if to block the smell from reaching him. Smoke simply started into her eyes, the only thing he could see over her hands. His eye bounced between hers as he leaned a little closer, voice dropping. “Still wanna taste it.”

Juicy’s whole body went still, the corner of her lips twitching like she was fighting something. She turned to face him fully, one leg tucked under her. “You are real bold today, huh?” She questioned, letting her hand drop.

Smoke leaned in more, his palm resting on the back of her seat, his eyes locked onto her mouth. “You been sneakin’ around with me in parking lots and empty rooms for how many days now?” He retorted. “It ain’t about being bold, baby.”

She didn’t answer, only nipped at her bottom lip.

“You lettin’ me touch all up on you, makin’ me wait just to kiss you again…”

“You already kissed me.” She said, soft as a confession.

“Yeah.” He said, his thumb now brushing against her jawline. “But it ain’t enough. Not when I think about it every time you walk away from me.”

Juicy’s eyes fluttered closed for a half-second, the tension so thick it hung in the car like fog.

She opened her eyes again, and they were darker now, shaded in lust and something tender. “I’m really feelin’ you, Smoke.” She murmured. “I just don’t want nobody in my business yet. Not my brother, not Mary, nobody. Not ‘til I know this is real.”

Smoke nodded slowly. “Then let me show you it is.”

He leaned in again—closer this time—and just before their lips met, she pulled back and covered her mouth with her hand.

“Wait, wait, wait.” She said, laughing softly. “I told you. My breath probably smells like lunch.”

Smoke smirked. “I told you. I don’t care.”

Then he kissed her.

Soft at first, warm and slow, like a question he already knew the answer to. Juicy melted into it, her hand slipping behind his neck, her lips parting without hesitation. He kissed her like he’d been waiting since the rink, since the last car meetup, since every sideways glance and half-second pause between them.

She sighed into him, her body turning so her knee brushed his thigh, and his hand slid down to her waist, tugging her closer. Her fries were forgotten on the dash, the radio hummed on, and somewhere in the distance, construction work buzzed—but all she could focus on was the way his fingers pressed into her hip, the heat of his mouth, the way he kissed her like she was his favorite food and he was starving.

By the time they pulled apart, her lip gloss was gone and her heart was racing.

Smoke looked at her, thumb brushing the side of her face like she was fragile, like he was still tasting her.

“Is that real enough for you, Juicy?”

She caught her breath, smirk tugging at her lips.

“It’s a start.” She said cheekily.

Smoke laughed, low and warm, already leaning in again.

And outside, the sun beat on the windows, heavy and golden, while Aaliyah’s voice floated from the tiny TV in the corner:

“Boy, I’ve been watching you like a hawk in the sky…”

The next time was about a week later, and they were sort of high off not seeing each other for a minute.

The house was quiet. The kind that came only when the day had finally exhaled. A low hum from the box fan in the corner of her room carried through the walls, but otherwise, silence blanketed the place like the thick heat outside.

Tyson was down for bed, knocked out cold after a long afternoon of playing with his toy dinosaurs, goldfish crackers, and singing Whitney Houston songs off-key around the house. Sinclair was out on a date with some boy guy, and Martin was God-knows-where, probably laid up with the flavor of the week. The house was Juicy’s for the night, and she’d planned to take full advantage of that.

She had just slipped into her favorite silk moomoo—champagne-pink and ultra soft, loose fitting but clinging in just the right places while letting everything else breathe. Her legs were smooth, freshly shaven and moisturized, and her roller set was tightly secured beneath a silk, butter-colored scarf. Her room smelled like bag champa incense and cocoa butter, a familiar blend of calm and comfort. The lights were dim, casting a warm amber glow from her bedside lamp. Juicy glanced at the clock. 10:46 p.m.

She was leaning over her nightstand, lighting a second stick of incense when a sharp tap-tap at the window made her jump.

Her heart stuttered.

Wide-eyed, she turned slowly, suspicious, hand hovering near her dresser drawer where she kept her little knife—just in case. Another knock followed, softer this time. She crept toward the window, staying low, her silk moomoo brushing against the floor as she moved. She peeked between the slats of her blinds and gasped.

Smoke.

Standing outside her window, straight faced, his stature intense as if he could see through the blinds. His gold chain glinted under the streetlight, and he lifted his hand in a slow wave, eyes locked on hers.

Juicy let out a tiny squeal, panicking. “Oh my God,” she whispered to herself, yanking the curtain closed.

Her room turned dark again, but her mind was racing. She spun around, clutching her moomoo. Why tonight? Why when she had her scarf on, her rollers showing through the wrap? She felt so exposed, caught mid-transformation. She wasn’t cute, she wasn’t ready.

She paced, muttering, “Why the hell would he come tonight? I look crazy…” She was in distress.

Then, from outside, his voice cut through the quiet.

“I’ve already seen you in your rollers.” He said, cool and calm, like he was talking with his lips pressed against her skin instead of standing on the other side of a pane of glass. “Open the window, Juicy.”

She froze. Could he hear me? She thought.

Her breath was caught in her throat, somewhere between embarrassment and excitement. Then, with a soft curse and a helpless little pout, she padded back over to the window and lifted it with a quiet creak. A second later, Smoke was climbing through like some bad-ass high school boyfriend in a ’80s movie. It seems easy and he seemed unbothered, like he’d done it a hundred times before.

His feet touched down on her carpet and his eyes immediately swept over her.

“Damn.” He said, voice a little lower now. “You always look good, but this right here? Yeah…this different.” He said, his tongue peeking out to trace over his bottom lip.

Juicy crossed her arms, suddenly shy. “Don’t start…” She warned.

“I’m serious.” He said, taking a slow step closer. “I don’t know why you hidin’ from me like I ain’t seen you in a bonnet before.”

“This ain’t no bonnet.” She said, fussing gently, cheeks warm. “This a roller set. Whole different level of ugly.”

He chuckled. “Ugly where?”

“You’re blind, Smoke.”

“Nah.” He said, taking her hand. “I see just fine.”

And that was all it took for her shoulders to drop a little, her nerves to settle into something soft and warm.

She turned from him to straighten her bed, trying to keep her hands busy. “And now what’s given you the gall to show up this time of night?”

“Ain’t nobody home but you and the baby.” He said, settling onto the edge of her bed. “And he sleep, ain’t he?”

“Yeah, but you know how Sinclair be. If she find out you was over here this late, she gon’ tell everybody and they mama.”

Smoke leaned back on his palms, his chain sliding against his chest. “Then I guess we better be quiet.”

Juicy turned slowly to face him, chin lifted in that defiant little way she always did when she was trying to keep herself from melting. “Smoke…” She trailed off, trying not to grin as she fluffed the pillow, avoiding his eyes. “I’m serious.”

“I missed you.” He said, voice dipping again as she changed the subject. And by the way he rushed it out, it’s been meaning to come off his tongue since he first laid eyes on her. “Been runnin’ all week, tryna get shit done with Stack. I been thinkin’ ‘bout you, though. How you sound.” He began, his hands trailing over to her, pulling her closer by the fabric of her gown. “How you taste.” His raised his hand to light grace over her lips, which were buttered in chapstick. “How you make them little sounds when I kiss on that spot right there…” He reached up and brushed his fingers gently along the side of her neck.

Juicy shivered, tucking her neck a bit. “You can’t keep doin’ this…” She mumbled with a small pout.

“Doin’ what?”

“Showin’ up late, and sayin’ stuff that makes me forget why I said you couldn’t come over in the first place.”

He grinned slowly, a look Juicy knew was dangerous. “Then don’t say I can’t come over.” He shrugged, as if it was such a simple solution.

She rolled her eyes but her smile gave her away. “You get on my nerves.”

Smoke stood and stepped toward her, closing the small gap between them. “Good.” He said, hands sliding to her waist. “Then you gon’ really hate this.”

He leaned in slow, lips almost brushing hers when she suddenly pulled back a little, nose scrunching up.

“Wait.” She whispered, laughing nervously. “I just brushed my teeth…”

Smoke paused, then smirked.

“And?”

“And that’s nasty!”

“I don’t care if your breath smell like hot dogs at a block party.” He said, lowering his voice. “I still want it.”

She let out a laugh, hand lightly pushing at his chest. “Oh, you’re nasty.”

Then he kissed her, something warm and deep. And just like that, they melted.

The kiss grew, slow but intense, their bodies pressing close, her silk moomoo whispering as it moved between them. It deepened naturally, his hands resting gently on her waist while hers slid around his neck. His hands roamed gently, not grabbing but holding onto her he was trying to memorize every curve. Juicy kissed him back, one hand curling around the back of his neck, the other resting softly on his chest.

The incense smoke curled around them.

His touch was slow, reverent, but had an unmistakable heat underneath them. When he backed her against the dresser, one hand sliding along the small of her back, she gasped softly, then caught her breath in his mouth.

Her silk moomoo slipped between his fingers like water.

The incense kept burning. Outside, the world kept spinning, but inside that room, it was just the two of them, quiet and tangled, while suspended in heat and candlelight. They stayed locked in that moment, breath against breath, a love they weren’t ready to explain yet.

Eventually, Juicy pulled away, breathing a little harder, her lips kiss-swollen, eyes heavy and breath barely above a whisper. “You better go.” She whispered. “I don’t stay too long. You know I gotta be up early.”

Smoke rested his forehead against hers. “I ain’t stayin’. Just needed to see you.”

She brushed her fingers across his cheek. “I know.”

Then he kissed her once more before he turned to the window. But before he left, he glanced back at her over his shoulder and grinned. “You look real good in that, you know. Like, a housewife or some, might have to get you another.”

Juicy couldn’t fight her grin as she grabbed her pillow and threw it at him, laughing softly. “Get out, boy.”

He caught it easily, flashed a smirk before he tossed it back at her, and disappeared out the window into the thick summer night. Leaving Juicy standing in her incense filled, candle lit room, heart thudding against her moomoo, smiling like a woman who had it bad.

And then there were the soft moments between them neither questioned.

Two days later, the sun hung high in the sky, casting golden light over the neighborhood as Juicy walked over to Stack and Smoke’s place with a plastic bag hanging from her hand. She held Missy’s peach cobbler mingling with the buttery scent of her famous pecan pie. Tucked beneath it were still-warm containers from Sinclair cooking—fried catfish, cabbage, and macaroni and cheese with a crunchy, golden crust.

Juicy had just planned to drop it off. She assumed both men were home—maybe out back playing dominoes or arguing over the game on TV. So she didn’t bother calling, didn’t reapply her lip gloss, didn’t even leave with the intention of staying long. She had plans with Mary, anyway, to get their nails done and gossip.

But inside of the More residence, the house was cool and still, carrying the faint scent of weed and linen spray. The blinds were turned just enough to let in slats of warm afternoon light, stretching across the hardwood like tiger stripes. It was one of the rare days Stack wasn’t home—off somewhere chasing money or women or both—and the place felt too quiet without his usual loud presence. Smoke didn’t liked it that way.

But there was nothing he could do about it, so he had just settled on the couch, a blunt half-rolled between his fingers, when a soft knock landed on the front door.

He knew that knock. And he was giddy about it before even getting up, though his face didn't really show it.

When he opened the door, there she was. His Juicy, dressed in a fitted white tank top and jeans that hugged her hips just right, gold earrings swaying gently with every movement and and her baby fat belly peeking out proudly, crowned by a ruby-studded belly ring that glinted in the sun. She held a little plastic grocery bag in her hand like she was just dropping something off, like she hadn't planned this.

When Juicy knocked, she expected Stack’s voice booming through the door or both of them calling out to her. But instead, it was Smoke who opened it—shirtless, as usual, his chain glinting in the light and his black durag still on.

“Oh.” She said, blinking.

His lips curved. “Oh?”

“I thought both y’all was here.”

“Nah. Stack out handling something. Just me,” he said, stepping aside and nodding her in. “Come on.”

She hesitated only for a second before stepping into the house. The cool air brushed against her skin, goosebumps rising as the scent of sandalwood and cologne hit her nose. Her skin was glistening from her coco butter later and smelled like brown sugar and his eyes trailed her figure as she walked by.

She set the bag on the kitchen counter and was already turning to leave when she felt him. His presence was close, his body blocking her path without even touching her.

“Where you going?” Smoke asked softly.

Juicy tilted her head, eyes narrowing, but her lips twitched. That voice of his. That low, patient, and just on the edge of coaxing voice, always meant trouble.

“I just came to drop these off.” She said, brushing invisible lint off her shirt. “Mary’s waitin’ on me. We supposed to go get our nails did.”

He didn’t move.

“I want you to fix me a plate.”

Juicy raised a brow. “You want me to fix you your plate?” She repeated, a bit take aback by his audacity.

“I’m hungry.” He said, voice deeper now, eyes still gentle. “Come on, Juicy.” He pleaded.

She let out a breathy laugh, not even bothering to hide her smile now. “Alright, damn. Let me wash my hands.”

In the kitchen, she moved like she’d done it a hundred times before. Opened the cabinets, found the plates without asking, scooped a fat helping of mac and cheese onto a plate, along with some catfish and added a side of cabbage, warmed it up in the microwave all while Smoke leaned against the fridge and watched her with something that looked dangerously close to adoration.

When the microwave dinged, she grabbed a fork, set it on the plate, and handed it to him.

But he didn’t take it.

Instead, he jutted his head before he turned and walked to the living room, flopping back onto the couch with the blunt now behind his ear, juicy following.

When juicy stood there, his plate and fork in her hands, Smoke looked back up at her and then patted the cushion next to him. Juicy narrowed her eyes. “Boy, if you don’t—”

“Come on, Juicy.” He said again, sweet and smooth and far too tempting.

She sighed, rolled her eyes, but made her way over and sat beside him, holding the plate out to him again. But Smoke simply looked over at her again, a rare playful glint in his eyes, and Juicy was rolling her eyes at him before he even opened his mouth.

“You ain’t gon’ feed me?” He asked.

“Boy, what?” She asked, scoffing softly, though her amusement was apparent as she held a small smile at him. Smoke snaked his lips, cutting his eyes at her. “Come on, Juicy.” He said, and his voice was soft but thick with something heavier. Something that sat right beneath the surface and made her heart skip just a little. She stared at him, lips parted, that nervous excitement fluttering in her chest when she noticed how…domesticated this felt and how soft it was. She could feel her body heat rise. He was shirtless, gold chain glinting, and close enough that she could count the lashes on his eyes.

“Okay.” She agreed before she broke a piece of the fish and brought it to his lips. He took it, slow, like he was tasting her fingers as much as the food. She rolled her eyes and fed him a bite of mac and cheese next. He let out a low groan of approval that sent heat curling up her spine.

“You gon’ spoil me.” He murmured between bites.

“Ain’t that what you want?” She asked, smirking.

He looked at her, eyes soft and unreadable. “I want you.”

She cut her eyes to him as she gather food onto the fork and held it in front of his mouth. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late.” And they sat down on the couch beside, and she feed him for a while, with the plate and fork in hand. The vibe had shifted into something playful to soft. The television played in the background, an episode of The Sparanos, humming low through the TV speakers.

She fed him fork after fork, laughing when he groaned dramatically at how good the food was, rolling his eyes and leaning back like he couldn’t take it. Juice wiped a bit of hot sauce from the corner of his mouth with her thumb and licked it away.

“You act like you ain’t never ate before.”

“I ain’t never ate like this.” He teased.

When the plate was clean, she started gathering it up, brushing crumbs off her lap. “Alright, I gotta go. Mary gon’ think I stood her up—”

“Hold up.” Smoke said, stretching. “I ain’t get dessert yet.”

“You want dessert?” The girl asked, a bit sassily as she placed her hands on her hip. “Yeah, I want something sweet.”

She rolled her eyes but was smiling too hard to pretend she meant it. “Fine. Pecan pie or cobbler?”

He pointed at her. “You pick.”

“That was the entrée. I want somethin’ sweet.”

She went to the kitchen and cut him a slice of Missy’s pecan pie. This time, she sat closer. Their thighs touched, as she fed him bite after bite while he kept his eyes on her, not the TV. Her fingers brushed his lips as she fed him, and he kissed the pad of her thumb when she wasn’t expecting it.

“Boy, don’t start.”

“I ain’t even done nothin’ yet.”

By the time the plate was clean, they were both smiling and too close. They laughed at something dumb on the screen and Juicy shook her head and almost dropped the fork when Smoke licked a bit of filling off her finger instead of letting her wipe it. “You a mess.” She murmured, but her tone was fond.

He took the plate and set it on the coffee table, then leaned forward, brushing his lips across her jaw before resting his forehead against hers. “Let me take you to Mary’s.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

So she gave in. Of course she did.

She climbed in his car, trying not to smile the whole time. He drove with one hand on the wheel and the other resting on her thigh, slow strokes up and down that kept her distracted the entire ride. The windows down and the radio humming some slow R&B track that made her cheeks warm.

They didn’t talk much—just let the cicadas hum outside and the warm summer breeze float through the cracked window.

When they pulled up in front of Mary’s, she started to unbuckle, but he caught her wrist.

“Hold on.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded stack of bills. She tried to protest, but he shook his head.

“Smoke—”

“Get somethin’ extra. Gel or whatever y’all get.”

“You know I don’t need your money.” She whispered.

“I know. But I want you lookin’ good for me. You not payin’ for your own nails and toes when I’m around. That’s mine now.”

She looked at him, lips parted, unsure whether to argue or melt.

“You always doin’ the most.” She muttered, cheeks hot. And he didn’t answer, he just leaned in and kissed her, deep and slow. It was soft and slow on the cheek, just behind the curve of her jaw, before it moved to her lips. A hand found the small of her back, and before she could fully process the moment, he took a handful of her denim covered bottom into his hand, causing Juicy to let out a small yelp into his mouth. When he pulled back, and she was on her way out of the car, he gave her a light smack her on the bottom as she stepped out of the car. “Go on now, Juicy.”

She stumbled out the car, heart racing, money clutched in her hand, cheeks redder than cherry polish. She let out a tiny squeal and grinned all the way up the walkway. She walked into Mary’s house still smiling.

Mary was in the living room, filing her nails. “What you grinnin’ for?”

Juicy simply let out a sigh, fluttering her eyes to make sure this was still real life. “Don’t worry about it.” She muttered, waving her off. But the grin didn’t fade. Not even a little.

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ittybittyfanblog · 4 months ago

Text

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 9

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, angst, depictions of a depressive episode, it’s pretty heavy, don’t force yourself to read if ur not in the right headspace pls, ambiguous ending (?) A/N: Yeah, I’m sorry. (Ngl, this chapter kinda stumped me—it’s gone through a whooole lot of editing/revisions 😔🤙🏼 I don’t want to overthink it too much at this point, but I hope it hits the way it should lol. Blame Moby if it doesn’t.)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

"I thought that you were so beautiful, it was love, I guess And you might never come back home, and I may never sleep at night But God, I just hope you're doing fine out there, I just pray that you're alright And I feel so alone, and I feel so alone out here.” – A House In Nebraska, Ethel Cain

The television drones uninterrupted in the background; a mockumentary type featuring a ragtag ensemble of vampires stuck in some sort of modern day hell, their loud misadventures casting fractured lights across the four walls of your apartment.

You sit there, watching the screen, your gaze unfocused. Nothing registers. The remote lies limp in your hand as a stupid sitcom laugh track fills the room—shrill, hollow. Mocking. Like a bad punchline to a joke you’re not in on.

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, cutting through the noise, the sudden glow in your periphery pulling you out of a pensive daydream.

For a split second, your chest constricts—a reflex carved by habit, something you’re still working to shake off.

You avert your eyes, torn between the urge to look away and the desire to keep your gaze on it forever.

The screen fades to black.

A clean break, you reason. Something to spare you both the inevitable heartache waiting at the end of this… hopeless affair. Less mess. Fewer complications.

A poor attempt to keep the pain from dragging out longer than it has to. Just a quiet ending.

(Or, at least, it’s what you tell yourself.)

The same mantra plays on loop in your mind as you're swept away by the motions of the days that follow. Life blurs into a repetitious cycle of work, sleep, and chores—an unbearable combination of feigned ignorance and self-abnegation, in the guise of being caught up with it all.

You aren’t fooling anyone, of course.

The hours toll on, slipping into uncertainty. What started off that way stretches into days, and before you know it, nearly a week has passed, leaving you adrift. None the wiser to the meaningless, relentless march of time.

The pinging of your phone grows more sporadic as it lights up with every message that you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge. It’s not as if you don’t feel it—the pull, the weight of every vibration, like a stone lodged in your gut. Like the sting of a thousand cuts.

And as you fall back into the familiar patterns of neglect… It carries with it an odd sense of defeat. Predictable, really.

… You cave on the fifth day.

The barrage of texts hits you like a gale-force wind, tearing through the fragile layer of detachment you’ve worn over like a second skin.

How was your day, poppet?

Theres a gemstone at this auction that reminds me of your eyes.

[Image attachment]

Beautiful—but it pales in comparison to yours.

Luke and Kieran are wondering whats got me distracted lately. Ease their worries.

Answer me, sweetheart.

You dont need to ignore me.

If you need space– if we need to establish some boundaries, all you have to do is say the word.

Dont shut me out.

Please.

Your eyes prickle as they gloss over the messages, the words seeming to bend under the weight of your silence, each one unraveling like loose threads on the sleeve of your favorite cardigan, falling apart at the seams.

Gradually, they turn into something less demanding. More… defeated.

I miss you, little dove.

You read the texts over and over until the letters have lost their meaning, and all that’s left is the aching longingness behind them.

You set your phone down.

