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sundrop-writes · 7 months ago

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The Way You Miss Me

Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader

I’m not trying to say I don’t wanna stay, I just know how this story ends.

Use my body against me - and all of our history.

I hate the way you miss me.

Summary:

Fred broke up with you. He made it clear that he was going to have a new life when he opened his shop, and he didn't need you to be a part of it. You being stuck on him was just another joke in a long line of pranks that he pulled.

And life kept on laughing at you when your fear of crippling heights was triggered by a potentially life ending mission the Order put together that had you dangling hundreds of feet over London, held up only by Fred's strength and determination.

So what does it mean when the two of you land, and he's the only thing that can stop your shaking panic? What does it mean when he's looking at you with nothing but love in his eyes, holding you tight like a lover would?

Fred Weasley x Fem!Reader. Exes to Lovers. Emotional Angst and Smut. Set during Deathly Hallows.

Word Count: 18,500

Harry Potter Masterlist | AO3 Link

Full warnings list and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this is equal parts angst fic and smut fic; the reader is a cis woman - uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; there is no mention of the reader's looks, race, hair colour, etc. in any way; this fic does use Y/N (and L/N as in Last Name); this takes place mostly during the beginning of Deathly Hallows, so there are mentions of dark topics, like death, and the cult-like following that Voldemort has developed; this is Exes to Lovers - Fred and the reader dated for a while during their time at Hogwarts and then broke up; (there is flashbacks in this fic to times during Goblet of Fire and Order of the Phoenix); the reader is half-blood - she has one parent who is a muggle and lives in a muggle city and the other parent who is loyal to death eaters (and there is a later mention of the reader's mother being killed due to anti-muggle sentiment as Voldemort becomes more powerful); there is no mention of what Hogwarts house the reader is in; the reader has a crippling fear of heights (which is a large part of the plot for this fic); mentions of nausea and vomiting (as a fear response) (no one actually throws up during the course of the fic); the reader experiences actual life-threatening danger while on a broom - she nearly falls to her death, but Fred catches her; Fred does struggle to hold the reader's body weight, so it doesn't imply that he has super-human strength or that the reader is particularly petite (I wanted his reaction to be realistic for someone of any body weight); for part of the fic, Fred is disguised as Harry using Polyjuice Potion (but there's no confusion about his identity because the reader knows he took the potion); the reader experiences a panic attack due to the life threatening fall, and Fred helps her calm down; mentions of blood and semi-graphic descriptions of George's canon injury (his ear being blasted off); there is general emotional angst from the characters being in close proximity to danger, death, and life threatening situations; Fred calls the reader 'darling' and 'love' and 'sweets' and 'pretty girl' (in sexual and non-sexual contexts).

For the actual smut section: this is not their first time together as a couple and neither of the characters are meant to be virgins; there is undertones of sub/dom dynamics - Fred is a teasing soft dom and the reader is submissive to him (and there is mentions of the reader experiencing what could be considered subspace) (but there isn't any specifically laid out roles - it's more so one person enjoying taking care of the other, especially after experiencing the emotional turmoil of a near death experience together); there is Daddy kink in this (not until a bit later into the smut section, but it just came to me and I realized it suited Fred so well) Fred calls himself Daddy and the reader is way into it; praise kink - Fred calls the reader 'good girl' specifically because he knows she likes it; lots of dirty talk (Fred has a filthy mouth); oral sex - Fred receiving (she blows him as a thank you for saving her life) (also slight ball worship); mentions of the reader 'choking' on his cock (but there is no major breathplay or breath restriction); slight spit kink (it's a messy blowjob and he loves it); teasing and brief orgasm denial (toward both parties); hair pulling (toward both parties) - not with the intention of causing pain, but to direction someone's attention and to show appreciation and affection to the person; thigh riding - she humps herself on Fred's thigh while she is still wearing clothes; penis in vagina sex; creampie kink (I'm not gonna say breeding kink, because there's no mention of procreation or getting someone pregnant, even in theory, but they are both very turned on by the idea of him cumming inside of her); this could be protected sex OR unprotected sex - he cums inside of her raw but we can all pretend that they used a magical pregnancy prevention method if you want even though it's not mentioned in the fic; cockwarming (reader doesn't let Fred pull out for a while after he cums); I think that is finally it for this fic.

A/N: This fic is titled after a song by All Time Low, which I highly recommend listening to paired with this fic. This is actually part of an idea I had for a much longer multi-chaptered Fred x Reader fic, but I kept thinking about this one moment in the fic and how much I wanted to write it - so I did. And I decided that it would make a good oneshot. And I am actually insanely proud of myself for managing to capture the same emotions in under 20k that I originally thought would take me like 50k or 100k to properly communicate. I think this is fantastic, and it's one of the best things I have written in a while - and I really hope you guys enjoy it! Especially if you like angsty, emotional, exes to lovers fics.

...

Very often, you wondered when life had become so complicated.

It seemed that just yesterday, you were a bright-eyed young girl, dancing around a beautifully magical winter ball with the love of your life on your arm - and now, you were a confused woman who was terrified of how your life would end up because of a dark wizard and his cultist followers trying to overtake your world.

These days you didn’t even have that lover to comfort you through all of the confusion and dread that clouded the world around you.

You and Fred used to be perfect. That’s what a lot of people would have called the two of you - the ‘perfect’ couple.

Your story was something straight from a romance novel - the two of you were best friends when you were young, and that friendship quickly blossomed into affection. That affection naturally led into a sweet romance. When you were with him, your life was full of moments where you felt like a beautiful, flowery, desirable protagonist because of how he treated you. Your life used to be full of laughter, full of smiles, full of romantic gestures.

You and Fred were in the same year at Hogwarts, so naturally you knew each other. You weren’t really friends - at least not at first. You knew of each other, especially because you had some classes together.

But you didn’t truly meet Fred Weasley until more than halfway into your first year of classes together. You had the misfortune of accidentally running into a prank that was meant for a Slytherin Prefect - someone who had taken one too many house points off Gryffindor for the twins’ liking. And after being doused with red and gold paint and tripping over a toy rubber snake that had been charmed to hiss realistically when you got near it - you were reasonably frightened and crying, and it left you the laughing stalk of the courtyard - someone to be pointed at and mocked by everyone.

Fred hadn’t meant for it to be you. With the way he looked at you after the incident - full of guilt while everyone else pointed at you and laughed, imitating your frightening screams and attempts to jump away from the fake snake - it didn’t take you long to figure out the culprits behind it. And it didn’t take you much longer after that to plan your revenge. (Especially because, as much as Fred looked guilty, he didn’t simply come forward and apologise. Too afraid to look like a weak moron in the eyes of his brother and his other Gryffindor friends. So - on with your revenge, it was.)

You figured that all good pranksters should be due to be a victim sometimes, too. If the twins couldn’t laugh when they were on the receiving end, then they should stop playing pranks.

So you came up with something that you considered masterful. During your trip home for Christmas, back to Muggle London where your mother lived, you asked her to take you to a shop to buy a couple of greeting cards for your classmates. The ones that sing Christmas carols loudly when the hinge of the card is opened. Something clever, and not needing any magic at all.

And when you returned to Hogwarts after the break, you found a moment where the twins were distracted, and you stole their book bags in order to pull off your epic, amazing prank. You taped those singing greeters into the back of their Potions textbooks - a class that you shared with them, of course, so that you could enjoy the show. And then you waited.

You had trouble containing your laughter when Professor Snape escalated from annoyed to downright scalding angry as his class was filled with the quiet robotic hum of ‘Jingle Bells’, occasionally overlapped by ‘Santa Claus Is Coming To Town’. It was made even better by the fact that both of the twins clearly knew that the music was coming from somewhere in their surrounding area, but they had no clue what the exact source was or how to stop it. And with every snivelled demand of ‘just open your books and get to work’ - the music only started up again.

By the time they had been sentenced to detention for disturbing the class, you were nearly breathless and your ribs were aching from trying to hold back your laughter. Which, of course, meant that Fred easily spotted you out of everyone else - who looked equally confused or annoyed with the low hum of the music. And as soon as the class ended, he brought his textbook to you, thanked you for the worthy prank, and asked you how to stop it. He looked entirely amused and impressed when you pulled the tiny device out of the back, and proceeded to ask you a million questions about it.

You weren’t surprised when the next week, the annoying singing greeter ended up inside the teacher’s copy of the textbook on McGonagall’s desk.

From that moment on, his crush on you steeped inside of him like a fine tea, developing from an innocent adolescent attraction to full-blown, ‘drive you crazy’, ‘I would do anything for you’, love. It was lucky for him that you easily felt the same way.

Through the years of being by his side, becoming his best friend, pulling pranks together and trying desperately to get him to study - it was difficult not to fall for Fred Weasley.

You had been overjoyed when Fred invited you to the Quidditch World Cup. Even though you weren’t the biggest fan of Quidditch (and Fred knew that). The only reason you had started attending the games at Hogwarts was because he joined the team. And you only bothered to attend the games he played in, so your bias could be spotted from a mile away. But in his letter, with the ticket to the World Cup slotted into the envelope, he told you that it was ‘the game of the century’ and you ‘simply couldn’t miss it’.

You wouldn’t miss out on spending time with him, so you eagerly agreed to go.

This left you with only one glaring problem.

You had a crippling fear of heights.

It was one of the reasons that you never really gotten into Quidditch in the first place. You had absolutely no interest in playing, and even less interest in watching if Fred wasn’t involved. The idea of even flying on a broom being something that made you nauseated and shaky just from thinking about it.

The mandatory first year flying lesson was the only class at Hogwarts that you ever failed, but Madame Hooch took pity on you when she saw you crying and fisting the grass after only getting your broom about five inches off the ground. So she passed you anyway - just barely.

When you set out to watch Fred’s games at Hogwarts, you usually had to take some kind of anti-nausea tonic beforehand to make sure that you didn’t puke all over everyone else in the stands. And you usually couldn’t even make it up to your seat to watch unless one of your good friends held your hand. But you were alright once the actual game started, because watching Fred doing something he loved was a good distraction from just how high up you were.

Telling Fred about your intense fear had been one of the most honest, vulnerable moments that you ever had with him. Your friendship was usually all pranks and laughter, which you loved.

But one summer day, when you were hanging out with the Weasleys, they wouldn’t stop nagging you to join one of their family Quidditch matches because they needed an extra player to make the teams even. And after the twins’ endless teasing, saying that you were ‘afraid to lose’ or that you would be ‘too distracted by their daring good looks’ in order to play properly, you broke down crying and stormed off into the woods, because you were too anxious to admit the real reason that you couldn’t play.

Fred was the one who found you off in the trees behind the Burrow, tears still streaming down your face, and asked you what he had done to so greatly upset you. He had been terrified at the idea of making you upset, so hurt that he had been the one to make you cry. And after he found out about your fear, he didn’t laugh or mock you for it or play it off as something stupid like you thought would be so typical of him. No - instead, he wrapped a comforting arm around your shoulders and he told you that he was genuinely sorry. And he promised that he would never invite you to play Quidditch again.

When you had accepted the invitation to The World Cup, you had forgotten how much your fear of heights played into watching Quidditch as well. The giant, impossibly tall temporary Quidditch stadium that had been set up for the event had been looming over you all day, but you didn’t want to quit and go home because of some silly little fear.

You wanted to spend the time with your friends. You wanted to enjoy the event because the people you loved most were having fun there. So you pressed on, ignoring the inevitable, letting yourself get caught up in the pregame revelry. You walked around the seemingly endless campgrounds with Fred and George, in awe of all the decorations and the different wizards from all over the world, showing off things from their homes. You chatted and charmed along with them as they collected bets before the game. You let Fred paint your face with large, ugly shamrocks because even though you didn’t entirely care about the teams or fully know them, you were rooting for Ireland to win simply because he was.

But the unavoidable nature of your problem became very apparent as Arthur guided everyone to your seats, and you climbed up more stairs, and more stairs, and more stairs - and the higher up you got, the more you found yourself shaking, especially when you looked down to the ground and saw that the people down there looked like little more than bugs. You hated it when your mind, naturally, went to what would happen to you if you stumbled over the railing and fell down all that way. You would splat on the ground, squashed like a bug. You would die within seconds.

You held on tighter to Fred’s hand - he would have said that he had grabbed your hand in the first place so that he wouldn’t lose you among the bustling crowd, and not simply as an excuse to be closer to you. You didn’t even realise how badly you were trembling in his touch as you looked over the railing (still a few flights down from your final seats) with intense apprehension.

“You alright?” Fred asked you simply.

“‘m fine.” You mumbled out the lie, giving him a large, forced smile - hoping that he would believe it.

You knew that if you told him how you were feeling, he would insist on escorting you back to the tent. Perhaps he would even insist on staying with you so that you wouldn’t have to be alone. So he might miss out on a once in a lifetime Quidditch game all because you had a bit of petty anxiety from being so high up.

So you tried your best to push down all your feelings and ignore them, even if it was making you shake and making your stomach churn. When you got to the top, peering over the edge of the railing of the very, very high up seats that Arthur had gotten as a thanks for his work on helping to organise the whole thing (apparently, the higher up the better to actually see the game), you felt an incredible sense of dizziness, and began swaying on your feet.

This was so much higher up than the Quidditch stands at Hogwarts.

Naturally, Fred noticed. It wasn’t something he would easily admit, or even something he did consciously, but he always kept an eye on you. Partially due to a knack for admiring your beauty, that adolescent love-struck feeling always making him more prone to staring at you. But it was also partially due to the fact that he felt a need to watch over you. Whether it be as a friend or as something else, he always wanted you to be safe, and happy.

And right now, your sickly, terrified face stood out like a sore thumb among the crowd of excited, cheering fans.

“Y/N,”

He called out your name in a serious tone that was so uncharacteristic of Fred, something that snapped your attention from staring anxiously at the ground toward him immediately. He cemented your attention on him when he put a hand on top of your tight, tense knuckles on the railing. His touch was warm, as always, and oddly grounding, removing even just a slight bit of that dizzying anxiety that you were feeling.

“Do you wanna go back down? I can bring you back to the tent,”

Of course. Just as you had predicted.

“No.” You easily answered, shaking your head furiously, biting your lip. “I-”

You didn’t want him missing out on such an important event because of you, but more importantly:

“I - I don’t want to be afraid.” You heaved out, your chest tight with anxiety. “It’s stupid - people do stuff like this all the time, right? I shouldn’t be afraid-”

“It’s not stupid.” He said firmly, quickly squashing down any self-belittling that you might be tempted to do. “You can’t control how you feel.”

Coming from him, it sounded like the most firm truth ever.

“If you want to stay, I’ll be right here with you.” Fred added on, giving you a warm, reassuring grin. “But just let me know if you want to go back down, and I’ll walk with you, alright?”

You nodded, hating that even though his words gave you that nip of courage you needed, you were still pulsing with a dull panic. The undeniable reaction that fear caused in your body.

Fred hated seeing you shaking, hated the deep frown that cut through your beautiful features - so what he did next was instinctive. He took his hand off yours and reached that arm, the one closest to you, around your back, planting his hand firmly on the railing at the other side of your waist. This trapped you in a close-knit hold beside him, something that made you feel instantly more secure - even if it was just from the warmth of him at your side.

“I’m not gonna let you fall, yeah?” He said quietly, leaning closer into your ear to be heard - the warmth of the reassurance causing gentle tingles down your spine. “I would never let anything happen to you, darling.”

Between the intense loving safety that he words wrapped you in with the sweet nickname he added on, and the firm cradle of his arm around your back, you knew that you would have no problem sticking it out for the game. But your brain was still trying to cope, your anxiety so incredibly nagging, and you couldn’t help it when your eyes drifted back to focus on the ant-like people on the ground, becoming shaking and nauseous all too soon from staring downward.

“Down look down.” Fred scolded you gently, using his other hand to grab your chin, forcing your gaze back up - it ended with your eyes locked with his, admiring the way the breeze blew his too-long ginger hair into his eyes. “Just look at me, alright? It’s gonna be far worse if you keep starin’ down there. Just look at me, love.”

“Just look at you.” You repeated in a quiet mumble, already so utterly locked in the powerful orbit of his gaze, feeling like it was near impossible to look away from him.

You felt his forehead brush against yours before you realised just how close he had gotten. But you couldn’t bring yourself to mind.

And ultimately, feeling the stands shaking beneath your feet as a particularly hard gust of wind came through and having another swell of anxiety rush through you was what drove you to closing the gap, sealing your lips on his in your first kiss. Fred made you brave, almost stupidly so, and you hoped that you had finally used that bravery for something good in capturing his lips. (Rather than the stupid mischief that the two of you usually got up to.)

Fred smiled into the kiss and George cheered loudly behind him - you thought it was due to the game starting, and when you pulled back sharply to look around for the players, you were met with nearly all eyes in the group on you, clearly gawking at the fact that you and Fred had kissed.

This included Ginny smirking almost evilly before she said:

“Finally. I thought the two of you were never gonna get on with it.”

This left you squirming with a mild embarrassment, and definitely not thinking about how high up you were anymore.

Looking back, the memory was painful - not sweet or fond as it had once been to you.

But it wasn’t nearly as painful as the memory of the day you and Fred had broken up.

He had asked you to be his girlfriend officially only a few days after the World Cup. He wanted you to know what that kiss meant to him, and he wanted the privilege of more kisses from you, on top of the ‘honour’ (his exact wording) of going back to Hogwarts with you on his arm as his girlfriend, making all the other boys in your year ‘pathetically jealous’. Of course, it was everything you wanted, he was everything you wanted, so you said yes.

The two of you dated for nearly two full happy years - right through your sixth year and into your seventh, until in April of your seventh year, shortly after Fred’s birthday, when everything came crashing down around you.

It wasn’t unusual of Fred to pull you away after a class - his hand in yours, igniting fluttery giggles from your lungs as he pulled you down the corridors to whatever secret little spot he had picked out. Even with Umbridge at Hogwarts, implementing more rules and cracking down on ‘fraternisation’ between students, you and Fred still found ways to sneak off to have your private little moments together.

So when Fred took you off to one of those private corners on chilly spring afternoon, you assumed that this was no different. You fell into the natural rhythm of pinning him against a wall, sealing your lips firmly to his in a kiss and waiting for his hand to sneak up your skirt while his tongue ventured into your mouth. You were shocked when this time, he didn’t kiss you back. He was limp and unreceptive against you, and that was when you realised that you had read the tone of the interaction very wrong - even if him dragging you away by the hand always led to making out in a quiet corner, and more than a bit of groping.

You pulled back, looking at him with confusion and disappointment plainly across your face.

“What’s wrong, Freddie?” You asked, well in the habit of using the nickname for him.

Fred’s expression was filled with sullen dread, and it made your stomach twist. It truly made you fearful of whatever he was going to say next, and you took a step back from him, widening the gap between the two of you in the dusty, draughty old stairwell. You suddenly felt too cold, even with your uniform sweater and thick robes on, and wrapped your arms around yourself to compensate.

“There’s something I have to tell you.” He announced quietly, continuing to lean on the wall that you had pressed him up against, staring at the floor, his eyes unwilling to meet you.

What? Had he cheated on you? Did he want to break up?

What terrible thing could possibly make this bright, funny joker so damn sad and serious?

“What is it?” You asked, filling with dread, your throat tightening up more by the second.

“George and I have decided that it’s about time we take our leave.” Fred announced, his eyes only flickering to you for a moment, looking for some kind of reaction. You were only further confused, and waited for him to explain. “The lease for the shop in Diagon Alley finally came through, and-”

“Well that’s great news, Fred.” You said, trying to sound happy and upbeat beyond the tension that was still tight in your chest. You had no clue why he was so downtrodden - the joke shop was his dream, and now that they had secured a location for it, that dream was coming true.

He heaved a sigh, his eyes turning to gaze out a nearby window for a moment before he turned back to you.

“It means we have to leave, darling.” He said sharply.

Your insides became heavy.

You knew it was a very Fred and George thing - so intent on not doing their exams, desperate to escape any further academics. You wanted to ask why they wouldn’t stay until the end of the school year, but you knew that you would get answers about how they didn’t need marks from exams that they were likely going to fail anyway to run a shop that they now owned.

It was something founded on their own talents and ideas, and they didn’t need the approval of professors marking them wrong or right in order to do it.

It was the life they had always dreamed of. And you were intensely proud of them for it.

So why did you still have that overwhelming feeling of dread?

“So - when are we leaving?” You asked, trying to sound confident and firm in your words even though you knew what was likely coming next.

You felt intensely disappointed when the all too predictable outcome smashed you in the face.

“You’re not coming with us.” Fred said quietly.

“Why not?” You argued gently.

You would drop everything and go with them - you felt far more emotional attachment to being with Fred than you did to finishing your year at Hogwarts. You knew that you could be a useful hand around the shop. Any venture helping Fred would be a worthy one to you. But staring you down were the calculating eyes of someone who had been telling you over the past years how much he didn’t want to disrupt your studies with his antics, because he thought you had a ‘brilliant mind’, and you were ‘so much smarter’ than him and George.

He thought that you could actually pull some decent - no, brilliant grades on your NEWTs and truly make something of yourself. The shop was a big dream of his and George’s, but Fred knew that you were destined for something so much greater that truly challenged and fully utilised your brilliance. So he wasn’t going to let you be dragged down to mediocrity by him.

Realising this, part of you still ached. Why was he so intent on leaving if it meant leaving you behind?

“Please don’t be stupid-” Fred sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, so I’m stupid now?” You scoffed.

He hadn’t meant to let the harsh word leave his lips - at least, he hadn’t meant it in such a harsh way.

“Y/N-” Fred used your actual name, something he rarely did, but you barreled right over whatever he was going to say with your next words.

You were hurting now, and you didn’t entirely care what he had to say.

“If I’m so stupid, then why should I even bother to stay here and take my NEWTs?” You hissed, twisting around his accidental slip into something he had never meant. “Or am I too stupid to even work at a silly little joke shop with you?”

Fred scowled deeply. It didn’t suit him.

“Y/N, this ‘silly little joke shop’ has been my dream since I was five years old!” He barked, now taking your heat of the moment words and running away with them. “You don’t-”

“I guess I was stupid enough to believe that I was part of that dream!” You cried out in return, cutting off his words once again.

‘You are.’ He choked down the words. ‘But I can’t bear to bring you down just because I want to be with you. I could never be so selfish.’

“I-” He choked on whatever he was going to say, swallowing it down. “I can’t do this right now.”

He moved to storm off completely, hoping to speak with you later when you both had calmed down, hoping to have a proper, happy goodbye with you before he and George actually left.

But your next words made him freeze on the spot, and wiped away all of those hopes within him.

“Fred Weasley, if you walk away, we’re done.” You said, now choking on tears.

You were utterly insulted that he wouldn’t even fight for you - that he wouldn’t even promise that his heart would be waiting for you after you graduated. To you, it was a sure sign that he was saying that his shop was more important to him than you were. That you were just some stupid schoolgirl fling to him; that along with the shop, he wanted to move on to other women, to find someone that he actually wanted to marry.

You had never been a part of the dream he had for his life - you had just been a passing fancy in his eye.

For Fred, it was all too painful. This was the conversation he had been utterly dreading since he and George had decided to take their leave, and it was going far worse than he had planned in his head. He couldn’t face the pain - he couldn’t face hurting you. He couldn’t face missing you, even during a few short months apart before you did graduate.

So he then did something so terribly stupid, looking to bomb the relationship wide open - hoping to end all of the pain before it even started.

“Good.” He said, barely turning his head to even look over his shoulder at you. “Would’ve been a waste of parchment writing to you, anyway.”

With those final, painful words, he stomped off down the stairs, leaving you to collapse against one of the nearby walls in a puddle of tears - for the first time in a long time, without Fred to muffle your sobs in a comforting hug.

You hadn’t been there to watch him and George ride off on their brooms when they finally gave Umbridge everything she deserved - you had been locked in your dorm, sobbing into your pillow because of that horrible, relationship ending fight. You had only heard from other people later that they had left Hogwarts in a blaze of glory, and you were the only person who knew for certain where they had gone and what their plans were now.

You hated to admit it - but you missed Fred Weasley.

You tried your hardest to get over him. You threw yourself into your studies, and you did pass your NEWTs with some of the highest marks in your class. But then, any thought of what potential career you might take on was tossed aside when the world went into upheaval at the hands of Death Eaters. And unintentionally, you were right back at Fred’s side again.

It was a dreadful thing - being forced to see your ex on such a frequent basis.

The last time being just a few short days ago when he had come into the Apothecary that you worked at in Diagon Alley, looking for some ingredients for a new WWW product that he wanted to make a test batch of. You had still spent last Christmas with his family, at the nagging insistence of Molly. After your mother had turned up dead and your father was missing, and you had to face the fact that he had likely defected to the Death Eaters out of fear (and the stupidity of his ingrained ‘old ways’), you didn’t really have any other family to turn to, aside from the Weasleys.

You saw Fred a lot more often than you should - more often than you wanted to, in fact. Because the more often you had to see him walk into your shop with a grin on his face and bear the small talk he would force you into before he finally put in his order, the more you ached. You wanted nothing more than to be able to get away - to go someplace far away that Fred would never find you, so that you could finally heal, could finally get over the way he had broken your heart.

But the country, and likely the state of all Wizardkind, was in upheaval. So many lives were at risk, and you had your part to play. You had signed on to become a member of the Order the minute you turned seventeen, and you weren’t prepared to shirk that commitment now, just because of a bit of girlish heartbreak.

It was the reason that you were standing in the now empty residence of Number Four, Privet Drive. You had been called upon last minute to replace Tonks on this particular mission, for reasons that everyone seemed tight lipped about. But you weren’t going to question it - you were just going to step up and do your duty so that Harry could be transported safely, and hopefully go on to defeat the Dark Lord once and for all.

According to Mad-Eye Moody, it was all very straight forward. Six of the fourteen members of the group would take Polyjuice Potion to turn themselves into decoy versions of Harry, making for seven Harrys in total, and the other half of the group would pair off with a Harry each to be their escort.

You weren’t a huge fan of the idea of Fred disguising himself as Harry, essentially putting a huge target on his back - but the plan had already been set in place. He had already agreed to it. There was no room for you to protest now.

“We’re not a big fan of the idea either, mate.” George spoke up when Harry protested against the idea of people risking their lives by being disguised as him.

“Yeah, imagine something went wrong, then we’d be stuck as a scrawny, specky git forever.” Fred added on with his usual humorous tone.

You held back a laugh at this comment, and everyone in the room eyed you harshly as you choked on your own breath. Fred smirked, proud that after all this time, he could still draw a laugh out of you.

Your sense of humour about the whole situation was soon stamped out when Mad-Eye mentioned brooms. The group would have to be flying because Harry couldn’t apparate or use any other common form of transport without the Ministry knowing.

“Brooms?” You questioned, knowing that your tone sounded far too panicked. “We - we’re flying?”

“Yes.” Mad-Eye snipped curtly in return. “What exactly about my explanation was unclear, Ms. L/N?”

His sharp tone and his glare in your direction, along with his use of your surname, instantly transported you back you Defense Against the Darks Arts classes in your sixth year, when you had been intimidated by the man - even if, strangely enough, you hadn’t been taught by the same man who now stood before you.

You swallowed tightly, a large lump forming in your throat already - an involuntary, wicked reaction overtaking your body because of your fear of heights. Fred looked at you with sad knowing in his eyes, and you didn’t notice when he clenched his fists tightly at his sides, resisting the urge to swaddle you in a comforting hold.

“Nothing was unclear, just-” You stuttered, breathing in deeply, trying to calm yourself. “I don’t have much experience with flying, and-”

“Weasley - er - Fred, has already informed me of that.” Mad-Eye said, correcting himself when he realised just how many ‘Weasleys’ were on this mission and how utterly confusing that would get. “He’s insisted on taking you due to your lack of experience. Is that all?”

Obviously, you didn’t want to publicly admit to your fear. You couldn’t reveal it as the terrible weakness that it was, especially not when there were so many other worries at play.

“Yes, it’s fine.” You said, nodding, trying to keep the conversation short and keep the attention off you.

“Good. Now if we’re all done dawdling, we need to get to work.”

It was downright strange seeing Fred transformed into Harry.

Even complete with the dorky clothes and the glasses, you still easily spotted him out of the crowd of ‘specky gits’. Maybe it was the years of practice that you had telling him apart from George that made it so easy for you, but he was still so irritably Fred. The fact that he slid his wand into his back pocket - something you had warned him dozens of times would likely result in the wand crunching in half and breaking when he sat down (and annoyed you to the point of you snatching it out of his back pocket to save it, especially before he sat down). The way he reached up to scratch his nose, the smirk on his face when he kept glancing over at the other Harry you were sure had to be George. Especially with the way they were steadily side-eyeing each other, speaking volumes with their looks and having a silent conversation that nobody else knew of.

The fact that his eyes kept flickering to you every few moments definitely helped you to pick him out of the crowd. Even though you were used to a gentle hazel gazing at you rather than that piercing blue, there was still a unique concern behind his eyes when he looked at you from beyond those spectacles - the same kind of gentle seriousness that you hadn’t really seen from him since he had held your shaking hand on the stairs of the stands on the day of The World Cup.

Stupidly, it only really occurred to you how close you would have to be with Fred, tightly riding behind him on the back of his broom, when you went outside and he ushered you to climb onto the back of his broom behind him. It had been a little over a year since you had broken up with Fred, and since then, you had not touched him.

Every greeting had been friendly, but from a distance. Even when he came into the Apothecary and laid his hand on the counter, you snaked out of the way in time to avoid his fingers so much as brushing by yours. You always laid his order on the counter for him to pick it up himself, so that his fingers wouldn’t accidentally brush against yours. You made sure never to have contact with him. And now, you were being forced to climb onto the back of his broom, to hold him tight.

But you couldn’t protest. You couldn’t demand to switch partners now because of some petty angst you were harbouring about a break-up that had happened so long ago. (Would you call it angst, or stupid, longing, painful heartbreak?) You couldn’t complain - not when this was about transporting Harry safely. This was about something so much bigger.

Sure, it wouldn’t be exactly the same as holding onto your Fred (not that he was yours anymore - you had to remember that). He was Harry-Fred right now, so he was much shorter and thinner, and you could easily pretend that he wasn’t Fred at all. Which is what you forced yourself to think about as you swung a shaking leg over the broom and climbed on, wrapping your arms around his waist, preparing for take-off.

It was a bit harder to pretend that this wasn’t Fred when you caught the faintest whiff of his expensive cologne (something he had only started wearing once the shop took off, something you noticed on him for the first time when he came to visit you at the Apothecary). It was definitely still lingering on his skin, something that was so painfully Fred even while you stared at the back of Harry’s wild black hair.

It pierced your heart a little bit more when he peered over his shoulder at you, striking you as so Fred with those somehow warm, caring blue eyes and gently asking:

“Good?”

To which you replied:

“m fine.”

The most terrible lie you had ever conjured - something that was soon covered up by Mad-Eye shouting some last minute instructions and waving everyone off.

When Fred kicked off the ground, you were immediately met with the most sickening wave of nausea that you had ever experienced in your life. You got way too high up for your liking within seconds, the houses on the ground growing far too small in your view, and you couldn’t fight the urge to shut your eyes.

Unfortunately, it only made you dizzier, but it calmed your nerves a slight bit. You didn’t even realise how tightly you were clutching onto Fred, an utter death grip around his waist, until you heard him let out a grunt of pain from his stomach muscles being strangled by your arms with your fingers digging into him like claws, holding on for dear life.

“S-sorry.” You stuttered out, shivering from the pure fear of it all, rather than the cool breeze that was whipping at your face. “Sorry, sorry!”

“I’m sorry!” Fred replied - it was still strange hearing him speak in Harry’s voice, and you were glad that it was temporary. “I should have told them you weren’t up to this mission, I-”

“I’m fine!” You barked back, hating the idea that your fear would make you unfit for a mission. But in a sense, you knew it was true. You would have spit in the face of any Death Eater, but your fear of heights was so utterly crippling. “Fred, don’t you dare for a moment suggest-”

“We’ve been breached!” You heard someone - Arthur’s voice, shouting from up ahead.

Your eyes whipped open and suddenly, you were filled with an entirely different kind of fear. Smoky black clouds of Death Eaters whipped through the sky around you - somehow, they had discovered the plan. And now, they were targeting all of the fake Harrys, firing off curses in every direction, looking for the real one.

They were targeting Fred.

That was the only thing at the forefront of your mind - they were going to hurt Fred.

“Y/N-?”

“Just get us out of here!” You told him. “I’ll cover you!”

You knew that you couldn’t close your eyes now. Of course you would step up to protect him. No matter if the two of you were lovers, friends, or something estranged - you still loved him in your heart, and you would protect him no matter what.

You grabbed your wand out of your jacket and gripped it stiffly, firing a stunning curse at the first silver mask you saw, still tightly gripping onto Fred’s jacket with your other hand. He used both his hands on the broom, gripping tighter with his legs to steer better, years of Quidditch honed skill coming in handy. His ability to be calm and fly mindfully while Bludgers were flying at his head made him a lot calmer with multiple Death Eaters firing potentially deadly curses all around him. In the back of his mind, he thought that Wood would be proud.

You were still shaking horribly, and a few of your spells didn’t land on the first try, but you kept trying. You centred yourself, remembering what you were doing, who you were here for. In your mind, it wasn’t about Harry, it was never about Harry - it was about Fred. It was because Fred had approached you about the last minute replacement, it was because Fred was the one on the broom in front of you, the one you would have died to protect.

You didn’t see when someone Apparated in a thick cloud of black smoke behind you, and raised their wand in your direction, hitting you squarely in the back with a heavy jinx. It was the force of a brick wall smacking you, something that sent you and Fred tumbling end over end through the sky and sent you flying cleanly off the broom because you didn’t have the instinct to grip the wood with your thighs like he did.

You let out a shrill scream as you felt yourself falling, your worst fear coming to life.

Thankfully, Fred was quicker than gravity - quicker than death.

He laser focused on you, and suddenly, everyone else was gone. All the supposed danger, all the Death Eaters - even other members of the Order who might have needed his help - they all vanished in his eyes.

It was only you.

He turned the broom into a deadly nose dive, racing down toward you, reaching with his hand out, and in seconds, while you were still hundreds of feet off the ground - he snatched you. He had your wrist gripped so tightly in his hand - slightly sweaty, already slipping. But he wouldn’t have let go of you if Lord Voldemort himself commanded it.

He likely would have died with that tight grip still around your wrist in those moments if someone had hit him with the killing curse.

He slowed the broom down, turning up out of the dive, intent to get you away from the fight, driving forward. Scarily, his arm muscles were already shaking from holding up all of your body weight.

You stared up at him with tears of pure terror dancing in your eyes, and though he was wearing the mask of The Chosen One - in those moments, the terrified, caring, loving eyes of your Fred were staring right back at you.

As much as you trusted him, you felt yourself slipping out of his grip, and more fear swelled inside of you.

“Freddie, help me!” You screamed, shaking, flailing under his grip, trying to reach your other arm up to help as he struggled to hold onto you. “Freddie, please, I don’t wanna die!”

“I’m not gonna let you die!” He replied, desperation gripping his throat. “Just - look at me. Don’t look down.”

Of course, you were distinctly reminded of that day at The World Cup. And somehow, you felt the same sense of safety with him now that you did then - even if you didn’t have the railing or even the gravity of something under your feet.

His muscles shook harder, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold onto you for much longer.

He had to pull you up.

“I’ve got you.” Fred huffed, straining with the effort. “I’ve got you-”

He tried pulling you up, but his muscles shook harder in protest, and he let out a harsh, murderous scream of frustration. And then he did the only thing that he could think to do. He gripped onto you tighter, and he used his legs and his other hand to do a sickeningly sharp barrel roll, twisting the broom completely around by leaning with his right shoulder. He flipped the entire broom with the hopes that you would get the chance to be flipped back onto it safely.

Luckily, even though you let out another terrified scream, you got the hint and hooked your leg around the wood mid-air, holstering your shaking body back behind him. You gripped onto Fred even tighter then, and one glance around told you that luckily, or unluckily, the fight had cleared off from around the two of you.

Perhaps they had heard you call this imposter Harry by the name ‘Fred’, perhaps you had given the real Harry away and ruined the whole plan. As you squeezed your eyes shut again and shoved your now tearful face into Fred’s back, selfishly, you couldn’t bring yourself to truly care.

The rest of the trip went on too long for your liking - you were still crawling with anxiety and eager to have your feet back on the ground.

Toward the end of it, you felt Harry-Fred’s body shift back into the tall, more muscular form that you were familiar with (somehow a bit more muscular than you remembered, but you tried not to get caught up on that detail). You were more than relieved when you felt your feet brushing against the ground with the landing. Distantly, you heard the familiar, comfortingly worried baulking of Molly’s voice, and you opened your eyes to see that Fred’s head was much higher up than it had been before, and his hair was thankfully returned back to its bright red state.

Molly rushed over to Fred, and there was some conversation, but you couldn’t make it out - blood was thumping in your ears, your body still overtaken by all the horrible symptoms of your fear. The moment that Fred dropped the broom in order to step away from it, you stumbled off into the grass on weak legs.

You hardly realised that you were hyperventilating - you simply felt dizzy, felt your chest aching from the lack of breath; you noticed that your vision was blurred with tears, and you knew that you weren’t getting enough oxygen. You pressed now muddy hands to your face in desperation, trying to usher more air past your lips, and it was then that a streak of orange fell into your view as Fred dropped to his knees in front of you. He had heard you gasping, and of course, rushed to you with nothing more than concern flooding his system once again.

“Hey, hey, look at me.” He murmured, trying his best not to panic himself at seeing you like this - he gently took a hold of your face, guiding your vision toward him. “Look at me. You’re alright now. You’re safe.”

Of course you knew that. You knew that you would always be safe with Fred.

But your body hadn’t even registered the fact that you had landed yet - the panic only now fully setting in, bringing with it the most cruel, shocking symptoms you had ever experienced. You did the only thing you could think of - the only thing that would truly make you feel safe. Something you knew would truly ground you after experiencing such chaos so high up in the air.

You launched yourself toward Fred, pressing your face into his chest, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist in a firm hug as you tried to stifle down sobs. He easily accepted this, his thick arms coming to cradle your back, selfishly thankful to have you back in his arms. He gently rocked you back and forth as he peppered more soothing words beside your ear.

“You’re alright now, darling.” He said, letting the pet name slip so easily that it frightened him. He rubbed a hand up and down your back, feeling your gasping panic all too quickly soothe away under the firm warmth of his touch. “You’re alright.”

Almost instinctively, he laid a kiss on your temple, not entirely realising that this wasn’t necessarily something an ex-boyfriend would do - he was so ripe with the urge to comfort you, the need to make your pain go away. He couldn’t help but take a little something selfish as the empathetic waves of your panic echoed over to him.

“I was never gonna let you fall.” He whispered, almost speaking these words to himself - a sacred promise.

He had regretted every day since the break-up, and even if he couldn’t be your lover, he was never going to let you get hurt.

You gripped him tighter, your breathing almost back to normal now, and you pushed your face tighter into his chest, relishing in the firm warmth of his body against you. This was something you hadn’t felt in far too long. Fred placed another kiss on the top of your head. He was about to say something entirely dangerous when another bit of chaos came tumbling through the garden, distracting him away from you and causing the words to die off in his throat.

Remus, hauling George across the grass - and George, slumped over, a massive amount of blood dripping down the side of his head.

“Georgie.” Fred gasped quietly.

Your head whipped around at this, and in sync, you and Fred scrambled to your feet, rushing to see what had happened to him. Fred lifted George’s other arm to help get him inside and safely rested him on the couch.

It was a horror show.

The flesh of George’s ear had been blown to bits, blood smearing down across his face and spilling down the side of his neck; he was sickly pale and barely conscious. His eyes only flickered, giving you some sense of life in him when Fred called out his name after making sure he was resting comfortably on the couch.

“Georgie?”

There was a rare quiver in Fred’s voice that made your stomach quake. Fear. You were not accustomed to hearing Fred fearful, not of anything. Even when he had abandoned Hogwarts and dove into a career as a shop owner without a single clue if he would find success, he did so without a single bit of fear in his heart.

But of course - seeing his dear brother like this, knowing that someone he loved had been so close to danger - it made him terrified.

“Hey, Fred.” George croaked back weakly.

At least he was conscious enough to speak. That gave you quite a bit of relief.

