#like today i can look back and remember today my bones were hurting because of this post

[inkedells]

pairing: old!logan x f!reader

Logan is sick and tired of you treating him like he's fragile. He'll ignore his relentless pain to show you what it's like to be taken apart, rough and slow, then fast and agonizing.

wc: 3.5k of pure smut

warnings: heavy smut, lap sitting, fingering, oral (f!receiving and m!receiving), dirty talk, facials, p in v, ruined orgasms, snowballing, kind of angsty, the claws come out, logan is angry with you, kinda toxic, definitely mean, but still kind of sweet, pwp basically, blood, but it's not bloodplay, it's just logan not caring if he's hurt, if i missed any let me know.

Logan comes home and throws himself back on that torn-up leather sofa, thumb flicking his lighter while the other holds a cigar. It’s less of a distraction from the ache in his bones, and more of a device to push you away. Because if you think he’s tired or angry or hurting, you won’t ask him to fuck you.

It’s not like he doesn’t want you. Of course he does. It’s the sympathy in your eyes when he gets tired from just a couple of minutes of thrusting that he hates. The whispered, “It’s okay. baby, I can ride you.” The gentle touches across his body and his neck and his face and his beard. It all reeks of pity. And if you were to sit him down one day and ask him why he hates being taken care of, he wouldn’t have an answer. He would push the voice in his head down into the void that all the strength he had left fell in, the voice shrinking until it’s nothing as it screams, because I’ve never been taken care of, and I would’ve loved it back when being taken care of wasn’t my only choice.

But it’s fine. You wouldn’t ever ask him that question because he knows for a fact that you don’t know. If you did, you wouldn’t be climbing onto his lap quietly, hands rubbing his sides as you press kisses to his neck.

“I missed you, Logan,” You whisper. Your hips aren’t moving; He knows he sat here like this to avoid fucking you, but he almost wishes you were seeking exactly that. Sex, as embarrassing as it would be for him, is better than your sick love. He doesn’t think you love in the way lovers do. It’s the kind of love meant for sick puppies, or the lonely old woman sitting on the bus with all her belongings in plastic bags.

He turns his head to take a drag of his cigar. Silence.

You hold his face, forcing him to look at you as you kiss him. Slow, chaste, no tongue. He feels scrutinized by your touches, and something nervous seats itself deep in his belly.

“How was your day?” You ask, your gaze snapping between his eyes.

Logan closes them. “I’m tired,” He says flatly.

“I know. It’s okay.”

There it is again. Pity.

He scoffs. It’s quiet. Barely there. He didn’t mean to. He watches your face fall the smallest bit. A year ago, he wouldn’t have noticed, and if he would’ve, he would blurt out an apology. Now, he does notice, but he secretly wants to watch it fall even further if it means you’ll realize how much you’ve been hurting him.

You swallow, your thumb rubbing his cheekbone. “I found an American poetry anthology in the basement today. 20th Century. My favorite poem was in it.”

He mumbles, “In a Station of the Metro. T.S. Elliot.” Remembering the poem you told him about months ago sounds too much like sorry. He wishes he’d pretended to forget.

“Ezra Pound,” You correct. Your smile tells him he’s forgiven for an apology he never offered. “If you can recite it I’ll be impressed.”

“I’m not reciting a goddamn poem.” He sounds sarcastic, and it relieves you, but then you kiss him and he’s wound tight again.

You sigh as you pull back. “What’s bothering you, baby?”

“Nothing’s bothering—”

“What’s bothering you?” You interject.

He shakes his head, clenching his jaw. He makes the decision to sacrifice his dignity for the sake of stopping this conversation. You never could resist an orgasm, especially one caused by him. “Enough of that.”

“What?”

But he’s putting out his cigar and lifting you off his lap with a suppressed grunt, then pushing you down on the couch.

“Logan,” You protest.

He continues undoing the drawstring of your pajamas, with a kind of slippery urgency that tells you he's trying to shut you up more than he's trying to satiate his own desire.

You sit up straight, swatting his hand away. “Stop.”

He withdraws immediately, breathing hard through his nose as he looks down at the floor. He was wrong, before, about you not knowing. You definitely know, because you don’t place a loving hand on his thigh and you don’t kiss his shoulder. He’s grateful.

Instead, you observe his profile, then the quiet tremor in his hand. The impossible stillness of the rest of him. He tends to do that when his nerves are on fire. Thinks being a statue is what people who aren’t in chronic pain do.

“Don’t do that,” He mumbles, feeling your eyes on him. “I don’t need you feeling sorry, or whatever—whatever the fuck else goes through your head when you’re around me.”

You say nothing. That’s the most he’s said about his feelings in a while. He knows it, so he forces himself to say nothing, too. It doesn’t last long.

“I’m not dying.” His voice cracks a little at the end and he fights the urge to squeeze his eyes shut.

“I know.” The words come out in a tumble, as if you’re rushing to participate in his lie.

“Then stop looking at me like I’m dying.”

“Okay.” Tears prickle your eyes but you blink them away.

“Okay,” He repeats.

You take a deep breath. “But it’s okay to be cared for, Logan.”

He laughs incredulously, and suddenly his volume is rising and his voice is firm. “Would you just—Would you just quit being my fuckin’ mommy? Would you?”

He only lets your silence marinate for a second before he rushes in to kiss you, ignoring the cramps in his muscles as he tugs your neck forward roughly. You squeak against his mouth, fighting his impossible grip on you, but you give up with a shaky exhale through your nose when your efforts prove useless.

“I can take care of you, too,” He grits out. It would sound sweet if it weren’t for the frustration in his tone. He pushes you onto the couch the same way he did moments before as he opens your legs by your knees and settles between them. He sucks a dark mark onto your neck, his fingers digging bruises in your ribs.

“I know you can,” You reassure him. You can see where this is going. “And I love when you do.” You gasp when he pulls your shirt up over the curve of your breasts.

“No. You don’t.” He pinches one of your nipples and sucks the other into his mouth for a brief second. “It’s okay. I’ll show you so you don’t forget again. You won’t want to get ruined any other way.”

“Logan,” You sigh.

He hums against the soft skin just underneath your breast as his hands ravage your body. He begins to unsheathe the adamantium claws in one of his hands so he can rip your top open. It’s slow and excruciating, so he closes his eyes, but the pain is over too soon and his suspicions are confirmed when he opens his eyes to see them stuck halfway.

You don’t expect him to lean back and individually tug each blade free. There’s blood, and now it’s dripping onto your belly, and he mumbles something that sounds like an apology as he wipes the dots of red away with his thumb.

But the hazel in his eyes is alive again. You hope it’s you that did that. Hope it’s not the pain or the sight of his own blood. You want to ask him, just to make sure. You don’t like hurting, right? You just really like me—

He slices through your shirt, careful not to graze your skin, and you try to ignore the fact that he’s never that cautious with himself, but you can’t.

“Logan, you’re bleeding.” Your voice is unstable.

“It’ll heal,” He says quickly, passively. He wipes his burning palm on his wifebeater.

“But that takes a long time now.”

He meets your eyes, his movements frozen. He’s angry and you’re not stupid. You’re pitying him again. He needs you to stop fucking pitying him. When he speaks, his voice is deep and rough and slow, and you would be scared if he wasn’t your Logan. “Are you done?”

You don’t know what to say, so you just close your eyes and nod. You hear his claws retract faster than when they came out, and almost simultaneously, he’s shoving that same hand under your waistband as two of his calloused fingers push themselves into your cunt.

You arch toward him involuntarily, a ragged moan falling from your lips as he tugs your pajamas off your legs and spits on your pussy to ease the slide of his fingers.

Each groan he pulls from your throat is a step toward dispelling the doubt from your body. Doubt of his capabilities, of his strength, of his devotion to you.

“Beg me to fuck you,” He demands, fingering you roughly.

Your mind is cloudy at this point, from sadness or arousal or both, but you give him what he wants. “Fuck me,” You whisper, your eyelids about to flutter shut as you shed a tear.

But then you catch Logan smiling.

He grabs your jaw with his free hand, and you look at him immediately. “You’re gonna let me use it, right? Get myself off?” You lazily trace his features with your gaze—His nose, his wrinkles, his beard—because you know if it were your fingers instead he’d mistake it for tenderness and get mad again.

You nod, but it’s weak with how hazy everything is.

“Good girl.” 

“Please,” You sigh, “I need you inside of me. I need to—I need it.”

“I know. I know what you’re feeling before you feel it.” He lets the pad of his thumb draw quick circles on your clit. “What? Thought I couldn’t hear you playing with yourself in the shower? If I can hear your heartbeat when I walk through the door, what makes you think I wouldn’t have heard you whining my name?”

“Logan,” You sigh, your hips lifting off the couch, coaxing his fingers deeper for as long as possible before he’s shoving you back down with the heel of his palm.

“I’m gonna play with you now. I’ll fuck you after, don’t worry your pretty head about it.”

“What do you mean, play with me?” You breathe, fighting to keep your eyes open as he finds your g-spot.

He grins dirtily, in a way that makes your head spin and your thighs clench around his hand. You’re barely processing his words as he bends down to mumble in your ear, “Right when you’re about to make a mess on my fingers, I’m gonna stop. Then I’m gonna go down on you. And I’m gonna lick your pretty pussy, maybe even fuck you with my tongue if you’re good. And guess what? Guess what I’m gonna do when you’re this close?”

“You’re gonna stop,” You whine.

“I’m gonna stop,” He nods, and it’s mocking, but it’s gentle, and he’s fucking killing you with the way he’s talking right now. “But I’m not mean. I’ll give you a break. You can calm down when my dick is in your mouth, okay?”

“Okay,” You breathe, your hips unabashedly grinding on his fingers. But you want to reassure him he is mean, and you especially want to tell him how much you love it. “Logan, I’m gonna—”

He withdraws his fingers from you so fast it almost burns. You clench around nothing, your lower half spasming as your orgasm barely approaches before falling away again. Only a hint of pleasure is able to make it through the cracks, and you cling onto it, hoping if you focus hard enough, the wave will come back. It doesn’t. You should regret warning Logan that you were about to finish, but all you feel is comfort now that he’s finally proud of you again.

Another tear streams down the side of your face, landing in your hair. Logan’s watching you as he pets your thigh, his lips parted when he leans down over you. He kisses your wet cheek softly, his beard rough on your skin. It’s unlike him to offer you affection this gracefully during sex. It’s always shaky limbs and suppressed groans and dirty kisses. Both of you know it. 

He moves down your body, until his face is hovering over your cunt. He doesn’t have his reading glasses on, so he has to pull his head back and squint as he spreads your folds with his thumbs, studying what you look like. He licks a stripe over you. A second, longer one, before he zeroes in on your clit. You can do nothing except lay there and take it as your hips twitch from overstimulation under his firm hands.

“Oh my god,” You whisper, your fingers twisting in his hair. “F-Fuck.”

He moans at that, pressed right up against you, the sound deep and delicious and vibrating. “Feel good?” He asks teasingly with a nip to your inner thigh.

“What do—What the fuck do you think?”

He breathes a laugh. It’s short and airy, not frustrated like before, and a warmth ignites itself in the back of your mind. It’s overpowering even the feeling of his mouth licking and sucking your most sensitive area; It’s the relief that he’s still hiding the Logan you fell in love with somewhere in there.

You wind your fingers in his hair and scratch his scalp. You try to do it lovingly, although it comes across as sexual and Logan’s breath hitches in pleasure against your pussy instead. So as you suppress a gasp from the pure skill of his tongue, you show your affection differently—you hold the wounded hand he has resting face-up beside your hip. The cuts embedded there are easy to avoid as your thumb rubs the lines of his palm, because even though you can’t see his hand, the puffiness surrounding each slash on his skin are your cues.

He doesn’t move his hand away, but his tongue falters for a fraction of a second before slowing down.

The kind of love you’re pressing into Logan’s skin with each gentle stroke is unrecognizable to him. It’s not the pitiful love he’s so used to. He thinks it might be the opposite. Admiration. Reverence.

“I’m so empty,” You whisper, bringing your hands to grope Logan’s biceps. They’re sweaty and hard and flexing under your touch, and you wonder if he would let you ride them one day.

When your climax starts to creep up on you, it’s thanks to the image of Logan forcing you to lick your arousal clean off his bicep. Indulgently swirling your tongue along his pronounced veins, savoring the taste of his sweat mixed with yourself. He’d probably say somthing like, fuckin’ filthy. Getting yourself off on my arm. Who does that? Are you that obsessed with me?

Logan feels you squeezing his tongue, harder than all the other times before, so he withdraws at the last moment, ruining your orgasm once again.

 You convulse silently, your breath coming out stuttered with your twitching jaw. As if he can read your mind, he unbuckles his belt and removes his pants and boxers. But he doesn’t strip himself of his wifebeater, stained with blood.

It’s the hottest thing in the world.

You blink, and suddenly Logan is hovering above you with his cock over your face. He rubs his leaking tip on your cheeks first, then your lips, and when you open your mouth to take him, he moves his cock away and nudges your jaw shut with his free hand, shaking his head.

“Not yet.”

A whine lodges itself in your throat as Logan spreads his pre-come over the plush of your lips. It escapes only when he lets go of his cock in favor of massaging his wetness across your lips and on your tongue with his thumb. His hard cock is bobbing above you, almost tantalizingly, the occasional drip of arousal landing itself somewhere near your eyes, then your hair, then your mouth, and you watch Logan’s brow furrow as you try to lick whatever you can.

His resolve snaps. A calloused hand squeezes at your cheeks until your jaw falls open. His cock is in your mouth before you can process it, thick and heavy and wet. So. Incredibly. Wet. You start to wonder how it’s even possible that he’s this hard at his age, but you know he wouldn’t want you to be wondering that, so you happily push the thought away.

You suck your cheeks in, swirling your tongue around his tip as you bob your head to meet the subtle, almost imperceivable thrust of his hips. You’re taking it well, you know you are. So you keep taking it, until Logan can no longer successfully suppress his moans and his hips are jerking out of rhythm.

He moves back until his cock slips out of your mouth. “I don’t wanna come like this. Wanna fuck you.”

“Yeah, yes. Fuck me. Please.”

He stands up and turns you on your front, your knees pressing into the soft couch cushions with your ass in the air.

“Logan,” You plead as you feel his tip pressing at your entrance.

“I’ve got you,” He says quietly, pushing in until half of his cock is comfortably squeezed by your cunt. Both your breathing is loud and labored, and there’s a specific kind of intimacy in knowing you’re both feeling this identical need. Overwhelming and hot and unquenchable by anything other than each other.

His first thrust is shallow, but it ruins you all the same. With how thick he is, it should feel like an intrusion, and it does. But all you can think about is how perfectly he fits inside of you, filling you extraordinarily with only a few inches.

“Fuck,” Logan breathes. “Look at that.” He traces around your entrance with his thumb. “Stretching so wide to take me.”

You moan, pressing your cheek against the sofa as you rock with his thrusts. He still hasn’t pressed all the way in yet, and you’re growing impatient. “Come on,” You urge, pushing yourself back to force more of his cock into you.

You expect him to chastise you for being so greedy, but he listens to you instead with a slow, full thrust. His tip nudges your cervix with how deep he is, and a ragged moan escapes you. “Yes,” You whine, “Oh god, yes.”

Logan’s breaths are coming out heavy through his nose, quick and occasionally intertwined with a grunt. His thrusts are getting quicker, and it’s starting to burn, but you welcome every sensation he has to offer you. He pulls out, spits on his cock, then shoves himself back inside, and this time you’re both unabashedly moaning the minute you’re joined again. 

His fingers dig in the plush of your ass as he observes himself disappearing into you. It hurts, but you love it. He knows you do, so he spanks you quickly before gripping you and rutting against you again.

“I love when you fuck me,” You whisper, feeling ashamed as soon as the confession leave you. “When you properly fuck me.”

He slows for a moment so he can watch his cock glisten with how wet you are. “I know.” He picks back up his punishing pace.

Your eyes begin to water, from pain or pleasure, you can’t tell. “I love you.”

“I know,” He repeats, this time breathier. His hips stutter. You can tell he’s close.

“I want it on my face,” You tell him quickly, his impending orgasm giving you no time to worry about being too forward.

He pulls out again, letting you turn onto your back as he shifts up your body. He jerks himself furiously, but you swat his hand away and take it upon yourself to stroke him.

“Come for me,” You tell him honestly, softly. His eyes squeeze shut and his lips part around a trembling exhale.

He groans as his release coats your face in long stripes. Some of it even lands in your hair, but you don’t care. Your own fingers work your clit as you stick your tongue out and taste him. Logan bends down to kiss you, chest heaving and hands shaky, and you rub yourself faster as you swap his release between the two of you with a hum. He pulls back to let you swallow, then he kisses your cheeks with his rough beard, uncaring about the mess on your face.

You don’t know you’re coming until it’s over and you’re breathless, and it’s almost excruciating with how much he’s ruined you, but you’re so exhausted you can’t find it in yourself to dwell on it a second longer.

You wrap your arms around his neck and tug him down for another kiss because you can hardly remember the one he just gave you.

“I’m sorry I had been treating you all wrong,” You say carefully.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” His voice is rough.

You nod, your lips brushing his as you smooth sweaty strands of hair away from his forehead. These touches are hard for him. Any variation of your chaste affection is a reminder that he’s not really Logan anymore.

But the shame in it is gone. Replaced by the reassurance that he can still surround you with safety and firm hands and blatant desire;

And for a moment, he’s his old self again.

A/N: it's been so long since i've written anything, but logan has been consuming my brain for weeks so i had to get this out. i hope it's true to his character. <3 also, my asks are open, so feel free to request anything you want to read about.

[dawngyu]

WHAT REMAINS THE SAME

pairing: choi beomgyu x single-parent reader

On the hardest, most terrifying day of your life, when your body is tearing open and everything feels like it’s coming undone, his name is the only one your heart remembers to call for.

warnings: childhood friends, longing, romance, angst, second chance, pregnancy, set somewhere in 90s, mistakes, parenting, flashbacks, timeskips, guilt, alcohol-induced!manipulation, descriptions of giving birth, subtle signs of postpartum!d, plot heavy, pov switching, drunk in-love beomgyu (lol), abandonment, used different idols as ocs. if any of the warnings above might be triggering for you, please step back. let me know if I missed anything. this is a work of fiction.

smut!warnings: multiple-smut scenes, missionary, nipple-play, fingering, oral!fem receiving, virginity-loss.

wc: 31k — playlist

notes: hiii! took long but she's here. i've dreamt about this once, and i couldn't stop writing. while I’ve done some research to better understand what it’s like to be a mother, there may still be inaccuracies, i did my best to approach the subject with care and respect. xxx

How does it feel to grow up with someone, know their laughter, their fears, the way their voice sounds in the dark and then never see them again?

A part of you is missing and you’re the only one who knows.

Would things be easier if there was closure?

Closure when your parents shattered whatever was left of a home, walking away like love was something that could be unlearned. Closure when you realized your dreams of college were slipping, no matter how tightly you held on. Closure when your anger turned inward—when your foot slammed into a doorframe and the only person you could blame was the one looking back in the mirror.

Would it hurt less if you had said goodbye to him? Or would it have made losing him even worse?

"Mom, I'm gonna be late!"

You hurriedly dab lipstick onto your lips, your other hand frantically smoothing down your hair, hoping it doesn’t look like a complete disaster.

"Mommy?"

"Just a second, sweetheart," you mumble, shoving the lipstick back onto the cluttered vanity before standing up to steal one last glance in the mirror. It’s not perfect. But then again, when have you ever been?

You step out of the room, each movement slower than it should be, the kind of tired that sleep can’t fix clinging to your bones. The stairs creak beneath your feet, groaning like they know how heavy it all is.

At the bottom, she’s already waiting. Your daughter, backpack snug and shoes on the wrong feet again, bouncing like the world is brand new. Her smile hits you like sunlight through a window you forgot was there... so full of life it steals the breath from your lungs.

You force a smile back. You’re getting good at that.

It’s almost cruel, how radiant she looks. Hair brushed, cheeks flushed, eyes bright with a kind of hope you haven’t felt in years. And then there’s you, barely held together, eyes raw from the night you didn’t sleep, wearing yesterday’s grief under today’s clothes.

People say kids reflect their parents. But she glows, and you… you’re flickering. And still, you kneel to tie her shoelaces. Still, you kiss her forehead and tell her she’s going to have the best day. Because even when you’re unraveling, you stitch yourself back together for her.

"You ready?"

"Aye, aye, captain!" she giggles.

You should be laughing with her, but your steps slow as your eyes catch the steady drip of the kitchen faucet. The soft plink, plink, plink echoes, a reminder of another thing left unfixed, another problem waiting for your attention.

You exhale, rubbing your temple. “Guess I’ll have to call someone to fix that… again.”

When you turn back, she’s already watching you—wide-eyed, her face painted with innocent curiosity. She doesn’t ask what’s wrong, doesn’t understand the weight of things like broken faucets, overdue bills, and work that keeps you up at night.

And you don’t want her to. Not while she can still giggle over silly things and believe the world is simple.

You double-check the locks before leaving. It’s muscle memory by now. Stove off, windows closed, doors latched tight. You scan the room one last time. You carry her to the car, buckle her in, and start the engine. The morning air is cold, the silence even colder but she fills it like she always does. Why are there more clouds today? Why are wheels round? Why is it called a car?

And you answer every question, every single one, because as long as she’s asking, you get to speak. You get to be known. You get to be real to someone. She knows your voice. She trusts it. And in her tiny, curious world, you are enough.

You remember the beginning. Those nights when she was barely one and you were… barely human. When her cries echoed through the walls and your body was too heavy with fatigue to even cry back. When no position, no lullaby, no amount of rocking made her stop and you were left wondering what you were doing wrong.

There were nights you stood in the hallway, holding her like a lifeline, tears sliding silently down your face while hers screamed out loud, both of you breaking in different languages.

But you’re here now, driving her to school, answering questions about clouds and wheels and words. You think… maybe you made it through the worst of it. You're still here, hands on the wheel, heart somewhere in the rearview mirror.

"Nari!" The booming voice cut through the air the moment you stepped out of the car, your daughter still nestled in your arms. You barely had time to turn before a familiar figure came sprinting toward you, like a man starved for something he’d only been missing a week. It made you chuckle, he always acted like it had been years since he last saw her.

"Uncle Binnie!"

Nari wriggled free, launching herself into his waiting arms. He caught her effortlessly, lifting her high before spinning her around, her laughter ringing out. Heads turned. Strangers watched. And you saw it too, the way he held her so easily, the way she clung to him, like father and daughter rather than what they really were.

You walked closer, and Soobin stretched out an arm, wordlessly inviting you in. You let him hold you, because you owed him your life.

"So," he said, his voice lighter now, as if this—this reunion, this familiarity—was as much his comfort as it was yours. His arm stayed draped around your shoulders, Nari tucked against his side. "How have my two favorite girls been?"

Nari giggled at the word favourite, her tiny hands clinging to him. "Mommy's been busy all days, uncle!"

The two of you laughed at the words your daughter. "Really? She's not playing with you?"

"Well, she plays with me still." She pouts and Soobin pinches her nose lightly. "But she's always busy."

You rest a hand on your daughter's head, gently smoothing her hair as her words settle deep inside you. After everything, you raised a child this kind, this thoughtful. A proof that you did something right. It burns in your chest.

She is the best thing that has ever happened to you.

The three of you walked toward the restaurant where Soobin had booked a reservation, his voice light as he chatted with Nari about her new teacher and the friends she’d made. You let them talk, let their voices blur into background noise as you glanced inside through the frosted windows.

Families.

Because it was Christmas.

A lump swells in your throat the moment you step inside. Parents leaning close to their children, wiping crumbs from tiny mouths, passing plates with gentle hands. Grandparents pulling little ones into their arms like gravity itself is made of love. Siblings bickering over who got more dessert, only to split the last bite anyway.

Every table holds something whole. Something complete. You hold your daughter's hand a little tighter.

You see it everywhere now, in the drop-off lines where both parents wave from the car window. In the grocery store, where dads lift kids onto their shoulders and moms scold them lovingly for grabbing too many snacks. In the tiny moments that most people take for granted, you see the shape of something you couldn’t give her.

Fate had a cruel way of making sure you never forget.

Nari was a big eater, one of the few traits she hadn’t inherited from you. She sat beside Soobin, happily digging into her food, her small hands clutching her utensils with eagerness. Meanwhile, you barely touched your plate, absently pushing the food around, taking a few bites here and there but never really eating.

Soobin noticed. "What's wrong?"

"Huh?"

His gaze softened, "Are you okay?" For some reason, his words made you smile. After all these years, he was still the most observant person you knew. Well… almost.

Because there had been someone else.

Someone who had noticed things about you without you ever having to say a word. Someone who had memorized the way your hands trembled when you were nervous. Someone that could read you in a glance, catch the shift in your breath before the words ever left your lips, but you haven’t seen him in years. Haven’t said his name out loud in even longer. And you weren’t sure if you ever would.

You weren't sure if you could.

"I am," you say, forcing the words out before glancing at Nari, watching as she happily munched on her pasta. "I guess I just don’t really like the holidays that much."

Soobin blinked, studying you for a moment before offering, "We can go watch a movie after dinner? Nari’s been wanting to see that one."

You nod, giving him another small, grateful smile. You reach for your water, ready to wash down the tightness in your throat, when he speaks again. "I also… heard."

You turn to him, brows furrowing. "Heard what?"

Soobin hesitates, his fingers gripping the edge of his fork. "He’s back in town."

Your heart stalls.

"Who?"

You shouldn’t have asked.

"Choi Beomgyu."

"Choi Beomgyu!" you squealed as the boy snatched the paper from your hands. "Yah! Give it back!"

"Don't cry over this," he said firmly, already folding the paper before you could grab it. Effortlessly, he slung your backpack over one arm while reaching for his own, slipping the paper inside.

A paper you were sure you’d never see again.

"What would my parents think, idiot?"

"I’d just tell them you got passing marks. No way they’d believe a high score anyway—ouch, ouch! I’m sorry! Fuck!" Beomgyu yelped as you tugged at his ear, swatting weakly at your hands in protest. His ears turned red, whether from the pull or the fact that you touched him, you weren’t sure.

"You think I haven’t already tried that?" you huffed.

"Well, no," he admitted. "But your parents love me more than you—ow! I mean, I mean, they see me as their own kid!" He laughed at your pout, eyes crinkling with amusement.

"You wanna be siblings then?"

"Hell no."

You turned away at his answer, crossing your arms as you walked. The buttons of your high school uniform pressed uncomfortably into your skin, but you ignored it. Beomgyu, your best friend, immediately followed. Like he always did.

The Beomgyu magnet to Y/N.

That’s what everyone called it.

Students stared as the two of you walked, their gazes lingering a little too long. A few even called out to Beomgyu, tossing him belated "Happy 19th birthday!" greetings, nevermind that his birthday had been last week.

Maybe that was just the price of being him. The kind of popular where people scrambled for any excuse to talk to you, even if it meant getting the date wrong. He’s smart, been in the school band since forever, and unfortunately, he’s not exactly hard to look at.

Not that you’d ever say that out loud.

"You mad?" he asked beside you. You shook your head, not even looking at him. From the corner of your eye, you caught the smirk tugging at his lips. "Hungry?"

You swatted his hand away when he poked at your sides, barely listening to his words. Beomgyu didn’t get the hint or maybe he did and just didn’t care. Either way, you kept walking, your chest tight, your hands curled into fists at your sides.

That damn test paper, crumpled inside his bag like it wasn’t another reminder of your failure. Like it wasn’t proof that no matter how hard you tried, it still wasn’t enough. You stayed up late. You gave up sleep, let the words blur and the numbers dance until they made sense. And for what? A score so low it made your stomach churn. The people that said they barely studied flashed scores that were twice as high as yours. Effortless. Like success was something they were born with, something they carried in their blood while you were left clawing for scraps.

It’s pathetic, isn’t it? That the only thing you have is passion and even that can’t save you.

"Hey."

You hadn’t even noticed your best friend catching up, too lost in your own head to hear his footsteps, but now he was in front of you, walking backward to see your face, deliberately blocking your path. "Don't think about it," he said,"I told you not to."

"I wasn’t thinking about anything.",The lie barely made it past your lips. You swallowed hard, forcing your voice to stay steady, but it was useless. Especially when he was looking at with the soft eyes of his.

There are moments you catch yourself wanting to pull away from him. Not because he did anything wrong—the opposite, really. He’s everything you’re not. He barely studies but still gets by with decent grades, he’s effortlessly good at almost everything, like life just hands him a script and he nails it every time. And you hate that it gets to you. You wanted to pull away from him.

How do you resent someone who’s never done anything but shine?

"Y/N," His eyes searched yours. "You look like you're about to cry."

You blinked at his words, but they don’t surprise you anymore. Beomgyu has always been seeing you. You clear your throat, a flimsy attempt to steady yourself, but he’s still looking at you. Still seeing too much. And then it happens—the slightest sniff, barely there, but he catches it.

"Can we go now?" Your voice trembles, and the second it does, his eyes widen just a little, something unreadable flashing across them. When he sees the gloss in yours, he reaches for you, fingers wrapping safely around your wrist.

"Come on," he murmurs, tugging you forward. You let him, swallowing back the lump in your throat, willing yourself not to fall apart here.

Not in front of everyone.

Being the daughter of a family of eleven, no one expected much from you. You were just another name in a crowded house, another body squeezed into too little space. School was a luxury, not a necessity. No one thought you’d make it past middle school.

Except your mother.

She saw the way your fingers traced the edges of worn-out textbooks, the way your eyes lingered on words you barely understood but desperately wanted to. And she let you chase that dream, even when it meant stretching what little you had even thinner.

"Hard work never betrays you," they say. But they never tell you how much it can hurt, because what do you do when you give everything; your nights, your energy, your hope, only to fall short? How are you supposed to believe in effort when all it leaves you with is failure?

"Stop sniffing, Y/N!" Choi Soobin snaps, his half-eaten lunch sitting in front of him on the makeshift mat spread across the school rooftop. "Seriously, it's driving me crazy."

You press your handkerchief to your nose again, trying to stay quiet. It’s lunchtime, but your food stays untouched. Just the thought of eating turns your stomach.

"Maybe stop talking with your mouth full," Beomgyu cuts in, not even bothering to look up. Then he glances at Soobin and adds, flatly, "And don’t yell at her."

"I'm just so pissed about that teacher giving her such a low score. Did you see her essay? It was her best one yet, she did so good!" the taller boy grumbles, pouting as he reaches over to pinch your cheek gently.

Your eyes—still a little red—meet his. “I know, right? I did my best.” you say, voice cracking just before the tears start all over again.

Beomgyu clicked his tongue, giving Soobin’s leg a light kick. “You made her cry again,” he muttered, shaking his head as he reached for your unopened lunchbox and popped it open like it was routine. He was already unscrewing your water bottle when Soobin, without a word, placed a tempura on top of your rice, his quiet way of saying sorry.

You wiped at your eyes, the ache in your chest softening just a little at the sight. When Beomgyu handed you your utensils, you took them without hesitation.

The universe didn’t give you everything you wanted but it tried to make up for it by giving you two people.

Everyone had gone back to eating. You reached for your food, slowly scooping the rice balls your mother had packed. Then, you glanced to your right. Your tear-streaked eyes—now lighter—and your mouth still full of rice met Choi Beomgyu’s gaze.

His eyes now filled with relief.

You forget little things all the time; where you left your pen, what day it is, one thing your mom asked you to grab from the market, but somehow, no matter how much time passes, you'll never forget the day you met your best friend.

You met Choi Beomgyu in kindergarten, when you were barely six years old. It wasn’t one of those storybook friendships that happened overnight. You just knew that the other kids were always too loud, too messy, too much and Beomgyu, was the only one who wasn’t. He was quiet. He didn’t try too hard. And then one day, your teacher asked the boys to choose a girl for the class dance. Without a word, Beomgyu walked straight to you. When you asked him why, he shrugged and said, “You don’t annoy me as much.”

It wasn’t exactly poetic but, it felt like the start of something that would last.

The only reason the friendship ever started was because neither of you found the other annoying. That was it. A comfort in each other’s presence. And somehow, that small reason stretched into something that lasted over a decade.

You grew up like that, orbiting each other through school days, lazy summer nights and wordless understandings. Eventually, people stopped calling you just friends. You were best friends. Branded, known. His name was a permanent fixture in your mouth; yours was stitched into every part of his life. His house felt like a second home. His mother always smiled a little softer when you came over, brushing your hair back like you were hers. Beomgyu’s older brother loved teasing him but was always strangely gentle with you.

It was rare to see one of you without the other.

Middle school was when you really noticed it—how Beomgyu started to change. He got louder. Braver. Started laughing with people you'd never seen him talk to before. His circle widened almost overnight. More guy friends, more inside jokes you didn’t quite understand, more people calling his name in the hallway. He picked up a guitar one day and never really put it down after that. It made you scared that he'll change with you too.

But he didn’t. Not once.

He still waited for you after class. Still leaned in to place his head on your shoulders when he was bored, still flicked your forehead lightly just to see you scowl. Still remembered the exact way you liked your ramen, and still offered the last bite even though he pretended not to care. And when someone tried to mess with you once—a cruel joke whispered too loud—Beomgyu didn’t even hesitate. He was there before you could even speak, standing in front of you like a wall you didn’t ask for.

Protective in a way that made your chest ache.

By the time middle school ended, the whispers had started. Are they dating? They’re always together. They have to be something.

You heard it all—in the hallways, behind half-closed locker doors, in the sharp glances thrown your way from girls when you and Beomgyu laughed like the world only existed for the two of you. It made something twist in your chest you got scared, unsure. You didn’t know what you were supposed to feel, or what he felt, or if either of you were even allowed to change the shape of what you’d always been.

So, just for a day, you pulled away.

You ignored him, let your eyes pass over him like he wasn’t there, didn’t wait at the gate like you always did, didn’t answer his questions. It wasn’t meant to hurt him. It was supposed to be space.

And that day, was the first time you ever saw Choi Beomgyu cry.

You never dared again.

In a house full of noise, with siblings, all louder and needier than you, it was easy to feel invisible. Your voice always got lost, your victories overlooked, and your sadness mistaken for silence.

Beomgyu saw you.

Where your family’s attention scattered, he gave you his wholly. He noticed when you were quiet, asked when no one else did. Remembered things no one bothered to learn. The way you preferred your socks mismatched. The way your hands trembled when you were overwhelmed. The way you lit up, just a little, when someone said your name.

With that kind of attention, it made you feel like you and him, alone, were enough.

High school brought a lot of changes. New uniforms, new hallways, new people. And Choi Soobin. The quietest boy you’d ever met. Kind in a way that didn’t demand attention. Always alone, always lingering just outside the crowd, like he hadn’t figured out how to step inside yet. It wasn’t you who invited him. It was Beomgyu.

“He looks lonely,” he’d said one afternoon, watching Soobin trail behind the rest of the class. “Let’s have lunch with him.”

And slowly, Soobin bloomed. Around the two of you, he laughed louder, smiled wider, filled space with stories and inside jokes and that rich, echoing laugh with his dimples that made everything feel a little warmer.

It was beautiful, watching him come alive, because you knew that feeling. You knew what it was to bloom like that.

You, too, bloomed because of Choi Beomgyu.

"You don’t like it?" Beomgyu asks, noticing the frown tugging at your face. His brows pull together in concern. "Why’d you go for that weird flavour?"

The two of you are walking side by side, the street quiet except for the sound of your footsteps. You’d said goodbye to Soobin five minutes ago, he lived on the other side of town, and his path had already veered off.

"It looked interesting," you mumble, pouting as you glance at Beomgyu taking a bite of his strawberry ice cream, one you’ve never seen him pick before. "It tastes awful, Gyu."

He laughs at the frustration in your voice, reaching out with his right hand for the lavender ice cream you picked on a whim. You hand it over without protest, eyes hopeful.

"You give in way too easily, with sales talk." When he offers his strawberry cone in exchange, you grin, already tasting victory. "That one's way too sweet anyway."

"Then why’d you get it?"

Beomgyu shrugs, eyes on the sidewalk. "Because it’s your favourite," he says simply. "And just in case you hated yours."

His words warmed your cheeks even as you keep your eyes forward. You keep walking, heart thudding a little too loudly in your chest, footsteps in sync with his like they’ve always been. You stay close to the edge of the sidewalk, careful not to drift too near. Beomgyu walks beside you, his hand swinging lazily at his side, fingers occasionally brushing against the fabric of his uniform pants. So casual. So unaware of how close he is.

And all you can think about is that space between you.

What would he do if you reached out and held his hand?

"No, Mom!"

Your attention shifts to a wailing child as you near the familiar playground you both pass every time you walk home. The kid is mid-meltdown, clearly not ready to leave, while his mother looks like she’s holding on by a thread. You scoff, shaking your head. "I don’t think I’ll ever be a mom. I can’t stand kids." A laugh bubbles out from beside you. You roll your eyes, already knowing who it’s from.

"Stop laughing," you mutter. He does but the grin stays, soft and a little amused. You catch him looking at you.

"What?"

"Nothing," he says, still smiling. "Just pictured a tiny version of you throwing a tantrum like that."

"As if."

“Do you want to swing for a bit?” he sways the conversation, nodding toward the playground.

You blink. “Huh?”

“The swings,” he says again, a bit more softly this time. “I can push you.” You glance over, surprised, but his expression is sincere, almost serious in that way Beomgyu gets when something small matters more than it should. And you remember…how you both used to love this.

“Okay,” you murmur, “Sure.”

The playground is mostly empty now. The crying child from earlier is gone, carried away by a tired mother. A few scattered voices float in the breeze, but it’s peaceful, quiet enough to hear the rustling of trees, the soft creak of the swing chains. From here, you can see the lower half of the town, rooftops glowing under the setting sun, like something out of a memory.

You finish the last bite of your ice cream, sit down on the swing, and feel his hands gently press against your back. "You ready?"

For a while, he says nothing after that. Just pushes you with that soft kind of attention he’s always had—like you’re something delicate he’s afraid to damage. Every time you glance back at him, he’s already looking at you, smiling.

You think it's because your smile is too wide to hide.

The breeze dances through your hair, and the sun dips lower, casting everything in gold, and when you look back at him again, his hair tousled by the wind, his eyes soft, his face glowing in that dying light; your breath catches.

He’s beautiful. He's always been beautiful. In the way he’s always looked at you.

“Y/N.” The sun has dipped. It’s been about thirty minutes since you first sat down. Beomgyu now sits on the swing next to yours, feet dragging lightly against the gravel, head bowed like he’s studying the way his fingers twist together.

You glance at him. “Hm?”

“I… I have to tell you something.” His eyes stay fixed on his hands.

You try to lighten the mood, like you always do when he gets like this, “You need anything?” you tease, nudging his foot with yours. “Is that why you pushed me off the swings earlier?” He lets out a short, breathless laugh, but his eyes never meet yours.

“I— I’m going out of the country.”