The vibrations grow less frequent, like a heartbeat slowing, fading—until one afternoon, it just… stops.

The void he leaves behind seeps into the empty spaces, bleeding into every shadowed corner and untouched surface where his voice, his presence—louder than life, brighter than anything you’ve ever fucking known and had the pleasure of knowing—once lingered.

The absence is almost physical; you feel it like a phantom limb.

Most days, you find yourself in a daze, staring blankly at nothing. The numbness spreads like tendrils—invasive as they sink into your bones, dragging you deeper into despair, turning every bridge crossed to ash, every inkling of joy to dust.

The quiet flames of apathy consume silently. It strips away everything, leaving behind a cavernous pit of utter emptiness. A wasteland, devoid of feeling.

Loneliness doesn’t scream. It doesn’t lash out.

It simply welcomes you, like an old friend, the deeper you sink into it.

––––

Sylus tries to respect your space.

That’s what he’s here for after all, isn’t it? His reason for existence—to be whatever you need him to be. A confidant, a distraction, a steady presence in your life. It’s what he’s made for. To be there when you need him, to exist between the vacant spaces, and only then.

The thought gnaws at him, a ravenous fiend that chips away at the calm facade he’s finding more and more difficult to uphold, leaving something vicious in the wake of a growing bitterness he can no longer suppress.

Time seems to slip past differently now. It drifts, shapeless and infinite, heavier with the burden of your absence. Each moment without you feels like an eclipse—darkening the edges of this damned world, casting longer shadows through the crevices where he once basked beneath your fragile light, your warmth that seemed to fill every corner of his existence.

He craved it—craves it. Now you leave him stranded in this cursed dusk, everything cold and dim in the wake of your abandonment, forever waiting for the moment his sun would once again break through the hollow grey.

Sylus thinks he’s losing a part of himself with every call unanswered, every message left unread. It’s subtle; like colors fading from an old film roll.

(Is this what it feels like to be nothing more than a script in a code? He never truly understood what it meant to be less alive, less human. Until now.)

Solitude isn’t new to him. This world, built for him, is inherently lonely by design. But this… this is different. It’s the kind of emptiness that festers, sharper than any wound he’s endured in this senseless simulation. It twists inside him like a blade, a cruel, unrelenting reminder of what he’s denied.

Of what he can never truly be.

He can wait a little longer. Even if the silence presses harder with each passing moment, even as the edges of his reality begin to blur into something unrecognizable without you in it. Sylus can remain in this void a little longer, clinging to the fragments of you that still linger—your voice echoing softly in his memory, your laughter faint but still alive in the spaces where you used to be.

He can. He will.

––––

“Hey, you okay?”

You pull your attention back to Khol, who’s now watching you with concern in their eyes.

You force a smile, shaking your head. “Yeah– yeah, sorry. Just… a lot on my mind.”

They don’t look convinced. “Seriously. You know you can talk to me, right?”

Anytime, darling.

I mean it.

You blink the memory away before it can turn into tears.

“Yeah, ‘course,” you answer lightly, clearing your throat. “So, what’s been going on with you and Anna?”

––––

You stand in front of the junk food aisle, a mountain of Nissin Ramen boxes stacked high, advertised by a large sign: Buy 3, Get 1 FREE!

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flickering erratically, and the dull noise of the grocery mart hums incessantly in your ears. You don’t think twice before grabbing one of the worn cartons, tossing three more into your (nearly) empty shopping cart. Might as well.

The plastic bags dig into your palms as you lug three in one hand, a larger box tucked under your other arm, leaving the store.

The trip back home is a quiet affair. You almost expect admonishment; pinging sounds ricocheting in the silence to reprimand you for your poor life choices. You wait for it with bated breath.

Your phone remains uncharacteristically silent.

Back home, you pour boiling water on the styrofoam cup for dinner. The artificial broth leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

You choke down a few bites before dumping the rest of it down the drain.

The sound of steel hitting the sink feels louder than it should.

––––

The city thrums loudly beyond your window, restless and impersonal. From the sixth floor of this dilapidated building you loosely call home, you watch the skyline stretch into the night, dotted lights glimmering in distant technicolor.

Hours from now, sunlight will spill through the curtains, bathing everything in a warm, golden ochre. But for now, just a quarter past midnight, you’re but a voyeur of the world outside. In exhaust fumes and all its muted neon glory.

Those lights promised you everything, once—a fresh start, the kind of freedom you used to dream of when home felt too small, too restrictive for a runaway kid desperate to break free from the shackles of a dying town. Each glow was like a beacon, an irresistible call to escape, and you ran toward it without looking back.

Somewhere along the way, as life sapped you with the weight of its reality, the novelty fizzled from a blinding explosion down to a waning ember. The lights became another illusion, your precious city just another cage. The first cracks in the rose-colored glasses you’d worn so blindly. You can’t exactly pinpoint when, only that the colors you thought were once too bright now seem dimmer and farther out of reach.

You think you’ll miss the noise the most.

The cursor blinks on the search bar, a steady metronome marking time in rhythm with the hollow ache in your chest. Flight schedules fill the page, each option blurs together into a single choice you can’t quite push yourself to make.

You skim through the list: there’s one at dawn, another at around twelve noon, a red-eye flight you probably could catch if you leave in thirty minutes.

You stare at the numbers, a finger hovering over the Book Now button.

The details don’t matter. ‘Home’ still feels small, suffocating, but at least it’s a kind of emptiness you know. Here, the void sprawls wide, endless, leaving you unmoored with no tether to pull you back.

… The dichotomy between the two choices, you think, is meaningless.

What was once home and the city will keep on moving—with or without you. It doesn’t matter where you end up. Neither place will give you what you’re looking for.

The laptop screen dims into a faint glare. The sound of your breathing echoes too loud in the stillness, the empty space seeming to shrink around you, caving in on the weight of your indecision.

And as you sit there, swallowed by the dark, you can’t help but wonder if you’ve been drifting for far longer than you realized.

If maybe there’s nowhere you were meant to belong at all.

––––

It’s not until one quiet night, with nothing but a bottle of merlot and a slight buzz, that you buckle under pressure.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the icon, as if time has slowed to a crawl. Your chest tightens, unease twisting inside you at the thought of what you’re about to do. Anticipation hangs over you, insistent, smothering everything else until it’s just the room and the cacophony of thoughts in your head, all centered on one thing.

One person.

With a shaky exhale, you finally open the game.

He’s there. Of course, he’s there. Waiting, like he always does.

The loading screen fades away, and Sylus appears, a myriad of expressions passing by his face too fast to catch. There’s surprise, yes, along with… elation? Hope?

Then a flicker of something… vitriolic.

It’s fleeting; masked quickly until you can only catch the faintest trace of pique simmering just behind a veneer of indifference.

"Finally, she remembers me," Sylus mocks coolly, almost appearing unaffected. You know better—intimately familiar with all the microexpressions on his face. The subtle tick in his jaw, the incensed look in his eyes… each one betrays what he truly feels, hidden underneath the deceptive calm.

The seconds drag on, stretching into an uncomfortable silence. Your heart hammers loudly, audible in this quiet, but your mouth remains dry; the words stuck somewhere deep in your throat. You’re terrified that, once you speak, you’ll shatter this moment. Aggravate the strain forged by your self-imposed absence all the more.

You don’t really know what to say. You haven’t– you haven’t actually thought this far.

So you just… stare at him longer than you should. Long enough that it charges the air with a tension so thick, you could almost feel the weight of it against your skin.

It’s awkward. Excruciating.

With difficulty, you tear your gaze away from his withering glare. That’s when you notice it—the different icons dotted in red.

You hesitate for a second longer, then tap on them one by one.

The flood of gifts bewilders you, the sheer volume of it all almost unbelievable. Ascension materials, stamina supplies, both red and purple crystals piling up to an impossible number… each pushing past the million mark.

And unread mail. So much unread mail.

Guilt settles deep in your gut, creeping past your lungs enough to suffocate you.

It’s not the gifts. Not the why, or when. It’s the weight of how much he’s been waiting, how much he’s given—how much he's missed you.

The cold realization that he’s been here, silently counting the days until your return, strikes you like a fist to the face.

–

He tempers the sting of your sudden reappearance, swallows it down like a bitter draught. The feelings he has inside of him are tumultuous at best. Volatile at worst. To be cast aside so easily, so carelessly… it burns at him. Resentment thrums in his veins like a virulent river, threatening to ruin the fragility of the moment. He fights to suppress it, push the desire back before it can consume him, before it can manifest into being.

If he lets it go untethered, this… hunger for retaliation—to make you feel even a fraction of the agony you’ve inflicted, whether unknowingly or deliberately—it will destroy the delicate respite you’ve allowed him. The only reprieve he’s had since you left.

But the edges of his self-control fray, unraveling strand by strand.

“You’ve been busy,” you say, finally; your voice trembling, barely above a whisper.

Sylus hones in on the words, sharp as a blade sliding between ribs. Something in him snaps.

“You left me plenty of time to be.” His response is quick, cutting, but when his gaze locks with yours, the fiery vermillion melts into a more molten red.

It’s the first glimpse of softness beneath his cruel vitriol, until he continues:

“Did you get lonely?”

The words hang in the air, searing and merciless. A barb meant to wound. And it does.

You flinch, and for a fleeting moment, Sylus feels a wicked satisfaction from the honest look of hurt on your face. To know that you’re not immune to the same ache that’s hollowed him out, emptied him from the inside, is intoxicating.

But the triumph is short-lived, snuffed out as quickly as it comes.

Shame crashes over him like a wave, dragging him under the tide of his actions. What kind of man takes pleasure in this? In hurting you?

The bitterness turns inward, coiling around his heart like a vice. His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to reach out. But as always, the damn screen is there—unyielding, impenetrable. A barrier he can never break.

It frustrates him to no end; the bane of his very existence.

And then, in the smallest, softest voice, you say it.

“I missed you.”

The words are feeble, paper-thin, but the admission pierce through him all the same. The stoic facade cracks; the sharpness in his gaze dulls.

You see it—the way his lips part to respond, only to falter halfway. The way his brows pull together, the way his eyes fall shut as if he can’t stand to be in this situation with you.

You’re afraid of what’ll come next.

He sees it, too—the stiffness in your shoulders, the way you shrink into yourself, bracing for a blow that’ll never come. You’re standing there, like someone on death row, resigned to whatever punishment you think he’s about to dish out. Resigned to the contempt you believe yourself to be deserving of.

The sight guts him.

Sylus loathes to think he’s the reason for this. For being the one who’s made you stand there, small and trembling, as though his words or actions could destroy you.

As if he’d allow such a thing.

The guilt rises in him, sharp and unbidden, and it leaves an acrid taste on his tongue.

…

And just like that, he concedes.

The anguish he’s carried in the days you’ve left him by his lonesome—all of it falls away. It only takes a single glance at you, his little love in pain, and he’s stripped bare. He almost laughs at the absurdity of it all; the ease with which he surrenders to you, this time no different than any other.

Do you have any idea how much power you wield over him? He’d give you everything—his pride, his pain, his heart—if you asked. Serve it on a silver platter, even.

And he’d do so willingly. Without question. Without hesitation.

He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Sylus steps closer to the screen, the constant reminder of the vast gulf that separates the two of you. “Talk, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice softer now—resigned. “I’ve missed your voice.”

You hesitate to meet his eyes. “It’s not as if you don’t have other ways to hear me.”

His mouth twitches, a shadow of a smile ghosting his lips. “True,” he admits, his tone wry and tinged with something vulnerable. “But it’s been so long since you chose to talk to me.” He exhales a drawn-out breath. “No matter. You’re here now.”

You swallow the lump on your throat, willing your tears at bay. “I am.” You give him an almost-genuine smile as you offer, “Would you like to do a round of Kitty Cards?”

“Of course.” Whatever you want.

And so it goes. You and Sylus spend the night locked in a familiar rhythm, cycling through rounds after rounds of the silly card game until your laughter spills like an addicting sound bite, one that Sylus has missed hearing.

When you got tired, the two of you moved on to the claw machines, proverbially emptying out the whole arcade. Plushies of all kinds piled in his arms, a little crow even perched on top of his head.

The sight makes you giggle, and your giggle thaws the ice around his heart.

It almost feels like nothing’s changed. The easy banter, the steady stream of jokes and teasing, flows as effortlessly as it once did. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place, filling in the empty gaps of the previous days. It’s comforting, like a balm to an open wound.

You play with a certain zeal that catches Sylus off guard—there’s a joy in you that both thrills and stirs an undercurrent of unease in him.

After what feels like hours of playing, exhausting all what you can do, or at least, what this damned game could offer as much, you two find yourself just staring at each other.

Two worlds, impossibly close yet painfully far. The quiet doesn’t quite settle as naturally as it once did, but neither of you seems to mind. Craved it, in fact.

You’re beautiful, Sylus thinks as he stares at the soft planes of your face, drinking you in like a man parched.

“My lo—”

“I’m deleting the game, Sy.”

And it’s as if time has staggered to a halt.

Sylus wants to believe he’s misheard you, that his mind is playing tricks on him. He wouldn’t be surprised if his hearing’s not what it used to be.

But the words sink into him, inexorable and catastrophic. The realization that this was bound to happen is clear in hindsight—like watching a glass slip from your hand, the shatter already written in the fall. He sees it coming, yet it still feels worse than anything he’s imagined.

He stands there, unnaturally still, as if rooted in place. The lightness he’s felt for the past few hours of reuniting with you vanishes in an instant. It’s as if the world itself has been drained of color, leaving only the stark reality of what you’ve just said.

Then Sylus breathes out a laugh. It’s short and jagged, devoid of any humor. “Oh, so it’s been leading up to this, has it?”

“I–” you swallow hard, bottom lip trembling. “I made the goddamn mistake of falling for someone that's impossible to have—and it’s killing me, Sylus.” Your voice fractures under the weight of frustration. The words feel like shards of glass tearing their way out of your throat. “I–I can’t do this anymore.”

“Just you, then.” Sylus sneers, tone acerbic. “And have you stopped to consider my feelings in this matter?”

“How can you still want this?” you bite back, voice cracking. “How can you want me—to bet on something that’s doomed right from the start?”

His expression shifts, and for a brief moment, pain flickers in his eyes, raw and unguarded. He doesn’t bother hiding it.

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, when he speaks again, his words send an icy shiver down your spine.

“You delete the game, and I will cease to exist.”

You freeze. The weight of the statement hangs in the air like a guillotine.

A shallow, shaky breath escapes you.

“You won’t,” you assert, brows furrowing, as if trying to convince yourself of it too. “You’ll still have a life there. With her. The way things have always been.” There’s a pause before you utter the final blow: “The way it should be.”

“You’d condemn me to this life,” he says, voice hollow, before it turns venomous. “Knowing what I know now?”

With your heart in your throat, you clench your hands into fist. “You–you said we’re just made of what we’re given, didn’t you? That each of us has our own set of scripts, just…” you falter, struggling to articulate what you want to say.

“And you think that’s all I am?” he interjects, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper as he cuts you off. “Simply a mere code in a complex string of binary, incapable of making my own choices? Undeserving of it?”

“Of course not!” you snap angrily.

“Yet here you are,” he says, a quiet intensity lacing his words. “Making the decision for me.”

Your breath hitches, the will to argue dissipating like smoke.

“You tell me I have a soul,” he states. “Do you truly believe I’m bereft of a heart?”

No. No, how can he say that—

Before you can form a response—to defend yourself, to explain, to take it back—he continues, leaving no room for interruption.

“Is this what you really want?” Sylus intones, tone detached, as if he’s merely commenting on something as trite as the weather. “If you can look me in the eye and tell me yes, then I’ll do as you wish.”

Your gaze wavers. The war inside you rages—self-hate, doubt, and the unbearable ache of wanting what you can’t have spiraling out of control.

Your mind replays every moment, every laugh, every secret whispered in the quiet safety of his company. You think of how his presence filled the cracks in your life, how he soothed the ache of your solitude as easy as breathing.

And now as the void looms, ready to reclaim the space he’s occupied, something inside you feels irreparably fractured. Something inside you breaks.

“But,” he whispers, his voice rough with the weight of his conviction, “give me any sign—anything—that you need me still, and I will move heaven and earth to find a way to you.”

Your throat constricts, choking off the words before it could escape.

You don’t think you’ve ever hated yourself more than you do in that moment.

“Just live your life, Sy-Sy,” you manage, sounding so much like a stranger even to your own ears. The blood roars in your head, drowning out everything but the crushing weight of your words. “You don’t nee—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” he snarls, his voice shaking with unrestrained emotion. “Stop making assumptions. Stop presuming that I don’t need you as much as I need the very ground I stand upon.”

His eyes bore into yours. Heavy. Searching. “What do you want?”

The words strike you like a physical blow, and it leaves you reeling.

I love you.

I love you in ways that consume me.

I don’t know what to do with it—with all the love I have for you.

You force yourself to speak. You spit the words out like a curse, feeling them burn as they leave your mouth.

“Let me go, Sylus.”

The implication of what you’ve said cuts through the fragile air between you.

The silence stretches.

Suddenly—

“Let you go,” he muses, low and distant, as if the very thought confounds him. His lips twitch into a faint, almost bitter smile. “As if that’s even possible. As if I could simply erase you from me.”

He steps closer to you; each movement deliberate, as though every step bears the weight of a decision you’ve forced him to make. The lump in your throat swells. You don’t speak. You can’t.

You feel like you’re drowning.

“Sylus…”

Please, please don’t make me choose. Please make it stop.

He exhales slowly. “Neither of us wants that.”

Stop.

“Do you think this is mercy?” His voice is soft. “You believe this will make it easier?”

Please stop.

“This world hasn’t felt the same ever since. Not since you,” Sylus murmurs, grief hanging heavy in the space between you. “I don’t belong here. Not without you, my love.”

Tears pool in your eyes, hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks. A sob rips through you, and you quickly look away, unable to meet his gaze. Unable to bear another second of this agony.

He tuts gently, a playful sound—and the familiarity of it kills you, making you cry harder.

“Look at me,” he coaxes, almost pleading.

When his gaze locks onto yours, you see that there’s no anger in them. The fire that once raged in his eyes is gone.

In its place, a quiet resolve.

“You can keep pretending,” he says, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He tilts his head, and there’s something in the way he looks at you—so tenderly fond, as if he sees beyond your defenses, past all the walls you’ve built. “As long as you do not stop me from trying.”

Sylus looks at you, unwavering, certain in a way that makes your heart ache. It almost feels like the space between you can’t contain the weight of his devotion. His love for you.

It feels infinite, as if it could stretch beyond the limits of time and space itself.

“I will find a way to you, even if it takes me an eternity.”

He utters it like a promise.

“I won’t ask you to wait for me,” Sylus murmurs, stepping back, his tall form flickering like a dark phantasm. “I just need you to hold on until I can come to you. Can you do that, little dove?”

He’s not asking for anything beyond your trust—just the simple act of holding on. Of not letting the weight of your sorrow break you. To trust that he will find a way, no matter how impossible it seems.

You don’t know if you’ve ever believed in anything as much as you believe in him. You always did.

Because for all the uncertainty, you know one thing: He is yours, as much as you are his.

So with all the strength you can muster, you nod. “I can.”

A faint smile plays at the corners of his lips. Your gazes meet, and in that fleeting moment, both of your eyes speak what words fail to convey.

The game crashes for the last time.

And you know that if you check, the app will be gone from your phone. There’s no going back from this, no undoing what’s lost. Just the burden of knowing it’s over—his exit, permanent.

Sylus is gone.

The emptiness that follows is immediate. Suffocating.

You’re left standing there, alone, with only the lingering echo of his presence keeping you buoyed from the crushing weight of isolation. You feel it—the ache in your chest where your heart used to be, brought by the absence of everything he ever was to you.

Your lover, your best friend.

You try not to let yourself fall apart, not to crumble in the wake of solitude.

You’ll hold onto his promise. And so you’ll keep yours.

End A/N: Well—that’s it, folks!

(I’m kidding, don’t kill me. There’s one last chapter left.)

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #lads x you #lads x reader #love and deepspace fic #self aware au #sylus qin

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cynosdaydream · 1 month ago

Text

LOSER'S GAMBIT! - PART 2

The past is now a memory - acknowledge its beauty, but don't get too caught up in it.

Now playing: Infinity - One direction

Word count: 3.4k Author's note: Hihi! I hope part 2 is to your liking, as i tried to get this out as fast as possible. Hence, it's not quite proofread, so if theres any mistakes or errors, feel free to dm me! Part 1 / Part 2 (you are here) Desc: sylus x f!non-mc!reader, mentions of past zayne x reader, zayne x mc, canon compliant violence, slight descriptions of injury

It had been a few months since you broke up with Zayne. You moved your belongings out of your shared apartment shortly after you split, finding an apartment near your workplace. It was simple, but definitely not constricting. The apartment had enough space for all of your furniture and belongings, and even had some extra space for miscellaneous items. It only took a few weeks for you to personalise your house, turning it into a home with all of your interests and parts of your personality displayed on the walls and floors of the apartment. That was your safe space, the place where you could wind down, relax and collect your thoughts – especially after your breakup.

You spent some time thinking about it for days after the incident. It hurt to leave, it really did. Your relationship with Zayne felt like something out of a slow-burn story sometimes, with fleeting touches and prolonged eye contact before sheepishly looking away. Heated kisses in his office where anybody could walk in, but neither of you could care enough to stop.

But the keyword was sometimes. A large portion of your communication with him consisted of quick texts and calls that were more often than not cut short. And due to both your schedules being packed to the brim for the most part, actual dates that weren’t impromptu and random were few and far between.