“How’re ya feeling?” Fred asked.

“Saint-like.” George replied, a tired smirk gracing his lips that told you he was forming a joke - something that was utterly hilarious in his mind that would only make sense to others when he delivered the punch line.

You wanted to sob, you wanted to laugh, you wanted to scream. Of course he would be making jokes only moments after nearly being killed.

“Come again?” Fred said quietly, tentatively.

Perhaps it sounded partially dangerous to him like it did to you. Perhaps George felt Saint-like because he was too close to death.

Both of you and Fred held your breath as you waited for the reply.

“Saint-like.” George grinned. And then he lifted a tired hand and gestured toward the bloody hole on the side of his head before he delivered his glowing punchline. “I’m holy. I’m holy, Fred. Get it?”

Fred grinned, and you let out a gasping chuckle that you knew was mostly tears. Behind you, Molly inhaled sharply through her teeth, running a hand over her forehead with the stress, and Ginny shook her head as she exhaled an exhausted sigh.

“The whole wide world of ear related humour, and you go for ‘I’m holy’?” Fred replied, unable to resist humouring George. “That’s pathetic.”

You knew that if either of them knew anything about the story of the Muggle painter Van Gogh, then they would have been making jokes in that lane.

“Reckon I’m still better looking than you.” George added on tiredly.

“You were always better looking than him.” You said, your voice throttled by tears, unable to resist.

When you turned around to retreat, you saw Ginny clutching onto Molly, clearly hiding tears in her mother’s shoulder, Molly’s face dancing with a kind of sadness you had never seen before. You knew you couldn’t run from your pain. You had known the Weasleys for so long, loved them too much. You had a distinct kind of duty here.

“Molly, do you have a cauldron around?” You asked, hating how choked with tears your voice was. “I can whip-up something for his pain. I do it at the shop all the time. And a Sleeping Draught, so he can get some rest.”

It was true - one of your many duties working at the Apothecary was making and bottling simple, common potions to sell (pregnancy test potions, simple multi-use pain potions, Dreamless Sleep Draughts, cures for warts and other common rashes) - many people liked the convenience of coming in and buying a potion for everyday uses rather than having to make it themselves.

“There’s no need-” George began to protest, but Fred easily cut him off.

“Come off it.” Fred hissed toward his brother, not taking kindly to ‘selfless’ idea of George not accepting something for the pain he was clearly in. Then, Fred rose up from his place beside George and turned to you with a look of intense concern on his features. “Whatever you need.”

…

You had barely begun to set up everything you needed for the brewing when the others finally came in, bringing more chaos with them. Remus accused Harry of being an imposter, which was quickly proven false. Apparently the Order had been betrayed, which explained the presence of Death Eaters on the mission so easily. They had used inside information to know when Harry was being transported - it was only luck that they had been thrown off by the Polyjuice Potion, having to chase down multiple Harrys and not knowing which one was real (even if George got gravely injured in the process).

Mad-Eye had been killed.

You weren’t sure if what you felt was mourning for the man. You hadn’t known him all that well. Not the true version of him, anyway. You continued to weep quietly as you worked on the potions, but you knew it wasn’t specifically for him. His death only served to remind you how truly dangerous the mission had been - how close you, Fred, and George, and the others had all come to death. How lucky it was that nobody else had been killed.

You tried not to let the suffocating gloom that had overtaken the Burrow due to the near failure of the entire mission disrupt the process of making the potions needed for George. When Molly didn’t have some of the ingredients that you needed, you gave Fred your spare key to the Apothecary and he popped over to get them for you. Mr. Michaelchuk, who ran the place, had always told you to ‘take what you needed’, and this was the one time you had actually taken him up on the offer.

When Fred returned, he fussed at George’s side, helping him change into pyjamas (when everyone else had cleared out) and tucking him in comfortably to a makeshift bed on the couch, with lots of pillows and extra cosy blankets, to the point where he got annoyed with Fred coddling him. You always knew that the two were good friends in addition to being brothers, as close as two people can be, but you had never seen so much abundant affection between them. It was sweet.

Molly came back downstairs wearing a plaid dressing gown, with a pair of tiny reading glasses balanced on her nose, her slippers scuffing along the floor. She mentioned that Arthur was already ‘snoring away’ - but of course, she had no intentions of going to bed herself. Because of course, if George was down here on the couch, it was so that she could watch over him while she busied herself with knitting - much like she had when Arthur had been on the ward at St. Mungo’s after he had been attacked by the snake. You had gotten a particularly nice jumper for Christmas that year, one that you still wore often when it got particularly cold outside.

Fred had settled to sit on the couch by George’s feet, and the two had fallen into a hushed conversation, though you didn’t hear most of it. And of course, it wasn’t long before Molly rushed Fred off to bed, just like she had done with everyone else, wanting to give George the space to rest without distractions from visitors.

“-just get her back, you idiot.” You hear George hiss in a whisper before Molly pushed Fred toward the stairs.

He couldn’t possibly be talking about…?

No.

No, he wasn’t.

You didn’t think about it. Instead, you let yourself get lost in the meditative process of brewing, making sure that the potions were perfect. You made sure that George was pain-free and lost to a deep, restful, healing sleep (with a few pre-brewed bottles of the potions to spare that would keep his pain at bay for the next few days) before you finally went upstairs, ready to collapse with exhaustion.

You passed by Fred and George’s room on your way to your final destination, Ginny’s room, where you would be staying with her and Hermione, from now up until Bill and Fleur’s wedding. After which, you would return to your apartment above the Apothecary and try to resume your best sense of ‘normal’ life. All of your things were already unpacked in Ginny’s room, and you had a sleeping bag set up on the floor there.

But of course, you naturally came to a stop at the mouth of Fred’s open bedroom doorway, letting an instinctive caring overtake you and participating in the need to check on him.

The sight you saw made your heart ache.

Fred was sitting on the edge of his twin bed, his posture slumped with pure exhaustion. He hadn’t even changed out of the now ill-fitting Harry clothes that he had to wear for the mission: jeans, a tee shirt, and a grey sport jacket that were now coated in dirt and traces of George’s blood, all oddly short in the limbs and emphasising his tallness, his hands still stained bright red in a way that couldn’t be washed off.

His face was marked with tear tracks, and his tired, dead gaze was fixated on George’s still neatly made matching twin bed. A space that was hauntingly empty across from his - a sign that his brother was missing. A sign of just how easily someone precious could have been taken from him that night.

“Freddie?”

You croaked out, the nickname slipping out in a way you couldn’t control once again, causing him to snap out of whatever distant, depressing thoughts he was caught in. His head jolted toward you, only now realising that you had been standing in the doorway for so long.

“Y/N,” He responded, his voice choked by tiredness, sadness.

It was so alarmingly strange to see someone who was usually the pinnacle of laughter reduced down to this. You had never seen Fred Weasley so sad before.

You had seen him angry, on occasion - like when someone insulted you, or when he had been banned from Quidditch for getting into a fistfight with Malfoy. You had seen him annoyed - like when he found out that the age to enter the TriWizard Tournament was seventeen, and he was only a few months away from being eligible. (You were thankful for that one, and secretly thankful when his Ageing Potion had failed).

You had seen Fred go through a lot - but you genuinely believed that was the first time you had seen him so deflated in the face of the world.

He rose to his feet, turned his back to you, almost as if trying to hide. He raised a hand to his face, and your heart ached more when you realised that he was trying to wipe away tears.

“Come on, let’s get you ready for bed.” You said, moving forward, gently putting a hand on his shoulder, moving up to peel the sport jacket off him.

You knew that the sadness, something he so rarely felt, had paralyzed him. You knew that sleep was what all of you needed right now - some rest to get your heads on straight. And you wanted to help him in any way that you could.

“I can’t-” Fred huffed, stepping away from you, putting some distance between the two of you in the small room. “I can’t do this right now.”

Your stomach curled into a horrible knot as he echoed the words he had spoken to you on that horrible day, when he had broken up with you and relinquished himself from your presence without a second thought.

It truly hit you then - he didn’t want your help. He didn’t want to be near you now. He had only held you close a few hours ago because it had been a matter of life and death. He had helped to calm you down because it was the friendly thing to do. He didn’t want you here now.

“Okay.” You choked out, nodding, taking a step toward the door. “O-okay.”

A hot tear rolled down your face, and you moved to make your way toward Ginny’s room. You were harshly whipped across the emotional spectrum again when Fred stopped you.

“Y/N, no.” He said, reaching out and grabbing onto your elbow. “Wait.”

“What, Fred?” You wheezed, your body breathless and exhausted from the horrible roller coaster that you had been on that night. You knew that you glared at him horribly, but you couldn’t help it. “What is it that you want from me?”

Fred took a step back, as though you had burned him, running stiff hands through his hair. You could have easily run off, turned your back on him and never spoken to him again. Just like he had done to you on that day so long ago. But you waited with your chest tight, waiting for him to finally give you an answer. Did he want to be friends? Did he want you to disappear from his life completely? Did he want-?

“I can’t-” He choked out, clearly struggling for breath. “I can’t…”

He swallowed around a fat tongue, and after a heavy moment, he finally got the words out.

“I can’t lose you.”

The words spooked you more than the sight of George’s bloodied, blown-apart ear.

You stared Fred down with a ghost in your eyes, somehow more terrified than you had been when you had been dangling hundreds of feet above London. He was frantic, rapidly searching for more words to explain himself.

“I - I almost…” He gasped, his throat tightly constricting again. “You almost slipped out of my hands.”

He spoke the words as though they were a horrible curse, raising his hands in front of him as if to demonstrate the point, as if to demonise his own limbs for not having enough strength to hold you up. His hands shook with undistilled anxiety, with anger towards himself.

His declaration gave you that sickly sense of nausea, as though you were back up in the air again. You realised that maybe he hadn’t been sitting on the edge of the bed, mourning about potentially losing George - but instead, he had been thinking about you.

“I didn’t. I didn’t slip.” You replied, the words choked off in your throat, rushing to assure him of the good he had done.

You were unable to resist the urge to reach out and take his hands in yours, steadying his grip with a firm anger of your own. You were unsure how he could be so cruel toward himself when he had saved your life only hours before.

“You held me up, Fred. You didn’t let me fall.”

He let out a huff, shaking his head negatively.

You knew there was something more troubling him - something deeper that he had yet to speak of, or perhaps wouldn’t tell you at all. He grinded his jaw tightly and slipped his hands away from yours. You stood there, looking at him tensely, wondering if he was going to clue you in, or if he would simply say goodnight and let himself stew with whatever horrible emotions he was feeling.

“I can’t live like this.” He declared harshly, his throat raw. “I can’t live with you at arm’s length.”

So what? Was he saying that… he was upset about the break-up?

Was he saying that he hadn’t actually wanted to be apart from you?

A look of pure confusion knit across your features, and in the murky silence, Fred moved on to explaining.

“I let you go once before.”

He whispered, the words so quiet on his lips, a crazed type of regret dancing in his eyes - in an instant, you knew he wasn’t talking about the mission or flying. He was talking about how easily he let you go from his life - the break-up.

“I let you slip away from me far too easily. And it was the stupidest thing I have ever done.”

“Freddie-?” You choked out, more chaotic emotions rocketing through your body now. Anticipation, anxiety - that love for him that you had bottled away slowly creeping back in. But you couldn’t bear to let it flow through you, not yet, not until you knew.

“If one of us were to die tomorrow, I couldn’t live my last day knowing that I wasted it not being yours.” He declared, the pure passion in his words causing every small hair on your body to stand up on end, making you dizzy. “I know that I’m the biggest git on earth for what I did to you, and for not apologising sooner, but please, please, please, darling-”

You couldn’t take it anymore.

You grabbed both sides of the sport jacket and used it to haul him down toward you, planting your mouth firmly onto his, moaning into a kiss that you had longed for, having so sorely missed the touch of his lips on yours.

You had missed him so damn much.

Fred was quick to keep up, letting out a delighted sigh of his own, his stomach doing flips in delight, almost in disbelief of just how lucky he was that you hadn’t slapped him across the face and stormed out.

When your hands ventured down, smoothing across his body - he became even more delighted that you seemed to want more than a kiss out of him. And he was quick to prepare.

He reached to his back pocket for his wand and pointed it at the still open bedroom door, performing a quick spell that slammed it shut and locked it. In the back of his mind, he was thankful that his bedroom had some silencing wards around it from the days when Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes had been in its infancy, operating their prototype experiments out of this room in the darkest hours of the morning. (Percy got sick of being woken up by the twins’ excited voices and the sound of sputtering cauldrons, and put the silencing wards around their room for his own sake, not knowing how much more it let the twins get away with.)

Fred was surprised when you took another fitful grip on the front of his shirt, using it to direct him back toward his bed and shoving him down onto it with a strength that he barely knew you had. He fell sideways across the small twin bed, his knees crumbling along the side of the mattress, leaving him sitting with his feet on the floor and his body half collapsed against the tightly tucked-in covers that his mother had prepared before everyone’s arrival.

He was utterly weak to your whims, anyway, and would have gone wherever you put him.

He was expecting you to climb on top of him, something needy inside of him yearning for the feeling of your body on top of his after missing it for so long. And he found himself further surprised when you dropped to your knees in front of him, settling your shoulders between his spread thighs, forcing him to spread his legs wider apart to accommodate you. The action spiking a sharp breath out of his lips when you shoved up the hem of the shirt that technically wasn’t his and reached for the button on the jeans that fit him even worse as his cock grew to life underneath them.

“Y/N, darling-” He choked out, breathy and sharp through his teeth, an intense wave of lust hitting him all at once.

All night, both of you had been through the emotional ringer - calm determination, fear, possessiveness, mild relief, grief. All while trying to hold back your emotions for each other, balancing right on the edge. Trying desperately to hold each other at arm’s length.

And now he had you right where he wanted you, where he had been dreaming of you being for months since the break-up; and for some stupid reason, some part of him still felt that it was wrong. That part of him screaming that he should be the one on his knees serving you, that he needed to better apologise-

He reached for your shoulder, clearly trying to coax you back up onto the bed with him, and you swatted the touch away.

“Don’t-” You choked in return, continuing on your determined path, ripping his zipper down and tugging at the waistband of his jeans. “Freddie, please. Let me do this.”

You looked up at him with a glassy heat in your eyes that he had never seen before. All the times he had pinned you against walls in quiet corners at Hogwarts, with his hand up your skirt - he had never seen you so wild, so desperate.

Something utterly possessive rippled through you - something that screamed that you needed to have him weak and moaning for you, that you needed to worship him, to thank him for doing the impossible and saving your life. He was a strong, wonderful man and you needed to taste that strength. You needed to know that you were the only thing that could have him weak, quivering, begging.

“Fuck-” Fred hissed out when you reached past the band of his underwear and grabbed his cock - your warm touch wrapped around his shaft felt like a deadly awakening, especially when it had been so long since anything but his own had had touched his cock.

All too soon, he surrendered to you entirely and lifted his hips, slipping the fabric of his jeans and his underwear down completely past his thighs, letting you have whatever you wanted from him. He supposed that’s how it always went with the two of you - he would let you have whatever you wanted, even before you asked. (That’s why the break-up had gone down the way it had - it had been the one time he had been stubborn on something, not simply letting you have your own way.)

You took him in your hand, slowly pumping his length as you admired him, gently re-familiarising yourself with his body, feeling like it had been far too long.

“Did you miss it, darling?” He asked, looking down the length of his body at you with a cocky smile stretched across his soft lips.

You rolled your eyes, hating the possibility of making his ego any larger.

“Oh yes, your wonderful big cock was the thing I missed most about you,” You griped in return, hoping that your sarcastic tone was more than apparent.

“I knew you only wanted me for my body.” Fred chuckled.

As much as you wanted to deny it - Fred Weasley’s cock was a marvel that you couldn’t have forgotten if you had tried.

During your time apart, it haunted your heated dreams, turning them into nightmares of pure want, your mind dangling something in front of you that you couldn’t have. It made things even worse when he would come into the Apothecary, flirting with you and flashing you a smile, showing off his broad shoulders in those fine tailored suit jackets and making your eyes flicker to his zipper in an utterly whorish way.

Now, you felt spoiled to have it in front of you again - the perfect beastly eight inches, lean and tall just like he was, curved off slightly to the side, sticking off from a sparse patch of ginger hair.

Your pussy clenched as you thought about having him inside of you again for the first time in so long, giving you that perfectly full feeling that your fingers never could - but you craved his taste first. You wanted him under your control - you knew part of it was driven by all the fear you had experienced that night, all the chaos that had made you feel so powerless. You needed to feel alive, needed to wield power over someone, something.

You got your mouth on his cock with a downright feral hunger.

Fred let out a deep moan and threw his head back, collapsing onto his elbows as the heat and wetness of your mouth enveloped the heat of his cock - it sent another wave of lust zipping through him, reminding him just how throbbing hard he was, just how much he needed you. This was made even worse when you moaned around him - you couldn’t help but to enjoy the feeling of his cock in your mouth, perfectly full, making you choke in such a beautiful way when you dropped down to take more of him.

“Fuck, darling, shite-”

You quickly became drunk on the feeling.

Your eyes fell closed and you simply let yourself enjoy it, loving the fullness of his big, beautiful cock filling up your mouth. With a hand loosely wrapped around the base of his cock, your jaw wide as you began bobbing your head. Your tongue flat against the base, tasting as much of him as you could while you enjoyed the feeling of him so fat and thick in your mouth, gagging you slightly whenever the round tip hit against the back of your throat. It was a perfect, slow rhythm that agonised him and delighted you, and soon had spit pooling around your knuckles.

The wetness drove him even more insane, especially when it allowed for your soft lips to move slicker against his shaft.

“Goddammit, please, please, oh-”

You could feel his thighs begin to quake and quiver beside you, and you wondered if he was close already.

You couldn’t resist the urge to pull off - wanting to tease him a little. Part of you wanted that bit of revenge, wanting to get him back for the pain he had caused you when he had turned his back on you that day. Though you weren’t entirely cruel, and you didn’t leave him hanging out to dry completely.

You kept your hand pumping on his now spit-slicked cock (it was that slow, agonising rhythm that caused him to pant like a needy dog), and you moved your mouth downward, giving in to the personal urge to lick and suck on his heavy balls. You did want to drive him a bit more insane, and give into your personal curiosity about what the heavy sac would feel like against your tongue.

“Fucking - oh - darling, what are you doing to me-? That fucking mouth-”

Fred wasn’t sure if this was heaven or hell.

It left him stuck in some sick purgatory where the woman he loved had turned into a sex-crazed vixen, but wouldn’t let him touch you everywhere he wanted to most. Instead, he was sentenced to stare at you as your gorgeous mouth teased his aching cock, making him harder, driving him madder with every stroke of your little devilish tongue. He couldn’t take it anymore - not when your pretty fingers gripped around the base of his cock just right and your lips suctioned so perfectly around one of his bullocks.

He wouldn’t waste the night cumming over your fist without getting his hands on you properly first.

He weaved his fingers into your hair and yanked you back, caused you to let out a small yelp - not one of pain, but a bitter sound of complaint as you were pulled off his cock too early for your liking. The sharp tingle of him pulling on your hair caused your tongue to lull out, trailing a filthy bit of spit back to his balls that had him growling.

Before any words could form, he leaned down and used this grip on your hair to guide you to his lips, shoving his tongue into your open, waiting mouth - something that had you moaning once again, and easily following his lead as he guided you up to sit on his thigh.

“Don’t expect that I’m gonna waste it all over your hand, darling.” He murmured against your lips between heated kisses. “When I cum tonight, it’s gonna be deep inside your sweet cunt, yeah?”

You moaned loudly at this.

You had devolved past the point of words now - having his cock so thick and heavy in your mouth only making you fuzzy-headed and more needy for him. You unconsciously canted your hips against his thigh, grinding your pussy against him through the fabric of your jeans, needing more. You panted against his cheek as he moved deft fingers to undo the button and zipper of your pants while he continued to speak.

“I need you, pretty girl.”

He growled lowly in your ear, the pure passion of the declaration causing such intense waves of lust through you that you would have collapsed - if not for the brick wall of his muscled body holding you up. (Hold you up for the dozenth time that night, only for a drastically different reason this time).

“I need to see you cum on my cock. Missed this pretty cunt so much, can’t wait-”

He trailed off in his crazed lustful ramblings when he shoved his fingers past the now open fly of your jeans and into your underwear, quickly finding a distinct wetness and landing on your clit with a firm touch like a magnet.

“Freddie!” You wept into his neck, bucking into the touch as you tumbled into a madness of your own.

He began circling quickly on your clit, enjoying your gasps and other sounds, enjoying the feeling of you bucking so wildly on his thigh. All too soon, he was overtaken by a little pinch of mischief that always crept up on him. The urge to get you back for your earlier teasing. He quickly removed his hand and felt a smirk spread across his lips at the deflated little whimper you made, your eyes snapping open just in time to catch him licking your wetness off his fingers.

“Fred-” You began to protest, sharp demanding in your tone.

“Come on, get these clothes off,” He said, giving you a firm pat on the ass that made you far too weak to his whims.

“Freddie-” You whined this time - and rather than giving into you, he brought up a fantastic point.

“The faster you get your clothes off, the faster I can get my cock in you.” He whispered hotly against your ear, making you shiver.

You hated that he was right.

You stood up, moving to strip your shirt off over your head, glaring at him the whole time while he also began to strip himself.

“Go on, good girl.”

You hated how those words made you even wetter. You hated how easily he manipulated you based on weaknesses he knew so well.

“I hate you.” You mumbled quietly, absolutely no heat in the words as you reached to unclip your bra.

“Oh darling, if only that were true.”

He said pointedly, mourning peeking through that bit of mischief in his eyes. Something you didn’t have too much time to decode as stood to his full height to untangle his jeans from his legs, knowing that you would quake in his shadow and become even more turned on from this.

Once you were both naked, he ushered you down onto the bed, making sure that you were comfortable with your head on the pillow as he captured your mouth in another needy kiss. You moaned against his lips, easily sucking his tongue in as you tangled your fingers into that fiery red hair and gave an appreciative tug. You then tucked your knee up over his hip, opening yourself up to him - this caused his heavy cock to brush against your wetness, making you gasp into his mouth as the two of you made contact for the first time in far too long.

“Freddie-” You gasped, unconsciously bucking your hips up, causing your pussy to wetly slide against his cock in a way that forced a deep groan out of him. “Oh, fuck, oh-”

“Shh, darling, Daddy’s got you,” Fred replied, palming across your forehead and your hair in an almost gentle way while he further parted your thighs with a firm knee.

His words caused you to choke on another moan.

You had heard Fred refer to himself as ‘Daddy’ before - but much like everything else in his life, it was always a joke. He would be buying his favourite sweets and mumble ‘come to Daddy’ before tearing open the package and devouring them. He would say that his codename was ‘Big Daddy’ when setting up a particularly epic prank. (George was ‘Big Red’ and you were usually ‘Darling’ or ‘Garden Flower’. They were not the most useful or top secret codenames.) You had heard him jokingly shout ‘Daddy’s home’ when returning to the Gryffindor common room, only to have the expected laughs and jokes in return.

You had never expected that the name would turn you on so much. But you had never, ever expected to hear it in this context. You had also never expected that it would sound so natural in this context. But it suited him so well. It seemed to only compliment the gentle kind of caring he gave you - how protective he was over you, how safe he made you feel.

“Daddy,” You moaned in return - Fred gripped your hip with a deadly, bruising grip and looked at you with a fierce heat in his eyes.

Hearing that word from your lips turned him on in a way he couldn’t explain. And in that moment, it took every bit of his personal will not to slam his cock into you and hammer his hips forward until you said it again, and again, and again. Until you screamed it.

He took a hold of his cock with the other hand, and you expected him to slide into you, finally giving you both what you truly needed - but instead, he began rubbing the round head of his cock against your clit, further teasing you. You let out a gasp and looked at him with pleading in your eyes.

“Freddie,” You whined, attempting to angle your hips up, fruitlessly trying to trick him to slip his cock inside of you. You knew him too well, knowing that once he got the tip in, he wouldn’t be able to resist fucking you senseless. But he held you down with the hand on your hip, making you barely able to move at all against his muscular hold and the awkward angle he had you pinned with.

“Come on, sweets,” He purred, laying a kiss on your forehead, and then your cheek, trailing kisses down your neck as he murmured against your skin. “Tell Daddy what you need. Say the word and I’ll give you anything you want.”

He began roughly smacking his cockhead against your clit, making you jolt and gasp sharper, making your pussy leak furiously against the bed. You cried out and gripped his hair tightly, almost meanly, desperate for the teasing to end. You didn’t see the way he was staring at your cunt, mesmerised by the sight of your swollen pearl kissing against his cock, glistening, wet and needy. Something that he would burn into his brain forever and most definitely revisit on lonely nights.

“Please, Daddy!” You moaned, hoping the name alone would goad him into giving in. But you knew what he truly wanted, and you couldn’t wait any longer. “Please - fuck - I need your cock. I need you to fuck me, I need-”

Perhaps he was truly satisfied by this, or perhaps he couldn’t take the teasing anymore himself - either way, he finally guided his cock down to your pulsing entrance and pushed in, swearing hotly under his breath when the tight, wet, perfect heat of your cunt began sucking him in for the first time in over a year.

“Oh, oh fuck, Freddie,” You moaned, tugging on his hair. “Oh-”

“Fucking perfect,” He swore into your ear. “Dammit, I’ve missed this pussy so much.” He choked on a groan as he continued slowly inching his hips forward, splitting you open with his massive length, making your pussy ache and burn in the most perfect way. “Good girl. So good for me. So good for Daddy,”

You both moaned loudly once he was fully seated inside of you - you, feeling that deep satisfaction of feeling so perfectly full once again, and Fred so deeply enjoying the wet warmth of your pussy around him that was so irreplaceable because it was you.

Sensing your need, especially after all his teasing, and after spending so long without him - he didn’t make you wait any longer.

Fred began rocking his hips into yours at a gentle, even pace, not wanting to hurt you. From the sound of your gentle whines and the feeling of you squirming beneath him, he could tell that you needed more. He could tell that now wasn’t the time for holding back.

He let out a gentle grunt and you became even more heated and curious as he began shifting around, some clear intent on his mind. You let out a sharp gasp when he raised himself up on his knees, poising himself in the perfect position to fuck you hard, deep, and powerful. Then, he made it even more deadly when he grabbed you by the backs of your thighs, making more air hiss out through your lips when he pressed your body practically in half, pressing your knees up toward your chest before he hooked his arms under your legs to keep them there and planted his hands firmly on either side of your chest.

The two of you were even closer, even more intimate, and you felt him so much deeper inside of you.

“Freddie,”

You croaked out darkly, already feeling him so much deeper as he settled in above you. Your pussy was leaking furiously around him now, clenching tightly and waiting for him to move as a ghost of dark mischief danced through his eyes that promised you were in for the sweetest kind of hell.

“Good?” He asked, smirking at you.

“Yes, but what about-?”

You wanted to warn him not to make too much noise, not to break the bed, which was already creaking in protest underneath the two of you - but he didn’t entirely care. Fred never truly cared about the consequences of his actions once he got an idea in his head - to him, the thrill was more than worth whatever pain may befall him.

The only time that hadn’t been true was when he had made the foolish, heat-of-the-moment mistake of breaking up with you. And now, he had to make up for it.

He put all the power into his muscled thighs (the same muscled thighs that had saved you just a few hours ago by gripping onto his broom and steadying the flight) - and ploughed forward with intense power. This began an unforgiving, hard rhythm of pounding into your cunt in hard, deep, fast strokes.

In seconds, you were putty beneath him - he had you perfectly pinned in place so that you couldn’t have moved an inch if you wanted to, all you could do was lay there and take it. You were weak against the savage movements of his long cock fucking into your swollen pussy over and over again, filling you up in the best way you could have imagined, becoming everything you needed in the world.

As the room filled with the harsh, wet slaps of his skin against yours and your weak moans, followed by his increasingly animalistic grunts - all there was in the world was you and Fred, the space where the two of you met, the place where he had your thighs pinned open so that his cock could absolutely ruin your pussy.

“Good girl, such a good girl for me,” He growled against your lips - you moaned pathetically in return, flooding even more wetness around his cock, making the sound of him fucking into you embarrassingly slicker. “Never should have let you go. Should have kept you right here, right where you belong,”

You wanted to tell him that perhaps the fight was both of your faults, that you should have reached out to him sooner and told him that you wanted him back. That the time apart had been so dreadfully tender for you too.

But your brain was soup, only further stirred up by the tip of his cock poking around in your guts. So any words you could have said chased out of your lungs with every passionate thrust of his hips up into your wet pussy, and all you managed in return was:

“Daddy! Fuck, oh-!”

“Shh, darling, I know.” Fred mumbled into your neck, taking a sloppy, greedy lick of your skin. “I know, sweets. Daddy’s gonna give you what you need. Gonna keep you fucked n’ full. Never gonna let you go again. Never gonna let anyone else touch you-”

Fred’s hips stuttered and you tightly squeezed around his cock at the words.

Perhaps it was a wink of his personal insecurity peeking through. The horrifying idea that because he had broken up with you, you might find somebody else. When in fact, you had been so caught up on him, only thinking about him, waiting for him. (The whole time, thinking that he had broken up with you because he no longer had any favour in his heart for you.)

“Just you, Freddie.” You breathed out, desperately trying to get air past your now very chapped lips. “Always yours-”

“Yes, mine.” He replied, that crazed desperation returning to his voice. “Mine, my girl.”

He sealed his lips against yours, grinding his hips tightly against your pelvis rather than fucking you with any kind of rhythm now - showing you just how deep he was inside of you, just how much he owned you, truly, from the inside out. It was something that made your stomach clench, made your body buzz with electricity, and made you whine around his tongue.

You were close.

Fred knew this - he knew you too well. He moved a hand down to your clit, letting one of your legs drop slightly, and had two determined fingers on your throbbing clit while he picked up the pace again, pulling his lips back from yours.

“You gonna cum for me? Gonna cum for Daddy like a good girl?”

His words, his velvet voice speaking to you so commanding yet so sweet, were what truly brought your orgasm to life in your belly. His voice made the fullness of his cock and the sharpness of his fingers on your clit all the more electric. You likely could have cum just from his words alone if he kept speaking to you that way.

“Yes, Daddy.” You moaned in response.

“Good girl. Come on,”

He breathed hotly against your chin, his eyes now eagerly dancing from your face to the space where your cunt hugged his dick, leaking around him in such a wonderfully filthy way. Clearly, he wasn’t sure where he wanted to look, what part of the show he was more eager to witness after missing out on you for too long.

“Come on, cum on my cock. Cum for me, love, good girl-”

His heated words trailed off as your head snapped back and your eyes squeezed shut, your fingers digging sharply into his bicep as your orgasm rocked your body. Fred grunted as he continued to fuck you through it, his eyes glued to you, taking in every single inch of the sexy beauty that was you, the love of his life, as you thrashed and moaned and came on his cock. It was the most perfect sight he could have imagined, and he easily ingrained into his mind forever, praying that he would never have to miss out on it - to miss out on you - ever again.

“Yes, yes darling, so good for me, so good-” He practically choked on his own words, his voice so thick with lust that it barbed the insides of his throat.

As he felt the last weak spasms of your pussy around his cock, he stopped rubbing your sore clit and became possessed with a new need, becoming slightly selfish now. He fucked his hips forward even harder, determined to find his own pleasure inside the sweet, soft walls of your cunt.

“Fucking hell-” He choked out a groan, dropping his head into your neck again as you petted through his hair, encouraging him through it while he unintentionally sent sharp zaps of overstimulation through your pussy with every needy, sharp push of his hips.

“Freddie,” You breathed out. “Come on, Daddy, cum for me. You’ve been so good to me, come on-”

He let you another loud growl and pounded into you harder, dropping his hold on your other knee and letting your legs rest to cradle around his waist as he blindly chased his own end inside your soft, wet cunt.

“Gonna fill you up, gonna fill you up so good,” He whispered into your neck, chanting like a man possessed, sending another unexpected wave of heat through you that made you moan weakly. “All mine, all mine, darling, all mine, gonna give you what you need, fuck-”

He tried to silence his moans into your neck as he stiffened his back and finally came - his own orgasm hitting him like a firework. He shoved his hips forward stiffly one last time, seating his cock deeply inside of you, stuffing you full, just like he had promised. He gentled grinded his hips against yours in mindless, stuttering strokes while he pumped spurts of hot cum deep inside of you - something that made your body buzz with even more heat and made you moan in return, clutching onto him tightly with your legs around his waist and your arms around his shoulders.

“Oh darling, oh-” He muttered quietly against your neck as the last waves of his orgasm washed over him.

It was so perfect, and made you feel so utterly connected to him. It was a distinct reminder of everything you had missed - his warmth, his caring, the thrill he gave you while at the same time making you feel so damn safe.

When Fred moved to pull away from you, moving to break that connection, every instinct in your body screamed that it was wrong. You clenched your legs around him, digging a heel into his lower back to keep him close, and he let out a grunt - still dizzy from his orgasm and unsure what you were doing. But he settled back into place, creating a filthy ‘squish’ between the two of you.

“Just hold me.” You said, having no clue when the tears had returned to your eyes, making your voice so clearly wet. “I missed you. I can’t lose you.”

“Hey, hey shh.” He said, leaning up to kiss along your cheek, rushing to kiss away those tears. “I’m right here with you, darling. I’m not going anywhere. You’re not going to lose me.”

He wrapped his arms around you, wiggling his grip between your back and the mattress to do so. This created the most stunning cocoon, forcing your two bodies even closer together - it wasn’t long before he became soft inside of you, but he stayed there for as long as he reasonably could, kissing along your forehead, your cheeks, your neck, uttering quiet reassurances that you weren’t going to lose him, that you wouldn’t have to miss him any longer.

It made you incredibly content and warm. At least while it lasted.

When Fred finally pulled out of you, you felt a deep sense of dissatisfaction and loneliness, which you tried to ignore. Especially because you weren’t sure if he would want you to sleep in his bed - which was something that you wanted very much, especially after the long day you had. But you weren’t sure if he wanted to be left alone to contemplate all of it, to be sure of his decision to take you back.

You jumped to get out of the bed as though it were on fire, and when you looked to your rumpled clothes on the floor - your jeans still stained with dirt from when you had collapsed in the garden, your shirt likely reeking of sweat from the nerves of everything that had happened - the idea of putting those clothes back on wasn’t exactly appealing.

Then, something else came to mind.

“My things are in Ginny’s room…”

You sighed, realising that if you wanted a pair of pyjamas for the night, or even a fresh pair of underwear, then you would have to waltz in and wake her up - and likely be interrogated about where you had been. She was all too knowing anyway, and any excuses you gave about spending the time caring for George or simply having a ‘talk’ with Fred would be seen right through by her.

Fred hummed, and stood, and you were surprised when he comfortably went over to the chest of drawers against the wall at the end of his bed, going right to the top drawer. The drawer where you used to keep some of your things when you stayed with the Weasleys on holidays - and surely enough, a small collection of your things were still in there.

Things that he had never returned to you after the break-up that you had never thought to ask for. You had no idea that he often came to this drawer, sneaking mournful whiffs of your scent - even used your shirts as a pillow case if he was feeling particularly lonely.

He pulled out a pair of your comfortable sleep shorts and a large, soft, worn green tee shirt with a large shamrock on the front and a ‘94 on the back that he had bought for you as a souvenir from The World Cup. It had been your all time favourite sleep shirt, and you had wondered where it had disappeared to when you moved into your apartment above the Apothecary once you started the job.

“I hope these still fit.” He said, handing you the clothes.

“They should.” You said - quiet, careful not to acknowledge the elephant in the room. The fact that he had kept your things all this time.

“Unfortunately I don’t have any panties for you, so…” He trailed off, a filthy grin plucking up over his cheeks once again when the implication hit the air - the fact that you would be commando underneath your clothing.

“Yeah, very unfortunate in your eyes, I’m sure, Fred.” You huffed, turning toward the door. “I should go get cleaned up.”

You let out a small squeak when two strong arms encircled your waist, pulling you sharply back, causing you to collide with the wonderful, bare, muscled, now slightly sweaty body. You couldn’t help but to melt into the touch, and you let out a quiet moan as he began kissing your neck - not in a particularly lustful way, but in a way that was purely loving and affectionate.

“Don’t think you’re getting away from me that easy, darling.” He whispered in your ear. “Please, do come back afterwards. You know I like to cuddle,”

You didn’t think that you had ever heard Fred Weasley say ‘please’ for anything so plainly in his life. But, as usual when it came to him, you wanted exactly what he wanted.

“Only if you insist.” You joked lightly, smoothing a hand over his arm that was still tightly encircled around your middle. “I suppose I can clear some time in my very busy schedule for cuddling,”

Fred quietly let out a ‘yes’ in celebration, and hesitantly let you go. He then collapsed back onto the bed, relaxing spread eagle, still confidently naked against the covers with his hands behind his head against the pillow. You couldn’t help it when your eyes did a once-over of his body, admiring the soft planes of his muscles that had come from hard work rather than a distinct workout routine and the beautiful bit of fat on his lower belly that made him so warm and nice to cuddle. Of course, when your eyes met his, he was smirking at you.

“I’ll be waiting, love.” He told you with a wink.

You rolled your eyes at this, biting your lip to suppress a smile at his somewhat deserved cockiness.

You moved to leave the room with your newly acquired clothes, wanting to freshen up in the bathroom a bit before going to sleep (the bathroom was right across the hall, so you would have to sneak across the way naked and hope that nobody would catch you, but it should be fine at this time of night). But when your hand twisted the knob and it didn’t budge, you remembered that Fred had locked it earlier.

He moved to grab his wand from the pocket of his pants, splayed out in the middle of the floor, but you reached for the jeans first. Your wand was still downstairs beside the cauldron that had brewed the potions for George, but often, you found that Fred’s wand worked fine for you.

Ollivander and other wand experts said that a wizard couldn’t find the same kind of success using a wand that wasn’t their own, but you found using Fred’s to be just as natural, like an extension of your own arm. Perhaps it was because his core was a Dragon Heart’s String, and that heart beat for you just as fondly as his own did. Either way, it was a fine substitution. You unlocked the door easily and tossed the wand back to him where he was sitting on the bed, and then you snuck across the hall to clean up and get dressed.

When you came back, Fred had crawled under the covers and was starting to fall asleep. When you crawled in alongside him, you found that he hadn’t bothered to get dressed, so you locked the door again, just in case. It was a basic charm that anybody could get through, but it would give the two of you a few minutes of warning to make yourselves decent if somebody did come knocking.

It felt like the most wonderfully natural thing in the world to settle beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist while he slept on his back, putting your head on his chest and feeling his sleepy fingers brush across your head from behind.

“Goodnight, love.” He whispered, so quiet as though he was afraid to break apart a beautiful daydream.

“Goodnight, Freddie.”

…

You wondered if all of it had been a dream.

Fred apologising to you, begging for your forgiveness, the two of you having amazing sex - it was something you had dreamt about many times before. It was something you had wished would come true, only to find yourself waking up alone in a cold bed. So waking up next to Fred, with his large, warm body coiled up against your back like a koala was one of the best ways you could have come into a new day.

It wasn’t long before the smell of Molly’s cooking reached your nose - the wonderful fatty sizzle of sausages and the bready warmth of toast that told you she was frying up a full English (likely because she had been having trouble sleeping after the events of the night before). Your stomach gave a painful pang, making you want to get out of bed to eat just as much as you wanted to stay cuddled up with Fred.

You gently petted a touch along Fred’s heavy arm that was wrapped possessively around your waist, and soon, he sucked in a sharp breath as he too began to stir.

“Merlin, I missed this.” He said, leaning in to smother you with more of his perfect warmth as he somehow crowded tighter against your back, kissing along your clothed shoulder and up your neck once again.

Your heart fluttered with the sweetness, the fondness of it all, and you wondered how such a hellish night had made way to such a perfect morning.

“I wish we could stay in bed forever, Freddie, but I think your Mum is making breakfast.” You remarked, finding yourself more aware of your hunger as you woke up more, and more drawn to the delicious smells.

“We can stay here for a bit longer.” He hummed into your neck.

Just then - his stomach let out a loud groan of protest, and you giggled.

“Come on, Big Daddy needs to eat too.” You said, using the nickname in a more playful, joking manner as you patted his thigh, untangling yourself from his arms as you got out of bed.