“Oh, wow,” you say, perking up. “That sounds amazing! It’s your first time, right? Who would’ve thought you’d be getting on a plane before me? Where are you going? How long’s the vacation? Are you gonna—"

You stop mid-sentence. He’s finally looking at you, and there’s something in his expression that makes your heart sink. “What’s wrong?” you ask, quieter now.

“I’m not going on vacation,” he says. “I’m moving. For college. My parents got this opportunity… it was all kind of sudden. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

You stare at him.

Leaving. He’s leaving.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice is small. It barely carries over the creak of the swings, but it’s enough, enough to make Beomgyu go still.

You don’t know why that’s the first thing you said. Maybe because it’s easier than saying please don’t go. Your hands are freezing, even though it’s not that cold out. It’s the way your whole body feels hollow now, like something vital’s been yanked out of you. You remember the stories—the ones your classmates whisper like warnings.

People who leave this town don’t come back.

The thought of him leaving terrified you.

Beomgyu shifts in the swing beside you, the chains rattling. “Y/N, I… I didn’t know how. Everything happened so fast and I—” When he finally looks at you, you wish he hadn’t. There’s guilt written all over his face. It makes you feel worse.

“You still should’ve told me.” You grab your bag, his hands flinch as you pull it from them, and you’re already on your feet. You take it without meeting his eyes. “I’m going home.”

He says your name, again and again, but you’re already walking. Fast. Like if you stop, it’ll all hit you at once and you’ll break apart right there in front of him.

You don’t look back.

Because you know if you do, you’ll beg him to stay.

You slipped through the front door of your home without a sound. It was too easy, when no one really looked at you long enough to see the redness in your eyes.

Your family wasn’t rich but they managed to rent a house with just enough space to pretend everyone had their own corner. Yours was the storage room. Barely wide enough for a mattress, with walls that breathed dust and silence. But it was yours. Four claustrophobic walls and a door you could close on everything else. You dropped your bag and sat on the floor. The mattress creaked behind you, but you didn’t move. You just sat there, blinking hard against the tears that threatened again.

This was the one place where it was safe to fall apart other than in front of him.

It’s been hours since you got home. Hours since you last your best friend. Since he told you he was leaving.

At first, you were angry. Furious, even. You buried your face in your pillow and cried like it would undo the words he’d said. It felt like betrayal. You kept thinking: Why didn’t he tell you sooner? He’d told you everything before. Every stupid little secret. Every bad decision. Every dream. And this—this—he kept quiet.

But anger doesn’t last. Not when it’s him.

Why did you react like that? Why couldn’t you have just smiled and said, I’m happy for you? What kind of best friend gets upset when someone they love is finally getting out?

Because of all people—he deserves to leave this town.

He’s always dreamed bigger than these cracked sidewalks and dead-end streets. Always reached for something more while you stayed tethered to what’s familiar. He’s leaving you. You wipe your eyes again, though it’s useless. The tears keep coming, your body hasn’t figured out how to stop grieving yet. You’ll apologize tomorrow. The moment the sun rises. You’ll tell him you were wrong. That you’re proud of him. That you’ll miss him more than he’ll ever know.

Because he deserves that.

You’ll apologize tomorrow... tomorrow?

The thought tastes wrong in your mouth. What if tomorrow is too late?

You sit up suddenly, heart pounding. The clock reads 9:04 PM. You listened outside, the house is still. Silent. You know the rhythm of your family’s sleep—light snorers, tired bones, people who won’t notice you’re gone as long as you're quiet. You grab your jacket, moving carefully across the creaking floorboards. Your door opens with a whisper. One cautious step, then another, and you're at the front door, fingers trembling slightly as they find the lock.

The outside air is cool against your skin as you crack the door open. But just as you take a step out, you freeze.

Across the street, lit faintly by the orange glow of the nearest streetlamp, someone sits on the pavement. Legs stretched out, hands buried deep in the pockets of a hoodie you know too well.

Choi Beomgyu.

Your breath catches in your throat.

“Hi, pretty.”

“You—” A curse almost slips out, but you bite it back, glancing toward the hallway behind you. You lower your voice. “What the hell are you doing here? What if I didn’t come out, idiot?”

The furrow in his brow from earlier is gone now, replaced by that familiar boyish grin, the one that always makes it harder to stay mad.

“But you did come out,” he says simply. He rises from the pavement with that lazy ease he always carries, brushing his hands on his jeans before holding them out—open, waiting—but he doesn’t move toward you. Just stands there. Looking at you like he knew you’d come. Like he hoped you would. You hear it in the quiet expectant look on his face. Come here.

And you do.

Your feet move before your mind catches up, closing the distance between you and him. Without a word, you wrap your arms around his waist, his arms are already around you before your face finds the safety of his chest. He pulls you in tighter, like he's afraid that if he doesn't hold you close enough, you’ll disappear too.

Beomgyu leans down, buries his face in your hair, and breathes in—one deep, shaking inhale that sounds like worry, like guilt, like relief all tangled into one. Because he was.

“I knew you’d come out,” he whispers. His voice is soft, cracking at the edges, and it breaks something in you. Your eyes sting immediately. “I’m sorry,” he adds.

You pull back reluctantly, almost having to pry yourself from his arms because he doesn’t loosen his grip right away. When you finally look up at him, your voice is barely above a whisper. “No… I’m the one who’s sorry.”

He’s staring at you now, like you’re something fragile in his hands. His gaze scans your face slowly, like he’s trying to memorize every flicker of emotion before it fades. His left arm stays wrapped around you, grounding you, while his right hand comes up, gently cupping your face. His palm is warm. Familiar. It fits too perfectly against your skin. You’ve always been close to him. But this—this feels like a different kind of closeness, and you can’t look away.

Not when he’s looking at you like this.

Not when the soft, slow stroke of his thumb across your cheek sends shivers through your chest, makes your breath hitch and your heart stutter.

Is it because he's leaving?

“Have you been crying?” he whispers, voice is barely there, like he’s afraid to ask, afraid to know the answer. His hand stays warm on your face, thumb trailing just beneath your eye. He’s not wiping tears—there are none left—but it’s like he can feel where they were, tracing. “Have you?” he asks again, softer this time.

You try to look away, but his hand gently guides you back, eyes locked onto yours. Your voice comes out in a breath, cracked and small. “It was my fault.”

“No,” he interrupts, voice thick, eyes glassy. “I don’t want to leave you.” He leans in, resting his forehead against yours, and you close your eyes, the burn behind them almost unbearable now. He pulls back just enough to kiss your forehead. Another lands gently on the bridge of your nose. You’re still, barely breathing, as his lips hover close to yours. “I’ve been in love with you for years,”

Your eyes flew open. “What?”

“Did you really not see it?” His voice cracked. “That I’m completely, stupidly in love with you?”

You shook your head, stunned, your cheeks burning despite the ache swelling in your chest.

“God,” he breathed, pulling you into him, “it’s taking everything in me not to kiss you right now.”

His arms tightened around you, desperate. “Since you didn't hear me out earlier, I'll say it now. I swear I’ll come back. As soon as I can. I’ll come for you. I'll make it up to you. You better be ready—I want your bags packed the second I show up. I made Soobin promise to walk you home every day, because I know how easily your mind wanders and it drives me insane.”

You clutched his shirt, the tears finally breaking free. “I’ll wait for you,” you whispered, voice wrecked as you cried. “I promise.”

He pressed his lips to your hair. “Good.”

“And Gyu?” you murmured, voice muffled against his chest. He hummed in response, arms still wrapped tightly around you, your face pressed against the fabric of his shirt, breathing him. “I’ve been in love with you too,”

You didn’t have to see his face—you’ve known him for thirteen years. You felt the way his whole body stilled for a second, then melted, like the words filled something he hadn’t dared to hope for. You knew he was grinning, that crooked, boyish grin that always made your heart trip. He pulled you impossibly closer, like he wanted to fuse you into him.

And under the soft, flickering lamplight, it’s the kind of scene that belongs in a movie. Two teenagers, holding on like the world might tear them apart the second they let go. Two hearts beating too loud, too fast.

Hopelessly, breathlessly in love.

When Beomgyu pulled away from the hug, his eyes flicked to the door of your house. You were meant to go inside but his expression asked you to stay. You slipped your fingers into his.

“Can I come with you?”

He didn’t even hesitate. He never could, not with you. Maybe it was the quiet defiance of it, or maybe it was the way things had shifted—how it suddenly felt like you were his, and he was yours. The truth that the two of you belonged to each other now. He reaches out, his hands waiting for yours.

It only took a second when you did.

That night, you didn’t walk into the comfort of him home, or the usual warmth of his family’s greetings. You followed him up to his room, quietly.

He made sure you were comfortable, tucking you in gently before leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’ll just turn off the lights,” he murmured, his voice low.

You shifted onto the left side of the bed, heart thudding as you waited. Every creak of the mattress as he moved made your breath catch. The bed dipped with his weight, and you held your breath, listening to the quiet rustle of sheets and the sound of your own pulse pounding in your ears. "Beomgyu?" you whispered.

His response was immediate. “You need something?”

You hesitated, teeth tugging at your bottom lip. “Can you… hold me?”

Two strong arms snaked around your waist as soon as you said those words, and Beomgyu's lips were against your nape. He left trails of kisses on your neck up to the back of your ears, his body pressed on yours. "I thought you'd never ask."

You giggle, breathless, and he laughs too, warm against your skin. He presses a few more soft kisses to the back of your head, then his voice drops to a whisper against your ear. “Can I touch you?”

Your breath hitches, but you nod. His hand slips beneath your shirt, fingers brushing lightly across your stomach. “This okay?” he asks, voice gentle.

You nod again, barely able to get the word out. “Yeah.”

His hand travels higher, fingertips gliding up until they meet the bare curve of your chest. He pauses, just long enough to make your heart race. His lips are at your neck now, breath hot. “This okay too?”

When he feels you nod, his hand moves with more purpose, fingertips gliding over the curve of your breast. He cups you fully, palm warm, thumb brushing the softness, squeezing just enough to make you arch subtly into his touch. He teases, exploring everywhere except where you need him most, drawing out the ache with every careful touch. When his fingers finally graze your nipple, a quiet moan slips from your lips before you can stop it. He pauses, his breath brushing against your neck. “You can tell me to stop anytime, okay?”

Then he pulls his hand away from under your shirt, and the sudden absence makes you whine, your body instinctively chasing after his warmth. Before you can speak, he cups your face gently, tilting your head until your eyes meet. It’s dark—but he's close, so close—you can make out the shape of his face, the softness in his gaze.

He leans in, brushing a featherlight kiss over your lips. Then another. You giggle softly, breath mingling, and when your lips part in a smile, he takes it as invitation. This time the kiss is deep—hungry. His mouth moves against yours with desperation, like he’s been craving your taste for far too long. His hand finds your waist, tugging you closer, bodies aligning in all the right ways as the heat between you builds.

“I need you, Gyu,” you whisper, voice barely there, lost in the way his lips trail along your neck, warm and wet. “Please.”

He pauses just enough to meet your gaze, then his hand slips between your thighs, cupping you through the fabric. The pressure makes your hips jerk, breath hitching.

“Here?” he murmurs, rubbing slow, teasing circles. “You need me here?”

It’s too much, and not enough. Heat pools low in your belly, a need that feels raw and overwhelming. You nod, biting your lip, your voice trembling. “Yes. There. Please.”

He groans, low and deep, and that’s when clothes start disappearing—slowly, messily. Every layer peeled off is interrupted by his mouth; on your lips, your jaw, your collarbones. His hands, greedy and gentle all at once, explore you like he’s memorizing every inch. The room is filled with nothing but breath, the soft rustle of fabric, the occasional hitch of a moan. It takes time—because he makes it take time. Like he wants to savour the reveal, like he’s waited too long to see you like this and now he refuses to rush. He holds and touches you, like your mother made you just for him.

When he finally sinks lower, eyes locked on yours as his lips trace a burning path down your body, you don’t stop him.

“Beomgyu…” You moaned as you clenched your fist on his dark locks. His tongue was doing to your buds as his fingers part your wet folds. You don't know what it is, but it makes your legs quivered as his tongue lapped at your entrance.

Beomgyu grunts as he hears your soft moans, sucking on your clit to hear more. Your taste in his mouth got him drunk as he shook his head from side to side, making your moans go higher as you moved your hips to grind your wetness on his tongue. "Hmm?"

He pulled back, replacing his tongue with his thumb, rubbing her wet clit as he kissed and sucked your inner thighs. Your eyes rolled back as your chest rose up and down, glistening with sweat.

You're fucking beautiful. Beomgyu thought as he looked up at you with hooded eyes. Your lachrymose eyes met his. The sight of your blushing cheeks, eyes asking for more with your lips between your teeth made Beomgyu slightly rut his hips on the bed.

"You'll come back for me, right?" He pumped a finger inside your pussy, curling it to hit your spot as he put his mouth back to work again, flattening his tongue over your swollen pearl before flicking it with the tip. You cried out in pleasure, throwing your head back.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I just couldn't help myself.” He begged as he doubled the finger inside your soaking cunt, making you cry out in pleasure as your hands grabbed the pillow under your head. "I will. I can't live without you."

“I can't resist having all of you.” He kissed your clit, making you whimper at the brief contact. He took off his shirt and pants before pulling you by your arm, sitting you on his lap as he took off your blouse and bra. He kissed around your nipple before taking it into his mouth, moaning at the taste of you.

It’s crazy how you went from crying to rubbing against each other, but both have been craving for this. And now, the situation of him leaving only made his hunger for you increase. Beomgyu thought of everything he could do to show you how sincere he was and how much he loves you. He wanted you to know that you were the only woman he’ll ever touch like this. That he'll come back, that this decision wasn't something he ever wanted. And the growing tent in his boxers is also aching to prove that.

He moved your position to grind on his bulge, letting out quiet moans as he desperately kissed you. He stopped your hips as he moved to your other nipple, lightly biting it while staring at your glossy eyes, making your breath hitch. He hummed as he sucked the pebbled flesh into his mouth, nibbling on it. Once satisfied, he laid your back down, admiring your body as you panted. Your eyes are glistening, and so is your cunt. He groaned at the sight, pushing his hair back and taking his erected member out of its confinement. He pumped it a few times before you sat up and took it into your hand.

“Let me make you feel good.” Beomgyu stopped your hand, giving a kiss on your forehead. “Fuck.” He murmured as he moved to your lips, sucking on them, making you whimper as you laid back down again.

“Beomgyu, please…” You cried when Beomgyu started to rub his shaft on your slit. Every time his head hits her bud, you let out a whimper, eyebrows furrowed and eyes wide as you look up at him.

Beomgyu took his time, grunting before pushing the tip inside. You gasped, grabbing the sheets under, feeling the pain as his length invade you. Your walls fluttered around his cock, making him let out low growls. You felt tears in your eyes as you watched half of his length disappear inside you. Beomgyu took your hand, intertwining your fingers. He kissed your tears.

“Just a little more, love.” Beomgyu shushed when you hissed, feeling a hint of pain as he filled you. His other hand began rubbing circles on your clit to ease the burn from the stretch.

Beomgyu kissed your hand when he was entirely in, giving you time to adjust. You look gorgeous underneath him. Legs wide open,mouth slightly parted, and body glistening under the dim lights of his room. You're all his, and he would never let himself fuck up. He would never let himself do something stupid. He'll come back to you as soon as he can, the thought of you waiting burns him.

Beomgyu started moving slowly when you nod your head, until your whimpers turned into moans. His name echoed in whispers, as you clawed on the skin of his back, leaving red marks. He was cradling your head, and his lips pressed on your ear. He was whispering the sweetest things to you.

“You’re the only one I’d fuck like this, baby. You’re the only one I’d touch like this.” Beomgyu growled, kissing your ear lobes.

“Yes, yes, Beomgyu, please…” You begged as his hips started to thrust harder into you.

“Fuck. You’re the only one I’d make love to, Y/N.” He groaned, feeling your walls clench around him. He could tell that you were both close. Your walls spasmed around him, and his thrust started to stutter.

“I love you and only you. So fucking much.” He stared deeply into your eyes, feeling your orgasm take over your body. His mouth reaches for your sweet lips, your toes curling as your legs wrap around his waist. Beomgyu thrustied into you a few more times before pulling out to spill his thick load on your thighs. He wouldn’t trade you for the world.

After, Beomgyu became the shyiest guy in the world. He silently blushed, cleaned you up before getting under the covers with you.

“I love you,” He started, as he ran his fingers down your back before resting on the lower part of it, pulling you to his chest.

“I love you, Beomgyu.”

“Do you have any plans?” your mother asks softly, her voice barely cutting through the clatter of her hands preparing a lunchbox. You’re in front of the mirror, running your fingers through your hair.

“Plans for what?” you finally say, eyes fixed on your own reflection—not really seeing it.

“It’s your… twentieth birthday.” Your hand pauses mid-motion.

You clear your throat and force a shrug, “Oh. Right.”

She watches as you fumble with the buttons on your blouse, your fingers too stiff, too fast. She sees the shadows beneath your eyes and sighs. “You should take it easy, sweetheart.”

“I am,” you lie, “I just have work. And… I don’t know.” You reach for the lunchbox she’s packed. Transparent. Eggs again. You swallow hard, the sight alone making your stomach twist.

“I’ll get going,” you murmur, already turning away. You don’t meet her eyes. You can’t. Not when you know she’s still watching you—worried, helpless. And not when you’ve gotten so good at pretending it doesn’t matter.

After high school, it wasn’t a shock, you knew college was never in the cards for you. No dramatic moment of realization. Just reality. So here you are, a year later, on your way to work… and you didn’t even remember today was your birthday.

He would’ve remembered. He never missed it.

You shake the thought off like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t stick to the inside of your ribs. You offer stiff smiles to your coworkers as you clock in, grabbing the stack of flyers assigned to you for the day. Real estate. That’s what they call it. What you do is stand outside in the sun, in the cold, in the wind—shoving these papers into passing hands, hoping someone actually cares enough to look.

Most don’t.

But then again… who would take someone like you seriously? Who would even want someone like you?

“Here. It’s on promo today,” you say, holding out the flyer with rehearsed cheer. “You can get ten percent off the down payment if you sign today, and there's a—”

“I’ll do it,” the man cuts in, eyes lingering where they shouldn’t. On you, not the paper.

You blink, caught off guard. “Oh, great,” you say, managing a small smile. Finally. Something good. Maybe you can actually afford to eat something real tonight. Maybe even bring some back for your mom.

“If you sleep with me. One night.” You freeze. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the flyer. You don’t look at him right away—you’re afraid if you do, you’ll either throw up or scream.

“I’ll pay extra,” he adds, as if this is just another business transaction. As if your dignity has a price tag. Your jaw clenches. Slowly, you snatch the flyer back from his hand, crumpling it in your grip.

“Go to hell,” you mutter. You don’t even look back as you turn around, heart pounding—not from fear, not entirely. From exhaustion. From disgust. From the unbearable weight of this being your life. You exhale shakily, trying to bury the sting in your throat.

You thought today couldn’t get worse. But that’s the thing, isn’t it?

Every day’s been worse since.

After that encounter, you had to pull yourself together, force a smile like nothing happened, like the words didn’t stick to your skin and crawl under it. You kept handing out flyers with trembling hands and a voice that cracked more than once. But no one noticed. No one ever does.

You whispered it like a prayer. Please—just one sale. Just one. If there’s anything left out there for you—anyone listening—let today be enough. It’s your birthday, for god’s sake. Let that mean something.

Not a single sale.

Now you’re on the subway, back hunched against the hard plastic seat, eyes locked on the floor like if you move, you’ll shatter. The carriage rocks, people come and go, and still, you sit there, numb.

Your eyes sting, but the tears won’t fall. They never do. Not anymore. Because nothing hurts more than the ache that’s lived inside you for the past year. It's a wound that learned how to stop bleeding and just started swallowing you whole instead.

You pulled out your wallet and started counting what little was left. Bills folded too many times, coins barely enough to matter. You stared at the total for a second, then let out a quiet sigh. Fuck it. A drink won’t fix anything but it’ll help you tonight. You took a different bus route tonight.

The pub is dim, you step inside quietly, hoping not to draw attention. You don’t belong here, but you don’t belong anywhere these days. You could be anyone: a woman with a broken heart, a woman who just lost her job, a woman trying not to fall apart in public. All of them could be true. None of them are far off. You’re still in your work clothes. The blouse is wrinkled, two buttons undone. Your hair’s half-up, half-forgotten, and the look on your face probably says enough to keep people away. You don’t care. You head straight to the bar and order something strong, sitting alone at a stool like it’s the only place left in the world that doesn’t expect anything from you.

"I will. I can’t live without you."

Your breath stutters. The glass trembles slightly in your hand. You almost choke on the drink as the tears sting again—too cruel. You press your lips together and wipe your face quickly, like that’ll stop the pain. You need to leave. Now. Before you break down in front of strangers.

You slide off the stool, heart pounding, eyes glassy ut then the stool beside yours shifts.

“Hi, pretty.”

You freeze. You turn your head slowly, hope rising in your chest before you can stop it—hope that maybe, somehow—

It’s not him.

“Jaehyun,” you say, forcing your features to settle. He noticed the flicker of disappointment in your eyes, the way it sparked and died all in the same breath. You remember him. A batchmate. Schoolmate. Someone who never really talked to you back then.

“What are you doing here all alone?” he asks, already gesturing to the bartender for two drinks.

You shake your head quickly. “No, I’m good.”

He grins, “Come on, just one. I’ve missed you.”

You almost laugh. Bitterness curling behind your teeth like smoke. Missed you? He didn’t even know you. You were never close. You never even talked outside of borrowed notes and hallway nods. And now, here he is, like proximity to your sadness gives him permission to touch it.

Does he miss you too?

You look down at your drink, the ice already melting. “That’s funny,” you mutter, just loud enough.

“What is?”

“You missed me?” you echo, eyebrows raised, voice flat. “We barely spoke in school. Is that a new pick-up line or something?” Your eyes meet his, tired and unamused. You expect him to get defensive, maybe roll his eyes and leave. Part of you even hopes he does. But instead, he laughs.

“Well, sorry,” he says, shrugging, “but you should know, I had this terrible, massive crush on you back then.”

You blink in surprise. He goes on. “Except… Choi Beomgyu basically told me to back off in second year. Guy was obsessed with you.”

Your stomach twists. Choi Beomgyu. You look away, suddenly too aware of your own breathing. The room feels louder, smaller.

Choi Beomgyu that you haven't heard back anything since the day he left.

“He told you that?” you manage to say, voice thinner now, almost brittle.

Jaehyun hums like it’s nothing, like he didn’t just drop a grenade into your chest. “Yeah. Said you weren’t really available. Emotionally or otherwise.” He chuckles. “Dude looked ready to murder me, so I backed off.”

You stare into your glass, watching the light catch on the melted ice. The burn in your throat isn’t just from the alcohol anymore, it’s from everything you’ve buried just to stay standing.

Beomgyu wrote you, at first. The first month after he left, letters came; messy handwriting, little jokes scribbled in the margins, lines that made you cry in secret because he still sounded like yours. His I love yous. And you clung to that. But then… nothing.

You kept writing anyway. Hundreds of letters. You told him everything—about your new job, about how hard things had gotten, about the nights you couldn’t sleep, about how it felt like something inside you was cracking open just from missing him. You even wrote when you were sick, when you thought, maybe this will scare him enough to write back. Still nothing.

You gave him the benefit of the doubt. Told yourself maybe he lost your address. Maybe life got too loud. Maybe something happened. Maybe. But denial only holds you together for so long. One month passed. Then one year. And the silence became an answer you never asked for. You remember checking the mailbox every day like clockwork. Standing there in your pajamas with bare feet on cold tile, praying for something—anything—with his name on it. There was even a day you went to the post office, hands trembling, convinced the letters must’ve gotten stuck somewhere, misplaced, waiting.

But there was nothing.

And now you're outside the pub, crying. You're a mess, knees drawn to your chest on the dim pavement, makeup smudged, throat raw from holding back too long. Drunk, heartbroken. And Jaehyun, this man you barely know, is looking at you like you're shattering.

“Fuck him,” he mutters, his fists clenching at his sides like that might help. “Forget about him, Y/N.” He crouches beside you, his hand awkwardly pressing to your shoulder, trying to comfort you. You barely feel it. Everything inside you is too loud.

Choi Beomgyu.

His name beats in your chest.

“I hate seeing you like this,” Jaehyun says, his voice tightening. “I backed off because of that asshole. And now look. He left. He hurt you. He’s probably living some perfect fucking life while you’re here… like this.”

Choi Beomgyu.

You miss him. You need him.

You can’t say anything. You just keep crying—ugly, silent sobs that make your shoulders shake. There’s nothing left to hold together. Nothing left to explain. No one to explain it to. Your other half isn't here.

Jaehyun’s voice softens, “Stop crying,” he whispers, too close. “You don't deserve this. He forgot you, Y/N. He lied, he's an asshole."

"Come with me. I’ll make you forget him.”

Choi Beomgyu. He'll never come back to you.

Jaehyun reaches out his hand. And just like that, you’re back to that night, back to the night your best friend confessed. You lifted your eyes, only to see his face instead. The man in front of you waves his hand again.

It took long for you to give your hands.

It only takes one decision.

One misstep. One reckless breath you don’t take back in time. People don’t believe that—not really. They think life builds slow, that it gives you warnings, but sometimes, it just tips. One turn down the wrong street. One answer you shouldn’t have given. One goodbye you didn’t mean and suddenly, the shape of your life is different. You think you’re being careful. You think you’re being brave. You think you’re doing the right thing, but the future isn’t some distant, untouchable thing. It's sitting in your hands, waiting for you to move. To decide. Pressed into your palms, like wet clay. You could mold it into anything. Or crush it without meaning to.

You don’t always know which one you’ve done until it’s here.

"You'll take care of yourself, right?" Beomgyu's voice cracks, his lips tremble like they’re holding back everything he doesn’t want to say. His hands cup your face so gently it hurts.

You nod. It’s all you can manage. Your throat is tight, your eyes sting, "I will. I promise."

Behind him, his family waits, luggage in hand, eyes heavy with knowing. The gate is just a few feet away, and it draws a line. A line you can’t follow. A future you’re not invited to.

Beomgyu leans in, kissing you like he's trying to leave pieces of himself behind. A kiss to your forehead. Your nose. Your cheeks. Your lips. "I love you," he says. And somehow, despite the chaos of the airport, the overhead announcements, the rushing footsteps—you hear it. You hear it.

He grips his passport tighter, knuckles white, like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart. He looks at you one last time—eyes burning, jaw clenched—and then he lets go. His hands leave your skin, and something inside you goes with them.

He turns to Soobin, standing behind you, silent and teary-eyed. His voice is low, almost pleading. "Take care of her."

Then he walks away.

You bite your lip hard, tasting salt and copper, as the tears spill freely now. Soobin’s hand rests on your shoulder, but it does nothing to soothe the storm inside you.

Because he's walking away. His figure grows smaller and smaller, swallowed by distance and the sharp fluorescent lights of the terminal.

Then—he stops. He turns around.

And you see it, fresh tears carving down his cheeks. He looks at you. He looks like he wants to run back to you. You shouldn’t be surprised. Not with Beomgyu. Not with the way he loves; loud, reckless, and all at once. He throws his head back, chest heaving, and yells so loud the entire terminal stills:

"I’LL COME BACK FOR YOU!"

You wake with a jolt, gasping like you’ve just surfaced from drowning. Sweat clings to your skin, your forehead slick, and his voice—those last shouted words—still echo like sirens in your ears. You press your palms into your face, trying to ground yourself, but your stomach twists violently. Before you can even think, you’re out of bed, legs shaky, breath uneven. You half-stumble down the hall, grateful that the bathroom’s empty. You barely make it to the sink before the nausea hits.

You vomit. Again. Again. Each heave sends a fresh wave of pain crashing through your skull, like your body’s punishing you for remembering. All you can hear is the frantic thud of your heartbeat, pounding so loud it drowns out everything else.

It’s been over a month since you slept with Jaehyun. A month since you last saw his face. You tried with him—god, you tried, but you can't.

Every moment with him feels rehearsed.

You wipe your face with trembling hands, heart thudding against your ribs like it wants out. The bathroom light flickers faintly above you, and when you finally dare to look up at your reflection, you barely recognize the girl staring back. You’re usually regular. Always have been. But this time… nothing.

The realization hits you like ice down your spine. Your throat tightens as you swallow hard.

You need to buy a pregnancy test.

"I'm pregnant." The words fall from your lips, your eyes fixed on anything but him. The floor. The wall. "I don’t know what to do."

The silence that follows is deafening. You don’t have to look to know he’s staring at the test in your hand—at the two pink lines that changed everything. Then, quietly but without hesitation: “Let’s keep it.”

“I know you don’t love me,” he adds, voice soft even as it cracks at the edges. “I know you’re still…” He doesn’t finish the sentence. The silence stretches, his throat bobbing as he swallows down. “But we can keep it. Together. For the baby.”

And finally, you look at him. Really look. His eyes aren’t pleading. They’re not trying to convince. They’re just… open. Raw. Honest.

“We’ll build something,” he says, stepping a little closer, as if that might make it real. “A home. A family. Just give it time. Move in with me. We’ll make it work.”

Days passed. Somehow, you said yes. You told him you'd try — and he held on to that like it was a promise.

Jaehyun talked more now. About his family in the U.S., how they already knew, how they were surprisingly… supportive. He started picking up little things for the baby, socks, bottles, a stuffed bear with a stitched-on smile. He showed you receipts, color palettes for the nursery. He told you that before the baby comes, he’d have a small apartment ready. For both of you. For your new life together.

You believed him.

Your mother's reaction, on the other hand, was quieter than you expected. No yelling. No disappointment. Just a soft, dull acceptance. Maybe it was because she never expected much from you in the first place. Or maybe she saw how pale you looked, how your hands trembled when you thought no one was watching, and figured silence was the kindest thing she could give. Your father... just ignored it.

You're sitting on a bench in the park, the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the grass. You pop a strawberry into your mouth, sweet and cool against the heat. Six months. You're six months pregnant now. Just a little over three left.

Jaehyun sits beside you, a paper bag in hand, his eyes bright with effort. "Here," he says, pulling out a small container of salad. “I made it. Looked up what’s good for the baby. Thought you might like it.”

You smile, soft and small, and take the container from him. You open it — and pause. The smile fades. “Oh.”

He stiffens beside you. “Why?”

You glance up at him, careful with your voice. “I’m allergic to peanuts.” You’ve told him before. Twice. Maybe three times.

His face falls. He takes the container back immediately, as if it’s burned him. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you murmur. You see it in his face, that flicker of guilt, of failure. He’s trying so hard to be someone good for you, for the baby. But the truth is, you barely know each other. You’re still learning each other’s favorite colours, let alone what makes each other hurt.

He reaches for your hand.

You let him hold it.

That day had been going well. Too well. The sun was warm but not suffocating, the breeze gentle against your skin. Jaehyun was laughing, not just smiling, but actually laughing, the kind that made you glance at him sideways because it still felt strange to hear joy from him, to feel it near you.

And you let yourself imagine it. A future. A home.

A baby wrapped in soft cotton blankets.

“Jake?” It was sharp, high-pitched, almost disbelieving. You turn instinctively. A woman stands a few feet away, dressed in crisp neutrals, her expression caught between shock and something you can’t quite name. She looks to be in her forties, and she's staring straight at you. “Are you joking?”

The sun is gone now, replaced by the fading lavender of twilight. A breeze lifts the hem of your shirt slightly, brushing cool against your skin.

“Mom,” Jaehyun says quickly, already letting go of your hand like he has been caught. He stands, tense, defensive. The word Mom hits you like a shove. You try to stand too, slow and awkward, one hand supporting your back, the other braced against the bench. You can feel the weight of her stare, heavy on your belly.

"Hi, I'm Y/N. Jaehyun's told me about you." You smiled or tried to, under her pining stare. Jaehyun just stands there, caught between you and her, mouth slightly open.

Why does he looks so shock?

And in that awful silence, you feel a rush of embarassment crawl up your neck, because you’re standing here, and she’s looking at you like a mistake he should’ve never made.

“Well,” she says, her tone clipped, “He’s never told me about… you.” Her eyes rake over you. From your shoes to the curve of your belly. You bite the inside of your cheek so hard it stings.

He lied.

“Mom, not here. Please. Let’s talk—”

“Is this why you’ve been asking for more money?” Her voice rises, looks around at the food, the soft blanket, the picnic he prepared so proudly. Then her eyes land on your clothes—the ones Jaehyun bought you—and her lip curls. “You thought we knew? That we’d let this happen? That I’d let my son throw his life away for a girl like you?”

“Mom! Stop!” Jaehyun shouts.

Your chest tightens. Your throat burns. You cover your stomach without thinking, hands trembling as they settle over the place your baby lives like you can protect them from her words. The tears sting, but you blink them back.

You look at the father of your child. He should be saying something, anything. He should be standing in front of you, shielding you from the way his mother's eyes tore into you.

He steps toward her. He places his hands gently on her shoulders, leans in, and whispers something you can’t hear. And just like that, she exhales. Composed again. Her mouth presses into a smug, satisfied line as she straightens her purse strap and turns away. “I’ll wait in the car, son.”

Your chest is burning now, your heart lodged somewhere in your throat. You stare at the ground. You can’t meet his eyes.

“I’ll talk to my mom first, ugh, you can go home by yourself, right? I’ll see you soon after. Be safe." He doesn’t even wait for your answer. He jogs off, his figure growing smaller with every step. And all you can do is watch his back.

It’s not unfamiliar to you now, that view.

You stand there a moment longer than you should, frozen in place, lips pressed tight as tears finally spilled down your cheeks. You wipe them away with the back of your hand, rough and fast, like you’re angry at yourself for letting them fall in the first place. Then, gently, you rest your hand on your stomach, “I’m sorry about that,” you whispered.

You walked home alone.

You weren’t surprised when Jaehyun didn’t show up the next morning. Hope had already begun dying in you the moment he left you in the middle of that park without looking back.

It wasn’t him who came. It was a man in a tailored suit with dead eyes and a briefcase that looked more expensive than anything you owned. The family lawyer. He didn’t ask how you were. Didn’t even sit down. We’ll need a paternity test. He’s willing to pay child support. Don’t get any ideas about taking advantage of him.

You stood there, your mother nodding beside you. Your father crossing his arms with dissapointment in his face. Your fingers numb, barely hearing anything over the sound of your own heartbeat screaming in your ears.

Maybe this was some twisted drama, and you were the girl everyone pities at the end, the one who gets left behind while the world keeps spinning. Not the lead. Not even a real character. Just… a consequence.

The future you had barely started cracked before it even had the chance to grow roots.

“Hold on, okay? She’s almost here,” your mother says, voice shaking as she grips your hand.

But it’s slipping, everything is slipping. The pain is unbearable, a tearing, twisting storm from your waist down, and it doesn’t stop. It doesn’t even give you a moment to breathe. Your body feels like it's being ripped apart from the inside out, like it's punishing you for something you don’t remember doing wrong. You can smell the blood. It clings to the air, to your skin, to the sheets already damp beneath you. The weight of what's about to happen, of bringing life into the world while feeling like you’re dying.

“It hurts,” you gasp, voice cracking, tears slipping past clenched eyes. “Mom, it fucking hurts. Help me, please. Get her out of me.”

Your mother squeezes your hand again, then suddenly lets go. “She’s outside. I think she’s here. Just—just wait for me. Hold on.”

The silence that fills the room is unbearable. You stare up at the ceiling, as if by looking high enough, far enough, you can escape this. The pain. The fear.

They say in books, in birth books, in all those neat little guides—you’re supposed to think of something calming during labor. Focus your mind. Ground yourself in something that brings you peace.

You try. Your baby.

You’re going to meet your baby.

That thought should’ve been enough. It should’ve filled your chest with warmth, should’ve steadied the pain tearing through your mind and body. But the next contraction crashes in like a wave with no mercy, stealing the air from your lungs, and all that escapes is a broken scream. “F-Fuck— Somebody, please—”

Think. You have to think of something.

Anything.

Your head thuds back against the pillow. Eyes squeezed shut. Nails digging into the sheets. You're drowning. You're breaking. You're alone—but through the haze, something small slips through.

“Beomgyu…” you whimpered, voice trembling, pleading. “Choi Beomgyu…”

Where are you? Are you okay? Do you know? You imagine his face; the one you’ve tried so hard to forget. The one you buried behind months of silence and sleepless nights. His voice, the sound of home. His laugh that you know like the back of your hand. You still love him. You always have. It never stopped.

On the hardest, most terrifying day of your life, when your body is tearing open and everything feels like it’s coming undone, his name is the only one your heart remembers how to say.

“It’s uncommon, but still normal,” the town doctor says gently, “Some women don’t lactate. Hormones play a big role. But… please, don’t blame yourself.”

You nod without really hearing her, eyes fixed on the floor, your nails digging into the soft, raw skin of your nailbeds. You shift slightly, rocking your sleeping baby in your arms, trying to ignore the weight in your chest that won’t lift.

“Remind me—what’s the baby’s name again?” You blink. Your lips part, but the words don’t come.

“Uh…” you murmur. “I haven’t… thought of one yet.”

The doctor exhales, not unkindly, but tired. “Alright. But it’s been three weeks. She really should have a name by now. Please try to decide soon so we can get her registered.”

You nod again. But the truth is, you’ve thought about it. A thousand names, whispered into the quiet in the middle of the night. But none of them felt right. None of them felt like hers. Or maybe… none of them felt like yours to give.

And so you just sit there, holding this tiny, perfect girl, feeling the weight of everything you should be and everything you’re not.

You gather your things in silence, careful not to wake the baby cradled in your arms. As you step out of the small clinic room, your eyes instinctively scan the hallway, pausing on the sight of couples dotting the waiting area, soft coos and shared smiles hovering between them. Each one holding their newborn close. Each one together.

You start walking, slow and unsteady, the dull throb of healing stitches pulling at your every step. Your body still remembers the pain, even if the world already expects you to move on from it. You wince, adjusting your hold on her, and try not to think about how you haven’t even given your daughter a name.

You should’ve given her at least that.

You glance down. She’s fast asleep, her tiny features softened in slumber, the faintest blush dusting the bridge of her nose. A little replica of you. It almost makes you want to cry. “Look at you,” you whisper, “sleeping like you didn’t have me up all night.”

The wind hits softly as you step outside, cool and crisp. And that’s when you see them; a small cluster of flowers, blooming stubbornly from the cracked soil lining the pavement. Soft petals reaching toward the gray sky.

Rain lilies. Your eyes linger.

Lily… Nari. Nari that means lily.

You look down again, heart twisting. “Nari?” you murmur, brushing a finger against her soft cheek. “Nari.”

You finally have a name now.

“Nari…” you whisper, voice cracked and shaking as you rock her back and forth, again and again. “Please… what’s wrong?”

She won’t stop crying. She’s been crying for hours. Her tiny fists clench in the air, her face red and scrunched as the wails echo through the small, suffocating space. You’ve fed her. Changed her. Held her. Walked in circles until your legs gave out beneath you. Nothing works.

You feel your eyes burn, the tears pooling too fast to blink away. “Mama fed you, changed your diaper… I don’t know what else to do.”