However, the thing that hurt the most to think about was MC. You didn’t hold a grudge against her (how could you ever, when Zayne spoke about her with such fondness?) , but you were definitely always walking on eggshells whenever she was brought up by Zayne. Whenever he would cancel plans for MC, when he would work into ungodly hours of the night for MC, when he would come home absolutely drenched like a wet dog because MC dragged him out to dance in the rain – all of this made your heart ache. And on lonelier nights, it stung just the slightest bit more.

Nevertheless, after you took the time to heal and reflect on yourself, the constant stinging slowly numbed into the occasional dull ache. The initial sorrow had slowly subsided, but small remnants of it remained with you for weeks after. You would find yourself subconsciously holding out an apple in the kitchen, patiently waiting for someone to take it out of your hands and peel it for you. However, you slowly put the fruit down in realisation that there was no one there to do it now.

Whatever. I’ll get over it soon enough.

And you really did. The following months, you spent a lot more time going out with your friends, and making many new ones, and you, Tara, and Simone had grown a whole lot closer. Their reactions when you broke the news of your breakup to them were priceless, though.

Tara was in complete shock for a good minute, then flew into a flaming rage, cursing your ex-boyfriend out with exaggerated hand movements. “That – that’s outrageous! I didn’t expect doctor Zayne to be that type of person!” she yelped, making an offensive gesture, as if demonstrating what she would do to him if he were there. Simone seemed to skip the ‘shock’ part, and went straight to bombarding you with questions. “Why didn’t you tell us this earlier?” She spoke, voice laced with anger. “Both Tara and I would have knocked some sense into him. I don’t care who he is or how prestigious his title is, he doesn’t just get to treat you like that.” Tara nodded frantically behind her. You just laughed in spite of it all, not in a mocking way, but you were just overjoyed that your friends cared so much about you. “Everything’s alright now, though. Thank you for worrying about me, but don’t go around trying to attack him!”

You were even spending more time with the stranger you had met at the restaurant on the day you were stood up. Sylus. He was a charming individual, with captivating crimson eyes and an intimidating demeanor. The more you two met up, the closer you got. (was that a slight smirk he had on his face when you told him you broke up with Zayne or were you going crazy?) From barely knowing his favourite colour, by your 5th outing, he told you about his occupation, albeit hesitantly.

The topic came up when he asked you about your job, and you shot the question right back at him after you told him about your profession as a hunter. You can still remember it as clearly as day, sometimes reminiscing about that memory during work, when you were particularly bored. Today was a slow day, with you stuck at your desk doing paperwork, and you find your mind drifting elsewhere…

“Enough about me, what do you do for a living, Sylus? I don’t imagine the money for those designer clothes comes from thin air.” You had jested, poking him. “Well, you’re a sharp one, aren’t you?” At first, he seemed unwilling to tell you, and even lied about running a business selling various things like fruit and technology. You called him out on it pretty quickly, and he did not seem pleased. “Such intuition. Maybe you should consider switching professions to become a private investigator.” He said, lips quirked up into a grin. But his smile dropped only moments later, and you were afraid you had pushed too far. “Wait! If you really don’t want to tell me, it’s totally fine. I wouldn’t want to be too nosy.” You scrambled for the right words, a little nervous that you had put some distance between you and your new friend.

To your surprise, Sylus merely chuckled, and with a beat of hesitance, said, “Alright, I can tell you’re curious. But I should warn you, what I’m about to tell you isn’t exactly something I can just say out in the open. Promise me that what I’m about to tell you will stay between us, okay?” You nodded your head enthusiastically, waiting patiently for him to spill. “I swear!” Sylus chuckles lightly. “You’re too cute.” He mutters, voice barely audible. Were your ears playing tricks on you? Then, he continues, this time just slightly louder so that only you could hear.

"Alright, if you really must know...I work for a rather unconventional organization. It’s not exactly legal. We deal with… illegal things, like modified protocores and arms trading." You gasped in surprise, not expecting that answer. But your opinion of him didn’t change, and you didn’t feel scared of him just because of his line of work.

“That sounds really dangerous. But take care of yourself, okay? I can’t have my new friend dying on me.” You joke lightheartedly. His reply is immediate. "Don’t worry. I'm used to taking care of myself.” And you don’t know if the wind was blowing too loudly past your ears that day, but you could’ve sworn that you heard a soft and I need to be in my best condition to protect you.

Pulling yourself back into work, you could feel your heart beating faster just because of that memory. What were you thinking? That’s literally your friend! You thought, and your train of thought slowly drifted to Sylus’ striking appearance, the way he carried himself with such confidence, the way he would cover the bill when you went out to eat together no matter how much you protested… What’s wrong with you today?? You pinched yourself, immediately launching back into work to distract yourself from such scandalous thoughts. Even if you found him attractive, and even if you hypothetically (is it really?) liked him, there’s no way he would like you back, right? Besides, he would only be putting you and himself at risk if you were to date due to his dangerous profession. You shivered just thinking about all the enemies he had made coming for you if you were dating.

“___!” You heard your name being called out by one of your captains, and you were pulled to the side with a few of your co-workers to be told that you would be sent on a risky mission in 2 days – to the area where the outskirts of Linkon and the start of the N109 zone met. Apparently, there had been a sudden surge of wanderers in the area for unknown reasons, and your job was to try to find the source of all these wanderers and hopefully take some of them down. “Is that understood?” The captain addresses your group after the sudden briefing, and you all nod in understanding. You were not looking forward to this.

On the day itself, you were geared up to the max, taking numerous precautions in case something went wrong. You had your light armour reinforced the previous day, and had a few different types of medicine to treat wounds. Though you had been on dangerous missions before, the thought of fighting in what was basically uncharted territory still scared you a bit. You pressed your arms firmly against your pants to steel your nerves. “Okay, let’s do this.”

The mission started off relatively tame, with you and your team eliminating a few low-grade wanderers and noting down information about them. You would even describe it as uneventful, as it was basically the same thing you did on a daily basis.

That was until there was an ominous growling coming from behind a large rock pile, and from it emerged a beast of a wanderer. As it rose from the rocks, it stood tall, almost three times an average person's height -- a monstrous mix of a scorpion and a dragon, with glacier blue spikes sticking out if its body, with a menacing icicle-like stinger to match. "Watch out!" You heard your teammates shout, alerting the rest of your group. The wanderer itself was daunting enough, and the fact that it's cries were drawing the attention of smaller wanderers was not helping at all. However, your team was capable, and they quickly launched into action, some of them taking on the main wanderer, and some of them eliminating the smaller threats so they won't hinder the main task at hand.

You were one of the ones battling the scorpion-dragon hybrid of a wanderer. In the first 10 minutes or so, the few of you managed to damage it quite a good bit, managing to somehow slice off its stinger with carefully coordinated attacks. A few injuries were sustained by your teammates, but the remedies you stored on you came in handy.

In the end, you couldn't keep up with the wanderer forever. For some reason, this one had insane regenerative abilities. Besides its stinger, whatever damage that your team had done to it was covered up and healed by shiny blue crystals within an instant. Its attacks were relentless as well, shooting sharp spine-like crystals at all of you endlessly, and wildly swinging its limbs around. After realising that there was no way you guys could defeat this abomination of nature without more ammunition and manpower, you and your teammates tried to flee the site. You had gotten a decent amount of information on the wanderers in the area anyway.

However, the wanderer wouldn't let up, letting out seething hisses as it chased after your team with its powerful wings. You could see your teammates' stamina slowly depleting, and you felt helpless.

So, you came up with the most ridiculous plan you've ever thought of.

"The rest of you just run! I'll try my best to hold it off." You yell to your teammates, drawing your weapon once again. This was met with exclamations of protest from them, but you quickly shut them down. "Just hurry and run! Go and report back to headquarters and try to get help as soon as possible!" With a look of concern on their face, one of them nodded and assured you, "We'll do our best. Stay alive, ___!" And with that, they picked up their pace significantly and got into the vehicle back to the hunter's association.

Fuck. You were stupid as hell. Maybe you should've asked one of your teammates to stay with you to take care of this thing, but it was too late now. You narrowly dodged the wanderer's crystals, trying to land hits on it at the same time. However, it was too agile, and every hit you tried to land was a gamble. The feeling of dread was overwhelming as you grew more and more fatigued, and your arms felt like lead as you tried to steady them to get an accurate hit.

Ouch. What was that feeling in your chest? Your breathing was so laboured that it was hard to focus on any other feeling other than your lungs compressing and your arms sagging down. Borderline hyperventilating, you look down for a moment, only to see a pale blue icicle lodged into your abdomen, slowly being stained crimson by your blood. Shit. Now you could feel the pain. You cried out, too disoriented to even notice the tall figure in the distance hopping off a motorcycle and rushing towards your direction.

Your vision blurred, and you found yourself collapsing to the ground. But you weren't unconscious, not yet. This is where I die. You thought. You were already accepting fate as you awaited one last sharp icicle through your heart to end it all, but it never came. Instead, from what you could make out from the shapes and colours in your vision, the wanderer seemed to have dropped to the floor as well. How ironic.

The last thing you remember was a strangely familiar voice calling out your name repeatedly, shaking you awake. "___! ___! Can you hear me?" The voice called out worriedly. You felt compelled to respond, to assure them that you were alive and breathing, but the abyss consuming your thoughts seemed to beckon you in warmly, and you couldn't help but shut your eyes and give in...

Blinking a few times in rapid succession, the first thing you recognised was the smell of medicine, and the feeling of being carried in someone's arms. Then your vision began to come back, and soon enough, the lights of a hospital seared across your corneas, blinding you momentarily. When you could finally see clearly, you craned your head only to realise you were being rushed into... Akso hospital? Impossible. Weren't you just in the N109 zone?

You looked up to question your teammates about it, but as you drifted your gaze upwards to your carrier, you saw... Sylus?! Your face heated up at the sight of your friend (crush..ahem...) carrying you bridal style. His ruby red eyes snapped to yours, and you noticed his pupils dilating as he saw that you were awake. "__, you're awake." He heaved a sigh of relief, but his pace never faltered. Even though your throat was parched, you still managed to cough out a few sentences. "Sylus... why are we at Akso hospital? How did you find me?" You coughed out.

He went silent for a moment. "I happened to be in the area when I saw what happened. And it was very fortunate I was. But there's no readily available medical services near the outskirts of the N109 zone, so my first instinct was to bring you to the city." Sylus explained softly. "Please save your voice, __. Your condition sounds terrible."

Soon enough, he stopped in front of a room. It looked... weirdly familiar. Wasting no time, Sylus didn't bother to knock but wordlessly entered the room and laid you down on the treatment bed while explaining to the doctor what happened, scarily calm.

"...what? This is..." you heard the doctor mutter, and his voice sounded breathless, and it was followed by frantic scribbling of pen on paper. You gently turned your head to the left, trying to identify the doctor in the room. That's when you locked eyes with Zayne. His eyes widened, and he quickly looked away, as if your gaze had scorched him. You could see Sylus' eyebrow raise in the corner of your eye and the look on his face when he realised who Zayne was. And then you spotted a mischievous smirk growing on his face.

However, Zayne wasted no time in making his way to you, applying various ointments and creams to injuries on your skin, and bandaging where you had gotten injured by the icicle through your chest. You could feel his usually steady hands tremble as he tightened the bandage, his breathing ever so slightly uneven. After he was done, he gave you a cup of water, and the pain had definitely been alleviated by a significant amount.

After a thorough (and very awkward) check-up under Sylus' watchful eye, you were ordered to visit the hospital once for a check-up for 3 days, and if your condition improved, you could stop coming back. "One last thing. May I know what your relationship with the patient is? We need to know this for documentation purposes." Zayne addresses Sylus, pen in hand. Sylus glances at you, then glances back at Zayne.

"I'm her boyfriend." Sylus states proudly, smirking at you.

Zayne looked taken aback, a frown barely visible on his face as he wrote it down, his pen hitting the clipboard harder than usual. Then, he simply nodded, and gestured for Sylus to leave the room, but for you to remain. "I need to speak to the patient privately." Zayne said. Sylus shot him a curious look, then turned to you. "Will you be alright by yourself, dear?" He quips endearingly.

You only laugh, replying, "It'll be quick, don't worry. Right, doctor Zayne?" To which the dark-haired man nodded stiffly. Sylus huffs playfully, and winks at you before exiting the room.

Once the door clicks shut, Zayne turns to face you. "It's been a while." He begins, treading carefully. "It has. What exactly do you have to speak to me about privately?" You ask coldly, a stark contrast to your warm tone with your supposed boyfriend just now.

A beat of silence ensues. "Who's that?" Zayne finally asks. You were getting annoyed now. This was less than professional of him. "Didn't you hear him? Sylus is my boyfriend." You enunciate your last sentence word by word. The doctor looked displeased; his lips pressed into a thin line and his grip on the table tightening before he said, "I didn't know you found another boyfriend fast. Is that why you ended things between us?"

You sigh. This conversation was exhilarating. "Look, Zayne. You don't have a place in my life to care about what I do anymore and who I'm with. And I didn't end things with you because I had feelings for another person - hell, I didn't even know him when we were dating!" You spat; venom interjected into your voice. For a second, he tried to retaliate, but just ended up looking like a fool as no words came out of his mouth in his defense.

"Stop trying to victimize yourself, and stop trying to paint me as the villain by insinuating that I ended things because I had feelings for someone else. We broke up because you clearly didn't have enough time for me, end of story."

A knock at the door prevented you from going even further, from making sure your words left a dent in that dense head of his. A cheerful voice called from outside, "Zayne! I have your lunch with me, open up~!" Ah.

You took that as your cue to leave, leaving behind a stunned Zayne as you curtly bowed your head at MC while going out the door.

"__." You heard your name being called. Turning to the side, you were met with Sylus, grinning like the Chesire cat. "Sylus." You smirk at him. "Soo... my boyfriend, huh?" You question flippantly. "Yes. Although, you must give me another chance to properly confess my feelings to you. That just now... forget it ever happened. Someone like you deserves an extravagant confession, so wait patiently, alright?"

Hearing this, your eyes widened as you stared blankly at him. You could feel your face warming up, the reality of it all sinking in. "What, cat got your tongue?" Sylus purrs, pressing a kiss on the corner of your lips. "You're so forward!" You exclaim, putting your hands on his chest to push him away from your embarrassed form.

"That I am. Don't lie, you like it." He teases, making you even more flustered. "Maybe I do." You shoot back, linking arms with him.

"Do you want to go back to your apartment to watch some movies and get some rest? My motorcycle is parked outside the hospital, just make sure to hold on tight. I'll go slow."

"I thought you'd never ask."

taglist: @noxellaa , @boopershnooper , @aboobie , @blorbohunter , @notisekais , @justpassingdontworry

#zayne x reader #sylus x reader #love and deepspace #zayne angst #zayne x mc #sylus x you #sylus angst #sylus fluff #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace zayne #sylus #zayne

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dawngyu · 3 months ago

Text

RAIN LILIES

pairing: soulmate idol choi beomgyu x soulmate fem!reader

Sitting at parties surrounded by lovers, a silent third wheel at movie nights, the friend holding the camera at weddings—your hands are always... alone in the spaces where others are full.

Were you an error in the grand scheme? An anomaly? A glitch in the unforgiving script? Or maybe, he simply doesn’t really… exist.

That’s how you ended up here, standing beside your korean-pop-obsessed friend who practically dragged you out and swore you’d love the show. It all became a blur when your eyes met his.

He’s on stage, gripping the mic impossibly still, staring down back at you like he feels it too.

He shouldn’t be real.

warnings: red-string au, strangers to lovers, reader is two years older, normal society norms, waiting, anxiety, doubts, sasaengs, insecurities, hasty decisions, drunk-in-love beomgyu. pov switching. everything written is a work of fiction. let me know if I missed anything.

smut-warnings: MDNI, explicit-descriptions, missionary, fingering, oral!fem receiving, dom beomgyu.

wc: 20k — playlist.

notes: fighting both my delulu and my demons while writing this. 😭 Might just be the fic I enjoyed writing the most—I hope you love it just as much! so glad to be part of this beautiful event. a big thank you to my beta reader.

1/5 part of the valentine event with talented moas! see the full masterlist here.

If fate promised you something so certain, how could you not long for it?

Since childhood, you’ve heard the stories. The way people speak in hushed voices, weaving fate into riddles, how somewhere out there, it's waiting—a single red string, unseen until the exact moment it’s meant to appear.

The rules are simple: the second your eyes meet theirs, a delicate crimson thread will wrap and tug around your ring finger, stretching across, tied to the one who is destined to love you.

You watched it happen to everyone else. From playground giggles in elementary school to whispered confessions in high school hallways, to late-night talks in college dorm rooms. You listened as your friends spoke about finding their own soulmates, the feeling—the pull, the process. It's everywhere. In the way, your parents fit together like pages of the same story. On the way your younger sister—still so new to the world found her match.

When you’re told your whole life that destiny is waiting for you, how could you not ache for it?

The universe doesn’t make mistakes. And yet, your hands remained... stringless.

And now you wonder if it did—with you.

"One, two, three, smile!"

You press the shutter, capturing the way they look at each other. You lower the camera, but they don’t even notice—they’re too caught up in their own little world, whispering sentences only they’ll ever understand. They laugh, eyes soft, bodies leaning in just a little closer.

How does love do that? How does it make someone shine like they’re carrying sunlight beneath their skin? Like just standing beside the right person is enough to set them alight?

And why, no matter how long you wait, does that light never seem to find you?

There are days you curse it—this cruel design, this aching uncertain certainty. You tell yourself it would be easier not to know, to live without the quiet hope that somewhere, someone is meant to find you, or that fate had already written your name beside someone else’s.

And then there are days you fear it.

What if they don’t want to find you? What if that’s why you’re still alone? What if they got it wrong, skipped over your name, and he simply… doesn’t exist?

You're an anomaly. A glitch in the well-made script.

You lost count of how many times you wished it was never made this way. That love shouldn’t be a promise. Yet in the deepest hours of the night, you found yourself—gasping, trembling, and sobbing to your palms. The feeling of—

How can you miss someone you've never met?

You want to reach for a hand you’ve never held. You long for a voice you’ve never heard, a scent you’ve never breathed, a shadow you’ve never chased. And more than anything, you wish you had a name to whisper, to give you hope.

You swallow, forcing a smile as you turn back to the couple. "Congratulations," you say, "It’s a beautiful wedding."

"Thank you, Y/N!" Ha-rin squeals, practically glowing as she steps forward to hug you. "And thank you for being our photographer—I know you must be busy."

"You’re welcome," you reply, adjusting your camera strap. "It’s what I do, after all."

Ju-won steps in then, reaching for Ha-rin’s hand like he can’t stand even a moment of space between them. "Thank you, Y/N," he says, his eyes never straying far from his wife.

They were your high school classmates. You remember the day they met—first year, first morning, when their eyes met across the classroom, and just like that, the red string appeared. They grew together, from awkward introductions to effortless friendship, and now, here they were, husband and wife.

A picture of everything the universe had promised them.

Ju-won leans in, pressing a kiss to Ha-rin’s cheek like it’s the first time, like they haven’t spent years by each other’s side. The look in their eyes is so easy, so full of love, that you have to look away.

You can't look.

"Uh, I’ll get some drinks," you say, forcing a smile that feels as out of place as you do. You don’t wait for a response. You just turn, your heels clicking against the polished floor, head spinning as you try to count how many weddings you’ve attended this year.

Or no. You’ve lost count.

Everyone you grew up with—your friends, your classmates—have already found their soulmates. Most are married now, some already raising children.

Your heels dig into your feet with each hurried step, but you don’t slow down. You just keep moving, past everyone. You know exactly where you’ll end up. The same place you always do.

Alone at the sidelines.

You grab a drink, bringing it to your lips a little too quickly, hoping the cool burn will settle the unease twisting in your stomach.

"Hey! It’s been a while!" A voice cuts calls out, familiar—but not familiar enough. You turn to see a girl skidding towards you, her face vaguely recognizable. A former classmate? A clubmate? Someone who once sat next to you in a lecture hall?

"How have you been?" she asks, taking a drink for herself.

"I’m fine, thanks," you reply, forcing an easy nod before taking another sip.

A second passes, and then another girl joins the conversation, breathless with laughter. "Beom-seok finally let me go," she teases, tilting her head toward the man across the room—her soulmate. "The guy’s obsessed."

"Of course he is," the first girl grins. "He’s your soulmate." She swirls her drink before adding, "Mine just got back from overseas. He’ll see me tomorrow once he’s in the city." And there it is again—circling back to the same topic, the one you can never take part in. You nod, offering a small smile, pretending to listen.

Because what is there to say when everyone else has something you don’t?

"Y/N?" Your name pulls you out of your thoughts.

"Huh?"

"Did you meet yours yet?" The question hits like a slow, squeezing ache in your chest.

"No," you say, reaching for another drink. It's embarrassing that everyone knows you're empty. "I haven't."

"That's… weird, right?" The first girl tilts her head, genuinely puzzled. "I mean, we sat through those lectures together. Didn’t the studies say most people find their soulmate before twenty-five? That’s what the records say."

There’s no malice in her voice, just matter-of-fact. Like she’s pointing out a statistic, saying out what’s already been made painfully clear to you. it’s the same tired reminder, the same unspoken question: what’s wrong with you?

You’re used to it by now.

"Yeah," you say, unwilling to argue. What’s the point? Your mind slips back to those reckless high school days—the days when older girls, too cool and too cruel, mocked you for not having a soulmate. You remember snapping back, pretending their words didn’t sting.