You were surprised, and slightly victorious when you saw a slight blush tinging his pale cheeks because of the teasing, the way you had used the nickname. It was amazing to see someone like Fred go from so powerful and confident to fluttering with shyness.

“I have to find some trousers,” He remarked, suddenly remembering that he was naked.

“I’ll meet you downstairs,” You grinned, walking across to the bathroom, lucky to beat anybody else there before the others started waking up.

When you hit the bottom stair, Fred was standing at the back of the couch with his back to you, now fully dressed in a pair of comfortable plaid sleep pants and an old Chudley Cannons shirt that must have belonged to Ron. (It was only because of many winding discussions about Quidditch among the boys that you hadn’t even wanted to hear that you knew the Cannons were Ron’s team and the twins hated them.)

Fred was leaning over, clearly talking to George, who was still laying where the two of you had left him the night before. You hated that your instinct was to stand back where neither of them had seen you and listen in on their conversation - but you had only learned such matters from Mr. and Mr. Extentenable Ear themselves.

“...well, yes, I would say that it did go well, but I would still have to classify the nature of the relationship as dubious. Or friendly at best.” Fred said in a rushed whisper.

Your stomach gave a twist. This time you had to assume that the twins were talking about you. Talking about what had happened between the two of you the night before.

“Dubious?” George’s voice baulked, clearly trying to stay hushed himself, but having a hard time restraining his volume due to frustration - frustration at not being able to get a better answer out of his brother. “The two of you had sex and you’re classifying the nature of the relationship as dubious? Are you an idiot or was the sex that horrible?”

You choked down a laugh at this, not wanting to be caught just yet, and resisting the urge to speak up and clarify that the sex was, in fact, great.

“No, she seemed perfectly satisfied, thank you very much.” Fred hissed back, full of sass. You would have said more than ‘satisfied’ - for once, Fred was actually being humble. “But I just didn’t think to stop and ask: oh, by the way, does this mean that we’re back together and you still love me? Or were just scared and lonely after almost dying and wanted a decent lay? Can you fill out a post-orgasm survey to clarify, please, and make sure to-”

An arm came up from the couch with a pillow, smacking Fred clear in the chest - hard enough to force a small grunt out of him. George was certainly feeling better. You were glad to know that your potions had done him some good.

“You should have just asked, you numpty!” George scolded him. “You’ve been mooning over losing her for-”

“Y/N,” Fred cut off his twin’s words by saying your name, announcing your presence as that smack with the pillow had caused him to finally turn his head and spot you there.

“Fred.” You grinned, not at all ashamed that you had been caught.

You walked over to the couch, leaning over to find George grinning at you in a way that said he was holding back a barrage of stomach shaking laughter because of the conversation you had caught the two of them in.

“For the record, I would call the sex more than satisfactory.” You said, a mischievous grin coming over your lips. “And I do still love you.” You announced, turning toward Fred. “I was lonely and scared last night, but that’s why I came to you. You’re the only person I want to go to when I feel that way. I missed you. And I want you back if you’ll have me.”

“Merlin, of course I’ll have you.” Fred breathed out a sigh of relief, now grinning as well. “I love you more than anything, darling. You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”

“I have some idea, and it was bloody annoying.” George muttered out, only to be ignored.

You leaned in for a kiss, naturally, but just as Fred’s lips brushed yours, George let out a loud, fake gagging sound - one that had Molly running into the room, clearly fretting and worried that George was actually ill.

“I’m fine, Mum.” George groaned as Molly began patting down his head with a wet cloth - clearly, his night had been filled by the annoying, but loving fuss of his mother watching over him.

“Yes, yes of course.” Molly nodded, hesitantly putting the cloth down. “It’s time for breakfast anyway - do you feel up for sitting at the table, dear?”

“I would love to get off this bloody couch.” George groaned.

Fred rushed around to help him up, and after a moment of struggle to his feet, you grabbed his other arm to help him along into the kitchen.

“I suppose it all worked out for the better.” George said, smiling at you. “Even if you did end up with the less attractive twin.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile at this.

...

A/N: This fic is a oneshot, and there will not be a continuation or a 'Part 2'. This is a capsule story meant to be read independently, and in terms of the narrative, there will not be a continuation. If you are going to leave a comment, please comment about the body of work that has been written here, do not comment asking for more. If you would like to read more of my fics, please take a look at my Harry Potter Masterlist, more specifically, my other Fred Weasley fic - Kisses Like Fire Whiskey. Thank you if you have gotten this far, and happy reading!

#sundrop writes #fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred wealsey fic #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x y/n #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction

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shadowkoo · 2 months ago

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Up In Flames - Part 1

→ Summary: When your sister calls with an emergency, you drop everything to house-sit while she’s out of town. What she forgets to mention is that her fiancé’s friend, a handsome stranger who might have saved your life earlier, is already expecting to stay there too. Awkwardly sharing the space, you manage to get through two weeks with Seungcheol—only to unexpectedly cross paths again when he saves you from another dangerous situation outside your therapist’s office.

Seungcheol, a wildland firefighter, is back in the city taking his leave and debating whether to join Station 17 or return home. While sorting out his own issues, he keeps finding himself in situations where he has to save you—the fiery, stubborn little sister of his best friend’s fiancée who has a terrible habit of calling him the most obnoxious nicknames ever. Despite your resistance to being rescued (and his denial of how much you affect him), the sparks between you two continue to ignite. As you grow closer, it’s only a matter of time before everything goes up in flames.

↠ seungcheol x f.reader | Part 1 = 18.9k (42.7k words total, i’m so sorry but also not really 🗿) | 18+ ↠ genre: smut, action, slow burn, firefighter au, author au, damsel in distress au, ‘let me help you’ wildland firefighter!cheol x ‘i can do it myself’ miss independent yet clumsy!reader

→ Warnings: fire, car accident, extreme burns, graphic & traumatic death of non-significant characters (read at your own risk!), seungcheol suffers from panic attacks and ptsd, solo masturbating (seungcheol gets a lil freaky in the bathroom one morning), grinding in a hot tub, fingering, protected & unprotected sex, multiple sex scenes, oral sex, cheol is a proud muncher, body worship, taking plan b, jealous coups, slight possessive coups, breast play, nipple sucking & biting, dirty talk, soft sex, rough sex, creampie, praise, begging, aftercare, stripping, heavy teasing & banter, tongue fucking, cheol loves to rub himself through your fold, praise kink, semi-public sex (cheol fucks you hard against a firetruck), injury, cuts, smoke inhalation and other dangerous elements (again, please read at your own risk!)

→ Networks: tagged below

@ksmutsociety @k-vanity @lapydiariesnet @keopihausnet

@svthub @thediamondlifenetwork

→ Author Note: thanks to maren @wooahaeproductions and lexi @heechwe for helping me come up with some of these funny nicknames used in here a few months back! and a big thank you to booki @kwanisms for reading this over for me so last minute. this is the first fic of my station 17 collab, check it out here and stay tuned for the next fics from alta @haologram sevń @aaagustd and yannie @wonuwoe!!! dedicated to all my coups girlies, i know you’ll love this <3

⋆˙⟡ m.list ⟡⋆⟡ ao3 ⟡⋆⟡ wips ⟡⋆⟡ updates ⟡⋆⟡ shadow realm ⟡˙⋆

“No, no, no! Oh c’mon! This can’t be happening right now,” you whine, twisting your body so you can see the damage done after hearing the dreadful sound of fabric tearing.

Yep, your pants just ripped. Want to know what’s even worse? Your pink hello kitty underwear is showing right through the large tear on your left butt cheek.

You curse under your breath and pull your shirt down, trying to cover up as much as you can. This would have never happened if you just said no to your best friend and older sister, Kate.

See, Kate is in a very committed, loving relationship, and has been for the past four years. Unlike you, who has been on at least fifty horrible first dates, sometimes even second dates that never seem to go anywhere, in that same time frame.

She set you up with this supposedly amazingly hot, ultra-rich, single and ‘ready to commit’ guy she knew through a friend of a friend, blah blah blah. You should have known then how tonight was going to go. Of all the blind dates you had been on, this one easily became the worst.

It started alright, with a cute Pho restaurant in the middle of downtown being the meeting place. Seojoon waited outside for you with an umbrella since it had started to sprinkle, and even held open the door and helped you in your seat once inside.

But his good manners stopped there. For the rest of the night, he was extremely rude to the wait staff and condescending toward you, making it a miserable experience.

Needless to say, he deserved what you did. After you finally had enough, you not-so-accidentally let a ‘my god, shut the fuck up already’ slip out of your mouth. And yeah, you might have told him he has the emotional intelligence of a toad (and even that was too kind compared to what you really wanted to say).

Quickly after, you excused yourself and were more than ready to leave. But then you saw them. The perfect couple seated in the front half of the restaurant; your ex and the woman he left you for.

Which is why you ended up hiding in the bathroom for fifteen minutes, before deciding that escaping through the small window would be the best option. You used the toilet at leverage to boost yourself up (that was the easy part), gripped onto a nearby tree branch to pull yourself out the window, and then jumped out. It was during the ‘jumping out’ part when your pants got stuck on the branch and proceeded to rip.

The plan wasn’t perfect but it got you out of there, with ripped pants, but what the hell. At least you’re on your way to your car now, rather than being stuck in there with the three most odious people you have ever suffered through knowing.

You make it maybe three blocks before giving up on trying to cover your ass. Whatever, you’re almost back to your car now anyway.

“Oh, what now?” you sigh, digging through your purse for your phone that’s ringing somewhere in there. Your sister’s face lights up the screen; she’s probably calling to see how your date went.

“I hate you,” you grumble while unlocking your car, climbing into the driver’s seat.

“What? Why?” Kate questions, “I was calling for a favor. I didn’t even get to that, so you can’t hate me yet.”

“Tonight was my date with Seojoon and it ended with me climbing out the bathroom window.”

“Oh, Seojoon is so old news. Actually, I should have set you up with–”

“No, I’m stopping you right there,” you say, interrupting her. “I’m not going on any more blind dates with terrible men that you barely know.”

“But–”

“No.”

Kate sighs on the other line, “Okay, fine. I’ll drop it for now. Can we jump to what I was calling about?”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“Jun’s father had a heart attack and we’re on the way to the airport, can you house-sit for the next two weeks?”

You hesitate to answer and she uses the opportunity to persuade you.

“I know it’s a lot to ask but our food is obviously free game, we have the coziest living room for movies, the hot tub just had its routine maintenance, and I’ll even let you bring Mika. Please, please, please!”

Mika is your sweet but sassy husky, and Kate usually can't stand all that hair. So she must be pretty desperate if she’s letting your energetic furball mess up her peaceful mountain cabin.

“Okay, yeah. I should be able to make that work. Maybe I can finish my next book while I’m up there.”

“Oh thank god!” she celebrates, relieved that you can help out. “You’re the best. I love you so much.”

“You better,” you remark.

“I have to go, so I’ll make it quick. There’s a note on the fridge with some house rules because I know you’d say yes. I’ll text you when we land. Okay, bye! Thank you!” She rushes, quickly hanging up on you before you have the chance to change your mind

It didn’t take very long to grab Mika, some clothes, and the essentials once you had gotten back. In less than half an hour, you had the car packed and ready to go.

You’re now about an hour into the drive up to Kate and Junhui’s mountain home. Your sister’s house-sitting favor couldn’t have come at a better time. You finally feel like you can write again.

A couple of years ago you self-published a fantasy romance book, and out of nowhere, it went viral on BookTok. It’s been nice living off the royalties from its success, but you know your readers want another. The problem is you’ve lacked focus lately; always finding an excuse or something else to do in your free time.

But that’s going to change in the next few days.

"Is that...snow?" you mutter, squinting through the windshield as tiny white flecks swirl down in front of you. It’s basically spring in the city and you haven’t seen snow in weeks, forgetting that the temperature is colder up here. With the high elevation, though, it makes sense.

Mika barks from the passenger seat, her tail thumping excitedly as the flakes fall heavier, dotting the windshield. She presses her nose to the passenger window, eagerly watching the world turn white. Unlike you, she loves the snow and all things cold.

You sigh, imagining yourself on a beach somewhere, basking in the sun, with the hint of frost in nowhere sight. But yet, here you are driving through a surprise snowstorm with a husky who’s living her best life.

You ease up on the gas, knowing that the roads are probably going to get icy soon. Mika’s barks become louder and more frequent.

"No, Mika-Ika-Poo," you say, using one of her many ridiculous nicknames. It's a habit of yours to give everyone, pets and people alike, the most absurd nicknames possible. "You have to be quiet now."

Naturally, your attempt at shushing her only makes things worse. Mika tilts her head, lets out an even louder bark, and then starts whining excitedly as if your words were some sort of encouragement. You can’t help but smile; it’s impossible to keep her quiet, especially when she senses snow.

“You are so sassy today.” You reach an arm over to scratch her neck, she’s just being a dog after all.

Glancing back at the road, you slam on the brakes as you go around the next bend. A truck has crashed into an electricity pole, leaving live power lines strewn across the icy road. But it's too late to stop in time. The road is too slick, and you're already sliding forward.

Your car glides helplessly into the downed lines, tires screeching on the black ice. Before panic can even set in, the front of your vehicle erupts in flames, fire licking up the hood. Smoke quickly surrounds you, blackening the windows until visibility is gone. The stench of burning plastic fills the air, and the heat becomes unbearable. Everything around you vanishes in the thick, choking cloud, leaving you trapped in a suffocating haze.

Shit. Now what?

As Seungcheol drives along the winding road ahead of him, a thin wisp of smoke catches his eye, curling up through the trees ahead. It snakes its way into the sky, growing darker and thicker as he approaches. The distant haze drifts ominously, making his pulse quicken. Something’s definitely wrong up ahead.

He comes to a halt, taking in the scene before him. Twenty-foot flames engulf a car, tangled in the chaos of fragmented power lines, flickering wildly against the night sky. To the left, a pickup truck is smashed against the base of an electric pole, which has split and fallen over.

“Are you good?” he hollers to the truck driver; he’s outside of the vehicle and on the phone with what he assumes is emergency services. The man nods and points back to the car frantically, “Help her! I don’t know how to get her out!”

Seungcheol rushes back to his own vehicle and pulls out a fire extinguisher from his backseat. He chuckles to himself, he knew it would come in handy one day. Call it firefighter’s intuition.

He throws on his spare flame-resistant jacket and heads back towards the fire. If the gas tank leaks, things could go very, very wrong.

He pulls the pin on his fire extinguisher and sprays the car, aiming for the engine which is where he believes the fire began.

“Are you alright in there?” He asks once getting the situation mostly under control.

“No, I am not alright! My car is on fire in case you haven’t noticed?”

“Besides the car, are you hurt?”

“No. I don’t think so? Mika looks okay too.”

“Your baby?” His heart races, stomach bile rising in his throat. Not again.

“My dog.”

Seungcheol calms himself. It’s a dog. It’s just a dog.

“Can I get out? Is my car going to blow up?” the woman asks with a shaky voice.

“Um, that’s a good question. I’m not sure. But I don’t want you to worry. I’m a trained firefighter and we’re going to figure this out, okay?

“What do you mean you aren’t sure? Aren’t you supposed to know what to do in this situation?”

“Not really, I fight fires in the mountains, not usually cars that drive across active lines,” Seungcheol jokes.

“Of course, the universe would send me an incompetent firefighter in this situation.”

Seungcheol huffs, “I’m not incompetent, I was kidding. What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“Okay, Y/N. I’m Seungcheol. I need a few minutes to think about the safest way to get you out, in the meantime I want you to remain calm.” He hears the faint wail of sirens in the distance. Help is almost here, but he can’t wait. The anxiety is clawing at his neck. He needs to save you. You can’t die too.

The thought of rescuing you from the vehicle feels like a dangerous gamble. One wrong move, and you could step on a live wire and electrocute yourself to death. Seungcheol’s mind races through everything he’s heard about accidents like this: stay in the car, don't touch metal, don’t risk it.

But he also knows that it’s only a matter of minutes until you’re out of safe breathing oxygen in the cabin, and time feels like it’s slipping away. He glances at the ground surrounding your car, finding the safest path for you.

“Okay, I have a plan,” he says, after going over it in his head. “Are you able to crawl to the backseat?”

“Yeah, I think so.” He listens to the sounds of your shuffling, “Okay, I’m in the back with the dog.”

“Good, I’m going to break your driver’s side window. Then I want you to climb back into the front and I’ll help you out.”

“No, I’ll give you my dog first.”

“Alright, the dog goes first. Listen, there’s a chance that when I break the window the airflow and pressure change might cause the fire in your engine to ignite again. I will take care of it, I don’t want you to worry.”

With a surge of adrenaline, he smashes the car window with the end of the fire extinguisher. Shards of glass scatter onto the seat, and the dog whines from the sudden noise.

He leans down and peeks his head inside, his eyes immediately locking with yours. You're huddled in the backseat, arms tightly wrapped around your large dog, seeking comfort. Your light brown hair is tousled, strands falling across your face, but it’s your vibrant green eyes that stand out, even in the dim light. There's a mixture of exhaustion and relief in them.

He gently takes the leashed dog from your arms. "I’ll be right back for you," he promises, stepping cautiously away from the car, avoiding wet spots, and keeping a wary eye on the live wires.

The police are the first to arrive. “Pop your backseat open, I’ll put the dog in there,” he says, and the officer quickly obliges, opening the door for him.

As he turns to head back for you, the fire and rescue team pulls up, jumping into action. He heads toward the firefighters who are assessing the power line situation.

“Look who it is,” a familiar face grins, walking up to hug his old friend.

“Mingyu, it’s good to see you.” Seungcheol hugs him back.

”I shouldn’t be surprised to see you here. Always in the middle of the action. I gotta ask, are you interested in a job? We’ve got an opening if you’re sick of roughing it in the wilderness.”

“You know me well,” he smiles. “I’m on leave right now. Gotta work through some things. You know how it is.”

“Unfortunately, I do,” Mingyu agrees, knowing all too well and definitely knowing better than to ask. “Let’s grab a drink one of these nights while you’re still around.”

“Sure thing, have fun dealing with, well, all of this,” Seungcheol chuckles, motioning at the mess surrounding them.

By the time he heads back toward you, you're already out of the charred vehicle, the rescue team guiding you into the backseat of the cop car.

He watches from a distance, realizing that once again, he didn’t get the chance to keep his promise.

The rescue team moves swiftly, pulling you from the wreckage and checking you over to make sure you aren’t hurt, even though you insist you aren’t.

“Ma’am, I know you say you’re fine, but it’s my job to check.”

“Sorry,” you grumble, “I’ve just had a shit day and I’m worried that Mika is scared.”

“Your dog? Don’t worry, we can head over there right now.” They gather your belongings from the trunk of your sizzling car before guiding you to the safety of the squad car where your dog is already waiting, tail wagging despite the chaos.

Now that you're out of danger, you finally take in the scene around you. It's far worse than anything you could have imagined. The devastation is overwhelming, and the air is still heavy with smoke.

A wave of gratitude washes over you for the stranger who helped calm your nerves when everything seemed to be spiraling out of control. Without his reassurance, you’re not sure how you would’ve kept it together.

You spot him; he’s standing among the firemen, deep in conversation. His tall frame towers over most of them, and the broad set of his shoulders makes his jacket seem almost too small. The sparking power lines cast flickering shadows across his face.

Unlike the others, his jacket has a different department name stitched across his back, making him stand out from the crowd even more. There's something about the way he carries himself all calm and controlled, like he's seen this kind of devastation too many times before, that piques your interest.

Like he senses you looking him over, he glances over toward the patrol car as it pulls away from the accident.

You sink into the seat next to Mika, feeling the warmth of her fur against your side, grateful she’s okay. You’re relieved but still shaken, and with the smell of smoke still clinging to your clothes, are desperate for a nice hot shower to wash off this horrible day.

The officer pulls up to your sister’s house and helps carry your bags to the door. Before leaving, he hands you a copy of the accident report and the business card for the tow company that hauled off your car.

"Take care now," the older man says with a nod, waving from the driver’s seat as he reverses down the driveway.

“Thanks!” you return, Mika also joining in with a quick yap.

Using the spare key your sister gave you years ago, you unlock the door and step inside. Mika bolts down the hallway, likely heading for the living room to claim her favorite nap spot on the couch.

Kate’s house rules will have to wait. Right now, all you care about is scrubbing off the sticky residue of smoke that clings to your skin. Mika, meanwhile, seems unbothered. Her rolling in the snow earlier did wonders for cleaning up her fur. She’s back to her usual gray-and-white self, but you’ll still have to wrangle her into a bath at some point. You don’t have the energy for that battle tonight.

Dragging your bags toward the bedrooms, you drop them on the floor inside the master. You rummage through the top duffel, fishing out an oversized sweatshirt and a pair of pajama pants for after your shower. Clothes in hand, you head for the attached bathroom.

Peeling off your smoky clothes, you turn on the shower and wait for the water to heat up. Steam begins to fill the small space as you step beneath the heavy spray, the warm water washing away the grime and some of the day’s tension.

The face of the stranger from earlier flashes in your mind as you shampoo your long locks. Maybe you should have waited to say goodbye to him, and say thank you, before leaving the scene. You were in too much of a panic state to think about the proper way to handle anything. Hopefully, he understood that.

You’re just about done with rinsing off the remaining bubbles of the divine body wash your sister has in the shower when Mika runs into the bathroom and starts whining.

“I’m almost done, Mika Mouse” you comfort her through the glass wall, thinking her nerves are probably just acting up after today.

She whines again, slinking behind the bathroom door with her tail tucked low.

‘That’s odd’, you think, turning off the water and stepping out. ‘Maybe she doesn’t feel well?’

You wrap yourself in a thick towel, still worried about her behavior when a dull thud echoes from the far end of the house.

Mika peers up at you with wide, nervous eyes, the look clearly saying, ‘Don’t even think about asking me to check that out.’

Rolling your eyes, you mutter, “Of course not. So much for being a big, tough dog, huh?”

You tip-toe carefully toward the noise, the cool air against your damp skin making you shiver. The sound is coming from the kitchen, and Mika creeps along behind you, practically glued to your leg.

“You’re no help, you know that?” you whisper, glancing down at her. “What if I need backup?”

Mika simply stares at you, her blue eyes wide and unblinking, as if to say, ‘You’re on your own, Mom.’

Another louder crash stops you in your tracks. Your pulse quickens as you peek around the corner. There, in front of the open refrigerator, stands a stranger.

Adrenaline floods your body as you grab the nearest weapon (a spatula from the island counter), you let out a war cry and charge.

“Hey! What the—OW! Stop hitting me!” the intruder yells, raising his hands to shield himself.

“Who the hell are you?” you demand, swinging the spatula one last time for good measure.

“Wait! I—Ouch! What is wrong with you?” He twists around, finally revealing his face. And recognition slams into you like a brick wall, it’s the hot firefighter from earlier.

“You!” you hiss, lowering the spatula but not your guard. “Why are you here? Did you follow me here?”

“What? No! I’m staying here!” he snaps, rubbing his arm where you hit him.

“Uh, no you’re not. This is my sister’s house,” you say, crossing your arms. The movement makes you suddenly, painfully aware of how little you’re wearing.

He blinks at you, then gestures vaguely between you and the kitchen. “You’re Kate’s sister?”

“How do you know Kate?” you demand. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Seungcheol. I’m one of Jun’s friends,” he explains, looking somewhat flustered. “He told me I could crash here for a few days. Kate agreed and said it was fine.”

You frown, your brain scrambling to make sense of this. “Well, nobody told me.”

“I thought they were here. I figured... maybe they were in the shower,” he says, his eyes flicking to your dripping hair. “But I guess that was you. Where are they?”

“They’re out of town,” you mutter, pulling the towel tighter around yourself. “And clearly, no one thought to clue me in on their little hospitality arrangements.”

“I just spoke with Jun yesterday. He didn’t say anything about being out of town,” Seungcheol says, his brows furrowed.

“Well...it was sort of last minute,” you reply, hesitating. You’re unsure how much you should share, but curiosity about his reaction nudges you to continue. “His dad had a heart attack. They asked me to house-sit while they went to be with him.”

Seungcheol’s face shifts from confusion to alarm, genuine concern washing over his features. “Oh my god, Mr. Wen had a heart attack? Is he okay?” His eyes search yours, desperate for answers.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “I haven’t heard any updates yet. I was hoping Kate would call once they got there.”

He nods slowly, processing the news, then looks back at you.

“So...how do you know Junhui?” You cross your arms, still skeptical.

“We grew up together and are still good friends,” he says simply, holding your gaze.

You narrow your eyes, trying to read him. He seems genuine, but the whole situation still feels a little too coincidental.

“Look,” he says, sensing your doubt, “I can prove it. I’ve got old photos of us on my phone. Or, better yet, check the living room. I’m pretty sure there’s a framed photo of us from a beach trip we took a few years ago. It was on the mantle the last time I visited.”

You pause, weighing his words. There’s something about his tone that makes you think he might actually be telling the truth. Still, you’re not ready to let your guard down just yet.

“Fine,” you say. “But if I find out you’re lying, I’m coming back with something worse than a spatula.”

“If you’re anything like Kate, I wouldn’t doubt it,” Seungcheol says with a chuckle, now leaning up against the kitchen island.

You shoot him a look before walking over to the fireplace, where Kate displays all her smaller framed photos. It doesn’t take long to spot the beach photo he mentioned, and sure enough, a younger Seungcheol is standing next to Jun, both grinning under the sun. He looks leaner in the picture, less muscular than the version currently smirking from the kitchen.

“Well?” he calls from the island, his tone teasing. “Did I pass the test?”

You place the photo back on the mantel and turn to face his direction. “Don’t move. I need to get dressed and call Kate.”

“Not going anywhere,” he replies with a shrug, clearly amused by the whole ordeal.

You hurry back to the bedroom, finding Mika burrowed under the covers on the bed, probably retreating there after your spatula ambush.

“Coward,” you huff, stepping over your bags. Reaching the clothes you set out earlier, you quickly throw them on, silently cursing yourself for choosing the frumpiest option. But how would you have known you’d need to look cute and presentable for... company? Comfort had been the only thing on your mind.

Grabbing the towel draped over the vanity, you cover the base of your skull and twist your damp hair into a quick headwrap. Fixing your hair can wait, sorting out this unexpected houseguest with Kate takes priority.

Muttering a string of curses under your breath, you march over to your bags and rummage through them until you find your purse. Digging inside, you finally fish out your phone, silently pleading with the universe that your sister will pick up.

This was the last situation Seungcheol had expected to find himself in tonight. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, staying rooted to the spot as promised. It’s not hard to keep his word, he figures moving any closer might make things worse.

He gets why you’re being cautious. Honestly, he’s glad you are. Still, it bothers him a little that you don’t feel entirely safe around him. He’d even stepped away from the fridge, putting himself by the island within your line of sight, hoping it might ease your discomfort. Given the circumstances, though, your reaction is understandable.

The sound of soft footsteps echoes down the hallway, announcing your return before he even sees you. When you step into view, his breath catches. You look ridiculously cute with your hair twisted up in that towel, even if you’re frowning. Not that he’d admit it, but he preferred the towel’s previous location—wrapped around your damp, glistening body.

Damn it, ‘Cheol. Not the time.

“I can’t get ahold of Kate or Jun,” you say with a frustrated sigh. “They must still be on their flight.”

Seungcheol doesn’t hesitate to slip into problem-solving mode like it’s second nature. Anything to erase that frown from your face. “If it helps, I’ll sleep on the couch tonight. It’s far from the bedrooms, and you can barricade your door if that makes you feel better. I swear, I’m not a threat.”

“How do I know that I can trust you?” you ask, your voice laced with doubt.

Without missing a beat, he responds, “Would you like to talk to my mom?”

“What?” you blink, your expression equal parts skeptical and confused.

“I’ll call my mom,” he says, already pulling his phone from his pocket. “She can vouch for me. Would that make you feel better?”

You tilt your head, clearly debating it. Before you can respond, he’s already tapping the screen a couple of times before holding the phone out to you.

“It’s ringing.”

“Hello? Cheolie, dear?” a warm, motherly voice answers.

“Um, hi,” you say awkwardly, lifting the phone to your ear.

“Oh, hello! Is my son there?”

“I’m here, Mom,” Seungcheol calls out, loud enough for her to hear. “Y/N has a question for you.”

“Alright, dear,” she replies, her tone curious. “What’s the question?”

You glance at him, then back to the phone. “I’d like to know if Seungcheol is...honest and trustworthy,” you say, your eyes narrowing slightly as you study his face.

“Oh, well, that’s an easy one!” his mom chirps. “My Cheolie is a sweetheart! Did you know he’s a firefighter? Some might even call him a hero. He’s one of the most honest and trustworthy people you’ll ever meet.”

“Right,” you murmur, trying not to smile. “So, you’d say it’s safe to sleep under the same roof with him?”

“Well,” she chuckles softly, “that depends on whether he remembers his manners. But I’d bet good money my son has plenty of self-restraint—”

“Okay, Mom, that’s enough. Thanks!” Seungcheol interjects quickly, his ears burning. “I’ll call you later. Love you, bye!” Ending the call, he looks up to find you grinning.

“Cheolie?” you tease, clearly enjoying his discomfort.

“Don’t call me that. Ever,” he warns, though the smile tugging at his lips betrays him. “So... what’s the verdict?”

You give him another once-over, still weighing your options. “You can sleep in the guest bedroom. I’ll take the primary. Most of my stuff is already in there anyway.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind the couch,” he offers sincerely.

“It’s fine,” you reply with a wave of your hand. “You did save me earlier, after all. I’m not going to kick you out in the middle of the night when it’s storming. We’ll sort everything out tomorrow when it’s not so late.”

“Thanks,” he says, relief evident in his voice. “I’m glad you’re okay, by the way. Did the rescue team check your throat for smoke inhalation? And what about your dog? Wait—where is your dog?” His head swivels as he realizes he hasn’t seen Mika.

“She’s hiding in the bedroom, like the coward she is,” you say with a huff. “And yeah, we both got checked out. The worst of it was my car... and my clothes.” You glance at the clock on the wall. “Anyway, I’m heading to bed. Do you need anything?”

He shakes his head. “No, I’m good. I know my way around. I’ll grab some water and call it a night too.”

“Alright. Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

You disappear down the hall, leaving him standing in the kitchen, feeling oddly better than he had all day.

Seungcheol’s hand trails across your jaw, his tough is light yet as his eyes sear into yours. His fingers trace the delicate curve of your face before slipping into the hair behind your ear, his grip gentle but possessive as he leans in.

His lips brush against yours, warm and inviting, sending a shiver down your spine. The kiss is tantalizing and slow, yet perfectly in sync, drawing a soft sigh from your lips as you melt into him.

And then—buzz.

Wait. Are his lips...vibrating?

A second buzz jolts you further from the haze of your dream, and before you can process it, another vibration tickles your cheek. Your eyes flutter open, reality crashing in as you realize your phone is pressed between your face and the pillow. You must have dozed off without setting it on the nightstand.

Blinking heavily, you grab the device, squinting at the screen. It’s your sister.

You swipe to answer, your voice thick with sleep. “Hello?”

“Shoot, were you sleeping? I’m sorry,” Kate says, already sounding guilty.

“For waking me up or for forgetting to mention the house guest you invited to stay here?”

“Oh my god.” A beat of silence, and then she groans. “Y/N, I am so sorry. Everything happened so fast with Jun’s dad, and it completely slipped my mind that Seungcheol was coming to visit. Is he there now?”

“Yeah. And I might have whacked him a few times thinking he was breaking into the house.”

Your sister snickers on the other end, clearly picturing it. “You attacked him?”

“We’ve resolved it. Mostly.”

Kate bursts into laughter, and you roll your eyes, already regretting telling her.

"I bet he loved that," Kate snickers. "Seriously, though, I just wanted to call with an update, except there isn’t much of one. The doctors are running every test they can to figure out why he had a heart attack in the first place. Basically, we’re stuck in a waiting game for now.”

Your stomach twists. “How’s Jun handling it?”

She lowers her voice, the weight of concern evident. “I think he’s scared. But he’s putting on a brave front for his mom. She’s beside herself right now.” A pause. “Actually, the doctor is coming now. I’ll text you later, okay?”

“Yeah, of course. Give Jun a big hug for me. Keep me updated. Love you.”

“Love you too, sis. Bye.”

The line goes dead and you glance at the time, it’s just past 8 a.m. Mika stretches beside you, yawning dramatically before perking up, her bright blue eyes locked onto you. Now that she knows you’re awake, there’s no stopping her. She’s practically quivering with morning energy, and it won’t be long before she starts pawing at the door, demanding her outdoor time.

You sigh, already mourning your sweet slumber and the very interesting dream that had been so rudely interrupted.

Mika whines before hopping off the bed and trotting to the door, tail wagging expectantly.

Cracking it open, you peek into the hallway. Seungcheol’s door is still closed. Good, at least one of you gets to sleep in.

Tip-toeing toward the entryway, you slip into your winter gear before heading toward the back deck. The crisp morning air nips at your face as you slide the glass door open and Mika dashes past you in a blur of fur, instantly prancing through the fresh snow.

She lives for the cold, yet somehow refuses to do her business unless she has a bare patch of ground. An interesting quirk of hers. With a resigned sigh, you find a shovel nearby and clear a small area for her.

While she tunnels through the snow, occasionally popping her head up like a mischievous little arctic fox, you shove your gloved hands into your pockets, bouncing on your heels to stay warm.

Once she’s finally done playing and has taken care of business, you barely have to say the magic word, breakfast, before she’s bounding back inside, tail wagging like she just won the lottery.

She sits patiently, her tail sweeping across the floor as you prepare her usual breakfast, dry kibble topped with blueberries and salmon. The combination makes your nose wrinkle, but to her, it’s a five-star meal. She lets out a soft huff, urging you to hurry up, and the second you place the bowl down, she dives in enthusiastically.

As you watch her eat, the weight of yesterday’s events settles over you. The bad date, the phone call, the fire, and the unexpected houseguest. Despite all the chaos, there’s a lingering sense of gratitude warming your chest. Things could have been so much worse.

Deciding you want to thank Seungcheol, you rummage through the pantry and fridge, gathering everything you need to whip up a nice breakfast for yourselves. It’s the least you can do for him.

With your favorite indie playlist humming through the speakers, you settle into the rhythm of cooking. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla fills the air as the french toast sizzles on the stove. Lost in the process, you sway a little to the music, waiting for the perfect moment to flip the slices.

Until something in your peripheral catches your attention, and when you glance up, your breath hitches.

Seungcheol steps out of the guest room, still half-asleep, his dark hair tousled in an unfairly attractive way. But that’s not what has you flushing, it’s the fact that he’s shirtless, with his toned chest and defined abs on full display. The gray sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips aren’t helping your already scattered thoughts.

Your gaze lingers a second too long. Maybe three. Or five…

By the time you snap out of it, his smirk is already forming. Oh, he definitely caught you looking. The heat creeping up your neck betrays you, and his smirk deepens.

“Morning,” he says, voice still rough with sleep.

You clear your throat, quickly turning back to the stove. “Morning. Breakfast will be ready soon.”

“Smells good,” he muses, stepping closer. “Need any help?”

You swallow hard, focusing on flipping the french toast before it burns. “You know what would be helpful?” you ask, keeping your eyes on the pan, not on him.

“What’s that?” he replies, stretching his arms above his head.

You steal one last glance, just a quick one, watching the way his muscles ripple with the movement. Damn it. Get a grip.

“If you’d go throw on a shirt, Rolie Polie Cheolie.”

His laughter is instant, loud and unapologetic. “Wow. That nickname is uncalled for.” He runs a slow hand down his chest, smiling smugly. “Is this too much for you? I totally understand why.”

Your grip tightens around the spatula as you flash him a sickly sweet smile, waving it in your hand as a reminder. “Should we revisit last night?”

His smile falters, eyes darting to the spatula like he’s considering his odds. “Damn, woman. Okay.” Still chuckling, he lifts his hands in surrender and backs away. “I’ll go find a shirt. But for the record…” he pauses in the doorway, glancing back at you with a knowing grin. “You didn’t have to stare.”

Your cheeks burn as you turn back to the stove. This man is going to be the death of you.

It’s day three of surviving Seungcheol.

You don’t know when you started keeping track, but at this point, it feels necessary. Every glance, every smirk, every damn stretch of his ridiculously sculpted arms even when he’s innocently putting away the washed dishes after a meal, chips away at your resolve.

Kate hadn’t helped. Last night, after calling with an update, she’d gone there*.*

“If you’re looking for some fun*,* Seungcheol is definitely the way to go,” she’d said, voice full of mischief.

You’d nearly choked on your water. “Excuse me?”

“He’s so fine. Not as fine as Jun, of course, but Seungcheol is a man if you know what I mean.”

Your gaze had drifted traitorously toward him. He’s comfortably sprawled in the corner chair, book in hand, looking every bit like a romance novel cover come to life.

You’d hissed into the phone, “Shut up,” even though he’d need superhuman hearing to catch onto what she was saying.

“All I’m saying is, you never know what might happen over the next few days. Have some fun.”

Heat crawls up your neck as you rise to grab a drink from the kitchen. Why is it suddenly so warm in here?

“Nothing is going to happen,” you’d whispered back, firmly.

“Boo. You’re no fun.” She’d let it go after that, moving on to say they’d likely be home by next Wednesday. Nine more days. That’s all you have to survive.

Nine days without making a fool of yourself.

Nine days without giving in to the way he makes your pulse stutter.

Three down and nine to go. Twelve total…You can do it. Right? You just need to focus. Like on your book.

Yes. Writing. That’ll keep your thoughts free of Seungcheol.

After your usual morning routine of walking Mika, enjoying breakfast, and tidying up, Seungcheol casually mentions that he’s heading out for a run.

Jogging in the cold sounds like actual torture to you, but you still offer him a small smile. “Have a good run!”

“Thanks,” he says, rolling out his shoulders as he stretches. His muscles flex with the movement underneath his tight zip-up, and you have to remind yourself not to stare. “When I get back, I’ll cook us dinner.”

That certainly piques your interest. “Oh? Do you cook often?”

“You could say that. Plus, I wouldn’t want you starving under my watch,” he teases with a wink before heading out the door.

You narrow your eyes at the space he just vacated. Has he figured out that your culinary skills barely extend beyond breakfast foods? Maybe the fact that you reheated frozen leftovers twice yesterday tipped him off.

Once he’s gone, you settle into your writing space with a hot tea nearby and your laptop open, fingers poised over the keyboard. The hardest part is always getting started, but once you do, the words tend to flow. Today, they’re flowing especially well.

You’re making great progress on the prologue, recapping the last book’s events and weaving in the setup for the new characters. But as you flesh out the love interest, describing his dark, chocolatey hair and toned physique, a realization hits you.

You’re using a certain someone as inspiration.

The realization makes your fingers hesitate over the keyboard. Seriously? You shake your head, trying to brush off the thought, but it lingers, settling into the back of your mind like an itch you can’t quite scratch.

Your main character’s love interest is supposed to be effortlessly charismatic, strong, and just the right amount of a cocky attitude. Traits that, annoyingly, align all too well with the man currently out on his run. The way he smirks when he catches you looking, the deep timbre of his voice, the way he makes your heart race anytime he’s within touching distance.

You groan and drop your head onto the table. This is ridiculous.

Maybe Kate was right. Maybe your subconscious is betraying you, channeling all that pent-up energy into your writing instead of…well, other things.

Before you can spiral further, you take a deep breath and push those distracting thoughts out of your mind. Focus. You force your attention back to your screen, determined to channel this energy into something productive.

You finish fleshing out the details of your character, the way his eyes darken when he’s deep in thought, the way his presence commands a room without effort. You tweak a few lines, refining his dialogue until it feels just right.

Satisfied, you move on, letting the story take shape one sentence at a time. The tension between your characters simmers, the chemistry practically leaping off the page. It’s electric, intense…and maybe, just maybe, a little too familiar.

You shake off the thought and keep writing, ignoring the way your mind keeps circling back to a certain firefighter with a teasing smirk and frustratingly perfect timing.

“Whatcha working on?”

You nearly jump out of your seat. A damp towel hangs around Seungcheol’s shoulders, his hair still wet from a shower. He’s also wearing different clothes than earlier, a fresh pair of lounge pants and a fitted black tee that does nothing to hide the way his broad shoulders and toned arms fill it out.