You bounce her gently, almost frantically now, trying to stay calm, trying not to let your own tears fall onto her cheeks. Your arms ache. Your head pounds. You’re too tired to think. Too tired to feel anything but the raw failure in your chest. Your gaze flickers across the room , the mess of bottles, clothes, diapers. The couch you now sleep on, because your room is too small for the crib. Her rocker sits unused in the corner, surrounded by unfolded laundry. Everything feels too much.

You hear the door creak open behind you. “I have class tomorrow,” your sister says, peeking out with a tired frown. “Can you make her sleep?”

“I’m trying,” you choke out, barely able to speak through the sob in your throat. She sighs.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper quickly. “…give me a few more minutes.”

She doesn’t say anything else, just closes the door. You swallow the scream lodged in your chest and hold Nari tighter. Waking your mother isn’t an option. She’s been sick. She’s done enough. And this… this was supposed to be yours. Your responsibility. Your choice.

"Just pictured a tiny version of you throwing a tantrum like that."

You remembered Beomgyu's words, and you laughed. “Yeah, idiot,” you murmured through your tears, voice shaking but light for the first time in hours. “It’s a mini me throwing a tantrum.”

Nari blinked up at you, her cries halting mid-breath, her wide, wet eyes now focused on your face like she’d just seen something new.

“Nari?” you whispered, tilting your head toward her. “Are you curious about what Mama just said? You want a story, is that it?”

A hiccup. A blink. Silence. And just like that… she stopped crying. You breathed out, stunned. The smallest, most fragile peace settling in the quiet of the room.

“Okay,” you said, cradling her close, your voice soft as cotton, barely louder than a breath. “I’ll tell you about Mama’s best friend.”

Your voice filled the space. Low, warm, laced with something tender and bruised all at once. You told her about him. About how the world used to feel safer with him around. You giggled at the memories, surprised at how easily they came flooding back. The way he used to clicked his tounge but always carry your bag anyway. The way he’d say your name when he was trying not to laugh. The way he looked at you like you were something soft in a world that never was.

You didn’t say his name out loud. You weren’t ready.

But for twenty whole minutes, the past lived again in that tiny room, and by the end of it, Nari was asleep in your arms.

It worked like a miracle.

From that night on, whenever Nari cried, you spoke of him, and she listened. Is it because of how soft your voice is? You found yourself remembering him more often, not just in the obvious ways, but in the smallest corners of your day. The way he used to hum while doing homework when the silence got too loud. The way he tapped his fingers when he was nervous.

It was survival.

Because somehow, in your mind, he was here. In the warmth of a blanket tucked around Nari. In the gentle sway of your arms as you rocked her. In the soft words you murmured when she couldn’t sleep. And sometimes, when the night got too heavy and you couldn’t stop crying, it almost felt like he was holding both of you.

As if he’s... here.

His face, and memories that would carry you through the hardest nights.

“Nari, here, baby. Come on, girl.”

You crouch down, clapping your hands softly, eyes wide with wonder, a grin tugging at your lips even as your heart races. She’s moving—wobbling just a little, her tiny feet unsteady but determined.

She takes one hesitant step. Then another. And then a few more, slow and careful, her chubby arms outstretched for balance as she toddles from your mother’s arms toward you.

“That’s it,” you breathe, laughing through the lump in your throat. “Come on, love. You’re doing so well.”

When she finally makes it into your waiting arms, you scoop her up, spinning her gently with a joyful squeal. Her giggles fill the space like music, bright and unstoppable.

“You did it, sweetheart,” you whisper, pressing kisses to her cheeks. “You walked. You really walked.” From across, your mother watches, eyes soft with pride.

"Y/N." The voice is deep, familiar, and it stops you cold. You turn around slowly, your breath catching in your throat. He looks older but his eyes are still soft. Still searching. He glances at the little girl in your mother’s arms, then back at you. And it’s like something clicks.

"You’ve been here all along?" he asks, disbelief painting every inch of his face.

You force a small smile, bending down to kiss Nari’s forehead. “Wait for Mama, okay?” you whisper. Your mother gently takes her inside, casting you a look before the door closes behind them.

You stand, tugging awkwardly at the oversized T-shirt clinging to your frame, your shorts wrinkled, your hair tied up in a messy attempt to feel somewhat put together. You know you don’t look anything like the version of yourself he used to know.

"Hi, Soobin," you say quietly, and he just stares. “Yeah. I’ve been… here.”

His jaw tightens. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He runs a hand through his hair, like he’s trying to make sense of something that refuses to be clean. “Every time I came by, they told me you weren’t around. That you’d moved. And now—” he exhales hard, eyes flickering back toward the house. He doesn’t finish the sentence. You know what he wants to ask. You can feel the question burning in his chest.

You look down at your hands. “I was ashamed,” you admit. “I didn’t go to college. I didn’t do everything the way I said I would. Life happened. Fast.”

You swallow. “I have a daughter now, Soobin. And… you don’t have to keep looking for me. I’m not who I used to be.”

You try to fix your hair, but his eyes drop to your shoulder—and you know he’s seen it. The faint stain from Nari’s spit-up you missed. You cover it too late, embarrassed. You offer another shaky smile, but it barely holds.

Then he moves. He steps forward, without hesitation this time, and pulls you into him. You don’t even have time to brace for it. His arms wrap around you like they remember. Like they never forgot.

“I want to meet her,” he says into your hair.

It was beautiful, the way Nari took to Soobin, like she’d known him all along. Like something in her little heart just recognized him. The moment you placed her in his arms, she blinked up at him, curious and calm. And Soobin, he melted. Immediately. A soft grin tugged at his lips, and the cooing started, gentle and awkward and perfect.

“She’s so tiny,” he whispered, holding her like she was the most fragile thing in the world. Like he was afraid to breathe too hard. But within minutes, he was bouncing her softly, nose brushing against her cheeks, whispering silly things just to make her giggle. He didn’t want to let go. You could see it in the way his arms curled tighter, like maybe holding her could undo all the time lost between you.

When he saw the place you’d been staying in, he didn’t judge. He didn’t say a word about the peeling paint or the single fan in the corner. He just looked at you, eyes determined. “Come with me,” he said. “I have a spare apartment. It’s clean. It’s yours if you want it.”

And before you could even shake your head, he added, “I’ll help with Nari. I’ll help you get back on your feet.”

You said no at first. Of course you did. You couldn’t be that girl; the one who takes advantage of someone’s kindness. Soobin didn’t push. He just came back the next day. And the day after that. And again. Somehow, after long talks with your mother, after long nights staring at the ceiling wondering if you were doing the right thing—you said yes.

Trusting became hard for you. But you found with Soobin, maybe because, he trusted him too.

Moving in felt less terrifying than you thought it would. Soobin didn’t make it feel like charity. He made it feel like home. You found a job a month later. And Soobin… Soobin became the softest constant in Nari’s world. The man she ran to with tiny feet and open arms. The one who could make her laugh when you were too tired to try.

He didn’t replace anything. He just… showed up.

"I also… heard."

You turn to him, brows furrowing. "Heard what?"

Soobin hesitates, his fingers gripping the edge of his fork. "He’s back in town."

Your heart stalls. There’s only one person neither of you have dared to mention in years.

"Who?" You shouldn’t have asked. You shouldn’t want to know.

"Choi Beomgyu."

The moment his name hit the air, you dropped your gaze. Like it burned. You couldn’t meet Soobin’s eyes. You knew what was there; the same quiet questions he used to ask in softer moments, the ones you always left unanswered.

He had tried to make sense of how someone could disappear so completely. How someone like Beomgyu could vanish without so much as a goodbye. You remember those early months—Soobin asking carefully, kindly, trying not to press too hard. What happened between you two? Did something go wrong?

You never said a word. Not really. You built walls around your silence and stayed inside them. Pretending was easier than admitting you’d been left behind without a reason. A year without word turned into six. And in all that time, Beomgyu never did. Never came back. No letters. No apologies. Not even a rumor to hold onto.

It’s almost laughable, if it didn’t sting so much.

When you told Soobin about Jaehyun—the shame, the mess, the lawyer at your doorstep—he understood. No futher questions. No judgment. Just that steady kind of empathy only Soobin ever managed to offer. But when it came to Beomgyu? He never understood. He couldn’t. Or maybe he just wouldn’t. "Beomgyu's so in love with you that I can’t believe it."

Maybe it was because you were both too young. Or maybe he met someone oversea, a girl who laughed like you but didn’t cry like you, someone who studied at the same college, shared the same dreams. Maybe she didn’t come with too much baggage, or sleepless nights.

Maybe by now, he has a new life. A wife. A child.

And if someone had told your nineteen-year-old self that this would be the ending, you would’ve laughed. Laughed like it was the cruelest punchline to a joke you didn’t know you were part of. You didn’t know what love really was back then. Not until it stayed behind when he didn’t.

Not until six years passed and he still lived in your head.

“Groceries?” you ask as you open Soobin’s car, your voice low. He moves slowly, cradling the sleeping Nari in his arms like she’s made of glass, then settling her gently into the passenger seat, tucking the blanket around her like he’s done it a hundred times before.

“I can go pick them up, if you want,” you offer, watching the way he lingers with her.

“You sure?” he asks, eyes flicking to yours as he reaches over, gently fixing the collar of your coat, you hadn’t even noticed it had slipped. “It’s cold today. You okay to drive?”

“I’m sure,” you nod, tugging your sleeves over your knuckles. “Besides, Nari said she wanted to sleep over at your place tonight. Something about your sister’s pancakes and playing with Han.”

He smiles,“She’s been talking about that all week.”

You nod again, more to yourself than to him. “And I can’t leave my car parked out here overnight. So… it makes sense.”

“Alright.” He exhales softly, “Call me if anything happens, okay?”

You huff a quiet laugh. “Still trying to figure that out… this phone.”

He laughs, “I’ll go, then. I’ve got her.”

You step back as he closes the door. “Bye,” you murmur, watching the car pull away. And when the taillights disappear into the evening, you let out a long, tired breath. The cold bites at your fingers as you turn to your own car.

The drive was short.

You rub your hands together as soon as you step out into the cold, breath fogging in front of you. The night has settled deep. The parking lot is nearly empty. A few cars. A flickering streetlamp. Just like Soobin said, it’s just groceries. A quick stop. Preparations for tomorrow’s feast. His sister always makes a big deal out of celebrations, dragging him into the chaos. You’ve learned to let them. It gives Nari something bright to look forward to.

Inside, the box is heavier than you expected. You thank the employee handing it over and hug it to your chest, shifting your weight so you don’t drop it. You can carry it. You’ve carried heavier things.

You start walking, slow and careful, the edges of the cardboard digging into your arms. You were just about to ask someone for help with the door when—

It opens. From the outside.

The bell rings overhead; a soft chime, but for some reason it sounds like music tonight. It catches you off guard, how comforting it feels. Maybe it’s the simple fact that someone held the door for you. Maybe it’s the smallness of kindness that makes your chest loosen. You don’t even care if he only opened it because he was heading inside himself. He stepped aside, held the door open, and waited.

And lately, that’s more than enough. You smile for the first time in what feels like forever.

“Thank you—” The word barely made it past your lips before it died because standing in front of you, just as stunned, just as still—

Choi Beomgyu?

You blinked. Once. Twice.

It was like the world forgot how to move. Or maybe just you. The cold didn’t bite anymore. The weight of the box in your arms vanished. Even your own breathing, gone, like your lungs decided they couldn’t function with him so close.

He looked older. Not completely different, but grown. His hair was longer now, brushed just past his shoulders, half tied back in a way that made him look effortlessly composed. He looks at you. Behind him, someone cleared their throat—an older man, another customer —the sound snapping the thread of stillness that had wrapped around the two of you like a noose.

You flinched first.

You took a step back, sudden and clumsy, the box in your arms tilting dangerously as your feet fumbled over themselves. He didn’t move — not a word, not a sound, just his eyes following the box, then trailing downward. To your hands. And when his gaze stopped on your ring finger—bare, unadorned, still slightly red from cold—something flickered across his face.

As soon as the old man walks past, you run.

You don’t think anymore, your body moves before your brain can catch up. The cold slaps your face as you push through the door, feet pounding against the pavement. Behind you, you hear it; that soft slam of the door closing too fast, like someone let go in a rush.

“Y/N—” His voice. God, his voice. It hits you like a bullet. Real. Near. Here. You gasp, eyes locking on your car. Just a few steps. Just get there. Just get in, you can’t let him catch up.

You can’t see his face again. Can’t hear what he might say. Because after all this time... You still don’t know who left who.

You still don’t know if he betrayed you or if it was you who betrayed him.

“Y/N, please—”

Three more steps to your car.

Just three.

“Y/N.” You reach for your keys, but something so painful happens to your right foot. “O—ouch.” The box slips, crashes to the pavement.

“Fuck,” you curse, loud and sharp, the sound echoing through the empty parking lot. You see Beomgyu flinch. You lean against the side of the car, pain blooming like heat across your ankle, shame rushing in right after. All you want to do is disappear. Fold into the metal. Crawl into the seat and drive away like none of this ever happened.

It's one of your leg fucking cramps.

One of the cruelest things no one tells you about giving birth… is how your body doesn’t come back the same. You keep your head down, chest heaving, trying not to cry and behind you, you hear him step closer.

“What’s wrong?” Beomgyu asks. You’re trying to reach for your leg, but the muscle spasms again—tight and brutal, like it’s being wrung out from the inside—and your breath catches, a broken sob lodged in your throat. “Y/N, what’s wrong?” He’s closer now, panicked.

You don’t answer. You can’t, the pain twists deeper, radiating up your thigh, stealing the air from your lungs. You collapse back against the car, gasping, then you whimpered; tears burn hot, streaking down your cheeks before you even realize you’re crying.

“It hurts—” you sob, choked and ugly. “It hurts, it hurts, I—”

Beomgyu’s down in front of you before the words finish. He’s on his knees, hands trembling as he reaches for your ankle, for your shoes, for anything he can fix.

“Okay, okay, I got you, I got you,” he mutters like a prayer, but his hands hover, unsure. Like he’s scared to touch you. Like he doesn’t know where it hurts more. You keep crying; loud, unfiltered sobs that rip through you like the pain itself. Beomgyu’s hands are at your ankle now, carefully slipping off your shoe.

“Don’t move,” he says, and you shake your head, clutching at the car door, your body trembling. “Don’t—don’t move, baby—”

“Don’t— ah—” You managed to say, but the pain flares again, and your voice collapses with it.

Beomgyu’s left hand moves up to your thigh, firm but gentle, pressing your leg down to straighten it. His right finds your foot, still covered in your sock, and starts to stretch it carefully—and you felt your body relax as the pain blurs.

“Breathe,” he says. You squeeze your eyes shut. “Breathe, Y/N.”

You do. And slowly, the pain starts to ease. Your breathing staggers, catches, steadies even if your tears are still falling. And for the first time since after accidentally meeting him at the store, you look back at him. Your eyes meet his, and you can see how glassy they are. His eyes—locked on you like you're something fragile and holy and breaking all at once.

Do you know what it’s like to be angry at someone?

Like really, deeply angry; the kind that simmers low for years, slow and bitter. The kind you carry in your chest like armor. You build it up, rehearse it alone in the shower, in the car, while folding laundry like you’re folding the bones of your rage. You prepare your words like weapons. Every line sharp, factual, unforgiving. You’re not going to yell. No. You’re going to ruin them. Intelligently. With every truth they chose to ignore.

And he looks at you like this. With the softest look that he can give, like he never meant to hurt you. Like he miss you.

You don’t feel powerful. You feel exposed. How do you stay mad at someone who still looks at you like you’re everything they lost?

You let him hold your ankle. You don’t even fight it. His other hand moves up your leg again, massaging. You can feel the warmth of him even through the fabric. Fresh tears slip down your cheeks before you can stop them.

Beomgyu freezes at the sight of it. “Does it still hurt?”

Yes. How can you miss him for years, and seeing him now makes you miss him more?

“Where?” he asks again, softer this time. “Tell me where it hurts.”

Everywhere, you think. You.

You pull away. No words, just the slow removal of his hands from your skin. You crouch to gather the fallen box, desperate for anything to do with your hands but before you can even reach it—he’s already there. Already picking it up. Already moving toward your car like it’s still his place to help. He opens the back door, gently places the groceries inside then turns to look at you.

"I should go," It was your voice this time, cracking the silence between you for the first time all night. Beomgyu flinches, almost imperceptibly, as if your voice surprised him. "My family's waiting."

You don’t wait to see if he reaches for you. You open the car door, slide inside, and shut it before the moment can stretch any further. The engine rumbles to life beneath your hands, a poor distraction from the weight in your chest. As you pull away, you glance in the rearview mirror; see him get smaller and smaller, watching you.

The car felt like a cage. You could barely breathe, not with the way your chest was caving in, not with the way your fingers wouldn’t stop trembling. You kept seeing him; standing there, just standing there, like he didn’t know whether to run after you or let you go. That image clung to you like a bruise. What were you supposed to say? Hey. I guess you’re back. Did it hurt as much for you as it did for me?

When you finally pulled up, your face was dry, but only because you'd cried yourself empty. You didn’t say anything to Soobin—couldn’t. Nari was already asleep, curled up beside his nephew like nothing in the world had gone wrong. His sister welcomed you with a soft smile and showed you to the guest room, no questions asked. You were grateful for that. You didn’t have the strength to lie. Soobin looked at you like he wanted to ask, but you refused to meet his eyes. You knew if you did, something inside you might shatter beyond repair. He must’ve sensed it because he didn’t say a word either.

Sleep didn’t come easy that night, not when the only thing behind your eyelids was the face you’d missed more than the life you once had.

It's cruel how memory chooses the softest parts of someone to haunt.

A soft knock at the door startled you awake.

The room was too bright, it's morning. You flinched, disoriented. Had you even slept? It felt like you’d just blinked. “Yeah… I’m up,” you mumbled, voice rough with a night that gave you no rest. Whoever it was didn’t respond; the sound of footsteps fading down the hall.

You needed to check on Nari. That much you could focus on. You pulled your hair into a loose ponytail with tired fingers, the strands falling uneven around your face. Your pajamas were wrinkled, your face was swollen from all the crying, but you made yourself somewhat presentable.

The living room greeted you with soft light spilling through the curtains, shadows curling against the floor. “Where’s Na—” You froze.

Sitting casually on the couch, a fresh bouquet of roses rested on the table in front, he turned at the sound of your voice.

Choi Beomgyu.

Right. You kept forgetting he was Soobin’s friend too. Of course.

He stood slowly, looking at you. His hand reached for the flowers. “Good morning,” he said softly.

It pulled you out of your stupor, your instincts kicking in like a switch. You turned on your heel, not giving him the satisfaction of a second glance. You needed to find the criminal.

"Good morning, my Y/N!" Soobin greeted with that stupid smile of his, the one that usually made things feel a little lighter. But not today. Not when you walked straight up to him and grabbed him by the collar, your fists trembling with something dangerously close to panic. His grin vanished.

"What the hell are you trying to do?" you snapped, your voice low, "Where is my daughter?" He winced, not from your grip, but from your stare.

“He kept calling me about you—ouch—okay,” he muttered, raising a hand as if to calm you down. “He was desperate. He somehow managed to reach people I haven’t even spoken to in years. Just calling and calling, he was trying to find me. All because of you." Your grip faltered for a second.

“I think…” he hesitated, then met your eyes. “I think it’s best if you hear him out. He got here fifteen minutes after Nari went out with my sister and Han. They’ll be back in the afternoon.”

You slowly let go of his collar, hand falling back to your side like it suddenly weighed too much. Your chest was tight, heart heavier than it had been in weeks. Did he talk? Did he tell him? About you? About how deeply, thoroughly, and irreversibly you’ve screwed everything up?

Your eyes searched his face, ask but then, almost gently, as if he could read your thoughts, Soobin spoke. “I didn’t tell him anything, It wasn’t my place.” he said quietly. “It’s best if you hear him out..”

Beomgyu’s walking away.

Each step feels like it’s slicing him open from the inside, like the ground’s dragging knives across his chest. The doors ahead glint under the airport lights; the ones that’ll swallow him whole and spit him out somewhere far from here. Far from you. He tells himself not to look back. If he does, he’ll break. If he sees your face, he’ll run back and beg to stay. Worse—if you so much as whispered his name, told him not to go—he would drop everything. The flight. The future. All of it.

So he keeps going. Until something in him caves. He always caves when it comes to you. He stops. Turns.

And there you are; clinging to Soobin, crying like the world’s ending. Maybe it is. He wants to run to you, hold you until you stop shaking. But instead, he just stands there, chest heavy with every breath. He makes a promise right then, like a prayer carved into bone: He'll give you the life you deserve. He'll give you everything.

He tries to smile, but his lips are trembling too much. He can’t fall apart here, not when you’re already crying. You’re always the crybaby, not him. He has to be the strong one.

And when he finally finds the words—words that feel like ripping out his own heart and handing it to you—he shouts them so loud they shake through the air between you.

What do you even say to someone you're leaving behind?

“I’LL COME BACK FOR YOU!”

Even if the world changes. Even if you forget.

He will.

It’s hard, being in a new country. Harder than he ever admitted out loud. His family’s here, but it doesn’t feel like it. They’re always working, always somewhere else. And when he comes home to an empty apartment and four white walls, it hits him all over again.

You’re miles and oceans away.

He walks through streets that don’t sound like home. Every sign is a puzzle, every conversation feels like it’s moving too fast, slipping through his fingers. He nods and smiles, pretends he understands. But most of the time, he doesn’t. Most of the time, he’s just tired.

The only thing that feels real is when your letter arrives.

On those days, everything stops. His heart settles. His hands too excited as he tears the envelope open, like it’s something that gives him ar reason to live for. Your handwriting, your words; they’re a piece of home he can hold. It becomes his favorite part of the week. His only part of the week, really. Writing to you, reading your letters, rereading them until the ink practically imprints itself into his skin.

It was going well. For a while, anyway. Two months of surviving. Of pretending he was getting the hang of it.

Until it all went up in smoke.

He came home one evening and the sky was choked in black. Smoke pouring like a stormcloud, thick and angry, swallowing everything whole. Their apartment—the only place that ever felt remotely stable—was on fire. Gone. His parents’ last coin flip, their last gamble at a better life, reduced to ash. The furniture. The photographs. The little trinkets that made it feel like home.

Your letters. God, your letters.

He’d kept every single one. Folded neatly, worn soft from rereading. He used to clutch them on the bad days, the lonely nights. And now they were gone, burned before he could even say goodbye to them.

Suddenly, they were homeless in a country that still didn’t feel like theirs. The language still felt foreign, the people distant. They stayed where they could; shelters, temporary housing, places that didn’t ask too many questions. He didn’t write for a week. Then another. A month slipped by before he realized just how long it had been. But how could he write, when he couldn’t even buy himself a meal? When a sheet of paper, an envelope, a stamp—things he used to take for granted—now felt like luxuries too far out of reach?

He thought of you every single day. He trusted you’d still be there, still waiting, still believing in him. He had to, because he didn’t have anything else left.

They moved. Again. And again. From shelter to shelter, wherever there was space, wherever someone would take them in. No place ever felt permanent with borrowed beds. While his father scraped together bits and pieces for a future that still felt out of reach—secondhand furniture, donated appliances, hope held together with tape, Beomgyu worked for their family too. Late shifts, early mornings, anything that paid. He kept his head down, hands tired, eyes always scanning for something he couldn’t name.

It took six months. Six months of skipped meals and pocketed coins, of walking past stationery aisles with a lump in his throat, before he could finally afford to write to you again. And when he did, he poured everything into that first letter. Every apology he never got to say. Every cracked piece of his heart. Every I’m sorry it took so long, wrapped in trembling handwriting and the ghost of smoke that never really left his clothes.

He waited for your reply. Days passed. Then weeks. Nothing. So he wrote again. Maybe the first got lost. Maybe you didn’t see it, but then the second went unanswered. And the third

Still, he didn’t stop.

Every week, without fail, he wrote. Even when his fingers ached. Even when the silence on the other end felt like a punishment he deserved. He wrote like it was the only way to stay alive. Like if he just kept going, somehow, you'd hear him. Apologies bled through ink. Cries tucked between the lines. Please. Please say something. Please don’t leave me behind.

It had been over a year.

One year and seven months since he last saw your face, he missed your birthday. He missed everything. Coming back was a miracle in itself. His boss had finally said yes to time off, just a few days, barely enough, but he didn’t care. He had scraped together every cent. Skipped meals. He stopped buying things that tasted like comfort just to save a little more. He told himself he’d apologize the moment he saw you. Fall to his knees if he had to. He didn’t care what it took—he just wanted to explain, to make you understand, but then, on the bus to your neighborhood, holding the small bag of gifts he could afford, it hit him like a punch to the chest.

He’d been writing your address wrong.

All those letters—pages of love and pain, of apologies and hope—had never reached you because he wrote them from memory after everything got burned. He didn’t even realize he was crying until a stranger asked if he was alright.

And then he saw you. From across the street, standing beside Jake Sim. You're pregnant? Jake is laughing at something, one hand resting on your belly. You look beautiful.

Right there, across the street, the boy who swore he’d come back for you was breaking.

The ones left behind mourn with open hands, reaching for echoes, clinging to the warmth of a room that’s already gone cold. They cry in the spaces where laughter used to live, and the grief comes loud, sharp, like a scream in an empty house. But the ones who leave? They bleed quietly. They turn their backs knowing they’re carving wounds into people they love, knowing their absence will echo longer than their presence ever did. And they leave not because they want to—but because the world asks them to; because duty, or fate, or something crueler demands it.

Between the two, who suffers more? The ones who wait for a door that won’t open, or the ones who shut it with shaking hands and walk away?

Beomgyu had kept himself hidden for years—not out of pride, but shame. A quiet, gnawing embarrassment that maybe he had broken too much to ever come back whole. He never wanted to burden you, never wanted his face to remind you of the past. He knew you had your own life now. A family. A world that kept turning even after he stepped out of it.

He couldn’t explain what shifted in him this year. Maybe it was the ache of too many birthdays passed, or the way the past never seemed to loosen its grip. But he found himself wanting. Just a glimpse. Just to know you were okay. He went to your house—stood in front of the door he once called home—and was met with a stranger’s cold dismissal. Your father, grayer now, eyes harder. There was no trace of your mother; divorce, he guessed.

Then he felt oddly drawn to buy himself water and saw you at a grocery store. A mundane miracle.

And now here he is, sitting across from you, heart in his throat, watching your brows knit in confusion as he says the words he’s kept caged for years. The girl he once wanted to give everything to. The girl he still does. He worked through the ache, graduated, got a job, built something steady from the mess he once was. It’s not enough to retire on, but it’s enough to build a life. He tried dating, tried pretending but every time someone got too close, he found himself pulling away, haunted by a laugh that wasn’t yours. He looks at you, you’re here. And your adorable, bewildered expression guts him more than anything else ever could, because it confirms the one thing he’s tried hardest to bury: he’s still so fucking in love with you.

Beomgyu clenches his fist, thumb digging into his palm as he forces himself to meet your eyes. He stopped talking minutes ago—about the fire, the years, except the time he went back and saw you with Jake—and still, you haven’t said a word. Not to him. Not yet. “I know it’s—”

“What do you want me to do?” you ask, your voice flat, unfamiliar. And it terrifies him more than if you had shouted. “I’m sorry. About the fire, and everything, but what do you want me to do with that, Beomgyu?”

The way you say his name, it burns. Beomgyu stares. You still look the same, achingly so, but something in your voice tells him the years have changed you into someone else. Someone harder. He nods slowly, eyes flickering down, again to your hands. Bare. Still bare. The absence of a ring doesn’t make sense. You should be married by now. Any man would’ve been a fool not to. So why is your finger still empty? Soobin never told him anything. Wouldn’t.

“I don’t really want anything,” he says quietly, even though his heart is screaming otherwise. He wants everything. He wants you. “I just… hoped we could talk again.”

Beomgyu sees your face soften with his words, and you're about to speak when the door of Soobin's apartment beeps open.

“Mommy!”

A small voice cuts, bright and sweet, and he turns just in time to see a little girl bounding toward you—hair in low pigtails, uneven but endearing, the kind he used to tie for you in middle school with small fingers and too much care. The lollipop in her hand is sticky, half-melted, clinging to her palm as she throws herself into your arms. And you catch her like you were made for it. Beomgyu’s heart stutters.

“Did you miss me, Mommy?” she beams, eyes wide and waiting. And then he sees it—the softest, most real thing he’s seen on your lips since he sat down.

It tears him apart.

“I did, hun,” you murmur, brushing hair gently from her cheek. “Did you eat yet?”

“Yes! Sorry I didn’t wake you up to eat. Uncle Binnie said to let you sleep.” Beomgyu can’t breathe. His chest feels too tight, too full.

He can’t look away. He knows he should; knows it’s not his place to linger in the picture-perfect moment unfolding in front of him but he’s frozen. The little girl settles in your lap, arms still curled around your neck, and then, her curious eyes flick to him.

“Hi,” she says brightly, the lollipop now forgotten, her smile wide and fearless. Beomgyu blinks, then somehow finds the strength to match her energy.

“Hi,” he says softly. “I’m Beomgyu.” He sees it immediately—the shift in your gaze.

“She’s my daughter,” you say. “Her name is Nari.”

His breath catches.

Of course she is.

She looks like you. Same curious eyes. Same soft, heart-shaped face. A perfect mirror of the girl he fell in love with all those years ago. It stings—how beautiful she is. How familiar. She looks like you. He lets out a small, stunned laugh that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Yeah, figured she is.”

“Bye, Beomgyu,” Nari chirps from the living room, her tiny hands waving enthusiastically at the man standing by the door. Beomgyu grins, lifting his hand in a playful wave back. Then his eyes find yours.

You shift where you’re standing, arms crossed tight over your chest. Soobin’s already stepped outside, giving the two of you space as he walks ahead from Beomgyu toward the lot. You hadn’t expected Nari to warm up to him so quickly. Nari, usually shy around anyone new, had taken to Beomgyu almost instantly. She’d asked him question after question, tugged on his sleeve, even laughed in that unfiltered way she rarely does; maybe because he kept talking to her like he’d known her forever. Gentle. Patient. Funny in that effortless way.

“I’ll head out,” he says softly, clearing his throat. “See you tomorrow?” He looks like he's about to take you in his arms.

“Yeah,” you murmur, voice barely holding steady. “Drive safe.” You don’t look at him. You can’t. Not when your chest already feels too tight. For a moment, nothing happens.

Then he shifts, and when his hand lifts, you flinch—so subtly he might not even notice; all he does is rest his palm gently on your head. The touch is soft. Careful. With that small, simple gesture, he’s holding the whole mess of your heart right there in his hand.

You look up, just in time to see him step back. He gives you a quiet smile, a small nod, then he turns and walks out the door. You stand there, staring at the space he left behind, at the door that feels like it’s separating more than just a room. And suddenly, it hits you—this aching, desperate urge to run after him. To pull him back. To say all the things you swallowed down.

You felt it the moment he started talking, explaining—something inside you beginning to quietly break. His story unfolded slowly, like a wound being reopened in real time. It was too vivid, too cinematic, the kind of tragedy that scripts are written around. The kind that ruins the heroine, just before the credits roll but this wasn’t fiction, and Beomgyu doesn’t lie.

That’s what made it unbearable.

You sat there, silent, trying not to fall apart, trying to keep your expression flat even as the weight of his words dragged you under. Because somewhere between his grief and yours, a realization slipped through the cracks.

You were the one who gave up first.

Now, you couldn’t pull him into this; this version of your life where everything is held together with fraying thread because of you decisions. Where your daughter’s laugh is the only light in a world that feels dim more often than not. Where you don't even know who you are without the exhaustion.

You love Nari. Of course you do. You love her with a kind of fierce, bone-deep love that no one else will ever understand. But loving her doesn’t mean you don’t ache. You can’t let him back in. You can’t let him try to fit into this life, not when you know it would never be enough.He belongs to a different world, a world of bright lights and movement and choices. He could leave tomorrow.

You told yourself you were protecting him. That someone like Beomgyu—so full of life and possibility—shouldn’t be dragged into the mess of your world. A single mother, anchored to a small town and a quiet kind of loneliness. He deserved someone lighter. Someone with no baggage. You love Nari. God, you love her more than anything. Being her mother is the one thing you’ve never regretted. But that love also demands a kind of sacrifice.

If you let Beomgyu in—really in—you’d hope. You’d start to believe he might stay. And that hope is dangerous.

Worse still, a darker thought lingers: what if Nari starts to see him as more than just your friend? What if she lets herself believe he could be something permanent, someone who doesn't leave? Beomgyu comes from a world that moves faster than this place ever will. A city boy, full of dreams and fire. This town would shrink around him.

There’s an urge—violent, desperate—to throw the door open and run after him, but you don’t move. Your hands… they’re not the same hands that once held him with all the certainty in the world. The naive teenager you once were would’ve said yes without thinking, would’ve smiled and nodded like words was enough to fix anything. Whatever fragile, fleeting thing bloomed between you, it was your hands that crushed it first. Wanting him now would be selfish. Cruel.

You're not heartless enough to ruin him twice. You will be damned if you ever stood in front of his path.

It's still bright out.

The sun hasn't set yet, but when Soobin glances to his right, it feels like someone told the man beside him that it never would rise again. All that light seems to have drained from him, a ghost of the boy Soobin first saw; eyes full of hope, clutching a bouquet of roses like he believed in happy endings.

"Choi Beomgyu," Soobin sighs as the elevator doors slide shut. "What did she say?"

There’s no answer. Just a low, half-hearted grumble from Beomgyu, somewhere between a whine and a sigh, like even admitting it out loud would hurt too much. Soobin turns, already knowing what he’ll see. Beomgyu’s head bowed, eyes glued to the floor, hands stuffed deep in his pockets like he’s trying to hold himself together.

Some things really don’t change. Soobin shakes his head, the corners of his mouth tightening. It's the same Beomgyu from high school—the one who used to trail behind you, heart always half a step ahead of his courage. The one who scribbled love in silence and let it rot there. Back then, Soobin had to push him every damn day just to get him to tell his heart out. Watching him want you but never move was its own kind of torture. And now, years later, here they are again. Did he seriously need to play the matchmaker again?

"Are you…" Soobin clears his throat, the question catching awkwardly on his tongue. "…giving up?"

"No. God, no." Beomgyu finally lifts his head, eyes flashing like Soobin just accused him of something unforgivable. "It's just—she caught me off guard that—"

"That she changed?" Soobin cuts in, sharp. "What, were you expecting her to do aegyo? Say some of that cute shit she used to pull in high school? Oh, I’m sorry, ‘Oh, Choi Beomgyu, I love you too—Ouch!” Soobin curses under his breath, reaching for his shin where Beomgyu’s foot just connected, hard. It wasn't playful. It was frustration. Beomgyu doesn’t say a word, but Soobin doesn’t need him to. He can feel it radiating off him—the heat, his rage.

Good. He’s still so stupidly, violently affected by you. There’s still something left to fight for.

"Are you still in love with her?" — "Yes."

The answer slips out of Beomgyu’s mouth so fast, so effortlessly, it startles the breath out of Soobin for a second. He smirks, "How can you tell?"

Beomgyu exhales, eyes distant. "Because it took everything in me not to kiss her."

"Heol. You pervert," Soobin snorts, shaking his head, but his tone softens, "About your question earlier. About… Nari’s father." He sees it instantly—the way Beomgyu’s smile falters, the way his jaw clenches like he’s bracing for something. Soobin swallows hard, the lump in his throat thick with everything he isn’t saying. There’s so much he wants to spit out. He feels like he’s being ripped in half. One part of him wants to grab Beomgyu by the collar, shake him, scream at him to grow the hell up and the other part just wants to pull him into a hug and not let go—because Beomgyu looks like he’s seconds away from breaking.

"It’s not my story to tell," Soobin finally says, "but for what it’s worth, he’s not in the picture. If that wasn’t obvious already." He pauses, glancing at the still silent Beomgyu, "She changed. I won’t lie about that. She’s sharper now, doesn’t smile unless Nari’s in the room. Harder to reach, but she’s still… our Y/N."

The elevator dings.

A week has passed, and you see Choi Beomgyu every single day.

He hasn’t brought up your last conversation. He doesn’t push, doesn’t crowd the space you’ve drawn around yourself. He just… shows up. Whenever Soobin takes Nari out, even when you’re not there, you’ll find Beomgyu waiting by the car for your daughter, always looking back to give you a small smile.

There was a time when you told Soobin you were thinking about going home. He only shrugged and said, “You’ve already planned your holiday breaks. Leaving now would break Nari’s heart.” So you stayed. And every day, Beomgyu keeps coming back.

He brings flowers—always the same kind as the first time. He never hands them to you directly; places them somewhere nearby, close enough to notice, far enough to ignore if you wanted to. He doesn’t say a word about them. Your fingers always find the stems. You gather them quietly, arrange them in the same vase.

“Do you want some of this too?” you ask, motioning toward the chicken. Nari nods immediately, her mouth open, ready for the next bite. It’s lunchtime. The dining table is full—Nari beside you, Soobin across, his sister and nephew chatting quietly at the end. And then there’s Beomgyu, sitting diagonally from you, close enough to hear every small thing you say. You spoon the food onto Nari’s plate, smoothing it out beside the rice. Beomgyu doesn’t say much, but you can feel his eyes flicker toward you every now and then.

Beomgyu glances at you, then at Nari’s plate—already full, her little fork digging in eagerly. The rest of the table begins to eat, soft clinks of utensils and the hum of conversation filling the space. Then he looks down at your plate.

It’s still empty.

Without a word, Beomgyu reaches across the table and starts serving food onto it. You turn, startled by the movement. “I’ll do it—” you begin, reaching for the serving spoon.

“Eat,” he says gently, scooping the biggest piece of fish fillet onto your plate. “You don’t like it when your food turns cold.”

You go still. The words hit you in a way you weren’t expecting; pulling you back to high school lunches, sitting on worn benches, complaining about lukewarm meals. Back to the way Beomgyu used to sprint across campus just to find a microwave, breathless but grinning as he handed your food back, warm again.

You blink, watch as he quietly adds a little more to your plate. He reaches for your utensils, places them gently in your hand and you take them.

Just like you always used to.

“You sure you don’t need help?” Soobin asks, placing the last plate into the sink.

Your hands are already in the soapy water, working through the pile of forks and spoons. “Yeah,” you reply easily, “this is nothing.”

Soobin gives your head a gentle pat, and you hear his footsteps fade as he leaves the kitchen.

You keep going, the familiar rhythm of washing grounding you—soap, rinse, repeat. It’s peaceful in the way small, ordinary things can be. Then, without looking, you feel someone beside you. A hand reaches for the dishes you’ve already washed, careful and quiet, followed by the soft drag of a towel across porcelain.

“Hey,” you start, half-turning, “I said I’m fine, I’ll do that—” Your words trail off when you glance over and see him. Beomgyu. He’s focused on the dishes, drying each one.

He's helping you.