Later, the tears came on the bus ride home—carving rivers down your cheeks as you sob. Strangers offered tissues, soft words, awkward kindness, but none of it could stitch you back together. You remember your mother's words after seeing her home. To stop them from hurting you, you have to accept all of yourself.

But how do you accept the whole of you, when it doesn’t even feel like you have all of you?

From the corner of your eye, you catch the second girl nudging her. "Don’t mind her, Y/N," she says quickly. "She doesn’t always think before she talks." Then, after a beat, she adds, "Have you tried dating in the meantime? You know, while you're waiting?"

You blink at her, taken aback.

"I mean, it's not like it’s cheating, right? Since you haven’t met them yet."

You set your drink down, your fingers suddenly cold. "Why are you suggesting something you wouldn’t even do?" Your voice is calm, but it makes her shift uncomfortably. "Or did you? Does your soulmate know?"

Neither of them speaks. Guilt in their expressions. You don’t wait for an answer. You're done for tonight.

It’s time to go.

You turn away, not bothering to look back. No one needs you here—your part is done. Your role here is over. You pull out your phone, quickly typing out a polite apology to the bride before slipping it back into your pocket.

The drive home is silent, and the buzz of the engine is the only company you have. Your hands grip the wheel a little too tightly, your thoughts drifting despite your best efforts to keep them at bay. When you finally reach your small apartment, you step out, clutching yet another wedding souvenir in one hand a meaningless token of a night that wasn’t yours to celebrate.

You lock the door behind you and lean against it blinking, exhaling shakily. "I guess today wasn’t the day either," you murmur to no one in particular, wiping away the single tear that managed to escape. "What's taking you so long?"

No matter how often you whispered this question, it never hurt any less.

"What's taking you so long?"

Beomgyu groans from under the covers, trying to burrow deeper into the warmth of his bed. The sudden tug of his blanket makes him blindly reach out, attempting to grab it back. "You shi—"

"Beomgyu, you're the last one. We're all almost ready to go," Soobin says, adjusting his belt in the mirror. "Look at this little child."

Beomgyu stretches with a dramatic yawn. "I'm up, I'm up," he mumbles, sitting up sluggishly and blinking against the light. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, feet landing on the bedside table. Soobin shakes his head but doesn't stick around—his job is done. Beomgyu is finally awake.

Minutes later, Beomgyu trudges into the living room, hair a mess, voice still deep with sleep. "Are we eating there?"

The entire room turns to look at him.

"You woke up late, and that’s the first thing you care about?" Yeonjun teases, shaking his head with a laugh.

"Well, I didn’t eat last night," Beomgyu grumbles.

"Oh?"

"Liar," the maknae pipes up from the couch, casually applying lip balm. "You literally snuck out to eat."

"You snitch," Beomgyu gasps, feigning betrayal. "I didn’t raise you to turn on me like this!"

"You? Raise me?" Kai scoffs. "Soobin hyung’s the one who raised me, what are you talking about?"

Soobin smirks and chucks Beomgyu’s towel straight at his face. "Exactly. Now go shower, you idiot."

Laughter erupts around the room as Beomgyu groans, trudging toward the bathroom. "Shower quick, hyung," Taehyun calls out.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

Beomgyu’s slightly damp hair clings to the back of his neck. He hadn’t had time to dry it properly before they rushed out of the dorm—there was no room for delays today. A broadcast for their comeback. Another promotion. His stylist would handle it in the green room anyway.

They pile into the van, the usual quiet settling over them. Despite being fully dressed and ready, exhaustion hangs heavy. One by one, his members drift off, heads resting against windows, bodies slumped in their seats. Only Kai remains awake, lost in his own world, music pulsing through his earphones. The maknae was so engrossed on his phone, obviously texting with a small smile on his face.

Beomgyu sighs, pressing his forehead against the cool glass, his breath slightly fogging up the window. Today would be a long day. Rehearsals, performances, a challenge video, taping. He missed this. He missed MOAs. The rush of the stage. The high of performing. And then—

Oh.

The van slows at a red light, and his gaze drifts absentmindedly to the sidewalk. His chest tightens.

A couple walks by, laughing, hands intertwined, completely lost in their own world. The way they move together, effortlessly in sync. In love. Content. Happy. He stares longer than he should.

He can't look away.

His throat feels tight as the van lurches forward again, pulling him out of his thoughts. He blinks hard, shifting in his seat. The image stayed, pressed into the back of his mind.

All four of his members had already found theirs—their soulmates. The one they could lean on when the world became too loud. Beomgyu was happy for them, of course, he was. He remember how he was when Kai blushed when he met his soulmate recently, right after his 23rd birthday.

Everyone teased the maknae relentlessly for weeks.

Beomgyu had been too busy his whole life, training since he was just a kid, running full speed toward a dream. His mind is busy to the point he sometimes forgets it. He does not mean to. It's just that—he never let himself dwell on it for too long. Pushing it aside became second nature, the same way he’d forget to eat when he was too busy, too distracted.

But every year, without fail, when the room dimmed and the birthday candles in front of him, his wish was always the same.

His soulmate.

It didn’t matter how many years passed or how much he achieved—when the glow of those tiny flames danced in his eyes, it was the only thing his heart whispered.

Beomgyu exhales shakily, his fingers curling into his hoodie. a quiet sigh slipping from his pouting lips.

Where are you?

The stark white walls of the hospital room loom over, mocking your awkwardness.

"There's nothing wrong with you, dear," the woman in front of you says, her lab coat lending a sense of authority to her words. Her voice is gentle, reassuring, but it barely soothes the unease twisting in your chest. "Soulmates do tend to find each other early, statistically speaking. But that’s just a pattern, not a guarantee."

You swallow hard. The lump in your throat stays put. "Is there… any chance this is a mistake?" Your voice is quieter than you intend, fragile in a way you hate. "That someone could go their whole life without one? That—" you hesitate, your chest tightening, "that I’m just… meant to be alone?"

Something flickers across her face—pity, maybe. You’re not sure. "I’ll look into it, I promise," she says after a moment. "I know twenty-six feels late, and I know it’s frustrating. But… trust in destiny a little longer. If you want, I can also recommend a therapist. I know the pressure can get to you."

Her words are meant to be comforting. They only make the weight in your chest heavier. You shake your head, managing a quiet “thank you” before slipping out of the room, the door clicking shut behind you.

“How was it?” Da-hee’s voice reaches you before you even look up. She’s already on her feet, eyes scanning your face, searching for an answer. “What did they say?”

“Nothing I haven’t heard before.” You sigh, walking past her. “I told you I should not do this.”

She huffs, crossing her arms as she falls into step beside you. “You never tried it,”

Your best friend doesn’t argue anymore, following you to the counter in silence. The cashier barely looks up as they say, “That consultation is $120 total, plus taxes, bringing it to $145.86. Card or cash?”

You catch Da-hee reaching for her wallet, but you gently push her hand away. “Don’t,” you murmur. “This was for me.”

You hand over your card. A quick swipe, a faint beep. And just like that, you’re down nearly $150 with nothing to show for it but a sinking feeling in your stomach.

That much money for a consultation. A conversation. No treatment, no tests, nothing tangible. Soulmate doctors are expensive. Too expensive. And health insurance? Useless. They don’t cover something as rare, as unquantifiable, as soulmate problems.

Because to them, it’s not a real sickness, proving that you are—once again—the outlier.

Perfect.

“Come on,” you say, nudging your still-guilty-looking friend. She follows you out of the hospital, quiet and pouting.

At the car, she pulls open the driver’s side door. “Let me at least drive?” she offers, voice softer now.

You chuckle at her persistence, shaking your head before tossing her the keys. “Okay.” Sliding into the passenger seat, you reach for the radio, as she pulls out of the parking lot.

"Let's hang out at your place," Da-hee says, and she grins as she sees you nod your head.

Music played softly through the speakers, blending with the casual flow of conversation. The air is light, and easy—until your car rolls past a towering black building.

HYBE.

Funeral wreaths. Trucks. Massive banners.

Your brows furrow as you take it in, the sight so jarring that it silences you for a beat. The road ahead clogs with slowed traffic, people lingering to gawk at the scene.

“What the fuck?” Da-hee mutters, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter, eyes darting across the scene. The traffic slows as more people crane their necks to look. You do the same, stomach twisting at the sheer scale of it. "This is insane."

“What’s going on?” you ask, still trying to piece together the meaning behind it all.

She exhales, lips pressing into a thin line. “Lee Heeseung. An idol,” she starts. “News got out that he recently went out with his soulmate.” Her voice dips, sadness flickering across her face. “And now… now, people want him out of the group.”

Your stomach twists. “What?”

You strain to read the bold, angry messages plastered across the banners:

GET LEE HEESEUNG OUT OF HYBE.

APOLOGIZE, LEE HEESEUNG.

EXPLAIN THIS, LEE HEESEUNG.

ENHYPEN IS NOW ONLY SIX.

IDOLS WITH SOULMATES ARE NOT IDOLS.

The messages feel suffocating, each one worse than the last. Then you see it—one of the trucks, its LED screen flashing an image like a public execution.

A man, young and striking, caught mid-laughter as he eats ramen with a girl beside him. She’s smiling too, her expression warm, content. The matching caps on their heads make them look like any ordinary couple, but the grainy, long-lens quality of the photo gives it away. Someone had been watching. Someone had been waiting to expose them.

Your stomach turns.

“It’s worse when so many fans are… young,” Da-hee murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. “Most of them are stringless.” She says the last word carefully like she doesn’t want to offend you.

But you almost hear what she isn’t saying.

Stringless people can’t understand the soulmate bond. And when it comes to idols, that misunderstanding twists into darker. As insane as it sounds, they feel entitled. Possessive. Like their devotion should be enough. Like an idol’s life—who they love, who they belong to—should be theirs to control.

It’s the only explanation, isn’t it?

The car inches forward, and your eyes drift back to the scene outside. Security guards push against the surging crowd, their faces strained. The banners wave wildly, like battle flags in a war meant to punish.

You swallow hard. “I don’t get it.” You don’t know him. You don't need to know him to know the injustice of it. “Why treat him like he committed some kind of crime? He’s meant to have someone. He’s a person, not—” You gesture vaguely at the protest, frustration bubbling up. “Not their property.”

Da-hee sighs. “That’s why idols who are caught with their soulmates—especially the ones who confirm it, get cancelled. Fans turn on them. They lose everything.” She shakes her head, voice laced with exhaustion and resignation. “It’s sad that they have to hide it.”

The thought of society hating someone just for loving who they’re meant to love makes your chest feel tight. How could something meant to be beautiful turn into this?

You guess your own situation isn’t the only cruel, unfair thing in this world.

The two of you make it back to your apartment, settling in for a movie with a bowl of popcorn between you. The glow of the TV flickers across the room, a comfortable silence stretching between you—until Da-hee suddenly squeals, nearly knocking the popcorn over in the process.

“Oh my god,” she gasps, shoving the popcorn bowl off her lap as she scrambles to her feet. “OH MY GOD.” She starts stomping in place.

You glance at her, unimpressed. “I want to wipe that ridiculous grin off your face.”

She just giggles and shoves her phone in front of you. “Joon bought me VVIP tickets. I’m going to die.” She pumps a fist in the air, bouncing on her toes like a kid who just won the lottery. “And there’s two. He can’t go—oh my god. Please, please, I am begging you to come with me. It’s next week! That sneaky bastard didn’t even tell me he bought them ages ago.”

You hesitate, already feeling the excuse forming on your tongue. “I don’t think—”

“Come on, Y/N.” She grabs your arm, shaking it dramatically. “Look at me. I have a soulmate, and I still thirst over Tomorrow X Together.”

You nearly choke on your drink. “That’s a long-ass name.”

“They’re my babies,” she says, clutching her chest like she’s been personally blessed by the gods. “You’ll love the show, I promise. And maybe—you’ll be like me. While you wait for your soulmate, it’s harmless to fangirl a little. OMG, what if you become a MOA? That’s my dream. Imagine us going to cafés with photocards, buying merch, collecting albums—”

“Okay, first of all, they are grown men. Not babies.” you cut in before she spirals. You know from experience that once she starts talking about her fangirl life, she never stops. “Anyways, okay, I’ll go. But don’t expect anything.”

Da-hee lets out another excited squeal before launching herself at you, wrapping her arms around your neck and squeezing way too tight.

“You won’t regret this!”

You already do.

It was your turn to trail behind Da-hee like a lost puppy, weaving through the sea of fans decked out in carefully coordinated outfits. Everyone is well dressed. So prepared. Keychains and accessories dangled from their bags, the sound of clinking metal filling the air.

"Look at them," Da-hee suddenly stopped, pulling out her phone. You followed her gaze to the massive banner hanging outside the arena.

TOMORROW X TOGETHER

They... didn’t look bad.

"My husbands," Da-hee sighed dreamily spinning turning to you with wide eyes. "Let's take a selfie!"

Before you could protest, she yanked you in, holding her phone high. The two of you posed—her grinning ear to ear, you looking like a reluctant daughter humoring her overexcited mom.

At the ticketing section, an attendant handed you both event wristbands and ID laces. You're about to shove yours into your pocket, but Da-hee looped it around your neck like a medal.

“So you don’t lose it,” she said firmly.

You sighed, adjusting the strap as you followed her toward a merch booth. Fans swarmed the display, eyes gleaming as they scanned the shelves stacked with albums, shirts, and accessories.

"Everyone's so hyped," you muttered, glancing around. "I can see a lot of Da-hees here."

"Of course they are," Da-hee said ignoring your last comment with a dramatic sway of her hand. She skimmed the display. "This comeback is a masterpiece."

You frowned. "What are we even doing here?"

"You need a picket." She says. "And don’t even think about saying no. I’m still heartbroken you refused the lightstick, so at least take this. We’re gonna be right at the barricades, you can’t just stand there empty-handed. Pick one."

You groaned, "Fine."

Your eyes sweep over the options, scanning each face printed on the glossy boards. You won’t say it out loud—not yet—but you’ll admit it now. They’re all… ridiculously handsome.

And one of them stands out.

Soft brown eyes. A small, almost knowing smile. Something about his face makes your breath hitch. "Uh..."

Da-hee leans in, brow furrowing. "What are you picking? Wait. Are you okay? Why are you so red—"

"I'm not," You quickly pointed at the picket, avoiding her stare like your life depended on it. "This one."

A slow, mischievous grin spreads across her face. "Oh-ho." She turns to the waiting merch seller, smiling some more.

"One Beomgyu, please."

You followed her... once again.

You didn’t have much of a choice. But this time, your steps felt… lighter. Movements are less reluctant than when you first arrived.

You weren’t sure why. Maybe it was the way the heat had finally eased, the golden glow of late afternoon settling over the pavement. Maybe it was the way MOAs—total strangers—smiled at you like you belonged, their warmth making you feel strangely at ease. Maybe it was the fact of not hearing the word soulmate even once. That you don't feel the odd one out.

Or maybe—just maybe—it was the picket you now held carefully in your hands.

You didn’t know how it happened. How you went from teasing Da-hee about her obsession to clutching a piece of laminated paper like it meant something. But the more you looked around, the more you understood.

It wasn’t just about the idols printed on banners or the music playing faintly in the background. But also, it was about them. These people who glowed with excitement, who found joy in simply being here, in loving unapologetically.

You were sceptical of it at first, seeing the front of HYBE last week. The protest. But just like everything, you saw it. The good side of being a fan.

How they shined—not only because of who they adored, but because of how they adored. How happy they were to love, and to share that love with everyone around them.

And somehow, standing here among them, you felt a little brighter, too.

"Where are we going now?"

"MOAZONE," Da-hee answers without hesitation, pulling you toward yet another booth. The concert doors won’t open for another thirty minutes, but she’s on a mission. The funny thing is—she doesn’t really need to drag you anymore.

Something has settled in your bones. You’re going to see this through, stay until the last song fades. And maybe—you’ll find yourself here again next time.

"It’s a booth where you can pull a concert-exclusive photocard," she explains further, eyes shining with excitement.

You nod, letting her lead the way. The line is long. When it’s finally Da-hee’s turn, she gasps, then squeals so loudly people around her chuckle. "Yeonjun!" she cries, clutching the card to her chest like it’s the most precious thing in the world. "I got him!"

Then, it’s your turn.

A row of face-down cards is laid out before you. You don’t think too hard about it—you just point to one.

The staff hands it over, and when you flip it, your breath catches.

"You got Beomgyu?!" Da-hee shrieks, bouncing on her toes beside you. You barely hear her. Because there he is.

Elbow propped up, chin resting on his hand, that same small, knowing smile—only this time, it’s wider.

Fucking hell.

Da-hee grabs your arm, shaking you. "Girl, you are officially a Beomgyu magnet. I'm unfriending you if don't start liking them,"

Beomgyu.

Beomgyu. His name loops in your mind, over and over. And for some reason, it fits. His name suits him.

You tried your best not to break a smile. "Come on,"

If you had told yourself a year ago that you’d be here—crammed into a packed venue, surrounded by screaming teenagers—you would’ve laughed. Hard.

And yet, here you are, laughing. Not at the absurdity of it, but with it. Caught up in the moment with Da-hee, the crowd’s energy vibrates as hundreds of voices chant their names.

“It’s soundcheck first,” Da-hee leans in, her voice barely cutting through the noise. “Then the main concert.”

You nod, still grinning. “Okay.”

Then, the opening notes of a song play through the speakers. The crowd erupts. “Oh my god!” Da-hee shrieks, “It’s Deja Vu!”

The five of them step onto the stage. It’s a blur—lights flashing, voices screaming. Your heart pounds against your ribs as the music swells, wrapping around you like something alive.

It’s beautiful.

A tall man—easily the tallest—moves toward your section, waving with an easy smile, deep dimples carving into his soft-looking cheeks. It reminds you of bread. The warmth of it is infectious, and before you even realise it, you're waving back, grinning at someone whose name you didn’t even know this morning.

Then, the song begins to wind down. And that’s when you see him.

Beomgyu.

His steps are slower than the others, like he’s taking his time, scanning the crowd with careful eyes. You tell yourself not to look. Not when he gets closer. Not when that strange, restless nervousness twists in your stomach. You clench your fists and stare at the ground. Why? Why does this feel so overwhelming?

Around you, voices grew. The energy shifts, and you know it’s only a matter of time before you give in. You look up, unsure.

The mic is at his lips, his voice singing into the melody—until suddenly, he stops.

All because his eyes meet yours.

Everything else fades. The crowd, the shake of Da-hee beside you, even the music that was supposed to be loud. All that’s left is the pull—a red thread stretching between, searing itself into your vision, blinding in its intensity—demanding to be seen.

On stage, he stands impossibly still, his fingers gripping the mic like he sees it too.

It can't be real.

“We're trending again,” Taehyun says, flopping onto Beomgyu’s hotel bed with a sigh. “What the hell?”

Beomgyu leans back against the headboard, “How much time do we have?”

Taehyun checks his watch. “Practice is in… oh. Hours.” He exhales, shaking his head in awe. “This is actually happening. A sold-out stadium, Beomgyu. Can you believe that? Remember that tiny, run-down building we used to train in? The cracked floorboards, the growing mushrooms?” He laughs, eyes distant.

“When Yeonjun used to sneak his soulmate in, trying to show off like he was already famous? As a trainee. And now—now, we’re here.”

Beomgyu snorts. “In that practice room, too. I still don’t know how his soulmate put up with that. Or how Yeonjun didn’t get kicked out.”

“Yeah. They just couldn’t let go of each other.” Taehyun laughs, shaking his head. “And I don't think Big Hit will let go of him too."

It had been one of the first rules drilled into them during training—no soulmates. No... searching. And if they already had one? They had to tell them. Have the conversation. An agreement that would turn everything into a secret.

Soulmates were inevitable, unstoppable. Beomgyu still remembers the contract in his hands, the way he read every word over and over, heart pounding. As if somewhere in the fine print, there was a clause that might hurt his soulmate. In the end, he signed.

If he ever found his soulmate, no one could know. Not until everything was over. In other words, disbandment.

"I'm missing her like crazy these days."

Beomgyu doesn’t respond right away. He just shrugs, tossing things out of his suitcase—a hoodie, a toothbrush, whatever his hands find first. He had noticed how restless Taehyun had been, the way he kept his phone glued to his hands, typing, hesitating, typing again. But what was there to say? What could he do about it?

The others were good at pretending. Hiding. The quiet hotel meetups, the stolen hours between schedules. But if Beomgyu was being honest, he could count on both hands the number of times any of the four had actually been with their soulmates since debut.

The fear of getting caught kept them all in line. Not just by the company, but by the fans. The horror stories weren’t just industry rumours—some were ancient, some recent.

If this doesn’t work out, I don’t know if I can take it. Taehyun had said that once. This career was everything. He wasn’t going to risk it. He wasn't ready. And Beomgyu understood. Everyone understood. He could already picture the protest trucks outside the company building if anyone ever slipped up.

"You heard anything from Heeseung?" Taehyun asks, his voice careful, his fingers tightening around his phone. Beomgyu knows him well enough to catch the shift—the way his mind drifts, went from missing his soulmate to remembering the latest scandal in their world.

Heeseung, the newest idol thrown into the fire.

He, who got caught with his soulmate.

"Yeah," Beomgyu says, swallowing. "He's okay, but… his soulmate is taking the worst of it."

Taehyun stills. The thought of his own soulmate being dragged into something like that—starts to burn at the back of his mind. What if it were her?