When did he even get back? You didn’t hear him come in, let alone get undressed and shower.

“You were so engrossed in whatever this is,” he motions to your laptop screen, “that you didn’t even hear me say I was hopping in the shower.”

Your heart is still trying to recover from the surprise, and maybe from the sight of him standing so casually in front of you, all post-workout and freshly showered.

“W-what?” you stammer, snapping your laptop shut on instinct. “I was…just writing.”

His lips curl into a slow, knowing smirk. “About what?”

Absolutely not. There is no way in hell you’re telling him the truth.

“Um, I’m an author. I have a book due soon as part of my contract.”

Seungcheol nods, clearly waiting for you to elaborate. His gaze makes you hesitate, do you dive into the full truth about writing romantasy smut or keep things vague? A simple character plotting excuse could work, but something about the way he’s watching you makes you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

“It’s, um, about a warrior heiress whose assigned protector is a human hybrid. He can morph into a giant guardian dog at will. And, well…she kind of falls for him.” You pause, watching his reaction, then, without thinking, add, “Do you know what knotting means?”

The second the words leave your mouth, you want to crawl under the table.

Seungcheol’s eyebrows shoot up, a smirk playing on his lips. “Do I want to know?”

Your face is on fire. Abort. Abort. You shake your head rapidly. “No, probably not.”

He chuckles, clearly amused by your panic but merciful enough to let it slide. “Alright then,” he says, using the towel to dry off his hair some more. It’s enough to distract you.

Little do you know, he’s definitely planning on looking it up later.

“How was your run? And shower?” you babble, desperate to steer the conversation elsewhere.

“Both were good,” he replies smoothly, eyes still holding a trace of interest in the previous topic of conversation. “But I’m starving now. How about you?”

You swallow, forcing yourself to focus. “Well, I won’t say no to food,” you say, standing up and stretching, trying to act casual.

Seungcheol smirks like he knows exactly where your mind wanders. “Good. Because I plan on impressing you.”

“Oh? Bold of you to assume I’m easily impressed.”

“Bold of you to assume I’m not up for the challenge,” he says, his voice dripping with confidence. “You want to help, or are you still lost in your little fantasy world?”

The teasing in his voice makes your eyes narrow. Without hesitation, you snap your laptop shut before he can read another word. “I’ve hit my goal for the day. Put me to work, chef.”

He laughs, “Wow, such enthusiasm. Almost convincing.” He slings the damp towel over his shoulder. “Let me toss this in the laundry hamper, and then we’ll get started.”

As he disappears down the hall, you exhale, pressing your palms against the cool surface of the table. Seungcheol has no idea what you were writing, but the thought of him finding out makes your stomach twist. And not necessarily in a bad way.

By the time he returns, you’ve found an apron and slipped it on, attempting to tie the strings behind you. He stops mid-step, taking in the sight of you. His grin is slow and approving. “Look at you, all dressed for the part.”

You place your hands on your hips, raising an eyebrow. “Obviously. Now, Super Couper, what’s on the menu?”

He groans, dragging a hand through his hair before shooting you a playful glare. “How many more ridiculous nicknames do you have up your sleeve?”

You tilt your head, eyes sparkling with mischief. “An endless amount.” Your smile is far too triumphant. “It’s a habit of mine. And lucky you, you get to be the exclusive recipient for the next several days.”

He shakes his head at the new ridiculous nickname, but the grin on his face gives him away. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Immensely,” you tease, adjusting the apron strings behind your back. “Now, tell me what I’m chopping, stirring, or burning.”

He chuckles, stepping closer. His hands brush over yours as he takes over and ties the apron for you, pulling the strings snug. The warmth of his fingers lingers even after he steps back. “We’re making spicy kimchi fried rice with seared steak.”

Your stomach growls in approval, and he smiles. “I’ll handle the steak since I don’t want you to accidentally ruin it,” he teases. “You’re on chopping duty. Can I trust you with a knife?”

You scoff, grabbing a knife. “Duh.”

He leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with amused eyes. “We’ll see.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the way your pulse skips as you start slicing. This is fine. Totally normal. Just two adults cooking together. It’s definitely not a big deal that you can feel his body heat every time he moves past you, or that his deep, husky chuckle makes your stomach flutter.

You won’t admit it, but you’re totally impressed by the way Seungcheol moves around the kitchen with ease, like he was born to do this. He’s completely in his element. You find yourself wondering why he became a firefighter instead of a chef at some high-end restaurant.

Seungcheol watches as you slice into an onion, “Here, let me show you how to hold it properly—”

“I know how to do it,” you huff, gripping the handle tighter. “I’m capable of chopping vegetables, Seungcheol.”

He raises a brow at your defensive tone, then softens. “Of course you are,” he says gently. “I just don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Something about his concern makes your stomach twist. Maybe it’s the way he automatically took over, or maybe it’s the fact that he’s right, but either way, it leaves a sour taste in your mouth. He seems to realize it too because he steps back, letting you finish on your own without another word.

The tension lingers as he takes the chopped veggies and tosses them into the pan, sautéing them before mixing them with the rice. You know it’s ridiculous to hold a grudge over something as small as knife skills, but the silence stretches between you as you both eat, neither wanting to be the first to break it.

Even Mika, who’s happily munching away at her dinner, doesn’t offer a distraction from the lingering silence.

Seungcheol wouldn’t know this, but people have been stepping in to ‘help’ you your whole life, whether you wanted them to or not. Being a little clumsy means that, more often than not, others take over, deciding you’re too slow, too messy, or just better off watching.

You’ve fought to prove yourself capable in small ways, learning things at your own pace, and taking pride in figuring them out on your own. You know Seungcheol didn’t mean it that way. His help wasn’t condescending, it wasn't just let me do it move like you’ve experienced before.

Finally, you exhale, deciding to move past it. No point in sulking over it.

“So,” you say after taking a drink of your water, “Can I ask you something?”

Seungcheol glances up, mid-bite, eyebrows raising slightly. “Of course.”

“You seem really comfortable in the kitchen,” you pause, watching the way his shoulders stiffen. “Why firefighting? Why not something food-related?”

“I spent some time in culinary school, but I like doing things my own way. It wasn’t for me.” He leans back slightly, twirling his fork between his fingers. “Firefighting is…different. It’s this rush of energy that takes over your body. You assess the situation, cut the wildfire off from its resources, do everything in your power to stop it from growing. It’s intense, but it’s rewarding.” He exhales, his gaze momentarily distant. “But I’m not sure it’s exactly for me anymore either.”

“Oh? Really? Why’s that?”

He hesitates for a beat, then shrugs. “I have a few things to figure out, some important decisions to make. That sort of thing.” His tone makes it clear he’s not ready to elaborate, so he shifts the conversation instead. “What about you? Have you always liked writing?”

“God, no,” you say with a short laugh. “I’ve always been an avid reader, but I kept looking for a specific type of book that either wasn’t well written or didn’t exist. Eventually, I just decided to write it myself.” You glance at your mostly empty plate. “I’m still new to it all, this is only my second book, but I like it.”

Seungcheol nods, offering a small smile. “That’s good.”

You let the comfortable quiet settle between you as you both take the last few bites of dinner.

“Thanks for dinner, by the way,” you say, getting up to take your dishes to the sink.

“Thanks for helping.”

Day Five of Surviving Seungcheol

Yesterday wasn’t particularly eventful, just another day of coexisting with the infuriatingly perceptive man currently occupying your space. The most eventful thing that happened was Seungcheol shoveling the driveway and front steps after the snowfall, which, for Mika, was basically an invitation to turn the entire ordeal into a game. She chased after flying clumps of snow, leaping at them mid-air like an overexcited puppy, completely unbothered by the cold.

Unlike you.

Even though the sun shined for most of the day, the mountain air bites sharper than usual, cutting through every layer you’ve thrown on. No matter how many sweaters or blankets you bundle yourself in, warmth remains elusive. And now that the sun has gone down, the temperature seems to have dropped again.

“God, I miss the warm weather,” you mutter, pushing off the couch in search of yet another blanket.

Seungcheol frowns, his eyes tracking you as you disappear down the hall. He already turned up the thermostat earlier when he noticed goosebumps on your arms, and you’ve thrown on a sweater since then. He sets his nearly finished book down, rolling his shoulders as he stands.

By the time you return, arms wrapped around the thickest blanket you could find, the unmistakable crackle of fire fills the living room.

You stop in your tracks, eyes flicking to Seungcheol, who’s crouched near the fireplace, adjusting the logs. The warm glow of the flames casts flickering shadows across his face, highlighting the quiet concentration in his features.

Somehow, he always catches onto things and does them before you even think to ask.

“It should warm up in here pretty fast now,” he says, meeting your eyes.

“Thank you.”

“Of course. Do you, uh…want to watch something while you write, or would that be distracting?” he asks, unsure.

“I could use some background noise. Put on whatever you want.”

Seungcheol grabs the remote and flips through the options before settling on the latest action movie. It’s loud, fast-paced, and (at least in theory) should hold his attention.

Except it doesn’t.

He’ll admit, he hasn’t got a single clue what’s happening on the screen. Explosions, car chases, intense fight scenes; they all blur together as his focus repeatedly drifts to your laptop.

It’s not his fault. Really.

He had every intention of watching the movie. Based on the description, it seemed like something he’d enjoy. But the moment his gaze flickered toward your screen, all thoughts of entertainment evaporated. His curiosity got the best of him, and now he’s stealing glances, completely distracted by the way your fingers move over the keys with effortless ease.

And after reading a line, all rational thought leaves his head.

Dash looks up at me with fire in his eyes. “You’re mine. Your heart, your mouth, your sweet cunt—it’s all mine.” A deep growl vibrates from his chest as he pulls me onto his lap, his hardening length pressing against me through his pants.

Seungcheol swallows hard, eyes darting between the flashing scenes on the TV and the words on your laptop. Jesus Christ. He stiffens, willing his expression to remain neutral. But it’s impossible to unsee the words, impossible to ignore the way his brain short-circuits at the imagery.

Dash shreds my corset with his claws, discarding the tattered fabric like it’s nothing. His mouth latches onto my nipple, his hand cupping the other, his touch rough yet reverent. I whimper as he spreads my thighs, lifting my skirt to reveal—

He sucks in a sharp breath, snapping his head back toward the TV. Nope. Nope. Nope.

But now he’s hyper-aware of you sitting beside him, completely unbothered as your fingers move effortlessly over the keys. You’re so focused, so immersed in crafting this sinful scene like it’s just another day at work.

He wants to laugh. He wants to tease. He wants to ask you what the hell kind of research you’ve been doing for this book, but more than anything, he kinda wants to know what happens next.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you as the type to enjoy a smutty book,” you muse, lips curling into a knowing smirk. You should probably be embarrassed that he’s been sneakily reading, but watching the initial shock on his face shift into reluctant curiosity is far too entertaining.

Seungcheol’s head snaps toward you so fast you’re surprised he doesn’t get whiplash. Shit. I’ve been caught.

You laugh, the sound bubbling out before you can stop it. Eventually, Seungcheol joins in, shaking his head in amusement. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but that certainly wasn’t it. You’re good, though. I can see why your last book sold so many copies.”

Your brows lift in mock surprise. “Ah, have you been doing a little research on me?”

He smirks, completely unapologetic. “Maybe just a little. I didn’t realize I was sharing a house with the beloved BookTok queen.”

That makes you laugh even harder, the sound ringing through the room. Seungcheol watches you, taking in the way your eyes squint when you laugh, how your whole face lights up. Damn, he thinks, you’re gorgeous.

Seungcheol pushes himself up from the couch, partially to hide his growing hard-on and partially to grab a snack. He’s so attracted to you, more than he ever expected to be. “Feel like popcorn?”

“Yum, yes! That sounds fab,” you say, already diving back into your smut scene.

A few minutes later, he returns with a freshly popped bowl of popcorn and two cold beers. “Wasn’t sure if you drink, but I can grab you some water instead if you prefer.”

You smile at his thoughtfulness. “Nah, beer is great. Thanks.”

The two of you settle in, watching the last half of the movie together. Not that you’re paying much attention, you’re pretty sure Seungcheol isn’t either, as you keep stealing glances at each other. Plus, the plot is all over the place, and you both seem equally lost.

Then, just as things finally seem to be wrapping up, one of the love interests dies. And just like that, you’re completely checked out. If there’s one thing you cannot stand, it’s an unhappy ending. You’re a die-hard Happy Ever After lover. What was the point of all that buildup if they were just going to rip it away?

Seungcheol stretches, letting out a deep yawn as the credits begin to roll. “That felt longer than I thought it would.”

“Sleepy?” you ask, hoping maybe he’ll say no and you can keep hanging out a little longer.

But he yawns again, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, surprisingly, I am. I better head to bed.” He shoots you a tired smile. “Sweet dreams.”

…

Seungcheol hesitates for half a second before nodding and retreating to his room. As he shuts the door behind him, your expression lingers in his mind. There was something there, just for a moment. Maybe he imagined it.

He shakes his head. Don’t be stupid. He won’t get his hopes up about you having any sort of feeling for him. And he refuses to put you in that position.

Exhaling deeply, he climbs into bed, exhaustion weighing on him. Sleep comes quickly, but the comfort is short-lived.

The memory that haunts him returns, just like it always does. His body tenses, breath shallowing as he’s yanked back into the nightmare that never leaves him alone.

Fire. Smoke. The metallic taste of fear coating his tongue.

He tosses and turns, jaw clenched, fingers twitching as though trying to dig through rubble that isn’t there. His face contorts in distress, beads of sweat forming at his temple as the scene replays, relentless and unforgiving.

No.

He sprints toward the smoldering wreckage of what was once a home, his heart pounding harder than his boots against the ashy ground. The house was still standing only hours ago. He told them to leave, practically begged them to, but the charred remains of their car in the driveway tell him all he needs to know.

Still, he digs. His hands work frantically, shoving aside collapsed beams and shattered drywall, hoping—praying—that he won’t find what he’s looking for. That his gut feeling is wrong. That by some miracle, they made it out.

But then, he sees them.

A pair of burned bodies curled around something small. No, no, no, no…

His stomach twists violently as he stumbles back. The infant cradled in their lifeless arms, the baby he promised would be safe, is gone too.

His breath catches. The awful taste of failure coats his tongue, choking him.

You had planned to sleep hours ago, but the book you’re reading is just too good. Mika is curled up at your side, warm and comfortable, and you’ve convinced yourself that one more chapter won’t hurt.

Just as you shift under the covers, a faint noise catches your attention.

You sit up, ears straining. Was that… talking?

At first, it’s too muffled to make out. Maybe Seungcheol is on the phone? But then, clearer this time, desperate and pleading.

“No! No, please no!”

A shiver runs down your spine. That wasn’t the voice of someone having a casual conversation. That was pain.

You rush out of bed, heart hammering, and press your ear against the guest bedroom door. Faint whimpers slip through the painted wood, his distress clear even from the hallway.

“Seungcheol?” You crack the door open slightly, hesitant to intrude. “Is everything alright?”

But then he lets out a bloodcurdling scream.

Screw privacy.

You rush to his side, your hand finding his trembling shoulder. “Hey, it’s just a bad dream,” you say gently, settling onto the bed beside him. His breath comes in sharp, uneven gasps, his face twisted in agony. You shake him, not too hard but firm enough to pull him from the nightmare’s grip. “Seungcheol, wake up. You’re safe. It’s alright, everything is alright.”

His eyelids flutter, his gaze unfocused as he blinks up at you. “Y/N?” His voice is hoarse, heavy with exhaustion and something else, perhaps something raw like grief.

“I’m here,” you whisper, your touch instinctively soothing as you rub slow circles along his back. “Shh. Go back to sleep.”

His ragged breathing gradually evens out, his body loosening as the tension melts away. Just as you think he’s fully drifted off, you start to move, planning to slip away quietly.

But before you can, his arms tighten around you.

You stiffen, every muscle locking up as he pulls you back down, tucking you against his chest.

The warmth of him is immediate, wrapping around you like a cocoon. He moves on instinct, tossing the blanket over you, his hold protective, unconsciously seeking comfort.

You fit perfectly against him.

You try not to think about it. About how steady his heartbeat sounds beneath your ear. About how his breath brushes against your hair. About how ridiculously pretty his eyelashes are up this close. Or how full his lips look, even now, parted slightly in sleep.

You tell yourself you’ll stay just a few minutes. Just until he’s completely settled. But your eyelids grow heavy, the warmth of his embrace lulling you into quiet surrender.

And before you know it, you’ve slipped into slumber beside him.

A few hours later, sunlight peeks through the blinds, lighting up your face as you stir awake. You blink against the brightness, momentarily disoriented until the empty space beside you registers.

Seungcheol is gone.

You sit up quickly, heart stuttering. Shit. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep here. You should’ve woken up first and slipped out unnoticed, so you could pretend like nothing ever happened.

Did he realize you stayed? Of course, he realized. You were next to him when he got up.

Swinging your legs off the bed, you brush a hand through your hair and take a steadying breath before padding out into the main part of the house.

Through the window, you spot him outside with Mika. He’s already shoveled a bare patch for her, ensuring she doesn’t have to trudge through the deep snow just to do her business.

Your heart gives an inconvenient little patter.

Of course, he would remember to do that. He’s always so considerate, always catching onto things, even if you don’t realize he does.

You quietly retreat back to the primary bedroom, rifling through the duffel bag of clothes you brought. If you’re going to pretend last night didn’t happen, you might as well do it while looking cute. You settle on a cozy but flattering outfit, then jump into the shower, hoping the hot water will help clear your head.

By the time you emerge, refreshed and dressed, Seungcheol has come back inside.

“Morning,” he greets, looking up as you approach.

You hesitate, searching his expression for any hint of last night’s events, of waking up tangled together, of his unconscious grip pulling you closer.

But he doesn’t mention it. Huh, interesting.

“Hi,” you reply, forcing a casual smile. “Good morning.”

And just like that, it’s as if nothing ever happened. You keep your expression neutral, though a tiny pang of disappointment lingers. Pretending was your plan, so why does it sting a little when he beats you to it?

“I noticed the kitchen faucet was dripping this morning,” Seungcheol says, before drinking the rest of his coffee. “Tried fixing it, but I think it needs to be replaced. I’m gonna run into town to grab a new one. Want to escape for the day? We could grab lunch while we’re out.”

A break actually sounds nice. You haven’t gotten much writing done anyway, and the weight of waiting for feedback from your agent and publisher is pressing heavier by the hour.

“Yeah, that sounds good. I sent in my rough outline and a few chapters yesterday, but I haven’t heard anything back yet. I think the suspense is killing my creativity.”

He nods in understanding. “Makes sense. Want to get ready first?”

“Yeah, give me five minutes.”

Back in your room, you sift through your bag before settling on your favorite pair of jeans and a cropped crewneck that sits just right at your waist, warm enough for layering under your winter coat. You twist your hair into a claw clip, swipe on some mascara and lip gloss, then take one last glance in the mirror before heading out to meet him.

When you return, you find Seungcheol has changed too. He’s now wearing a flannel, dark slacks, and a ball cap. You squint, trying to make out the embroidered words. Dude’s Bait & Tackle.

“Who’s Dude?” you ask while slipping on your boots.

“My brother.”

Your head tilts slightly. “You have a brother?”

“Yeah, he’s a few years older than me. I probably don’t visit him as often as I should.” He shrugs, grabbing his jacket and the note he jotted down with the faucet’s dimensions. “Not that he minds, he’s not much of a people person.”

You nod, filing that little detail about him away. “Ready when you are.”

Grabbing your purse, you turn to Mika, crouching down to scratch behind her ears. “Be good, we’ll be back soon. I love you so much. Make good decisions, okay?”

Seungcheol fights back a laugh, secretly charmed by the way you treat Mika like a tiny, furry human. Instead, he simply shakes his head and opens the front door for you, following you out to his truck.

Without hesitation, he moves ahead to open the passenger door for you too.

Chivalry isn’t dead, after all.

“You don’t have to do that,” you say, feeling a little guilty for making him go out of his way.

“I know,” Seungcheol replies easily, offering his hand to help you up into the seat. “But I was raised to be a gentleman.” Then, with a small smirk, he adds, “Plus, I don’t mind helping a pretty girl.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “Oh, so if I was ugly, you’d just slam the door in my face? That's what you’re saying, Coupcake?”

His smirk deepens as he shakes his head, then suddenly leans in to buckle your seatbelt for you. Your breath catches, he’s close, so close. You catch a hint of his cologne, warm and woodsy, and your cheeks heat despite the cold air outside.

After clicking the buckle into place, he tilts his head slightly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “I need to start writing these down. You’ve got some good ones.”

“Don’t encourage me, or I’ll have to pull out the big guns,” you tease, lifting a brow.

He chuckles, rolling his eyes as he steps back and shuts the door. A second later, he’s sliding into the driver’s seat beside you, the corners of his mouth still tugging into a smile.

And just like that, the day suddenly feels like it will be a lot more interesting.

Seungcheol wakes up feeling more rested than he has in a long time. A rare kind of warmth settles deep in his bones, the kind that makes him want to stay in bed just a little longer. He takes a slow breath in, and his senses are instantly flooded with you. Vanilla, soft and sweet, mixed with something else he hasn’t quite figured out yet.

His arms tighten around you instinctively before his brain fully catches up. Why are you in my bed? He doesn’t remember. But fuck, he’s not complaining.

Snuggling in a little deeper, his palm glides over your side, fingertips tracing the curve of your waist. You fit against him perfectly, your body molding into his like you were meant to be there.

And then you shift.

A small, unconscious movement, but it sends your ass pressing right against his already half-awake length, making him inhale sharply through his nose.

Shit.

He freezes, willing his body to relax. Don’t ruin this for me right now, he thinks to himself, demanding his body to behave. Clenching his jaw, he wills little Coups to calm the fuck down before this gets embarrassing.

And for a second, he thinks he has it under control. Until you shift again, this time pressing even closer, your warmth seeping through the layers of fabric between you.

Then, in the softest murmur, barely above a whisper, you breathe his name.

“Mmm, Seungcheol.”

His stomach clenches. His fingers twitch against your skin.

Holy. Fuck.

Yeah. He needs to get up. Right now. Before time reverts and he’s turned back into a horny teenager, about to embarrass himself in ways he will never recover from.

Carefully, Seungcheol pulls away from your warmth, slipping out from beneath the covers with as much stealth as he can manage. You barely stir, completely unaware of the hold you have over him. Over his mind, his body, his every last ounce of self-control.

He needs distance. Immediately.

Making his way down the hall, he beelines for the bathroom at the far end of the house, somewhere safely out of range, where he can get his shit together before he does something unbelievably stupid.

Like pinning you against the bookshelf in the living room and fucking you until you scream his name.

Or bending you over the kitchen counter, pushing your hair aside so he can bite down on your shoulder as he takes you from behind.

Or his personal favorite—his absolute fucking favorite—you on top of him, sinking down onto his cock inch by inch, gasping as you stretch around him. Maybe even making that same sinful little sound you let out the other night at dinner, when you were upset with him but still savoring every bite.

A deep groan rumbles in his chest as he steps into the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

And finally, finally, he shoves his boxers down and wraps a fist around his aching cock.

Seungcheol drags his thumb over his needy tip, a shudder rolling down his spine. His body is desperate, pulsing with heat. He pulls his hand away just long enough to spit into his palm before wrapping it back around his aching length.

Shutting his eyes, he delves into the fantasy, one that feels so damn real he almost swears he can still smell your vanilla scent clinging to his skin.

In another world, he wouldn’t have left that bed. Wouldn’t have forced himself to walk away. No, he would’ve pulled you closer instead, arm tightening around your waist as his hand slipped beneath your sleep shorts. His fingers would have teased their way down, brushing over your clit before dragging through your folds, already damp and so warm. The moment he pressed inside, you’d gasp, surprised, shifting in his arms but not pulling away. Never pulling away.

His strokes quicken, his breath growing uneven.

You’d turn toward him, sleep-heavy eyes blinking open, and without a word, your thighs would part just a little wider, it’s an invitation. A plea he’d answer by curling two fingers deep inside you, coaxing those needy little pants from your lips, watching as your face melted with pleasure.

His grip tightens. His hips jerk up into his hand.

He knows exactly how it would go. Knows that soon enough, you’d be begging—please, Cheol, more—and fuck, he’d give it to you. He’d slide your shorts down, tug that tiny tank top over your head, confirming what he already knew. That you have the most perfect fucking tits. And then he’d sink into you without hesitation, stretching you open, watching your mouth fall open as you take him. With every thrust, your body would give, your back arching, your breasts bouncing, your nails digging into his skin as he buried himself deeper.

Seungcheol groans low in his throat, head tilting back against the wall. His hand moves faster, chasing the high that feels so close.

Jesus fuck.

You’d let him know you were close, breathless and needy, voice barely more than a whimper. Cheol, I’m gonna—

And just to push you over that perfect edge, he’d press his thumb to your swollen clit, applying just the right amount of pressure, slow and deliberate. He’d swirl it in tight circles, watching your body tremble, feeling your walls flutter around him as you gasped his name. And that would be it.

The way you’d squeeze around him, your body tightening, back arching as you came apart beneath him…it would wreck him completely. He’d follow you down, groaning against your skin as his own pleasure took hold, spilling deep inside—

Seungcheol’s stomach clenches as the tension finally snaps. A low, strangled curse leaves his lips as his release spills into the wad of toilet paper in his hand, his whole body shuddering with relief.

For a long moment, he just breathes. Letting the fantasy slowly fade, leaving only the lingering heat and the undeniable truth that settles deep in his chest. You have him wrapped around your fucking finger.

The worst part? You don’t even know it.

And if this morning was any indication, this sure as hell wouldn’t be the last time he nearly loses it in front of you.

He cleans himself up and steps out of the bathroom, only to be met with Mika sitting in the hallway, staring at him with what can only be described as judgment.

Seungcheol narrows his eyes. “I’m not admitting to anything,” he mutters, sidestepping her as he grabs his boots.

Carrying his boots over to the sliding glass door, he slips them on before letting Mika outside. The mountain air is sharp and bracing, biting at his exposed skin, but he welcomes the chill. He needs it to clear his head, to get his damn hormones in check before he faces you.

His eyes land on the shovel propped against the railing, right where you left it. With a quiet sigh, he picks it up and starts clearing a spot in the snow for Mika. It’s a small thing, but he knows she won’t go until she has her designated space. He’d caught onto the routine not long after watching the two of you in the mornings, your sleepy voice murmuring to her, the way she’d nuzzle against your leg as you shoveled.

It’s second nature to you. And now, somehow, it’s becoming second nature to him too.

On his way back inside, he peeks into the bedroom. You’re still curled up beneath the blankets, your breathing soft and even, completely oblivious to the chaos he just put himself through. He swallows, shaking his head, and reaches for his sweatpants that are flung haphazardly over the dresser. He tugs them on before heading into the kitchen, flicking on the coffee pot. As he fills it with water, his gaze catches on the steady drip, drip, drip of the kitchen faucet after he’s turned it off.

Perfect.

It’s a small issue, easy to fix, but also the perfect excuse to escape the house with you for a few hours. Get out. Get some air. Act like a normal human being who isn’t fantasizing about his housemate every time she so much as breathes.

It’s a genius plan, really.

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

And when you wake up, stretching with a sleepy yawn, he casually tosses out the idea. Just as he predicted, you happily agree. Now all he has to do is behave in public. Where other people are watching.

…

In the hardware store, Seungcheol notices how you’re walking closely by his side, the subtle shift in the space between you making his pulse quicken. He casually scans the aisle signs, looking for the one he needs, but his mind isn’t entirely focused on faucets. He feels the need to linger, to have you near just a few seconds longer.

Without overthinking, he places his hand on your lower back, guiding you toward the right aisle. It’s a simple gesture, but it feels significant. He pretends to inspect the faucet options, even though he already knows exactly which one he’s going to grab, but he takes his time, savoring the small moment.

While he’s there, he picks up a couple of tools he might need, he’s pretty sure the surgeon doesn’t have much in the handyman tool department. Junhui’s first aid kit, however, is incredible, containing everything from bandages to advanced trauma gear. All of which is perfectly organized. As a first responder, Seungcheol can respect it.

As he heads toward the checkout counter, his gaze drifts to a box of dog toys. He adds one to his pile without a second thought, a quiet smile tugging at his lips as he imagines Mika tearing into the new toy with her usual enthusiasm.

…

At lunch, you get a ding on your phone, and Seungcheol notices the frown that appears on your face.

“Everything alright?” he asks, thinking it might be a not-so-good update from Kate.

“I don’t know, it’s an email from my publishing team.” He watches as your eyes pan back and forth as you read the message, noticing the slight slump of your shoulders. “They want to have a call tomorrow morning to go over what I’ve submitted. That can’t be good.”

“Why do you think that?” he asks, his concern growing.

“They think I’m not exactly meeting expectations…” you sigh, hesitating for a moment before opening up. “I’m struggling with writing what they want versus how I see the story unfolding. I’m not sure the direction they’re pushing me in is the right one.”

Seungcheol leans back, thinking for a moment. “You should just write what you want. Forget about what your readers expect, forget about what your team suggests. Focus on what you want the story to be.”

You take another bite of your meal, letting his words sink in. A part of you feels the weight lift just a little, even as you continue to grapple with the balance between creative freedom and external pressure.

“I’m not sure how much help I’d be, but if you’d like me to read over what you have so far, I’d be happy to give you an outsider’s opinion,” Seungcheol offers.

You hadn’t expected him to offer, and it caught you off guard for a moment.

“Feeling a change of heart compared to the other day?” you tease, remembering how flustered he got after sneaking a peek at the spicy scene you were writing. “It’s alright. I’m sure after tomorrow I’ll at least know what they’re thinking. It’ll be good to talk it out.”

He shrugs with a slight smile. “Okay, but the offer still stands.”

“Thank you,” you say, genuinely appreciating the offer. “Now, it’s your turn, Cheol Chops. Tell me something about your life to make me feel better about mine,” you half-joke. “Got anything you need to vent about?”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. “On a scale from zero to Junhui, how good are you at giving advice?”

You both know that Jun is the king of advice. He’s logical and always happy to provide a pro/con list. You smile at the thought. “Probably about 50% Jun, but I lean more towards emotional advice rather than logical. So, take that as a fair warning. What’s up?”

Seungcheol sighs, his voice quieter as he opens up. “I broke a promise that I can’t take back, nor can I fix it. It’s caused some issues at work, and my fire chief put me on temporary leave so I can work through it. But now I’m really thinking about what I want to do next.”

You listen intently, noticing the weight of his words.

“I mentioned the other day that I don’t think wildland firefighting is something I can keep up with. But I don’t want to give up firefighting entirely, so I’ve been considering transferring to an inner-city station. I’d still get the rush of helping people, but it wouldn’t be as physically or mentally demanding. I’d be working in shifts, and the change in scenery could be good for me.”

His eyes drift down, clearly conflicted. “I was really hoping to talk to Jun about it, but I didn't want to bother him, considering everything going on right now. I’m just not sure what the right choice is. What do you think? Should I go back after my leave and risk more trouble, or try something new and potentially fail at it?”

His question hangs in the air, a mix of uncertainty and hope. You can see how much he's wrestling with it, and you want to help him make the decision that feels right.

“I’d say try something new,” you reply thoughtfully, meeting his gaze. “Otherwise, you might find yourself back in the same place, struggling again. Plus, if you give the city option a shot and it doesn’t work out, at least you’ll know. It’s not a failure; it’s just learning something about yourself. And that’s always a win in my eyes. It takes courage to step into the unknown.”

Seungcheol feels a slight weight lift off his chest, a warmth spreading in his chest hearing you say that. It’s a small comfort, but it’s enough to give him a bit more clarity, a bit more peace to make that upcoming decision.

Day Seven of Surviving Seungcheol

Sleep was impossible last night. You were too tangled in anxious thoughts to get any actual rest, and now the nerves are eating you alive. You’re jittery as you sit in front of your laptop, the glow of the screen casting a faint light on your face. The meeting is about to start, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest.

Every second that ticks by feels like an eternity, your hands nervously tapping against the edge of the desk as you wait for your team to join the call.

You sit up straighter after the familiar faces appear, trying to shake off the anxiety in your chest as your agent speaks, his voice steady but distant through the screen. You can feel the tension coiling inside you, your nerves prickling with each word.

“Thanks for meeting with us on such short notice,” your agent continues, giving you a polite but businesslike smile. “I know you mentioned being out of town, so we appreciate you making time for us virtually.”

You nod, offering a weak smile in return. “Of course. I’m glad we could make it work.” Your voice comes out a little more strained than you intend, but they don’t seem to notice.

The conversation moves into expectations. They want ‘less dense material, more filler and fluff between the spicy scenes,’ your agent explains, his tone matter-of-fact.

Your heart sinks. Fluff? You don’t want to write a story full of empty space. You’ve poured your soul into creating a rich world, with real characters and stakes, and now they’re asking for less of that?

You can feel the frustration bubbling up, but you push it back, trying to keep your voice steady. “So, you want me to cut out the fantasy aspects? Completely?”

Your agent shifts, clearly trying to soften the blow. “Not entirely. Maybe just scale it back. We think a more erotic romance-focused direction will make the story more accessible. It’ll be easier to market.”

The words sting. You’ve always known writing was a business, but this? This feels like a betrayal of everything you’ve worked toward.

“But that’s not what my reader base expects,” you argue, leaning forward. “They’ve followed me for the story, for the world-building. They expect something more than just... fluff.”

Your agent presses on, oblivious to your concerns. “Look, we think this could broaden your reach, and gain thousands of new readers. We’re just thinking of your career in the long run.”

You feel a knot forming in your stomach. Thousands of new readers? As if the thousands you currently have aren’t enough? The idea of broadening your reader base sounds nice on paper, but what about the readers who’ve supported you from the start? What about the integrity of your work?

“But what about the people who’ve been with me since the beginning?” you ask, voice shaking slightly. “Don’t they deserve to see the series grow, not change into something...plain and unoriginal?”

Your agent’s expression tightens. “Without this kind of direction, there won’t be another book in the series. We can’t keep moving forward unless we adapt.”

The words hang heavy in the air, and you struggle to hold it together. The meeting wraps up soon after, but it feels like you’re in a fog, your thoughts spinning. You want to fight back, to defend your story, but the weight of their words crushes you.

You slouch in your seat still just as confused as you were before. What now?

Whenever something bad happens in your life, you’ve always used writing as an escape. But what are you supposed to do when writing becomes an issue?

Sighing, you open your document, eyes scanning over the words you once felt so confident about. Even now, despite everything, they still feel right. And as you reread where you left off, the next scene unfolds effortlessly in your mind.

You lose yourself in your draft, letting Seungcheol’s words echo in your head—write for yourself, write what you want. For the first time in a while, the words flow without hesitation, without second-guessing. Hours slip away unnoticed as your fingers dance over the keyboard, lost in the world you’re creating.

When Seungcheol returns from his run, you hesitate. The weight of your earlier meeting lingers, but you don’t have the energy to explain the looming uncertainty of your novel. How, depending on what happens next, either your team will break your contract, or your readers will revolt over a boring porn-only sequel. Instead, you keep typing, pushing the thoughts away, if only for a little while longer.

Seungcheol doesn’t need words to know something is wrong. He can sense it. The weight in your shoulders, the distant look in your eyes, the way your fingers hover over your keyboard as if second-guessing every word. It doesn’t take much to assume that your meeting didn’t go well.

He wants to ask, but he also knows you well enough after your short time together to recognize that, right now, you’re not ready to talk about it. Still, that doesn’t mean he won’t do something about it.

He hates seeing you like this. If he could, he’d take your burdens onto his own shoulders without hesitation. He’d do anything to lift your mood, to see your lips curve into a genuine smile again. And if you cried, fuck, if they made you cry? He’d burn the whole damn world down just to set things right.

For now, though, he settles for something smaller. Something simple. He disappears into the kitchen, rummaging through cabinets until he finds what he’s looking for. A few minutes later, the scent of freshly made hot chocolate drifts through the air.

He returns with two full mugs, topped with whipped cream and mini marshmallows. He sets one of the mugs beside you without a word before sinking into the chair across from you.

You sigh, closing your laptop before reaching for the mug. The warmth seeps into your fingers as you take a sip, letting the rich aroma settle some of the unease twisting in your chest.

The two of you sit there in silence, but it’s the comfortable kind. No pressure, no expectations, just the quietness of passing time and the mesmerizing sight of snow falling beyond the window.

When your drinks are finished, Seungcheol takes both mugs to the sink. As he rinses them out, he casually suggests, “You should take a break from writing, clear your head a little.” Then, he turns toward Mika, who’s curled up on the floor. “Mika, wanna go play outside?”

She springs up immediately, her tail wagging as she yaps her answer. He grins. “Tell your mom to get dressed. We wanna play in the snow.”

Mika barks again, turning toward you as if relaying the message. You can’t help but smile.

“Alright, alright. I’m coming.”

Bundling up in your winter gear, the three of you step outside into the crisp mountain air.

Mika takes off instantly, rolling in the fresh snow, kicking it up into the air like a puppy experiencing winter for the first time. She’s gonna be so sad in a few days when it’s time to leave the mountains and head back to the city where it’s already spring.

You laugh, watching her antics until something cold smacks into your side.

You blink, looking down at the splattered bits of snow before turning toward Seungcheol. He’s standing there, hands tucked innocently behind his back, lips pressed together like he’s trying to suppress a smirk.

“Oh, it’s on,” you warn, crouching to scoop up a handful of snow. You bunch it together in your mittens before launching it at him. It hits him square in the chest, and he stumbles back slightly, eyes wide with surprise at your strength

“Cheolmate,” you declare triumphantly, playing on the word checkmate.

His surprise quickly shifts into a determined grin. “Alright, you asked for it.”

Snowballs fly back and forth as laughter fills the backyard. Mika jumps between you both, snapping at the falling snowflakes and occasionally catching a snowball in her mouth, only to crunch it into oblivion.

Eventually, she loses interest in the fight altogether and gets the zoomies, tunneling through the snow and popping her head up every few feet, like a giddy little groundhog.

Seungcheol pauses mid-throw, watching her with amusement. “Your dog is ridiculous.”

You laugh, cheeks flushed from the cold and the playful chaos. “Yeah, but she fits right in.”

Seungcheol chuckles, moving to stand beside you. Watching you smile, hearing your laughter, it’s everything to him. The way your eyes crinkle at the corners as you watch Mika, the way your dimples deepen with each laugh, the way your entire face lights up with unfiltered joy when you meet his eyes. It’s mesmerizing. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything more beautiful.

This is exactly what you need. And if he has anything to do with it, he’ll make sure you keep smiling like this. Always.

The snow begins to fall heavier, dusting both of you with a delicate layer of white. Mika is still running circles in the snow, but your focus is on each other now.

Without thinking, Seungcheol pulls off one of his gloves and reaches out, his fingers brushing gently over your face as he wipes away the snowflakes clinging to your eyelashes. His touch lingers, warm against your chilled skin, and his thumb instinctively strokes your cheek.

Your breath catches when his eyes flick down to your lips, and suddenly, the playful atmosphere shifts into something more intense.

Neither of you move for a moment. You stare into each other's eyes as the world around you fades, except for the quiet inhale you take when he slowly leans in.

Before you even realize it, your faces are close enough that his breath fans across your lips.

And then, he finally closes the distance.

His lips press softly against yours; he’s testing the waters and savoring the moment. But the second he feels you respond, the hesitation vanishes. The kiss deepens, slow and deliberate, laced with emotions neither of you have dared to voice. His hand cradles your face, fingers brushing along your chilled skin as he tilts your chin, pulling you impossibly closer.

It’s warm, intoxicating, perfect.

Your arms wind around his neck, fingers threading into his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your lips. He responds in kind, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, drawing a sinful little moan from deep within you.

Seungcheol smiles into the kiss, reveling in how effortlessly you melt into him. How he somehow knows exactly what you like, what you crave. It’s instinctive, effortless like you were always meant to be right here, in his arms.

The world around you ceases to exist. The snowfall, the cold, the rest of the universe, it all fades into insignificance. There is only him. Only the way he kisses you like you’re the most important thing in the world.

When you finally pull apart, your foreheads rest together, breath mingling in the crisp air. Your heart stammers wildly in your chest as a terrifying, undeniable truth settles in.

Shit.