Beomgyu glances at you, his thoughts loud. You hadn’t pushed him away. You let him stay beside you, in this small, shared space; rinsing, drying, moving in sync. Something so simple, yet to him, it feels intimate. He’d dreamed of this. Not grand reunions. Not tearful apologies or big moments. Just… this quiet kitchen, and you beside him.

“You’re a guest,” you murmur, eyes on the sink. “You shouldn’t be here, doing this.”

He hears it—the softness in your voice, the way it falters just slightly at the end. You talked to him. Directly. A loopsided smile pulls at his lips, unable to hide it, because you talked to him. He doesn’t look at you right away, just focuses on the dish in his hands like it means more than it does.

“I want to,” he says simply, glances your way. "I want to help you." He watches how quickly your hands move through the motions but all he can think about is how much he wants to stop you. How badly he wants to take your hands out of the water, dry them gently, press them to his chest so you’ll feel how fast he’s still beating for you.

He keeps drying the plates you pass to him.

Beomgyu has been watching you and Nari all week. It hadn’t even taken a full day for him to see it: how good of a mother you are. How instinctively, beautifully you move around your daughter, knowing her moods, her hunger before she even says a word. But it’s the other things he can’t stop noticing.

The way you serve everyone first before thinking of your own plate. The way you rush through bites, always half-standing to get something for someone else. The way your eyes stay on others, never on yourself. He remembers lunch—everyone halfway through their meal, and your plate still empty. You were too busy making sure Nari had enough, that Soobin’s nephew got seconds, that nothing spilled. And something about it made his chest twist in a way he wasn’t ready for.

Who’s been taking care of you?

You, years ago, pouting over your favorite ice cream being sold out. You, holding out your foot for him to tie your shoelace, smiling like you knew he’d do it without asking. You, crying over the smallest things, because back then, you were allowed to. Now you're here, taking care of a child like you’ve done it a thousand times before. He sees you—this version of you, all grown up—and it knocks the breath from his lungs.

Beomgyu reaches out before he can stop himself, the sight of a single strand of hair falling across your face pulling him in. His fingers move gently as he tucks it behind your ear. He looks at you, afraid he must have done something wrong, something personal, but in this moment, with you looking up at him, lashes soft and eyes wide, he’s too dazed.

“Thank you, Beomgyu.”

He knows you haven’t said a word since the first day he showed up, but if anything, somehow, impossibly; he’s fallen even deeper.

You were chopping vegetables at the table, Soobin’s sister beside you, lending a hand—at least until the two of you realized a few ingredients were missing, so she went out for a run. Soobin and Beomgyu had volunteered to keep an eye on the kids, leaving the kitchen unusually quiet.

“Y/N?” You looked up to see Beomgyu standing at the doorway, something wrapped in red cradled in his hands. His smile was small, unsure. You returned it without thinking.

“I wanted to give you something,” he said. You set the knife down and nodded. Ever since he’d spoken to you again that day, little conversations had started to creep back in. It felt easy. Light.

“What’s this?” — “Merry Christmas.”

“You do know it’s only 12 p.m. today, right?”

“I know,” Beomgyu says, scratching the back of his head. “But… do you remember that little tradition we had? Back then?”

You pause, looking at him. “Our families always went out of town on Christmas Day,” he continues, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “So we used to pretend Christmas was the day before. At noon. Just the two of us.”

You do remember. How could you not? Your hands move to unwrap the gift slowly, careful not to tear the paper. Inside, your eyes land on a pack of relief patches. Your breath catches. A note, scribbled in familiar messy handwriting.

Can we be friends, again?

"Uh, I didn’t really know what to get you," Beomgyu says, rubbing the back of his neck, voice a little rushed. "I mean… there’s a lot of things I wanted to give you, but," he lets out a nervous laugh, "I heard you talking about these patches. And I know you get those cramps whenever it’s too cold, so I just," He cuts himself off when he sees you smiling, arms open wide.

"If you don’t hug me right now, I’m taking it back and—"

You don’t even get to finish the teasing before he’s already moving, fast enough to startle you. His hands find the back of your head, cradling you gently as he exhales like he’s been holding his breath this whole time. His other arm wraps around your back, pulling you closer. You instinctively hugged him around the waist—just like you used to. You hold him, and tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you don’t let them fall.

Beomgyu feels your arms tighten, and he presses himself closer. Being in your arms feels like forgiveness. It’s warm.

In the middle of the kitchen, two souls stood still. Remembering, what it felt like to be whole.

You wash your hands, eyes drifting to the nearly rebuilt faucet.

It’s been a month since Christmas. Three weeks since you came back home with Nari. And Beomgyu—just as everyone expected—has been everywhere. He visits for Nari, plays with her like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Sometimes he comes with Soobin, sometimes alone. He stays. He helps. He shows up with flowers one day, groceries the next because he noticed you were running low. And the faucet, the one you swore would never stop leaking, is finally fixed.

You became... somewhat friends.

“Nari?” you called, a small laugh slipping out when she came running in with her backpack already on—hair tie and comb in her hands. You took them from her, settling onto the living room couch as she plopped down on the floor between your knees. Gently, you began brushing her hair, pulling it up the way she liked for practice days. It was her big day. And you—fresh off nearly ten hours at work—had barely caught your breath. Beomgyu had insisted on taking her this time. Said you needed to rest. Said he’d be proud to cheer her on.

Your hands moved on autopilot through her hair, “Do you remember…” you swallowed, fingers pausing for a second, “Do you remember the person I used to talk about a lot?”

You never said his name aloud but something in you needed to know.

“Hm?” Nari hums, eyes fluttering shut a little, comforted by the way you gently brush through her hair. “Oh. Yes, Mommy.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” she says, “Mama’s best friend, right? And I think it’s Beomgyu.”

Your hands still. “What? Why?”

“I saw his dimples, Mama,” she replies, her voice sure. “It's ike the ones you always told me about and he’s big like a bear, like you said. And…” she turns her head slightly, looking up at you with soft certainty, “Beomgyu says you’re his favorite person in the world.”

You blink. Words caught somewhere between your chest and your throat. You never realized how much she was listening. How much she noticed. You were still trying to find something to say when the doorbell rang.

It was the fastest you’d ever seen your daughter run.

You caught the look on her face; pure joy, her smile so wide you thought her cheeks might burst. It was a look she gives to someone she trusts. She knew exactly who was at the door. You followed, slower now, your steps unconsciously softening when you heard him laughing. Then you saw them; Beomgyu practically crouched on the floor, Nari already clinging to him. He looked up, his eyes met yours, and he smiled.

It made you want to dream again.

Beomgyu buckles Nari into the back seat, double-checks the latch, then closes the door with a soft click. When he turns around, you're still watching; leaning against the front door, arms crossed, casual in a plain shirt and shorts, face bare in the morning light.

So fucking beautiful.

He lifts a hand in a small wave. You smile, and wave back. It’s such a small thing, but enough to make his heart race. He gets back in the car, forcing himself to look away. He doesn’t start the engine until he sees you step inside and gently close the door behind you. He’s driving, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror once, then again. “You okay back there?”

“Yeah!” Nari chirps. “Thank you for letting Mama rest. I wanted her to rest too, ‘cause she’s been working a lot. I wanna take care of Mama today.”

Beomgyu’s chest tightens. She’s so small, her voice so light, and she probably doesn't know her words nearly undoes him. That kind of love, intentional, coming from someone who hasn’t even lived a fraction of life yet, it knocks the breath from his lungs.

How did she learn to love like that?

He glances at her in the rearview mirror, and she’s just there. Swinging her legs, looking out the window like she didn’t just crack his heart wide open. He swallows hard. He’s proud. God, he’s so proud. Of her, and of you; especially you. Because this kind of softness doesn’t come from nowhere. You built that in her and now it’s spilling out of her in the backseat of his car, and he doesn’t know what to do with the way it’s making him feel. It hasn’t even been that long. A few weeks. A handful of moments.

But he already wants forever.

He wants school plays and scraped knees. Wants to be the one who teaches her how to ride a bike, how to parallel park, how to survive the kind of heartbreaks he won’t be able to protect her from, chase off the boys who don’t deserve her. He wants to watch her grow into the world. And he wants you there for every second of it. Your laugh in the kitchen, your hand on his arm, your face before he sleeps. He wants you both. And it scares him, how much.

He’s never wanted anything this badly. His eyes sting. He blinks it away. Another glance in the mirror. Another heartbeat held tight in his chest.

“That’s cool, kid,”

The sun was high, painting the day in golden warmth that makes everything feel a little softer.

Up ahead, Nari bounced with excitement, her small hands clasped tightly in Soobin’s and Beomgyu’s. She was all smiles, practically skipping between them, laughter in her face. You watched her, heart full. Watched them. Soobin was talking to her, probably asking which games she was going to beat him at today. Beomgyu, though, kept glancing back, eyes always searching for you. Making sure you were, still close.

Soobin had wanted to take Nari out to the mall today—spoil her a little, burn some energy. And of course, that meant one inevitable stop: the arcade. Beomgyu had tagged along without hesitation. The way Beomgyu’s eyes lit up when you said yes to Nari, was evident.

“You have to press this one,” you say through a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you point to the button. “You used to be good at this, Beomgyu.”

“Hey,” he says, mock offense in his voice. “It’s been a while, okay?”

He steps closer, closer than he needs to. His shoulder brushes against yours, and the warmth of him slips under your skin before you can stop it. He doesn’t move away. Instead, his fingers wrap around yours, guiding the controller, and his other hand settles at your waist.

Steadying himself. Or maybe just finding a reason to touch you. You don’t pull away.

He presses the button like you showed him. The claw sinks down and lifts the small teddy bear. When the prize drops, he turns to you, pride written all over his face. “Told you I could do it,” he says, flashing that grin, dimple and all.

You try to play it cool, rolling your eyes, even as your heart stumbles a little. “Fine. It’s acceptable.” You take the toy from him, trying not to let your fingers brush again.

“I’ll give this to Nari," You start walking, feel Beomgyu fall into step beside you. You halt at the sight.

It’s instinctual, the way your body freezes, breath caught halfway through your chest. The space is loud, chaotic in the way weekends always are, but suddenly it all sounds muffled. Distant. Like the world just dipped underwater. It’s easy to spot Soobin; he stands tall even in a crowd, his frame always familiar but your eyes don’t land on him for long. They find the man standing across from him. The man in front of Soobin. In front of Nari.

The father of your child.

Jaehyun.

Soobin’s standing protective, squared just slightly forward, one arm half out like he’s ready to shield. He’s trying to keep things calm, you can tell. You’ve known him long enough to read the tension in his shoulders. You see him lightly push Jaehyun back. A warning. And then you see her. Nari stands beside Soobin, pressed in his legs, small and stiff, eyes wide but lips pressed in a firm, silent no. She shakes her head—once, twice, over and over. You know that look. You know that body language. The way her fingers twist in the hem of her shirt, the way she leans subtly toward Soobin, away from the man she doesn’t know.

Nari doesn’t like strangers.

You’re frozen. You don’t even realize you’ve stopped breathing until your chest starts to ache. You don’t know what part of it hit you first; seeing him again, or the way he’s looking at your child like he has some kind of right.

Jaehyun.

The man who left knowing you were carrying his child. You feel your stomach twist, something sour crawling up your throat. Is it fear? Or is it the anger, the shame? He left you. And it wasn’t just about leaving, it was how easily he did it. How quickly he made it clear that not even a child could make him stay. That you weren’t enough. That he meant none of what he promised. You were humiliated. Why does he know Nari? Why now? Did he know? Did he follow you? Did he have someone watching? Has he been here all along, memorizing the shape of your daughter’s face without ever earning the right? Your hands are shaking. Being a father? What does that even mean?Because he’s the one who gave her half her blood? Is that all it takes? A name on a birth certificate, a twisted smile, a return after years of silence?

“Y/N. Hey.” Beomgyu’s voice is careful but you don’t look at him. Your eyes are locked on Nari. On the way her small frame stiffens, how her lips tremble like she’s holding in a sob too big for her chest. You don’t even know what to say; what do you say to a child meeting the man who walked out before she could even open her eyes? Beomgyu’s hand comes to your shoulder, but it drops the second he hears Nari.

“No—!” It's tiny, a plea, crying out through her tears. And everything goes still.

“Dude, back the fuck off.” Soobin immediately says, aware that Beomgyu who is now nearing them. “You're scaring her.”

Jaehyun steps forward anyway, insisting, and Nari stumbles back. She doesn’t say anything this time, just clutches Soobin’s hand tighter, tears slipping down her cheeks as she tries to disappear into the space behind him.

Beomgyu doesn’t even blink. The second Soobin lifts Nari, turning her away from the scene, hiding her trembling frame against his shoulder; Beomgyu snaps. He grabs Jaehyun by the collar and slams him against the nearest wall, hard enough to rattle the arcade glass. The lights flash mockingly behind them, all blinking reds and greens and blues like it’s some sick joke.

Jaehyun stares him down, cocky despite the blood already blooming at the edge of his lip.

“What?” Jaehyun stares him down, “You gonna scare me off too? Like you did with Y/N before?” Beomgyu’s jaw clenches. He’s shaking with how hard he’s holding back. Jaehyun laughs—laughs, like it’s all a game. “You’re not her father,” he spits.

That does it.

Beomgyu’s fist flies, collides straight into Jaehyun’s face. The impact is loud, brutal. Jaehyun stumbles sideways, nearly collapsing, but Beomgyu’s there again, dragging him back up by the collar like he refuses to let this end with one hit. “Don't even say her name. You left her. You left them.”

Jaehyun punches him back, hard, and Beomgyu hits the edge of a skee-ball ramp, stumbling. “You think you can come back and pretend you care?” Beomgyu growls, eyes wild, blood rushing hot in his ears. “You think one fucking look at her erases years?”

“You don’t know what I went through,” Jaehyun snaps, lunging forward. “You don’t know what it was like—”

“Don’t you talk to me about pain!” Beomgyu yells, slamming into him again. This time they both fall—Jaehyun’s back hitting the carpeted floor with a thud as Beomgyu’s fists come down, one—two—three times.

Soobin rushes forward, grabbing Beomgyu’s arm. “Stop!”

But Beomgyu shakes him off, panting hard. His knuckles are red, maybe bleeding, maybe not. Doesn’t matter. Everything is fire. Jaehyun coughs, blood at the corner of his mouth now, face turned away. “You don’t get to waltz back into her life,” Beomgyu says, voice rough. “You don’t get to show up and make her cry and act like you’re owed something. You were gone. Stay gone-” He raises his fist again. Blinded—by fury, by the ache of every story you ever told him in a whisper. He wants to destroy him for you. He wants to make Jaehyun feel what you felt.

“Choi Beomgyu!” He freezes. Your voice, cracked, frantic, and trembling—catches him in the ribs harder than any hit could. “Let’s go,” you beg, voice softer now, breaking. “Please?”

He turns. He sees you; your arms wrapped tight around yourself, like you’re barely holding it together. Tear-streaked cheeks, eyes wide and desperate. Soobin still has Nari tucked into his chest, shielding her from it all, from him. And Nari’s shaking, tiny hands fisted in Soobin’s shirt, too afraid to even look. Beomgyu’s heart drops.

He meets your eyes and it’s over. The rage leaks out of him in slow, gutting waves. Guilt rushes in to take its place, heavy and drowning. He looks down at his fists, knuckles split, blood seeping between his fingers. Jaehyun groans on the floor, but Beomgyu doesn’t care anymore.

He only sees you.

“…Let’s go.”

Beomgyu doesn’t really know what happened after. Everything moved in a blur. Security guards rushing over. Soobin’s voice, gathering Nari in his arms and carrying her out quickly. The sting of cold air as they pulled him aside. Your hand slipping into his, trembling.

And now this. A small, sterile room in the back of the arcade. Fluorescent lights buzzing above like they’re judging him. His knuckles throb with every pulse of his heart. That little box of first aid in your hands.

Beomgyu watches you. You’re so close he can feel the soft brush of your breath on his skin. Your hand cradles his jaw with the gentlest pressure, a cotton pad in your other, dabbing at the cut on his cheek with delicate focus.

He’s sitting, back against the cold wall, while you stand over him—eyes still glassy from the tears you swore you were done shedding. He doesn’t believe you. Not with how you keep blinking too fast, how your lips press together like you’re holding more in. "Does that hurt?" you ask softly, barely above a whisper.

“No, baby.”

You nod, thumb brushes his cheek as you tilt his face just slightly toward the light, inspecting the damage with far more care than he deserves. He can’t look away from you. Not with the way your brows are drawn in concern, not with the way your skin keeps brushing his, unintentionally intimate. Not with how close your mouth is. Not when he’s this full of anger, of adrenaline, of fear and guilt and the overwhelming ache of you being this soft with him after everything.

He should say something. Apologize again. Ask if you’re okay. But all the words are caught in his throat, dried out from the fire still simmering in his chest. You dab more alcohol gently and he winces, less from pain and more from the way your eyes flick to his for a split second. And linger.

He swallows.

You’re standing between his legs, hands on his face, touching him like he’s fragile. And it’s killing him—how much he wants to grab you and say something stupid like don’t leave me, don’t hate me, don’t talk to him—

“Why did you have to do that?” you whisper, voice cracking, your hands trembling where they grip the fabric of his shirt.

Beomgyu's heart swell, he reaches for you, palm steady on your waist, pulling you in like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he waits even a second longer. You straddle his lap without resistance, your thighs pressing against his hips, breath shallow as you shift closer. Your face is barely inches from his when he leans in, and the moment your lips touch, it’s messy. Breathless. Too much and not enough all at once.

The kiss deepens quickly—months of longing, fear, and pent-up desire pouring into it. You tilt your head, hands sliding up to cradle his jaw, and he groans softly against your mouth, his grip tightening on your hips. His fingers dip beneath the hem of your shirt, skimming the skin of your lower back, tracing slow circles. Your hips move without thought, just enough to feel the way his breath stutters against your lips. His hand slides down to your thigh, squeezing firmly before gliding up, under the fabric of your shorts, rough fingertips against soft skin.

“You were bleeding,” you murmur between kisses, breath hitching as his mouth trails along your jaw, down your throat. “I was terrified.”

His lips pause against your skin, and he exhales shakily. “I didn’t care,” he says, voice low. “I'll do anything for you.” Your fingers tangle in his hair as his hands explore. Needing. His mouth finds yours again, deeper now, hungrier. You rock your hips against him, just once, testing, and the sound he lets out makes your spine arch.

“Fuck,” he breathes against your lips. “Don’t do that unless you mean it.”

Beomgyu gets on his knees before you, hands gripping your thighs, “I hate that he ever got to touch you,” he mutters, lips brushing against your inner thigh, hands pressing on where you need him the most. “That he got to taste you.”

"Beomgyu," Your breath catches, your fingers tangled in his hair as he kisses higher. "Please,"

His mouth is ravenous. As soon as he lets down your underwears, his tongue moved in slow, devastating small licks that make your knees weak and your head fall back. You’re gasping, so sensitive, his grip on your thighs keeping you wide open as he buries himself in you like he’s starving.

Every lick, every kiss feels like a promise. Like he’s trying to erase every memory that isn’t him.

You cry out his name, hips stuttering under his hold, and he only groans in response, like the sound of your pleasure is the only thing he wants to hear. His hands are everywhere—thighs, hips, stomach—like he needs to hold every piece of you down while he builds you up to the edge. He rubs your clit, tounge sucking your entrance and making sure he gets, taste everything.

You’re trembling when it hits you, but he doesn’t stop and it’s too much, too good, your body curling more towards his mouth, hands gripping his hair. He looks up at you like you’re holy. Wrecked. Worshipped.

“You feel that?” he says, breathless. “No one else gets to have this. Just me.”

Soobin sighs from the driver’s seat, fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. The car is still parked outside the arcade, engine off, the signs of early night settling around them. They’ve been waiting nearly twenty minutes now. He glances toward the entrance again. You and Beomgyu are still inside. No sign of either of you. Must be a serious conversation, he figures. After everything that just happened, how could it not be?

Beside him, Nari is unusually quiet. She sits in the passenger seat, small hands folded in her lap, eyes fixed on the window as if she’s trying to stare through time. It’s not like her. Not at all.

Soobin clears his throat gently. “Nari?” he says, keeping his voice soft. “Are you okay? Do you want anything? We can grab a snack or,” She shakes her head right away, not even turning to look at him.

He watches her for a moment, the tight press of her lips, the little furrow between her brows, her shoulders stiff with something she’s trying not to feel. A minute passes.

Then, finally, her voice; small and uncertain, breaks the silence. “Uncle... is Beomgyu going to be...”

Soobin glances over. “Hm?”

Nari bites her lip, eyes finally meeting his. “Is he upset?” The words are soft. Too soft for a kid who just cried her heart out.

Soobin’s heart twists in his chest. “No, sweetheart. He’s just... worried. About you. About your mom.” She nods once, but her pout only deepens.

“Then can you tell Beomgyu to stay with us? He really makes mommy happy.”

That day had been a moment of weakness.

Seeing Nari like that and hearing Beomgyu, breaking in your defense. You hadn’t been the same since. “Why are you ignoring him, seriously?” Soobin sighs through the phone, “Did something happen?”

You press the phone tighter to your ear, lips parting, but nothing comes out. Ever since that day, crammed in the backroom of the arcade, Beomgyu bruised and breathless—you’d barely spoken. Not to him. Not even to yourself. You couldn’t look him in the eye when you walked out. You’ve been silent ever since. “I’m just thinking,” you murmur, voice low.

“It’s been a week,” Soobin snaps, concerned. “For once, can you at least tell me what’s going on?”

You barely managed a rushed goodbye before the doorbell pulled you out of your daze. Nari was at school. You weren’t expecting anyone. Your legs felt heavy as you made your way to the door, heart climbing into your throat like it already knew.

Beomgyu. He looked like he hadn’t slept. Hair tousled, dark circles under his eyes, jaw tight like he’d rehearsed a thousand things to say and forgotten every single one the second he saw you. He quickly goes inside as soon as you step back and closes the door behind.

“What’s wrong with you?” he breathed, “What did I do?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. He laughed but it was hollow. “Did I cross a line? Say something I shouldn’t have? Did I hold you too long? Look at you too much?”

“Beomgyu—”

“No,” he said quickly, his voice shaking. “No. Don’t do that. Don’t say my name like that. I’ve been trying, I’ve been trying so hard not to push. Not to ask for more than you’re ready to give. I’ve been—fuck—I’ve been so patient with you, Y/N. Waiting. Holding back. Being whatever you needed me to be. And now you’re just… gone?” He choked, looking down. “You just left me there.” Tears welled up in your eyes. You swallowed hard.

He looked at you again, and it almost broke you. “Did that mean nothing to you?” he whispered. “Did I mean nothing to you?” You stepped back, instinctively, like your own guilt was too heavy to hold this close. He saw it.

Your eyes sting. You see him, the exhaustion in his face, the bags under his eyes. You look at him and God, it’s the worst thing, because he looks like he’s already bracing for the worst.

“I fucking miss you,” he says quietly, desperately. “I miss Nari. And if you really don’t want me in your life, say it to my face. If I don’t have a chance, if there’s no space for me in your world… I’ll back off.” He swallows, eyes glassy. “If you don’t want me anymore—”

“It’s not that.” Your voice comes out cracked, a whisper barely stitched together. His eyes snap to yours, and it nearly undoes you. “I’m in doubt, okay?” you whisper. “Because I’ve been there. I’ve heard promises. I’ve believed in forever before and ended up alone with a baby in my arms.” He flinches. “I can’t do it again. Not for me and especially not for Nari. She’s not like other kids. She feels everything. If she loves you and you leave…” You take a shaky breath. “It will destroy her. I know what that kind of pain looks like. I lived through it and I won’t risk her having to.”

“And on top of that,” you breathe out bitterly, “let’s be real. There are a thousand girls who’d love to be yours. Girls with no baggage. Girls who are whole. Girls who don’t carry years of hurt and a child that isn’t yours. Girls who haven’t already given everything they had away.” You shake your head, jaw tightening. “I’m a single mom, Beomgyu. I have nothing left to offer. I’ve been holding myself together with spit and string for years. And one day… one day you’ll see that, I’m not shiny or easy or new. That I’m just work. And when that happens, I won’t be surprised.” You’re shaking now, because the words are pouring out like you’ve been choking on them for years.

Your voice trembles as you say it, eyes flickering to the floor. “I just want to protect her from that moment. What if one day you wake up and realize we’re too much?”

Beomgyu stares at you, chest heaving, and for a moment, all you can hear is the silence between you. His hands are trembling. You see it even as he clenches them into fists at his sides. Then his voice breaks, barely holding back the quake in his chest. “Do you even know how hard it’s been for me?”

“Do you know what it’s like to wake up every damn day thinking about you and wondering if I ever even cross your mind?” His eyes are glassy now, jaw clenched like he’s trying not to fall apart. “Do you know what it does to a person?”

You know, you know that feeling.

He laughs, bitter and quiet. “I came back because I couldn’t stay away and yeah, maybe I was terrified because every time I see you, I wonder if just being here is ruining something you’ve already tried to heal from.” He looks at you, “But I couldn’t stay away. I couldn’t pretend that moving on was possible. Not when my heart—” his voice cracks, “—not when my heart’s been beating for you all this time.”

He runs a hand through his hair, eyes red, pacing slightly as if staying still is too much. “I’m fucking in love with you, Y/N. I have been. And that feeling,” he pauses, chest rising and falling, “that feeling, it hasn’t faded. It won’t. Not in a week, not in a year, not in a lifetime or my next. I can’t look at anyone else and even try to imagine what it could be. It’s you. Always been you.”

He swallows thickly, “And Nari? She’s a gift. She’s part of you. She’s this bright, beautiful piece of you and I love her.” He chokes on the words. “If I walk away now, it’s only me. Just me. I’ll take that. But if you walk away… if you shut that door between us for good, it won’t just be you. I’ll lose both of you. You and Nari.”

Beomgyu breathes, then he sees it. Your tears. They fall quietly, like you didn’t even realize you were crying, and something in him fractures. His expression caves, soft and broken, and before he can stop himself, he steps closer, tentative, like he’s afraid you’ll flinch. His hands are gentle when they reach for you, thumbs brushing the wetness from your cheeks like he’s memorizing the shape of your grief. His touch is trembling, unsure.

“You’re crying,” he whispers, “God, you’re crying…” His voice breaks on the last word. You can feel his hands shaking as he holds your face. “You think I’d ever leave you?” he breathes, eyes locked to yours, full of disbelief and pain and love. “You think I’d walk away from this? From you? After all we've been through? I’ve known you since we were kids. I loved you then, and I love you now.”

You hiccup, the sound small and sharp, like something inside you just split. A soft, strangled whimper slips out at the warmth of his hands; so gentle, so undeserved and your face crumples as fresh tears fall. “It’s all my fault,” you whisper, and makes his breath hitch. “If I had trusted you…” Your voice shakes, breaks, and you force the words out. “If I had waited. Maybe then…” Your chest caves inward, like you’re caving around the memory. “Maybe then she wouldn’t look up at me with those huge, tear-soaked eyes and ask if he ever loved her. If she wasn’t enough.” The words fall like stones. “If that’s why he left.” Beomgyu’s face twists but he doesn’t interrupt. He just listens. He takes it.

“And I, I have to look at her, and I have to lie. I have to lie, Beomgyu.” You’re gasping now, fists clenched. “I have to smile while swallowing every goddamn piece of my grief, and tell her, ‘You are enough. You are so loved,’ while the space beside her is a fucking ghost.” You squeeze your eyes shut. “And she believes me. That’s the worst part. She believes me.”

Your voice goes hoarse, barely audible. “Maybe if I’d made better choices,” you whisper, voice barely there, “I wouldn’t be doing this alone. I wouldn’t be the only one standing on the sidelines during family days, clapping for one when the world cheers in twos.”

You press your lips together to keep from sobbing. “I wouldn’t be the only arms she runs into.”

“I’m here,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. “I’m here. Just… just tell me what you need—”

“I love you.” It’s barely a whisper, but it stops the world. Your fingers tighten in his shirt, twisting desperately, “I love you,” you say again, voice cracking. “I never stopped.”

His breath catches in his throat.

“Even when I was pregnant and terrified and waking up alone. Even when the world felt too big and I was too small and everything hurt, I still loved you.” You’re trembling now, eyes locked to his like the truth has finally clawed its way out of you. “When I gave birth, when I held her for the first time and felt everything and nothing all at once—I wished you were there. I needed you there.” Your voice breaks entirely, your forehead pressed harder against his like you’re trying to crawl into him, into that space where it doesn’t hurt so much.

“There were nights I didn’t think I’d make it. Days where I’d stare at the ceiling and wonder if she’d grow up resenting me. Days where I’d hold her and whisper your name… it was you. Always you.” Beomgyu’s eyes are wide, glassy, like he’s forgotten how to breathe. His lips part, but nothing comes out. Nothing can.

Because you just shattered him.

“We survived because of you,” you whisper. “Because I remembered what it felt like to be loved by you, because even when you weren’t there, you were still the reason I kept going.”

His hands slide to your jaw, his chest is rising and falling fast now, like your words punched through every wall he built.

He’s completely undone.

You barely get to speak again before he’s on you. He can't stop himself anymore. It’s how you looked, whispered the words that you loved him after all this time. 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 let me in."

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.

"You loved me." His voice softens, almost breaking. He presses his crotch to yours, eyes seeking yours. "You loved me after all this time?"

“Yes,” you said weakly, your hands clutching at his shirt, your voice trembling as much as your resolve.

"You're stuck with me now." 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. "I can't stay away anymore. I can't live without you."

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." 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, he intertwines your fingers.

“It's going to be okay… I'll be here now.” 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 everything for us, for you." He looks at you—wanting to see every expression you make. 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've always tasted this good," 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—

"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— I'm sorry—" 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, I know baby,” 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.

All the horrors inside you; every thoughts of abandonment, every sleepless night, every silent scream, begin to dissolve beneath his touch. With every kiss he lays against your skin, something softens. He’s chasing the ghosts from your bones, like he’s replacing every bruise life left behind with something holy. He kisses your cheeks, wet with tears. He kisses you like a man who has memorized the ruins. Who has studied the wreckage of you and decided that this is still his favorite place to be. That you, broken or whole, scarred or shining, were always meant to be his.

You’re starting to breathe.

"I'm not missing anything anymore," Beomgyu murmurs, lips tugging into a soft pout. You laugh quietly against his bare chest, your cheek rising and falling with each of his breaths. His arms tighten around you, fingertips tracing slow, lazy circles along your spine. The two of you lie tangled in the warmth of the sheets, skin to skin. He leans down and presses a kiss to your forehead. "Nari. Her first words. Her first steps. All those nights you probably sat up alone…” His voice trails off, and when he speaks again, it’s rougher. “I wasn’t there. And I hate that. I hate that you had to do it all without me.” He looks at you and for a second the world seems to still. "I'm not missing any more of it."

How can someone like him be real?

“Okay.” You smile, and so does he—quiet and shy, the corners of his mouth lifting just enough to show the faintest hint of dimples. You reach out without thinking, your fingers brushing the soft curve of his cheek, then trailing across the tiny freckles scattered like whispers on his skin. “And how are you supposed to do that, hmm?” you murmur, voice barely above a breath. “Live with me? Or—”

“Marry me,” he says, and your hand stills, but he catches it gently, holding it between his own. He brings it to his lips and presses a kiss to your palm, “Will you marry me?”

You can’t breathe. Your heart stumbles in your chest as you search his face for any trace of a smile, any flicker that he might be joking—that he doesn’t really mean it. Beomgyu takes your silence for doubt, so he keeps going. “Of course, I’d have to ask Nari first, and probably beg. I need her approval before anything,” he says with a nervous laugh, eyes flicking to yours.

“You get to choose where we live,” he adds quickly. “Do you want a house near the coast? Somewhere quiet? We could move. We could adopt a dog. Or do you want a flower shop?” He’s painting visions in the air now, “We could also—”

Beomgyu keeps talking. His words are soft, a little rushed. He talks about futures like they’re right there in the middle of his hands, painted in soft colors and quiet mornings. You, him, and Nari. A little house somewhere warm. A dog with floppy ears. A flower shop if you want it. A life that feels full.

You hear him, but your heart is louder.

They say you’re lucky if you find the man of your dreams. But that never felt like something made for you. Not for the boy rambling in front of you, not for your best friend. You look at him; at his eyes, honest and open, at his lips, red and kiss-bitten from how often they’ve met yours. At the way he watches you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered.

And suddenly, it makes sense. It all dawns to you, why you've always find it hard to imagine, to hope, and to wish.

It's all because Beomgyu, is the maker of your dreams.

"Where's my ring?"

You sit at the coffee shop, the cup of coffee in front of you untouched, growing cold. Your fingers keep circling your new ring, turning it absentmindedly, like maybe if you spin it enough, it’ll stop the nerves.

Then the door chimes. Jaehyun walks in, scanning the room, searching, until they land on you; they soften. “Hi,” he says as he slides into the seat across from you. There’s a small pink paper bag in his hands, creased slightly from how tightly he’s holding it. “Thank you for meeting me, Y/N.”

“It’s nothing,” you reply quietly. “I guess it was inevitable… that we’d have to sit down like this.” He nods, gaze drifting to your hand; your ring. A flicker of something passes over his face, but he doesn’t say anything about it.

“I want to be there for Nari,” he says finally. “Time with her. Some kind of custody arrangement. I know it’s late. I know how much time I’ve missed. But I… I regret everything.” His voice trembles, “I’ve spoken to my mom. I’ve thought about this a lot. I don’t expect forgiveness, but let me support her—financially, emotionally. Whatever you’ll allow me to do.”

"Yes." You interrupt gently, before his words spiral too far. "Thank you, Jaehyun. But…" You pause, trying to steady the shake in your voice. “This is going to take time.”

You glance down at on your right, on the windows to the parked car where you know your best friend is waiting, then back at him. “I’ll explain it to her. Slowly. When it feels right. And when she’s ready, we’ll set a day where you can be with her—freely, as her father. Just… not yet. We can’t rush something like this. Not when it’s her heart on the line.”

His shoulders sink just a little as he nods. “I lost my chance,” he says softly, looking at the window, at the same parked car you've been looking at,“With you. With Nari.” It isn’t a question.

He offers a faint smile, and for a second, it looks like he might say more but the words catch somewhere in his throat and never make it out. Instead, he slides the pink bag across the table. “I baked you cookies,” he says. "It doesn't have peanuts on it."

“Nari, be careful!” you call out as your daughter bolts through the front door, laughter echoing off the bare walls of your new home.

Beside you, Beomgyu chuckles, juggling two boxes in his arms. “Careful, sweetheart,” he calls after her, his voice filled with nothing but adoration as he follows you inside.

Your eyes sweep over the space—unfamiliar, but full of promise. It had taken months of gentle convincing, of late-night talks and quiet reassurances from Beomgyu. And now… here you are. Standing in a place that doesn’t feel like home just yet, but might—because he’s here. Because she’s here.

You set your box down on the counter and breathe in slowly, letting the moment settle around you.

A warm hand slides over your back, fingers curling gently at your waist. “You okay, baby?” Beomgyu murmurs, leaning in to press a soft kiss to the side of your face. “Soobin said he stopped to get food.”

You nod, turning slightly to face him. “I want to paint our house,” you say quietly.

Our house.

Beomgyu smiles, eyes crinkling like he’s just heard something sacred. “Then let’s paint it,” he whispers, eyes still on you like you’re the most important thing in the room.

He takes your hand gently, absentmindedly lifting it to his lips. His thumb brushes over your fingers, then lingers on your ring. He kisses it, soft and slow, like it’s second nature now, like loving you in small, wordless ways has become part of who he is.

“We can also have…” he starts, voice trailing off as he imagines out loud, eyes flicking to the blank walls around you. “A wall for Nari’s drawings. Right here, maybe in the hallway. And a shelf for your books. One of those that curves, remember? You showed me a picture of it.” He smiles, that soft boyish grin he only gives when he’s picturing a life with you. “And maybe a corner just for us. A record player. Or a couch we can fall asleep on, when we're tired of chasing Nari around.” He laughs a little, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. “We can fill this place up with us.”

“Daddy!” The word rings out like a bell, and you both freeze. Beomgyu goes completely still beside you, breath caught in his throat. You turn just in time to see Nari bounding down the hallway, a soft, excited smile lighting up her face.

“Do I get my own room now?” she asks, as if she didn’t just change the world with one word. You and Beomgyu look at each other, stunned; eyes wide, not in disbelief, but in something far softer.

It’s the first time. The very first time she’s called him that.

Beomgyu blinks quickly, like he’s trying to make sure he’s not dreaming, like if he moves too fast it might vanish. Then, he drops to his knees and opens his arms. Nari runs into them without hesitation.

He wraps her up tightly, heart thundering, eyes glassy with everything he’s feeling all at once; shock, love, awe. He buries his face into her tiny shoulder and laughs through it, voice thick.

“Of course you get your own room, sweetheart,” he says, pulling back just enough to look at her. “You can have anything. Daddy will give it to you. Anything you want.”

Shit happens. Life happens.

It breaks you in places you didn’t know could crack. It tests you, takes from you, forces you to let go of things before you're ready. Time passes. Plans fall apart, but no matter how far you go, no matter how the story twists, no matter what you've been through, you always end up where you belong to. Always end up with them.

The ties between may fray. Fate may take unexpected turns. You might walk through fire, lose your way, forget who you were before the world touched you, come back with more scars than dreams. But nothing, nothing, not even all the wreckage life leaves behind… can stop two souls that are meant for each other.

The things that the world can’t touch.

It remains the same.

taglist: @heesmiles @lovingbeomgyudayone @virtaideen @hyukascampfire @fancypeacepersona @bamgeutori @lilbrorufr @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @xylatox @yunverie @imlonelydontsendhelp @moagyuu @immelissaaa @readinmidnight @pagelets @wonderstrucktae @boba-beom @nightblythe @hyuckxtagram @hoefororeo @beomgyusluver @feet4liferss @soobinbunnie5 @soohashits @lostgirlysstuff @demidelulu @love-be0m @razsberrie @strawberryshoujosundae @y2kgyu @usuallyunlikelyfox @xi0riae @giegiemon @okkotsuevie @beomkyum @i-am-not-dal @cherr4es @brrytears @yystarz @moonlightgrleric @lumpynoofles @raspberrii @baekberrie

[thestarsaboveme]

Reader thinks the Lads men are cheating with MC

masterlist

­this was a request from a kind anon.

summary: angst with comfort, reader and lads men having a misunderstanding because reader is overthinking that they’re cheating on her with the mc since they always spend time with the mc and spending less time with the reader.

rafayel ver. | zayne ver. | sylus ver. | caleb ver.

xavier x reader | angst/comfort

The city outside buzzed with neon, flickering in rhythmic patterns against your windowpane. But inside, your apartment was too quiet. An oppressive sort of silence that crept into your bones and stayed there.

You stared at your phone. Again.

Nothing.

Not a single message from Xavier. Not today, not last night. Not since two days ago, when he said he had ''missions with MC.''

Again.