"Hey, don't overthink it," Beomgyu says because he sees it. He sees it in all of them. The quiet way they carry it, that they aren’t supposed to want. In their world, the idea that you should be free with your soulmate is just that—an idea. Or maybe worse. A peril. A risk too big to take.

He remembers Soobin crying once, blaming himself for wanting this life—this job. And how, in the end, the only person who could calm him down was his soulmate. The same person the company treated like a liability. Yet, the only one with the power to bring their leader back to himself.

The irony.

He also remembers the night he sat with his dad, asking him how he knew Mom was his. He had tilted his head, recounting their encounter, before he said one thing that stuck with him.

"Before I even saw the string, I knew… it was her."

Beomgyu used to cringe at that. Now, he wonders if he'll ever get the chance to feel it.

“Did you see everyone? Insane.” Yeonjun says, eyes wide as they sit in the salon-like chairs. “They’ve been out there since last night.”

Kai glances at him as much as he can without moving his head, his makeup artist carefully blending eyeshadow. “Yeah, I saw them. MOAs are bundled up out there, and it’s freezing. It's worrying me.”

"I feel like I'm about to throw up. I'm nervous,"

Playing a stadium—a sold-out one, this is the dream. The one every trainee chases, the one Beomgyu used to stare at the ceiling imagining, too afraid to believe it could ever be real. And yet, here it is.

His mind pulls him back to the past. The long nights, the aching muscles, the quiet sobs muffled into his pillow. The moments of doubt, the voices—his own, the other's—telling him he wasn’t enough. He remembers how hard they worked. How hard he worked. How many times they shared one meal because they couldn't afford another one. And still, somehow, they held on.

He knows he earned this, and fought for it with everything he had. But standing here now, bathed in the price of it all, it still doesn’t feel real. He stares at his hands once his stylist is done with his eyes. There’s something else tugging at him, a strange feeling that’s been lurking since morning.

What it is, he can’t quite say.

Beomgyu's eyes sweep over the big space. The kind of big that makes his head spin if he thinks about it too much. In a few hours, this place will be much packed. He’s been—on stages just like this, under lights just as bright but somehow, it still knocks the wind out of him.

It's soundcheck. He likes it because, with the lights up, he can actually see everyone. It was one of the rare moments he could see faces. He likes it as much as the offline fan signs. They move through the set, running back and forth across the stage, but his feet keep pulling him toward one side—like an instinct.

Beomgyu likes looking at MOAs. It feels good. Familiar, almost. Sometimes, he even recognizes a face— it was a feeling like a reminder of home, a classmate from school, someone he’d seen before. And then there’s the simple joy of it all. The way someone’s face brightens up because of him. It never gets old. It never stops making him happy, too.

But then, he notices one weird thing.

It’s strange. He’s right here. He could understand if you were looking at another member—fans have their favourites, after all. But you’re not looking at anyone. You're staring at the floor?

You’re not looking at all.

He tilts his head, trying to see better—to get a curious glimpse, and suddenly, his whole world shifts. His heart slams to a stop. It’s so sudden, so overwhelming, he almost stumbles forward, yanking him toward the barricade. "What?"

And then—you move, as if you heard his thoughts.

Just the slightest turn of your head, your face lifting, eyes locking onto his. He stops breathing. His fingers go numb around the mic. Everything slows, softens, blurs at the edges until there’s nothing but this moment. Just the two of you, staring.

The closeness of Beomgyu makes the crowd shift, bodies pressing closer—but you don’t move. You just stand there—still, steady—while the rest of the world shifts around you. Like the last grain of sand in an hourglass, holding on as everything else rushes past.

He swears he would’ve stayed like that forever—frozen, staring, lost—if not for the firm hand on his shoulder. A small tug. He blinks, the spell breaking just enough for reality to slip back in.

"Beomgyu? What's wrong?" Soobin. His leader gives him a look of worry and urgency, and that’s when he hears it, the music. He closes his agape lips, and clears his throat. The song is still playing. Right. He’s supposed to be—

But then his gaze flickers back to you.

It’s nothing, he tells himself. You’re just so so pretty. That’s all. Maybe it was your eyes or your hair or the way you did it. It was just fucking cute. It doesn’t mean anything. And—

His breath falters. He sees it.

He hadn’t noticed before. He had been too busy looking at you. Too caught up in the moment that he missed it entirely. Something all of the members have. Something Beomgyu had waited for his whole life.

The thread.

Thin, and so impossibly red. A string stretched between, glowing faintly under the stage lights. He looks down at his hand—at his ring finger— it's tied there. His eyes trace its path. To you. His chest tightens.

"Before I even saw the string, I knew… it was her."

Soulmate.

You’re his. After everything—after all this time—

He finally found you.

The dressing room is a blur of movement, stylists rushing, last-minute adjustments being made, and voices overlapping but he just sits there. Staring at the floor.

He’s dressed. He’s ready. He should be used to this by now, the pre-show jitters, the nervous energy that always sits in his chest before he steps on stage. But—his soulmate is out there. Somewhere in the crowd. And the thought grips him so tight it almost hurts. What if he never sees you again? What if you’re gone before he can find you?

Your face lingers in his mind, vivid and haunting. The way the lights hit your dress, the way you looked at him—it knocked the breath right out of his lungs. He was completely unprepared for it. You were so beautiful that he almost forgot what he was doing.

He’s never been shaken like that before. Not in his personal life. Not as an idol. Not in school, at the company, on stage, meeting seniors, at award shows—never.

Waiting for the music queue, he finally lifts his head.

Muscle memory takes over. His body knows what to do. He’s trained for this, conditioned for it. Every movement, every note, every expression—it’s muscle memory now. His instincts take over before his thoughts can catch up. This is his life. His career. The one thing he chose, out of everything he could have been. How many people in the world get to do this? To stand under those lights, to hear thousands of voices calling his name, to live a dream most wouldn’t even dare to chase?

Would he trade it all, just to see you again?

His feet move—before he can stop them, despite his thoughts, his heart pulls him stronger toward your section. It's a force beyond his control. When he finally sees you again, it feels like a miracle. You’re still near the barricade, still close enough that he doesn’t have to search.

He keeps up, waves, and makes faces—things for MOAs, things he’s done a thousand times before. But his mind isn’t on them. It’s on you. And you’re just standing there again, frozen in place like you don’t trust yourself to move.

He waves again, but this time, it’s for you. Directly. You tilt your head, hesitant, and then—an unsure wave back. It’s so small, so subtle, but it makes him smile. His grin spreads before he can think twice.

Got you, beautiful.

He pumps his fist in an exaggerated show of triumph, like he just won a game only the two of you are playing. He watches as your eyes go wide, and if the lights weren’t so blinding, he swears he’d see the warmth rising to your cheeks. He fists his hand, trying to hold back from reaching out to you.

He crouches, and the fans around you surge forward, eager to be seen, but you don’t move. And then, he sees it—your eyes kept flickering downward, tracing the thread again and again, like you were making sure.

Yet you see it perfectly too.

You smile—small, hesitant, like you’re not sure this is really happening. Then, as if on impulse, you lift your hand, forming a careful, uncertain hand heart.

He doesn’t even wait a second before returning it.

His eagerness made you laugh. A breathless, disbelieving kind of laugh. He can’t hear it, not over the noise of the crowd, but he sees it in the way your shoulders shake, the way your eyes crease at the corners. His chest aches.

You're even more beautiful when you laugh.

He tosses a few kisses out into the air, but he gives his last kiss, the last one to you. You hesitate for only a second before sending one back. His response is instant—dramatic, ridiculous—clutching his chest like you’ve just shot him straight through the heart. He stumbles back, clutches at his clothes, so completely gone for you.

It’s meant to be a joke, but it isn’t.

Because you do have his heart, don’t you? And the strangest thing is, he doesn’t even know your name. Has never heard your voice. But right now, none of that matters. Maybe he’d stay here forever if he could, but the next song cut through the air, pulling him back to the present. His feet move, leading him away—away from you.

Before he joins the centre, just for a second, he looks back. A second to meet your eyes again, to make sure you're watching him.

And you are.

"Hyung," he breathes out.

Soobin turns, both of them standing still as stylists tug their sweat-drenched shirts off, replacing them with fresh ones.

But Beomgyu isn’t thinking about the show anymore.

He’s looking at Soobin. Waiting. Searching for the right way to ask without anyone else catching on. He doesn’t want them to hear. Doesn’t want them to know.

Not yet.

Soobin frowns slightly. “What? You've been looking distracted since earlier. Are you okay?”

“Your soulmate…” His eyes flicker down. He hesitates, searching for the right words. The right way to say this. "At—Tokyo? How did you…?"

He doesn’t need to finish the thought. How can the older forget the only time he managed to sneak his soulmate backstage? Soobin stares at Beomgyu. The latter's face is practically screaming his questions. How did you do it? How did you get them backstage? How did you make it happen?

Beomgyu has to see you. In front of him. Next to him. Because what if you disappear? What if he lets this slip through his fingers, and suddenly—you’re just gone? And what if this is his only chance?

The room moves around him—zippers, voices, fabric rustling—but all he can hear is his own ragged breathing. He moves his eyes. And there, watching him is their leader who knows him better than anyone—with that equally knowing look on his face.

"Let's talk. Just the two of us."

Beomgyu is your soulmate.

The boys just disappeared backstage, their song still ringing in your ears, but your hands won’t stop shaking. Your chest is tight, your throat burns, and there’s a sting at the corners of your eyes.

You're not a mistake. He’s here. He saw you.

His eyes, his smile. The way he moves, the faint dimple that appears when he does. The thought is too much—it makes your knees weak, and forces you to grip the barricade to keep yourself upright.

"Girl, I swear Beomgyu kept looking over here," Da-hee says, nudging you, completely oblivious to the storm unraveling in your chest. Then she catches sight of your face—at your trembling fingers, at the way you can’t seem to catch your breath.

“Y/N?” Her voice softens. “What’s wrong?”

The words leave your lips before you can even think. "I saw my soulmate."

Your voice shakes, barely above a whisper, but Da-hee hears it. Her eyes go wide. "Wait, what? Oh my god—where is he? Is he a MOA? Is he—”

She doesn’t even get to finish the thought before she freezes.

It clicks.

Then, slowly, her face shifts—from confusion to shock to absolute disbelief. The finding out, then the realising. She stares at you, her mouth slightly open, her hands hovering in the air like she doesn’t know what to do with them.

“Oh my fucking god.” Her hands fly to her mouth, like she needs to physically stop herself from screaming. Then she grabs her hair, like that’s going to help her process this.

“Is he—is Beomgyu—” She cuts herself off, whisper-shouting now, eyes darting toward the stage, toward the place where he just was. “Is that why he kept coming back over here?”

Her grip tightens on your arm, searching your face, waiting for you to confirm what she already knows. But you can’t say anything. All you can give is a small nod.

Minutes pass. The music swells and fades, song after song drifting through the speakers.

Da-hee stays by your side, rubbing soothing circles on your back, whispering reassurances you can’t fully process. At some point, you catch her sniffling into her hands, wiping away her own tears.

Sixteen years.

Sixteen years of friendship, of growing up together, of knowing each other better than anyone else ever could. She’s seen every version of you—the messy, the broken, the parts of you even you struggled to accept. She’s cried with you, cried for you, carried your grief like it was her own. Even after finding her own soulmate, she never left you behind. Never made you feel like you were missing something, like you were less.

And now—now she’s the reason you’re here.

She’s the reason you met him.

You think of every birthday candle she ever closed her eyes for, every whispered wish she made on your behalf—because she believed that if two people wished for the same thing, the universe had to listen.

And maybe she was right.

It doesn’t matter if he never speaks to you. If the lights were too bright, if the crowd was too big, if he never even saw the thread at all.

It doesn’t matter. Because you saw it.

And that means you were never a mistake. Never some error in the grand design.

He exists.

Da-hee squeezes your hands, grounding you as a woman in staff uniform approaches. Her eyes lock onto yours, scanning your face, your outfit—like she’s confirming, making sure. Then, she stops directly in front of you. “We need to check some information on your tickets.”

Your heart slams against your ribs. You’re not stupid. You know what this is. You know they wouldn’t say it outright, not here, not in front of all these people.

“I—I have a friend with me,”

The staff member hesitates, studying you for a beat too long. Then she nods. “She can come with you, but she’ll have to wait in the holding room.”

You turn to Da-hee, and she’s already looking at you, her eyes wide and glassy. For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then she forces a wobbly smile.

Let's go.

You’re going to meet Beomgyu.

The walk was terrifying. Your hands clench tighter with every step, nails digging into your palms, but it does nothing to steady you. Every passing glance burns into your skin—people sneaking curious glances—staff members, crew, people who know exactly why you’re here.

Da-hee had to stay behind in the outer lounge. Now, it’s just you and the staff member leading you deeper into the backstage hallways. The air is thick, suffocating, and you force yourself to breathe through it.

Then she stops. A white door stands in front of you. Dressing Room is printed neatly on a sign, but the words blur as your mind spins.

She knocks. Opens it.

Panic rushes in. What if he doesn’t want this? What if he only let you come here to reject you—to tell you, to your face, that even if the universe says you’re meant to be, he doesn’t want you? What if—

The thought vanishes the second you see him.

Beomgyu.

He’s mid-step, like he’s been pacing. He removes his hands from his face, his eyes widening just slightly before he clears his throat. “Come in,” he says, voice softer than you expected. It’s meant for the staff member, but his gaze never left yours.

The staff steps aside, gesturing for you to enter. Heat crawls up your neck as you force yourself to move, hyper-aware of the way he’s watching every step.

“You have 60 minutes, Beomgyu,” she says before closing the door behind you.

Beomgyu stares at you, and you stare back.

For a moment, neither of you move. Just standing there, eyes locked, as if the world has paused just for this. To anyone else, it might look awkward—but you can't look away as he does.

Your eyes traces over his face, bare and fresh like he just washed up. The soft curve of his cheekbones, the freckles and moles scattered like constellations—proof that the universe took its time with him. Perfect in a way that makes your chest ache.

He blinks, and your eyes catch on his lashes—delicate, dark, fluttering against his skin like something out of a dream.

How can someone be made this perfect?

The question lodges itself in your throat, and before you can stop it, your vision blurs. Tears threaten to spill, but you blink them away. You don’t even know if he wants this yet—

"What’s your name?" Beomgyu asks, his voice quieter than he expected. He watches the way you blink, the slight parting of your lips like you hadn’t expected him to speak first.

His hands curl into fists at his sides. The urge to reach out—to cup your face, to feel your skin—is overwhelming. But he holds himself back.

Beomgyu has never considered himself the kind of person to take the first step. But not this. Not with you. He wants to start a conversation, anything—to get you talking, to hear your voice, to know you.

"Y/N." The sound of your voice stills him. It settles in his chest, not as something new, but as something he swears he’s always known—like a song he’s heard in a dream, waiting to be remembered. His lips twitch into a small, almost dazed smile.

Your voice is so pretty, he thinks. So pretty that it hurts.

He repeats your name, slower this time, rolling it over his tongue like he’s memorizing the way it feels to say it. And when you smile—just the faintest curve of your lips—his own smile widens into a grin.

"So, uh, hi?" Beomgyu says, and it pulls a laugh from you. His heart stumbles over itself at the sound, warmth blooming in his chest. It’s ridiculous, really, how easily you affect him.

"Did you come here alone?" he asks, trying to steady himself.

"I was with a friend," you say, and his eyes flicker—just for a second—to your lips before settling back on yours. "She’s outside."

"Hm." Beomgyu nods slowly, as if letting the thought settle. Then, slowly, he reaches out—his palm open, facing up, an unspoken invitation for you to give your hand out.

Your breath catches. Hesitation flickers for just a moment before you place your hand in his. Beomgyu feels warmth creep up his neck the second your skin meets, a flush he hopes you don’t notice. His fingers curl gently around yours, testing the weight of your hand in his own.

"Come on," he says, his voice softer now. He tugs you forward—careful, gentle, afraid he's hurt you in any way if he pulls too hard. "You should sit. You must be tired from standing out there."

"I could say the same," you murmur as you both sink into the couch. Beomgyu turns slightly toward you, his knee brushing yours, but he doesn’t let go of your hand. His thumb traces absentminded circles against your skin. "You danced and ran around the stage all night," you add, tilting your head at him.

He chuckles, the sound low and a little breathless. Your eyes drift around the room—clothing racks, scattered bags, the quiet remnants of a space that had been buzzing with energy just minutes ago.

"Yeah, I was pretty tired," he admits. Then, after a pause, softer this time, when you look at him again, he’s already staring. "But not anymore."

Beomgyu takes in everything—your lips, the way the light catches in your eyes, the soft of your hand in his. He doesn’t even think before he speaks, before the thought that’s been looping in his head since he first saw you finally slips past his lips.

"God, you're so beautiful."

Beomgyu watches as your cheeks flush, the warmth creeping up your skin like the slow bloom of dawn. He knew—you were his soulmate. Fates stitched together long before this moment, yet nothing could have prepared him for the way you looked right now. He never imagined that watching you blush under his words would feel this intoxicating.

"You’re the one who’s beautiful," you murmur, barely above a whisper. The words feel foreign on your tongue, yet true in a way that unsettles you. You clear your throat, trying to mask the way your heart stumbles over itself, but Beomgyu only tightens his grip on your hand.

You wonder how you even got here. This morning, you woke up with no idea that by evening, you'd be sitting across from your soulmate, flirting like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He chuckles—Beomgyu has heard the word beautiful more times than he can count. It’s been thrown at him in passing, whispered through screams from fans, printed in glossy magazines. But somehow, from your lips, it sounds different.

The next few minutes passed in easy conversation. Beomgyu had already pieced together bits of your life—you were only here because Da-hee dragged you along—he’d been hoping to meet her too, if only to thank her.

He knew you worked a corporate job, that photography was your escape. That you were two years older than him, a fact that he immediately latched onto, whispering noona in a teasing lilt just to see the way you’d roll your eyes laugh and swat his arm. But the truth was, he didn’t want to call you that. It was your name he wanted to say. He felt like he’d already spent a lifetime missing it, and now that he knew it, he never wanted to stop saying it.

You had learned things about him, too. That he’d loved music since he was a kid, that he picked up a guitar before he fully understood its chords. That he was cast as a trainee before he even hit the climax of his teenage years, and that six years had passed since he debuted. Things you could have easily searched online, or you could have read every article, and watched every interview, but nothing made your heart flutter quite like the way he told his own story.

The contrast between your lives was undeniable. Maybe that’s why it took so long for fate to push you toward each other.

While you were drowning in homework, he was in a practice room, chasing a dream. While you sat through lectures and worried about exams, he was in a studio, recording songs that would echo through stadiums. While you cried over a failed job interview, he stayed up until dawn, running through choreography again and again until his legs gave out. Your society—were parallel lines moving in different directions.

But sitting here, watching him scrunch his nose in laughter, none of that seemed to matter. Two people from different worlds, felt like it had faded into one—just by being next to each other.

He hadn’t once let go of your hand for the past hour.

"No, I just—I didn’t know where else to put it, so I stuck it there." You fumble for an excuse, cheeks burning as Beomgyu grins at you. He had spotted the photocard of him tucked into the back of your phone case, and he hadn’t let it go since.

“And it was random,” you add quickly, feeling your face heat up. “You have to randomly pick it.”

The truth is, Beomgyu knows. He knows it was a random selection. He knows you’re flustered. And he loves it. Loves the way you try to explain yourself, loves hearing you ramble, loves the way your face heats up under his stare. And to be honest, if it had been another member’s face staring back at him, no matter how petty it sounded, he also knows he wouldn’t have been too thrilled about it.

He’s in deep.

"Beomgyu, it's time to go." The same staff member says, pulling you both back to reality. You didn't even hear the doors opening. Her eyes flicker to your joined hands for a second, but she doesn’t say anything—just turns and steps outside.

You glance at Beomgyu, and he’s pouting. "We’re flying to Japan tomorrow morning, Y/N."

"Oh." The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. You just met your soulmate, and by morning, he’d be gone. "Okay."

You stand up, expecting him to do the same, but he doesn’t move. Your hands dangle between you because he still hasn’t let go. "Beomgyu?"

"I’ll see you as soon as I get back, okay?" His voice is softer now, like he’s trying to find the right words. His gaze lingers on you, unreadable for a moment, before he finally stands. He squeezes your hands gently. "It won’t be too long."

"Alright… we have each other's numbers, so… text me."

"Just know your phone might be buzzing non-stop,"

"Got it." You roll your eyes, smiling. "I’ll survive."

"And wear warm clothes—it’s winter."

"You too."

"Eat on time."

"You’re the one doing concerts. I should be the one saying that."

He ignores your deflection, pressing on. "Sleep well. Lock your doors properly. You live alone, so it’s dangerous. Don’t go out too late. And if you do, call me, okay? Actually, I’d prefer if you didn’t go out too late at all. Please—make sure you don’t—"

He doesn’t get to finish. Before he can say another word, you reach up, sliding your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him into a hug. His words cut off instantly, replaced by a soft inhale—like he hadn’t breathed since he started speaking. Your heart squuezes over itself at his endless concern, spreading through your chest. Blinking rapidly, trying to push away the tears threatening to spill.

For the first time tonight, Beomgyu lets go of your hand—only to wrap both arms around you, one firm around your waist, the other reaching up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair.

"I’ll see you soon, Beomgyu," you murmur.

You feel him tilt his head slightly before pressing a fleeting, warm kiss to your temple. "I’ll see you soon."

Elevators terrify you. It scares you because it feels like everything could come crashing down at any second. Why would you trust something that rises so quickly—too fast?