Day Nine of Surviving Falling For Seungcheol

Ever since you accepted the fact that you have feelings for Seungcheol (very strong feelings, the kind that makes you want to do crazy, reckless, and borderline courageous things) you haven’t been sure how to act around him.

The past two days have been an absolute disaster. You’ve been a clumsy fool, tripping over your own feet, your words, your thoughts. Which, to be fair, isn’t all that different from any other given day. But now? Now it’s worse, because he’s here witnessing it all, and probably very aware of the fact that he’s the one doing it to you.

Yet, Seungcheol is acting completely normal. Like nothing happened. Like that kiss, the one that turned your entire world upside down, didn’t affect him at all.

Unless...it really didn’t affect him.

And in that case, you’re utterly and completely screwed.

You’re not exactly avoiding each other, but neither of you seems willing to make the first move. Or, technically, the second. It’s a silent game of waiting to see who will cave first.

You want to say screw it and just kiss him again. But what if it was a fluke? What if he only kissed you to make you feel better? Then again, who does that? Who kisses someone just to cheer them up? There had to be something behind it. Right?

You don’t know when it happened or how, maybe it was when he pulled you from your wrecked car, or when he made you coffee that first morning, or when he looked at you like that after your kiss.

Or maybe, just maybe, you've felt this way all along…

After helping clean up dinner, you busy yourself putting away the clean dishes. Watching Seungcheol cook is one thing, but watching him do something as simple as washing dishes? That’s an entirely different level of unfair. The way his forearms flex, the way his hand veins pop out as he scrubs a plate clean, it makes you want to throw all logic out the window and climb him like a tree.

Boyfriend material. Without a doubt.

You need to get a grip.

Sensing your stare, he glances over his shoulder, one brow slightly raised, and you immediately whip your head away. Play it cool. You suddenly need a distraction, so you head to the fridge, reaching for a bottle of water—except, of course, the one you want is just out of reach.

Before you can even debate climbing onto the counter, Seungcheol is there, stepping in behind you without hesitation.

“Here, I got it.”

He moves in close, his chest nearly brushing against your back as he stretches over you. One hand instinctively finds your waist to steady himself, his fingers warm even through the fabric of your shirt. The brief contact sends a jolt through you, but before you can dwell on it, he grabs the bottle and hands it over.

You barely have time to mutter a thanks before your grip fails you and the cold bottle slips from your fingers, tumbling to the floor.

With a sigh, you bend down to retrieve it only to realize that Seungcheol hasn’t stepped back as far as you thought. Your ass brushes against his thigh, and the accidental touch sends a shockwave through both of you.

Startled, you jolt upright, only to whack your head against the counter.

“Shit—are you okay?” Seungcheol asks, immediately reaching for you.

“I’m okay, really,” you insist, waving him off despite the way your face flames with embarrassment.

…

Seungcheol feels bad, really bad. He can’t shake the thought that this is his fault. You seem so uncomfortable around him now that you’re practically injuring yourself just trying to avoid him. At least, that’s what he assumes.

Every time he speaks to you or even just walks by, he notices the way you tense up, how your responses are shorter than usual, like you’re trying to keep him at arm’s length. And it kills him.

But a part of him, a hopeful part, wants to believe that you’re not uncomfortable because you regret the kiss. Maybe you’re feeling the same way he does, wanting more but unsure how to ask for it.

He’s trying to be considerate, giving you space, not wanting to pressure you into anything. But at the same time, he’s starting to second-guess everything. Are your subtle reactions just in his head? Is he reading too much into the way your eyes linger on him, the way your breath hitches when he gets too close?

Or is he not imagining it at all?

He’s gotta do something to figure you out. That’s his only option at this point. If you’d just give him the smallest hint that you want him, he’ll take the lead—gladly. He’ll show you exactly what happens when you both stop tiptoeing around whatever this is and finally give in.

“You know,” you say suddenly, breaking the silence, “Besides the fact that we’ve been stuck together for the last week, we don’t actually know a whole lot about each other.”

Seungcheol finishes rinsing out the sink, dries his hands on a dish towel, and turns to lean against the counter. He crosses his arms before suggesting something, “Huh, you have a point. Maybe we should change that. Let’s play a game.”

You narrow your eyes. “What kind of game?”

“Truth or dare,” he says, failing to hide the smirk tugging at his lips.

You huff out a laugh. “Really? That’s what we’re going with?”

“Yep. Unless you’re scared.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine. You go first, then.”

“Dare.” He doesn’t hesitate.

You think for a moment, then grin. “I dare you to call your mom so I can talk to her again. I’m sure she’s got quite a few stories of you to share.”

One of his eyebrows arches before he lets out a chuckle. “Or?”

“Or, if you pass, you have to take a drink.”

Seungcheol snorts, shaking his head. “Hand me a drink then, hun.”

It slips out so naturally, so effortlessly, that he doesn’t even try to recover from it. Why should he? You’ve got an entire arsenal of nicknames for him, what’s the big deal if he throws one back?

His eyes trail down your backside as you turn to the fridge, returning with two beers. He watches the way you move, how your shirt lifts up just slightly when you grab the bottles, revealing a little slice of skin where he’d like to place his lips.

Seungcheol swallows hard and extends his hand out for one of the beers when you turn back around. “Under any other circumstances, I’d let you chat with my mom,” he says with a teasing smile. “But not tonight.” He cracks open the bottle, his gaze locked on yours as he lifts it to his lips.

You roll your eyes, taking a sip of your drink to settle your nerves.

“Alright, your turn now.”

“Truth,” you say, chickening out.

He grins, sensing your hesitation. “When was the last time you went on a date?”

You groan, “Oh god. The day we met, actually. I ripped my pants escaping through the restaurant’s bathroom window, that’s how bad the date was.”

Seungcheol laughs, shaking his head. That absolutely sounds like something you’d do.

“Kate set me up with the guy, and it was a total disaster. He was rude, his manners were just for show, and it felt like every nice thing he did came with an expectation. Like if he opened the door for me, I owed him something in return, you know?”

Seungcheol's grip tightens around his beer bottle. He does know. And the thought of some guy treating you like that makes his blood boil.

“Okay, your turn again.”

“Truth.”

“Why did you kiss me?” you blurt out.

Seungcheol meets your gaze, his expression is soft but unwavering. “Because I really wanted to,” he admits, remembering every little detail of that kiss. Like how warm you were, how perfectly you fit in his arms, how he hadn’t been able to think about anything else since.

Your breath hitches for a moment, but you quickly recover. “Dare.”

A wild thought crosses his mind, and once it’s there, he can’t shake it. He leans in slightly, watching you carefully. “I dare you to finish your drink and then join me in the hot tub.”

The challenge in his voice sends a thrill down your spine. Without hesitation, you tip your head back, downing the rest of your beer. Then, without breaking eye contact, you peel off your shirt, revealing the sheer bra underneath.

“You coming?” you ask playfully, tossing your shirt aside and heading toward the backyard.

Seungcheol just stands there for a second, his brain short-circuiting. He was expecting a little resistance, maybe a joke, but this? Oh, this is so much better.

Swallowing hard, he follows you onto the deck, where you’re slipping off your pants. Fuck. He quickly removes the hot tub cover while you turn it on. The air might be a little chilly, but his body is running hot.

And then you bend over to test the water temperature, still in nothing but your bra and panties, and Seungcheol has to force himself to look anywhere else. If someone had told him earlier today that by nightfall, he’d be out here with you, watching you strip down like it was the most natural thing in the world, he’d have laughed.

But now? Now, he’s just thanking whatever divine force made this his lucky day.

He tosses his shirt aside, then his pants, barely paying attention to where they land. What he does pay attention to, though, is the way your eyes rake over him, the way your breath quickens for just a second. Another perk of being a firefighter is that the hard training keeps you in shape. All those workouts? Yeah, they were worth it just for this moment, just to see you looking at him like that.

“Help me in?” you ask, reaching out.

He takes your hand without hesitation, steadying you as you step up and lower yourself into the steaming, bubbling water. His grip lingers for just a second longer than necessary before he follows you in, sighing as the heat works into his muscles.

“This is nice,” he says, settling in, tilting his head back against the edge. The jets work at the tension in his lower back, but the real relief is sitting across from him, grinning like you know exactly what you’re doing to him.

“Mmm, it really is,” you hum in agreement. Then, with a mischievous, playful glint in your eye, you remind him, “It’s your turn, by the way.”

Oh, right. The game.

“Dare,” he says, smirking, willing to test just how far you’re willing to push this thing between the two of you.

Your grin deepens. “Take off your boxers.”

He arches a brow, amused but not remotely hesitant. Maintaining eye contact, he lifts his hips just enough to slide the soaked fabric down his legs and tosses them onto the deck with the rest of his clothes. The water swirls around him, warm and teasing, but nothing about this feels as thrilling as the way your smile slowly spreads, your tongue darting out to wet your lips as you watch him.

“I didn’t think you actually would,” you tease.

He leans in just a little, voice low, teasing right back. “One thing you should know about me, sweetheart,” his smirk turns positively sinful, “I never turn down a challenge.”

You roll your eyes and splash water in his face. "Coupsie Daisy, my bad," you half-heartedly apologize, even though you’re anything but sorry.

Seungcheol wipes the water from his face slowly, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as he stares at you with darkened eyes. The playful banter between you shifts into something heavier.

Without overthinking, you move. Climbing onto his lap, your knees press into the seat on either side of him, your barely-there panties doing nothing to hide how hard he already is beneath you. A shaky breath leaves your lips at the contact, and you feel the way his grip tightens on your waist, the way his fingertips begin to trace the curve of your spine.

There’s no pretending now. No more second-guessing. Your bodies are reacting on instinct, drawn to each other like it’s inevitable.

His voice is lower when he finally speaks, his breath warm against your lips. "Are we really going to do this?"

“That depends,” you whisper, rolling your hips just enough to make his fingers dig into your skin. “Is it a dare?”

His jaw clenches. “Do you want it to be?”

“No,” you breathe, tilting forward, your lips brushing against his. “I just want you.”

That’s all the confirmation he needs.

Seungcheol crashes his lips against yours, swallowing your gasp as his hands roam your back, pulling you in until there’s no space left between you.

This kiss is nothing like the last. That one had been sweet and gentle. But this? This is fire, hunger, and need all wrapped into one.

You moan into his mouth, the sound vibrating between you, sending a shiver straight to his cock. The reaction is immediate, and he twitches beneath you, hard and heavy against your core.

You roll your hips again, relishing the way he groans against your lips. “Fuck, you feel so big,” you murmur between feverish kisses, your voice laced with desperation.

His tongue sweeps into your mouth, deepening the kiss as his fingers reach behind you. With practiced fingers, he unclasps your bra, letting it slip from your shoulders and down your arms before it disappears into the water.

Seungcheol pulls back just enough to take you in, his gaze hungry as it rakes over your bare chest. “You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he breathes, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.

Then, without warning, he dips his head down, capturing one in his mouth. The heat of his tongue swirls around the sensitive nub before he sucks, making you arch into him with a soft whimper. He moves to the other, giving it just as much attention, his teeth grazing teasingly before soothing the sting with his tongue.

Your fingers sink into his damp hair, nails scratching against his scalp as you pant, “Cheol, I need more.”

Your hand drifts between your bodies, wrapping around his stiff length beneath the water. The moment your fingers curl around him, a deep, guttural groan rumbles from his chest. And that’s when he just about loses it.

“Wait,” he rasps against your lips, pulling back just enough to press his forehead against yours. His breath is ragged, his self-control hanging by a thread. “Wait, baby. Not here.”

His fingers grip your hips, keeping you steady as he stands, lifting you effortlessly in his arms. Instinctively, you wrap your legs around his waist, your arms looping around his neck as he carries you inside.

His lips find yours again as he moves, each step purposeful. He’s determined. The cool air of the house is a stark contrast to the heat rolling off both of you, but it only makes you cling to him tighter.

He doesn’t stop until he reaches your bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him. Then, with a wicked smirk, he lays you down on the bed, hovering over you with darkened eyes full of promise.

"Now," he murmurs, brushing his lips along your jaw, down your neck, "Let me show you how much I want you."

His lips reconnect with your breast, tongue tracing delicate circles over your sensitive skin, while his hand continues its descent. His fingers skim over your stomach, teasing along the waistband of your soaked panties before slipping beneath them.

A small gasp leaves your lips when he pushes the fabric aside, his fingers sliding effortlessly through your slick folds.

Seungcheol pulls back just slightly, his heated gaze locked onto your face as he curls his fingers into you, slow and deliberate. He watches the way your brows furrow, your mouth parting in a silent moan, completely captivated by how responsive you are to him.

“So fucking gorgeous,” he repeats, voice thick with desire as he leans in, capturing your lips once more.

The pressure in your core builds rapidly, his fingers coaxing you closer and closer to the edge. Every movement, every stroke, brings you closer and closer to the edge. Your whole body tightens in anticipation. You’re right there—

Suddenly, the sharp chime of your ringtone cuts through the air, breaking the spell between you both. Your breath is still ragged as your eyes snap to your phone on the nightstand, Kate’s photo lighting up the screen.

Seungcheol tears away from you like shrapnel, realization washing over him as he runs a hand through his damp hair. His chest rises and falls rapidly, and for a moment, he just stares at the phone, then back at you, still spread beneath him, panting, needy.

“You should probably answer that,” he says, voice rough as he clears his throat. He hesitates for only a second before adding, “Maybe we should call it a night.”

Before you can protest, he leans in, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, as if to ground himself, before stepping back and leaving you sitting there, exposed and still trembling from the almost earth-shattering orgasm you were supposed to have.

With a deep breath, you shake yourself out of your daze and reach for the phone.

“Hello?” you answer, voice still breathless.

Kate doesn’t seem to notice. “I have good news! Surgery went well, and we should be home sooner than we thought. I’ll know more tomorrow, but I just wanted to give you a heads-up.”

She continues explaining the procedure, detailing what the surgeons discovered and their plan moving forward, but you’re only half-listening.

Your body is still buzzing, your mind stuck on the way Seungcheol had just touched you, the way he looked at you like you were something he wanted to consume entirely.

And worse than that? The way you still want him right this minute.

“That’s great news. I’m sure Jun is relieved.”

“He is,” Kate says, her voice lighter than it has been in days. Then, after a brief pause, she adds, “Now, want to tell me what took you so long to answer? I called twice.”

Your stomach flips. “Oh, um. I was just busy doing…chores…” you lie, hoping she doesn’t catch the slight tremor in your voice.

Kate is silent for a second, and you can practically hear the smirk forming on her lips. “Oh really? Chores? Is that Cheol’s newest nickname?”

Your mouth falls open. “Shut up,” you grumble, face burning.

She just cackles. “Mm-hmm. I’ll see you in a couple of days.”

“Yeah, yeah, bye.”

“Bye! And don’t forget to use protection!” she sings before hanging up.

You groan, tossing your phone onto the bed, and flopping down beside it. Of course, she figured it out. Sisterly intuition should be illegal.

After a deep breath, you drag yourself up and crack your door open, peeking into the hallway. Seungcheol’s door is shut. He’s probably already asleep.

With a sigh, you change into your pajamas, leaving your door slightly ajar. Not just for Mika when she finally decides to come to bed, but for him, too. You know, just in case.

But the house stays quiet, and the only visitor to your room that night is Mika, who hops onto the bed and curls up at your feet.

Still, as you settle under the covers, your mind drifts back to the heat of Seungcheol’s hands, the weight of his body, the hunger in his gaze.

You fall asleep thinking about all the ways he could satisfy you. would satisfy you, if only you’d had just a little more time.

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marvelsswansong · 1 year ago

Text

perfectly poisonous pair

summary: the three times Coriolanus realizes you're his perfect match, his eternal soulmate: darkness and all.

tags: coriolanus snow x fem!reader, possessive and dark soft!Corio with equally unhinged reader (an anon previously said morticia x gomez addams vibes), fluff, violence, non-canon compliant, CW for graphic descriptions of violence, kidnapping, murder, possessive/dark thoughts - please take care of yourself first!

☆ word count: 6K+ words ☆

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️

Marriage is, at first instance to Coriolanus, an institution and an act that he doesn't quite see the point of.

The legal and financial benefits, sure. But committing himself to one person, to be bound to them body, heart and soul for the rest of his life? That level of vulnerability and permanence feels too foreign. Too abstract, even, that thinking about it quickly makes his stomach churn with sickness.

Coriolanus spends the majority of his upbringing, consoling himself that he doesn't have the time to worry about such things as romance. After all, there was always the next bill to pay and the next threat of eviction to dread.

Not to mention, he thinks, no one will truly ever get him. Not even grandma'am or Tigris understands his inner being. The man deep within his guts, the cunning voyeur who enjoys violence and manipulation. And if they only knew, he believes, they'd be horrified.

No one really knows Coriolanus for who he is. And no one will truly be able to understand what it's like to feel and think like him.

So marriage is completely out of the question for him.

At least for a long time.

Until he meets you.

------------------------------

the beginning: "must be a coincidence."

You're the first person (other than the wide-eyed idealist, Sejanus) to treat Coriolanus with kindness at the academy.

You come in as a transfer student mid-way through the semester and he comes to notice the small ways with which you show your appreciation for him. Slyly backing up his answers in class discussions. Smiling at him in the hallways. Sticking up for him in conversations, not caring if the others give you odd looks for defending a 'clear outsider' amongst them.

"If you ever need anything, you can always count on me." you'd once told him after school, his knees barely brushing against yours in the car you've invited him into so that he wouldn't have to walk home in the freezing cold.

Suppressing the urge to interrogate the reasoning behind your kindness, his numb fingers felt sudden warmth when you delicately placed a crumbled up note into his fist with your address in it.

"Stop by whenever you need something. Don't suffer alone, okay?"

He never takes you up on your offer.

At least, not until a few months later, when he finds himself knocking on your door late at night. Three in the morning to be precise, with a busted lip and dark red stains blossoming across his white shirt.

And when you open the door, you don't react to his disheveled state in the same way he'd expect from his family. No pity and shock like grandma'am, nor is there a trace of light apprehension and fear like there would be from Tigris.

Instead, your eyes crinkle with kindness as you invite him inside your home and sit him down on a nearby chair in the living room.

"How bad is it?" you ask, cutting him off with a stern glare before he can lie. "And don't lie to me, Snow. I need to know if you're going to need a drive to the hospital instead of my attempts at first aid."

Sighing, the blonde gives in, his bones aching too much to put up a fight.

"Not that bad, I promise." he grumbles, trying to keep his breathing normal as you lean in closely to examine his injuries. At this proximity, he can see the reflection of the overhanging yellow lights in your irises, your eyebrows furrowing in concentration before you leave the room and return with a soft towel and warm bowl of water.

"Could you look up for me?" you question, your cold fingers steadying his neck to carefully crane it upwards.

The warm, wet fabric in your hands then trace the edges of his jaw, picking up the droplets of blood scattered across his face.

Keeping his eyes forward at the line of bookshelves by the fireplace, time seems to slow down. His senses are overwhelmed by your hairwash - rosemary and vanilla, he thinks - and the room is awfully quiet. All he can hear is the muted sounds of your soft breaths and the rustling of leaves outside, the pale moonlight creeping in through the gaps of the floral curtains in the dead of December.

"Do you mind me asking what happened?" you ask, now switching your attention to the trail of blood buried into the crevice of his neck. You cringe right afterwards, almost wincing at your audacity. "Sorry, you don't have to say if you don't want to."

If anything, it just makes him smile. He likes seeing you embarrassed, he thinks.

"No, it's fine. I'll say. It was just... a party gone awry. Felix managed to convince everyone to go downtown."

You frown at the mention of the downtown area - it was common knowledge that it wasn't safe to wonder the south of the Capitol this late at night, especially if you were obviously from central.

"And then?"

"Got jumped. Felix and his friends ran away quickly. Sejanus got caught up in the mix and I couldn't just... leave him."

Coriolanus hates admitting the slightest sign of weakness, that perhaps he had a friend he cares for, so he's eternally glad that you don't dwell on it. Humming in response, you squeeze the towel in your hands, the water below now a murky shade of brown.

"And how much of this blood is your own? Do I need to get the sewing needles out?"

"I-"

His response is staggered by brief flashes of the fight playing in his mind. He recalls there being a lot of heavy breathing and fast movements. A slash there. A broken nose there. His feet driving down onto the man's chest repeatedly, down, down, down - he hears bones cracking at some point and Sejanus is suddenly pulling him backwards, begging him to stop but Coriolanus can't-

"Coriolanus."

Your voice snaps him out from his dazed state. He then swallows nervously, not knowing how much is safe to disclose.

"I'm fine. Really. Just some bruises and a split lip. The blood is from dodging a few knife attacks and the criminals stabbing one another."

It's a half-truth, really. Coriolanus had dodged a few stabs his way, but only because he tripped the man charging him and grabbed the knife instead to drive it into the man's sides. Enough to severely wound, but not kill. He feels the soles of his left shoe drag on the floor, the fabric nearly coming off from the repeated force with which he'd stepped on the other accomplice's ribs. It makes his jaw clench with embarrassment.

If you notice it's a lie, you don't say anything.

You ask him if he can undress, so that you can wash his clothes for him. After all, you tease in a lighthearted manner in an attempt to lift the mood, you still have school tomorrow at eight.

"You can leave the dirty clothes hanging by the chair outside the bathroom. I think you're overdue for a long, hot shower."

All arguments die in Coriolanus' mouth when he realizes how nice this feels. The foreign comfort of being cared for by someone else, of having his guard down and following someone else's lead for once. So he wordlessly follows you to the bathroom in the back and discards of his dirtied clothes outside.

The hot water is a nice luxury, the scalding temperature starting to erase his memories of the fight. He rubs his scalp raw and watches the water beneath his feet fade into the drain, the steady dripping of water droplets calming his mind.

When the blonde finishes, he comes out and sees that you've folded a set of new, clean clothes for him by the door of the bathroom (your father's old clothes, he learns). Once changed, he wanders outside and finds you hanging the freshly washed clothes outside on your front lawn.

"You should go home, Corio." you say quietly. "Your cousin and grandmother must be worried sick." you look back at him, a reassuring smile on your face.

"How... how can I ever repay you for all this?" he finds himself asking, desperate for an answer. Surely, you'll want something back for this. Certainly, this was all to get something back from him-

You shake your head sideways, waving your hand in dismissal.

"There's no need to repay me. I like to think you help me out every day at school, so think of this as more of... a much delayed gift."

Once you're both back inside the house, no longer shivering from the cold, he finds the silence to be oddly tense. You're in your sleepwear, after all, a silky night dress stopping right above your knees with a gray knit cardigan on top.

He swallows, nervously. He hopes you can't tell how fast his heart is beating.

"Uh, thank you. Seriously. I owe you."

"You really don't."

"I really do."

You roll your eyes playfully.

"The only person who owes me anything is Felix. He shouldn't have suggested you all go to downtown when it's dangerous, and he especially shouldn't have left you and Sejanus to nearly get stabbed to death." you spit, and your angry expression makes him chuckle.

"Ah, well, but he is the president's son. What can we do." he jokes. A small grin flickers onto your lips for half a second at that comment.

"So he is. Good night, Corio. I'll see you tomorrow."

It's initially an uneventful day for Coriolanus the next morning when he walks into the academy, naturally catching your eyes from across the room. You give him a reassuring nod from behind the door of your locker, where the majority of your attention is being held up by an overeager Felix - your assigned partner for the week.

Due to his schedule, Coriolanus doesn't see you again until lunch time. By which the newest rumor sweeping the academy has been the sudden violent illness which has fallen upon the president's son.

"I heard he was puking blood." he hears Clemensia whisper to Arachne, who nods furiously.

"Sejanus had to carry him to the medic's office - Felix looked like a half-dead ghost."

He's itching to speak to you as he quickly rounds the corner and runs up the flights of stairs leading to the library, where he's shared many lunches with you before. He knows your favorite sport by heart, that being the cozy seat under the large arched windows overlooking the front lawn.

As expected, he finds you there, sitting cross legged and gazing out towards the lawn. Upon closer inspection, he sees that you're watching Felix get escorted into a dark vehicle, an unreadable expression on your face.

"Have you heard that Felix is sick?" Coriolanus carefully asks, sitting down from across from you. You turn to him, your face scrunching up in sadness.

"Yes I have. Terrible news, really. Something about nasty nausea and uncontrollable vomiting."

Your tone is sympathetic and your face has all the features of genuine worry, but there's a small twinkle in your eyes that indicates a secret.

It makes Coriolanus delirious with want.

"And would his illness have anything to do with you being close to him as his project partner?" he questions, sliding in closer towards you to keep his voice down.

He looks down at your lips then back up at you, smirking.

"Just seems strange, don't you think? Given that he seemed just fine last night?"

A half-second smile, you shrug.

"Must be a coincidence."

He kisses you right then and there.

---------------------------------------

the point of no return: "you're quite a messy lover, Coriolanus Snow."

Finding you is a miracle to him.

And now that you two are officially dating, he sees the glimmer of hope for something permanent like marriage in the future.

But Coriolanus is still unsure of the publicity of that kind of arrangement, which leads him to request that you two keep the relationship under wraps. At least until graduation, he justifies, to keep the romance hidden away from the judging eyes of the faculty and fellow classmates.

You don't seem the least bit bothered by the news, your lips only quirking up into a warning smile as you tease that you may then have to bring other men as dates to public events to save face.

At the time, he'd just shrugged at that, playing it cool. "I don't get jealous easily." he'd said confidently.

Oh, how he was wrong.

It's only after he becomes your boyfriend that he becomes acutely aware of and sensitive to how desirable you are to others. Visitors to the academy flirt with you openly, not knowing that Coriolanus is watching from the background, fuming with anger. Your male classmates are too eager to carry your books for you, their body leaning ever too close towards yours when you ask them to pass on the papers in class.

But this, right now, seeing you with another man at the spring gala... It feels different.

Those people, the strangers and classmates, you let down firmly but gently. Those people, you wouldn't even let their hands hover above your skin, always placing a firm distance between you and them. Those people-

Fuck.

You didn't smile at those people like you're smiling at this date of yours. The tall, dark haired man's arm is lingering just above your waist, too close for Coriolanus' comfort, and his thoughts turn lethal when the man leans down to whisper something in your ear that seemingly makes you laugh.

It takes everything within him to not lose control then, when Sejanus speaks up.

"You alright?"

His friend's voice cuts into the tirade of violent thoughts playing in Coriolanus' mind, the whiskey starting to taste sour in his mouth. Forcing another sip of alcohol, he meticulously coaches himself to nod along, feigning disinterest in you and the mystery man.

"Just fine, Plinth." he grits out, but with his steely blue orbs not deviating from where you and your date are standing, it's obvious to any bystander that he's lying. So Sejanus chuckles, nudging the blonde playfully.

"Yeah right. Though, I'm not surprised that (Y/n) brought him along." Sejanus takes a sip of his wine, before pausing at seeing the blonde's expression remain hardened. "You do know who he is, right?"

"Am I supposed to?" Coriolanus scowls.

"That's Harrison Bramford. His grandfather was one of the main generals back in the days of the war and his family single-handedly leads the weapons manufacturing industry in Panem."

"Hm." is all Coriolanus says in response, the revelation doing little to appease his anger. His left arm rises in a reflex to force more alcohol down his throat, only to find the glass half empty.

"I need another drink." he announces, not caring to hear his friend's response.

Sliding into the bar, he hears your soft laugh and whisper before you disappear into a nearby hallway, leaving your 'date' alone. Out of the corner of Coriolanus' eyes, whilst he leans forwards and pretends to watch the bartender grabbing him another glass of whiskey, he sees the tall dark haired man also beelining towards the bar.

"Vodka on the rocks." Harrison growls, nearly slamming his glass down onto the counter. It's only then that Coriolanus lets himself look into the man's light green eyes, taking care to keep his expression fairly neutral and his voice calm.

"Rough night?" Coriolanus asks, deciding to play the unassuming role of a concerned stranger. Harrison chuckles, wiping his hands on his thighs whilst shaking his head.

"You have no fucking idea. Women are such pieces of work."

The blonde tastes blood with how hard he bites his cheek in an effort to stay silent.

"Your whiskey, sir."

He's grateful for the interruption of the bartender sliding his drink down towards him, as with every word leaving your date's mouth, Coriolanus is feeling his rage boiling and threatening to spill over like toxic waste.

"This chick asked me to come here tonight, you know? Me. A Bramford. I put up with her annoying stories and stupid questions all night, I even held her fucking bag for her to go to the bathroom." the man rants, his skin starting to twinge red with how fast he was speaking. "But will she even let me kiss her? Nooooo. Apparently it's too quick. Wouldn't even let me grab her ass."

It's then that your boyfriend finally loses it, and there's a muted sound of something shattering and the feeling of something sticky and hot running down his right hand. There's a few gasps of shock, the bartender hurrying over with a spare napkin as Coriolanus' blue eyes adjust to the blurry scene in front of him.

He's shattered the glass in his hand.

"Shit, you alright?" Harrison asks, leaning over to see and then pulling back with a disgusted expression after seeing the bloody sight. Remaining calm whilst pulling out the chunks of glass, Coriolanus chooses to play nonchalant, shrugging his shoulders.

"Yep. Sorry, not used to..." he pauses, trying to find the right excuse. Instead, he finds a brilliant plan. "Not used to going so long without smoking."

The dark haired man nods in agreement, seemingly sympathizing.

"Ah, I get you. Nasty withdrawal symptoms, huh? Seen a lot of my buddies get them whenever they try to quit smoking."

Securing the makeshift tablecloth wrap around his injured hand, Coriolanus pushes his chair in with his legs, his uninjured hand strategically reaching into his pockets.

"I think I need a cigarette. Care to join?" he asks, already knowing the answer from the overwhelming scent of cigarettes spayed over the man's clothes.

"Why not."

Suppressing a smile, the blonde leads the drunken man out the door and far away from the venue, down a few shady alleyways and into narrow dirty streets crowded by graffiti and trash bags.

"Uh... you sure this is the right way?" the man behind nervously asks, and Coriolanus almost wants to roll his eyes at how pathetic he finds the man's fear.

"Don't worry, Bramford. Just avoiding the 'no smoking' signs and security guards by the venue."

Once the blonde is sure that they're both sufficiently far away from the venue, at a dead end alleyway sandwiched between a run down bike shed and abandoned dumpsters, he stops in his tracks. Coriolanus then uses the split second of confusion felt by the other man to strike him directly in the chest, forcing the taller man's entire body down.

Grabbing the nearest object next to him - a wooden crate- Coriolanus smashes it into bits on the man's head, whose face is now pressed up against the dirty cement.

"You absolute piece of shit." Coriolanus swears, adrenaline pumping through his veins in irregular rhythm as his boot kicks into the pained man's ribs repeatedly. "You disgusting, vile, privileged piece of shit."

Each insult is compounded by a stronger kick, the three glasses of whiskey and pure rage emboldening his thoughts and strengthening his attacks. Coriolanus thinks he may have heard a bone or two cracking, but he isn't sure. He can't even bring himself to care, not when his mind's fixation switches to the enticing sight of a broken glass bottle laying to his right, the jagged scars glistening under the moonlight. Coriolanus snatches it up in half a second, before pressing the edges of the makeshift blade against the whimpering man's throat.

"W-why are you doing this?" Harrison barely gets out, mouth already filled with blood, his gasps stuttered in pain.

The blonde only chuckles, his left knee coming down to press the man further into the ground, right hand beginning to trace the edge of the glass down the man's neck.

"Because, Bramford. You denigrated the love of my life. You dare try and place your filthy hands on her. Hell, for the crimes of your family and your disgusting behavior tonight, I should do the Capitol a favor and ki-"

"That's enough, Corio."

Your boyfriend nearly drops the bottle in his hand out of shock at hearing your voice ring out from behind him, the development so unexpected that for a second he almost wonders if he's hallucinating. But no, when he tilts his head backwards, he sees as clear as day you standing there with an amused grin on your face.

"Darling, I-" Coriolanus begins, stepping back up carefully and setting the glass bottle aside (but far away from Harrison's reach).

You just shush him, that ever-so-understanding twinkle in your eyes, your heels clicking on the uneven cobblestone as you stand with your body right up against his.

"I warned you about this, you know." you sigh. Coriolanus frowns, confused.

"What?"

"That you'd be jealous. He's just a toy, love. Nothing happened nor was ever going to happen tonight." you assure him, taking his uninjured hand in yours and squeezing it in comfort. You frown at the sight of his other bloodied hand, but he waves it off as an explanation for a later time.

"It's not that I don't trust you, petal. It was just... this scumbag was speaking about you in a revolting manner. I just couldn't contain myself." he slowly explains, a mix of guilt for being caught and anger for not being able to finish his actions creeping in. "He deserved it."

"Not denying that, love." you assure him again, smiling. "But goodness... What a mess you've made. You're quite the messy lover, Coriolanus Snow."

Coriolanus then can only watch, mesmerized, as you walk up next to Harrison's squirming body on the floor. Crouching down next to the man, you tut, as if you're saddened by the sight in front of you.

"Here's what's going to happen. We'll do you the favor of making it looking like you had too many drinks and got robbed. We'll take your wallet and expensive jacket. You'll survive, only a few major injuries but nothing life-threatening, and that's the story you'll tell your father and his friends." you pause, letting out another sigh, as if explaining this whole ordeal is tiring you. "In return, I will keep quiet about your nasty drug addiction to your father. One more strike and you're out, as your daddy said, so let's not aggravate him further. Deal?" you ask, smiling sweetly.

When the man stays silent, only letting out pained breaths in response, your right hand snaps out to press his face further into the concrete.

"I said, do we have a fucking deal, Bramford?"

Coriolanus finds himself completely transfixed by the attractive sight playing out in front of him: your pretty face scrunched up in fury, your delicate fingers dipped in blood as the man beneath you pathetically sobs and agrees. You then smirk, harshly dropping the man's head back down. Your boyfriend is by your side immediately, taking off the man's jacket as you pocket the wallet, your eyes finding Coriolanus' once more.

"I think I'm in love with you." the blonde confesses, the words coming out faster than he'd anticipated. It's a mix of things that causes the sudden confession, the adrenaline from having beaten a man nearly to death, the way your hair is being caressed by the harsh winds, the smell of your sweet perfume mixing with the harsh stench of copper in the air...

It's all making him dizzy and lovesick.

But all you do is roll your shoulders back and chuckle, kissing him quickly on the lips.

"I know."

But, Coriolanus thinks, you can't know - the real depths of his love, the unbridled fire now lapping at his skin, the overwhelming desire to claim you as only his.

And when he finally comes back home, he digs through his cabinets and finds the family ring. Swallowing thickly, he stores it in a small jewelry box and tucks it right underneath his bedroom's windowsill.

One day, he knows. He'll marry you.

----------------------------------------

the final act: "sorry for worrying you."

He'd meant to propose sooner.

He really did.

But then the games happened, his victory came with the assistant position to Dr Gaul and a full ride scholarship to university from the Plinths, and you'd be called away to District 2 to assist on your family's business operations.

Coriolanus missed you, fiercely. No amount of blurry phone calls and monthly visits lasting no more than the short weekend could satisfy his ache for you. Your melodic laugh. Your soft touch. Your witty observations and jokes, your soft breathing on his chest when he'd hold you at night.

But it's necessary, you'd remind him, lips trailing across his cold skin. It was how you and him were going to conquer the Capitol. Together.

On an assuming Tuesday in April, on the day you were due to arrive in time for Tigris' birthday, the phone rang in the mansion. The housekeeper, mid-way through dusting the library in preparation for your arrival, had come running into Coriolanus' room without even knocking. He'd woken up bleary eyed, a few swear words of annoyance on the tip of his tongue, all of which dissipated upon seeing the alarmed look on the housekeeper's face.

"It's for you, sir. Says it's urgent."

Brows furrowing, but not thinking anything much, Coriolanus answers the phone.

"Coriolanus Snow speaking." he mutters into the receiver, eyes still foggy from the remnants of sleep. The voice on the other end chuckles, a dark and pompous sound which makes him scowl in annoyance.

"Mr.Snow... when was Miss (L/n) set to arrive in the Capitol?"

The sinister question jolts the blonde awake immediately, a quick glance at the clock hanging by the door confirming his worst fears. It was four am, at least three hours past the time you were set to arrive.

"Is this a ransom call?" Coriolanus growls into the phone, his fingers clutching the receiver so tight his knuckles were beginning to redden. Teeth aching with how tensely he's clenching his law, his frantic eyes find the housekeeper's worried ones, before he urgently signals for the older woman to fetch the guards roaming the front of the property.

The stranger on the other side only chuckles in response, clearly gleeful at the distressed sound of Coriolanus' voice.

"I'm not sure, Mr. Snow. Would you like to perhaps ask her instead?"

The string of curses and violent threats bubbling under his throat never get spoken when he hears the sudden shuffling of feet and muffled arguing on the other side of the phone, before your voice fills his anxious ears.

"Hi, Corio."

Huh.

You seem awfully relaxed for someone taken as hostage.

Yes, he recalled having numerous discussions with you about such a scenario occurring once Coriolanus' status was elevated in the Capitol and you'd agreed to take on some share of the family business. And your boyfriend also knew that you'd grown up training in archery and fencing, so it wasn't as if you were wholly unprepared to defend yourself.

But still, it shocks him how your voice is completely aloof and calm, with even a hint of a smile at the end of your sentences.

"Hi, darling. Are you alright?" he carefully responds, pondering if you are perhaps being held at gunpoint and forced to speak in an unnatural manner. But you just hum in response, the same noise you'd make if he'd asked you something simple like what you wanted on your toast, nonchalant as ever.

"Yes, I'm perfectly fine. Just don't forget to water the lilies, they get very temperamental this time of the year. Wouldn't want a repeat of last April, now would we?" you joke, and Coriolanus feels himself slightly relaxing into the conversation.

"Of course not."

"And don't forget you promised me pancakes the moment I came back to the house. I've been missing your banana pancakes dearly."

He can almost picture your smile at that comment.

"Well then... you should hurry back soon." he calmly responds, only for the phone to then be ripped away from you and the stranger's voice returns - grating and aggravated. Coriolanus can tell that your kidnapper is frustrated and dumbfounded by your seemingly calm disposition and mundane conversation with your boyfriend, a revelation which fills him with great satisfaction.

"If you still want her alive, leave a suitcase of $20,000 by the coordinates sent to you. You have two hours."

As if on cue, the housekeeper rushes back in with a note - tied to a bird sent over to the house, she says - and the security team behind. Unravelling the coordinates written onto the piece of paper, and looking back at the clock, Coriolanus' mind whirls with endless possibilities.

Explaining the situation in brief, he directs three of the guards to go out into the location with a briefcase loaded with fake cash - one to drop off the bag, the other two to keep extensive watch to see who picks it up. The other two, he commands to stay by watch at the house.

Sitting in an unmarked van whilst staring at the spot where his security guard had placed the suitcase, Coriolanus' leg won't stop bouncing up and down.

He's riddled with anxiety and doubt, hating himself for being unable to protect you, worrying about your whereabouts. As even if you sounded awfully calm and capable on the phone, a part of him can't help but wonder if that was all for show, to prevent him from worrying too much.

A torturous hour passes before Coriolanus gets a call from the housekeeper.

"Sir, she's home."

He nearly drops the phone.

"What?"

"Miss (Y/n) is home. She is sitting in the kitchen, having a cup of tea as we speak."

It's a blur as Coriolanus commands the car to race back towards the house, his heart nearly pounding out of his chest as he bursts through the doors of the main hallway.

And there, calm as ever with a light grin on your face, is you.

You're sitting in his favorite velvet cushioned chair by the dining table. Your face smeared with blood, your clothes are torn and hanging in loose threads, and your hair is wet, red crimson droplets falling onto the floor in steady drips. And as the sun rises over the estate, the golden light illuminates your hairline and Coriolanus swears he sees a halo above your bloodied form.

"Hi, love. Sorry for worrying you."

Without a single word, he rushes over to you and nearly yanks you up to a standing position, backing you up against the wall to kiss you fiercely. Your knees almost buckle from the force with which he grabs your neck, his shaky breaths so desperate, his hooded eyes still looking into yours as his left hand suddenly shows a ring box in his hand.

"Marry me, darling."

You blink twice, surprised at the sudden action, as he chuckles and laces his fingers with yours - blood on blood.