Your fingers curled around the device like it could ground you, but the storm inside your chest only worsened.

You weren't the jealous type. At least, you never thought you were. But lately, your thoughts had become poisoned by doubt, each unanswered text and broken plan feeling like another crack in your already fragile peace.

You remembered when things were different. When Xavier's voice was the first thing you heard in the morning. When he'd show up at your door, hair tousled from wind or battle, and kiss your forehead like it was the only place he belonged.

Now, he was always with her. With MC.

It wasn't just about the time. It was the way he talked about her. His partner on missions, someone who ''gets it'' someone he ''clicks with''. Someone who wasn't you.

And the worst part?

You understood. MC was exceptional. Smart, brave, capable. She challenged Xavier in ways maybe you couldn't. They had chemistry in battle, a synchronicity you never quite shared. And deep down, your mind whispered cruel things. That he might have realized she was the one for him.

And you? You were just…a detour.

The thought made your stomach twist. The ache swelled in your chest, and before you knew it, you were typing.

Hey, are you free later? Can we talk?

You stared at the message for a long while before pressing send.

The reply didn't come until dusk.

Of course. On my way now.

He arrived barely twenty minutes later, dressed in that familiar light jacket, blond hair slightly damp from the rain. His eyes softened when he saw you, but you didn't miss the tension beneath the calm exterior. He always saw too much.

''You okay?'' he asked, stepping inside.

You nodded. Then shook your head. ''Not really.''

His gaze narrowed, concern flashing across his face. ''What's wrong?''

You took a breath, trying to steady the tremor in your voice.

''Are you…seeing her?''

His brows furrowed. ''What?''

''MC,'' you said, biting your lower lip. ''Are you cheating on me with her?''

The words sounded awful out loud. Raw and brittle. But there was no taking them back now.

Silence.

He stared at you like you'd just slapped him. His expression was unreadable, but the hurt in his eyes was unmistakable.

''No,'' he said, voice low and deliberate. ''I'm not.''

You looked away, swallowing hard. ''You're always with her. You spend more time with her than with me. You cancel plans, go silent for days. I get it. Missions come first. But it feels like I'm always second.''

His jaw tightened. ''You think I'm cheating on you because I'm doing my job?''

You flinched. ''It's not just that. It's how you talk about her. Like she's… important. Like she gets you in a way I don't.''

He took a step closer, and something in his voice cracked. ''She's my mission partner. That's it.''

''Is it?'' you whispered, eyes shimmering. ''Because it feels like I'm just…here. Like you don't even see me anymore.''

The silence after that was the kind that threatened to break both of you.

Xavier exhaled, long and slow, before sitting down on the couch.

''I didn't know you felt this way,'' he said, his voice quieter now. ''Why didn't you tell me sooner?''

''I didn't want to seem clingy,'' you admitted. ''I didn't want to be that person. But it started eating at me, and every time I tried to bring it up, you were already gone again.''

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped.

''I didn't mean to make you feel this way,'' he said. ''But I won't lie. I've been…avoiding things. Not you. Just everything else. The pressure. The fear. The part of me that knows I can lose you if I screw this up.''

Your eyes widened. ''What?''

He looked up at you, and the raw vulnerability in his eyes hit you like a wave.

''You think I'm pulling away because I don't care,'' he said. ''But the truth is, I've been terrified. I've seen too many people I care about get hurt. MC…she's been through hell. Working with her remind me what's at stake. I thought…maybe if I kept my distance a little, I could protect you from all of that.''

Your chest ached at his words. ''So you were pushing me away to protect me?''

He gave a short bitter laugh. ''Yeah. Stupid, right?''

''No,'' you whispered. ''Just…heartbreaking.''

You moved to sit beside him, slowly, cautiously. He didn't move away.

''I miss you,'' you said softly. ''Not just physically. I miss us.''

His eyes closed, lashes trembling.

''I miss you too,'' he murmured. ''More than you know.''

The silence that followed was heavy. But it felt different now. Like something had shifted.

When he spoke again, it was with a gentleness that made your throat tighten.

''I never cheated on you. I never even thought about it. You are the person I come home to in my mind. Even when I'm not physically here. But I should've shown you more. I should've been here with you.''

You nodded, tears slipping silently down your cheeks. 'I just wanted to be part of your world. Not shut out of it.''

''I'll do better,'' he promised, reaching for your hand. ''No more shutting you out. You deserve all of me. Not just the pieces I think are safe.''

You held his hand tightly, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours, the pulse of something real and fragile between you.

''Just don't go quiet on me,'' you said, voice shaking. ''Even if it's hard. I'd rather fight with you than wonder if I'm losing you.''

He smiled faintly, brushing a thumb against your cheek. ''Then let's fight together. For us.''

And in that moment, under the soft hum of rain and the city's distant glow, the space between you finally began to close.

[deathofacupid]

BEYOND CLOUDS. ᡣ𐭩 content — satoru gojo. depression, poor mental health. hurt + comfort, fluff. requested!

satoru's noticed that look. it starts with a slow blink, your eyes glazing over, as if everything is fading. satoru isn't sure if you even realize it, but you do. that's how it always begins. you grow quieter, like the world's volume is being turned down, replaced by a faint ringing in your ears.

every single time. so, when he sees the energy draining from you, satoru can't bring himself to leave your side. you insist you're fine, but there's that flicker of uncertainty, and that's enough to keep him rooted.

you don't know where it comes from, this feeling. one moment, you're fine. better than fine. you've got the love of your life sitting in front of you, laughing at some silly joke, and then… you're not. suddenly, you're swamped by an overwhelming dread, a weight that drags you down. thinking too much and too little, all at once.

you're curled up on the couch with him, tired. not the kind sleep can fix, and believe you, you've tried. it's the kind that settles deep in your bones, stealing your ability to do anything.

it's quiet. not uncomfortably so, but you wouldn't mind hearing his voice. as if he's reading your mind, he opens his mouth, his hand rubbing gentle circles on your back.

"the weather's nice today," satoru muses.

you give him a look. "you haven't been outside all day. how would you know?"

"well, the weather's always nice when i'm with you," he grins. you think he's trying to be romantic, and you appreciate it. even if it doesn't make much sense. but he's got that giddy look, eyes bright and gleaming, that deep blue you love.

you snort in response. it's enough encouragement for him, enough to keep him talking. "it's true! i feel… sunny," satoru insists, and you indulge him, shaking your head.

"yeah?"

"yeah. you make me feel sunny."

that gets a chuckle out of you, though it's more sarcastic than he intended. "seriously? i'm not a sun. i'm, like, a giant looming raincloud."

"no, you're not. you're a giant looming sun-cloud."

you sigh. you always feel guilty. guilty that satoru's pulled into this mess, your mess. he tells you not to think that way, that he loves you and he's always here. a part of you feels selfish.

you haven't gone through a fraction of what he's endured, and yet, he still fares so much better. so, what right do you have to curl up in a ball, curtains closed, sheets messy, pillows scattered, dishes in the sink unwashed, laundry overflowing?

"sorry," you murmur.

"for?" he asks, genuinely confused. does he really want you to spell it out?

"this. you know. you're supposed to be at school."

"don't apologize," satoru says, dismissing it immediately. you're about to protest, but he cuts you off. "remember when sugu died?" he asks, his voice quiet.

"i was a wreck. you were the only one who saw me like that, at my weakest, when i shouldn't ever be."

"satoru…" you breathe.

"you got me through that, because you love me. how is this any different?"

"well, i didn't lose anyone," you protest, weakly.

"so? hurt is hurt, baby. doesn't matter how you get it."

you fall silent. what can you say? satoru tilts your chin up, his gaze meeting yours. "why don't we go check out the weather, then? see if i'm right?"

and, as you stood in your lawn, squinting up at the vast sky, hand-in-hand with satoru and his goofy grin, you realized he was right.

[captain-huggy-bear]

To Fight a Ten Year Old

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: N/A

Summary: In which Quinn is prepared to time travel to whoop some ten year old butt because you tell him a story from your childhood and he takes it personally.

Notes: Alas, I did in fact experience this as a child, but I can laugh about it now :) Also writing soccer instead of football actually hurt me.

Very silly + short idea to be honest but hope it brings a smile to some faces!

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

It's a stupid little back and forth the two of you have going as you get ready for bed, silly little questions like 'tell me about your first broken bone' and 'why is your favourite animal your favourite?'. It's something Quinn and you have been doing since you first started dating. It started as a way to get to know each other better and ended up a habit, a ritual of sorts.

Each year the questions get harder to think of as your lives become more intertwined, most of your stories featuring the other, but it still raises interesting moments from your childhoods and silly little stories that explain a lot about you or him. Things you probably wouldn't find out about each other unless you asked these random questions or a family member brought it up at Thanksgiving or Christmas.

Today is no different. You're going through your night routine, taking off your make up and moisturising your skin, while Quinn brushes his teeth in the adjoining bathroom, door open so you can talk.

"Okay..." He's thinking hard, even as he talks around his toothbrush leaning his head out of the bathroom to watch you as you wipe away your eyeliner, "How about first heartbreak?" His voice is muffled around the toothbrush and almost sounds like he's underwater, despite this he never seems to want to wait until he's done.

"Like first heartbreak? Or first proper heartbreak?" You're running a cloth over the rest of your face as you ask, wiping away concealer and blush, an array of colours smearing the fabric. Your skin being revealed bit by bit.

"What's the difference?" He briefly disappears back into the bathroom to spit out his toothpaste and put his toothbrush away, but you know he's still listening as you explain.

"Well, first heartbreak is that time as a little kid that you thought you were in love and got hurt by it but it wasn't serious. You were probably over it by the next week, and first proper heartbreak is when you're older and it actually is heartbreak and you can't get over it for at least 3 months."

He hums as he comes back to lean against the doorframe, shoulders looking delicious without a shirt on, "First heartbreak, probably less depressing for a Monday night."

You take a moment, reaching for your moisturiser as you think back. There are many moments you could think of where you thought you were in love as a litte kid and had your heart broken as a result, but one stands out the most.

"Okay, um...When I was 10 years old I really liked like this boy in class called Cameron but Cameron really liked Emily, a girl 2 years older than us." You can still remember it now, the way he used to sit with her whenever he had the chance, how she clearly did not want a kid 2 years younger than her hanging around, how lovesick he was...how lovesick you were.

"Okay, so Cameron likes a cougar?" You glare over at him as you rub moisturiser into your skin, disapproving as he grins at you, straight teeth peeking out from behind his lips.

"2 years apart at the age of 10 and 12 does not make someone a cougar, Quinn!"

"I don't know, baby, seems pretty cougar-ish to me." You roll your eyes at him as he strolls closer to you, taking your comb in hand and tilting your head forward gently. He's careful as he starts to detangle your hair, careful not to pull too harshly on your scalp, much kinder than your mother used to be when you were a child. Quinn's always careful not to hurt you, apologetic if a tangle pulls too roughly.

"You're ridiculous. Anyway, where was I?" You reach for the detangler handing it back to him as he works, closing your eyes gently.

"You liked a spotty kid called Cameron." There's a hint of dislike riding his voice, even as his fingers are careful as they pull strands of your hair apart, teasing out knots.

Your eyes flash open and meet his in the vanity mirror, lips pursed at the way he insults a ten year old he's never met, "I liked a tall, cute kid called Cameron who was into soccer."

"Yeah, like I said, spotty." The dislike turns to a jealous sort of mumble, matched only by the sour look on his face that has you huffing out a laugh.

"Are you jealous of a ten year old?"

"He's not ten anymore..."

"Do I need to remind you this is a story of heartbreak?"

"Still, should've been me." His hands slide from your hair, comb having been put back on the side, and down to the base of your neck. Long fingers working at the tension there, you lean back into his fingers even as you call him out for his ridiculousness.

"We didn't even know each other! You're absurd, anyway, so I was certain Cameron was my future husband and I decided to be very brave one Valentine's day and get him a card and a gift." You lean a little to the right as Quinn hits a knot on the left side of your shoulder, you sway back into him.

"I'm proud of little you, that's gutsy." He can almost imagine it, little you bravely handing over a glittery red and pink monstrosity, little bows in your hair and chubby cheeks.

"I know, braver than I am now." You're not sure you'd have been brave enough to do something like that now, it had been Quinn after all who'd made the first move, Quinn who'd set the pace of your relationship at the start, "So I get him some chocolates, those stupid cheap heart shaped ones, and I make a stupid card covered in glitter and all sorts. I take my time and I write a heartfelt confession inside and then decided to give it to him in front of the entire class."

"No..." His voice drops, horror filling it as he looks at you through the mirror, mouth slightly open, eyes wide. You nod at him, confirming his worst fears, he knows how this is about to go down.

"Yeah, rookie move. I do it though, I hand it over and then he proceeds to not even read the card and um, rip it up in front of me and the entire class while telling me that he was going to marry Emily."

His fingers still in their massage. In fact, Quinn completely stills, his entire body rigid as he frowns at you through the mirror, there's a silence, long and heavy before he speaks.

"Where does Cameron live?"

"Quinn." You turn in your seat to look up at him, lips pursed together.

"I'm serious where does he live I'm going to go have some words with him," He crosses his arms and there's a brief moment where you're distracted by the strength and definition in his forearms before you really process that he's considering having words with a guy who broke your heart when you were ten.

"About his choices when he was ten?"

"Yeah! Who does that to someone, not only did he reject you, which is an insane decision by the way, he embarrasses my baby in front of the entire class!" Quinn reaches for your hands as he rants, pulling you to your feet, as his fingers twist and twine with yours. You'd think he's just joking but his tone is completely serious and it makes your heart warm, no matter how silly he's being. He's genuinely personally offended on your behalf about something that happened when you were a child, before you knew each other. It's sweet. Silly and absurd, but sweet.

"You can't fight a guy who broke my heart at the age of ten."

"Sure, I can or I can get Millsy to do it." He cracks a smile at that, even though he's serious about wanting words with this Cameron, he's also aware he's being absurd. He tugs you closer by the hands even as you glare up at him like a disappointed parent.

"You are not setting Miller on my childhood crush!"

"Why not?"

"Because it's ridiculous! It was over a decade ago!" Even as you protest you're smiling, arms reaching up to rest over his shoulders and around the back of his neck. Fingers twisting the strands of brunet hair that rest there.

"And, he broke your heart and that's not acceptable, baby, i'm sorry, I have to defend your honour." Quinn palms rest on each of your hips, pulling you in as his fingers curl into your pajama bottoms.

"But, it was a good thing."

"How is that a good thing?"

"Because if he hadn't done that, I might have married him and been stuck in a loveless marriage and then never met you or met you but not been able to be with you." You look at him with a little smirk like you've beat him at his own game, like you've outplayed him in a game of chess.

"So you're saying that I actually should be thanking that spotty kid for breaking your heart?"

"Yes."

There's a moment of silence as he draws you ever closer, leaning down to brush his nose against yours, all soft lidded eyes and warmth. Pliant like a docile house cat.

"I'm not thanking him, I will, however, not get Millsy to fight him." It's mumbled so close to your lips that they're brushing his, an almost kiss that speaks volumes about where his mind is now.

"Good, because I'm not breaking you or Miller out of prison."

"You don't love me enough?" He doesn't even have the decency to pretend to be offended or care as his eyes are heavy, focus on your lips, not your eyes and certainly not on the ten year old he was threatening to set Miller on 5 seconds ago.

"Oh, I love you enough, but I do not have that skill set, honey."

"I don't know, think you could probably charm the officers into letting me out, baby." Quinn brushes the tip of his nose purposefully with yours and you know he's seconds from breaking and just kissing you, he has his tells, his little gestures that have consistently given him away.

"You suggesting I seduce the police now?" You pull back just enough to get his attention, to force a pout from him at the distance, his fingers scrambling at your back to pull you back in.

"...Nawwh, only me."

"You're an idiot." He pulls in you in with enough force that your chests bump with a soft smack, rubbing his cheek against yours just because he knows the stratch of his beard will get a giggle from you as you shy away from the sensation.

"I'm your idiot though."

"Mmm, my idiot." You mumble it against his lips as he finally breaks, self control being ditched in favour of the way you sigh against his mouth. He tastes like spearmint toothpaste, minty and sweet as his lips part beneath yours with a hum.

Maybe heartbreak at ten sucked, but you can't help but be thankful for it when you ended up winning the jackpot when you scored Quinn. So much better than spotty ten year old Cameron.

[arbitrarykiwi]

Hiiii I was wondering if you had any thoughts about mean nam gyu :3 holding your head down into the pillows and plowing you from behind even when you cry!!! And like trying to reach behind you to slow him down and he just grabs your arm 😵‍💫 sheesh I just know he can fuck someone through the mf mattresss I’m like going insane

You Can Take It

do I have any thoughts about mean namgyu??? OH BOY DO I!!!! Lemme tell you when I got this request I was jumping for JOY!!! I could not stop thinking about it. I just know, I FEEL IT IN MY SOULLLLL, that this man could fuck you dumb into the mattress EASY!! He definitely also has a huge thing for fucking you until you cry

Warnings: smut (18+), in the squid games, rough sex, fucked dumb!Reader, exhibitionism (fucks you in the main room) choking, spitting, oral (m and f recieving), deepthroating, name calling (slut/whore), dirty talking, dacryphilia (he fucks you till you’re crying), read at your own risk

You found yourself pulled into a group with Thanos, Nam-gyu, Semi, and Min-su. It wasn’t really your idea, you remember after the first game, and after you voted to continue playing, Nam-gyu had approached you.

Well approached isn’t very fitting. He had grabbed your wrist as you were passing by, pulling you back to him. He simply said, “You’re sticking with me. You’re mine.” And you weirdly agreed.

You hung around him and the rest of the group from then on out. He was super touchy- always wanting to be near you but…he was also mean. He would scoff at anything you said. Try to argue with you over the smallest things. But then he would ruffle your hair, rub his thumb against your cheek to calm you down after the second game. It was weird. But hey, you needed all the people in your corner you could get.

During the game of Mingle, after multiple rounds and the players getting increasingly frantic as tensions rise, the group number was 3. When Thanos grabbed Min-su and Nam-gyu into his side you were sure you were going to die.

You were pulled away by a stray group of two men, rushing you to a door. You never got to see how Nam-gyu was fighting out of Thanos’ grasp to try and team up with you.

When the game was said and done you found yourself hurrying back to the purple hair you caught in the crowd- because where Thanos was, Nam-gyu would also be. After the game all you found yourself wanting was to be near him. It was weird. You figure the trauma of this hellhole made you bond to him in some odd way.

He was colder than usual, he allowed you to be near him, to lean on him. It was embarrassing, really. All you wanted was some sort of comfort or attention, a hand on your shoulder or even a him ruffling your hair like he normally did…but nothing.

So eventually when lights out came around, you made your way to your bunk. You sat down on the edge of it, looking down at the concrete and your white shoes- well used to be white now they are a sick red color. Dried blood. You stand up and begin kick off your shoes, stretching once done to try and ease the ache in your bones.

You straighten up when footsteps approach. The lights dim but you can make out the bold white ‘124’ of the jacket patch. “Nam-gyu?!” You ask in a whisper, surprised.

“You really are dumb aren’t you?” He growls, taking steps closer to you. His gaze is dark, angry. It’s also mixed with something you can’t pin point. Your face turns into a scowl, moving to back up with each step he takes towards you. “I’m not dumb.” You retort, “What the fuck are you even on about??” You say in a hushed voice.

“That stunt you pulled at the game today.” He says through clenched teeth, backing you against your bed, the back’s of your knees hitting the sides of the metal frame, nearly making you fall down. “What part of sticking with me do you not understand?” He growls, his face a few inches from yours.

Before you can even think to move one of his hands grabs your face in a bruising grip. It hurts, you’re sure he could break your jaw if he wanted to. You suck in a shaky breath, he’s so close, the metal of his rings sting your skin in an ice cold bite, was he always this hot?

What the fuck are you thinking??

You shake your head of the thought and furrow your eyebrows, realizing what he meant. “It was 3 to a room. You and Thanos had Min-su.” You hiss out, “I was also grabbed- pulled away. I wasn’t about to fight it and get myself fucking shot.” You growl out, was he really that serious?!

Ever since you he pulled you into their odd group he wasn’t the friendliest to you. It was weird, he was oddly protective but he would only ever scoff or mock anything you said. Sure he said ‘you’re sticking with me, you’re mine’, but with how he treats you, like you’re an annoyance for joining the group- why the fuck would he care if you went another group during Mingle.

“I told you…” he growls out in a low hushed rumble, tilting his head to look at you better. In the light that seeps through the windows of the doors at the front of the room you can see him taking in every bit of your face, his lower lip caught in his teeth as he breaths in a breath. “…to stay with me. ‘N I would have thought you were smarter, could follow directions…” he whispers, coming closer so as he speaks his lips brush against yours.

You chock it up to the days of carnage around you changing you into a different person- because you have no idea why you’re not slapping him, you didn’t usually take shit like this and you’ve gotten into plenty of fights, you could fight him off. But you don’t.

Instead you find yourself feeling so very hot, a warmth beginning to blossom deep inside you; a feeling you know all too well. To say you’re a little ashamed is an understatement…but fuck, you might die tomorrow. That thought of death looming over your shoulder throws most of your dignity out the window. And you succumb to the delicious feeling in your lower stomach that you’ve been trying to fight.

“That being said I came to teach you a lesson.” He says, pulling back from you the slightest bit to look down at your lips- admiring how they’re slightly parted, allowing him to feel your shuddering breath against his skin. “I don’t like sharing what’s mine…and I’d say I’d made a good claim on you, told you, you were mine from the get go, yes?” He hisses in a hushed tone through his teeth. The tone of his voice, one you have never heard when you were around him before. It’s deeper, rougher, desperate even.

It has you speechless, thighs squeezing together without you even thinking about it. When you don’t respond his hand connects with your cheek. It’s not hard, it’s quick and sharp, a light sting to get you to focus. And as fast as his hand connects with the flesh of your cheek, it’s back to jaw in the same bruising grip as before.

“Y-yes you did.” You choke out, and he grins in response. “Thaatssss riiighhttt.” He draws out in a heinous, mocking tone. “So I think ‘s only fair that I teach you a lesson on how to properly fucking listen right?” His smile widens, his hand not on your jaw comes to settle on your lower back, pulling you against him.

You only bite your lip and nod, your hands grounding yourself on his chest. “Good.” He laughs, and then he’s on you in an instant. His lips collide with yours in a rushed, nearly frenzied motion. It’s involuntary, but you whine into the kiss.

His hand drops from your jaw, both hands moving under your jacket and shirt to grab at your waist. His hands were warm against your cold skin. You could feel the multiple silver rings, the metal nipping coldly at your skin.

He was unforgiving to say the least, the kiss had you incredibly hot. His tongue snaked its way into your mouth expertly, tasting all your mouth had to offer. You don’t even realize one of his hands has removed itself from your hip and has attached itself to your throat.

It’s a rough grip, enough to make you let out a choked gasp, eyes shooting open as he pulls away from the kiss. He can see the way your pupils are dilated from the way the dim light catches your eyes. He scoffs, “So pathetic…you enjoy this. You’ve been wanting this haven’t you?”

You open your mouth to speak but he interrupts, his other hand gliding across your waist and moving down your stomach, fingers dancing along the waistband of your sweatpants. “Mhm…” he lets out in a low growl, fingers untying the knot of your sweatpants strings.

“‘S all you needed, someone to set you straight. Probably so worked up because no one’s fucked you like the whore you really are…” his grin widens, his eyes never leaving yours, his hand on your neck squeezing; the other hand is dipping under the material of your track suit sweats and under your panties.

His hand splays across your pubic bone before running his long slender fingers through your folds. His eyes widen when he feels just how wet you already are. “Yeahhh….” He drawls out, almost in a hushed coo, “‘S exactly what you need, ain’t it?” His fingers rub against your entrance, playing with your folds for a couple seconds before gliding his fingers up and against your clit as he draws his fingers out of your pants.

He pulls his fingers up in front of your face, spreading them out so you can see your arousal web between your fingers in thick, sticky strings. You let out a strangled moan, it’s a silently sound due to the pressure on your neck.

He chuckles softly, bringing his fingers up to your open mouth and shoving them against your tongue- forcing you to taste yourself. Your lips instinctively wrap around his ringed fingers, sucking the digits into his mouth, tongue swirling around to clean his fingers off.

He hums in approval, “Trying to win me over, huh, sweet thing? Tryna be good…” he laughs, his fingers shoving themselves further down your throat. You gag around them, making him let out a low moan. “But it doesn’t work like that…no….you still have to be punished sweetheart….needa show you that I meant it when I said you are mine.” He rasps, a hungry, lustful look in his eye.

In a second he’s pulling his fingers from your mount and picking you up, tossing you onto the bed. He’s onto of you in a second, straddling over your form. His hand presses against your throat, just admiring how his hand look against you. It trails down your sternum, over the swell of your breast before gripping at it harshly through the material of your shirt and bra.

It has you arching up into him, a soft moan falling from your lips as a plea for more. He’s lifting his hand, grabbing the hem of your shirt and bunching it up, lifting it up above your bra. He sits back on your thighs, looking down to admire you.

“Prettiest set of tits I’ve ever seen..” he growls, hand not holding your shirt up working to pull down your bra. When your tits are out on full display he sucks in a breath, head diving down to capture a nipple into his mouth. He’s biting and sucking relentlessly, his other hand on your other breast kneading the flesh in his large hands.

It was a while since you felt any sort of attention like this and with the situation you’ve been stuck in the past couple days, it’s like an itch that’s finally being scratched. It’s like a massive weight has been lifted off your shoulders. You let out a large sigh, arching into him.

Your hands come up to entangle in his hair, trying to press him even further into him. His teeth and tongue are relentless, lathing over your hard nipple and working around suck bright red marks into your skin.

He pulls back with a wet ‘pop’, smiling down at you with the same wicked grin he’s had since this whole thing started. Like only he knows just how truly ruing you were about to be.

“I’m going to fucking ruin you…” he says scoffing down at you. “Going to fuck you dumb so all you remember is my god damn name.” He growls. Suddenly he’s moving off of you settling at the foot of your bed, kneeling, and as he moves he’s pulling you up into a kneeling position to mirror him.

“But can’t fuck you right now…” he growls, hands gripping your face, squishing your cheeks together. “No… that would be a reward not a punishment…” he chuckles, his hands drop to push down on your shoulders. You know what he’s trying to insinuate, you comply, sinking down onto all fours, facing towards him so his hard, clothed cock is directly in front of your face.

You look up to him, the look in your eyes making him laugh in a low, degrading tone. He’s gripping the back of your head and pressing your face into his erection. It’s filthy. He’s smushing your cheek against his cock, rubbing it up and down, the fabric of his pants feeling abrasive against your cheek.

“Just needed someone to set ya straight….no one’s ever put you in your place.” He hums down at you, you’re looking up at him with an angry glare but you’re not pulling away. “Awh…what’s that look for?” He laughs, “you’re jus’ provin’ my point sweetheart, you’re nothing but a brat who needs the attitude fucked out of ‘er.”

He’s pulling your head back far enough for him to grip at his pants and underwear pulling them down. His cock springs out, falling against your face with a hearty ‘plap’. You can’t help the gasp that you let out, both feeling it and seeing it for the first time.

His hand moves to the top of your head as he holds you still, his other hand on your cheek, using thumb to hold his cock on your face. He’s thrusting back and forth, dragging his thick length along your face. You hate that it makes you all the more hotter. You can feel the way your panties stick uncomfortably to your cunt, your arousal surly begging to soak through your track suit pants.

Yet you still look up at him with the same defiant expression, like you hated him. But he knew you didn’t. “Keep that expression, girlie. Just makes me harder.” He growls pulling his hips back. His hand that’s not holding your head grips the base of his dick, rubbing the leaking red tip over your lips. “Actin’ so mean and angry when you’re just achin’ to suck my cock ain’t ya?” And in response, you part your lips.

“Heh…yeah you are.” He muses lowly, pushing the head of his cock into your warm lips. He removes his hand from the base of his cock, grabbing the hem of his shirt in his hands and pulling it up out of the way. You keep staring up at him, watching as his head throws back and his chest heaves as he draws in a large breath.

He pushes his cock deeper, letting out a low groan as he draws his hips back the smallest bit to only sink back into the heaven that is your mouth. Your tongue flattens out, taking more of him in, relishing in the taste of him on your tongue. His hand that rests on the top of your head wastes no time to push you down the length of his cock. You let out a choked sound of surprise that only makes him laugh.

“You really thought I was gonna go easy on you? Are you that dumb?” He scolds, grinning down at you wickedly, your eyebrows furrow at his words, letting our muffled sounds of protest as you look up at him with a scowl- or the best one you can make with his cock shoved in your mouth. “Yeaaahhh…” he drawls out, “keep looking at me just like that…” he continues through gritted teeth as he pushes his cock further into your mouth, the bulbous tip beginning to press at the back of your throat.

You let out a muffled gag around his cock, the movement of your throat only allowing him to sink further in. Yet, he realizes your hands are still by your side- you’re not even bracing against him or trying to jerk off the length that’s not in your mouth.

“Ahh look at that. Maybe you are good for something if you can’t listen. Good fucking cock sucker ain’t ya?” He laughs, rocking his hips a couple times before pushing the back of your head hard- sinking your mouth all the way to the base of his cock, your nose pressed against his pelvic bone.

You gag around him, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth, your eyes screwing shut. His hand that’s not on your head comes in contact with your cheek in a few quick, sharp, taps. “Oh no, open your fucking eyes and look at me.” He orders. You obey, your eyes opening, glaring at him from tear soaked lashes.

He tilts his head, beginning to pull you up and down his cock, making sure every time he sinks into your mouth, he’s sinking balls deep. His heavy balls hit against your chin with every thrust. “That’s it, looking at me so angry when you’re gladly taking my cock down your throat” He mocks, pushing you down so your nose brushes the dark hairs that surround his cock. You choke around him, muffled gags of protest just causing more spit to bubble up and escape your mouth.

He pulls you completely off of him, you’re turning away and coughing, spitting, using the back of your hand to wipe your mouth. His hand in your hair roughly jerks your head back to look at him. “Did I say you can get clean? You really don’t know how to fuckin’ listen.” He growls, before you can react, he’s spit directly on your face and shoved you back down on his cock.

You moan out around his cock, it pains you how much being used like this turns you on, but fuck does it feel so good. When you look up at him this time, your eyebrows aren’t furrowed in anger- but upturned in a desperate look as if you wanted to do nothing but please him.

“Thaatss it..” he growls, his words slurred, eyes trained on you as he fucks his dick impossibly deeper into your tight throat. “You just like being’ used, fucking slut.” He says chucking, pressing your face all the way to the base of his dick to make you choke again. “Say it, say you like it.” He says lowly, drawing his cock put your throat ever so slightly.

With watery eyes you try to speak around his cock, responding with an ‘I like it.’ But it just comes out as garbled chokes, the words hardly able to be made out but it’s exactly what he wanted. “Yeahhh you do, fucking bitch.” He says, thrusting his cock in and out of your throat in a brutal pace.

And you just take it. You can feel your cunt dripping in your pants, the sticky arousal that weeps out of you coating your inner thighs.

You’re sure the other players around you can hear the debauched, wet, sloppy sounds you were making as you suck his cock, taking him in so greedily despite the tears welling up in your eyes and the lack of breath available to you that his cock in your throat causes.

He reaches the hand that’s not in your hair down to cup your jaw, chuckling darkly has he hooks his thumb in the corner of your mouth. It makes you so embarrassed. It causes even more drool to slip out of your mouth and your mouth to ache even more than it does. “See, now you’re not looking up at me all pissy, just needed a cock in your throat to calm ya down.” He laughs, shaking your head side to side on his cock by the thumb that’s hooked into your cheek.

You whine out around his cock, your drool beginning to cover your shirt, the white fabric becoming visibly darker and beginning to stick to your skin. He pulls his thick length out of your throat, a large amount of bubbly spit being pulled away with it. You gasp, catching your breath.

“Bet you’re fucking soaked you slut. I just know choking on some cock gets ya’ all nice n’ sloppy.” You bite your lip and whine silently, you don’t want to agree but you know it’s true. Your panties are stuck so uncomfortably to your cunt, your arousal now soaking through your track suit completely- leaving a dark wet patch all over the crotch and inner thighs of the fabric.

He’s quickly turning you back around away from him and pushing you to all fours once again, his hand is pressing on your back forcing you into an arch. You can feel his hand run up your spine and grip at your hair.

Your face is shoved into the mattress, it’s rough, causing you to fall over with a choked whine ripping through your throat. He’s leaning over you, his thick cock grinding itself up and down the valley of your ass, his head right next to your ear. “I knew a whore like you would love to be manhandled, isn’t that right?” His words are a mocking, almost evil titter, hissing into your ear as his hips rock against your ass.

You’re infinitely glad that your bunk was one in the far corner of the large room, the shadows of the other bunks and the dark room shrouding what you know was surely about to happen. You know you’re horrible for even thinking this- but you’re also thankful that the many bunks around you weren’t all full, a large number of the people who used to surround you were killed off by the second game.

And he knew that. When lights out came, and he knew he had to teach you a lesson. He took his opportunity.

He’s hovering behind you, his hands running down your back, to your waist, and then your ass. His hands quickly move back up to the waistband of the tracksuit and pulling the material down your legs to be bunched around your ankles.

You try to turn your head to look at him but his grip on your hair tightens, it’s relentless and mean- you’re sure some strands of hair were ripped out. But it only causes your cunt to weep desperately, arousal only beading and dropping in thick, gooey strings onto the sheets.

“Nuh-uh..” he growls “you’re not calling the shots here.” He emphasizes his words has his hand pushes you deeper into the plush pillows. “You’re going to sit there, like the compliant slut you are. N’ you’re gonna let me use this sweet cunt, isn’t that right?”

The fingers on his other hand that wasn’t in your hair run softly over your ass, it’s a strange soothing motion. As his hand runs lower though, it’s soon apparent that the feather light, almost delicate motion was just to throw you off. His hand comes in contact with your pussy, giving it a hard slap.

You cry out, body jerking forward. His palm grinds into your clit, a delicious pleasure awarded after the sharp sting of the slap. “Fucking answer me.” He growls, his hand that’s manipulating your face to pull it out of the pillows some, allowing you to look at him.

“Y-yes, mhmm.” You whine out desperately, your head trying its best to nod despite his hold on your scalp. He lets out a low chuckle, feeling your hips push back into his hand. He got you exactly how he wants you. No more of that bratty attitude. No more talking back to him.

“No fuckin’ shame…just desperate to be touched” he chuckles out, sitting back up, his hand pulls back from your pussy, sticky ropes of your arousal stringing his hand to your cunt. “Haven’t even done anything and you’re drenched. That’s how much of a slut you are? Hm? Just so needy for some cock.” He mocks, his fingers running through your folds.

He’s simply addicted to the sight of your swollen cunt, desperate to take whatever he gives and just continuously spilling milky white arousal. The sheets below you are stained a darker color, a pool of evidence doing nothing to help your case.

You can only whine, “P-please, p-please.” You chant out and he only laughs. “You poor thing..” he chides, sitting up and leaning over you to smile wickedly at you. “You want it bad? Huh, sweet thing.” He says, his voice oddly softer, his hand gently brushing your hair back out of your face.

He looks at you tenderly, mirroring your pout. You nod, tears starting to build up in your lashes having been needing him inside you for so long. “Mhmm.” You hum out, rocking your hips against his palm that cups your pussy. “Want it so bad… wan’ you.” You mumbled out, looking up at him like some kind of doe eyed prey.

“Should have thought about that before you decided to be a fucking bitch.” And the wicked grin is back, he’s going to take his time with you.

His hands grip at the globes of your ass, letting out a low growl. He pushes forward, spreading you open nice and wide for him. You can’t help but to shiver when the cold air of the room hits your pussy. It’s embarrassing, you can’t see him but you know he’s just staring at your weeping hole.

“Such a cute lil’ pussy…” he hums out, making sure you can hear his words. Two of his fingers run up and down your cunt, lightly petting at your clit. You bite your lip, a muffled ‘mhmm’ coming out of your mouth as you feel his fingers touch exactly where you needed him.

“Doesn’t take much to get you dripping does it?” He says with a laugh. “Just running my fingers over your clit and being mean to you..” he says, pausing to spread his two fingers, moving your lips aside to show your clit fully. “..makes your little cunt cry f’me…” he says watching with a trained eye as a new thick, white drop of your arousal pushes out your entrants and runs down, collecting on your clit.

He hunches back over your arched form so his mouth is right by your ear. “How filthy can you be? I mean really, letting me use you like this…here? Sobering all over my cock and whining like a bitch in heat when my fingers are touching your pussy…do you not have any shame?” He rambles in a low gravely tone as his fingers just play with your puffy cunt.

It’s feather light touches that have you gripping the pillow and trying to push your hips back into his fingers for more. He just laughs at your desperation, pulling his hand back and siting back up so he can have a perfect look at you.

His hand pulls back from your sopping heat and he spreads his fingers, admiring how messy his hand already is. His palm and fingers glisten with your arousal, a wet shine that has his cock pulsating angrily in his pants. He wants nothing more than to sink balls deep in your tight cunt- but that’s what you want, and he can’t give you what you want.

He spreads you open, his hands gripping harshly at your ass, spreading you wide so he can truly see the mess he’s made of you. The stretch causes your back to arch, pushing your hips back towards him, calling out a weak cry of his name.

One of his fingers stretches to circle around your tight hole. It’s a light touch that has you shivering. It’s not nearly enough to drive you to the release that you desperately needed. His eyes are fixated on your pussy, fingers dancing along your entrance, watching as you clench and spasm around nothing.

“If I knew this is all you needed to set you straight…” he mumbles, a single finger pushes into your wet cunt, a moan is ripped from your lips as you finally get what you needed most. “…I woulda done this the first day here. Made sure you knew who you belonged to.” He rasps, his single finger beginning to pump in and out of you.

He’s entranced by the way his finger disappears in your tight heat to be pulled out covered in your milky white arousal. When he pushes his finger back in, feeling your tight walls suck him in, gushing even more syrupy wetness out, his tongue is licking at his lips.

“So tight..” he mumbles, his hand that’s nod busy fucking you still holding your ass, fingers clawing into your flesh to keep you spread open for him. “How are you even going to take my cock, pretty girl? Gonna have to get you ready, hm?” He coos at you as another finger begins to push into your entrance.

The stretch of his two fingers is enough to have you moaning out a choked call of his name. His fingers move expertly in you, scissoring themselves and working you open. You’re gushing around his hand, covering his pale fingers and knuckles with your wetness. It makes every thrust of his fingers into your cunt a noisy, sloppy wet sound resonates. Anytime his fingers slam back into you, another sob is wracked through your body.

His fingers spread themselves, opening your hole up to him. You can only whine and hide your head in the pillows, you don’t think you’ve ever been this vulnerable and for some reason you’re allowing it to happen at the worst time and in the worst place. You can hear a low, gravely rumble come from his throat when he watches your pink cunt gape around his fingers, entranced at the way he can see your cunt try to clench around his fingers that hold you open for him. He leans in and you feel like you’ve been electrocuted when his tongue dives deep into your pussy between his spread fingers, licking around your walls like he’s already addicted to the saccharine taste of your cunt.