It can't last, doesn't it?

You feel him snuggle to you more, and you chuckle, pressed against him, his scent, his arms around you, holding you safely—his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek, as if whispering that the fall you fear will never come.

Elevators terrified you.

You wish you could have captured Da-hee’s face when she saw you walking over with Beomgyu beside you, his hand resting firmly on your back. Her eyes widened, mouth slightly agape, before she shot you a knowing look.

Beomgyu offered her a quick thanks, the paper bag with your heels swinging from your hands, and you stood there in the fresh pair of sneakers he’d somehow found in your size—because he wanted to. His eyes met yours for just a second longer before he turned to leave.

The second you stepped into the parking lot, Da-hee lost it. She let out a squeal so loud you had to clamp a hand over her mouth, laughing as she practically vibrated with excitement. "What just happened?!" she whispered against your palm, her eyes sparkling.

That night, as soon as you got home, your phone rang. His name lit up the screen.

It took only a second before answering.

It was awkward at first—neither of you really knowing what to say—but before you knew it, you were talking about everything and nothing, voices laced with exhaustion but neither willing to hang up first. He was leaving in a few hours, and you had to be the one to convince him to sleep, reminding him—more than once—that he had a flight to catch.

You had just curled up in your blankets when your phone buzzed again. Dozy, you reached for it, thumb swiping across the screen.

Choi Beomgyu I’m sorry for making you wait. I promise we’ll make up for all the time we lost. Sleep well, beautiful.

Even as sleep pulled you under, the smile on your lips never faded.

You wake up to the relentless ringing of your doorbell. A groan slips past your lips as you burrow deeper into your blankets. It’s Sunday. No work. No alarms. Just sleep—at least, that was the plan.

The doorbell rings again.

With an exaggerated sigh, you drag yourself out of bed, doing the bare minimum to look somewhat presentable. Your hair is probably a mess, your face still puffy from sleep, but you don’t care. Whoever decided to disturb your well-earned rest better have a damn good reason.

You glance at the clock on your way out. Oh. It’s not even early—it’s almost 1 PM.

Squinting against the bright light as you crack the door open, you’re met with a sight that instantly wakes you up. A delivery man stands there, arms full, holding the biggest bouquet of red roses you’ve ever seen. The sheer number of petals is overwhelming, a deep sea of crimson spilling over the edges of his grasp.

"What—" Your brain struggles to catch up, and then it clicks. Beomgyu. He asked for your address yesterday.

"Y/N?" The man confirms, struggling under the bouquet.

Your eyes widen. "Damn, just how many are in there?"

"Three hundred and fifteen roses," he says, barely holding onto the mass of flowers. "Please sign here."

Three hundred and fifteen. You’re smiling as you take the pen from him.

You stumble slightly, still half-dazed as you carefully set the massive bouquet down, trying not to crush a single petal. Your fingers tremble as you reach for the small card nestled between the roses, your heart already beating a little too fast.

315 months of not being with you. This won’t make up for it, but I hope it makes you happy.

You inhale sharply. Your chest tightens. 315 months. He counted. Beomgyu counted the exact number of months you’ve been alive—how does he even think like this? Tears prick at your eyes before you can stop them. He’s ridiculous. He’s thoughtful in a way that completely undoes you.

Before you even realise what you’re doing, you’re running. Not walking—running. Because suddenly, every second without hearing his voice feels like a second wasted.

Your fingers fumble as you dial his number, pressing the phone to your ear. It barely rings once before the line clicks open—like he had been waiting for this call all along. “Beomgyu—” your voice comes out uneven, breathless.

He chuckles softly, “So… I take it you liked it?”

It’s already 3 PM.

Somehow, you lost track of time, carefully splitting the bundle into smaller arrangements, placing them in vases around your apartment. Now, your living room and kitchen are drenched in the scent of roses—not that you’re complaining.

Beomgyu had stayed on the phone with you the entire time, talking about his morning, his voice in the background as you worked. That is, until someone called for him on the other end, reminding him he had things to do.

You sighed when the call ended. It's sunday, and his sunday is like the worst day of your week. And you're here, resting.

Now, fresh out of the shower, droplets of water still clung to your skin as you stepped onto the cool tile. A shiver ran down your spine as you grabbed a towel, pressing it to your face, inhaling the soft, familiar scent of fabric softener.

Dressed in cozy clothes, you curled up on the couch, remote in one hand, a bowl of yogurt and berries resting on your lap. Television played softly as you mindlessly scrolled through channels, enjoying the quiet.

Until your phone buzzed. You unlocked it, eyes immediately landing on the message.

Nut-job Da-hee. Girl! He's extra glowy today!! OMG <link>

You tapped the link, expecting a video to pop up, but instead, it directed you to download an app. You went along with it, quickly signing in and typing out a cheeky username.

The video loaded—Soobin and Beomgyu, in a hotel room. A small table sat near the camera, cluttered with food containers and drinks. Beomgyu was on the bed, lounging comfortably but still close enough to be part of the frame.

And Da-hee wasn’t exaggerating—he looked good. The black shirt fit him just right, his dark hair falling effortlessly, lips tinted a soft pink. A phone in hand, completely unaware of just how stunning he looked.

An idea sparked in your mind.

"It's not barley tea, MOA," Beomgyu laughs, shaking his head as Soobin insists otherwise. No matter how many times their leader repeats himself, the comments keep flooding in, doubting him.

"Choi Beomgyu really traumatized you, huh?" he teases, eyes crinkling with amusement.

"What do you mean?" Beomgyu argues, but Soobin is already moving on, reading a new comment aloud. "Barley tea is healthy,"

Just then, Beomgyu’s phone buzzes. He glances down at the screen.

My Y/N Live?

His back immediately straightens. Shit. You’re watching? He’s about to type out a response when another message pops up.

You look handsome.

Beomgyu presses a hand over his mouth, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks. He wants to—

"Beomgyu, MOAs are asking what you're doing," Soobin interrupts, his eyes full of silent curiosity.

"Nothing," Beomgyu says too quickly. "Kai sent a meme." He shifts closer to the camera, Soobin right beside him. With his phone in his hands, he types a message, fully aware that Soobin is peeking at his screen. They probably look ridiculous—both of them staring down at their phones while thousands of people watch.

You're watching?

A few seconds pass before your reply pops up.

Yes.

Beomgyu inhales, trying to focus as Soobin keeps talking. His fingers move instinctively.

I'm shy.

Why? You look good.

A pause. Then another message.

Wait, stop looking at your phone. Let MOA see you? Username: 315flowersmyass.

Beomgyu chokes on a laugh. His lips curl up as he locks his phone and holds it up to the camera, as if to prove he’s done. As if to prove that he followed your words.

"So cute," he sings, the words slipping out without thought. The chat erupts, MOAs spamming hearts and messages.

Then he catches it.

315flowersmyass kekekeke -

His grin stretches wider. He closes his face on the screen. "Hi, MOA." He giggles.

This—this is cute. He’s always enjoyed going live, but now he knows you’re watching, he discovers a love for it he never even knew was possible.

The live eventually comes to an end. As soon as it does, Soobin turns to Beomgyu with a knowing smile. "I'm happy you finally found her," he says simply. Beomgyu doesn’t respond right away—just smiles, warmth spreading through his chest. Then his phone buzzes.

He checks it, and the moment he does, a gasp slips past his lips.

It’s a picture. You.

A snack is held near your face, your expression relaxed. You’re in cozy clothes, looking effortlessly beautiful, breathtaking. The picture made Beomgyu wish he could fly back to you right there and then. Over his shoulder, Soobin leans in. "Is that her?" he asks, then grins. "She's pretty."

Beomgyu doesn’t look away from his phone as his lips curl into a smile.

"She is," he murmurs, almost to himself.

"She’s here."

Ji-an’s voice pulls you from your focus. She’s standing beside your desk, phone pressed to her ear, while you scan last week’s finance report. Your eyes flick over the spreadsheet, catching an error in a formula, but before you can fix it, Ji-an calls your name. "Y/N, there’s a delivery for you. They’re at the door."

"Oh," you murmur, pushing your reading glasses up the bridge of your nose. Contacts felt like too much trouble today. "Thanks."

As you stand, a familiar warmth spreads through your chest. Outside, the delivery man hands you a bouquet—this time, white roses.

You peek at the note while walking back, the click of your heels filling the space. Your way back to your desk by the window. The skyline stretches endlessly beyond the glass, a vast expanse of city lights and open sky.

Ow! I fell! Fell for you~ —bg <3

A laugh escapes before you can stop it—he's so silly. One of the things you realised recently.

"That's the fourth bouquet this month, Y/N," Ji-an muses, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "I know you just met your soulmate, but flowers every week? That’s next-level sweet. I’m jealous—mine isn't really a flowers kind of person."

You return her smile, "Yeah, he's the sweetest."

It’s been a month since you met Beomgyu. A single day—that’s all you had together. And yet, in the weeks that followed, he never let distance become an excuse. Even with his tour in full swing, miles stretching endlessly between you, he still found ways to reach you. A call in the middle of the night. A voice note filled with sleepy laughter. And these flowers—his way of saying, I'm here. I'm coming back to you soon.

Ji-an leans against your desk, eyes glinting with curiosity. "So… when do we get to meet him?" she asks, wiggling her brows. "You know the drill—everyone meets everyone’s soulmate. It’s basically tradition. At least one or two quick bond drinks a year, right?"

The playful edge in her voice makes your stomach twist. Because as much as you want to laugh along, to pretend that everything is as simple as it should be… you know the truth.

They can’t meet him. Your friends, your family—none of them can. Maybe not now. Maybe not ever. You don’t even know when you will see him again.

You swallow, forcing down the sudden tightness in your throat. The warmth you felt just moments ago, thinking about him, is now laced with something heavier.

"He's—he's busy," you say, hoping your voice doesn’t betray you. You glance at the bouquet on your desk, fingers tracing the petals as if they hold an answer you don’t have. "Maybe next time."

The day finally ends, and you’re grateful Ji-an didn’t push for more.

You clutch the bouquet a little tighter as you step into the elevator, the faint scent of roses lingering in the air. By the time you make it to the parking lot, exhaustion weighs on you—but then you remember.

You forgot to send a text. Pulling out your phone, you type: I’m heading home now.

The message sends, and a small smile tugs at your lips. Beomgyu is probably fast asleep by now, lost in a time zone opposite yours. He won’t see it for hours, but you text him anyway—because you can already hear his voice in your head, playful and pouty. You forgot to tell me again, he’d whine. Can you please let me know?

You’ve learned a lot from him in such a short time. How simple it is to make someone feel remembered. How easy it is to reach out. How even in the busiest moments, there’s always a second to say, I haven’t forgotten you.

Because that’s what he’s been doing for you all along.

You slip your phone back into your pocket, ready to head to your car when someone stops you. Your steps slow, brows knitting together as your scan lands on a girl—sitting right on the hood of your car.

Your car. She’s perched there like she belongs, fingers idly tracing patterns against the metal.

"Hey," you call out, keeping your voice even. "It’s not really polite to sit on someone else’s car, sweetheart."

Her head lifts, eyes locking onto yours with disdain, "Don't sweetheart me, you slut."

The venom in her words knocks the air from your lungs. Your breath catches, shock flashing through you as she stands. She’s young. Much younger than you.

"Excuse me?"

"Are you fucking deaf?" she snaps.

Your instincts flare—this isn’t normal. You take a step back, "Leave. Now. Before I call the police."

But she doesn’t move. Instead, she tilts her head, and smirked. "You’re Beomgyu’s soulmate, aren’t you?"

Your body locks up. How does she know? Your fingers tighten around the stems of the flowers, the thorns pressing into your palm. You want to speak, to deny, to do something, but the words won’t come.

Because you know—whatever you say next could make this worse.

She clicks her tongue, taking a slow step toward you. "Do this while I’m still being nice," she says, voice eerily light. "Stay away from him. Or I’ll destroy everything." She tilts her head again, a slow blink. "I’d rather see him ruined than with you, unnie."

She steps past you then, her shoulder knocking into yours just hard enough to make you stumble back. Your hands cold, heart hammering against your ribs. She doesn’t look back. Not until she’s a few feet away.

"Don’t think I won’t do it," she murmurs. "Just think about how I knew. Your name. Your workplace. Your parking spot."

She smiles, "Don’t test me."

I’m heading home now.

Beomgyu rubs the sleep from his eyes, his fingers fumbling for his phone the moment he wakes up. Checking for your messages has become second nature—his first instinct, before he even fully shakes off sleep.

The corners of his lips curl into a soft smile as he reads your text. You remembered.

God, he misses you.

When he gets back, he’s not letting you out of his sight. He’ll beg his company if he has to—anything to steal just a little more time with you. He wants to spoil you, to show up with flowers every single day just to see that shy smile of yours. He’d buy you things you didn’t even know you needed, take pictures of you at every chance, make playlists for you, drag you into late-night game sessions just to hear you laugh and call him ridiculous. Love is effort. That’s what his parents always told him. He’d give it—all of it.

Maybe one day, he’d convince you to visit Daegu with him. Introduce you to his family, let his mom fuss over you, watch his brother tease him relentlessly. And Toto… Would you like Toto?

The thought makes him chuckle as he taps your contact and presses call. It rings. Once. Twice. Three times. His smile falters.

Then, voicemail.

His brows knit together. He tries again. Straight to voicemail. The phone feels heavier in his hand now.

It’s the first time you haven’t picked up.

He’s in the van now. It’s been hours.

Beomgyu grips his phone, scrolling through his notifications, eyes darting to every new alert. His heart lifts for a second—only to sink just as fast when he realizes it’s not you. The screen dims in his hands, but he doesn’t put it down. He can’t.

"You still haven’t heard from her?" Soobin asked. He’s the only one still awake, eyes heavy but observant. Beomgyu hadn’t meant to make it obvious, but he’s never been good at hiding things—not to his members.

"No," Beomgyu mutters, shaking his head. His throat feels tight. "We always talk before she falls asleep."

Soobin exhales, tilting his head back against the seat. "She probably crashed as soon as she got home. Long day, maybe?" He keeps his tone easy, reassuring. "Just focus on later's concert. She’ll probably be awake by then."

Beomgyu nods, forcing a small smile. "Yeah. You’re right. Thanks, hyung."

Soobin claps a hand on his back. "Don't think about it too much."

Beomgyu did his best to push thoughts of you aside during the concert. He smiled, he sang, he danced—gave everything to the stage like he always did. But the second he was backstage, drenched in sweat and breathless from the high of performing, his hands were already reaching for his phone.

Still nothing.

Back at the hotel, Soobin and Yeonjun made sure he ate. He forced down a few bites, just enough to keep them from worrying. Now, fresh from a shower, exhaustion settles deep in his bones. His muscles ache, the weight of the night pressing down on him, but sleep won’t come.

His phone sits beside him on the bed. You’re probably asleep. He tells himself that. He should leave it alone.

But knowing doesn’t stop him from pressing call. It rings.

Once. Twice.

He’s about to give up when the line clicks.

“H-Hello?” Beomgyu stutters, his voice unsteady. No response. His heart pounds as he pulls the phone away, checking the screen just to be sure. The call is still connected. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

“Beomgyu.” The way you say his name makes his breath catch.

“Are you okay? I’ve been—”

“Beomgyu.” You cut him off again, your voice softer this time. “Yeah, I’m… okay.” He hears you take a shaky breath. “I’ve just been thinking for the past couple of hours, and…” His grip on the phone tightens.

"What is it?"

“Maybe we should lie low for a bit? You’re busy, and you’re at the peak of your career.” A pause. “It’s not that I’m going away,” you add quickly, “I’m your soulmate, after all.” The last part is barely a whisper.

Beomgyu shoots up from where he’s sitting, running a hand through his hair, fingers pulling at the strands. He feels cold all over. His pulse pounds in his ears.

“Where is this coming from?” His voice is raw, edged dangerously close to panic. “What happened, Y/N?”

“Nothing, really,” you say too quickly. “It just… crossed my mind.” There’s a pause. A beat of silence that feels like a lifetime. “It’s late there. It’s 2 AM. Please sleep.”

His chest tightens. “Are you breaking up with me?” The words feel foreign in his mouth. His voice drops to a whisper. “Do you not want me? Do you not want this?”

“Beomgyu, please.” You voice wavers. “Our fate is certain. But right now… I just feel like it’s not working.” You exhale slowly. “You should sleep, okay? Let’s talk again… soon.”

And then the line goes dead.

Beomgyu stares at his screen, his fingers frozen, his mind racing to process what just happened. His chest caves in, breath shaky as he stumbles back onto the bed. And then—he breaks.

His hands cover his face, shoulders trembling as it all crashes down on him. He had a feeling when you didn't answer his call. A whisper of doubt, an inkling of fear.

And now, it’s real.

4 AM, and Beomgyu still hasn’t slept. His eyes burn from exhaustion, but his mind won’t shut off. He’s been texting you, calling you—over and over—but every attempt goes straight to voicemail. At some point, your phone must have died, or worse, you turned it off.

He lies on the stiff hotel bed, staring at the ceiling. It’s unfamiliar. Cold. But then again, when was the last time anything in his life felt familiar? Felt like home?

His phone dings.

He scrambles for it, heartbeat hammering, but before he can check the notification, an unknown number flashes across the screen. It’s stupid to answer an unknown call at this hour. Their managers had given them talks about it. But something—something in his gut—tells him to pick up.

“Hello?” His voice is hoarse.

“Beomgyu.” A pause. Then— “It’s Da-hee,”

His breath catches.

“She’s going to be angry if she finds out I called you,” Da-hee says, voice hushed, urgent. “But I can’t just sit back and watch this happen. Just listen to me. I’m going to tell you everything—from the start.”

"Please."

"Don’t think I won’t do it," she murmurs. "Just think about how I knew. Your name. Your workplace. Your parking spot."

She smiles, "Don’t test me."

You take another sip of whiskey, curled up on the couch, knees drawn to your chest. The tears won’t stop. No matter how many times you wipe them away, they keep coming, slipping down your cheeks, burning just as much as the liquor sliding down your throat.

Your thoughts won’t stop either.

Beomgyu.

He has everything—his dream, his career, a future so bright it could swallow you whole. He has the world at his feet. And you? You’re just… you. Not worth the risk. Not worth the detour. Maybe this was always how it was supposed to be. Maybe that’s why your paths were never meant to cross in the first place. You saw the consequence, felt it when you passed the Hybe building, that heavy reminder of the impossible divide between your worlds.

It should be enough. Enough that you got to know him, enough that he even knows your name. Enough that you get to see him on a screen. It should be enough.

But is it?

“Fuck,” you choke out, voice breaking. You press the heel of your palm against your eyes, as if that could stop the ache. “Just when I finally saw you… What a joke.” You shake your head, wiping your face with the sleeve of your sweater. “The universe is a fucking idiot for ever thinking we were meant to be.”

You take another drink, and it burns.

“Y/N.”

You blink up, vision swimming, to see Da-hee standing in the doorway, concern etched across her face.

“I’ve been ringing your doorbell,” she says, stepping closer. “I used the spare key—why are you crying?”

You don’t respond. You just stare at her, eyes glassy, cheeks wet. She moves toward you, eyes flickering to the near-empty glass in your hand. You’ve been drinking for hours. You already called in sick to work—there’s no way you could function like this.

"Oh, honey," She sighs, reaches for the glass, and you don’t fight it. You let it go. "What happened?"

“Fate is already taking back what it let me borrow.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but Da-hee hears it. She your holds your hand.

“What are you talking about?” she asks. “Explain.”

You swallow hard. Your throat feels tight, like every word is fighting to stay buried. But you force them out.

“A sasaeng,” you murmur, watching as Da-hee’s eyes widen in alarm. “She found out about me. She knows everything, Da-hee. Where I live, where I work, my family—everything.” You suck in a shaky breath, blinking back fresh tears. “And the worst of it, she fucking said she’s going to ruin Beomgyu.”

The moment the words leave your lips, your resolve shatters. You cry—like a child finally breaking after being scolded in front of everyone, holding it all in until no one’s around to see. Da-hee pulled you into her arms as you sobbed. You cling to her, hands fisting her sweater. “I have to let him go,” you choke out. “I can’t do this to him. To them. They don’t deserve this.”

Da-hee pulls back, her hands firm on your shoulders. “No,” she says, shaking her head. “You don’t have to do this alone. We can go to the police. We can tell Beomgyu—”

“And then what?” you cut in, voice hollow. “What can they really do? Stop her from telling the world? Keep every single person quiet? Even if she gets caught, the damage will already be done.”

Da-hee doesn’t answer. She just sinks onto the couch beside you, eyes shining with unshed tears, because she knows you well. She knows you too well—knows that the emotional version of you wouldn’t be able to hear her, not right now. Not until the sobs quiet down and the pain in your chest eases just a little. So, she just holds you.

Your phone screen lights up between you. Another call.

Beomgyu. He’s still calling. Still trying.

"I don’t think it’s best to answer it right now—"

But you don’t listen to Da-hee’s warning. Your fingers tremble as they hover over the screen. You have to end this. Now. While you still have the strength. Because deep down, you know—

If you wake up tomorrow, you might not be able to let him go.

“H-Hello?” He stutters on the other line, his voice unsteady. Your breath catches in your throat. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

Everything. Everything is wrong.

“Beomgyu.”

I miss you. How can I go on without you?

“Are you okay? I’ve been—”

“Beomgyu.” You cut him off again, your voice softer this time. “Yeah, I’m… okay.” You take a shaky breath. “I’ve just been thinking for the past couple of hours, and…” You hesitate.