"We're perfect for each other. You are my soulmate, my perfect pair: body, heart and soul. Truthfully, I've had the ring with me for almost two years now, but it never felt... quite right." he pauses, taking in your shaky, happy smile. Your cold hands warming in his embrace. "Not until now. You're the one for me."

"Even if I bleed all over your kitchen?" you croak, as he slides the cool metal onto your ring finger, before kissing your bruised knuckles.

"Especially if you bleed over my kitchen. As long as it's not your own blood, of course."

It's you who closes the gap this time, nearly tackling him with the force with which you kiss him, arms encircling around his back. Smiling into the kiss, he tastes the mix of your strawberry lipgloss and the metallic hint of blood on your lips, an intoxicating combination.

When you two finally part for air, the silver band now glistening on your ring finger, Coriolanus chuckles.

"Now, would you like those banana pancakes?"

------------------------------------------

epilogue: "nonsense, darling. I'd clean blood off of you forever."

"I think I'm starting to see a gray hair. on you, Corio."

Your husband scowls at the playful joke in the bedroom mirror, standing up to straighten his tie as you get changed in the walk-in closet.

"Please, I'm barely 30. Are you sure you're not hallucinating, darling?" he fights back, and you peek out half-dressed from the closet, pouting.

"You're questioning my eyesight now? How could you be so cruel."

Your faux sour expression is quickly kissed away by two cold hands cupping your cheeks, and you would've lost the balance in your heels had he not steadied you immediately, his hands dropping to your waist.

"Aw, I'm sorry, petal. Will you ever forgive me?"

You pretend to think about it, cocking your head sideways.

"That would depend."

"On what?"

"Mom! Dad!"

Your snarky response is cut off by the sound of small feet pattering on the marble floor, the front doors swinging open as a small figure runs straight to you and crashes into your legs. A spitting image of you and Coriolanus, your daughter, looks up from your knees before grasping onto her father's hand.

"Up, please."

Clearly amused by the sudden burst of energy in the room and his daughter's politeness even in moments of silliness, he crouches down and picks up the squealing child who comfortably settles into his arms.

"Guess what."

"What is it, honey?" you ask, brushing the stray hair out of her eyes.

"I got the highest score in my entire class on my math test."

"Wow, that's incredible, sweetheart." Coriolanus practically melts on the spot, bouncing the child up and down as she giggles into his neck. "You are the smartest person ever, Belle."

"Not as smart as mommy." she sasses in response, looking up at you for approval. You coo, ruffling her hair affectionately before looking up at your husband with raised eyebrows.

"See, Corio? Even our daughter is kinder to me than you are."

He rolls his eyes in response, left hand sneaking out to pull you in close as his lips kiss the top of your head.

"Nonsense. I love both my girls equally." he says, only for the picture perfect moment to be interrupted by another figure rushing into the room.

"Mrs Snow, the car's just arrived for you by the fr-" the intern freezes in his steps, having clearly caught the Snow family at a private time. You of course don't mind, just being amused by the situation, and your daughter is just curious at the new person who just walked in. All the while, Coriolanus' reaction couldn't be more different, his glare sharp and mean.

"I thought I made it clear, I don't want to ever be disturbed when I'm with my family. Unless it's an absolute emergency." Coriolanus states, his tone icy and unforgiving.

By the furrowing of his eyebrows and the cold stare in his eyes, you can already anticipate the flurry of murderous thoughts filling his head before you cut in. After all, the interrupting intern, a 17 year old boy by the name of Elijah, is only trying his best. And you find him oddly endearing and sweet, particularly with how badly he tries to impress your husband.

"It's fine, Elijah. Please ignore my husband's rude comment. I'll be right out."

Setting your daughter down, Coriolanus leans forward and growls into your ear, watching the young boy scatter away quickly.

"You're too nice to him, darling. Don't you think we should dispose of him and get a new intern...."

You slap his shoulder.

"What do I always tell you? No need to create unnecessary messes. Besides, he's really good with Belle and easy to control."

He smirks at that, irises filled pink.

"You're probably right. Can't have another bloody mess on your hands to clean up."

"Or vice versa."

He leans in close, cold lips touching your forehead.

"Nonsense, darling. I'd clean blood off of you forever."

And he truly means it.

a/n: andddd that's another major Corio fic down! thank you to everyone who showed me love on my last Corio oneshot ("melting snow") and for those who answered my poll - dark soft! and possessive Corio won out but girldad!Corio also got a TON of love so I included it a bit here and will probably write a whole standalone fic with girldad!Corio as the concept. thank you again to everyone for remaining patient, I had writer's block for a bit and I've just had the most awful few weeks ever (mental health wise and life wise) so it was difficult to find moments to write.

as always, please leave a like/comment/reblog/ask if you enjoyed. the interactions is what motivates me to write! I hope you liked it hehe x

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coirolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth x you #coriolanus snow fanfiction #thg x reader #the hunger games #1k #2k #3k #4k

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kissesz · 3 months ago

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𝐢𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞

caitlyn kiramman x f!reader

warnings : see above. mdni. angst. f!sub!reader. dom!caitlyn. mean!caitlyn, just briefly. cunnilingus. tribbing. vaginal sex. non-sexual intimacy. read: kissing. a lot of it. sapphic debauchery at its finest. arguing. emotional hurt/comfort. mentions of injuries & blood but not too graphic.

notes: (can be read as a standalone, part II of 'all that glitters') a oneshot—which, clearly, it isn’t anymore. i may have made a promise about making up. unfortunately, the dialogue is subpar at best, perhaps because i genuinely dread writing anything involving communication (which is why i attempted—only half-successfully—to compensate with overly long descriptions). on top of that, i’ve rewritten this at least a thousand times, meaning six and a half hours were spent agonizing over every single paragraph. i digress. i love you all, dearly.

Aged whiskey scorched a trail down your throat, amber liquid catching glimmers of the kaleidoscopic hues painting Piltover for Progress Day—sapphire tones of hextech glinting off effervescent fireworks, swirling and bleeding like watercolors through the fractured prism of your mind.

Or perhaps that was the alcohol, settling leaden in your veins as you draped yourself against the balcony railing.

Revelry echoed distant and muted from the streets below, laughter filtering through as if from ripples underwater. Each scintillating burst a reminder of her, salt in wounds unhealed—nights of bare skin illuminated by those same lights, susurrous promises you'd been foolish enough to believe. Skin and sweat and lies, impermanent.

So naive.

The crystal tumbler in your hand caught light, throwing severed rainbows across your fingers. Watching them dance, you tried (and failed) to focus on anything but the ache that had made its home in your ribcage months ago, a persistent throb that no amount of liquor could numb.

Then, a knock cleaved through the silence like a gunshot.

Your heart seized—a pavlovian response so violent it stole the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping. Two strikes against solid wood, precise, just like the woman behind them.

"Don't you fucking dare," you hissed to the empty air, fingers tightening around the railing until your knuckles blanched white against the dark metal. After months of absence, after countless nights spent aching and alone, after everything—she had the audacity to return?

The knock came again, more insistent this time, the sound like a second heartbeat, out of sync with your own yet impossible to ignore.

"Open the door." Caitlyn's voice, muffled yet unmistakable in its authority. That voice that had once whispered such honeyed poison against your skin now felt like sandpaper against raw nerves, abrasive and unrelenting. "Please."

Your laugh spilled out bitter, a broken sound for a broken moment. "Or what, Officer? You'll break it down? Add that to your litany of things you've destroyed?"

Silence stretched between you—taut and ready to snap. Then: "I'll wait all night if I have to."

"Go ahead." The drink seared going down, a familiar burn doing nothing to thaw the frost in your veins. "You're good at that, aren't you? Waiting until the perfect moment to walk away?"

More silence followed, heavy and sticky as molasses. For a moment, you thought she'd left, until you heard it—the soft thud of something solid against wood. Her forehead, perhaps, resting against your door as if she couldn't support her own weight anymore, as if the burden of her choices had finally become too much to bear.

"I deserve that," she said quietly, her voice carrying a of vulnerability you'd never heard before. A hairline fracture in her usually impenetrable facade. "I deserve all of it. But please... let me explain."

"Explain what?" The words clawed their way from your throat, each word tasting of copper and acrimony. "How you used me? How you'd come to me in the dead of night, take what you wanted, then vanish like I meant nothing?"

"You were never—" Her voice splintered on ‘never’, the sound slitting something in your chest, a fissure spreading through the walls you'd built to keep her out. "You were everything to me. That was the problem."

The crystal glass shattered in your grip, a startling crack that echoed the something rupturing inside you. Shards scattered across marble tiles like fallen stars, blood and alcohol—you couldn't tell which—dripping from your trembling fingers. The pain felt distant, secondary to the storm of emotions threatening to rend you apart.

Your feet carried you to the door of their own volition, possessed by a desperate momentum that overrode any semblance of self-preservation. The handle felt unfamiliar against your palm as you wrenched it open.

And there she stood.

Caitlyn Kiramman, in your foyer, like a washed out black and white photo of a deceased relative you couldn't bring yourself to look at. Her uniform was spotless as always, every button polished, every crease perfect—but her eyes—her eyes told a different story. They widened at the sight of your bleeding hand, that familiar concern suffusing her features before she could conceal it.

"You're hurt–" She reached for you, her fingers extending with such tender intent that it made your chest constrict, your heart stuttering behind the cage of your ribs.

You recoiled as if scorched, spine colliding with the wall behind you with a dull thud. "Don't." Your voice emerged raw, stripped of all pretense. "Don't you dare pretend to care now."

"Do you hear yourself? How ridiculous you sound?" She advanced, her presence flooding your space like smoke, cloying and suffocating. The scent of her, vanilla and gunpowder, so achingly familiar, made your head reel. Or maybe that was the blood loss. The whiskey. Turning everything soft at the edges except for her, sharp and impossible to ignore. "Not once, for a single second, did I stop caring. I left because I cared too much, because it was destroying me. Every time I chose you over my duty, every time I let my heart overrule my head, we were—"

"Oh, spare me the noble sacrifice bullshit, Caitlyn. Your precious integrity, right? Let me remind you of what you said: 'You know where I am if you need me.' Do you remember that? How you kissed me goodbye like it wasn't the last fucking time?" A dismissive sound tore from your lips, acrid.

"Enlighten me," you continued, voice quavering in a way that made you want to claw the weakness from your throat, "in all those months, all those nights I spent alone, where exactly were you? Because I needed you. Gods, I needed you every single day! And you were nowhere to be found!"

"It wasn't—" she started, but you cut her off, unwilling to hear whatever justification she'd made up for her absence.

"Shut up." Your palm struck her chest, leaving behind a bloody handprint stark against her pristine uniform. The fabric drank it in like it had been starved for it, marring perfection with your pain. Some bitter part of you relished it, wanted her to wear your anguish for once.

Hands caught your wrists then, a grip gentle but resolute, like you were something fragile, something invaluable she was afraid to break.

The calluses on her palms, from her rifle, from years of relentless training rasped against your pulse points. "You think it was easy?" Her voice trembled, her composure fracturing like a teacup on the verge of shattering. "You think I wanted to walk away? To lie awake every night remembering how you taste, how you feel, how you cry out my name when you—"

"Stop." You tried to wrench away but her hold was unbreakable, fingers branding your skin with unspoken apologies, with pleas for absolution. Your heart battered against your ribcage, that traitorous organ that still raced at her proximity, even after everything.

"Why?" She surged forward, and suddenly you were pinned between the heat of her body and the unyielding wall, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

Her breath ghosted across your face, expensive brandy chasing crisp mint—she'd been drinking too. She'd been drinking too, and that realization struck you like a knife to the sternum, twisting viciously. "Because it hurts? Because despite everything, you still remember? How I'd touch you, how I'd make you beg, how you'd unravel for me like you were made for it?"

"Fuck you," you spat, even as your body responded to her, muscle memory overriding reason.

"You did, darling." The endearment dripped from her lips, sweet and searing like honey on a spoon. Her face was a hairsbreadth from yours, close enough to count the individual flecks of navy in her eyes, to feel the heat of her breath mingling with your own. "Countless times. And I remember every single one. Every sound, every sigh, every way you fell apart beneath my hands."

Your breath hitched, catching on a breath suspiciously similar to a sob. "I hate you."

You did, truly.

Hating her felt natural, instinctual.

"No." Her thumb skated over your bottom lip, coming away stained with the smear of your lipstick. The tenderness of the gesture was devastating, a brutal reminder of everything you'd lost. "You wish you did. Just like I wish I could stop loving you."

The confession hung between you like a noose, tightening with each shallow breath.

"Why now?" Your voice cracked, splintering, jagged and razor-edged. "Why come back after all this time?"

"Because I'm tired," she breathed, resting her forehead against yours, the contact like a livewire against your skin. Her skin burned feverish against your own, her breaths labored. "Tired of pretending I don't need you. Tired of walking past your building every night, aching to come up but telling myself I shouldn't. Tired of being half a person without you."

Closing your eyes, the nearness of her was overwhelming, intoxicating; it made you dizzy, memories crashing over you in waves—lips on your throat, hands on your hips, her voice in your ear whispering vows she couldn't keep, oaths she'd shattered like porcelain against stone.

"You broke me." Words falling from your numb lips, more honest than you'd allowed yourself to be since she left, since she carved out your heart and took it with her.

"I know." Her lips brushed your temple, a benediction and a curse. A tear—yours or hers, you couldn't say—slid between your pressed skin, salt and sorrow. "Let me put you back together. Let me try."

"How?" You opened your eyes, meeting her gaze, stripped of all pretense. Your fingers itched to trace the circles beneath her eyes, proof that maybe she'd been haunted by your absence just as viscerally as you'd been ravaged by hers. "How can I ever trust you again?"

In lieu of an answer, she kissed you.

Not like before—not with the practiced restraint of Officer Kiramman, the consummate professional. No, this kiss was desperate, woozy and salty of mingled tears. Her hands cupped your face like you were something hallowed, her thumbs sweeping away the evidence of your shared misery, your shared sin.

Kissing her back, it bordered on violence, every shred of hurt and longing poured into the crush of your mouths. Your fingers knotted in her hair, yanking hard enough to sting, needing her to feel even a fraction of the agony you'd endured in her absence. Silken strands twined around your fingers like they'd been waiting for your touch, like they remembered every time you'd gripped them in ecstasy rather than anguish.

She gasped into your mouth, the sound caught between a moan and a whimper, apology and plea tangled on her tongue. "I'm sorry," she murmured between bruising kisses, each word a fervent promise falling from kiss-swollen lips. "I'm so sorry. I love you. I never stopped. Please..."

You bit down on her bottom lip, hard enough to taste blood of her own, the metallic sting a twisted sort of penance. "Prove it."

Her eyes met yours, understanding dawning like the sun cresting the horizon. With deliberate, measured movements, she began to strip away her armor. Her utility belt hit the floor with a leaden thud, bullets rattling in their clips. Her badge followed, the metal making a mournful sound as it clattered against marble. Then her uniform jacket, each button slipping free of its mooring until the garment slid from her shoulders like a remnant of a past she was shedding, a chrysalis giving way to something raw and new.

Each piece of her fell away until only Caitlyn remained.

The woman behind the title, the beating heart beneath the badge. She stood before you in her crisp white undershirt, more vulnerable than you'd ever seen her, her chest rising and falling with unsteady breaths, her eyes wide and shining in the low light.

"I'm yours," she said softly, her voice replaced by something fragile and aching. "Just me, loving you, for as long as you'll have me."

You stared at her, this woman who could command an entire city with a single look yet now trembled beneath the weight of your gaze. Who could stare down the barrel of a gun without flinching yet now looked at you like you held the power to destroy her. Who had walked away from you once yet now stood before you offering her heart, her future, her everything.

"If you leave again..." you started, the words tasting like rust on your tongue, sharp and metallic.

"I won't." She stepped closer, her hands finding the dip of your waist, the swell of your hips, relearning curves and planes she'd once mapped in the dark, in stolen moments that now felt like lifetimes ago. Her touch sparked wildfires in its wake, your skin remembering her, craving her, even as your mind screamed for self-preservation. "I can't. Losing you... it nearly killed me. Let me spend the rest of my life making it right. Making us right."

You knew you should’ve resisted, should’ve made her work harder for your forgiveness, for a second chance at the heart she'd so carelessly shattered. But then her lips found that spot just below your ear, the one that made your knees buckle and your breath hitch, and all rational thought fled, replaced by an all-consuming need, a hunger that had gone unsated for far too long.

Her hands relearned your body with admiration that bordered on worshipful—each touch an act of contrition. Her fingers caught on scars she'd never seen before, on new edges and angles wrought in the crucible of her absence, but she didn't shy away. Instead, she traced each one like a devotee tracing the lines of a sacred text, committing them to memory, etching them onto her heart.

"I missed you," she breathed against your throat, her voice cracking on the admission. "Missed this. The way you melt for me, the way your pulse flutters beneath my lips." To illustrate her point, she pressed a lingering kiss to the hammering beat at the base of your throat, smiling against your skin as you failed to bite back a whimper.

Her name fell from your lips like a benediction, like a curse, like an invocation of something bigger than both of you. "Caitlyn..."

She pulled back just far enough to meet your eyes, and the naked adoration in her gaze stole the breath from your lungs.

Gone was the stoic persona, the enforcer of the law. In her place was a woman laid bare, stripped of all pretense. A woman whose eyes shone with unshed tears and unspoken promises, whose hands shook with the force of her need, her longing.

"I love you," she said simply, the words rusty from disuse but no less true for it. "I love your fire, your strength, the way you never once made it easy for me. I love the way you see me, all of me, even the parts I try to hide. I love—"

You swallowed the rest of her words with a searing kiss, your hands fisting in the fabric of her shirt, dragging her closer until you could feel her heartbeat against your own, a desperate staccato that echoed the racing of your pulse.

She caught you as you swayed, strong arms banding around your waist, holding you up, anchoring you to her as she'd always done, even when you insisted you didn't need it, didn't want it. "Let me take care of you," she murmured against your lips, the words akin to a plea. "Let me show you how much I've missed you, how sorry I am, how I—"

"Show me," you demanded, the words scraping your throat raw with their urgency. "Make me believe you."

The sound she made was part growl, part whimper, animal and anguished. Her hands glided down your sides to grip the backs of your thighs, fingers sinking into yielding flesh, and then you were airborne, your back hitting the wall with enough force to rattle the abstract art piece hanging beside your head. Your legs locked around her waist on instinct, muscle memory overriding the part of you still screaming for restraint.

"I'll spend forever making you believe," she vowed, punctuating each word with a press of her lips—to your jaw, the edge of your lips, the sensitive spot where neck meets shoulder. "Forever proving that you're it for me, that I'm done hiding from this, from us."

As she carried you to the bedroom, her steps never faltering despite the tremors wracking her frame, you realized with startling, terrifying clarity that you wanted to let her. Wanted to give her the chance to piece back together the remnants of you, to rebuild from the rubble and ashes she'd left behind.

A tangle of limbs and discarded silks draped upon the edge of your bed held nothing new, freshly washed sheets tousling as she haphazardly lowered you into their embrace.

And then, she was on you, her hand sliding up the apex of your thigh, teasing.

Finally, finally, her tongue met the barrier of your underwear, the fabric the only thing separating you from the heat and wetness that promised heaven. She took her time, tracing every inch of you, biting and nipping, until you were writhing beneath her, begging for more. And then she pulled them down, your hips lifting off the bed to accommodate her, exposing you completely to the cool air and the burning heat of her gaze.

Her mouth followed the path of your underwear, leaving a damp trail of kisses as she descended. She hovered above your clit for a moment, her eyes searching yours for permission, for reassurance. You gave it with a nod, and she took it as the invitation it was, her tongue flicking out to taste you, to show you without words how much she'd missed this, missed you.

The sensation was foreign in its familiarity, your entire body tensing before relaxing into the bliss she’d coaxed from you, licking and suckling, driving you closer to the edge with every pass.

And then, with a lingering kiss, she pulled away, leaving you panting and desperate. Deja vu, perhaps? "Take these off," she ordered, her voice thick with desire, gesturing to her own pants. You obeyed, your fingers fumbling with the zipper, eager to feel her bare skin against yours. When she was finally naked, she straddled you, the wetness between her thighs pressing against your stomach, leaving a damp heat that sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

Her hands roamed your body, touching, everywhere, and you watched her, breathless, feeling your desire for her swell until it was a living, pulsing thing between you.

When she reached your breasts, her caresses were feather-light at first, teasing your already-sensitized nipples until they were hard points of pleasure-pain that had you gasping. Then, she took one into her mouth, her tongue flicking against the sensitive flesh, her teeth grazing the tight bud, sending skitters of desire straight to your core.

As she worked you over with her mouth and hands, each touch, each kiss, each lick brought you closer to the precipice. Your hips bucked against her, seeking more, seeking everything she had to give, needing to be filled, to be claimed by her again. You reached down to guide her, impatient (if it were another time, she’d make a show of rolling her eyes), fingers curling around hers, to show her where you needed her most, and she took the hint, sliding down your body, aligning herself with your aching sex.

Her hips rolled against yours, the friction building until you were both heaving and desperate. The world narrowed to just the two of you, the slick slide of skin on skin, the gasps and murmurs of pleasure. You felt her love in every stroke, every touch, every shudder of her body as she took you higher, until you were both teetering on the brink of oblivion.

The feeling of her was exquisite, the pressure just right—coiling tighter and tighter, until you were both ready to shatter. Your nails raked down her back, leaving red streaks on her skin, and she groaned into your neck. The sound sent you over the edge, your body convulsing with the force of your climax, waves of pleasure crashing through you like a storm at sea. She followed, her hips stuttering against yours, her own release a hot, wet rush that mingled with yours, until you were both spent, limp and trembling in each other's arms.

Perhaps there would be no gold at the end of this, no sunset-fade and happily ever after. Perhaps you'd end up right back here again someday, bleeding out on memories gone septic with neglect. Perhaps you'd lose as much as you'd gain, in the end.

But what a thing it was—to be shattered and scattered, to cut yourself open on the fractured pieces and trust that the other person would help you staunch the flow of injuries after. To hold your own heart in your hands and decide that theirs was worth the risk anyway, every time.

So you sealed your mouth to hers and poured yourself into the spaces between, the cracks and scars and fault-lines cobwebbing you both. Let her lick the hurt from your teeth, suck apologies purple-dark into your skin until you couldn't tell her contrition from your clemency.

And later, when you laid tangled up in sheets that smelled of sex and forgiveness, her head pillowed on your chest and the ghosts of your names still ringing in the rafters, you thought that maybe this was a new breed of faith.

To believe, against all evidence, that you could piece each other back together. To know that you'd never be what you were before, untarnished and golden all the way through—but that maybe, just maybe, there was something rawer and realer and infinitely more precious to be found in those broken places.

To reach your hand between each other's ribs and hold tight to whatever you found there, battered and bloodied but beating still. Whispering: I love you, I love you, I love you.

I love you enough to stay.

I love you enough to bleed.

I love you in ways only the shattered know how to love.

I love you, and all your splintered edges.

I love you, and the way you carve yourself into me.

I love you, and I'll spend every breath I have left proving it.

I love you, and that's the best and worst thing I know how to do.

©️ kissesz

tags for the lovely sweethearts who requested a continuation: @prettyyyy-girl & @hiroklaiz

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paradlselost · 4 months ago

Text

ֹ ⑅᜔ ׄ ݊ ݂ CINNAMON GIRL ۪ ֹ ᮫

DOCTOR PHOSPHORUS x FEMALE READER

⎨ 𝐀𝐍 ⎬ this is part two of ULTRAVIOLENCE and should be read as such ! also i love lana for him , it’s perfect . i just watched the new episode and you can tell near the end lol . i tried to explore a bit more of his needing of love as well as the readers ! also i had to get creative with the smut due to him not having a dick so sorry </3

⎨ 𝐂𝐖 ⎬ monster ! reader , religious / catholic trauma trauma and guilt . depictions of body horror and violence . blood and burning , mentions of cannibalism , imposter syndrome and disassociation . non graphic depictions of death and injuries . smut : pining , pet names ( puppy + princess ) , sub - ish phosphorus , clothed rubbing and fingering ( ? m receiving ) , male moans ( yay ! )

3 . 2 k words ++ not beta read

A hero.

It was a strange feeling, being praised the way you were. It wasn’t like anyone outside the bubble of the castle cared, but those inside hailed you and the other creatures as saints. Perhaps it would feel a lot nicer had the others been able to look at you with something more than hesitancy.

“Good work.” The Bride had said, Flag following with a similar sentiment, but you could tell how empty the words were behind gazes that wouldn’t meet yours. Even among animals like Weasel and robotic parts strewn around the grounds like GI, despite the Bride’s nature and Nina’s gills you are nothing more than a monster.

God, and Phosphorus. Things had been little short of awkward with him since the night you had shared. Despite his request that you not talk about it to avoid situations like silently standing beside each other in a lineup and trying to forget about his handprint being burned into your thigh, they still happened. You cannot blame him, though, for the way he avoids you as much as he possibly can.

Flag had wanted monsters for this mission, but it seemed you were too much. It isn’t like you can remember; practically pleading with Nina to tell you what had happened had left you with the bare minimum, but it was something. The gunshots had no doubt set you off and witnessing GI being torn apart hadn’t helped. In your absence had been a monster, eyes glazed over and rolled back into your skull as downright demonic claws and wings sprouted from your flesh, body contorted to allow the growing of the appendages. Bullets fired at you had been expelled from your skin like they were being spat out and the wounds simply grew back as if nothing had happened.

“They had to pull you off a body…” She informed you as gently as she could, though an air of fear surrounded her, as if her words would set you off again. They might, day by day it felt like you were losing yourself to this monster. More and more of you disappearing, you didn’t know what would make you volatile anymore. “Well, Phosphorus was the one to volunteer.”

Her words did little to ease the guilt that bubbled in your chest. The thought was nice, that he had been the one to take initiative and guide you back to your normal state; though part of you couldn’t help but assume that was because he didn’t want anyone else to observe the branding he had given you and connect the dots of your night together. You can’t blame him for anything it seems, not how he avoids you and not how he tries to cover up the things you’ve done together. You’re unworthy of love, aren’t you? That’s what they had said when you were just a girl.

Bruised knees and bleeding palms, the sharp end of the rosary’s cross digging into your palms and making indents as if to replicate that of Christ himself. You’re little more than the thieves that hung beside him on that day, representative of the one who laughed in his face and was hence discarded from the kingdom of God, never to see the pearly gates or beautiful lights. Judgement day would not be kind on you, you had heard the nuns and priest whisper from behind the monastery walls. What had you done to be cursed in such a way? Was simply being born enough to cast you from God’s light? It’s not like you had chosen that.

You’re quiet, far too much so for the others to consider it normal, but no one says a thing. Perhaps they’re too worried about setting you off, maybe they want to distance themselves. It seemed everyone grew a little closer from this mission, but you are just as alone as ever. The plane ride back is bumpy, Weasel curled up into a ball beside you. He was the only one who didn’t seem to care what you were or who you could become. Somethings never change, like the way you card your fingers through the coarse fur that coats his body.

You can feel his gaze on you, the radiation that pools from his body is difficult to shut out. Daring to lift your eyes to meet his, you don’t miss the way he quickly adverts his gaze as if he was ashamed of having been caught. God, you hated this. You could deal with the others avoiding you, you hadn’t expected them to try and be your friend after this regardless, but him? Could you forget how sweet he had been to take care of you after you had slipped? No, you don’t think so. Besides, those pretty whines and mewls that had spilled from his mouth still weighed heavy in your mind.

Arms crossed as the plane landed, back in handcuffs and escorted to the cell you had spent so long in. Your taste of freedom was over, done with. It was back to the slop they had the gall to call food and the endless sound of waves that now pissed you off more than it soothed you. Things seemed to be getting on your nerves more frequently, since he had brushed you aside and told you it would be better like this.

It doesn’t feel better. How can he be right about your situation when his hand burning into your flesh had felt so good? You worry your bottom lip between your teeth as you sit on the thin mattress in the cell assigned to you. The lights had gone out for the night long ago, the freedom you had once felt in the large room of the Castle was now gone. Back to the same old routine, back to being captive. Back to the power dampener around your neck.

You want to lay down, to close your eyes and at least try to get some rest, but the same looping sound of crashing waves and the soft green glow from far down the hall only served to stress you out. How could he brush you aside like that, had it truly meant nothing to him? You were well aware of his tendencies, the psychopathic nature of him, but that night had felt; well, like something. Like he cared despite his apathy.

Maybe you were thinking too deeply into this, maybe it was nothing more than a simple fling to him. Maybe your touch starved mind had crafted this narrative that he truly loved you and was just hiding it. It had been far too long since anyone but your own hand managed to touch you like that, to slip past the layers of monstrous intent and simply find you. Even if it wasn’t real, if he truly didn’t care, at the very least you would have that to remember. And for now thats okay.

For now.

Because the next morning you are forced to see him, forced to have all the feelings from the last few days pile up in your gut and make the stupidly large power dampener you wore feel even more foolish. You sat at one of the tables, lazily picking at your plate of food when you were interrupted. A hand swiped your tray off the table, knocking the mushy pile of stuff they dared to call food to the floor.

“Whoops, were you eating that, dollface?” No, you weren’t, but the asshole who picked a fight with you didn’t know that. Another monster, another creature who was far too vile to be put onto the team. Why shouldn’t you indulge just a bit?

Blood. It’s all you can taste. It suffocates you as you lay in a pool of it. Trickling down your nose and coating your mouth. You cannot quite tell whose it is, yours or the beast laying dead beside you. It’s nice, though, rich and far more delicious than the slop they feed you here. The electric shock had hurt, but not awfully so. You don’t feel angry that you’ve allowed the monster control over you once more, just bliss.

Ending up in the medical wing had not been on your itinerary, though. Head pressed back against the cold, sterilized pillow that was as thin as paper against the hard as a rock mattress. You’d hardly call it nice, if the hums of medical machinery hadn’t been soothing as white noise; you could almost get used to it. Your eyes flutter shut against the cold atmosphere, taking a deep breath to let the serene moment wash over you, its truly a nice break.

Till the doors open and you’re greeted with that familiar green glow basking over you for a moment before being harshly shoved into the bed besided you. You let out a soft sigh, sitting up and rubbing your eyes slightly. He wont look at you, clearly pissed off about something, and as the guards leave the room he shoots them the middle finger before finally catching your gaze.

“What are you looking at?”

“You. Why are you in here?” You can’t help it as the question slips through your lips before you can stop yourself. You shouldn’t engage with him, it’ll only serve to make you upset over the little predicament the two of you find yourselves in, but it comes out nonetheless.

“The guy you killed’s dickweed friend decided to pick a fight in his honor. You know that’ll go on your sentence, right?”

“What does it matter? I’m already in here for life.”

He simply hums in response as you card your fingers through your hair. You suddenly feel tired, as if being around him is draining. Putting up this act of nonchalonce about your feelings towards him is more taxing than you had originally expected. He weighs heavily on your mind, taking up valuable space that could be used for other mundane things in Belle Reave like finding new shapes in the texture of walls you’ve stared at for years.

The room is quite now, far more than you like. The humming machinery now acts as a nuisance, a reminder of how hes doing everything but talking to you. While you can’t blame him outloud, you did just kill someone over him, does he feel anything about that? Does he even know how your mind runs circles around the thought of him all day? God. You sound like a love-sick schoolgirl with her first crush. Whats next? Will you write little anonymous post-it notes for him?

Regardless, you can’t stand the silence anymore, looking back over at him you tilt your head to the side to come across as non interested as possible. As if the question you’re about to ask him is one you’ve just thought of and not one thats been on your mind since that night.

“When we-... God, this sounds stupid outloud but why did you not take off your pants? Do you not have anything… down there?”

The awkwardness is palpable in your tone and it fills the room. Mentally, you curse yourself for asking such a dumb question. If he had eyelids, he’d most certainly be blinking over and over out of sheer confusion.

“Uh no. Its just the pelvis. Look at me, I’m just a skeleton and have you ever seen a skeleton with a dick?”

“No, I guess not…” Theres a pause, eyes fluttering away from his awkwardly. You shouldn’t have even brought it up and you really didn’t want to listen to his sarcastic answers.

“Do you want to see?”

Again with the sarcasm, you roll your eyes slightly and look back over at him with a frown, about to retort before you realize he isn’t joking. No, he’s looking right back at you, skeletal hands fiddling with the buckle of his pants. A sheepish blush coats your face as you worry your bottom lip between your teeth. Sure, you two had had a very intimate encounter before, but this was different and it made you second guess his seriousness in telling you the two of you should pretend that night never happened. Without another thought you nod, almost a little too quickly.

“Yes. Please.”

“Eager now, aren’t ya pup?”

“Pup? Where’d that come from?”

“I mean, you looked like a starved dog with a piece of prime rib in its mouth when I pulled you off that guy back in Pokolistan.”

“Don’t bring that up right now.” A huff falls from your lips as your blush darkens, shaking your head slightly to push the imagery out of your mind. Had you really acted so barbarish that he deemed it fit to call you such a name? And are you out of your mind for liking it in some way? He simply chuckles as his hands continue to play with the button of his prision pants before he finally simply pulls them down and cocks his head to the side at you.

“See? Told ya.”

“Oh. But- you can still feel as if it were there?”

“I guess. I wasn’t just faking those noises to make you feel better.”

You can tell by his tone that had he had eyes he would’ve winked at you. A grin that you can’t see etched into the permanent smile of his skeletal face as you slip off the bed you were in, stepping over to him and gently running a hand over the orange fabric of his shirt as he lets out a soft, shuddering breath. For him, as well, it had been far too long since anyone looked at him the way you did.

After the death of wife and kid and being burned alive in his own machine meant for good, after taking over the Thorne crime ring and subsequently being taken down by Batman he has been looked at as nothing but a monster. Maybe, in a way, he is. The radiation addled his brain, the death of his family heavy on his consious. Had he been good before? He can remember a time where he tried to help, but was that out of kindness or need for recognition and praise?

Perhaps he doesn’t deserve it, the way you look at him as if hes someone special, as if hes done you some favor. It makes some part of him feel sick, while the other part relishes in the feeling of your touch, even if it has to be over fabric. A soft sigh emitted from him as he grabbed your hips, careful not to touch your skin even if he had before, and pull you ontop of him while he laid back in the bed.

He relished in the blush that coated your features, hands moving up to gently graze over the power dampener you wear, he resists the urge to burn through the metal and instead matches your gaze, a hum.

“You like this position, princess?”

“Oh its princess now?”

“Don’t avoid the question.”

Somehow he manages to get laughter out of you, coaxing it from your pretty lips and letting it fill the room. He almost feels stupid with the giddiness that fills his chest, tilting his head back against the headboard to get a good view of you. For every awful thing thats happened to him, hes almost glad they all did because they led him to you. He could deal with the worry of burning through everything if it meant you’d be by his side forever.

His sappy thoughts are cut off by the sudden feeling of pressure against where his cock had been. Your sleeves had been rolled up over your palms, providing a barrier that allows you to knead against his pelvis like some kind of cat. He can’t help the way his hips thrust up slightly, back arching into your touch. Its euphoric, sweet, and he’s letting explotives fall from his mouth like they’re a prayer to you. Like you’re some sort of God.

“Oh, ffuck princess, just like that.” His head tilts back farther, soft huffs emitting from him as he tries not to dissolve into a moaning mess in your hold. It’s been far too long, and even the night you shared couldn’t compare. He feels like an idiot for telling you it would be better to ignore each other now.

You keep a steady pace, hands moving against his pelvis to create some kind of friction, relishing in the clear way he fights back the moans creeping up his throat. Its almost beautiful, like a symphony of choked sobs and wanton moans. You couldn’t help but grin, humming softly as your eyes focused more on the exposed bones of his lower half.

“Phosphorus?”

“Alex. fuck - please call me Alex.” His words are a bit sudden but the way he practically pleads with you makes it difficult to think twice. His name, though, just knowing it feels intimate.

“Alex. I’m gonna try something, okay?”

Its a warning that slides right past him, indecent moans filling the room as he simply nods feverishly, though begging with you that whatever you’re going to do you don’t stop making him feel like this. You’d be a fool to stop now, anyways, with the way the radiation on his body hightens like a solar flare its all the sign you need to tell hes close.

You almost hesitate as this is probably a bad idea but you don’t give yourself time to dwell on the consequences of your actions as one hand stops kneading and instead moves the fabric of your shirt sleeve off, quickly pushing past the barrier of radiation and tracing your fingers over the inside of his pelvis.

It burns, pain bubbling up in your body and at the same time the reaction from his is almost like a man possessed. His moans gain volume at the feeling, urging you to push past the pain and continue to rub along the bone. He squirms and thrusts his hips up, arching his back yet shying away at the same time. It’s too much for him, the wires of his brain getting all crossed between feeling so good and overstimulated at the same time. It doesn’t take a genius to know that he was orgasming.

He falls back against the thin bed with a huff, panting to catch his breath. You sit up straighter on his lap, pulling your hand out and cradling it in your other one. It hurts, stinging as large burning wounds take up the majority of your hand. He sits up as well, apologies spilling from his mouth before your skin begins to heal as if nothing has happened.

You blink, knowing he probably would be as well before you simply rest your head on his chest. Theres an unspoken thing, now, an idea that perhaps the two of you don’t have to be as careful as originally thought, especially if your body had a healing factor even with the power dampener on. A content hum emits from him at the thought, tilting his head to look down at your form thats nuzzled against him. No doubt the cameras have caught all this, but the thought doesn’t seem to run through your mind so he wont worry you with it.

“If thats what we could do with that collar of yours on, imagine what we could do with it off.”

“Hmm does this mean no more ignoring me?”

“Who said I was ignoring you in the first place, princess?”

#dr phosphorus #doctor phosphorus #dr phosphorus x reader #dr phosphorus x you #alexander sartorius #alex sartorius #creature commandos dc #creature commandos #x reader #smut

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thepixelelf · 4 months ago

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hockey player cheol x reader warnings: non-graphic injury; mention of surgery. wc: 499

[sign me up] You think Seungcheol is being all whiny and cute just so that you’ll do what he wants, which isn’t so bad. What’s bad is that it’s working.

Almost.

“C'mon, Coach—”

“I’m not your coach,” you cut in. The entire team likes to tease you by calling you Coach Junior since your dad is their actual coach. Of course, you’re around enough that you’ve kind of earned the title, but Seungcheol teases you with it the most.

“You’re the closest thing to it,” Seungcheol reasons, still smiling like that will convince you. “C'mon, please? You’re the only one who can convince him.”

Sitting in the bleachers as you watch the team practice, you cross your arms and frown at Seungcheol. “No way. Your doctor was very clear about your healing process. Even once your cast is off, you need to wait at least another two weeks before you get on the ice.”

Seungcheol sighs, dropping the cutesy act. He looks like he wants to lean forward, but it’s awkward with his heavily-casted foot. “You’re just as stubborn as your dad, huh?”

“You should know that by now.”

“I’m starting to get the idea.” Seungcheol closes his eyes, head falling back while he lets out a long sigh through his nose.

For a few moments, you just look at him.

This is a really sucky situation; you get it. Eight weeks from now, team scouts are going to be attending two games, and while Seungcheol should be back on the ice by then, his cast means little to no practice until the games. He’s at a real disadvantage.

All you can hear is the slapping of pucks and the skidding of skates on the ice. You don’t like awkward silences.

“Can I sign your cast?”

Seungcheol opens his eyes and looks at you with a brow raised. “You want to?”

A few days ago, the whole team visited Seungcheol right after his surgery, and they’d all signed his cast. Even your dad did, but for some reason, you just didn’t. You felt like you weren’t close enough to Seungcheol for that. After all, you’re just the coach’s kid. You’re not a part of the team.

“Yeah.” You shrug as though this isn’t a weirdly big step for you. “Got a marker?”

Seungcheol pulls out a marker from his hockey bag, probably used to people asking for one. It’s an ugly green colour, but you uncap it with a pop and move to the bleacher below you so that you’re right next to his cast. Without even thinking, you end off your signature with a heart.

Your breath catches slightly, but then you look up at Seungcheol, and he’s smiling — really smiling for the first time since he screwed up his ankle. You give him a small smile back, and you doodle another heart.

And another. And another.