He pulls back with an obnoxious slurp that has you whining in embarrassment. He sits there for a moment, basking in the taste of you on his tongue. And you’re fucked, because he thinks it’s better than any high he’s had. No drug rush could compare to the euphoria the taste of your cunt gave him.

He’s on you in an instant, mouth engulfing your cunt and sucking your clit into his warm mouth. It’s filthy. His nose is pushed into your entrance, rubbing into you and sniffing like a dog. When he releases your clit, his is tongue laps at you in large encompassing licks, you can tell it’s not for you but for him. It’s like he’s drunk off your arousal. Every loud, obscene slurp and shake of his head has you crying out, your hips circling back onto his face.

You can tell he’s truly just eating you for the sake of tasting you, teasing you relentlessly by never running directly over your clit. He’s around it, tip of his tongue just millimeters away from when you needed it most but he never gave you that sweet release. Every bit of arousal that spills from your abused cunt is swallowed greedily by him.

You shake and writhe against him, fingers tearing into the bedsheets as you try to catch your breath. But he never lets you, so just have to sit there and choke out sob after sob as he slurps at your pussy.

When he pulls away you cry out, trying to push your hips back, seeking out the solace that was his tongue. He’s standing back up and placing his hefty cock against your ass, still wet with your spit from taking him down your throat it allows him to slide easily between your ass cheeks. He’s humming to himself, the image of your perfect ass underneath his aching cock. The plush of your ass squeezing against the side of his length as he rocks against you.

“You gonna stick with me from now on, sweetheart. Gonna fuckin’ listen?” He says, his voice softer than usual. You can hardly form a coherent thought let alone string together an answer. You nod your head dumbly. He growls, his hand connecting with your ass in a painful smack, hard enough to imprint his hand into your flesh, the skin becoming red and raised. You keel over moaning out a broken sound that was probably his name- it was so shaky and wrecked you couldn’t tell.

“Use your words. C’mon now I haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re already acting like a dumb whore.” He says in a low rasp, hand smoothing over the area that’s raised in the shape of his palm. “Y-yes I will…” you sob out, pushing back against him. “‘M yours!” You whimper, turning to look back at him.

He raises an amused eyebrow, “ohhhhh….” He says in a sweet coo, gripping your ass roughly with both hands, “That’s it, didn’t even have to ask you to say it…good fucking girl….”

He’s suddenly drawing his hips back and lining up with your dripping hole. He’s pushing in without any restraint, bulling his fat cock into your cunt until he’s balls deep. You’re sobbing out into the pillow, it doing little to muffle your wrecked sounds. He’s so fucking big it feels like you’re being split in half. You feel him so deep inside you, you feel like he’s going to permanently etch the shape of his cock into your walls.

His head is thrown back, his hands gripping into the plush of your ass, nails breaking skin. The heaven that is your tight cunt granted him just what he needed to get him through these games. You’re so wet and so warm and you’re squeezing him So. Fucking. Tight.

“Knew this sloppy cunt would be perfect f’me.” He hisses as he begins to slowly draw his hips back. The drag you feel when his thick length pulls out of you is intense, it has you nearly sobbing into the pillow below you.

And just when you think you’ve adjusted to the violent stretch that he imposes on your cunt, his hips begin to pound into you. You’re surging forward, biting your lip so hard you’re sure you’re drawing blood as you try to keep quiet. It’s useless though, the wet sounds of skin slapping on skin and the thick smell of sex is enough to give you two away regardless of the noise you make.

He’s fucking brutal. Both hands are releasing your ass and moving up to your head, his thumbs are overlapping each other while his other fingers tangle into your hair. He’s shoving your face, hard, into the thin pillow of your bunk, every sharp thrust of his cock deep into your swollen cunt has you surging forward on the bed. You can’t even move, not one bit, the two hands on the back of your head pushing you down so hard you can’t even twist your head. All you can do is sit there and take it.

Your cunt is gushing around him, every thrust of his hips sound off a wet sloshing sound. “Making a mess out of my cock you filthy fuckin’ thing.” He growls, positioning his hips into you at a pace that has you seeing stars. Every time his balls slap against your clit, pushing his thick cock deep into your tight walls, the tip of his cock pounds against your cervix. “Can you hear your sloppy cunt?” He muses into your ear, his hips drawing out slowly and jackhammering back into you in long, deep thrusts, making sure you hear every wet squelch of your pussy.

It’s a punishing force that makes you begin to sob out, your hips driving back to meet his thrusts pathetically as tears begin to well in your eyes. His hand pulls your head off the pillow the slightest bit, using your hair to yank your head to the side- shoving your head back down into the pillows with a harsh movement of his hand when he maneuvers your face where he wants it.

When he sees your face streaked with tears and your lashes clumped in wet bunches a wicked and sadistic grin creeps across his face. “Oh!? You fuckin’ cryin’?” He laughs, his thrusts becoming even harder, the wet slap of his pelvis against your ass becoming so rough it nearly stings every time he connects against your ass. “What happened? Thought you could take it. You’re a big girl aren’t you?” He mocks.

You can’t even speak to respond, you’re quite literally being fucked dumb. All you can do is cry and take it. It felt so fucking good but it was too much. His hands still at the back of your head, fingers gripped tightly to your hair and using it to drag you back into him, it leaves you no where to run.

You reach back behind you, your hand trying to push at his torso, crying out a choked moan, “H-holy fuck! P-please ‘s too much.” You beg your hand desperately pushing against his stomach, though it does absolutely nothing to stop the relentless jackhammering of his hips. He just scoffs, adjusting himself quickly, his hands grabbing both your wrists and crossing your arms behind your back.

“Nuh-uh you’re not running away from me, you’re going to fucking take it.” He growls. He’s able to hold both your arms behind your back with one of his large hands, his grip was definitely going to leave purple and blue hues on your skin. His other hand is back on your head, grabbing a fist full of your hair and hauling you upright- your back flush with his chest, “Gonna. Take. Every. Fuckin’. Inch.” His words are punctuated by long, deep strokes up into your cunt that split you open. When he finishes his sentence he stills balls deep inside you, grinding his cock into your cunt.

Tears soaked your face, your eyes were red and puffy, and raw pussy was still being abused by his thick length that grinds slowly in you. You let out a sob, your face turning to the side to try and look back at the absolute beast of a man that was fucking you dumb. His hand releases your hair, coming up to latch onto your throat.

He hooks his chin over your shoulder so he can look at your face, when he sees your tear stained faze, drool covered lips and hears the pathetic breathy whines that flip between ‘too much’ and ‘harder’, he lets out a deep moan that makes your body shake against him. “You look so pretty cryin’ f’me.” He muses, the hand on your neck trailing up your jaw so two of his thick fingers could push themselves into your mouth.

He presses his fingers deep into your mouth, pressing on your tongue and holding your jaw open. Drool just pours out of your mouth, dirtying the white shirt you still had on even further. It was sticking to your skin, the warm, wet damn fabric becoming see through as you keep messily babbling around his fingers.

“Just taking whatever I give you,” he hums happily at your debauched state, “Messy fuckin’ girl, you just love getting fucked dumb by me don’t you?”

Your eyebrows are upturned and you nod in response as you try to thrust your hips back to get him to begin pounding into you again. “You think you deserve to cum?” He’s mocks, his hips slowly driving up into you in short thrusts. He finally removes his hand from your mouth for you to respond. You look at him, your eyes desperate, “F-fuck yes…please. I need to-“ you choke out a whine when he begins to slowly pick up his pace, “I-i need to cum. Ohmygod please!” You babble.

He stares at you for a moment taking in your fucked out state. Usually you were so bratty, so defiant, a scowl or quizzical look always on your face- not now. No, now you’re looking at him like he’s got your life in his hands, like you’re utterly devoted to him and that’s what exactly what he wanted.

“Mhm…yeaahh…” he hums, leaning over to kiss you, it’s slow and meticulous, a drastic contrast from the erratic way his hips hammer his cock deep into your pussy. “You look like you deserve it now, go ‘head and cream on my cock you slut. Let everyone here know who makes you feel like this.” He murmurs in a low, tantalizing voice.

His hand drops from your neck to your clit, rubbing furious circles around the neglected bundle of nerves. You’re straight up sobbing now, it’s so fucking much. His fingers on your clit, the relentless way his thick cock abuses your cunt, and the way he’s dragged out your release for so long makes you cum so hard your vision goes dark.

You’re gushing around him, crying out his name as he uses his hand still holding your arms behind your back to drive you down onto his dick, riding out your orgasm. He’s following right behind you, the way your cunt spasms around him, like a vice that’s trying to suck him in and keep him there, makes him cum deep into your pussy.

“Gonna cum so fucking deep in your slutty cunt..” he growls out. You fall limbless against him shaking as you feel him pump you full of his thick cum, and as he gently thrusts up into you, riding out his own orgasm, you can feel it being pushed out of you. There’s so fucking much. And he’s letting out the most beautiful sounds in your ear as he cums and cums, hitched breaths and low groans of your name spill out of his lips.

Both of you are breathless, he holds you against him, rocking his softening cock into you a couple times before pulling out. You hiss from the movement, the absence of his cock filling your pussy makes you feel so empty now. Before you can look back at him to say anything, he’s pushing your arms into your back and forcing you to fall back forward.

His hands are back on your ass, spreading you for him so he could see the mess he made of you cunt. Your whimpering and writhing against the sheets, any sort of stimulation of your pussy is overstimulating. “Quit complaining.” He growls, eyes entranced by the look of your abused cunt- red, raw, puffy and covered in a mix of your arousal and his cum that was pushed out of you. He grins to himself hands massaging inwards, pushing towards your pussy, you moan out, hands gripping the sheets desperately.

His movement causes his huge cum load to begin to drip out of you. The feeling is filthy, you’re whining and shaking against his touch. His fingers move to scoop the large glob of his cum that was dripping out of you, two fingers intruding into your pussy to fuck his cum back into you. “If you were as good as I thought you were you would have kept it all in and we could have avoided this, sweetheart.” He laughs.

“But you-“ you go to talk back, to rightfully blame him for making it spill out of you but he cuts you off by removing his fingers and dragging his tongue up your cunt once before pulling back. “Enough of that.” He scolds, a hand smacking against your pussy.

He scoots back and works so haul your pants and underwear back up your body. “Gonna keep these on the rest of the night, you’re gonna sleep with my cum leaking out of you like the whore you are…” he growls, leaning back over your arched form so his lips are right by your ear “Then tomorrow you’re gonna meet me in the morning for the next game and stick by me…isn’t that right?”

You nod and look up to him. He places one last kiss on your lips, it’s oddly soft compared to the rest of what just occurred. He’s brushing your hair out of your face and pulling away slowly. He doesn’t waste time, he’s hauling himself off your bed, tucking his soft cock into his pants and headed back over to his bunk.

You collapsed into jelly on your bed, finally beginning to catch your breath. You couldn’t think, your head foggy, the only idea in your mind was the one that involved immediately going to Nam-gyu’s bunk in the morning. Maybe he’d reward you for listening so well.

If what just happened was a punishment you could only excitedly imagine what his reward would be.

OH M GEEE this was so scrumptious to write. I hope yall enjoyed!!! Requests are still open im makin my way through them slowly but surely! I also wanna start letting yall know what requests I got cookin up next everytime I post a request

Next up I got more thangyu content!! First I got one just about the general dynamics of the relationship out of the games (gonna be sfw with little nsfw snippets)

Then… you guessed it MORE THANGYU!!! It’s gonna be them passing’ you around like a blunt, complete nsfw

After that…MORE THANGYUUU BABY!! I got a wonderful ask for a thicc!reader x thangyu smut with double penetration and lots of love for thighs n tummy’s

Thank you guys as ALWAYS!! Your support means the world - <3 kiwi

[clairewritesfanfics]

Could you do Mark variants where their version of reader being replaced by a different version of reader, whose mark is dead, and she wanted her mark back, so she hurts and abandons their real s/o in their universe, and they find out she’s not their reader, but the real reader is still alive just stuck in the fakes universe!! Pretty please 💐

“When I was a girl, I dreamt of standing in a room looking at a girl who was and was not myself, who stood looking at another girl, who also was and was not myself. My mother took this for a nightmare. I saw it as the beginning of a career in physics.” ― Rosalind Lutece, Bioshock Infinite

He’s convinced that he has done something to upset you. You didn’t respond when he yelled “Welcome home” over the pot of sizzling fried chicken he was making for dinner. You didn’t kiss his cheek when you entered the kitchen. It was odd, but he brushed it off. Maybe you were having a bad day. Nothing a serving of extra crispy fried chicken can’t cure.

But you don’t talk. You don’t rant or even emote. You sit and watch him like you’re looking–waiting for something.

He sets down the chicken in the middle of the table. “Remember to chew the skin this time before you swallow, okay?”

It’s a joke, because you eat too fast for your own good. 

But you don’t laugh, you just stare.

He finds his seat and clears his throat. Forcing a smile, he asks you about your day.

You finally look at him, and you’re smiling at him like you’re admiring a photo from the past.

“I’m okay.” 

“Just that…”

“Yes?”

“You’ve been quiet for a while now.”

You continue cutting into the chicken. “I’m always quiet.”

He watches how you slice around the bone with practiced ease and finally asks the question pounding at his chest, “Who are you?” It comes out soft but loaded with unspoken fear.

His muscles are tense but he keeps his cool. He knows you, he knows that the woman in front of him is you, but you’re not here.

Unhurried, but looking disappointed, you stop cutting. 

He asks again, “I can tell that you aren’t a shapeshifter, but you’re not her, not really, who are you? What do you want? Where is–”

You inhale deeply.

Then you smile at him one last time, the despair in your eyes makes his heart ache. 

His chair topples behind him as he stands.

You hold up a hand. “She’s fine, just displaced. I’ll give her back so no need to get nervous.”

You put down your fork. “What a shame, I really wanted a taste.” But this doesn’t belong to me.

full mask, prisoner, viltrumite

He has always been a sharp guy. He also knows you well enough to know that the one standing in your office is not you. He also lacks the patience to deal with the imposter in a peaceful manner. He wastes no time in confronting you.

You give him the mildest look of surprise and ask, “What gave me away?”

“Your gait, your posture, your breathing pattern–there’s about a dozen other things, but I don’t like wasting time.”

“I can tell.”

He lifts you by the collar, black eyes manic. “The reason you’re still able to talk is because I need to know where she is, so tell me or–”

“Or you will kill me, yes?” You smile softly. “You’re welcome to try.”

mohawk, no goggles, sinister

He doesn’t notice at first, but that’s because he’s always been a bit dense. He knows that something is off, he just couldn’t put his finger on it. When he asks you, you give him a small smile and tell him everything is okay. He forces himself to believe you. Maybe today is just one of those days. He doesn’t want to start a fight for no reason.

But then you approach him on the sofa and straddle his lap. You start kissing him, it’s unlike your usual kisses, it’s strategic and foreign–and not yours.

“Hey.”

“Yes, baby?”

“Who the hell are you?”

You tilt your head. “Oh, are we roleplaying now? Okay, I guess I’ll be the naughty–”

He holds you back by the shoulder and sits up. “Quit screwing around. You think I can’t tell? Your acting sucks.”

“... I see.”

He flips you over, knees caging your thighs as he glares down at you. “Where is she?”

Instead of answering, you ask, “She and I look exactly the same, but I modified my behavior to match your preferences. Which part of me left you unsatisfied?”

“Answer my question!”

“Calm yourself, Mark. She’s alive and well–” also a little roughed up “–just not here.” Your once flirtatious gaze has lost all traces of emotion. “Now, it’s your turn to answer my question.”

“I don’t need to do jack shit.”

“You do want to see her again, don’t you?��

He grits his teeth, weighing his options. “Fine.” He thinks for a moment and then answers, “I don’t know. I just knew that you weren’t her.”

“But I am her, from a different timeline, but still her. And unlike her, I have plenty of data on you. I can be your sweetest, darkest dream come true.” Your fingers caress his jaw, a gesture betrayed by your dead eyes. “What do you say?”

His glare grows hotter as he snatches your wrist. “Don’t fuck with me, I don’t need a fantasy, bring me back my woman!”

You turn your head to the side and mutter, “Another failure.”

He blinks and you disappear from under him–now you’re standing across the room, fully clothed. 

“What the–”

“I kind of like this version of you, you’re cute, not as cute as my Mark though.” 

head cap, shiesty, target

He knows instantly that something is wrong. A hundred scenarios pop into his head as he watches you walk around the home you two shared. Your gaze is too curious, the faintest hint of surprise flickers when you look at certain mementos, followed by a look of longing, sometimes even mockery. He lets you do as you please. Lets you act like this wasn’t your house too, but a mere museum. 

When he confronts you, he is the picture of composure, like the surface of the sea on a good day; but you feel the depths of his ferocity from the way he speaks, “Where is she?”

You smile. “Gone.” 

In an instant, he has your throat in his hand. 

Your face is serene, like your feet are not dangling in the air right now.

“What are you? A clone? A shapeshifter?”

Your smile stretches mockingly and you point at the fist around your neck. He slowly puts you down, but keeps his fingers around your throat. 

You show no signs of distress as you explain, “I forget how fast you can be.”

He crosses his arms, glaring. 

You chuckle. “She’s safe, don’t worry. I just wanted some time with you.”

His expression hardens.

“This Mark is too serious.” 

The statement has his brow twitching and he finally talks again. “You

..you’re not a clone or a shapeshifter.”

“Nope.”

“Where is she?”

“You’re not even going to ask why I’m here? I came all the way here for you.”

He puts his hands on your shoulders, head bowing. “Please…I’ll get you what you want, just give her back to me.”

You click your tongue.

flaxan, maskless, omni-mark

You no longer live in a single universe, rather, you both exist and not exist in every probability, but not as yourself. Time feels weird now. Your memories are still your own, but they have the tendency to mix with the others–there are versions of you that hated academics and stopped after high school, some didn’t like physics and preferred the arts, others simply could not afford college. Some of them look like you with maybe hair that’s two centimeters shorter, others don’t even have hair. Some are healthier, others are barely surviving.

You thought that maybe your Mark could be found, somewhere in the ocean of time. You cannot resurrect him, but you had hoped for a reunion of sorts, even if you had to settle for a mirror image.

Alas, you’ve been to countless reflections of your timeline and yet… you only found pieces of him in every Mark you met. Mere pieces. 

You watch from your cat box of existence and nonexistence as Mark reunites with you. And you. And you and you and you–

A foul-mouthed Mark is laughing but you can see the tears he tries to hide as he hugs you. The one who took up his hated father’s mantle is quiet, unwilling to let you go. The Mark whose pink skin is covered with indelible reminders of his incarceration, cries on your lap as you pat his head. Another Mark floats involuntarily and covers you in kisses. 

So many worlds where Mark Grayson is alive, where he loves you, but not you. Devoted to the point of irrationality. 

You smile. How foolish.

Truly foolish.

a/n: anon, as a certified addict of the world-hopping trope, i loved this prompt so much! i know it's not exactly as you had requested but i kept drawing blanks and this is all i could come up with in short notice. i thought about writing a scenario for each variant but i couldn't afford the delay. hope you all enjoyed it anyway.

Disclaimer: The image used in this post does not belong to writerclaire. It was lifted from: https://gamerant.com/invincible-all-alternate-dimension-invincibles-fates/

MASTERLIST | request rules | ask box

[roseghoul26]

Cooper Howard x vault born reader. She's from one of the more messed up experiment vaults, when she uncovered the truth of the vault she runs away from it. The first interaction they have is when he tells her he fucking hates vault dwellers and she tells him "I don't really give a shit what YOU think of me". She's been in the wastes a good long while, has a lot of skills and they end up traveling together and getting close. The area she is naive in is sex her interpretation is it's boring, and hurts. He of course tries to explain that it's not suposed to feel like that. They become really close he asks if he can show her which she agrees, she cums harder than she ever has before he has to remind her to breath through it, maybe she squirts and is embarrassed he realizes it's new for her, tells her it normal and that he loves it. Bonus points for: squirting, choking, hair pulling.

Cooper Howard | The Ghoul x fem!Reader

Synopsis: A discussion with The Ghoul reveals things that you never wished to tell him, including your views on intimacy, and lack of experience. When he offers to show you what you were missing out on, how could you say no? Tags: Not Beta Read, Prompt Request, Backstory for Reader, Virgin Reader, Inexperienced Reader, Banter, This one might be even more OOC for The Ghoul, Soft Ghoul, Smut, Squirting, Doggystyle, Hair Pulling, Dirty Talk, Choking, Confessions (kind of) Author's Note: i know that vault 75 is actually like on the other side of the us from where the show takes place but this vault always stuck out to me so i needed to use it for the prompt lmao.  also thank you anon for the amazing prompt (and my first ever request :D) ! i hope this fulfilled it sufficiently!

If you’d told yourself a year ago that you’d be traveling the surface with an irradiated man dressed as a cowboy who only kept you around because you could make him his drugs, you’d call yourself insane, and rightfully so.

But here you were, following after him like an obedient soldier, just like you were raised to be. For the past few months, you had wandered alongside The Ghoul, searching for your purpose on the surface. There was a deal between you two; he’ll travel with you, and you’d make him the chems that stopped him from turning into a feral. 

It was a reluctant acquaintanceship at best, The Ghoul keeping you at an arm's length, and you didn’t blame him. The reason he had difficulty trusting you fully was because you were vault born, which he made abundantly clear when the two of you first started traveling. You spent the first eighteen years of your life in Vault 75,  where you were trained, both mentally and physically, to become the perfect soldier and scientist that would bring justice to the surface world. That had been your life’s goal, up until you turned eighteen. 

Along with the rest of the top peers, you were selected to make your way to the surface. But before you could leave they provided a vaccine, claiming that it would build immunity against the radiation that still plagued the earth. 

In actuality, it had been a sedative, and you remember awaking some time later, suspended in a glass chamber. For days, months, years, you weren’t quite sure, you were prodded, stabbed, cut open. It was pure agony, moments that you only remember in your darkest dreams, leaving you panting and shaking. To this day, you still weren’t fully sure what they had done to you, but you knew they had quite literally taken things from you that you’d never get back. 

Somehow, you managed to break free of the sedative that they continuously pumped into your body, keeping you alive yet without control of your body. You weren’t certain how you managed to escape, but you remembered that your hands and knuckles were bloody pulps, glass embedded into the flesh, fingers broken and mangled. Even now, you could still see the scars that still lingered, and the way your fingers looked off, bones not set right. It caused you issues and aches, but luckily today was a low-pain day. 

A gruff drawl snapped you out of your reminiscing, and you looked up from your hand into the eerily human eyes of The Ghoul, who had stopped in front of you. “What?” You had missed what he said. 

“The fuck you doin’?” 

“I… my hand hurts,” you lied. “Sorry.” 

He angrily grumbled something under his breath, yet you watched him dig into one of the pockets of his trench coat. He pulled out a small pill bottle, and after double-checking the contents he tossed it to you, and you caught it with your non-injured one. “Keep yer head on,” he added before turning to keep walking. 

You didn’t have to look at the bottle to know what he’d given you: painkillers. He’d always give them to you whenever your pain would flare, and each time you reevaluate your relationship with him. You couldn’t figure out if he detest you or cared about you, whether he saw you as a friend or foe. He was a confusing person, and his hard exterior and guarded responses to your questions made him hard to understand. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled, and if he heard you he didn’t respond, just continuing to walk away. Tucking the pills away, you jogged to catch up with him, keeping a few feet distance between the two of you. 

Looking around, you tried to make some sense of the dilapidated buildings and cracked roads, creating an image in your head of what you imagined the town to once be. Full of energy, full of life, able to roam without fear of being killed by man or creature, or fear of being slowly poisoned to death by radiation. 

There was a row of buildings on either side of the road, most caved in, but there were still a few that remained, windows shattered or boarded up. Rusted mental skeletons of cars littered the road, you and The Ghoul having to weave around them. Glass crunched underneath your boots, and you swore you stepped on a few bones. 

Glancing at the road, you noted how elongated the shadows were, and you didn’t have to glance behind you to know that the sun was setting, night right on the precipice of falling. Not wanting to become a late night snack for a deathclaw or some ferals, you cleared your throat, getting the attention of The Ghoul. He stilled, turning his head over his shoulder to look at you. “We should find a place to stop soon.”

You watched him debate it for a second, eyes flicking from the setting sun to the walk in front of him, then to the buildings on either side of you two. Eventually he came to a decision, sighing. “There’s a standin’ building’ down a little ways. We’ll stop there.”

You were eager to finally rest, the rifle in your hands was becoming heavy and the straps of your backpack were digging into your shoulders, so you had a bit more energy in your step as you continued down the street. As you reached the end of the street, you were able to see the building he had mentioned. It was an old shop of sorts, any signs long since gone, but it looked still relatively intact.

The Ghoul got there first, like he normally did. Opening the door with one hand, he held his gun in the other, raised and ready to shoot. He swept the room as he entered, and you follow hot on his heels, gun at the ready. 

In the dim light, you were able to see rows of shelves in the main area, a small desk with a register tucked into the left corner. There was a closed door behind the desk, and another on the rightmost wall of the building, also closed. 

Stepping further in, you were able to start making out the contents on the shelves: boxes and packages of food, no doubt beyond edible, labels faded away. But you also saw a few cans of food littering about, but you’d have to look through them once you’d cleared the building. 

Focusing back on the task at hand, you watched him peer into the far right room, before turning and speaking to you. “Check the desk,” he kept his voice low, as to not alert any possible dwellers. Nodding, you carefully made your way over to the desk, eyes rapidly scanning your environment. 

You tried to open the door, but it merely rattled against the frame, locked shut. If you had the tools, or the patience, you would’ve tried to pick the lock, but you didn’t care that much. Besides, if there was anything in there that was alive, it wouldn’t be able to get you. 

The desk didn’t have much to offer, either. Partial destroyed papers dotted the desk, and the register sat broken and open, robbed of the pre-war cash that once resided in it. You were a tad bit disappointed; it always made for great kindling. 

Searching through the rest of the drawers, you only found garbage, and after a few moments you gave up trying to find anything of value. You slowly made your way back over to The Ghoul, who had better luck than you with his door. You could hear him digging through drawers as you entered, and you were sure to make some audible noise so as to not startle him. 

It was a small living area, a twin bed tucked into the corner, as well as a kitchenette and small desk. A TV and couch sat in the center, and you saw another door, opened by The Ghoul, which you presumed was the bathroom. “Not bad,” you commented. This was truly one of the better places the two of you had stopped at; this at least had four walls and a roof. 

He grunted in response, still rifling through drawers. “Find anythin’?”

You shook your head. “I’ll go look again,” you responded, and before you backed out of the room you dumped your bag on the floor. You sighed happily at the relief, rubbing your shoulders as you began to look through the shelves again.

You didn’t bother to look at the boxed goods, heading straight to the few canned items you saw. The cans were still whole, thankfully, but the labels were long since gone. Shrugging, you grabbed the cans, about four in total, and brought them back to the other room, dumping them on the counter of the kitchenette. 

“What’s that?” You heard him ask, spurs clicking on the linoleum floor as he came over to you. The room was now illuminated by a small oil lantern placed on the desk. 

“No idea. But they’re still good. Probably.” You spoke as you moved to sit on the counter, legs dangling. Man, did it feel good to sit after walking all day. You reached for your knife, cursing when you felt empty space instead, your knife in the bag instead of on you. 

Before you could even get down, The Ghoul handed you his knife, the blade glinting in the low light. He pointed the handle towards you, and you took it from him, and you murmured a small thanks. You got to work opening the first can, hunger making your stomach rumble. The knife plunged in and out of the tin top, peeling back the rest once you got most of it cut. 

It was an almost gelatinous red substance inside, with darker red, round something suspended in it. It smelled sweet, sugary even, and you tried to tilt it into your mouth, but it didn’t budge. Maybe it had gone bad, then. 

Confused, you reached down to the drawer that was in between your legs, managing to get it open enough to reach your hand in. You grabbed the first utensil feeling thing you could find, and to your delight it was a fork. You didn’t waste any time, taking a decent-sized forkful and bringing it to your mouth. 

It was overwhelmingly sweet, and you’re sure you made some face, because The Ghoul was chuckling lightly. It wasn’t bad, but it almost hurt to eat, and the gelatinous nature of it made it stick to your teeth. “That’s whatcha get for eatin’ unlabeled food.”

You shook your head. “It’s not bad. It’s just… sweet.”

He hummed curiously, and you offered the can to him. You laughed when he eyed it suspiciously. “I promise you, it doesn’t taste bad. And I haven’t poisoned it,” you teased.

“I’m surprised you haven’t,” he grumbled, but he took the can from you. 

“I wouldn’t,” you grabbed and handed a utensil to him. “I rather like your company.”

See, as fun as it was to be out on the road, nothing but the endless horizon in front of you, it was the nights that you truly cherished. He didn’t talk much while you walked, keeping a literal and metaphorical distance between the two of you. It was like when he was on the road, he was The Ghoul, a cunning and vicious bounty hunter. But when it was just the two of you, secluded away in some abandoned house, around a fire, wherever, it was like the human side of him resurfaced, leading way to conversation and… friendship? 

You had no idea if he considered you a friend, but you knew you considered him to be one. It wasn’t like you had any other person in this wretched world, your “friends” from the vault turned enemy. As a wanderer, it was hard to build and maintain relationships with other people, so you chose to just stick with The Ghoul. 

And you wouldn’t lie, there was something beyond “friendship” that you felt for The Ghoul. It had taken too long for you to even admit that to yourself, so it was unlikely that you were going to admit to him. Besides, it went against everything that you were raised to believe, and even though you’d long since left the vault, their ideas were still ingrained into your brain.

“Not sure why,” he muttered before eating a spoonful of the mysterious substance. You were barely able to see it, but his upper lip twitched into an almost smile. You always liked when he smiled. It was rare for him, a genuine smile. He’d sneer and smirk, sure, but it was those true smiles that got your heart beating faster and your knees getting weak. You refused to name the reason why your body reacted the way it did, not wanting to face the reality that you felt something for The Ghoul just yet.

“It’s pie filling. Cherry pie filling, to be exact,” he lifted up another spoonful, one of the dark red balls on it, covered in the sheer red substance. 

“Cherry pie filling?” You said each of the words as their own question. You’d never heard of any of what he was talking about. 

He rolled his eyes, handing the can back to you, and you took another bite. You still weren’t used to the sweetness of it. “Fuckin’ vault dwellers,” he sighed. “Cherry’s a fruit. Pie is a pastry. Filling is what you put into pie.”

It didn’t clear up anything, but you nodded anyway, not wanting to annoy him further. “Interesting.” Taking one final bite, you set it next to you, moving on to the next can. You were in the middle of opening the second one when he spoke

“You mean to tell me they didn’t have pie in your vault?”

You weren’t expecting his question, and you halted mid-cut. He never asked you about the vault you grew up in, and you never told him anything besides the name and that you left. He made his opinion on vaults and vault dwellers abundantly clear when you first met all those months ago, back when your relationship was a tenuous allyship. You hadn't cared what he thought about you and your old life then, telling him straight to his face, and you certainly didn’t care now. But it was curious that he was willingly asking you about it now. 

“No,” you drew out the word, mildly suspicious. “If it didn’t have good nutritional value, then it wasn’t allowed. So no candy, no sugary drinks, no pastries. Nothing like that.” You answered while opening up the second can, and you recognized it immediately: sweet corn.

He didn’t ask any further questions, so you didn’t elaborate. Not needed to do a taste test of the sweet corn, you set it aside, then opened the other two cans, which were baked beans and tomato soup. Wordlessly, The Ghoul grabbed two of the cans, making his way over to the couch, and you followed behind him, the other two cans in your own hands. 

Sitting side-by-side, the two of you ate in silence, and you propped your legs up on the coffee table in front of you. The two of you would eat half the can before passing it off to the other. It was how you shared your dinners for at least the past month. 

It didn’t take long for there to only be the pie filling left, and you held it in your better hand. Even though you’d been free from the vault for some time, a part of you still felt wrong for indulging in a treat like this. Pushing those memories aside, you took another bite before passing it to the man next to you. You jumped when you felt his gloved fingers brush yours, and you missed the way he knowingly chuckled. 

Sighing, you sat back against the couch, ignoring the armor that dug into your shoulders, and you found your eyes flicking back down to your hand. You traced over the scars littering it, a familiar pattern to you at this point, and you flexed your fingers. They popped and cracked, bending unnaturally, and it caused a small jolt of pain to shoot through the nerves. You hadn't realized your eyes weren’t the only one on it until you heard the man beside you speak. “How’d that happen?” 

Now you were suspicious; he sounded like he actually cared. “Did you get replaced with a synth?” You asked, bewildered. 

He rolled his eyes in response, taking another bite before setting the can on the coffee table in front of you two. “I realize I don’t know a lot ‘bout you.”

“I didn’t think you cared,” you admitted. “But,” you added when he glared at you, “if you really want to know, I got it by punching something. Repeatedly.”

“If that’s your fist, I’d hate to see the other person,” he muttered. 

“Something, not someone. It was, well, glass.”

“Why the fuck were you punchin’ glass?”

“It was the only way I could escape.” You laughed humorlessly when he glanced at you, confused. “What, you think I left the vault freely?” You shook your head. “After my eighteenth birthday, they trapped me in a chamber so they could harvest stuff from my body, pumping me full of sedative and rapid-healing agents. Something about creating the ‘perfect human’. Eventually, the drug they used to keep me docile stopped working, and I was able to smash my way out. I’m pretty sure there’s some glass still left in my hand,” you chuckled, stopping when you realized he wasn’t joining in. “It’s fine. I’ve repressed most of the memories anyway.”

“Not well enough,” he muttered more to himself, and you couldn’t help the small bit of dread that washed over you at the realization that he knew about your nightmares. They made you feel weak, and you didn’t want him to think you were. 

“Well, I….” You trailed off with a sigh, finding it not worth it to try and disagree, sitting back on the couch. “Rude.”

“So you do have nightmares.” He chuckled at the glare you gave him once you realized you fell into his trap. “Are they ‘bout that?”

“Is this an interrogation?” You asked, getting defensive. “Why the fuck do you care? You haven’t before.”

“If ya paid attention, I said I barely know anythin’ ‘bout you. Figured if we’re gonna continue to travel I should know more besides your name.” He sighed before adding, “This ain’t an interrogation. You… you can ask me whatcha like.”

His reluctant openness made you feel more comfortable, and you relaxed a bit. “Really?”

“Sure, why the hell not. But answer my question first.”

There was silence for a few beats. “Fine. Yes, they’re about when they had me trapped. It’s… it’s mostly the pain I remember. And their faces, the people who raised me, who I trusted.  watching me through the glass. I forget most of the details when I wake, but that’s what sticks out.”

The Ghoul didn’t offer any verbal response, merely nodding his head slowly. You prayed that he couldn’t see the way your hands shook as you willingly brought up those memories in your brain. You shoved them away, forcing a light smile on your face. “My turn.” Adjusting so that your back rested against the arm of the sofa so you were facing him now, your knees tucked up to your chest. “What’s your name?”

He scoffed. “Out of all the questions, that’s the one ya go with?” 

“You don’t have to-”

“Cooper. Cooper Howard.” His response cut you off, and a small smile lifted the corners of your mouth. 

“A pleasure, Cooper Howard,” you smiled gently. It was hardly noticeable, but something shifted in him when he heard you say his name, but you weren’t quite sure what exactly. 

He cleared his throat while adjusting in his seat, his eyes flicking away from your own. “Better not make me regret tellin’ ya that.” 

Your slight smile fell at his semi-threat. “I’m assuming you don’t want me to call you that, then.” His responding silence was answer enough, and you didn’t press it further. “Do you got any more questions for me?”

“Plenty,” he seemed more comfortable now that the attention was off his past life. “Why the hell are ya still travelin’ with me?”

You thought of your answer for a moment. “I wasn’t lying when I said I enjoyed your company. And it’s not like I’ve got any place to go.”

“We’ve traveled to plenty of towns. Why don’t ya just stay there?”

“Do… Do you want me to leave?” It almost hurt to ask. You thought things were amicable between the two of you, and the thought of leaving your one “friend” was something you truly did not want to think about.  

He regarded you for a few moments, eyes dancing over your face. “I suppose not,” he finally sighed out, crossing his arms and resting against the back of the couch.

“Good,” you tried to not sound too relieved. “You’re stuck with me.” You swore you saw a smile tug at his lips.

“Unfortunately.” He didn’t sound too upset about it. “Anythin’ else?”

“Why didn’t you kill me when we met? I tried to rob you, and I’ve seen you kill people for less. You had the gun right to my head; why didn’t you pull the trigger?”

“That’s two questions.”

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed. “They’re the same damn thing. Just… why didn’t you kill me?”

“I dunno why I didn’t kill ya right away. Somethin’ made me hesitate. And then once I realized you was a vault born, I figured I could get a good amount of caps for you, so I kept you alive.” The Ghoul sighed. “I expected to only keep ya ‘round for a week. But then you saved my life, even though I had ya captive, and I couldn’t bring myself to sell you. That’s when I set you free.” He chuckled as he reminisced. “But for some fuckin’ reason, you decided to stick around, and I thought I was gonna regret not killin’ or sellin’ ya.”

“Do you regret it?”

“That’s three questions now, sweetheart.” Your cheeks grew warm at the nickname. It wasn’t the first time he’d called you it, but it always elicited the same reaction from you. “But no. It’s nice, havin’ someone you trust enough to watch your back. After years of solitude, wanderin’ this godforsaken Wasteland with you has been a pleasant change.”

You don’t think you’ve ever heard anyone regard you so kindly, which was insane because of who it was coming from. “Thank you,” you responded, sincerely.

“Before I inflate your ego any more, it’s my turn. Do you miss life in the vault, back before all… that?” He gestured to your hand. 

“Honestly, you’d think I would,” you chuckled. “No danger around every corner, no radiation, no worry about dehydration or starvation. It was secure, but so constricting. Every part of my life was monitored, from the foods I ate, to the things I did, to the people I spoke to. If the higher ups didn’t like it, they’d make me change. If anything threatened the ability to become the most optimized person, then it was removed. I’ve had more freedom during the time I’ve spent up here than I did for the first eighteen years of my life.” You took a breath. “So, no, I don’t miss it.”

It went like that for a good while, you weren't quite sure how long, and eventually the two of you finished off the pie filling. Questions were shot back and forth, and you learned some things about the man beside you that you never thought you’d know. He learned more of the experiments led by Vault 75, and your role in it. You refrained from asking him about his life before becoming The Ghoul, and although he didn’t say it, you could tell that he was grateful. He had long since shed his coat, draping it across the back of the couch, down to only a once luscious blue button down. His hat was also off, sitting on the table alongside the now empty cans. 

You had asked him about the strangest person he’d met, and he was recounting this one “doctor” he’d met in Filly, with greased hair and a rotted cap, selling ailments for quite literally every predicament. “Pretty sure he was fuckin’ the livestock,” he added, and you gapped at him, horrified. “Strange fellow indeed. But, after that it probably has to be this vault born I met, who no matter what I do, refuses to leave.”