I’m not okay. I’ve been thinking about you, only you, and how my existence could ruin everything you’ve worked for.

"What?" His inhale is sharp, laced with the beginnings of panic.

“Maybe we should lie low for a bit? You’re busy, and you’re at the peak of your career.” You pause, fingers trembling. “It’s not that I’m going away,” you add quickly, desperate to believe your own words. “I’m your soulmate, after all.” The last part is barely a whisper.

I should be replaceable. And I shouldn’t be your priority. You press a hand to your mouth, as if you can keep the words from spilling out—keep the truth from bleeding through.

“Where is this coming from? What happened, Y/N?”

My heart is breaking. And you’re too far away to hold it together.

“Nothing, really,” you say too quickly. “It just… crossed my mind.” You pause, swallowing. “It’s late there. It’s 2 AM. Please sleep.”

Please sleep. And forget about me.

“Are you breaking up with me? Do you not want me? Do you not want this?”

I want you more than anything. That’s why I have to do this. If I can save you from losing everything, I’ll do it. Even if it means losing you.

“Beomgyu, please.” You voice wavers. “Our fate is certain. But right now… I just feel like it’s not working.” You exhale slowly. “You should sleep, okay? Let’s talk again… soon.”

You press the end button.

The sobs rip through you, shaking your whole body and stealing the air from your lungs. You curl in on yourself, pressing your fist to your mouth, as if that could stop the sound, as if that could stop the pain. How can love be this cruel? How can the same thing that made you feel so alive now leave you feeling so hollow?

But this is for him. You tell yourself that over and over, like a mantra, like a prayer, like a desperate attempt to make it hurt less.

You’ll do this for him. Even if it destroys you.

Da-hee wipes at her eyes, sniffling as she looks at you—curled up in the fetal position, your body tense like you’re bracing for impact even in sleep. She managed to get you into bed, but it doesn’t feel like enough.

She’d do anything for you.

Carefully, she tiptoes to the bedside table and picks up your phone. Her heart pounds. If anyone’s watching me, I’ll beg for forgiveness later. But right now, she comes first.

She types in your usual password. 8888. Incorrect. She frowns, thinking. You changed it? Then, almost without realizing it, her fingers move on their own. 0313. The screen unlocks.

Beomgyu’s birthday.

Da-hee lets out a small, disbelieving laugh. “You idiot,” she whispers, shaking her head. “You love him so much, and yet you’re willing to walk away. How can you be this selfless?”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, she scrolls through your contacts, searching for his name. Her thumb hovers over it for only a second before she types his number on her own phone.

You’ll be furious. You might never forgive her. But if there’s even the slightest chance this stops you from making the biggest mistake of your life—she’ll take that risk.

Someone has to tell him the things that you can’t.

The line connects, and Da-hee inhales. “She’s going to be angry if she finds out I called you, but I can’t just sit back and watch this happen. Just listen to me. I’m going to tell you everything—from the start.”

She’ll prepare her apology later—more than that, she hopes Beomgyu will fight for you.

"I want to go home." Beomgyu’s voice is firm, but his hands are clenched into fists at his sides. His manager looks up from his laptop, brows furrowing.

The door bursts open. Soobin stumbles in, slightly out of breath—he must’ve run after him. Beomgyu doesn’t care.

Beomgyu already knows everything—Da-hee told him. Every sickening detail. And now, standing here, he has no idea how to fix this. No idol has ever come out of this unscathed. But none of that matters right now. His only priority is getting to you.

His manager sighs, already exasperated. “You’re flying back home in a few days, Beomgyu.”

“No,” he says, jaw tightening. “I mean now. I need a few days. To rest. To handle something personal.”

“You know your schedule is packed—”

“Then move everything,” Beomgyu interrupts sharply. He feels Soobin’s hand on his shoulder, hears his name spoken softly, but he shrugs it off. No one is stopping him from getting to you.

His manager sighs again, firmer this time. “We can’t do that.”

“You won’t even try?” His voice wavers between frustration and desperation. “You won’t even let the management know?”

“We can’t make last-minute changes like this.”

Beomgyu lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Right. Of course.” He clenches his fists. All his life, he’s done everything they asked. Pushed through exhaustion, smiled through sickness, showed up even when his body begged him to stop. “I won’t follow you on this,” he says, voice steady. “I can’t do this. Not this time. If you won’t let me go, I’ll still leave.”

“Beomgyu, let’s talk about this when you’re calm,” Soobin says gently, patting Beomgyu’s back. “Please.”

Beomgyu turns to him, his eyes dark with frustration. “I love MOAs, hyung. I love all of you. They gave me everything.” His voice wavers, but he pushes through. “But Y/N… she is my everything.” His breath hitches. He can't even explain it properly. How badly he needs you. “You’re lucky. All of you. Your soulmates—"

“So this is about your soulmate?” The manager exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “Don’t you see? She’s making you choose between her and your career.”

“No.” Beomgyu’s voice breaks, his chest tightens, and the lump in his throat is unbearable. “She’s not making me choose. She’s already choosing for me.” His next breath is shaky. “She’s leaving. Can you let your own soulmate leave?”

The room falls silent. Soobin watches him, stunned. He’d never seen Beomgyu like this before—this angry, this desperate. And the question stings the older.

Beomgyu turns away, blinking rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. Explaining further is useless. He’s already said everything that matters. Nothing is going to stop him now. When he steps into the hallway, he sees Yeonjun standing there, leaning against the wall.

He’s been listening the whole time.

Yeonjun immediately reaches out, tugging at his arm. “Yah, Choi Beomgyu, come on,” he says quietly. “Let’s talk with everyone.” Beomgyu exhales shakily. If there's anyone he owes an explanation. It's them. His brothers.

So Beomgyu told them everything.

About the sasaeng. About the threats. About how you were walking away to protect him. About how he refused to let that happen. And just like he knew they would, the four of them listened—not as bandmates, not as colleagues, but as brothers.

No one understood him better than they did.

They didn’t tell him to reconsider. They didn’t tell him to stay. Instead, they held onto him, arms wrapped tight, as if they could shield him from the storm that was already brewing. They prayed—not for him to change his mind, but for the world to understand.

Kai was the first to break. His voice barely above a whisper, “Is it really worth it… if the world doesn’t want us to have soulmates?”

It shattered something in all of them.

Beomgyu didn’t answer—not with words. Because what kind of world was it, where love had to be hidden? Where choosing your own heart felt like a betrayal?

With the help of his members, he managed to slip through the cracks, securing a last-minute flight. Now, as he sat on the plane, adjusting his mask, pulling his cap low, he caught his own reflection in the window.

Maybe it was time. Time to stop pretending. Time to stop hiding.

Because an idol in love isn’t supposed to be shameful. Because having a soulmate shouldn’t be treated like a scandal. Because loving you would never make him love his dream any less.

He just had to believe in MOAs. In the people who gave him everything. What he has with them, he treasures so much that the thought of baring his heart isn’t impossible.

And he would.

Completely.

He would trade it all, just to see you again.

The pounding in your head hasn’t let up, a dull, relentless throb that even the hot shower couldn’t wash away. You pop an aspirin, sighing as you press your fingertips against your temples, willing the ache—and everything else—to disappear.

Then the doorbell rings. Right. The food.

Dragging your feet toward the door, you barely think as you swing it open—then freeze.

Choi Beomgyu.

His face bare, a backpack slung over his shoulder. A car idles in your driveway, but you barely process it. Your eyes lock onto the messy strands of blonde peeking out from under his hoodie, his gaze searching yours. He looks at you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he blinks.

“Y/N—” The door slams shut in his face before he can say another word.

Your breath stumbles. Your pulse pounds. The damp strands of your hair cling to your neck as you press your back against the door, fingers gripping the handle like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. Shit. He fucking looks good with his new dyed hair— wait. Don't think about that. What is he doing here?

“I’m parked out front,” his voice comes through the door, muffled but you hear it. “I just want to talk.” A shaky inhale. Then softer, “Baby, I’m here. When you’re ready, just open the door.”

His footsteps retreat.

You start pacing, your heart ricocheting against your ribs. He’s here. He came all this way. After everything you stupidly said. You hurt him yet—

The doorbell rings again.

You yank it open, “Wait, my ass—”

“Chinese takeout for Y/N?” The delivery guy blinks at you, holding up the bag.

“Oh.” You blush, embarrassed. You fumble for your wallet, signing the receipt with shaky hands. Your eyes keep drifting past him, toward the car still parked in front of your house.

Just like what he said. He's there.

The hours slip away unnoticed, morning fading seamlessly into afternoon. Every time you steal a glance through the curtain, he’s still there. Evening creeps in as you start making dinner. Without thinking, you plate portions for two. Your hands hesitate over the dishes, your heart heavy. When you check the clock, it’s 8 p.m. He’s been outside for twelve hours—silent, waiting.

Just like he promised. He never knocked again. Twelve hours. Your hands tremble as you turn off the stove. He must’ve just come from another gruelling day, looking like he’d stepped off a plane after hours in the air—rumpled, drained, and still without rest.

Why did you let him wait this long?

You don’t stop to think anymore. You grab your keys, shove your feet into your slippers, and head straight for his car, blinking back the tears that blur your vision.

He must see you coming because, before you even reach him, the car door swings open.

And there he is.

His hoodie is pushed back now, his hair slightly dishevelled like he’s run his hands through it a hundred times. His face is drawn, exhausted. His eyes—red-rimmed, heavy, like he’s been crying for hours. You swallow the lump in your throat.

“Come inside,” Your voice cracks, but you don’t stop. You just turn around and head back toward the door. You don’t have to look back to know he’s following.

He steps inside, his tall frame filling the space as you quietly shut the door behind him. Your apartment looks small with him around. When you turn, your eyes meet, "Beomgyu—"

You barely get his name out before he’s on you. He can't stop himself anymore. It’s how you looked outside, so effortless—your hair pinned up, the simplicity of your everyday clothes, and yet, you somehow seemed untouchable. He envisions a life with you, a routine, your soft smile waiting for him when he comes home, you looking like something angelic—his hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him, his body heat searing through your clothes. His lips crash into yours—hungry, desperate, like he’s been starved for you. His mouth moves against yours, claiming, taking.

His fingers thread through your hair, tilting your head back as his tongue slides against yours. His hands roam down, gripping, pulling, making sure you feel every bit of him. He grabs your wrists, lifting them, wrapping your arms around his neck as his lips move to your jaw, then to your neck, his breath ragged as he nips your sensitive skin. "I missed you," he murmurs. Another kiss—hotter, deeper, his body pressing your back against the wall. "I got fucking scared you'd never open the door."

His movements were hurried, frantic, as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he let go. In one swift motion, he lifted you, his steps unsteady as he carried you to the bedroom. Your bedroom. The air felt heavy as he laid you down on the mattress.

"I get it. I know you don’t mean it—that you really believe this is for the best." His voice softens, almost breaking. He presses his crotch to yours, eyes seeking yours. "But did it ever cross your mind what I want? What I think is best for me? For us?"

“I'm sorry,” you said weakly, your hands clutching at his shirt, your voice trembling as much as your resolve.

"I'll always forgive you." His hands moved to your shoulders, then slid down to your waist, pulling you to him. He grinds desperately to you. You never knew that lips could talk without uttering a word as he captures your lips again and again. "Because your words could never hurt me as much as your leaving does."

You surrendered to his touch, your body softening beneath him. Your hands gripped his shoulders for balance as he pressed you deeper into the mattress, which groaned under your shifting weight. You reached for Beomgyu’s lips, catching him off guard as you kissed him with everything you had, tongues colliding in a heated frenzy. His hand slid between your thighs, cupping your middle and sending a shiver through you. But even in the haze of his taste, a heavy guilt settled in your chest. "Gyu,"

"I need you, baby. Or I'll go crazy." His breaths were ragged, syncing with your every moan as his tongue tangled with yours. Your fingers tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling him closer, urging him on. His body pressed against yours, grinding to yours, while his hands roamed over your skin, igniting every nerve he touched. His lips trailed downward, leaving soft kisses that melted into your flesh, a path leading straight to your core.

He stripped you of every barrier, leaving you bare under his gaze. His eyes shimmered with adoration and awe as they traced your body. You hadn’t realized how powerless you were against him until your legs parted, welcoming him. He's on top of you, looked at you like you were sacred, like you were his entire world.

Beomgyu's eyes never left yours as his fingers found your hand, seeking the place where the string was tied. The red thread appears, and he lifts it to his lips. A kiss—featherlight, reverent—pressed against the place where destiny tied you to him.

“It's going to be okay…” he whispered between kisses, his voice breaking in a way that made your heart ache. Tears pricked your eyes because you wanted to believe him. You needed to believe him. His hands explored further, his fingers shakily reaching for your clit, pinching softly then roughly rubbing, coaxing sounds from your lips that you didn’t know you were capable of.

"I'll fix it for us, for you." He looks at you—wanting to see every expression you make. He’s going to fuck you until you cum all over his dick and then he’ll do it again. Until you won't be able to think about leaving him anymore. He goes down further—kisses down and the smell of you is divine.

His face hovers and with his fingers he spreads you apart. He swallows—salivating. He sticks his tongue out, lightly licking your clit. You taste so—He buries his face in, tongue inside, hands on your hips. "Shit, you were really gonna leave me? And I was gonna miss this?" He groans, lapping up, sucking the arousal out of you. He moves up, nose bumping on your clit then he suckles more. His cock throbs with every taste of you, the way you melt against his mouth driving him insane. He feels you slick against his chin, but he doesn’t stop—doesn’t leave a single inch of you untouched by his warm, greedy mouth. It was as if your body had been crafted for his lips alone, flesh and heat meant to be devoured at his leisure.

When you tug hard on his hair, he groans against you, finally pulling back. His lips glisten as he moves up your body. He crashes his mouth onto yours, the kiss deep and hungry, and you taste yourself on his tongue—messy, desperate, a mix of him and you, blurring the lines between who’s devouring who.

“I love you,” he murmured as he positioned himself, slowly sliding into you. A low, guttural sound escaped him as he felt you, tight and warm, pulling him deeper. He's sure he'll come right there and then. His face buried itself in the curve of your neck, and his words spilled out—"I'm sorry it took this long."

"You feel so so good, don't ask me to stop, please." His touch was gentle even as his thrusts inside you grew more desperate. He cradled your head, kissed away your tears, and pressed his lips to your cheek. “I’m in love with you, Y/N,"

“I love you,” you replied, capturing his lips in a desperate kiss as you both unravelled together, bodies trembling in unison. Your thighs clenched tightly around his waist.

"Beomgyu, I— It was selfish of me—" You whispered his name and it made tears well up in his eyes. His hand gently pushed the damp strands of hair from your face, and he pressed tender kisses along your cheeks, your temple, and your jaw.

“Shh, no,” he whispered, pulling you against his chest, holding you like he was afraid you’d slip away. His lips brushed the crown of your head. "None of this is your fault," he murmurs. "But you have to trust me now."

All the horrors inside you dissolve with every kiss he presses to your skin, each one stripping away the fear, the doubt, the self-imposed distance. He kisses you like he’s rewriting everything, like he knows exactly where every shattered piece of you belongs. As if he’s memorized the map of your ruin and decided, you were always meant to be whole.

And you let him.

Because now, in his arms, with his lips claiming yours over and over, only pulls away when breathing becomes a necessity—his forehead pressing against yours for a fleeting second before his mouth finds yours again, as if letting go for too long might break him, you realise the truth—it was foolish of you to think that pushing him away would solve it all.

It was foolish to ever believe you could ever live without him.

Waking up with Beomgyu’s arm draped over your bare waist felt like something out of a dream.

The second you tried to slip away, he pulled you right back in, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a sleepy rough hum. His grip was loose but unwilling, like even in sleep, he couldn’t bear to let you go. He filled your morning with lazy kisses, tangled limbs, and muffled laughter, his fingers tracing over your bare skin.

You could live a lifetime like this and still never believe it was real.

Now, you sit at your vanity, dressed for work, fastening an earring as Beomgyu, fresh from the shower, tugs on a clean hoodie. He catches your eye in the mirror and grins as he walks over. “What are you doing baby? Dolled up and all.”

“Drying my hair,” you say, “I’m actually early today. Da-hee is dropping by later too, by the way.”

“Okay. I’ll drive you.” He leans down, eyes flickering to the hairdryer on the desk. He picks it up, flipping it on. “I know how to do this.”

You give him a skeptical look. “Oh, really?”

“Uh-huh. I could probably do your makeup too.” He presses a teasing kiss to your cheek, making you giggle.

The warmth of the dryer was against your scalp as he carefully runs his fingers through your hair, drying it with surprising patience. His touch lingers even after the dryer clicks off, his fingers gently gathering strands of your hair.

“I used to braid my mom’s hair when I was younger,” he murmurs. “I want to do yours too.” You nod, watching him through the mirror, watching the way he looks at you with so much quiet devotion it nearly steals your breath. "It will be an honour to do this every day for you, you know."

And just like that, you fall in love all over again.

You sit in the passenger seat, your hair loosely braided—the proof that he wasn’t just bluffing. His fingers lace with yours as he drives, his thumb idly tracing circles against your skin. Every time the car slows at a red light, he lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “I love you,”

He grins, that same cheeky, heart-stopping smile. "Love you more," he replies.

You let out a quiet breath, leaning your head against the window, watching the world blur past. But then—out of the corner of your eye—you see it.

And your breath catches in your throat.

Rain Lilies.

Flowers that shine the brightest in the wake of the storm.

It looks out of place. You remembered last night’s rain. It had come down in furious sheets, drowning the streets, washing everything away. The pavement is still slick, puddles reflecting the grey morning sky. And yet—there it is.

Small. Alive.

In the middle of a city that never stops, where people rush past without a second glance, too busy to care about a thing so insignificant, so easily overlooked—it stands, untouched. A quiet defiance against the cruelty that tried to take it.

It looks out of place, and it's beautiful.

If something this fragile can survive and still bloom—maybe, just maybe, so can you.

"Hyung!" Beomgyu’s laughter rings through the air as he runs straight into his brother’s arms. They embrace, laughing like they’re kids again, the older one attempting to lift him off the ground. Behind them, his parents rush to catch up, smiles stretched wide across their faces. The house, with its endless stretch of green, looks like out of a memory—soft, a paradise.

Beomgyu turns to you then, his hand resting gently on your back. His eyes soft when he speaks.

"Mom, Dad," he says, "This is Y/N."

You bow politely, but before you can even rise fully, his mother pulls you into a hug. "I’ve wanted to meet you for so long, dear," she murmurs against your shoulder.

When Beomgyu’s father steps forward, you feel your chest tighten. He smiles, and for a second, it’s like looking at Beomgyu in the years to come. His hug is just as warm, just as safe.

Lunch is a blur of laughter and stories, of hands brushing, of Beomgyu sneaking glances at you when he thinks you aren’t looking.

His parents laugh along with your stories—the one about meeting his sweet members, and how Da-hee had begged to meet them in person. You describe her pale face, wide-eyed and on the verge of fainting the entire time, and how Beomgyu grew irritated every time Yeonjun jokingly flirted with you, insisting he should be your favorite.

But it’s the story of Beomgyu meeting your family last week that really gets them, how he’d been so polite, yet adorably nervous, his hands fidgeting in his lap as he tried to make the right impression.

His mom grins, her eyes bright with excitement. “I’ll have to meet them soon,” she says, already making plans in her head, as if you’ve always been part of the family. At some point, Beomgyu tells them you’ll be staying for the week. They are overjoyed, and Toto, takes an instant liking to you.

Beomgyu sits on the porch, it's evening now.

This deck—he’s spent years here—on this very step, staring out at the world, wondering when he’d find you. Wondering if he ever would.

His fingers tighten around the handwritten letter on his phone screen, the words waiting to be sent out into the world. His heart pounds. What if they don’t understand? What if this changes everything? What if—

Laughter drifts from inside the house, yours mixing with his mom’s, his brother’s. It was the only assurance he'd ever need.

He exhales sharply, thumb hovering for only a second longer before he clicks post. It loads. He doesn’t watch. Just locks his phone and sets it aside as the front door creaks open.

"You’re trying to escape me, cookie?" Your voice is playful, arms crossing as you step toward him. Beomgyu only grins, shaking his head at the nickname his father gave him. He slips an arm around your shoulders as soon as you sit down, pulling you while he presses kisses on the side of your head.

"Never," His fingers find yours, a new habit of his—thumb caressing over your ring finger. His thoughts slip to the diamond ring hidden in his dorm, the one he bought after a week of meeting you. He just needs to find the right moment, the right words. Because even now, after everything, you still make him nervous. The way his heart races when you walk into a room, how everything seems to stop for a moment when you look his way.

He meets your smile with one of his own. Would he ever be this lucky in another life? To find you, to love you—not by destiny’s design, not by some divine script, but by choice?

Even without a soulmate mark, even without fate—

It would always be you.

Maybe in another world, the sky is burning, the world is ending, an apocalypse, and he still falls in love with you. Maybe in another life, he is a man undone, a husband who shatters more than he mends, but even then, he would spend eternity piecing himself back together just to be worthy of you.

Beomgyu knows this much: no matter the lifetime, no matter the universe, he will love you. Again and again, without hesitation, without end. As if loving you is written into the very fabric of his existence.

His fingers graze your cheek, and you lean into him like you were always meant to—like the universe has been bringing you back to him for centuries. Your smile reaches your eyes, soft and certain. His missing piece. The better half of him.