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sweetinsaniiity · 4 months ago

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Don't Lean On Me

► 𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 - tsundere!outcast!Yeosang x semi-stalker!reader◄ ► 𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎/𝙰𝚄 - enemies-to-lovers trope, college au, heavy angst, tooth-rotting fluff, Yeosang is kind of an !asshole (in the beginning), reader fell first but he fell harder, reader is down bad for Yeosang, reader has !stalker tendencies, abandonment in the rain, eventual make up, happy ending ◄ ► 𝚁𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐/𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 - PG-14+, kissing scene, suggestive content, threats (both harmful and non-harmful), scene where Yeosang holds your arm to kick you out, mentions of a car accident (non-graphic), no smut this time, sorry folks ◄ ► 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 - 27K words (I can explain) ◄ ► 𝚂𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜 - Yeosang was the campus freak. An outcast, to say the least. He didn't particularly do anything, well, except cover his face with a black mask and avoid everybody. He never takes it off and nobody has ever seen his face before. But you couldn't help but fall for him, so you follow him every single time. You get caught, however, and he threatens you to stay away from him. To add salt to the injury, you were both partnered for a project that will exempt you from the subject next semester. ◄ ► 𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜 - It wasn't my intention to make this as long as it is, and again, easygoing fluff without any drama and plot-twists aren't my thing, but I really wanted to start 2025 with something sweet! Stay tuned because the next one will be EXTREMELY TOXIC. Enjoy! Title from Amity Affliction. Also, I'm really sick right now, bear with me. ◄ ► 𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 - @0rangemilk @ginger-mingi @ruubyrubes @oddracha @jaytheatiny @roxannecos @juicy-red @cheolliehugs @sunnysidesins @jjongbearshoney @midnightrebel1028 ◄

► 𝙽𝚎𝚝s - @dove-net @keopihaus @othersideoutlawsnetwork @illusionnet @pirateeznet @hiraya-m ◄

It was him, yet again. It was very easy to spot him as he always took the same spot where he was now at the far corner of the classroom where everybody blatantly ignored him.

But not you though. You could have burned a hole in this guy's skull with how hard you stared at him every single time you saw him. How could you not? The way his rigid posture sat straight as he tuned the world out with his earphones and the way his uninterested eyes would scan all over the room definitely caught your eye.

And you knew that everybody in the classroom did, too. But that was the thing, you weren't aloof to all the sneers and snickers they sent towards his direction.

You tapped the person sitting to your left, who just also happened to be one of your best friends, without leaving your sights on the mysterious man that already made your heart beat unknowingly. "Hey, who's that again?"

You've been in this particular class, the only class you share, but for some reason, you never did bother to ask. Until now.

Yunho glances behind him with a small frown, following the direction of where your index finger was pointing. His brows tilt up ever so slightly as you watch his face slowly transform into that of recognition.

"Kang Yeosang," he said more as a surprise rather than a statement. He turns back to look at you inquisitively. "Very smart, like, really damn smart, but that's not what a lot of people notice at first."

He was right. You were guilty as charged, though, because it was also the reason why you were suddenly interested in him.

Yeosang wore a face mask that covered half of his face from his nose to his chin. Now, that part wasn't odd in itself since everybody wore them once in a while for whatever reason that may be, but Yeosang wore them literally everywhere. He never took them off, at least, from what you know.

But that was definitely the case. Again, you weren't privy to all the whispers that travelled in the air. Kang Yeosang literally never took the mask off of his face. Nobody has ever seen what the guy looked like.

"Don't be judgmental," you murmured, forcing your head to look forward. "Nobody does something different for absolutely no reason at all."

"I didn't say anything like that," Yunho counters. "I do admit that it is a bit odd, but hey, whatever works. I mean, look..."

He dug something out of his coat pocket. A small, compact mirror. You raised a brow at Yunho, but he shrugs it off. He angled the mirror and then you realized what he was doing.

"He's already good-looking with that thing on," Yunho muttered under his breath as you both looked at Yeosang. "Imagine if he actually took that mask off? There will be no pussy left for everyone in this building."

You rolled your eyes dramatically, ignoring his crass statement. What Yunho said, though, you couldn't refute.

Even with the face mask covering almost the majority of his face, there was no denying that Yeosang was simply gorgeous. There was an itch for you to do something about the mask, but you willed them to go away. It was none of your business.

A pang hits your chest. You suddenly felt bad for him, people were just mean for no definitive reason. It shouldn't have mattered that Yeosang wanted to wear a mask, hell, even if he wore a chicken mascot costume it was still none of everybody's business.

But alas. Such is human nature.

Your class had started, and as usual, it was a bore. Still, you had to endure it for your grades. You couldn't concentrate, however, as your mind kept drifting to the mysterious man who sat at the far corner of the classroom away from prying eyes.

Against your better judgment, you swiveled your head once more to take a good look at him, but your heart leapt to your throat when you made eye contact with him. That meant he was already looking in your direction before you turned.

Your jaw slackened, your heart beating faster and faster you were afraid it would jump out of your ribcage, as you stared into his eyes. They were captivating. It was the understatement of the century. His eyes were a home for a tempest that raged without end.

In short, they were dead. At some point, you were sure that his eyes were once alive because despite the horrors that hid them, you could tell he had a beautiful soul.

A soul that you didn't have anymore, for the moment that your eyes had met his, it was over. He stole it from you just as fast as the light from his eyes was stolen, as well.

Dryness covered your entire mouth when his brow raised in question, challenging you to say something to him since you were staring at him so intently.

You were rendered frozen in your seat. Not for nothing, but he must be doing something to hypnotize you. Yeah, that was probably it, why else would you stay unmoving for the favour of staring at him?

Yeosang tilted his head in curiosity, leaning back on his seat to get comfortable. He crossed his arms, eyes not breaking their contact with yours. You gulped, even his gestures were so fascinating.

There was a world within this classroom, and the only inhabitants in it were you and Yeosang. Forget your class, it was too late for that because you'd already lost yourself in this. Nobody paid attention to the both of you, and nobody had noticed what was going on.

Not even when everybody had started standing up since class was over had distracted you. The one that did, however, was Yunho's hand wrapping around your arm to catch your attention.

You jumped at the touch, your head snapping quickly in his direction, eyes widened, clearly startled. Yunho chuckled in amusement at your expression. "You okay? You seemed pretty lost there," he asked.

You robotically turned back to answer Yunho. "Yeah, I'm good," you cleared your throat. "Just a bit distracted, boring class, you know?"

"Right," Yunho drawled, eyes squinting in suspicion. He stood up, his sling bag on his shoulder already, and smoothly picked up your tote that contained all your notes. "Anyhow. Jongho's already ordered us some brunch, we have to go."

You nodded, hesitantly standing up, watching as Yunho went ahead to the exit and started talking to another friend of his.

When you looked back at that particular spot, you were disheartened to see that Yeosang was already gone.

Your eyes tried to find the masked brunette, but no such luck. He must have rushed out the moment you looked away.

What a shame, you thought with an internal pout. You followed Yunho with an aimless gait through the halls, you trusted him to get you to where you needed to go because you didn't even trust yourself right now.

You've always been a sucker for the eccentric. While you didn't think Yeosang was one per se, you were just so sick of normalcy. It wasn't entirely for you.

"Right on time, lazy bums," Jongho smirked, standing up as you and Yunho both approached him. "I already paid for everything---don't even fucking think about it."

Yunho paused, mouth agape, the hand that held his wallet frozen in the air. "C'mon, dude. You can't do this every time. We just want to hang out."

Jongho sat back down, gesturing for the both of you to sit down. "Yeah, well, I asked for it, so it's a no-brainer, yes?"

Yunho rolled his eyes, temporarily accepting defeat, because you all knew none of you would win. Choi Jongho was born into a family that had conglomerates everywhere. He had the money, which you and Yunho had made clear that you didn't need, but he did it, anyway.

You inched a bit closer to Jongho and gave him a small peck on his cheeks. "Thanks, baby bear. But Yunho's right. We can pay for our stuff."

Jongho jokingly pushed you away, making you giggle softly. He hastily rubbed the spot you pecked. "Don't ever do that again," he groaned. "And stop being an ungrateful brat. I swear I need new friends."

You smiled a bit, your lips pursed with the action. It didn't reach your eyes, Jongho noticed. He raised a brow to stare at Yunho, who only shrugged.

You realized that the three of you were in a cafe near the college grounds. The ambience was nice, but you couldn't remember the last time where you just sat like this, enjoying the moment with your friends, and simply just passing time.

Your appetite had long gone, but you couldn't tell Jongho that since he'd paid for the food. You had to at least pretend you were enjoying it. At least, they were. Yunho chuckled at something Jongho said, but you didn't even hear it.'

A certain brunette flashed in your mind again. You paused, suddenly wondering what he was doing. You knew it was ridiculous, Yeosang probably thought you were ridiculous.

You wanted to dig a hole and bury yourself in it, cringing at the fact that Yeosang probably thought that you were staring at him just to make fun of him, just like the rest. You weren't, though, but he possibly can't know that.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when the distinct clatter of utensils hit your ears. It was Jongho's doing, you frowned in confusion.

"Alright, what the hell is wrong with you?" Jongho demanded, leaning his elbow on the table, twisting his body so he'd face you. "You've been so distracted the entire time and it's getting on my nerves."

You glanced up at him and stared at him for a good couple of seconds. He wasn't going to yield, so you couldn't keep the eye contact you started. It suddenly got difficult to swallow with how dry your throat was getting.

"I'm just tired," you mumbled, sounding unconvincing even to yourself. "Don't worry about it."

"Oh, cut the crap," Yunho interjected, cluttering his utensils in a comical way that you couldn't help but let out a real smile. "I know why you're like this. It's Kang Yeosang, isn't it?"

You blushed beet red. You supposed to weren't discreet. The intensity in which your scalp tingles at the mention of his name was electrifying, the sensation akin to when you met eyes with each other prior to this.

Jongho's brows reached his hairline, his expression turning from curious to one of complete surprise. "Yeosang? Flower-looking dude, pale skin, about 'ye height?" Jongho gestured to his own height. "How do you know him?"

You and Yunho looked at each other before turning to Jongho in suspicion. "I have one class with him," you admitted.

"How do you know him?" Yunho questioned with scrutiny.

Jongho hesitated. He looked between you and Yunho repeatedly for what seemed like a while, before he sighed deeply, looking around him cautiously. When he saw that the coast was clear, he leaned closer. You and Yunho did the same.

"You didn't hear this from me," he said, eyes hard. "Yeosang is, was, my childhood friend. Remember my friend that I always spoke about that always had my back?"

It clicked, and you nodded. "That's him? But you said he's very funny and talkative," you blurted out without thinking. You were genuinely flabbergasted.

Jongho drummed his fingers on the table, a faraway look in his eyes present before he spoke again. "Something happened that made him the way he is now," he cryptically explained. "It's not my story to tell. All I ask is to not judge him."

You elbowed Yunho and sassed at him with your eyes, signaling with the 'I-told-you-so' look. He smirked, pushing your elbow away.

"Little Miss Y/N here," Yunho sarcastically gestured to you, then ruffled your hair messily. "Has a bit of a crush with your childhood friend---"

"Shut up, I definitely do not," you hissed, though it didn't have any bite to it. You didn't know it was possible for your face to be redder than it already was, but here you were.

Just then, Jongho started laughing, his voice bellowing loudly in the small confines of the cafe, earning your table stares, but you couldn't care less. His gummy smile had always been contagious, so it was no surprise when you started laughing along with him.

"It's such a shame, though," Jongho chuckled away the remnants of his laughter with a small shake of his head. "I know Yeosang even though we fell apart. You're definitely his type, down to a T."

Yunho started to laugh but nodded his head in agreement anyway. "I could see that, honestly. Mingi has a thing or two for you."

"No, he doesn't," you rolled your eyes. Song Mingi was the campus crush, and you did have a crush on him before, but that ship had long sailed and it was fleeting anyway. "What makes you say that, though, Jongie?"

"Oh, wouldn't you like to know?" Jongho smirked, playfully teasing you, much to your chagrin.

You groaned. "Seriously!"

Of course, you weren't going to tell him that you were definitely curious now. You also weren't going to tell him that you were going to use this information to your advantage.

Jongho flicked your forehead lightheartedly. "He likes cute things, plain and simple," he shrugged, side-eyeing you. "That includes potential girlfriends, too."

The mischief in that Cheshire-like smile that was bigger than anything you've ever seen. You were glad he crossed his arms and leaned back on his seat, you didn’t want him in your face.

That didn't mean you weren't going to think about what he said for days, though.

Unfortunately, you hadn't really seen Yeosang anymore after that.

He didn't attend the once-a-week class the next week, and you couldn't attend the one the following week. You had an unlucky bout of allergy due to the pollen going around campus. All Yunho did that whole day he visited was roll his eyes at your antics.

You were hoping to cross paths with him again, even though you knew you weren't going to talk to him anyway. You just wanted to take one more peek at him before you continued on with your life.

Yeah, totally not creepy.

"Good morning, Y/N."

You were forced out of your thoughts when a voice from behind you sounded. You were currently in front of the professors' lounge early in the morning.

"Oh! Good morning, Mr. Park, I'm so sorry to disturb you so early in the morning," you bowed deeply in the presence of your professor.

"It's quite alright, dear," Park Seonghwa, your professor in that one class you missed, chuckled. You couldn't help but loosen up, he really was your favourite professor and you respected him a lot.

He opened his briefcase to get out a stack of papers. "I hope everything is fine on your end? Here, take them," he handed them to you.

You nodded, explaining that it was pollen and that it was fine now. "Wonderful," he said. "Regardless, I expect my star student in my class next week. Good day."

"Thank you, Professor," you bowed one more time before you completely walked away.

There were more notes than expected, you realized that as you riffled through them, skimming just to get a general gist from where you stopped and where you should begin to catch up.

You weren't one of those students that studied a lot, but you also weren't careless about your grades. You just wanted to get by, and you were just lucky that all your professors remember and like you well enough to give you some notes when you miss some classes.

You sighed, contemplating what to do. With all these notes, you had to concentrate on them for a day or two. Final was coming and you didn't have enough time to study the following days.

To the library it is, you decided. Your feet were already taking you to that sacred place that you love so much. And when you entered, your mood instantly lifted.

You loved how empty the space was, yet it was extensive in nature. It was the perfect labyrinth to get trapped in; once you get inside the minds of great authors or whatnot and relive the adventures, the sorrow, and the laughter imprinted and immortalized by the writings in the pages of their books, you can never leave.

It was perfect. You approached the front desk so you could greet your friend who was working part-time to sustain his scholarship. He didn't notice you at first, but when he did, he was all smiles.

"Well, look who we have here," he smirked, closing the book he, himself, held in his hand. "Good to see you, Y/N."

You chuckled softly so as to not break the peace. "Likewise, Kim Hongjoong," you nodded. "I need a couple of books about these for my finals..."

Hongjoong gently took the notes Professor Park gave you and scanned them quickly before doing whatever it was he needed to do on his computer. He wrote a series of numbers on the paper before handing them back to you.

"I put the aisles and shelf numbers on every book you need," he murmured, pointing them out. "Shouldn't be too difficult to find."

"Got it. I appreciate the help, Joong," you thanked him. He nodded and waved you off, dismissing you. You couldn't help but laugh under your breath.

Just like he said, the books weren't too difficult to find, and soon, you found yourself with a stack of them. You were pleased when you found that your favourite spot was free, and so, you studied away.

You lost yourself in the process, like you always did when you started, but along the way, there was an itch in your neck that was begging to be noticed.

Subconsciously, you looked up, and your world stopped along with your heart.

Yeosang, too, was busying himself with a stack of his own books. Of course, he still wore that mask on his face, but there was something different about him from the last time you had seen him.

His hair was styled up in a way that looked effortlessly good, his forehead was a bit exposed and you were able to see his eyes clearly this time even though his nose was deep in the book he held.

He was a couple of tables away from you, isolated from everybody at the very end of the library where you knew not a lot of people went. It reminded you of the way he sat down in your class.

His presence just engulfed you, and you didn't know why. The grip you had on your book would've been suffocating had it been alive, you couldn't stop staring at Yeosang.

His brown cashmere coat perfectly complemented his physique; it made him look very masculine. His cropped out hair fitted him well, and the way he carried himself interested you so much.

The way his fingers moved to turn the pages of his book mesmerized you, brought you into a world where you wondered what it would feel like if that hand was holding yours. He wasn't even doing anything but sit down like someone would in a library, yet he simply exuded grace and elegance.

You knew then and there, that this wasn't just a fleeting crush on a man that doesn't even know your name.

Ever since then, you made an effort to go the library every single day just to peek a glance on Yeosang. Whether it was hours or minutes to an end, you didn't mind. Of course, you didn't want to be borderline creepy, there were times where you actually needed to study and so many times where you didn't realize that he had left because you were so engrossed with your work.

His schedule was simple, you learned that he'd go to the library every other day either to just read or actually study. You took note of the books he read, they were way too advanced for you. Yunho wasn't lying - this man was intelligent.

Your little crush soon turned into genuine admiration. If one would look hard enough, it was easy to say that Yeosang was one of the most hardworking people you've had the pleasure to go to university with.

And just like you, he'd get lost in his world once he got too deep, and it was when you'd take the time to study him just a bit more.

You had memorized the notes that you were given from front to back, word per word, punctuation per punctuation, but you still went to the library anyway.

There were times where Yeosang would subconsciously look forward, he would take a break from reading and stretch his neck, and you'd panic and look down, but you were sure he didn't notice you. You sure hoped he didn't, the blush on your cheeks could be seen miles away.

Hongjoong raised his brow one day when you handed him the book that you wanted to check out for a week, and you couldn't look him straight in the eye.

"The Art Of War?" Hongjoong blurted out incredulously. He sheepishly looked down when a couple of people turned to our direction with a small glare. You bit your lip when he kept staring at the book.

He leaned forward, his voice hushed, his eyes glowing with mirth, but with suspicion nonetheless. "I didn't know you were interested in Machiavellian beliefs and principles."

You weren't. In fact, you didn't give a crap or two about it. Yunho snatched the book from Hongjoong and flipped a couple of pages. "Damn, I can't even understand this," he chortled, giving the book back. "You're really gonna read this?"

You rolled your eyes in half-annoyance to cover up how red the tips of your ears were. You saw Yeosang reading the book for days before he returned it, and you just wanted to see what kind of books he read.

You wanted to know what ran in Yeosang's head as he sat there and read it and maybe, just maybe, you were absolutely insane in the head because you liked him a bit too much.

"Is it so hard to believe that I'm interested in it? Geez," you murmured, grabbing the book and hastily chucking in your purse as if doing so would make Hongjoong and Yunho forget that it existed.

"Yes," they both answered in unison.

You scoffed, offended that they actually thought so, but you couldn't really get mad at them, because it was truly unbecoming of you. You weren't really interested in how the world worked, you were a hopeless romantic, and you wanted to stay that way for a while.

"Maybe it's in the air, someone just returned that book yesterday after a week," Hongjoong scoffed, grabbing a book that you just logged into to check out anything. "Yeah, that guy, Kang Yeosang. Cool guy, a bit withdrawn, kinda weird, but cool regardless."

Yunho's eyes almost popped out of its sockets and he turned to you with the most shit-eating grin on his face. He was about to open his mouth, but before he could, you quickly reached up and covered it. It was a challenge since Yunho was a giant, but you didn't want him tattling. You wouldn't hear the end of it.

"Ah, we have classes in a couple of minutes," you laughed nervously, stomping on Yunho's foot, making him groan in pain that was muffled by your hand. "Bye, Joong!"

You left, dragging the big Jeong Yunho comically while Hongjoong watched with his mouth opening and closing repeatedly like a wee little fish.

Yunho forcefully removed your hand from his face the moment you got outside, but it didn't stop him from giving you that mouth-splitting grin that you wanted to wipe off of his face. "I can expla---"

"Oh, no need," he playfully teased in a sing-songy voice. "You're already head over heels for the guy, it's remarkable---"

"Jeong Yunho, I swear to God---"

"I cannot wait to actually tell Jongho, man, I thought you'd give Mingi a chance---"

You turned around to run away from his relentless teasing, you could hear him laughing behind you. You giggled under your breath and usually you'd entertain his teasing, but you were so confused on what you felt for Yeosang lately.

The entire night was spent on you reading the book and as expected, you abhorred it. You crumpled your face in genuine skepticism, did Yeosang truly enjoy this?

The more you turned the pages, the more pissed you got, suddenly realizing that you were doing this for a man who doesn't even give two shits about you. It was deplorable.

After a day or two, you decided to return the book. There was no point in keeping it if you weren't interested in it anyway, but you decided to do it later. You'd sit down on your usual spot first.

To your surprise and dismay, Yeosang wasn't sitting in his usual spot. It wasn't really odd, sometimes his schedule did become sporadic, but still, your heart slowed its beating. You already felt a bit down.

But there would have been no need. Suddenly, you felt a presence behind you as you sat down at your usual spot. Before you could turn around and inspect, they leaned down, and you felt hands on your shoulders. They were firm and sure.

Shivers travelled down your spine when a deep, rich voice hit your ear as they whispered. "Machiavelli, huh?"

The voice was muffled with something, like a mask. Heat soaked up your entire face and the tips of your ears. You had forgotten to put the book away and thought it was a great idea to have it out in the open.

Or maybe, you did it on purpose hoping that Yeosang would see and pique his interest.

"Meet me at the blind spot to the left behind the staircase. If you're not there within three minutes, I will sabotage all of your projects until you graduate," he ordered gruffly, his tone gravelly and unpleasant, to be quite frank. "All of them."

A cold bucket of water could have been poured directly on your head without warning and it still wouldn't be able to bring you any type of dread like those words would ever do. It was insane.

You didn't hesitate, haphazardly throwing all your belongings hastily without any sort of order in your purse before sprinting out of the library. Today was not the day to test the validity of the whispered threat.

A record should've been awarded to you with how quick your feet had taken you were Yeosang told you to. At first, you didn't see him, but when you noticed a shadow fleeting in and out at the very corner of the staircase, you knew it was him. It was indeed a blind spot - no one would be able to see him unless they were looking for him.

The moment you stepped in that hidden area, you were roughly slammed against the adjacent wall. To say you were shocked would be an understatement.

Right away, you tried to cradle your head to halt the oncoming nausea from the sheer force, but your hands were also pinned above your head.

"What," you said rather than questioned. "W-What are you doing?"

When your eyes finally focused on what's in front of you, you couldn't help but let out a small gasp. His black mask covered his face well, but never his eyes. God, you hoped not.

You were right all along, his eyes were beautiful, especially this close. You could smell his cologne, too. Heat started to travel from your neck all the way to your cheeks as you tried not to focus on his scent.

"Cut the shit," Yeosang spat, venom coated in every syllable. His hold on your hands tightens to the point of pain. "Stop following me."

Time stopped at that very second. His voice was a lot deeper than you thought. You swallowed, Yeosang's eyes subconsciously trailing down your throat at the motion. "I-I'm not following you," you squeaked out.

"Oh?" Yeosang tilted his head. The movement would have been cute, if he didn't look angry and menacing right now. One of his hands let go to dig into your purse. He grabbed the book you were supposed to return, but couldn't.

"You don't look like the type to read Machiavellian beliefs, princess," he gritted out. "And I mean that with full offense."

You frowned, thoroughly confused as to why Yeosang was, frankly, acting like an ass towards you. "You're a judgmental one, aren't you? What if I was?"

"Then what's his name?"

You blanched, mouth getting dry from the sudden question. Yeosang's unimpressed glare catches you off guard. You felt your heart cracking a bit.

"I'm not sure," you admitted, voice small, embarrassed to be caught red-handed in a lie. You bit your lip, looking down towards the floor to avoid his indifferent eyes.

For a moment, you both stayed like that - Yeosang pinning you, and you just staying still just to see what he was going to do. And then, he lets go, and puts his hands on either side of you on the wall with a loud thud.

"It's Niccolo," he murmured, bitterness seeping towards his voice. It made your frown grow deeper.

"N-Niccolo?"

Yeosang scoffed, rolling his eyes sarcastically at you. "Yes. Your brain stutters, too?"

That definitely stung. You didn't know what to say but, "W-What?"

"W-What?" Yeosang repeated, voice higher in pitch in an effort to mimic and mock you as if you were a degenerate. It was honestly offensive, but you were too frozen to do anything.

"No wonder why you're so obvious, this here," he continued, his index finger tapping your temple once. "Doesn't work quite well, doesn't it?"

It was an eloquent way of saying that you were, indeed, stupid. Your manner completely transforms, it becomes rigid against him. You wanted to scoff, who knew that his angelic eyes held this much contempt in them?

Your mouth opens to defend your honour against his insults, but the same index finger touches your lips, effectively shushing you. Warmth automatically spreads through them.

"Ah, ah, ah, you have absolutely no right to talk right now," he interrupted rather rudely, his voice dropping an octave. You forced yourself not to shiver. "I mean it, Y/N. Stop fucking following me. I don't like my privacy invaded."

You couldn't stop the sigh that bubbled up your chest. "I apologize if I made you uncomfortable, but we could have talked this out."

He chuckled, the sound of it dark and devoid of anything that resembled emotions. "You forfeited that right since the first day. You're not as subtle as you think you are, princess."

"Don't call me that," you frowned, your hand sticking out to push his chest away, albeit weakly. "What is your damn problem?"

"What's my problem?" Yeosang reiterates, his tone taking an angrier and more aggravated tone to it. "My problem is that you are literally tailing me at the library like I'm some sort of circus zoo animal."

He sarcastically chuckled, more to himself than towards you. "But then again, that's what everyone thinks."

You felt your heart breaking a little when he adjusted the mask he was wearing as if doing so would protect him right now when in reality, you were the one in need of protection. Behind the malice in his voice was a hurt so deep, it was impossible to ignore.

His eyes met yours again, and this time, they were ablaze. "Who put you up to this?" Yeosang snarled. "Who fucking told you to watch me? And why? So you and your stupid little friends would have a laugh and go?"

"No, that's not it, I swear," you immediately denied, shaking your head repeatedly to make a point. "I didn't mean for it to look like that, I-I promise you---"

"So why the hell are you following me? Tell me," he demanded. You yelped when he roughly lifted your chin up. "At least give me the decency of looking at me straight in the eye while you tell me why you've been watching me."

"Ow, you're hurting me," you pried his hand off of your face successfully, slightly glaring at him in the process. "It's not like that," you hesitated, gulping once more before continuing. "Is it so hard to believe that someone actually admires you, or something?"

He raised a brow in irritation. "God, you're so full of shit."

He pulls away, jutting one arm out and shoves your shoulder hard - hard enough for it to collide with the wall behind you. You were stunned at his aggression.

"Stay the hell away from me," he growled, bending down to pick up the backpack he had that you didn't even notice. He started to emerge from the staircase towards the hallways where, surprisingly, no one was.

He gave you one last glare, a scathing one. "If I catch you again, I won't go easy on you next time. Save your judgment for somebody else."

You scoffed, emerging from the same spot. You inevitably ended up in front of him; the hallways were narrow, unfortunately. You looked up at him, not knowing exactly what to say. It wasn't like you didn't know where he came from, he was probably creeped out by your behaviour.

But you weren't going to tell him that it was because of your crush with him, especially not now that you know he clearly doesn't like you.

"I'm dead serious, Y/N. Stay away from me," he glared. "Now, if you'll kindly fuck off..."

He moves past you, his shoulders deliberately hitting yours, causing you to stagger back a little bit. The only thing you could do from then was to look behind you as you watched him walk away.

You couldn't help but notice how confident his gait was - how sure he was of himself. You shook your head in disbelief, utterly and thoroughly confused, not knowing what to believe at this point.

Tears started to form in the corner of your eyes. The resonating voice of realization in your head made you numb, the mortification slowly trickling down your chest slowly. It tightens as the shame presents itself at the discomfort written on your face.

It wasn’t like he was wrong, because definitely had a valid point. Still, you couldn’t help the cascade of tears that started to fall from your eyes from the direct confrontation.

A thought had suddenly struck your head as you watched him walk away and disappear when he rounded the corner of the hallway - how did he even know your name?

It wouldn’t be the last time you and Yeosang encountered each other. One way or another, you were especially hyper aware of his presence.

You stopped going to the library. You weren’t an idiot, you weren’t going to frequent a place where you know you weren’t wanted. Yeosang, however, made it a point to glare at you every single time your eyes would meet.

That in itself would have been fine, but when he started to purposely bump into your shoulders hard enough to send you reeling backwards, it became a little personal. You certainly didn’t miss his little smirk when he saw you riled up.

You actively avoided him for good. Curse you for being attracted to the eccentric.

Today was one of those - you sat in your usual seat along with Yunho while Yeosang was in that same isolated spot he liked taking since nobody wanted to be associated with him. It was fine, it wasn’t difficult to ignore him given his little attitude towards you.

”Hey,” Yunho called softly. You raised a brow in question. “You and Yeosang got beef, or something?”

“No, not that I know of,” you frowned. “Why?”

”Because he’s been staring, or rather, shooting daggers at you the moment you sat down. He figured out your weird little habit of watching him, huh?” Yunho smirked, crossing his arms.

You grumbled a little curse in his direction, making him chuckle at your antics. You didn’t doubt what he said, though. Yeosang definitely didn’t like you and you gave him the ammunition to do so.

The commotion died down gradually when the professor entered the classroom and hushed everybody. Soon enough, you were able to tune out the prickling sensation towards the back of your neck you knew came from Yeosang’s stares.

You bunched your brows up, though, when you noticed that your professor wasn’t carrying his usual lecture materials and, instead, had a small box in his hands. It didn’t happen often with college students, but he definitely had everybody’s attention hanging in a thread successfully.

”Good day, everybody,” Professor Choi San greeted with a soft smile, his dimples deepening at the gesture, along with his eyes that laid subdued behind a pair of glasses that made him look undeniably attractive. He shakes the box that he held in one hand while he gestured to the class with the other. “Before the year ends, I’d like everybody to do a project instead of the usual examinations. It’ll be a two-person team effort.”

You automatically turned to your side and bumped your elbows at Yunho, who was already looking at you with a gleeful smile. However, that bubble soon burst when Professor Choi cleared his throat, effectively silencing the room once again. “Your partners will be randomized,” he shook the box once more to prove his point. “I’ve already picked half of the class, random as well, to pick out names inside this box.”

What the hell kind of concept is this? You couldn’t help but grimace on the inside, you knew barely anybody in this class, let alone work with somebody for a project that would determine if you will pass this class or not.

”It’s better than a written exam, yes?” Professor Choi smirked.

It was a bore. You had no interest in doing the project, but you have no choice. Surely, you didn’t want to pick a random name either. When Yunho was called, the little hope you had in partnering with him got shattered when he picked a name that wasn’t yours.

He still technically won the lottery though, because he was partnered up with Mingi. When he got back to the seat, you couldn’t help but chuckle at his excitement and relief when he showed you the paper that held Mingi’s name.

He, too, was worried he’d pick a random name even though he was a bit more extroverted than you were. “You’ll get lucky, too, I’m sure of it,” he patted your shoulders in faux comfort. “My luck extends to friends, you know?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “I can already see this project being a disaster with the two of you being together like this.”

He laughed out loud at your statement, and as if he had jinxed it, your name was suddenly called. Somebody had already picked your name. When you looked towards the front, it was by this girl you recalled seeing in multiple of your classes.

You offered her a small smile, one she returned awkwardly. She seemed nice enough to you and that’s all that mattered to you. Yunho and Jongho had told you before that you had an uncanny way of making someone like you eventually.

“Kang Yeosang.”

Your breath hitched, deliberately straining your neck to not turn around and look at him as he walked towards the centre of the room with the Professor.

It wasn’t just you - everybody turned silent as they all stared at the man with that confident shadow behind him. He knew everybody stared and he didn’t care, and you genuinely admired that mentality. If only you could turn back time and actually tell him that instead of watching him like a creep.

But you were pretty sure that you were the only one who stared at him with admiration. Everyone else judged him for hiding his face, and you could have sworn you felt your break a little more at that.

Finally, he puts his head inside the box and quickly pulls it out, the piece of paper in his hand crumpling with how hard he gripped it. You suddenly wished you could see his entire face to know exactly what he’s feeling.

You could hear the snickers behind you, people relieved that they had already picked a partner, or people laughing at him. They were just plain nasty, and you couldn’t take hearing them anymore.

You held your fists tights, they were almost white with how tight you were holding them. You tried tuning them out, focusing on the sight of Yeosang with Professor Choi.

You frowned, something wasn’t right. The way Yeosang’s brows furrowed. Suddenly, he looked up, eyes meeting yours. You froze, not knowing exactly why he was looking at you.

He took one more look at the paper before pocketing it. “I got L/N Y/N,” he said, clear as day, his deep voice resonating all over the vast classroom.

Your brain definitely short-circuited that day and you can’t read the future, but you were sure that this was the exact moment where you were sure that your life would turn upside down and change.

”Are you sure?” Professor Choi asked, confused, amidst all the hushed whispers that resounded all over the room.

Redness spreads through your cheeks at all the unwanted attention. You turned to Yunho and tapped his arms cautiously “There goes my chance of being normal in school,” you murmured.

He patted your shoulders in comfort. “Professor Choi must’ve accidentally put your name twice without noticing.”

It was a legitimate cause, you’ve thought the very same thing. You couldn’t help but glance at Yeosang once more, and unbelievably, your cheeks became even hotter to the touch. You definitely wouldn’t mind partnering with him for this project.

And that’s exactly what happened. As it turns out, there was only one person left that didn’t have a partner yet. The girl who was partnered with you insisted that they be partnered, instead, and Professor Choi agreed, leaving you and Yeosang together.

You wanted to give him a piece of your mind for how he was treating you for the last few weeks, but that resolve faltered when you noticed Yeosang’s eyes from a distance. He looked hurt, and you knew why.

He could hide under that glare or pretend that he was indifferent, but it definitely hurt him to be tossed around as if he wasn’t even in the room in the first place.

To add salt to the wound, Professor Choi instructed all partners to be seated together for the rest of the class. Yunho gave you a small peck on the cheek - platonically - before getting up and making his way towards Mingi.

”Can you guys keep that PDA bullshit somewhere else? So disrespectful to the public,” Yeosang murmured, his voice muffled by the mask, plopping down the seat where Yunho once was. “Does your boyfriend know you were stalking me?”

You scoffed, appalled at what he was trying to insinuate. “First of all, Yunho is my best friend—-”

”Yeah, that’s what they all say,” he smirked dirtily, his head swiveling towards you in a mocking move. “Then you find out they’re screwing. Tell me, are you the type of bitch who’ll give it in some random back alleyway? ”

The ringing in your ears became louder and louder, and it took you everything in your soul to not lash out in the middle of class and just grab your purse so you could smack the living daylights out of this guy.

”And what if I am? You sound bitter to me,” you challenged him, keeping your voice to a minimum, just to rile him up. You’d like to think of yourself as kind, but you are definitely not a pushover.

His brow shots up in mild surprise at your statement, clearly not expecting for you to stand up for yourself. His eyes had this unmistakable fire that contained fiery rage, and instead of standing down, you rolled your eyes at him. His eyes squint in response.

He did start this, but you wouldn’t let him finish. He was about to open his mouth and say something but you beat him to it.

”I feel bad for you,” you chuckled without any humour in it. “Nobody has shown you enough love in your life, it seems, and you don’t look like anybody who has ever given any ounce of love towards somebody else.”

Even if you meant what you had said, you immediately regretted saying it to his face directly. You bit your lip to stop the yelp that wanted to escape your throat when he gripped your arm fast.

”You don’t know a thing or two about me, princess,” he hissed, his grip on your arm tightening to a point of constriction. “You think you do, but you don’t.”

He pulled you harshly towards him. “What the hell are you doing?” You hissed back at him.

You tried to pry your arms away, but all that did was make his grip tighter. You looked around you and was displeased when nobody had noticed what was going on. Even Yunho was busy discussing with Mingi from where he was.

”Watch your damn mouth around me,” he warned you, his face dangerously close to your own. “You have no idea what I'm capable of.”

”Oh, sure. Says the guy who has a freaking face mask around his face like a little coward,” you sarcastically rebutted.

A deep chuckle hits your ears before he lets go. Nothing in particular happened after that, except for the contents of the project.

“Whoever does the best will be exempted for the rest of the year on exams and will automatically get an A,” Professor Choi bargained, much to everybody’s surprise. “You better do well.”

Damn it, you cursed internally. This project would be the challenge of a lifetime. Soon enough, class was dismissed, and you were determined to set things with Yeosang.

But apparently, he was, too. As usual, the moment class ended, Yeosang was nowhere to be seen. You were about to march off in annoyance when a hand from seemingly out of nowhere materialized and pulled you back in the now-empty classroom.

”I’ll cut this short,” he cleared his throat, as if that would do anything for you since he sounded muffled anyway. “I’ll do all the work, all you have to do is—-”

”And why would you do that?” You raised a brow in irritation, feeling what little left of your patience ebb away. “I’d have you know that I’m not half-bad in things like these.”

He grimaced, his fingers pinching his nose bridge like you were the one stuck-up one and not him. “That’s not what I’m trying to allude to here,” he sighed exasperatedly, eyes closed in deep thought.

“Really, Yeosang? You want me to believe that?”

He went rigid, one eye opening to stare at you. You were caught off-guard by how heavy and lidded they were as he stared straight at you, unblinking. Was it something you said?

”Fine,” he muttered after what felt like an eternity. “We could do a solo performance and stuff.”

”Are you kidding me? That’s not how this works, and you know it,” you sarcastically remarked, throwing your hands up in frustration. You never thought you’d meet anybody that could make you lose your mind like this after Jongho, it was incredible. “Do you live alone?”

He squinted his eyes immediately. “Yes,” he dragged out slowly. “Why?”

”Perfect,” you murmured. You quickly dug into your pocket for your phone and handed it to him. ”Here.”

He frowned, staring at your phone as if you were offering him some sort of alien symbiote and was planning to annihilate him. You jutted your phone towards him again even firmer when he didn’t move. “Well?”

“Hold on a minute,” he blurted out, breaking character for just a second. “Why my house? This is your idea, your house should be the available one, not mine.”

“You think I want to get inside the house of somebody that clearly has distaste for me? I think the hell not,” you counteracted. “I don’t live alone. I have two roommates, one of which you accused me of screwing. I would never live it down if they saw you with me.”

”So please,” you continued, pressing the phone on his chest this time. “Take the phone, put your number in, and your house address, please.”

Yeosang snatched your phone rather rudely, glaring at you scathingly before doing as he was told anyway. You internally rolled your eyes at how ridiculous this all was. But at the same time, you were trying not to explode. Despite the circumstance, you couldn’t believe you were getting your crush’s phone number.

“If you show up randomly at my house one day, I will end you,“ he snarled menacingly, tossing your phone callously for you to catch in the air. “I mean it, you better not.”

“You’re not all that,” you scoffed, annoyed that he would just throw your phone like that. “I might turn into an asshole like you if I absorb all the bad juju you seem to be getting from somewhere.”

You didn’t mean to say it like that, and truth be told, you weren’t one to fight fire with fire - stone with boulder. But the things he’s been saying has been setting you off on your rocker, a taste of it wouldn’t hurt him.

Right?

“I wouldn’t say that just yet,” he sneered. “Famous last words, princess. Nobody knows what the future holds, do they?”

You rolled your eyes dramatically at him, opting not to question him when he led you out of the classroom, opening the door for you to go through. “Anyway, we do this my way, or I’m dropping you,” he mustered up, adjusting his mask a bit as we walked.

“I don’t care, honestly, I just want to pass,” you truthfully said. You heard him sigh irritatingly under his breath.”How do you propose we do this, then?”

“Do you have more classes today?” Yeosang asked, brows furrowed from above that mask. You shook your head in denial. He nodded in acknowledgement. “Great. Let’s head to that cafe near here. The sooner we get this over with, the better.”

He began walking faster. You could barely keep up with him, Yeosang was of average height, however, his legs were long, you noticed, while yours were a poor excuse for a pair.

“Wow,” you whistled. “I’m not even going to question why you hate me this much, but okay.”

He laughed, the baritone timbre of his voice enhancing the quality of that beautiful sound. “I don’t hate you. Hate is quite the word,” he scoffed. “It’s strong. You don’t matter enough to me for me to spend strong emotions on.”

Your steps faltered a bit. It felt like a physical blow to your chest and tendrils started to wrap around your heart, squeezing it bit by bit until it was fully constricting against your ribcage. What he said stung more than you’d like to admit.