“I’m second after that? I… fuck you!” You’d never sworn at him before, but now felt like a good time to change that. 

His brow raised, shocked, and he grinned at you. “Looks like I’m rubbin’ off on ya, sweetheart.”

Rolling your eyes, you tried to hide your own smile behind your knees, which were still tucked up close to you. “It’s your turn. Although, I don’t know if I wanna respond after you insulted me like that.”

“My apologies,” he responded, not sounding sorry at all, especially with the way he continued to chuckle as he thought of a question. “Did ya have friends? Lovers, perhaps?”

If you weren’t blushing because of the nickname, then you certainly were now. It was a taboo subject in your vault, having lovers. Romantic companionship was seen as a hindrance, a liability. “I had some friends, sure, but they all turned out to be back-stabbers or were taken like me. I don’t know if they survived; I couldn’t stop to rescue them if I wanted to live.” You shook off the bit of guilt you felt when thinking of the others. “But I wasn’t close friends with anyone. As weird as it is, you’re the closest thing to a true friend I’ve ever had.”

“You only answered half my question.” Damn him. “Any lovers?”

“No.” Your hand was looking quite interesting now, and you traced over the familiar pattern of the scars again. 

“��No’? That’s it?” If looks could kill, The Ghoul would be six feet under right now. “Touchy subject?” 

You realized that no matter what you said, he was still going to continue to ask. Groaning, you let your head sag back off the couch, not wanting to make eye contact with him when you responded. “We weren’t allowed to take… lovers. There were no romantic relationships allowed in the vault; they were seen as a liability. And I know that they’re not, but it’s been drilled into my brain that they’re wrong, that they’re… improper, and I’d rather not talk about it.”

When he didn’t respond, you thought he lost interest in the subject, and you slowly began to lift your head back up. “How the fuck did you guys repopulate?” And there your head went back down, face burning. 

“IVF. They took the eggs and sperm from the captives, as they were the best genetically, physically and mentally, and then put them in the body of one of the scientists.” You chose to not add the fact that there was an entirely real possibility that you had a kid or two.

“So no sex then?”

Something like a groan and a curse left your lips, and you squeezed your eyes shut, embarrassment and something else washing over you. How you wished for a raider or synth or anything to break down the door and kill you. “No,” you responded, and you missed the way his gaze locked on to you, intrigued by your answer.

“So you’ve never-”

“No!” You didn’t let him finish his question, not caring about what you just admitted to him.

“Not even after you left?”

“No.” You were getting really tired of your same responses. 

“Why not? It ain’t like you got your vault monitoring everythin’ ya do anymore.”

“Well…” you sighed, running a hand over your hot face. “It seems boring, from what I heard. I’m just supposed to, I dunno, sit there in pain while they use me for their own pleasure. It’s never appealed to me.” That last part was a lie, and you both knew it. You just wanted to hold on to some semblance of your pride that was lying in tatters around you.

He had the audacity to laugh, and you wished the couch would just swallow you whole. “I dunno who told ya that, but it ain’t like that. Not even fuckin’ close.”

Shakily, you exhaled, your heart feeling like it was about to beat out of your chest. You couldn’t believe you were having this discussion, with The Ghoul of all people. His next words had you going deathly still, staring wide-eyed at the mildewed ceiling. “Can I show ya?” 

In just one sentence, he managed to change the entire atmosphere of the conversation, of your relationship. You wouldn’t deny, the idea of being intimate with him was appealing, and definitely not the first time you’d thought of it. What made this time different, though, was that you didn’t push those thoughts away, disgust and shame not overwhelming you. And it was also different because this wasn’t just a scenario that you’d played out in your head, alone while you slept. No, this was actually happening. 

“What?” You managed to stammer out, sitting up slowly. Your mouth went dry at the way he stared at you, almost hungrily. You squirmed under his intense gaze, which seemed to please the man. 

“Can I show ya what it’s supposed to feel like?” He repeated again, and one of his gloves hands crept across the couch, resting an inch away from where your legs were. “If ya don’t want this, just say the word, and we can pretend like this ain’t ever happened. But I can promise ya won’t regret it.” For once, you were grateful for his self-assurance and cockiness, as it bolstered your own confidence in your decision. 

It felt like five hours had passed before you nodded, and you felt his hand brush up your clothed calf, gripping the muscle lightly. “Lemme hear ya say it, sweetheart.”

Even though it was far from the first time he’d called you sweetheart, the implications now made your face burn even more. He made it sound dirty, and you had to take a breath before speaking. “Show me.” Your voice barely came out as a whisper; any louder and you feared it would crack.

You let out a startled noise when he pulled you close to him using the hand on your calf, the action effortless; you’d forgotten how unnaturally strong he was. You were now laying down fully on the couch, hair splayed out around you. He moved between your legs, hands now braced on either side of your head as he leaned above you. His face hovered a few inches from yours, and you could feel his breath as he spoke. “You gotta let me know if ya don’t like somethin’, deal?”

“Deal.” 

You shivered when you felt him caress your cheek, a surprisingly gentle gesture from the rough man you knew. He smiled at your body’s response to him. “Finally,” he muttered out, but you didn’t get a chance to ask for further elaboration before his lips were on yours. 

Unlike his touch, they weren’t gentle, almost bruisingly strong against yours. You groaned, and you could feel him smirk. The hand that had been touching your face settled, grasping the side of your face in a warm, gloved palm. The other hand remained braced by your head, keeping him upright. You found yourself latching your own around his wrist, the other grabbing a handful of his shirt, trying to find some way to keep you grounded. 

Kissing felt even better than you’d imagined it would. You didn’t think it would be so enjoyable, feel so good, so right. It was like his lips were made to slot perfectly against yours. If you concentrated hard enough, you could taste cherry pie filling the both of you had eaten. You jolted when you felt teeth tug at your bottom lip, a droplet of pain in the sea of pleasure, and your grip tightened even more, threatening to tear the clothing. You didn’t think he would mind. 

Energy pulsed through your body, and you found yourself unconsciously beginning to move, your hips moving in small circles. A familiar tension began to form in your lower body, something you felt during your late night thoughts of The Ghoul. Even though it was only just forming, you’d never felt it this intensely before, and you were desperate for some kind of relief. 

An amused chuckle left him, pulling away slightly to do so. You almost whined at the loss of contact, and you attempted to pull him back down with the hand that currently had a fistfull of his clothing, but he didn’t budge. “Eager?” It was a rhetorical question, but you found yourself nodding anyway. 

“Please.” What you were asking for, you weren’t quite sure. Your words trailed off into a sigh when you felt his lips return, this time along your jaw by your ear. He left your cheek, running down the front of your body tantalizingly slow. 

“Where’s these manners comin’ from?” It sounded like his voice had turned raspier, and it elicited a shiver from your body, his lips still pressed close to your ear. “If this was all it took for ya to start actin’ all proper, then I would’ve done this weeks ago,” he teased, and his fingers ran underneath your breasts. 

Maybe it was his lips on your skin, or the way he pressed his body into yours, or the way he touched you, but you lost control of the words tumbling from your mouth. “I would’ve let you,” you admitted, and even though it was quiet you heard his breath hitch. 

“Yeah?” His voice had somehow gotten even raspier, and he groaned when you nodded. “Fuck, sweetheart,” his teeth nipped at your earlobe before moving further down your neck. You no longer felt his lips; instead you felt tongue and teeth leaving marks, growing more fervent as he descended. 

You let go of his shirt, your fingers popping uncomfortably, yet you paid it no mind. You rested your hand on the back of his head instead, almost immediately pulling it away, unsure if he wanted to be touched or not. But you felt him gently grab your wrist, bringing your hand back to where it had once been, making an approving noise when your fingers made contact. 

When he reached the strap of your shoulder armor, you felt him immediately get to work at losing the strap, and you sighed in relief when fresh air hit the newly exposed skin. He tossed it to the side somewhere, and it didn’t take long for your chestpiece to join it. The only thing left on the top half of your body was your bra and tank top, yet you felt completely naked, both because of the lack of armor and the way his eyes bore into your body.

His eyes trailed over the top of your chest, which was rising and falling rapidly, greedily taking in the swell of your breasts. You gasped when he took them in his hands, kneading and toying with the tender flesh. Even through the thick material of his gloves and your clothing, you could still feel his heat. But you wanted to feel him closer. You wanted to feel his bare hands on your body. 

Before you could even comprehend what you were doing, you were tearing off your tank top, throwing it somewhere in the room. You arched your back, your chest pressing further into his touch, and he groaned. Reaching behind, you had enough confidence to unlatch your bra and remove it, but not enough to look him in the eye. Your cheeks were burning, a flush creeping down your neck. 

“Fuckin’ perfect,” you heard him mutter, and his praise gave you enough confidence to finally return your gaze to his, expecting them to be locked on your chest. And they were, at least until he felt your eyes on him. His pupils were blown out, irises gone, and the almost predatory smirk on his face made you look away again, the tension in your body growing. 

“Take them off,” you whispered when his touch returned. His movement stilled, much to your dismay. “Your gloves,” you pleaded. “Take them off.”

When he didn’t respond, you forced your attention away from the ceiling, breath catching when you looked into his eyes. “And here I was praisin’ your manners,” he rebuked, and even through the lust in his eyes you could see a playful glint. “C’mon, you can do better than that.”

“Please take your gloves off,” you responded immediately, not caring if you sounded desperate. “I wanna feel your hands on me, please.”

“Much better,” he practically purred, and you watched him bring a hand up to his own mouth, tugging the glove off his hand with his teeth and letting it fall, landing on your body. It almost felt wrong to see his hands without gloves on them; it felt like he was more undressed than you.

He wasted no time in returning his now bare touch to your breasts, and it felt better than you thought it would. Fingers dexterously toyed with your now perked nipples, pulling little noises from you. You never thought it would be enjoyable to have someone playing with your breasts like this, but you were happily proven wrong.

It was when his mouth joined the fray that your noises turned louder, his lips wrapping around your other nipple. When his teeth grazed the sensitive bud, your hips bucked right against his, and you felt him groan against your chest. Wanting to hear that noise again, you repeated the action, and your ears were blessed once again. 

But your victory was short lived, and the hand that had been by your head the entire time finally moved, pressing your hips down into the couch. “Behave,” you heard him growl, not halting his attention towards your chest. But you did see his eyes flick up, making it look like he was glaring at you, and you found your mouth going dry. You nodded, not finding it in yourself to go against him just yet, to see how far you could push him. You hoped there would be a next time.

He continued to lavish your chest for a few more moments, swapping his hand and mouth, continuously building up that tension in your core. You fought against the desire to move your hips, his “threat” still ringing in your ears. Your hand was still resting on the back of his head, trying and failing to keep your nails from digging into his scalp. A particularly hard suck had them biting in deep, but any apology you had died on your lips at the sinful moan he let out, followed by a string of expletives. You took a mental note to do that again later.

With a pop, he removed his mouth from your chest, and he let you pull him up into a searing kiss. His hand sneaked down between your bodies, which you only realized when you felt his fingers run beneath the waistband of your jeans and underwear.

He pulled away, sitting back on his heels, and you weren’t quite sure who was panting heavier. You immediately missed the feel of his body over yours, the comforting weight of him, and you couldn’t help the small pout that formed on your lips as you tried and failed to pull him back down again. “Please,” you whispered, hoping that your words would convince him. And you could tell they almost worked, his jaw clenching as he grit his teeth. 

But he didn’t relent. Instead, you watched as he began to slowly unclip your gunbult, your armor, your kneepads. Every bit of protection against the Wasteland stripped from you, joining the pile on the floor, leaving you only in your clothes. It was freeing, yet a bit nerve wracking, your chest continuing to rise and fall rapidly. 

You tried to lean down to help with your boots, but he swatted your hands away, silencing any rebuttal with a look. It took a few moments, but he eventually was able to remove your boots and socks, but you barely heard the sound of them hitting the floor over the loud heartbeat in your ears. He practically ripped off your pants, his patience becoming thin because of the boots, but you were just grateful he didn’t actually ripped them. Good clothing was hard to come by.

His gaze was locked onto your lower body as he eased off your underwear, the final article of clothing on your body joining the rest. You were almost glad to be rid of them; they were cold and uncomfortable, and damp, for some reason. But it didn’t seem to put off The Ghoul. In fact, it seemed to please him immensely, an almost proud grin on his lips.  

You quickly grew embarrassed under his ravenous gaze, his eyes trailing over every inch of your body. You tried to close your legs, or at least tuck them to your chest to try and cover you, but he was having none of it. Two hands, one gloved and one not, wrapped around your ankles, pulling them back down and out. “None of that. Lemme see ya.”

Swallowing, you relaxed, at least as well as you could. It became easier when you saw how much he was loving your body. His eyes jumped around, like he was trying to memorize every detail of you. “Like I said. Fuckin’. Perfect.” You weren’t expecting the sheer honesty in his voice. 

The hands on your ankles began to slowly trail up, making goosebumps appear on your skin. It was like your skin was a million times more sensitive when someone else was touching you. You got lost in his touch, your eyes fluttering close, simply enjoying the feel of another person. 

They shot open when his touch suddenly left, and you gaped at him, confused. You watched him adjust so that he was now sitting normally on the couch, resting against the back of it. 

You understood, though, when he patted his legs, wanting you on his lap. With shaky movements, you complied, but were once again confused when he stopped you, hand resting on your shoulder. Wordlessly, he turned you so that your back was to him, and you let out a startled noise when he roughly pulled you onto his lap, his still clothed chest pressing into your bare shoulders. 

Moving the hair from your neck, you felt his lips return their ministration on your neck, and your head rolled back, giving him more access. Both hands were on your body, ungloved one returning to your breasts, the other skating down the side of your body. You gasped when it began to inch towards your center, and you felt him chuckle. “So sensitive,” he commented almost absentmindedly.

You felt him grip your thigh, spreading your legs even farther so that they went around his own, now using his knees to keep your legs open. It left you completely exposed and at his mercy, but you felt comfortable, safe even. Relaxing fully against his chest, your head now rests on his shoulder, and if you strained enough you were able to look at him. It was clear by the expression on his face that he was enjoying this just as much as you were, if not more.

He reached his hands around your body, and began to pull the glove off his other hand. You stopped him with a gentle grasp of his wrist, tugging his hand to your mouth. Just like he did, you took the material between your teeth, and he was able to free his hand with a tug. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Think ya can do one for thing for me?”

“Anything,” you responded, and you felt two of his fingers, the middle and ring, trace your bottom lip. 

“Anythin’?” You nodded, not caring what that might imply. “Well, I’ll have to keep that in mind. But first,” those fingers tugged at your lip, “get those nice and wet for me.”

Even though you weren’t quite sure what you were doing, you parted your lips anyway, taking the digits into your wet mouth. Slowly, you began to bob your head up and down, running your tongue along the textured skin, barely tasting the saltiness of it. Whatever you were doing seemed to please him, because you felt his chest rumble with a groan. 

Before you could build a rhythm, he pulled them out with a pop, and they glistened in the low light. He didn’t give you much time to observe them, though, because before you could process he was running them through your folds. The sudden touch in your most sensitive area made you try and shut your legs, but his knees made it impossible.

His chest rumbled with a light laugh, and you were confused as to what could possibly be amusing him. “Guess that wasn’t necessary; you’re already so damn wet for me.” You detected another hint of pride, this time in his voice. 

Another swipe had you moaning, but then you felt his fingers locate something between your legs that made you cry out, your legs jerking involuntarily. “There we go,” he rumbled, and he focused his attention on that area, fingers pressing firm and slow circles into it. You weren’t quite sure what he was doing, but it felt incredible, the tension that had slowly begun to rescind returning. 

You tried to tell him, but it came out as a garbled moan instead. “Feel good?” It was another rhetorical question, and you yet again nodded, and you watched his lips quirk up. 

“Ghoul…” you moaned out, one of your hands reaching behind to hold the back of his head, needing something to hold onto as he continued to pleasure you. 

For the first time since you’d met him, something like self-consciousness flicked across his face, gone as soon as it came. “That ain’t my name, sweetheart. C’mon, lemme hear ya say it,” he almost sounded desperate as he talked. 

It took a moment for your lust-addled brain to remember what he had told you earlier in the night. “Cooper…” you sighed out, and he bit back his own moan, and you felt his hips jump the tiniest bit. 

“And I thought I liked hearing ya say my name, but fuck, I like hearin’ ya moan it a hundred times more.” You realized that when you had seen something shift in his eyes when you first said his name was disdain, it was actually the opposite. That realization had you smiling, and you managed to pull him down into a messy kiss, the angle too weird to allow a proper meeting of your lips. 

But it wouldn’t have lasted long anyways, another few moments of his fingers making you cry out again, that tension beginning to become unbearable, like it was just on the precipice of snapping. “Cooper.” It came out as a moan, but with a hint of confusion and worry behind it, unsure of what was happening with your body.

“You close?” 

“Close?” You had enough focus left to be confused, and even though his fingers didn’t yield, you felt the rest of him go still. 

“You’ve never… oh, fuck,” his voice turned husky, almost like a growl, “am I gonna make you come for the first time?” He sounded elated. It just created more questions, but another swirl of his fingers made all thoughts go out the window.

You fidgeted and squirmed, trying to escape the onslaught of things you were feeling. “Relax. I promise ya, this’ll feel good.” And because you trusted him, foolishly or not, you did relax, no longer fighting against him. It felt like you were a dam that was about to burst, and you barely registered that your nails were digging back into his scalp until you heard one of those delicious moans escape his lips.

That sound triggered something in you, and all at once that tension snapped, exploding like something that was pulled too tight. Pleasure ignited your body, making it feel as light as a feather. Every nerve in your body was humming, and you swore you blacked out for a moment. 

His voice, gruff yet a bit concerned, brought you back to your body. “Breathe,” you heard him say, and you realized the dizziness you were feeling wasn’t just because of the mind-shattering pleasure you’d just felt, but you indeed had stopped breathing. Inhaling shakily, you felt some of that dizziness leaving now that oxygen had returned to your lungs. 

An uncomfortable jolt had you glancing down between your legs, where he continued to pull every last bit of pleasure from your body. “S’too much,” you managed to slur out, your voice quite hoarse. He halted, thankfully, resting his hand on your thigh, still close enough to your center that you could feel the heat from his hands. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” He sounded mildly amused, and if your muscles weren’t currently jelly you would’ve hit him. 

“I… what did…” you said between gasping breaths, trying to get your heart rate back down. 

“You just came. Rather loudly, at that,” he teased, and your incredibly hoarse voice made sense now. You were suddenly very glad that you were in the middle of nowhere. 

Turning so that you were able to face him better, you felt the material of his pants rub against your bare legs, which wouldn’t have been too weird if it weren’t for the fact they were wet, borderline soaked. The hand that had just been resting on your thigh was brought into view, just as soaked as his pants, and you watched as he examined his hand, almost transfixed. “And messily,” he added, and you felt your cheeks burn even more than they already were. 

You opened your mouth, ready to apologize, but nothing but an airy noise left you as you watched his tongue run from up from his wrist to his fingers. A pleased hum left him, his eyes never once leaving your own as he continued to clean his hand, like it was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted, even better than the desert you had shared. There was a stir in your gut at the action, what you now assumed to be arousal coming to life as you continued to watch him. 

When he caught you staring, his lips twisted into one of those smirks that made your stomach flip. Turning fully in his lap so you were now straddling him, you tugged his wrist far enough away so that you could kiss him. You groaned when his tongue swept between your parted lips, his slightly damp hand holding the side of your face gently. 

With shaky fingers, you began to try and unbutton his shirt. You didn’t get far before he was suddenly standing, and even though he had an arm tucked beneath your thighs, you still clung on to him, legs and arms wrapping around him tightly. Not once did he remove his lips, even when he bumped into a few things on the way to the bed. It was like all that mattered was you and the way you felt. 

The bed, which was barely big enough for one person, let alone two, squeaked obnoxiously when he lowered you onto it, but neither of you paid attention to it. And it wasn’t like you had to worry about anyone else hearing. Like on the couch, he hovered over your body, arms braced on either side of you. His lips were back on your neck, giving you a few moments to take heaving breaths of air. 

For once during the entire night, you knew what was about to happen next, but even though you could feel anxiety threaten to grip your mind, you managed to shove it off. It was easier when you focused your attention on the man in your arms. His continued attention was nice, but you wanted, needed more. “Cooper, please…” you trailed off, hoping he got what you were asking for.

And you know he did, because you felt his lips curl into a smile against the skin of your neck, and he lifted his head up. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so care-free, and the sight had your heart swelling, a small gasp leaving you as well. He looked good like this, and a part of you craved to see it for days to come. 

“What was that, sweetheart? I didn’t quite hear what ya said.” For a moment, you retracted your previous stance, embarrassment making your ears burn. You either wanted to kiss or slap that shit-eating smirk off his face when he noticed how bashful you’d grown. “I’ll give ya whatever you want. All ya gotta do is ask.”

Your pride and embarrassment were at war with your desire, but a winner was quickly decided. “Please, I need you, Cooper.”

Apparently that wasn’t good enough, because he didn’t move. “You need me to…?” You groaned in frustration, and you tried to get him to just forget it with a roll of your hips, trying to make him break. It seemed to almost work, but you felt him press down firmly on your hips, pinning you to the bed. “That ain’t gonna help ya. Use your words.”

You sighed, finally relenting. “Fuck me, please,” you whispered out, and it finally seemed to do the trick.

“Atta girl,” he praised. “Go ‘head and roll over for me.”

As much as you wanted to be able to see him clearly, excitement had you turning over anyway, now on your hands and knees. The position was revealing and it almost felt degrading, but yet again you felt at ease, anticipation making your heart beat fast. Turning your head, you were able to see him a bit, and a moan slipped from your lips when you heard the sound of his belt being undone, the sound of a zipper following suit. This was really happening. 

One of his hands gripped your hips, and you felt his still clothed legs pressed up against the back of your own. His cock, warm and solid, pressed into your entrance, a low groan pulled from your lips when he breached it. It was only the tiniest bit painful, not as bad as you initially believed it would be, like a muscle being stretched, which was earlier overshadowed by the pleasure it brought. He let out a groan of his own, the fingers on your hips digging in harshly. 

Inch by inch, you felt him press himself fully into you, both of you letting out similar sighs when he was fully sheathed. Cold metal bit into your skin when his hips were flush with yours, the buckle of his belt no doubt going to leave imprints on your skin. He stilled once he was fully in you, giving you a chance to get adjusted to him, which you were grateful for. You could tell that it was taking every ounce of restraint in his body to just sit there, though, and it only took a few moments until you felt like you were ready for him to move. 

All it took was you wiggling your hips for him to get the message, something like a sigh of relief leaving his lips. Slowly, he pulled out of you, fingers never once letting go of their grip. The sensation made you moan, and you could feel him everywhere, hitting all the right spots as he pulled out.

You grasped at the barely-together bedsheets, probably creating new holes in the fabric. It was less uncomfortable when he pushed back a second time, and you felt your head go limp between your arms, his name falling from your lips. He started creating a rhythm, hips beginning to pick up the pace. His hips snapped into yours, slowly at first, but gradually picking up speed.

You could do nothing but take it, pleasure making you lose control of your body. Your cries were becoming increasingly louder, that familiar tension returning, and you tried to bury your face in the mattress. 

That was until you felt him grab a fistfull of your hair, yanking your head back up. It hurt, but it felt wonderful, and you felt yourself tense, a wanton moan louder than anything previous escaping you. “Fuck, ya like it rough?” His pace quickened, his cock spearing you relentlessly. It filled something in you that you didn’t quite know you needed, a craving satiated that you didn’t know you had. But now that you had it, you needed more of it. 

You nodded, at least as best you could, the grip in your hair keeping your head still. It took you too long to realize that he was using the leverage from his grip in your hair to pound into you. “D’ya know how fuckin’ incredible ya feel?” He panted. “This cunt was made for me. For me to ruin.” 

“Cooper,” you cried out, and he groaned in appreciation. 

“Fuck, that’s right. Who’s fuckin’ ya this good? Who’s ruinin’ ya for any other?”

You certainly weren’t expecting him to be this vocal, but you were far from complaining. His voice, which normally electrified you, was driving you insane, the tension building up tenfold. You tried to say his name again, but it came out incoherent. “Oh, sweetheart,” he cooed before laughing lightly. 

You were so close to your release again, and you could feel moisture run down your thighs, but you had little mind to be embarrassed now. “Cooper,” you were able to sigh out. “I’m… I’m close.”

His grip turned vice like, and you’re sure your neck would be hurting later because of the angle, but you didn’t care. “Let go. C’mon, lemme feel ya cum on my cock.” His words left no room for debate, so who were you to go against his orders? After a few more thrusts, you felt that tension snap again, pleasure once again washing over your body, making your arms turn to jelly. Panting, you collapsed on your arms, face squished against the mattress, the sound of slick skin on skin the only thing you could make out.

You didn’t stay down for long. Both hands wrapped around your front, pulling you flush against his body. He continued to thrust into you, and you felt another release begin to build, but it was too much. You made a sound of protest, something like you couldn’t come again, but he shushed you with kisses on your cheeks, which were damp with tears and sweat. “Just one more, sweetheart. You can do it.”

Nodding shakily, you felt his continue to fuck you, one arm wrapping around your stomach, the other holding right above your breasts. A startled noise left you when you felt his hand wrap around your throat, survival instinct kicking in immediately. With wide eyes, you twisted out of his grasp on your throat, panic evident on your face. 

He had let go as soon as he heard any sound of protest, but he still lingered close by. “You trust me?” He asked, somehow still able to form a coherent sentence. 

Your answer came immediately; you trusted him with your life. Why else would you travel the Wasteland with him? You nodded, a soft yes leaving you as you did. He pressed another grateful kiss to your cheek, a wordless thank you, and you felt his hand return to where it was. You still tensed when you felt his grip return, unable to turn off the instinct to be free of someone choking you, but you provided no further protest. 

Fingers squeezed against the sides of your neck, and like with your hair he used the leverage to snap his hips up into you. Even though it was harder, you were still able to breathe, your gasps and noises labored. Yet you still found yourself growing dizzy, the restricted blood flow making you so, which just heightened the pleasure you felt. 

Your third and final release of the night barreled into you, completely catching you both off guard. Your mind was so fuzzy; you couldn’t even get his name out. You were quickly snapped out of that haze when you heard him moan your name. Not sweetheart, not Vaultie, not any other nickname. Your name. 

He eased you to the bed, hand leaving your neck, and you let out a small whine when you felt him pull out of you. You felt empty, lacking, and even though you knew it would upset your overstimulated body you wanted him back in you. 

You had just rolled onto your back when you felt something hot splatter against your skin. You watched slack-jawed as he stroked himself to completion, his release painting your skin. The sight caused the flames of arousal to reignite, but you tried your best to snuff them out; you needed a moment. 

He sagged forward when he was done, arms once again bracing him from completely falling on top of you. Silence now filled the air, which was significantly warmer than it was a bit ago. It was you who moved first, grasping the side of his scarred face and pulling him in for a gentle kiss. It was short, but probably the most passionate of the night. 

When it broke, he sat up, getting up and off the bed and towards his belongings. You let out a noise of protest, and he just shot you a teasing look. “I’ll be back in a sec. We gotta get ya cleaned up,” he gestured to the remnants of him on your skin, and you watched as he fished out a canteen, before searching the area for something else. 

You decided to glance over your body as you waited for him to return. Your skin glistened with sweat, and you could see various marks littering your body; you didn’t want to know what your neck looked like, where he focused a lot of his attention.

The feeling of the bed shifting snapped you out of your examination, and you regarded the man who sat beside you with a soft look, and you were surprised when he returned it. It quickly turned into a scowl when you felt a damp cloth brush against your stomach and breasts, the cool water making you hiss. 

When he was done cleaning your skin, he handed you the canteen, and you took a few sips. You’d long since gotten used to the acrid taste of the Wasteland’s water, so it didn’t bother you, and you watched him finally kick off his boot. He was still fully dressed besides that, shirt sticking to his body.He set it beside the bed once you finished, before eying the bed that you were currently laying on.

“What?” You cringed at how raspy your voice sounded.

“Just dunno how I’m gonna fit.” In the back of your mind, you worried that he was going to push you away after all was said and done, so you were quite relieved to find the opposite happening. 

With a grin, you scooted back until your head rested against the thin pillow, before opening your arms to him. Shock crossed his features for a split second, before a grin of his own grew on his lips. He was still hesitant when he entered your embrace, but he relaxed almost immediately, especially when your hands ran soothingly up and down his back. When you pressed a kiss to the top of his head, he practically shuddered, his face nuzzling into your skin. You wondered how long it had been since someone showed him affection like this. 

You held him for a good while, your body calming down, and you thought over the events that had just transpired. Weirdly enough, you thought less about the things he had done and more of the words he said, especially right at the beginning. “Cooper?” You called out hesitantly, almost immediately regretting it. “Do… Can I call you that?”

He had raised his head when he heard his name being called, and you watched him debate it for a second. “Only in private. I’ve gotta reputation to uphold.” His response was gruff, but there was something warm in his eyes. 

It made you giddy, that he trusted you enough to call him by his true name, and you hoped you weren’t smiling like a fool. “Alright, Cooper. What did you mean when you said ‘finally’?”

He chuckled lightly, propping up a big so he could respond properly. “What, ya thought this was a spur of the moment decision?” He shook his head. “Sweetheart, I’ve wanted this for a while.”

You gaped at him, stunned. “You… you have?”

“How could I not? I mean, look at’cha,” his eyes trailed appreciatively over your still naked body. “But you’ve got a fire ‘bout ya. You ain’t afraid of this world, even though you damn well should be. You ain’t afraid of me, even though I’ve given ya plenty of reason to be. You’re a fighter, and I… I admire that ‘bout you. I-” He caught himself, like he said something he wasn't supposed to. “I’m too sober to be discussin’ my thoughts with ya. All ya gotta know is yes, I have.”

You were once again left stunned, so you let your action speak for you, pressing another kiss to his head, trying to ignore the way your heart soared. You felt him shift upwards, and he kissed your proper. It was another short yet passionate kiss, and when he broke away he rested his head against yours. 

“You wanna know somethin’, sweetheart?” His voice had dropped lower, and that familiar dark look was back in his eyes. So much for snuffing out the arousal you felt. He smirked when you nodded vehemently. “You wanna know the real reason why I always take first watch when we go to bed?” You felt his grasp one of your hands, loosely enough that you could pull it away if you wanted to, and he brought it between your bodies. You gasped when you felt the hard tent in his pants, having tucked himself away when he got up, but you knew it wasn’t going to stay like that for long. 

“It’s ‘cause you do this to me. You should hear me out there, moanin’ your name like I do, imaginin’ your hand wrapped ‘round my cock instead of mine.”

Your tiredness was completely forgotten, the pleasant ache in your muscles nothing more than a gentle distraction. “Can you show me?”

“Fuckin’ gladly, sweeheart.”

[rainyorca]

You're So Handsome When I'm All Over Your Mouth 𓇼 Reigen Arataka X Reader

Content warnings: F!reader, nsfw, cunnilingus, p n v, slight voyeurism, sick!reader, established relationship, smut.

Word count: 2,716

𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼

Reigen isn’t at all a careless lover. He’s very attentive, observant, and careful. Not once has he hurt you, on purpose at least. Sometimes the grip he has on your thighs is enough to bruise but of course he never truly means to do that. He gets excited fairly easily, years of abstinence makes it a bit hard for him to stay still. Especially when there’s such a lovely prize standing in front of him. 

You're half asleep, worn out from the sickness you had recently caught. It was a simple cold but eventually led into something that made you stay home from work and here you are, 6 pm on a Tuesday bedridden and just waking up from a short nap. You're sprawled out on the soft blankets of your bed, legs open slightly and arms slightly above your head. You're in your panties and one of Reigen’s t-shirts that you stole from his closet a few months ago. 

He’s standing at the end of the bed, staring at you with a flushed face as if he’s never seen you like this before. You rub your sleepy eyes, sitting up slightly to look at him. “Hey Reigen,” you mumble, your throat dry and voice raspy. You try to sit up but he stops you, getting on the bed and hovering above you slightly. He gently pushes your shoulder down and then feels your forehead with the back of his hand. “Do you feel hot? Is that why you’re laying on top of the blankets instead of under them?” He questions with a rather serious face. “Nooo,” you hum, “I just woke up.” 

“I can see that,” he backs up, standing back on the ground. “What’re you even doing here,” you say, it comes out more like a statement than a question. “Just came to see how you were feeling,” he responds, sitting at the edge of the bed, “and you told me to come by whether I felt like it, that’s why you gave me the spare key remember?” You nod slowly, trying to recall that conversation from months ago. You watch him loosen his tie and let it drape around his neck. For some reason you start to feel hot not just in your face but between your legs too. He takes off his jacket and then unbuttons his shirt just a little so you can see his collar bones. To distract yourself, you start asking about him so he could do his usual rambling. 

“How was your day?” You ask, watching his expression change a bit at your question. “It was good, there were a lot of evil spirits today. Mob and Serizawa did an excellent job today,” he responds, “as did I of course.” 

“I expect nothing less from the greatest psychic of the modern age,” you tease and he narrows his eyes at you. You know his little secret, you always have. You are incredibly hard to lie to after all. “Let’s not forget who’s bedridden and currently pantless in front of her boss,” he pinches the skin of your calf, “completely unprofessional.” 

“And yet my boss broke into my house, came into my room, which happens to be the place I change and sleep mind you, hence no pants, and watched me wake woke up,” you shoot back, “you wanna talk about unprofessional because I got a whole list of things that HR would deem as unprofessional.” 

He’s silent for a moment and then lets out a breathy chuckle. “Good to see you still have a sense of humor even when you're all gross and sick,” he says, patting your leg. “If I was gross you wouldn’t be looking at me like that,” you respond, letting your head fall back on your pillow. You can feel his eyes on you. His fingers trail up to your thigh, rubbing the soft flesh as he tries to make you feel better by his warm touches. “I’ll make you some tea,” he says, squeezing your thigh before getting up. 

You feel that pit in your stomach form, the feeling you always get upon your arousal. You close your legs, rubbing your thighs together as you try to get rid of the feeling. The image of him standing over you has been seared in your mind and you can’t get it out, it only adds to heat between your legs. You clamp your eyes shut, slowly trailing your hand down into your panties. You can hear him in the kitchen, humming a little tune as he brews your tea. 

A hiss escapes your lips when your fingers brush over your sensitive clit. You slowly rub circles, focusing on the mental image of your boyfriend. It’s risky, doing something like this with him here but you know he won’t mind it. You continue to run circles on your clit, picking up in pace until you can feel your panties are practically soaked. Soft moans fall off your lips as you try to force yourself to your release as quickly as possible. 

You keep this up for as long as you can, trying to get one out before he comes back but if you’re being honest, you want him to walk in on you. That’s when you hear rustling by the door. You open your eyes slightly to see if Reigen is standing there and to your enjoyment, he is. You stop for a moment but keep your hand in your panties. “Reigen,” you sigh, a little raspy. He has your tea in one hand and a bowl of grapes in the other. He must’ve known that you hadn’t eaten today. He has a slight pout on his face, it was more of a frown actually. Your eyes travel down to his pants where you can see a visible bulge and a small stain of precum seeping through his gray pants. 

“Reigen,” you repeat a bit more happily this time. “I leave you alone for a few minutes and this is what you spend your time doing,” he sighs, walking over and putting your tea and grapes down on the nightstand. “Sorry,” you apologize, sheepish. “I told you earlier today I would take care of you,” he says, slowly crawling into bed with you, “and you’re not letting me do that by doing this on your own.” 

You suddenly feel nervous, which was weird. Maybe it was because of the way he slowly moved down between your legs, his eyes never leaving yours. He kisses your thighs, his hands rubbing the sides of them and pushing them together. He scoots down a little further, laying on his stomach. He closes his eyes as he sucks small reddish-purple marks on your skin. He hovers about your cunt, opening his eyes to watch you. He moves your panties to the side, maintaining eye contact as he sticks his tongue out and presses it against your sensitive bud. You swear your brain just short circuited at the way he was looking at you but you kept your composure. He continues with his open mouth act, rolling his tongue around your clit but never closing his lips down on you. 

It’s the fact that he looks so servile while doing this. His eyebrows are arched and his eyes are lidded and innocent. He’s already making quiet noises that hit you deep in your soul. He finally closes his mouth around your clit, sucking and rolling his tongue over your sensitive bud. He still looks up at you with those innocent eyes. You throw your head back with a whine, not being able to handle looking at him or you’ll cum way sooner than you want to. 

He slides down to your entrance, sucking at you until he slips his tongue in. You let out a satisfied sigh, a lazy smile on your face as he eats you out like your the best dessert he’s ever had. Your hands find their way to his head, running through his dirty blonde hair to grab a handful. You're not a head pusher, you just like to keep your hands on a somewhat stable surface. You can feel the bed moving as he rubs himself against the blankets, the feeling causing his eyes to tear up. “Rei,” you whimper, feeling him move up to your clit again. His hands are on both your thighs, pushing them open for better access. You grind your hips against his face slightly, already feeling yourself teetering on the edge. 

He just looks so perfect down there, he’s focused and determined to make you feel better and it’s certainly working. Your hands fly up to grip your pillows when that coil in your stomach starts to unravel. Pleasure prickles down your spine and you dig your nails into the soft flesh of your pillows. He pushes two fingers into you, earning a little whine of surprise from you. It’s perfect, everything about this moment is perfect. He's moaning quietly into your cunt, making you vibrate in anticipation as you try to delay your own orgasm. 

Your back arches off the bed as your orgasm washes over you. He closes his eyes and focuses on really pulling it out of you. You whine his name like a prayer except it’s much sweeter and more beautiful to him. He puts his mouth back at your entrance to collect your release, pulling away from you slowly with his mouth open in a quiet pant. 

Your slick and release is all over his mouth and chin, he’s panting quietly but has a satisfied look in his eyes. “You’re so handsome when I’m all over your face,” you huff, taking in the sight. He smiles at you, wiping his mouth with his sleeve and sitting up. He’s still positioned between your legs and you can see the outline of his cock in his pants. He stares down at you, his shoulders rising and falling with every breath he takes. “Feeling any better?” He asks, leaning in so he can press his forehead against yours, “need a drink really quick?” 

You reach behind him and push on his ass so his hips meet yours. He lets out a little noise of surprise before laughing a bit. “Okay, okay,” he hums, sitting back again and fiddling with his belt, “yes ma’am.” You lay your head back on your pillow at that simple word that just makes you want him even more. He finally undoes his belt and drops it on the floor, pulling his pants down just enough so he had some room. “Where do you want me?” He asks, brushing his hair back with his hand. You love how messy his hair looks like that, and seeing his face without the bangs makes you really realize just how pretty he is. “Everywhere, all at once,” you respond jokingly. “I wish I could,” he sighs, leaning down and pressing his cock against your folds. 