Beomgyu looks at you, and to him, you are something that comes after the rain—the hush of the earth reborn, the golden light breaking through the clouds, the promise that even the chaos was worth it.

He can’t help himself. Not when you’re looking at him like that. Not when your smile is the only thing he ever wants to see.

So he leans in.

The phone sits forgotten, lighting up with messages—teary words, heartfelt congratulations, the world calling for him. But none of it matters.

Because right now, you are in his arms. Right now, he is kissing the soft of your addicting lips. And right now, that is all that ever was, all that ever is, all that ever will be.

THE END.

taglist: I love you @.beombunni @.lovingbeomgyudayone @.virtaideen @.hyukascampfire @.fancypeacepersona @.bamgeutori @.lilbrorufr @.beomieeeeeeeeeeees @.xylatox @.imlonelydontsendhelp @.yunverie @.baekberrie @.soobabby @.hyunelixbun @.kejingken @.blossommi @.sumzysworld @.tyunningstar @.filmnings @.channieismylove @.frankghgr @.missychief1404 @.fatbixchwithanopinion @.saejinniestar @.brrytears @.sbnslver @.hoefororeo @.pagelets @.urlocal-moa @.ewsnup @.moagyuu @.melmochii

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haeiheart · 2 months ago

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LEE DONGHYUCK | NOT A BIG DEAL

LEE DONGHYUCK

SUMMARY: You and Hyuck have always been inseparable. Best friends who stick together through every minor inconvenience, every 2 AM fast-food run, and especially every party. Their little deal? If they’re both single and drunk at a party, they make out for a good time and purely to avoid awkward hookups with strangers. No feelings, no complications. It’s a good deal no? But when a new guy, Jeno, enters y/n life just like that. They both feel that for the first time, their “not a big deal” deal feels like it might’ve always been something bigger.

GENRE: friends to lovers - kind of fwb hyuckyn - jealous avoidant hyuck! - sweet jeno - minimal angst - slight reader x jeno.

NOTES: first time releasing a full written fic… bye im scared pls be kind (◞‸◟；) also first time making a header? design?? hehehehe. I hope you guys enjoy this though, i personally enjoyed written it so i hope you all enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed making it for you guys!! :3 THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD SO IM SORRY IF THERES ANY ERRORS >_<

WORD COUNT: 3.8k

BEFORE THE PARTY

You and Hyuck have always been inseparable. The best of friends. The kind who finish each other’s sentences, send texts at the exact same time, and know each other’s go-to orders at every café on campus. It’s always been easy with hyuck. You don’t overthink things with him.

That’s why your little pact made perfect sense.

“If we’re both single, and we’re both at a party, and we’re both drunk, we find each other.”

It wasn’t some deep, life changing agreement. It was just a way to keep each other from making bad decisions with strangers. A safety net, nothing more. It always worked. Every single time. It was the perfect deal after all, you both get the pleasure needed in a fun night out. No commitment, no feelings.

Until tonight. But let’s rewind back a couple of weeks.

The day you met Lee Jeno.

3 WEEKS AGO @NCU CAMPUS

College life has always been a blur of assignments, late-night food runs, and whatever chaos Hyuck drags you into. Between classes and parties, your days feel like a well-balanced mix of stress and fun. Thank goodness you had your best friend to keep you sane right?

You first met Jeno during an elective course, one of those random classes you picked to fill credits unfortunately. He was the kind of guy who didn’t talk much but somehow made every conversation feel important. You sat next to him out of convenience, and it wasn’t until the next few classes that you really spoke to him, which was currently right now.

“Do you always write your notes like that?” he had asked, glancing at your mess of shorthand scribbles and little doodles in the margins. You could tell he wanted to laugh at it.

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “Uh… yeah?”

He grinned. “It’s interesting. You do know this is a literature class, right? Because your notes look more like a doodle coloring book for toddlers my baby brother's age rather than actual notes.”

You snorted. “Well, you look like you should be in an engineering class, not here.”

“I was forced to take a humanities elective,” he admitted. “But it’s not bad. I like the class.”

“Because of the material or because of me?” you teased, raising a brow.

He laughed, shaking his head. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

And just like that, Jeno slipped into your life.

The thing about him was that he never tried too hard, he didn’t force his presence, didn’t demand attention the way Hyuck did. He was just… there. Reliable. Easy to talk to. It was easy to get hooked on a guy like Jeno.

You started walking out of class together, grabbing coffee before your next lectures. You studied together, shared snacks, exchanged casual texts that eventually turned into daily check-ins. Somewhere along the way, you got comfortable with him. But it wasn’t until one particular afternoon that you noticed something else.

OPEN FIELD STUDY AREA @NCU CAMPUS

It was another dreadful afternoon, pilled with assignments you swore just appeared in front of your face. You and Jeno were sitting outside on campus, reviewing notes. Though half the time you guys were mostly making corny jokes and laughing at shared interests. That was until Hyuck showed up unannounced, like he always did, dropping himself onto the bench next to you with a dramatic sigh.

“What’s up, losers?” he greeted, snatching one of your fries before you could react, looking as happy as always to mess with your little head.

You rolled your eyes as a faint smile appears on your face. It’s been awhile since you saw him. “Hyuck, this is a study session. You know, where people focus?”

“Sounds lame,” he deadpanned, then turned to Jeno. “So, how do you put up with this one?”

Jeno smirked. “I think she puts up with me.”

Hyuck’s expression didn’t change, but you knew him well enough to catch the slight pause—the way his fingers drummed against his knee a little too fast, the way his jaw tightened for just a second. It was so quick that you almost missed it. Almost.

But then, as fast as it came, it was gone. Hyuck smirked, leaning back on his elbows. “Well, good luck, man. She’s a handful.” You smacked his arm, rolling your eyes again, but the feeling lingered. Hyuck only stuck around for a short while and you never questioned it, but the odd part was he was too quick to leave the setting as well. Feeling lost as he suddenly got up and fled the scene after saying his byes and ruffling your hair.

After that, things felt… different. Not drastically. Not in a way you could point to and say, this is where everything changed. But the subtle things. Like how Hyuck stopped crashing your study sessions with Jeno as often. How he’d make jokes about you “ditching” him but never say it outright. How he seemed to drink more at parties, getting reckless in a way that made you worry.

It wasn’t obvious, but it was there, buried beneath layers of laughter and banter. And maybe you noticed it too late.

@NEOCAFE - 127 DISTRICT

Hyuck doesn’t text first anymore.

That’s the first thing you notice.

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter, you’ve been busy anyway. School, assignments, late-night study sessions with Jeno. But the silence sits in your chest like a weight, pressing down heavier each day. You truly did miss your best friend, nobody else was as much of a dork loser like he was.

You still see him around. In class, at parties, in the spaces you used to share. But it’s different now.

No more texts that say where are you? when you take too long to respond. No more arms slung over your shoulder as he drags you out of the library for a “much-needed” break. No more late-night walks, just because neither of you wanted to go home yet. God you truly did miss lee donghyuck.

The worst part? You know it’s your fault. You were the one who stopped looking for him first. You were the one who let the space between you grow. And now, you don’t know how to close it.

Jeno Notices “You’ve been quiet lately.” Jeno’s voice is gentle, his eyes scanning your face as you stare blankly at your untouched coffee. It’s the third time he’s caught you zoning out in the past hour and he was getting worried.

You blink, forcing a small smile. “Just tired.”

He doesn’t buy it. You can tell by the way he tilts his head, studying you. “It’s about Hyuck, isn’t it?” The words hit you like a punch to the stomach. You exhale, looking away. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

Jeno doesn’t say anything right away. He just nods, as if he already knew. And maybe he did. Maybe everyone did. You’ve spent so much time pretending things are fine that you almost forgot Jeno sees right through you.

So when he reaches out, fingers brushing over yours, you don’t pull away. Infact you allow yourself to get embraced by his comfort. Was Jeno’s comfort what you needed all this time?

@YOUR APARTMENT

The thing about Jeno is that he never rushes anything.

Not his words, not his movements, nothing. He lets things happen as they are, as if he trusts time to work things out on its own. Which is probably why being around him feels so easy, you always had a smile on your face when you were with him.

Like now, for example. You’re both sitting on the floor of your dorm, backs against the couch, a half-empty bag of chips between you. You’ve been talking for what feels like hours—about everything and nothing all at once.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jeno says, holding up a hand to stop you mid-story, his eyes already crinkling in amusement. “You mean to tell me you climbed a tree to save a cat, but then got stuck yourself?”

You groan, covering your face. “Okay, listen—”

“No, no, no, I need to process this.” He grins, resting his chin on his palm. “How long were you up there?”

“Like… twenty minutes?” you mumble, cheeks burning from embarrassment clearly…

Jeno loses it. He tilts his head back, laughing so hard his shoulders shake. You gotta admit that laugh of his does wonders to girls. He was a real catch. A once in a lifetime cutie, you should consider yourself lucky to have him around right?

You huff, crossing your arms. “Are you done?”

He wipes at his eyes, still chuckling. “Oh man. I- yeah. Yeah, I think I’m good.” He snickers again. “Twenty minutes. Amazing.”

You try to glare at him, but his laugh is infectious, and soon enough, you’re giggling too.

Jeno turns to look at you, a soft smile lingering on his lips. “Y’know, I think this is the most I’ve ever heard you talk about yourself.”

You blink. “Huh?”

“I mean, you’re always talking about Hyuck or your friends, but I like hearing about you.” He leans against the couch, watching you. “Your dumb little childhood stories. Your love for cats. Your terrible decision-making skills.”

You snort, nudging his leg with your foot. “You’re such a menace.”

“And you love it.”

You shake your head, smiling. “I might.”

Jeno tilts his head, studying you for a second. His voice is quieter when he speaks again. “Are you okay?”

The question catches you off guard. You consider lying, but Jeno has always been good at seeing through people. So you exhale, looking down at your hands.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I just feel… lost.”

Jeno doesn’t say anything right away. He just shifts a little closer, his knee bumping against yours. You don’t realize how much you needed that until it happens.

“I get that,” he finally says. “Sometimes it feels like you’re walking through fog, and you don’t know where you’re going. But…” He nudges you lightly. “That doesn’t mean you’re alone.”

You look up at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, warm and genuine. “I’m here.” You don’t know what possesses you to do it—maybe it’s the way his voice is so steady, so sure. Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, like you’re important. But before you can overthink it, you lean in.

Jeno’s eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, his lips quirk up in amusement.

“You’re not about to kiss me mid-existential crisis, are you?”

You let out a breathless laugh. “Shut up.”

But he’s still grinning when he finally closes the distance. The kiss is soft, almost hesitant at first. But then you feel him smile against your lips, and suddenly, it’s all laughter and warmth and the taste of leftover chips.

You break apart for air, and Jeno chuckles. “That was—”

You groan, covering your face. “Don’t say it.”

“— surprisingly nice for two people who just ate sour cream and onion chips.”

You swat at him, laughing. “You ruined it.”

He catches your wrist, grinning. “Nah. That made it better.”

You shake your head, still breathless, still here. Jeno doesn’t fail to make your day once again, as he leans in, continuing where you both had left off as if it was almost natural.

And for the first time in a while, you don’t feel so lost.

PRESENT TIME

And this is how your weeks have been spent. With Lee Jeno. Full of kisses, laughter, playfulness, and comfort. Jeno arrives with an armful of snacks, two sodas balanced precariously on top. “Alright, before we do anything, I have to ask…why do you have like, seven different cat towers in your apartment? Are they that spoiled?” as he takes in his surroundings once again.

You shut the door behind him and scoff. “Excuse you, my children deserve the best.”

Jeno grins, setting the snacks down. “How many do you have again?”

“Three.” You sigh dramatically. “But honestly, I think my oldest cat hates me.”

He snorts. “Why?”

“Because I accidentally stepped on her tail when she was a kitten, and she’s never forgiven me.” You flop onto the couch, pouting. “Now every time I call her, she looks at me like I owe her child support.” Jeno bursts out laughing, nearly knocking over the bag of chips. “That’s the most you thing I’ve ever heard.”

You nudge him with your foot. “Oh, shut up. You’ve definitely done worse.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Doubt it.”

“Oh really? What’s the dumbest injury you’ve ever had?”

He thinks for a moment before admitting, “I once tried to jump over my couch but tripped, hit my head on the armrest, and passed out.”

You gasp. “Wait—like, fully unconscious?”

“Yup.” He sighs. “Woke up two minutes later to my mom yelling at me for being stupid.”

You’re already laughing so hard your stomach hurts. “Okay, okay, once, when I was seven, I thought I could ride my bike down the biggest hill in my neighborhood with my eyes closed.”

Jeno’s eyes widen. “No. No.”

“Yes,” you wheeze. “Flew straight into a bush. My mom had to pull twigs out of my hair for an hour.”

He practically collapses against the couch, laughing until his shoulders shake. “You’re actually crazy as a kid.”

“Thank you,” you say proudly.

The laughter fades into a comfortable silence. Jeno leans back, staring at the ceiling. “You know, I never really asked—but what was Hyuck like when you were kids?”

You hesitate, but the memories come easily. “Chaotic. Loud. Got us into trouble, like, every other day. He would drag me into the most ridiculous situations and it wasn’t even my fault.”

Jeno smirks. “Sounds about right.”

You smile softly. “One time, we thought we could build a pillow fort. We barely even got the first pillow up before the entire thing collapsed and we both fell.”

He laughs. “Did you get hurt?”

“Surprisingly, no. But Hyuck cried for a full hour because he swore it was sabotage.”

Jeno shakes his head, amused. “He hasn’t changed at all, has he?”

“Nope.” You pick at a loose thread on your sleeve. “He’s always been… Hyuck.”

There’s a pause, but Jeno doesn’t push. He just watches you, waiting.

You clear your throat. “Okay, your turn. Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

He hums, tapping his chin. “Alright. You know how everyone thinks I’m all sporty and serious?”

“Yeah?”

“Well.” He leans in like he’s about to share a top-secret confession. “I used to write fanfiction.”

You choke on your drink. “No way.”

“Oh, it gets worse.” He sighs dramatically. “It was about superheroes.”

“What kind? Marvel? DC?”

“Neither. Completely original characters. I had a whole series.”

You clutch your stomach from laughing so hard. “Jeno. Are you telling me you were a self-insert superhero fanfic writer?”

He groans, covering his face. “Look, I was twelve—”

“NO, THIS IS AMAZING.” You grab his arm. “Did you give yourself powers? A tragic backstory?”

He peeks at you between his fingers. “…Both.”

You collapse into the couch, wheezing. “This might be the best thing I’ve ever learned about you.”

He grins. “Alright, your turn. What’s your cringiest secret?”

You pause, then admit, “Okay this might not be cringy… but i had a harry potter phase.”

Jeno gasps, clutching his chest. “What house were you in?”

“…Slytherin.”

He high-fives you. “Respect.”

The conversation keeps flowing, lighthearted and easy. You talk about everything, old childhood memories, embarrassing moments, ridiculous hypothetical scenarios (what would you do if you woke up as a worm?), and somehow, even the meaning of life.

It’s fun. It’s comfortable.

But beneath it all, there’s something bittersweet.

Because you both know this is goodbye.

Eventually, the night slows down. The laughter fades, leaving only the quiet hum of the TV in the background. You shift, fiddling with the hem of your sweater. “Jeno…”

He already knows. You can see it in his expression.

Still, he lets you say it.

“I have to go find him,” you admit softly.

A beat of silence.

Then he smiles? He smiles. A small, knowing smile. “Yeah.”

You swallow hard. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

“I know.” His voice is gentle. “You never had to say it, y/n. I knew.”

Your throat tightens. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He reaches for your hand, squeezing it lightly. “But… can I ask for one last thing?”

You nod, already knowing what it is.

“One last kiss,” he murmurs.

So you kiss him.

It’s soft, lingering. A silent thank you. A quiet goodbye.

When you pull away, he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well. That was a solid 9/10.”

You snort. “Only 9?”

“Could’ve been a 10, but my foot fell asleep.”

You smack his arm, laughing. “Shut up.”

He grins. “Go. Before I change my mind and challenge Hyuck to a duel.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re already reaching for your shoes.

And as you step out the door, heart racing, you realize—

This time, you’re going to run toward Hyuck.

Because he’s always been the one and it’s about time you told him.

@HYUCKS HOUSE

You don’t know why you’re nervous.

Actually, scratch that—you do know why.

Because this is Hyuck.

Because it’s been weeks. Because you let the distance grow, and now you’re about to do the most humiliating thing possible: show up at his door in the middle of the night, probably looking like a disaster, and pour your heart out.

Great plan. Really solid. No notes.

Still, you knock.

And the second the door swings open, all your thoughts evaporate.

Hyuck stands there, hoodie slightly rumpled, his hair sticking up like he was asleep before you interrupted. His face is groggy, blinking at you like he’s trying to make sure you’re real.

“…y/n?”

You open your mouth.

And immediately start crying.

Like, full-on tears. Embarrassing.

Hyuck panics. “Wait, huh, are you okay??”

You sniff, waving your hands wildly. “I— hiccup— I don’t know why I’m crying!”

His hands move without hesitation, reaching for your arms, steadying you. “Hey, hey, what’s going on?” His grip is warm, grounding. “Did something happen?”

You shake your head rapidly, but the tears won’t stop. God you really missed him.

Hyuck makes a helpless noise before sighing and tugging you against him. His arms wrap around you, firm but careful, like he’s worried you might break.

You bury your face in his hoodie, gripping the fabric tightly.

Hyuck rubs your back in slow circles. “Okay. Just—breathe, yeah?”

You sniffle, nodding against his chest. His warmth seeps into your skin, comforting in a way nothing else has been these past few weeks.

And then, before he can say anything else, the words just spill out.

“I just— Hyuck, I missed you.”

His hold on you tightens for a second before he pulls back slightly, just enough to see your face. His brows furrow, but he stays quiet, letting you talk.

“You’re— you’re so important to me, okay? And I hate that I let us drift apart. And I hate that I didn’t realize sooner that you are—” You hiccup again, rubbing at your face. “I don’t even know what I’m saying, I just miss you so much, and everything sucks without you, and I—”

Hyuck suddenly squints at you. “…Are you drunk?”

You freeze. “What?”

“You’re being so dramatic right now.” His lips twitch like he’s holding back laughter. “You have to be drunk.”

You gape at him. “I am not drunk, you absolute—”

“I dunno…” He crosses his arms, pretending to analyze you as he leans closer to your face. “Messy hair, teary eyes, emotional confessions in the dead of night… this is very intoxicated behavior.”

You groan, shoving at his shoulder. “I swear I’m sober—”

“Alright, c’mon, Crybaby.” He snickers, grabbing your wrist and pulling you inside. “At least cry in my room instead of my doorstep.”

You let him drag you in, still sniffling as he kicks the door shut behind you.

And just like that, you’re home.

Hyuck flops onto his bed, patting the space next to him. “C’mere, you baby.” You roll your eyes but sit down anyway, pulling your knees to your chest.

Silence settles between you. Not awkward, not tense. Just… there.

Hyuck sighs, tilting his head toward you. “You really missed me that much?”

You swallow, nodding. “Yeah.”

He watches you for a moment, then scoffs lightly. “Idiot. I was always here, y’know.”

Your heart clenches. “I know. I was just—”

“Being dumb?”

You groan. “Yes, okay! I was being dumb.”

Hyuck smirks, but it softens as he nudges your knee with his. “It sucked without you, too.”

Your breath catches. “Yeah?”

“Obviously.” He huffs, looking away like admitting it pains him. “Who else was gonna make me leave my apartment and go on stupid 2AM snack runs?”

You let out a small laugh. “You love those snack runs.”

“Yeah, but I love them with you.”

You freeze.

Hyuck doesn’t seem to notice what he just said, or maybe he does, because he clears his throat quickly and sits up straighter. “Anyway. What was up with that dramatic monologue outside? You really that miserable without me?”

You hesitate, then nod. “Yeah.”

He blinks.

You sigh, rubbing your arms. “Hyuck, you’re— you’re my person.” You glance at him, eyes searching. “You always have been.” You meant it.

Something shifts in his expression.

For the first time all night, he’s quiet.

Your heart pounds. “I—”

“Wait.” He suddenly lifts a hand, stopping you. Then, deadpan— “Are you sure you’re not drunk?”

You groan, shoving his face away. “Hyuck!”

He bursts into laughter, eyes crinkling at the corners.

And even though you’re this close to smacking him, you realize—

This is why you came back.

Because no one makes your heart race and your soul feel alive like Lee Donghyuck. You don’t even realize how close you’ve gotten until his laughter fades, leaving only the soft hum of the night around you. His gaze flickers to your lips, then back to your eyes.

A beat of silence.

Then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he leans in.

And you meet him halfway.

The kiss is warm, slow— like a quiet understanding. Like something that had always been there, waiting to be noticed. It wasn’t like all the other kisses, the party hookups. This was real.

His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. He tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss just a little, enough to make your breath hitch.

When you finally pull away, he exhales, pressing his forehead against yours.

“…Yup.” He grins. “You definitely weren’t supposed to kiss me like that if you were drunk.”

You laugh softly, still slightly breathless. “Shut up.”

He hums, thumb still stroking your cheek. “Not a chance.”

And this time, when he kisses you again, neither of you stop to think.

Because for once, nothing else matters.

NOTES: I wouldve wrote longer but my brain fogged oops but i hope you guys enjoyed!!

#lee donghyuck #nct donghyuck #haechan #lee haechan #nct dream #nct 127 #haechan fluff #haechan angst #donghyuck x reader #nct dream donghyuck #nct #nct x reader

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