He rubs against you a bit to get himself prepped and then he gets back on his knees again and grabs your hips. He lifts your lower half off the bed, your upper back still on the bed. You let your arms fall limp above your head as he holds you at kinda an upside down angle, but your head is still resting you on pillows. He uses a free hand to press his cock into you, sliding into your entrance with ease. A noise of satisfaction from you echoes in his ears and he holds you there for a few seconds before slowly pulling out and then pushing back in. 

Not even a few minutes in and he’s already a mess, he’s practically drooling at this point. The only sounds that fill the air of your room are skin against skin and a mixture of his louder, whiny moans and your quieter ones. He’s always been a little more vocal than you. His thrusts are at a decent pace, not too slow or too fast. It’s a bit hard for you to breathe since your nose is stuffy so you keep your mouth open. “You feel so good—-haah,” he groans, “so so good.” You reach down to rub your fingers over your clit, matching your pace with his thrusts. “I love it when you do that,” he slurs out, digging his nails into your hips. He picks up his pace a little, closing his eyes and furrowing his brows as he focuses on getting a decent quick pace. He swallows, trying to keep himself from getting sloppy. 

You clench down on him like a vice, causing him to let out a little strangled moan. He’s gentle with you, because he knows your body is probably already aching. This is why he’s such a good lover, his attention to details, to everything. The sting from his nails in your skin contributes to your overall pleasure though and he knows that. He knows what you like and how you like it. The specific words he says and how he says them. You’re most sensitive parts of your body, he knew everything really. He only learned this much about you because of all his times watching you while you pleasured yourself. He was the one with the idea and you’ll  never regret telling him yes because now he knows you so well especially only after a few months of dating. 

He ignores the ache in his legs from being in this position too long and instead focuses on your face. “You’re so pretty—-fuckk,” he whines when he feels you clench around him again. “Reigen,” you whimper his name, moving your fingers against your clit with more vigor. “I’m gonna cum,” you huff, clenching your free hand around your pillow. “Me too,” he breathes, sounding more fucked out than you. His over sensitivity always gets the best of him. “Wanna fill you up so bad,” he grunts, letting his head fall a little. He usually likes cumming on your stomach, seeing how pretty your skin looks with his release sticking to it. Today he’s definitely gonna have a hard time pulling out. “Fuck I’m gonna cum inside you,” he groans out, sounding more apologetic. 

Your body tightens as your release starts to approach, you continue your efforts on your clit, just a little more sloppy now. He’s first to cum, his body tenses up and shakes as he reaches his climax. He lets out the most beautiful sound you’ve heard from him in a while. It was like a sob mixed with a moan, whiney and a little long. He throws his head back, eyes rolling back as he continues to fuck you through his orgasm. During that time you hit your release, letting it wash over you. Your toes curl and your back arches even more off the bed. You just wanna pull him in and kiss him but he’s still holding onto you tightly. He thrusts a few more times into you before holding himself inside you. He stays there for just a few moments, catching his breath before pulling out with a sigh. He drops your hips, letting you rest comfortably on the bed now. 

He leans down, putting his hands on either side of you. You can feel his sweat dripping into your skin. He slowly lays down letting his head rest on your upper stomach while the rest of his body is slotted between your legs. “I don’t know if that’ll necessarily make me feel better,” you sigh, finally being able to breathe, “but at least I got what I wanted after being alone all day.” You lift a hand to run your fingers through his hair, carefully feeling the dirty blonde strands. “Reigen,” you say, raising a brow. You can feel his chest rise and fall slowly on your stomach. “Reigen?” You question again, lifting your head to see if he was watching you. 

You let out a sigh when you realize he’s fast asleep. His eyes shut softly and his lips parted as he took in shallow breaths. “Aren’t I supposed to fall asleep on you,” you mumble to yourself, “I’m the sick one after all.” You brush some strands of  hair out of his face and even though you're slightly irritated, his sleeping state makes you smile.

𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼ ꩜𓆉︎ ☼ 𓇼 ☼

[frostedsugarcookiehearts]

Can you do Schlatt imagine or hcs if his gf/so got in a car crash? Got in a minor one today and am looking for some big guy comfort

⁶ knee deep (in the passenger seat)

praying for you rose. <3

୨ৎ

your friends thought schlatt's weird rule about always driving was a toxic masculinity thing, but it was a little deeper than that.

schlatt wasn't a frightful man. he wasn't afraid of spiders or the dark or anything of the sort, no sir. he just had one fear, and one fear only – that one day, you wouldn't come home. you said that was irrational, that you'd always come back to him, so there was nothing to worry about.

but he worried.

he never worried more, though, than a dark thursday night. the roads were covered with sleet from the snow the night before, and his texts had gone mysteriously unanswered. and it made him insane. for such a collected young man, schlatt was flipping his fucking lid. texting you incessantly– your friends, your office, places you could've been.

but he got a call from an unknown number, the local hospital. they said you'd been in a "minor" car accident, and he yelled at them. he barked at them, "the fuck's a minor car accident?! a car fuckin' hit 'er, no? so get your asses off your chairs and make sure she's not hurt– or or has a concussion, or–" he stammered, trying to muster up any terminology he remembered from those times you forced him to watch grey's anatomy with you.

the hospital almost had to call security because he was so distraught, yelling and screaming for you, even though the doctors insisted you were fine with almost no injuries, besides the fact you were a little startled.

the minute he saw you wobbling down the linoleum hallways in your little hospital gown getup, he visibly relaxed. he drowned out the front desk lady insisting she was going to call the authorities and focused just on you as he wrapped you in such a tight hug it was more likely to break your bones than the impact of that other car was. "oh, you're alive. fuck, i tore down this whole place looking for your silly self. you alright? breathin', i see. looking as cute as ever, toots, yesirre."

you smiled. "i'm fine. i'm a trooper."

"that you are," he grinned, kissing your face all over. "my rose."

୨ৎ

dividers credit: @omi-resources

[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

Do you know who his wife is?

Vladimir Makarov × Fem wife reader + family

You and Vladimir have been trying to give them the most normal life possible but it's difficult to not see what you and him are, you weren't expecting your Three babies learning and taking all this knowledge to practice in their own world.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Warning ⚠️: Credits of this images goes to whoever they belong to! Grammatical and spelling errors, mentions of violence, weapons, blood.

Credits of this image goes to ElijahCielle

You have a very unusual family, you're the daughter of the Russian Mafia married to the most dangerous man in the country, you have three beautiful children.

Elizaveta/ Liza (10 years old) and your twins, Lev and Yerik (15 years old). Vladimir Makarov was a proud father, his little princess was more like a little wolf and his sons, the young boys who would inherit all he had, Makarov was more than proud.

The Three kids have seen unusual things in their little family. They have seen their grandparents making business, using weapons, they have seen their father making plans, organizing people, they also have seen you in charge of eliminating enemies of your husband and parents.

Of course, you and Vladimir have been trying to give them the most normal life possible but it's difficult to not see what you and him are, you weren't expecting your Three babies learning and taking all this knowledge to practice in their own world.

It's Another normal Friday, you're cleaning your hands, meanwhile the man in front of you is bleeding and pleading for his life.

«Please, please I will pay every cent of my debt with your parents, please»

- Oh you will, don't worry darling, you will pay but we will also close our business with you losing your ability to breath.

«NO! NO PLEASE! I BEG YOU, PLEASE!»

He's begging but then, your phone rings over and over, you check quickly, your kid's school.

- Someone helps me to keep this guy quiet! I have to attend this call!

And as quickly as you ask for help, one of your men takes your place and puts a sock in the mouth of your victim.

- Thanks, Hello?

«Hello? I'm looking for Y/N. We're calling because we have a little problem with her kids»

- Oh, yes it's me, are they alright?

«Yes, they're fine, it's a discipline problem, we were expecting you to come to talk with the principal and their teachers so we can discuss and fix this little problem»

You sighed and responded with a quick 'yes', you went back to finish your job and a few hours later, you're at school, wondering what they did, remembering all those times you and your husband told them to not do anything wrong.

Once you're inside walking through the corridors, you finally find your three kids.

- What we have here? What trouble you're into, huh?

Liza jumps on you kissing your cheek, while your other two are in the most chill mood, as if nothing was wrong. You were expecting something really bad as a broken bones or someone in the hospital.

Suddenly a teacher appears in the door. All of you stand and go inside the office, the teachers and the principal are waiting for you to talk, they sent the kids to wait outside.

- Well, what's wrong?, their father is not available to come but I'm here and I'll discuss all this with him later...

«first of all, we have to say, the three of them are brilliant» «very smart kids» «too smart for their own good»

- Okay, so what's the problem? Did they hurt somebody? I will pay the hospital bill if it's necessary.

All the group exchange looks between them, how do you have all these expectations of your children?. One of them breaks the silence and continues talking.

«no, no, the problem is... Okay, Liza is a nice girl, but she indeed has some trouble with other classmates, she hit a boy today because he was making comments about her, she hit the boy over and over and this is not the first time she has a fight»

You wanted to act horrified but you couldn't be more proud, you remembered her playing with her father, he showed him to fight, defend herself, you're happy she learned well and fast.

- Oh, that's terrible, is the kid alright? Liza has an explosive temperament, we already talk about it with her.

«Yes, he will not be at school until next Wednesday...»

' that's what he deserved ' you thought.

«...on the other hand, Lev and Yerik. They have a different story. They have a little trafficking line of candies, cigarettes and exam answers, this is too serious, they have students working for them, receiving small commissions for every sale they do...»

More proud and you would explode, it was a nice feeling, to know your kids are smart, strong and... Wait, no, it suppose you have to act concerned and worried.

«We're worried about how much influence they have over the students» «your children are leaders by nature and that's good, but we're really worried about it, they feel free to break and make their own rules, this causes us a lot of trouble...» «We just ask for some discipline, they have to understand there are rules and a system they have to follow...»

You keep discussing any solution, at the end you inform them that you and your husband will consider a new school where your children can explode these abilities, since, in your opinion, they're not doing nothing wrong, so for the next school year they will be in a new college.

On the way back home, you talk with your kids about what happened and how proud you were about them and some advice to be more discreet. A quick stop in the supermarket, everybody adding and adding more and more stuff to the cart, you're not paying much attention, you're on the phone when you sense something is wrong. You start to look around, noticing the place is almost empty, there's some workers but the people in general are more men than women, also many of them are big and muscular, suddenly your mother instinct tells you this is something you have to be worried about.

You walk quickly to pay for all the groceries, your children are behind you talking about teenagers stuff, your daughter suddenly holds your hand and squeezes it, talking almost in a whisper.

- Mom, there's a man with a skull mask outside.

You nod in silence, caressing her hair to indicate everything's under control. You take your phone and text your husband «dinner will not be ready on time».

You ask your two boys to carry the bags, while you and your daughter walk to open the car they're putting everything inside when a man approaches, your boys walk at your side, you're not scared, just worried because you're not alone, is your family with you and you have to protect them at any cost.

- Guys, get in the car.

- But mom...

Your twins say with one voice while your daughter instantly obeys.

- Get in the fuckin' car right now.

Once the three are inside you can see the other two men walking to you.

- Can I help you, gentlemen?

The one with a mask seems stronger than the rest of them, so you think you have to start with him, you can't see his face but something in your eyes says he's making his own analysis of the situation.

- We're looking for Vladimir Makarov, someone gave us some clues about him and now we're here. what connection do you have with him?

You sigh loudly, thank god is not another enemy of your family or your husband would get crazy again, this time he will have to give you a huge present to win your pardon.

- Who's your informant? Someone not so smart I suppose.

- Answer the question.

- Fine... Makarov is my husband.

These strangers are quiet as a grave, they all look surprised and exchange quick looks between them. One of them talks before anyone else.

- Do you know who your husband is?

This question paints a big smile on your face, of course you know who your husband is and you couldn't be more proud of him.

- I do. But...

In less than a second you hit the first man with a quick kick to the chest, he collides against another car not so far from yours.

- Do you know who his wife is?

More men appear out of nowhere as cockroaches, everybody starts to run to attack you.

One receives a knee strike, another a liver shot, back leg sweep, nose strike and more. You're a woman who can handle body to body combat really well but is exhausting to do it alone.

As if your kids could read your mind or feel your exhaustion, the door of your car opens, your pretty Liza flings the gun you have saved in the car glove box you catches it and instantly starts to shoot.

While Lev appears behind you knocking down another man, Yerik starts the car, some more shoots to create distraction and now everybody's inside the car.

- Yerik, drive as fast as possible, Liza, put your belt and tell your dad we'll see him at the safe house. Lev, take the gun under the passenger seat, today you will show me how good you are shooting.

Once again, with one voice your Three children simply answer with a loud «Yes, mom». A police chase, what a moment to spend some familiar time.

You feel very blessed to have a husband who always has a plan and is always prepared for any scenario, your car is very well armored, the tires, the glasses, every centimeter of your car is safe and hard to batter down.

Yerik is a good driver he loves the speed, so for him this is an easy task, Liza has an amazing sense of direction, she knows her city as the palm of her hand so she indicates her brother where to go, giving advice about the streets that will be more empty and shortcuts, meanwhile you and Lev are at each side of the car, shooting to the cars that are following you, Lev is smart and fast, he made one of the cars crash by shooting directly to the front tires, both are celebrating when a bullet passes close enough to your arm and hurts you.

- Ahhh, fuckin' bastards!

The three lose their focus to look at your wound.

- Focus guys! Don't look at me, I'm fine, we're close to the Forest, Yerik be careful now.

-Wait... Are we going to...?

- Yes, we can't let them follow us to the safe house! Liza, honey be ready, we'll have to jump from the car. Lev, stop shooting, get ready...

Before you can finish the sentence a helicopter appears flying over your car, shooting to the rest of enemies that are behind you. Of course it is your husband, He wouldn't miss a good chase and he wouldn't leave his family without protection.

Yerik is still driving but unsure of what to do, jump or not jump?, your phone rings, Liza answers and it's your husband's voice.

- Keep driving, there's a barricade and some men are ready to attack the rest of them, you'll have 3 minutes to leave the car and board the helicopter, we can't land so you'll have to jump and climb the ropes, alright?

- I'll have your head as soon as we're in that god-damned helicopter, Vlad!

- I love you too my love.

He laughs mockingly and the call ends, after some minutes driving, you finally see the barricade and your husband's men. It's quick, you don't even know how you arrive at the helicopter, perhaps you were too focused on not letting someone hurt your kids, they're safe now.

As soon as you're safe at home, everybody acts like nothing happened, you went directly to the kitchen to see what you can cook since all your groceries stayed In the car, your kids went to their rooms to do homework and prepare everything for the next day, while your husband went to his office to make some calls.

At dinner, everybody looks tired, eating in silence until you receive a call from one of your men.

«What did you find out? (...) Was him? How do you know? (...) That fuckin' rat... Okay, you know what? Burn everything (...) YES!, I don't want nothing but the ashes of his properties, and I don't want survivors alright? No Mercy, he thought he could play with me and put my family at risk, no? Now make them pay the consequences (...) Fine, I'll go as soon as I can, before burning those places, take their money (...) Uhhh no, Vlad will stay with the kids, see you.»

You continue eating while your whole family has their eyes on you, it's your husband who finally breaks the silence.

- So, What did they find?

He says without any emotion, focused on his meal, your drinking your cup of wine and just like him, as if what you found out wasn't so important talk.

- The guy I told you I would... (You paused, trying to find a different word to not say you killed someone) Visit. He was working with an army special force, they offered him protection in exchange for information about us.

- I never liked that guy he was always in those twisted business, I suppose you already punished him.

- I did, but I still have something to do, you will have to stay tonight with the kids, I don't know how much time it will take us to clean it all.

He smiles and blinks an eye to your kids who are ready looking at him with big smiles. They already know what that means, no school the next day, waking up late with the smell of a sweet special breakfast made by their father, a day full of rewards and time in family, because after all, your children are the most important thing for Makarov, he can be a cold man outside and ruling and controlling as much as he wants, but at home he's totally the opposite, he's a cool dad.

Before you leave, he kisses you deeply and with that you know your kids will not be the only ones who will receive a reward for what they did today.

Makarov will fill you with an expensive present, and some other things that only you and him can enjoy in private.

- Don't take too long, or you won't have your present.

You smile at him while his arms are around your waist, kissing him again, with your hands around his neck you nod and whisper a sweet and soft «Okay, love».

- You did a great job today, my love.

- I know, but it wasn't only my job, your children played their part very well too. I think Liza is ready to receive her present.

- I think that too, I received my first gun at her age, and after what happened today... it's fair.

- Good, I gotta go, but wait for me, we will give it to her together, I wanna see her face!

Both kiss again and you leave to finish your job. Many people would say you and Vladimir are crazy and irresponsible for having a family even knowing you two have this dangerous life.

«Breaking news! Yesterday, a police chase took place at the city center supermarket, the suspect's identity is still unknown, the persecution ended close to the Forest, 45 bodies were found. Meanwhile, Last night a series of fires started around the town, Police station wonders if both events are related»

But you and him knew the risks, y'all know very well you would be alright, you and him are a powerful couple and with today's drama, you show how well prepared both are and how far you will go if someone dares to touch your family.

[iamdkayyyyy]

Broken.

Dk fic for my seokmin stans.

My first ever fanfiction

( meaning it's not good but hope you enjoy it anyway)

Lee Seokmin ( Dk) x ( it was supposed to be gn reader but im not sure I might've said she somewhere, I tried tho)

Synopsis: the reader doesn't know how to handle her feelings dk is the the best bf ever 

(are we surprised? no.)

This fight had been going on for the last hour. It was only getting harder to hold back your tears. You quickly turn around and try to wipe your tears before he realises. You dont even remember how this fight started. 

Was it because he came home way too late last night?

No, that wasn't it.

Was it because you told him that he shouldn't have posted that one picture on Instagram?

No, it wasn't that either.

Wait. Yes. It was your distance. The distance you’d created between you and him to “try and save your relationship”.

Your friend told you that you were far too clingy and needed to give your boyfriend some space. That week, you made sure to give Seokmin as much space as he needed but... He didn't seem grateful. Not in the slightest.

“Y/n, did I do something? Talk to me.” he whispered calmly, but his patience was running out.

“I've been trying to talk to you all week and all I get are one-word replies to my PARAGRAPHS of texts. I say, “Y/n baby, let's get some food today, I missed you “ with a bunch of hearts, and what do I get?! No thanks, I‘m busy.”

he said shoving the phone showing the texts in your face, his face in a frown you didn't even know he was capable of.

“Seok.” you said your voice barely above a whisper. You stopped trying to hide that you were crying, your tears rolling down your face in floods.

Seokmin’s face immediately softened. 

“hey, hey, it's ok baby,” he murmured faintly, cupping your face with a tenderness only he would ever give you. He watched you cry, his eyes gleaming with his own tears.

A delicate kiss landed on your cheek.

“Y/N, you’re not ok. I'm here to help you. “ 

“If you dont tell me how am I supposed to help you through this?” He looked at you gingerly.

“I'm sorry seok, I won't bother you with me,” you said sharply, as you stood up wiping your tears, rushing to get out of his apartment. How could you be so careless? Crying in front of someone you love.

“I’ll just go-” You were cut off, as he grabbed your wrist. Firm but never enough to hurt. 

He would never hurt you.

“Y/N, you are not leaving until you talk to me.” he said almost harshly, a tone you’d never heard from him before.

“ Do you not trust me?”

Trust. An odd word really. Something you’d only done once.

Only with your ex. Your horrible, emotionally abusive ex.

James. Oh, how he hurt you...

Trust. Something you believed only led to failure. Who do you think you are sharing your feelings with others?

Wait. You thought.

This isn't James. This is Seokmin. 

Seokmin, the man who stood in front of your house in the heavy, pouring rain of January, simply because he just HAD to give you flowers at least once a week

Seokmin, the man who showered with kisses and love.

Seokmin, the man who doted on you, making sure you never had to lift a finger when you were sick.

There was finally someone you could trust, and he was standing right in front of you waiting for you to trust him too.

“Min, please dont fight with me, im sorry” you said in between breaths. You forgot how hard it was to breathe when you cried.

What if Seokmin thought you looked ugly like this?

What if he didn't want you anymore after seeing you in this state?

“Y/n, stop, I know you’re spiralling again. “ he almost yelled.

“Just trust me. Please” he pleaded.

You can trust him, y/n y/l/n.

So you did. You told him everything. From your fears, to your trauma to your crippling anxiety, to the fact that you overthink everything and anything. You felt free. The weight was finally lifted off your shoulders.

You dont have to do this alone, and you never will as long as he is here.

You sniffled.

He looked up at you, smiled and gave you the tightest, bone-crushing hug you’d ever felt. Finally, you were safe. 

You were happy.

You were home.

It was then that you realised, wherever DK was. That was where home was. 

Seokmin= home was the equation of your life. 

In all your years as a Math major has an equation ever made as much sense as this one.

“I love you” he reassured you.

“I love you too”

“Not nearly as much as I love you”

“Nope, I love you more “you said. Almost automatically, he hugged you even tighter ( if that was even possible). Then he pulled away. It felt empty for only a second until his lips landed on yours, for the most beautiful, most soft kiss of your life.

“You’ll never be able to love me as much as I love that gorgeous face of yours, as much as I love that ever-caring heart of yours, as much as I love that pure soul of yours.

My light.

My life.

My world.

My everything.”

You started crying again, but this time it wasn't fear or sadness. 

It was joy.

[httpskuzuu]

Everything you need

this man makes me feel things

Yandere!Fyodor x Reader

English is not my mother tongue, sorry for the mistakes.

tw: kidnapping, yandere, mention of: broken bones, abuse, punishment (nothing explicit really), stockholm syndrome, brainwashing, reader needs therapy urgently, memory loss, broken reader, fyodor is a general tw

There were days when your mind wouldn't leave you alone. How long had you been here? Who were you before you met Fyodor? Did you have family? Friends? You remembered nothing.

Fyodor took everything from you, but did you really have anything to take from you before?

Today is one of those days, your mind doesn't stop scheming, and he knows, he always knows. Your mind always seemed like it was open like a book to him. No need for words between you, he just by looking at you knew what you were thinking, what you were feeling and what hurt.

You remember how that bothered you at first, you felt naked being with someone who was almost a mind reader. Now you don't remember why you felt upset, Fyodor knows everything and that brings you comfort.

Maybe it bothered you because you used to be rebellious, with a fighting spirit that you assumed was indomitable. Well, you were wrong, but you're better now, or so Fyodor says. He says you're much prettier when you're submissive, you believe him.

Sometimes memories came to you, memories of unfamiliar faces, sensations all over your body, sometimes you could remember a name you didn't know who it belonged to, sometimes a voice.

The memories you hate and love the most at the same time are the ones involving Fyodor: they bring pain, broken bones, screams, cries, but they can also bring security, hugs, soft words.

Today a memory came to you, a name and a voice, it was so soft, so pleasant, you wondered who it belonged to, some friend with the nicest smile in the world? Maybe a relative who always cared about you?

Fyodor's hand makes your train of thought cut off. He strokes your hair for a few moments and then runs his thumb along the line of your jaw.

You looked up at his face from your position lying on his chest. You no longer remember what you were thinking. You think you should apologize, you don't know exactly why, there is no need to, Fyodor is good now that you are good too, a compassionate and kind God.

You relax against his body and let his hand have a free way. You look at the book he holds in his other hand, it is in Russian and you wish you could understand it to distract your mind.

He knows that. "Do you want me to read to you, моя любовь?" his accent is thick and the vibrations from his chest escalate to your whole body. You nod weakly.

Fyodor's voice is calm, and along with the sound of his heart manages to melt you onto his chest.

Your mind is now blank, you can't and don't want to think. Why do you need to think in the first place? You have Fyodor with you, that's more than enough.

His hand runs all over your body, ends up reaching your wrist. His touch takes you back to the day he broke it, you can't help but shudder at that, and he notices. Fyodor's hand moves gently into your hair again.

You close your eyes wearily. After a few minutes, Fyodor stops reading, and you feel a chaste kiss on your forehead.

"Я тебя люблю.*"

*Я тебя люблю: i love you 🤭

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[7:33 pm]

(cw: reader is pregnant, mentions of throwing up, mood swings, “asshole”)

Everyday was getting more and more exhausting the closer you got to your due date. Your feet hurt, your back ached, the cravings drove you crazy, and the mood swings were hard to deal with. Starting the day off earlier than you would have liked certainly didn’t help since you couldn’t get back to sleep with the little limbs moving like it was the middle of the day and not 6 in the morning.

It was like any little thing was close to ending you into a rage. Remembering you had to drink decaf when you were so tired just annoyed you, there was nothing good playing on tv, your leftovers for lunch didn’t heat up well, and no position you sat in eased the aching you felt in your bones which was not helped by constantly getting up to pee. On top of all of this it was just so warm in the apartment, so humid and gross feeling- overall just not a great day.

And poor Haechan, if you were in a better mood you might be able to appreciate him more, but not today. You were annoyed when he strolled into the kitchen with his usually endearing bed head at 10, clearly having been able to comfortably sleep in. The scent of his coffee wafted through the whole house making your mouth water, watching his YouTube and laughing, and he was able to walk around and lift things to finish setting up the nursery. Yesterday you had been happy to receive your usual forehead kiss and watch him work on getting the nursery finished up, but today was not the day. You could feel your anger building up more and more the next thing to annoy you was probably going to send you over the edge.

You were laid on the couch borderline glaring at a commercial when a sweaty smelling Haechan waltzed in and sat at the very end of the couch. He reached for you and pushed your feet slightly to the side to reach over and rub your stomach. Unfortunately, the baby decided to move as much as they could causing an aching pain in your lower back and a sudden shortness of breath. You could feel your throat tighten and your breathing got heavier and faster. You felt a pressure at the back of your eyes right before you started cry.

Haechan’s eyes widened, “My love, what’s wrong?”

You sat up, wiping away the endless stream of tears while you managed to get out, “Why are you touching me? It’s so hot and you made the baby move and now my back hurts even more. I was just getting comfy and you ruined it.”

“I’m so sorry my love,” he replied tentatively, easing himself down from the couch to crouch in front of you.

“You just smell so bad, I want to throw up, and my lunch wasn’t good, and they must hate me because everything on tv is just so bad today. Today is the worst day of my life,” you sobbed. Haechan bit back a laugh which only made you sob harder, “Don’t laugh at me, you did this to me.”

“I know my love, I am so sorry. Look, I’ll close all the windows and turn down the air so it’s nice and cool for you. I’ll order your favorite for dinner, does that sound good?” Haechan asked gently, slightly scared that he might add fuel to the fire.

You shook your head, “I want Thai tonight.”

Haechan smiled, “I’ll order that before I hop in the shower, do you need anything else?”

“Besides your kid out of my body? Can you get me more juice please, with 5 ice cubes only?” You asked sweetly, no longer crying.

“Of course my love, 5 ice cubes got it,” Haechan nodded. He closed all the windows and the blinds before he disappeared out of your sight, you heard the air conditioning kick on and then the ice falling into the glass.

He came back and set the glass of juice on the table beside the couch, turning back in the direction of your bedroom immediately after. You could feel your negative emotions just melt away. A few minutes later Haechan joined you back in the living room on the adjacent couch. You reached for his hand, “I’m sorry, baby.”

“You don’t have to apologize my love, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t think to touch you without your permission,” Haechan replied.

“No, usually it’s ok but the baby has been a real pain in everything today. I woke up early and couldn’t fall back asleep and the baby has been awake and too active all day,” you sighed.

Haechan leaned down to get eye-level with your stomach, “Hey stink, you better stop being a pain.”

Later as you ate your food, happy and finally at complete ease, you looked at Haechan seriously, “I love you, but I’m not getting pregnant again anytime soon.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear that because I’m not getting you pregnant anytime soon. I’ve had enough morning sickness and midnight cravings runs to last me a few years. God, and painting that nursery 3 slightly different shades of white was a total pain,” Haechan groaned running a hand down his face.

“Oh, you’ve had enough of all that have you? Imagine experiencing it first hand asshole. You don’t get to complain about those things like I do, you’re not growing your own hyperactive offspring,” you huffed.

Haechan froze, expecting another rage induced breakdown, switching on his soft and understanding voice at the blink of an eye, “You’re so right my love, I’m sorry.”

You rolled your eyes, “that’s what I thought.”

-

a/n: hello if you’ve read this far do you prefer my writing with or without the read more? I just forgive it might be nicer as someone perusing the tags to not have to scroll a bunch past a single work, thank you!!!

[tarithenurse]

Inhuman

Fandom: MCU.

Pairing/starring: Fem!Reader, Daisy Johnson. Eventually pairings (some canon, some not).

Word count: 1069.

Contents: Mild angst, lots of confusion.

A/N: This was my first ever fanfic - it looked different in its original version but I'm editing heavily. It will be starring pretty much ALL of the MCU characters (Avengers, X-Men, Agent of SHIELD, etc), and will bee tackling everything from "Civil War" and on differently than canon.

Any questions are welcome. Please comment and like and reblog. Let me know if you want a tag.

Prologue

It’s dark when you wake up, but you recognize the smell of hand sanitizer, sharp in the nostrils. You should. You’ve been working at a hospital as a nurse for three years already. You can hear the faint beeping from a heart monitor and the distant voices…but you can’t see. Why can’t I see? You try to move the hands to the face, but they won’t move either. Guess I’m sedated? Somehow you’re way too logical and calm but you feel fuzzy too as if you aren’t quite awake.

You try again.

“Just take it easy, [Y/N], it’ll be okay” The voice comes from the right side of the bed. It’s like a bunch of tiny grey glitters forming the shape of a woman in the darkness. She’s alone here with you. “Do you need something to drink?”

You manage to nod and the woman holds something unseen out towards you...then the straw touches your lips and you get to drink. The mouth and throat always gets dry with patients that have drips and judging by a weird sensation in your left hand, that’s just what you have.

“Do you know why you are here?”

You try to think back. You remember being…in a car? It’s still fuzzy.

“You were in a car crash.” The other woman says, smiling apologetically as if it’s her fault. I hope for her that it’s not…how can I even see, that she is smiling? “It was pretty bad…we didn’t think you’d make it”.

“You’re a nurse or a doctor?” The back of the throat is scratching annoyingly, reducing your own voice to nothing more than a croak.

“Neither, but we specialize in this type of cases.”

“We? Why?”

“You’re special. But I see the nurse coming, better let him do his thing.”

The stranger leaves just as a tall gangly nurse enters the room. Again the glittery particles tell you where the person is even though this time a mix of gold and silver coming together in the shape of a man. You don’t even have to face towards where they are to know they are there.

This is seriously funky. I didn’t know morphine could do this.

It’s not just something you see...it’s mainly a sensation, almost a magnetic feeling where the presence of a person sort of resonates physically within you. And then some, because focusing on the person makes all of the body show, skin, bones, muscles and organs. All of it. Like the pictures that have a hidden images that only can be seen when looking at it in just the right way.

A warm voice distracts you from the thoughts. “Hey there, lucky girl. Good to see you are awake, finally. I’m Keith and I’ll help take care of you today. Are you hurting anywhere?”

You hadn’t really thought about that until now. “No, but I can’t move…is that because of the sedation?” Please let it be that!

“Yes, your body has responded a bit…differently…to the treatments. So we thought it would be better to keep things at a slow and controlled pace, but don’t worry: you are healing well.”

“Differently? What has been happening?” The faint beeping mimicking your heart rhythm quickens its pace ever so discreetly.

Keith frowns at you, then glances in the direction the stranger had gone. “Oh, she didn’t explain?”

“She didn’t even say who she was...” …but she is standing right outside the door...

“Well I’m sure she will be back and answer all your questions soon!” Says Keith confidently. He is frowning though. “Let me just start with freeing you of the bandage on your head.”

He reaches carefully behind your head and starts unwinding gauze. You can feel his breath on the cheeks accompanied by a hint of oranges.

“Watch your eyes, here comes the light!”

And it does. As you get accustomed to the brightness, you squint around the white room. It’s definitely more high-tech than where you work. Here the monitors are hanging neatly on a panel on the wall rather than being a big thing that has to be wheeled in when it’s needed, and the bed is definitely the newest model too. The only window faces out into another room...guess it wouldn’t have mattered with a view to the outdoors with my eyes covered though.

Looking at the nurse, you take in the shock of brown hair that he has tried to control with a bit too much gel. The glittering particles that you could see before have melted into the actual person. They are still there as a part of him, just not as prominent.

Keith is squinting at you with green eyes from behind a thick set of glasses, and then he gets out the med pen light and shines it in your eyes. He seems worried, but you feel fine: no fuzziness or pain, everything is nice and sharp in view…apart from the fact that he is blinding you with the light of course. The main purpose of the test is probably to assess any potential neurological damage, though.

“Well good to see they are working!” He concludes and then he leaves the room and takes the woman with him 30-ish meters away from the room.

You can barely hear their voices but it’s enough to pick out a few words: reaction, blue, orange, changing, director.

Why are we speaking English? Am I not home anymore??

Then Keith leaves and the woman comes back. You hadn’t realized until now but the stranger, the woman, is rather young, maybe a bit younger than herself, definitely well trained…and humming, like the feel from a load of small vibrations and it’s even visible in the particles. Traffic from a nearby road that you can feel through the soles of your feet.

“So, Miss Mystery, that bad, eh?”

“Call me Daisy. And no, just…different.” She is smiling genuinely, which makes her eyes glint under the thick, black bangs that cover her forehead. “We haven’t seen many like you. Could you do me a favour?”

“If you do me one.”

“Alright, but answer me this first: what colour are your eyes?”

That question seems silly enough for you to shut up for a moment, but then you recall the words you just overheard. “[Y/E/C], not orange.”

“Ah, so you heard that. And thanks, your turn,” she laughs.

“What colour are my eyes? And where the hell am I??”

[harleehazbinfics]

Dear Baby, Chapter 7

Dear Baby, m.list | Author's Profile

WARNING: dialogue of previous sexual and emotional abuse in the first part, read at your discretion! Word Count: 1.1k

Hours before daybreak you find yourself staring at ceiling that was painted beautifully of a garden and an apple tree in the middle. This left a bitter taste in your mouth.

‘Stupid. Why’d you even fall for him. He’s a married man. Just because he helped you, made you feel included, fed you, gave you work… ok this is not helping my case. But the point is, you shouldn’t have done that,’ you thought as you imagined a man with wings and a woman in that garden painting, ‘No matter how complicated his relationship with his wife is… and/or how skilled he may be with his tongue BUT—'

Delving deeper into your head, you recall moments from years ago.

‘Bring that one to my room tonight. Bathe her and dress her up nicely, it’ll be our first night together. Let’s hope she doesn’t disappoint like all the rest did.’

‘Haah, hahh. For a lowly baron’s daughter, you are quite an exquisite delicacy. You belong to me from now on, and you will serve me from a very long time.’

‘Worthless thing. You dare be haughty? Respond when you are spoken to, I’d hate to see lashes on my new favorite plaything.’

‘It hurts? You deserve to be punished. You gaze and talk with another man behind my back? Ungrateful wench, you belong to me!’

Then you remember screaming for him to stop, grappling at anything to get away from him. Only to stop and fall into submission as your tired and abused body caused you to feel numb all over.

You sit up abruptly heaving deep breaths, desperately shaking off your thoughts. Your hand falls to your stomach, slowly calming you down.

“My darling, you must promise me. No matter what happened, you must know that I love you very much. You are never a mistake. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and nothing will ever change that,” you whisper while you rubbed your bump.

With one final sigh, you got up off the bed prepared for the day. Today you felt like you were going on autopilot. You’d eat silently, work mechanically, and losing focus a few times causing you to sigh at your 3rd mistake today.

You press the pen down and rubbed your dominant hand as you leaned back against your chair. Feeling the exhaustion creep into your bones from waking up so early. You’re startled to see Lucifer put his hand on your forehead.

“Are you okay? You don’t seem to have a fever, that’s good,” he says in relief.

You blush at the sudden action and hold your forehead when he took his hand away and turn to the side trying to hide your blush.

It was just a couple days after you exchanged your feeling with one another and that very pleasure filled night. Of course, the both of you never got too far with your pregnancy and all. Nonetheless, it was truly an unforgettable experience. So unforgettable, in fact, that you felt hot between your thighs, and you couldn’t help but squirm remembering how his hands, lips and tongue roamed your body.

You blush deeply as your hair puffed up while you replied, “No, I’m just tired is all. I didn’t have a good rest last night unfortunately.”

He looks at you worriedly and says, “Well, you can stop working for today. You can come back once you’re feeling better.”

You gave him a strained smile and thanked him. When you got up to walk back to your room, your legs suddenly gave out. Lucifer, with his fast reflexes, caught you in his arms, his hands careful around your bump. Your hands on his chest looking at him in surprise while his was filled with worry.

Both your eyes flitted between each other’s eyes and lips. You caught a chaste kiss with him until you finally got a hold of yourself and pushed against his chest to stand up properly.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter awkwardly.

“You should be more careful,” he replies in the same tone and carefully removing his hands off your waist with a cough.

“Would you—” he then coughs again to clear his throat before continuing, “Would you like to come with me? Later? I want to show you something. I-if you’re not up to it, it’s fine you should rest as much as possible.”

You watch as he cutely stammers between his words with his hand on his nape with an anxious look in his face making you giggle.

“Of course. I’d be honored,” you reply making him blush wildly.

--

“I need you to keep your eyes closed.”

“Well, you’re making me nervous.”

“It’ll be worthwhile. I promise,” he assures looking at you meaningfully.

He escorted you to, what you assumed to be, the middle of the room when he stopped you and unveiled your covered eyes. What you saw astounded you. You were inside a darkened dome with projections of stars and planets that illuminated the walls and ceilings.

“This is beautiful! How did you—?” you ask, turning behind me to look at him shocked and in awe of the stunning view.

He pulls his hands behind his back and shakes them with glittery dust spewing from them and gives me a mischievous smile before replying, “Magic~”

You couldn’t help but give a chirping laugh and thank him for his gift.

He coughs and steps in front of me. “I have one more thing to show you.”

You give a smile and say, “I wonder what could top this off,”

He gives you a scroll with a decorative ribbon wrapped around the middle of it. You quirk your brow and open it.

‘MUTUAL PETITION OF DIVORCE’

Wide eyes dart back to his and mutter, “What?”

He takes a step closer to you and answers, “I went and asked for a divorce with Lilith. She seemed fine with it and signed it without much thought. But I got this to show you, how much you mean to me and how I want to be part of your life—” he pauses and gently taps your stomach, “your lives.”

You couldn’t help the tears spilling from your eyes. You were incredibly moved from his words and actions that you couldn’t hold back your sob, he worriedly wipes away your tears and holds your hand.

“You cry so easily,” he whispers with a small laugh before kissing your eyes.

After doing so, he raises his eyes and looks up at your and asks cautiously as to not ruin the atmosphere, “So… would you like to let me be the male character in your book?”

You huff a laugh and roll your eyes before nodding your head. He excitedly squeals and peppers your face with kisses, careful as he does so. You giggle at his feathery kisses and try to pry him away from you because of how ticklish you were.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. I swear,” he promises as he nuzzles into you.

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