You couldn’t concentrate when you got in the cafe and sat down. You realized that it was the same cafe you had brunch in with Jongho and Yunho. What he said was all you could think about was all you could think about, were you really that bad?

Yeosang sat in front of you, tinkering on his phone and not paying attention to you for the time being. Not that you wanted him to, anyway, because if he did, he’d see the tears that were starting to form in your eyes.

Yeosang stood up, pocketing his phone, and walked away without even telling you, even out of courtesy and respect, and without looking in your direction. Another blow hit your chest then and there.

You took that opportunity to wipe your tears away, lifting your arm so you could use your sleeves to do so. There was no finesse in it, but you didn’t care. You felt ridiculous, but you felt bad for yourself.

Your head sprung up when something was suddenly placed on the table within your line of vision. Your brows shot up ever so slightly when you registered that it was a cup of hot, steaming, delicious chocolate. Your head snapped towards Yeosang, who just tilted his head at you.

“No ‘thank you’? Damn,” he said sarcastically, pulling on his chair and taking his place back in front of you. He leans forward, his eyes piercing straight onto yours. “Drink. I don’t want people thinking I’m abusing you or something, I’m already stigmatized as is.”

”What in the hell are you talking about?” You blurted out, tentatively reaching out, wrapping your hands around the mug. Warmth immediately spreads through them, seeping deep inside you and reaching the deepest creases of your heart. “T-thank you.”

You went rigid, your muscles tightening against your body, when Yeosang’s finger wipes a lone tear on the side of your right eye. When he pulled away, you immediately started to sip on your chocolate, cursing internally when it started to burn on your tongue, but you didn’t relent. It was a sign that you were truly alive and not dreaming at all.

”Good?” Yeosang raised his brow tentatively.

You nodded a little more enthusiastically than you’d expect yourself to do so. “What about you? I-I can get you one, if you’d like.”

“If I really wanted one, I would’ve gotten one, myself,” he scoffed. This time, you ignored how rude he was, but only for today. He lazily pointed at his face. “Plus, I have this stupid mask.”

You bit your lip, pausing before continuing. “Just take it off.”

Your heart started to pound uncontrollably at that aspect You were already infatuated with this brute with that thing on, what more if he actually took it off?

”Don’t push it, princess,” he snorted, a hint of amusement tinged in his voice. You watched as he took out his laptop from his sling bag, setting it down the table before he looked at you once more. “Shall we start?”

You and Yeosang quickly learned a routine that worked for both of your schedules. You you had to up your meetings from once a week to four times a week just so everything was perfect. You both wanted that exception next semester.

Unfortunately for you, your crush with Yeosang worsened the more time you spent with him. He was everything you liked in somebody, and as rude as his attitude and insensitive his mouth was, you could tell that deep down, you knew that he wasn’t a bad person.

And of course, you still don’t know what he looked like; not entirely, anyway. He never slipped and took it off, not once. Whenever he’d drink something, all he had to do was slip the straw from underneath the mask and drink away, or when he ate, he would lift the mask a bit underneath as well.

It bummed you out, but you respected his choice. Besides, it’s just, well, a face. It wasn’t a deal breaker or anything. Call it an added bonus to the enigma that was Kang Yeosang.

You yelped when something hit the top of your head. Your hands immediately found their place on your scalp, frowning and giving Yeosang a small glare for having the audacity to hit you.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped, setting down the book he used to bonk your head on his lap before he crossed his arms and glared at you. “Were you even paying attention to what I was saying?”

”O-Of course I was,” you said without thinking.

“Oh? What did I say, then?”

”That I’m the bestest partner ever and that you were going to treat me for some ice cream after this?” You peered at him, exaggerating your actions because you knew that would agitate him.

“Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought,” he sneered, moving to grab the book again but stopping midway to take a breathe to prevent himself from potentially committing a crime.

You giggled, covering your mouth with your palms to stop the loud snorts that made you look unlady-like. “Did I hear that right? Goody two-shoes, Kang Yeosang, cursing like a sailor?”

“Yes, because you are the most irritating person I’ve had the displeasure of ever meeting,” he declared dryly. “What are you going to fucking do about it?”

This time, you didn’t even bother to cover your mouth at all and just let loose. Your laugh made your belly hurt, but it made your heart soar. You forgot the last time you just laughed and didn’t care.

”Keep it down, you’re attracting unwanted attention,” he hissed, but it didn’t have that usual intensity in it, as he looked around cautiously before he stared down the floor like he always did.

The both of you were in the campus cafeteria. You weren’t in the mood to go back to that cafe, and Yeosang wasn’t feeling it either, so the cafeteria was the only option left to go.

You weren’t privy to all the stares that were being sent in your direction, not entirely oblivious of what they’re all thinking. But mostly, they were wondering what was funny, especially because it was Yeosang with you.

”Hey,” you softly called out. He didn't meet your eye, but he nodded slightly to signify that he was listening to you.

You tapped on his hand with your finger once before pulling away. That got his attention and he finally looked at you. “Don’t mind them, they’re idiots,” you reassured. “I think you’re really cool.”

He smirked, tilting his head in curiosity. “You don’t know squat about me, that’s some high-praise for someone who’s practically a stranger to you, little princess.”

Little princess. You swallowed the blush that threatened to warm your cheeks. “I already know what I need the most,” you shrugged, sincerity coating your voice. “You’re literally the smartest person I know, seriously, how do you do it? And I like your mentality, fuck all these people, you know?”

He stayed silent. Usually, you’d hear an insult or two from him by now, but all he did was stare at you intently, his eyes getting shrouded by an emotion you couldn’t exactly pinpoint. It wasn’t malice, and it definitely wasn’t acknowledgement, but you found that you didn’t mind this look on Yeosang. He looked freer this way.

“You remind me of someone,” he suddenly spoke up. Your curiosity peaked with how far away he suddenly looked. “He was the only one who was more annoying than you, and that’s saying a lot, if you could believe it.”

He sounded so nostalgic, and you were savouring this. If he wasn’t being an asshole, he’d have a point most of the time, because he was right, you knew virtually nothing about him. It wasn’t always where Yeosang would divulge in his personal life with you or in general.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you remarked, making him roll his eyes so far back in his head, you were surprised they didn’t get stuck in there. “Anyway, is he your friend?”

“The bestest,” he immediately answered, sighing afterwads. You pursed your lips, you knew that he didn’t mean to do so.

You hesitated for a bit in fear of saying something you knew he wouldn’t like. Yeosang was what you would describe as a ticking time-bomb - you just never knew what would set him off. “Did something happen between you and him?”

He seemed to realize that he was oversharing. Much to your dismay, his eyes immediately hardened, his eyes brewing a storm that permanently seemed to cause his mind turbulence.

“Anyway,” he cleared his throat, changing the topic like a tidal wave that knew no consistency. It matched that of his personality so well. “I don’t have any classes for the next few days. I got exempted from all of them.”

You scoffed in awe and disbelief before you could stop yourself. It certainly earned you a nasty glare from him. Of course, you thought. This man was literally a genius. Something tells you that boredom is the biggest reason why he hasn’t gotten himself exempted from the rest of his classes.

“What are you trying to tell me? Are you perhaps,” you smirked as nasty as he was glaring at you. “Are you perhaps telling me that you’re going to miss me?”

You were kidding - well, mostly, anyway. As expected, he growled and pushed your shoulder roughly in an attempt to wake you up from your delusional thoughts.

”I’ll miss my peace of mind, that’s what,” he rolled his eyes. “Can you be for damn real for once in your miserable life? I really want to get this stupid project done.”

For some reason, that response brought you relief more than the usual sting you’d feel in your chest. You’ve spent enough time with Yeosang to know that he didn’t mean what he said eight out of ten times. The bar was that low. But the truth was, you knew you’d malfunction if he said that he would miss you.

“Do you still have the address that I gave you?” Yeosang questioned gruffly. He was in the process of putting away all his class notes in that stylish sling bag he always had on him.

You nodded. “I do. But wait, where are you going?”

He raised a brow. “You’re not my keeper,” he clicked his tongue, standing up and adjusting the bag on his shoulder across his chest. “I’m going home, if you must know. I need to meditate and ask the Lord for some patience for when you go to my house this week.”

You blinked, eyes widened owlishly, repeating the action over and over again just so you were sure you heard him right. Yeah, you were definitely malfunctioning as is.

”I’ll text you the details,” he turned around and began to walk away, leaving you to your seat alone - nobody wanted to sit with you and Yeosang - for your thoughts to wander and go haywire.

Sputtering, you stood up and called to him, ignoring the odd looks you received from the students around. “A-Are you sure?“

He paused from walking, not bothering to turn around. He raised his hand and waved from behind. “Bye, Y/N.”

You were dazed the entire day, not being able to concentrate on the rest of your class, your heart doing somersaults in your chest that felt too giddy for you to relax. Excitement rolled off of you in waves and all you could do was imagine what Yeosang would be like in the comfort of his own house.

But the first thing you thought of was his face. Would he remove the mask? Surely, it gets stuffy and musty wearing it the entire day, and plus, you knew how uncomfortable it could get the longer you wore it, not to mention how it could clog your skin.

Of course, the thought did cross your mind once or twice - was he wearing it because he has something to hide? You always mentally slapped yourself whenever this would cross your mind, everybody was judgmental to a certain extent, but you tried your damned hardest to not consciously do it and make an effort to always remind yourself that it isn’t good to judge people because they all have their own stories.

However, the longer you thought of this, you knew for a fact that you wouldn’t care what was under that mask. Over the month and a couple of weeks, you have come to truly enjoy Yeosang’s company a lot, regardless if he felt the same or not.

You received the awaited text the following night. A laugh bubbled up from your chest when you opened the message like a child opening up presents during Christmas. You found it adorable that his personality also seeped in through his texts.

‘Tomorrow. Three in the afternoon. Bring your laptop, but no food since I will provide it. Be on your best behaviour, I have a dog I will not hesitate to sic on you.’

“Wow,” Yunho whistled the next day, tossing the phone back at you after reading the text message with a small chuckle. “What a douchebag.”

You replied with a dry chuckle of your own, lifting a dress you snatched from your dresser, hanger still attached and all, and laid it across the bed, beside the area where Yunho was currently sitting down. He stared at the black dress with a scoff.

”Girl, this is a study session, not a funeral,” he chortled. “Then again, if he actually has a dog, it might as well be.”

A shiver passed through you, but you gave him a stern look, anyway. “Quiet, you,” you hissed. “I don’t fucking know what to wear, I don’t want to look like a bum, but I don’t want to try too hard, either!”

“Are you trying to do that project, stupid, by the way, or are you trying to get laid?” Jongho blurted out bluntly from across Yunho, lifting the dress and inspecting it. “If you’re going for the latter, this isn’t the way to go.”

You blushed furiously, slapping your cheeks to conceal the fact, but it was already too late. You loved these two to death, but sometimes, you were just ready to not be roommates with them anymore when they both made fun of you.

“Choi Jongho, I will end you,” you seethed.

He raised his hands defensively in surrender. “Relax, tiger. Just go for a white shirt and some jeans, it’s comfortable and effective. I can tell you right now, he literally wouldn’t give a shit.”

He made it a point to raid your closet himself. “In fact,” he continued, yelping a bit when he suddenly lifted your bra and tossed it like it was bacterial. “He definitely won’t notice, trust me.”

You were mortified, but so was Yunho when said bra landed on his lap. He shrugged it off like it, too, was infectious. “Goddamn it, Y/N, clean your fucking closet,” he groaned. “But I agree. He has that thing literally on his face 24/7, I highly doubt he’ll notice anything else.”

“Here. I got this for you on your birthday, it’s high time you wear it now,” Jongho haphazardly tossed some clothes directly on your face callously. “Hurry up, it’s almost three. He won’t let you in if you’re late.”

”That’s comforting,” you remarked sarcastically.

Luckily, in your apartment, there was a walk-in closet - perks of living with an affluent roommate like Jongho - and so, you walked in there to change in your own privacy, but you didn’t shut the door so you could still talk to the both of them as you changed.

You noticed that Jongho had, indeed, given you a simple white shirt and some jeans, but he also handed you the hoodie he had given you. With that, you began to undress and change.

”How’s your project coming along, Yun?” You asked to fill in the silence.

”Good, actually. Mingi is really good at these things,” Yunho answered cheerfully. “We’ve decided to just do a short dance number, he’ll do a remix and I’ll choreograph for us.”

“Mingi dances?” Jongho asked in surprise.

“Oh, I didn’t tell you guys? Mingi and I used to go to the same dance school before he moved away during high school,” he explained. “This isn’t the first time we’ve worked together, so it helps, you know?”

You were happy for Yunho, and if you were honest, even though Yeosang and you haven’t decided on what to do yet, you were pretty content in being his partner. You paused, however, a line of thought suddenly crossed your mind.

“Hey, Jjong?”

“Here,” the latter answered.

You bit your bottom lip, not really sure how to articulate the thoughts plaguing your mind into coherent words. “Do you have any idea if Yeosang is also inclined in the arts?”

The arts, meaning dancing and singing. There was a fat pause on the other side of the room. You heard Jongho sigh, the springs of your bed sinking down as he sat on it. “Yeah, he is,” he confirmed. “You’re going to find out the rest by yourself, I’m not willing to divulge the rest.”

“No, that’s all I wanted to know. He literally wouldn’t touch me with a ten-feet poll, let alone tell me the juicy details of his life,” you snorted. “Hell, I don’t even know what the guy looks like.”

Yunho made a sound, likely thinking the same thing as you were at the same time as you heard movement on the bed once more. And he asked the same question you had in your head, “Do you know what he looks like?”

“Of course, I do,” Jongho said incredulously as if he was offended that he was even asked in the first place, until he realized the reason. “Well—“

”Wait,” you interrupted abruptly. “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know, I will not disrespect his privacy unless he tells me himself.”

You were tempted, who wouldn’t be? Your big, beaming crush on the guy, alone, was enough for you to be curious to know what’s underneath, but it just felt wrong.

They both laughed out loud the moment you opened the door to go back in the room. “Damn, you’re down bad,” Yunho slapped his thighs in amusement as he laughed even more.

“Haha,” your voice dripped with sarcasm. You went past them to grab your things and headed towards the door. “I’ll let you know what happens.”

“Ew, I don’t want to know if you guys end up fucking or something,” Jongho gagged exaggeratingly, making Yunho laugh even harder, his entire body contorting with how hard he was laughing.

When you started driving, your brows shot up in mild surprise when you realized that Yeosang’s place was a lot closer than you thought it was. In fact, if you jacked on the gas, you could get there within ten minutes.

Your hands gripped on the wheel the more your mind worked on itself - there was a huge possibility that you and Yeosang crossed each other’s path at one point and you just never knew. Heat pools in your tummy, he could have been one of the people you encountered everyday and you would be none the wiser because of the mask.

You arrived in no time, and you parked in an even lesser time. An impressive whistle slipped past your lips, this meant that you were on the better side of the city with how easy the accommodation was. When you looked around, every single building looked more modern and sleeker, too.

And you were right. Your mouth hung open ever so slightly when you realized that you were in the affluent area of the city. By all means, you were fortunate to grow up comfortably, but you could still never afford to live in one of the units where Yeosang apparently resided. What’s more, is that he said he lived alone.

You quickly sent a text to him that you were here and put your phone back in your pockets after that quick text. Shame crept in your bones when you looked at your outfit. Had you known that this was where you’d end up going, you would have worn that black dress because as drab as it was, it was elegant enough to fit the opulent vibe of the place. Soon enough, your phone vibrated.

‘Walk in and go straight to the receptionist. Give them my name and press ‘50’ when she leads you to the elevators. It’ll take you directly inside my unit. Don’t forget to take your filthy shoes off.'

You ignored the last statement, your jaw slacking further when you read the message over and over again. Who the hell does that? Geez, you thought incredulously, who the hell has a unit literally connected to the elevators?

But you followed his instructions, anyway. And in no time, the receptionist was leading towards said elevators. She gave you a kind smile as the doors opened and you bowed back politely. The moment you pressed the number, you leaned your back against the walls of the metal box.

It was the last floor on the very top, it made sense that it led directly in his unit. That also meant he had the penthouse. You felt your body ascend slowly, and the best thing you could do was fix your clothes and your hair to make yourself a bit more presentable.

You started to imagine what Yeosang’s space would look like, but more so, you were just curious on what a penthouse would look like since you’ve never been to one before. You scoffed under your breath, Yeosang did seem the type to live in penthouses.

You weren’t expecting anything in general, but however, the last thing you expected was a small presence waiting for you the moment the elevator dinged and the doors parted.

There it was, with its head tilted, looking at you curiously as you cautiously stepped in Yeosang’s space. This must be the dog, but it wasn’t just a dog.

You gulped, knees threatening to buckle under your weight, when the dog started to walk forward and sniff your feet, your legs, back to your feet. It definitely intimidated you as you tried to stay absolutely still.

Yeosang conveniently forgot to tell you that he had a Great Dane. It was so big that if it stood on two paws, it would tower over you.

But all those worries faded away when it yelped a happy yelp and laid down on its back. Her, you found out soon enough, tail wagged back and forth in glee and excitement as her eyes looked up at you, pleading for you to lean down and give her the belly rubs she so wanted.

Who were you to say no to that?

“Who’s the good girl?! You are, yes, you are,” you giggled incessantly, your hand rubbing on her sweet tummy while your other hand found its way behind her ear. Her happy barks reached your ears and it prompted you to rub faster.

You completely sat down on the floor and patted your thighs. ”Aww, c’mere, you sweet pup, come…”

Your landlord has strict rules against pets, which was such a shame because Jongho wouldn’t have to leave his Persian to his parents and Yunho wouldn’t be going out every so often to spend time with his Golden Retriever at his brother’s place.

”I see you met Nabi.”

You jumped out, startled at the deep, muffled voice that intruded your well-needed little pup therapy. It also startled the dog, whose head rested on your lap, and you couldn't help but feel bad. You were about to give Yeosang a piece of your mind, but when you turned around, you wanted to whine just like her, maybe a bit worse.

He still wore that mask, but that wasn’t what caught your attention. Yeosang leaned casually against the wall behind you, his hair was completely unstyled, a stark contrast to the prim and proper hair he sported on campus.

But what really got you was his even more casual outfit, it was dangerous. He wore a body-fitting tank top, and you tried not to drool at his exposed arms and the way they absolutely flexed whenever he moved even a single inch. Your eyes traced the veins that were deliciously spread all throughout his hands all the way to his forearms.

And by God, the way his sweatpants hung alarmingly low against his hip bones. And then, his brow slowly lifted, his eyes shining in mischief. It was your cue to look away in shame, because you knew that he knew.

You didn’t say anything when he leaned down, lifting the mid-ends of his pants as he squatted down. He looked you in the eye as his hands slowly started to rub the back of Nabi’s other ear.

”That’s a good girl,” he whispered.

You didn’t even know what to say, you can’t just assume that he was doing what you thought he was actually doing. You stayed silent, not breaking eye contact with him until he stood back up and walked inside.

“Go sit on the couch so you can settle down. You can leave your things on the coffee table,” he murmured, Nabi hot on his tail as he walked away.

If it wasn’t even more possible, your jaw dropped when you finally took in the interior of the penthouse. It was the epitome of opulence and luxury. The theme was the classic marbled black-and-white overalls, the space was neat, and if it wasn’t for the crystal chandelier hanging from above you, you would have spent more time just looking around. Not to mention, the grand staircase towards the corner that leads to the second floor.

Yeosang stood by the kitchenette, tinkering at whatever. It was state-of-the-art, but what really made you fall in love was the huge glass window behind him that overlooked the entire city. You bet it would look stunning during nighttime.

Despite your awe, you couldn’t help but blurt out, ”Who are you?”

”Uh, Kang Yeosang,” he replied absentmindedly. Your lips quivered in an effort to not chuckle, “Anything to drink?”

“Just water,” you replied.

He scoffed, crossing his arms. “I should have specified for you to also bring your brain when you come. You didn’t come all the way here for just water.”

“Fine,” you rolled your eyes in offense. “Coffee, then?”

You expected him to say ‘no’ and tell you to, frankly, to fuck off and be serious, but your heart thumped in your chest when he immediately went to work without saying anything.

You watched him move as he grabbed a cup and set it down. It made sense now, he’s always had this elegance to him when he moved and talked, even though he was rude most of the time, and he had this air of grandeur to him that you couldn’t explain.

Your heart was close to flatlining when he wordlessly gave you the freshly made cup of coffee, and it tasted exactly like the one you always order at the cafe you and him always meet up for the project.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

He hummed in response, setting himself down on the couch across you and relaxing into it. You took great effort to ignore his arms once more. “I think I have an idea on what to do for the project,” he said, directly to the point. “If you’re okay with it.”

You breath hitched, He’s never wanted your approval before. You stared at him expectantly and waited for him to continue. “Don’t make fun of me,” he blurted out. The way he wrung his hands together gave out his nervousness. “Maybe we could just sing a song together.”

You almost dropped the cup on the table that probably cost more than your life. You were expecting a lot of things, but you weren’t expecting that. But then again, Jongho did say Yeosang was inclined in the arts.

“Why would I make fun of that?” You asked truthfully with genuine confusion. “That sounds like a lovely idea. I was in choir until middle school, it’s good on my end.”

Yeosang didn’t say anything. He stared at you deeply, intently. His eyes held something you’ve never seen before - vulnerability. You gave him a soft, reassuring smile, one you knew he wouldn’t reciprocate, but you did it, anyway.

But he did. Even though you couldn’t see his lips, his eyes squinted at the gesture. Just about when your heart was about to give out, you just had to find out that Yeosang’s eyes smiled with him.

“Can I tell you something?” Yeosang asked, softness coating his voice, his body visibly relaxing even more from where he sat.

“You can tell me anything,” you chirped up. “What friends are for, right?”

His eyes drooped, hooding ever so slightly before he shook his head, a deep chuckle escaping from his lips. You bit your lip to stop yourself from screaming, you believed this was the first time that he actually produced such a sound without being sarcastic or pretentious.

“You are definitely something, Y/N,” he whispered, more to himself, but you heard it. “Anyway, I know how to sing. Uhm, I was training to be an idol. I did it for years before stopping entirely.”

Your eyes widened in surprise, heat coursing through your veins at the newfound information that you also realized that Yeosang divulged by his own accord. You cleared your throat to cover the blush that spread through your cheeks and ears. You would literally kill anyone and anything to be able to witness Yeosang as an idol.

”Was? Is there a reason why you stopped?” You asked softly, trying to be as respectful as you possibly can so you wouldn’t turn him off. The last thing you wanted was to make him feel like you were trying to intrude.

He paused, sighing deeply and exhaling slowly as he closed his eyes and leaned his back down the couch, almost slouching. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he mumbled.

“Okay,” you conceded, nodding towards him.

He opened one eye, staring at you from his peripheral vision. You tried to ignore how long his lashes were even from where you were. “Just like that? You’re not going to ask me why?”

You were taken aback, beyond confused at what he was insinuating. Your heart bled for this man, just what has he gone through?

”Uhm, no, why should I? It’s disrespectful,” you supplied truthfully. “You’re not obligated to tell me, or anyone in general, anything. You don’t owe me, but I’ll lend you an ear whenever you are ready.”

He stared at you with clouded eyes. The thing with Yeosang that you liked was that he wasn’t a liar - what you see with him is what you get - but this time, you couldn’t decipher what lay beneath those enthralling eyes. The closest would be soul-searching but you’d have to be a fool to actually believe that.

The longer he stared, the more it morphed, transforming into something you finally understood. They were full of hope, those bright eyes shining and reflecting your faltering gaze. Yeosang was the hope that whispered of the sun.

He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing vertically at the motion. “Would you like to start over with me?” Yeosang scoots closer and juts his hand out for you to take. “Hi, I’m Kang Yeosang.”

You tilted your head, smiling through your teeth as you took his hand, squeezing it lightly as you shook it. “L/N Y/N.”

Things were never truly the same after that. Yeosang’s mouth, as kissable as it looked, was still brutish and blunt, and you were still that blubbering mess around him whenever he’d get a bit too close for comfort, but everything has changed.

You’d keep coming back to his place and Yeosang would always invite you under the pretense of practicing for the performance, but the two of you always ended up doing something else, instead; something more fun.

There was nothing set in stone, the other day, he showed you his drone collection and even let you fly one of them since you mentioned offhandedly that you’ve never tried to before.

Needless to say, you had no talent for this. You had a heavy hand with no coordination.

”Hey, hey, if you break that, I’ll break you,” he hissed when you accidentally manoeuvered the flying robot by mistake and almost crashed it onto the nearby concrete wall.

”I-I’m sorry,” you blurted out, trying hard to set it down before you damaged it. You knew it cost a pretty penny. The both of you were currently on his balcony, fifty stories high. One wrong move could make it crash all the way down.

He sighed exasperatedly, gesturing for you to come closer. “Come here, I’ll help you.”

You were expecting him to just take the remote control away from you, but you were rendered speechless when he pulled your arm and guided you in front of him. He positioned himself comfortably behind you, his hand grabbing onto yours as he did, indeed, help you with the drone.

”The trick is to be gentle with this button,” he murmured, breath tickling the shell of your ear, his fingers guiding yours on said button.

You were surprised you didn’t disintegrate on the spot. What could have, however, was when you tried to teach Yeosang how to cook the next time.

You didn’t start out being a good cook, but living with Jongho and Yunho taught you over the years. Yunho could burn water and Jongho always spent an exorbitant amount of money on take-outs that didn’t even offer an ounce of health in them.

“You’re literally doing well,” you cheered him on as he tried to toss the ingredients for the pasta dish you were guiding him to make for lunch. “It’s easy, isn’t it?”

”Sure,” he sneered, startling himself when the oil in the pan began to crackle. “If you’re trying to get food poisoning, it is.”

”Stop setting yourself up for failure,” you rolled your eyes. You nudged a bottle towards him, sliding it against the counter for him to take. “Here, wine. Take it.”

You snorted at the wild and confused look on his face as he tried to sauté some shrimp. “I don’t drink,” he sputtered out.

It was moments like these that prevent you from regretting how bad you two started from before. If you knew you’d always end up here, you would do it all over again without any hesitation. You laughed, grabbing onto his shoulders for support. That was another thing, skinship wasn’t lost on the both of you now.

”No, dummy,” you laughed. “It’s for the pasta. Pour a little to deglaze the pan, it’s good for flavour.”

He still looked confused, but ,nonetheless, still grabbed the bottle. It shouldn’t be difficult, right?

“W-Wait, Yeosang, do it slowly, wait—-“

But it was too late. He had managed to pour half of its content straight onto the pan, causing blue fire to rise up and almost hit both of you in the face.

“The fuck was that? Was that normal?” Yeosang hissed, tentatively stepping back from the flames.

”Well, no, you were supposed to do it slowly—-”

”Then why didn’t you say that in the first place?”

”Because it was common sense!”

It became a routine, minus the drones - you were definitely going to break them one way or another. It was so easy to fall for this man, but it was also so easy to get your heart broken by the same man.

He even lets you take Nabi out for a walk when he’d get too tired to do so. You took that task proudly and quite seriously.

”Wouldn’t want your dad laying it out on me now,” you’d giggle while giving Nabi the ear rubs you knew she loved.

You get it, though. Nabi was one energetic pup, and on one particular day where she wore you out, you didn’t realize that you’d fallen asleep on the couch, not that Yeosang minded. You knew that he didn’t mind.

Your eyes started to flutter awake, still dazed from that afternoon nap that you took, but then you realized what actually woke you up.

Everything came to you bit by bit. They say that the first thing to come and leave both in life and death was the sense of touch. It was soft, you noticed. And warm. You were laying on soft, pillowy thighs. Dazed as you were, you weren’t an all-rounder idiot; you knew it was Yeosang’s. You smile to yourself, you knew you didn’t fall asleep on his lap earlier.

But you were completely done for when you felt a hand, fingers to be specific, run slowly through your hair over and over again. You wanted to groan in contentment, no wonder Nabi likes rubs.

What truly woke you up, however, was his voice. Shivers traveled your arms all the way to your neck, you didn’t even need to strain your ears; Yeosang was singing. It was the song you’d both decided to perform, but you’d actually never heard him try and sing it before.

It waa supposed to be a jolly tune, something awe-inspiring, but when it came from him, it sounded almost melancholic akin to a lullaby meant to reminisce rather than fill your heart with merry and joy.

He stopped, so did his fingers. “I know you’re awake,” he mumbled.

You pouted, wanting to hear more. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” you rose up from his lap, your body protesting from the lack of his warmth, voice hoarse from the prolonged unuse. “How long have I been sleeping on your lap?”

He stared at you like he always did, and you wanted to know why because its intensity was strong, but it was impossible to know without asking, because in truth, you were scared to find out.

“You should just stay for the night,” he mumbled, sitting straight up, his form rigid. “I have a guest room upstairs, and frankly, I feel uncomfortable letting you drive out this late.”

Looking around, it wasn’t difficult to deduce that it was well late into the night even though your mind wasn’t all there yet. You gulped, the offer was too tempting to not consider, but you had to go. You just knew that you weren’t going to sleep properly if you stayed.

Yeosang sighed deeply, standing up straight to face you. “Let me walk you to your car, then.”

You blushed in embarrassment. He must’ve seen the hesitation on your face. “O-Oh, there’s really no need—-”

”Let me walk you to your car, at least,” he repeated, one brow arched, his voice firmer and more resolute. It left you no room for any arguments. “Here.”

A startled ‘oof’ leaves your lips when the hoodie that he threw at you hits you square in the face. He rolled his eyes dramatically when you stared at it as if it were an abomination. He snatched it back harshly.

”God, it’s like taking care of a fucking child with you. Raise your arms,” he clicked his tongue, putting his hoodie on for you, looping your arms carefully in.

If asking to stay the night wasn’t intimate enough for you, this definitely was. When he was done, he held your hand and started guiding you outside. It would have been funny, since it looked like a parent leading their unruly child, if you didn’t feel like you were going to combust on the spot.

It felt like you were on autopilot. Even when you sat in your car, your muscles felt so rigid and robotic. When he leaned down from the outside, his head peeking at you by the window, his toned arms hanging and leaning on the roof. “Drive safe, yeah?”

”W-what about this?”

You bunched up the hoodie in an attempt to take it off, but he stopped you. “Return it next time,” he mumbled.

You nodded, and he returned it with a curt one, patting the roof of your car before he turned around and jogged back inside. You felt slightly bad, he did give you his hoodie, after all, and he only had a tank top on.

You were completely out of it when you drove home, to the point that you reached your apartment without even realizing it. A silent scream threatens to escape your mouth as you bumped your forehead on the steering wheel, there was a faint blush on your cheeks at everything that happened.

You slept on your crush’s lap, and you even got to wear his hoodie.

You carefully closed your bedroom door so as not to disturb Jongho and Yunho, who you knew were both sleeping since it was late, and as if it was timed, your phone vibrated in your pockets. You didn’t need to look at the ID to know who it was.

“Did you get home safely?” Yeosang’s comforting voice floods your ears, effectively soothing you and making you smile.

“Mhhm,” you hummed exhaustedly, taking your pants off, but not the hoodie, and plopping down unceremoniously on your bed. “You’re worried about me, the world must be ending soon.”

He mumbled a curse so crass, it made you giggle under your breath. “If you die on the way back, who would be my source of entertainment?” Yeosang deadpanned. A shuffling sound on his end tells you that he’s also laying down on his bed. “I’ll be bored.”

“Wow. Good to know I’m nothing but your source of fun,” you scoffed.

“What can I say? Your misery feeds my fun,” he flatly said. There was a pause on the line before a small sigh sounded. “Princess?”

That nickname will always make your heart sing no matter how much time passes. You hummed in response. “Hmm?”

“Would you like to come over again tomorrow? Forget about the project for a while, I just want to watch a movie with you,” he murmured.

Your heart warmed, you’ve never heard him sound like this before. You’ve made up your mind before he even finished talking. “Only if you let me choose the movie,” you grinned.

”Deal,” he laughed. “I’ll pick you up in the afternoon, sounds good?”

“Sounds good,” you affirmed, kicking your feet up in the air repeatedly. You reckon you resembled a flopping fish out of water right now, but you could care less. You had to bite onto your fist to stop yourself from screaming at the top of your lungs.

He said goodnight and was about to hang up, when you stopped him. “Yeosang.”

He hummed, clearly off guard at the sound of his name. “You have a beautiful voice,” you whispered, referring to his singing when you woke up from your nap. “You would have been a fantastic idol.”

He chuckled. “Good night, princess.”

You hugged your phone close to your chest, a grin stretching out from your lips so wide, your mouth was starting to ache a bit, but the high and ecstasy wasn’t going to go down easily.

Tonight, sleep came easily to you. Yeosang’s hoodie comforted you, wrapped you in the solace you didn’t know you were missing. His scent gave you the calm that you didn’t mind getting off of.

And tomorrow couldn’t have come any faster. You didn’t tell Jongho and Yunho what you were going to do - the teasing would only get worse from then on - but they did give you odd looks here and there.

“Nice hoodie,” Jongho commented out of the blue while you were waiting for Yeosang. He squints his eyes. “It looks familiar, though. Where’d you buy it?”

“I didn’t buy it,” you replied cryptically, earning you a side-glance from Yunho this time.

He was about to say something when you heard a car engine pull up directly in front of your apartment. The three of you lived on the first floor, so that perk was there. You jumped up excitedly, hastily picking up your purse before dashing out.

”I’ll see you guys later—-” you tried to say before you got pulled back, a hand tugging your arm backwards.

”Hold the hell on, you have a date?” Yunho blurted out, a flabbergasted look on his face present. “Why am I finding this out just now?”

He gives Jongho a look, and the latter’s eyes narrow even further. Jongho’s brow raises before he stalks towards the door. “Let me size up this fucker,” he sneers, cracking his knuckles loudly.

You wiggled your arm free from Yunho to pull Jongho away from the door so you could get out. Your best friends were protective like that.

“Get back here,” Jongho called out, opening the door wide so he could chase you down. “You can’t just—-wait.”

You were confused, Jongho’s intimidating aura slowly slips out and gives way to confusion all the way to realization. He blanched, face slightly pale as he stared at the car parked just a couple of metres away from where we stood.

The car window was already open, and Yeosang was already staring at Jongho. He nods once before closing it once again.

“I should have known,” he mumbled, voice dejected before giving you a tight smile. “Call when you need anything.”

He quickly went inside, followed by Yunho who whispered to you the same thing. “Have fun,” he waved before he closed the door.

Yeosang didn't say anything as you both drove away. It wasn’t an awkward type of silence, but you didn’t have the need to fill it. You wanted to give him some space, the way he gripped the steering wheel repeatedly told you everything you needed to know.

Instead, you spent the entire time chastising yourself because your eyes kept traveling at his hands and his face from your peripheral vision. You chose to look out the window, his veiny arms were distracting you a little too much.

He still had the mask on his face but honestly, you didn’t care less anymore. You couldn’t help but also stare at the way he was dressed. He was in casual wear, nothing special, but the way it emphasized his toned chest yet tiny waist got you sweating even though it was quite cool inside the luxurious car he was driving.

“There’s a drive through nearby. I want to get coffee,” he finally spoke. The softness in his voice made your heart pound, it boosted the already intimate setting of being in a car with him.

”Are you going to let me pay for us?” You asked rhetorically.

”Of course,” he shrugged, and you were about to celebrate until he continued. “Of course not.”

You rolled your eyes, an exasperated groan of frustration leaving your lips. The sound makes Yeosang laugh out loud, and he was still laughing even when the drive through speaker crackled on. Cute.

This was dangerous. You stared at him as he spoke, his deep voice rumbling. It wasn’t fair that his side profile looked this ethereal, but it also wasn’t fair that your heart was slowly giving in to its demands little by little. He didn’t even need to ask what you wanted, he just knew what you needed.

“Thank you,” you murmured in gratitude when he handed you your iced latte. You grit your teeth when your hands brushed with his as you tried to grab the cup.

The same hand lands gently on your thigh. You thought it was just him being him and he was absentmindedly doing it, but when the searing heat from his palms didn’t relinquish any relief, you couldn’t help but smirk to hide the growing tingle in between your thighs.

”Getting comfortable there,” you said, trying very, very hard not to look at his veiny, masculine hands. It turned you on to no end.

”Does it bother you?” Yeosang asked, not bothering to look at you since he was actually driving. You gulped, the sight of him driving with one hand increased the tingling sensation down there.

“No,” you lied. “Not at all.”

He hummed, giving your thigh a soft squeeze before he resorted to just drawing random lines on it. He made a small sound of surprise. “You work out?”

You blinked repeatedly, not really understanding what he was saying at first. “What? O-Oh, I used to do gymnastics in high school,” you revealed. The activity has made your thighs and legs toned even though you haven’t done heavy routines in a while.

”Used to? How come?”

“Had a nasty concussion. Plus, college was keeping me busy, anyway.”

“Ah,” he acknowledged with a small smirk. “I knew you hit your head somewhere along the line—-”

You playfully pushed his hand away from your thigh. “You ass.”

He laughed, his deep voice rumbling through the small space of the car, and knocking into your heart, as he pulled in in the familiar section of his apartment that led to the parking lot.

The appreciation you had for this man knew no bounds. During the walk back to his penthouse, no words needed to be said. This was how it was with him, and you didn’t mind at all. The silence was already telling enough.

“Do you like the hoodie?” Yeosang asked the moment he closed the door behind him.

“I do,” you admitted, grinning as you rubbed Nabi’s beautiful fur, your fingers trailing to the spot behind her ears you knew brought her joy. “Hey, girl.”

”I see,” he murmured, passing you, but not before patting Nabi’s head, and walked towards the staircase. “Follow me,” he beckoned you over with a small wave of his hand.

”Where to?” You asked, following him anyway, albeit reluctantly.

As you climbed the stairs, something you’ve never done before, let alone go near since you didn’t want to just invade Yeosang’s privacy, especially since you knew that his personal bedroom was located on the second floor of the penthouse.

You will never get used to how simply gorgeous his space was. If you thought that the first floor where his living room was located was jaw-dropping, the second floor was something out-of-this-world. You were able to see the grand chandelier even closer in this section of the penthouse.

Multiple paintings you knew weren’t just ordinary art hung around the walls, which were made out of opulent marble, the swirls of black and white giving the space an elegance you knew cannot just be replicated and duplicated just because.

”Wow,” you whispered, not able to stop yourself in awe.

”Like what you see?” Yeosang asked, his hand absentmindedly trailing over the walls as you both still walked on, you just followed him wherever he took you.

It didn’t take long, and once again, you were in for a wild ride. Soon, the overall theme of the second floor had changed from something bright, to something just a bit darker. The swirled marble of the walls gave way to something pure black, and that included all the paintings, vase, and furniture that surrounded the area.

“Is this your room? Wow,” you remarked like a little kid in a candy store.

”No,” he shook his head, opening the door to one of the rooms. “This is just a spare bedroom, really. Nobody’s ever used it, so I just store all my old stuff in here.”

You frowned at him. “Nobody? Somehow I find that hard to believe.”

You weren’t lying when you said that. You truly found it hard to believe that he has never brought anybody in, whether it be just a couple of close friends, or even a past fling or some hookups. The last sting of thoughts brought on a horrible churning that started deep in your gut area.

”Well, considering that you were the first one I’ve ever willingly brought here, I’d say it’s not really difficult to comprehend,” he shrugged. “My, uhm, father used to own this before he bought another unit. He would use it for his business.”

You stayed silent, following him inside the bedroom, not anymore surprised to find a large theater setup occupying most of the space. This was another instance of him slowly giving you bits and pieces of his life willingly, and you wanted so badly to ask more about what his family business was, but you didn’t. You didn’t miss the way his eyes faltered when he mentioned it.

“You’re telling me you’ve never had, I don’t know,” you bit your lip. “Flings, perhaps?”

”Of course I did,” he raised an offended brow. “I’m not a eunuch, and not to brag, but I’m not that bad looking.”

You blushed. Yeosang’s part down there was the last thing you’d ever want to think about.

“But I’ve never brought them here,” he continued cryptically, his voice not leaving you any thoughts of questioning him, so you decided to let it slide. “Anyway, I’m going to get the snacks downstairs, why don’t you pick a movie?”

You nodded, getting to your feet and caught the remote that he had thrown your way with surprising reflexes. “What movies are you into?”

“I don’t give a shit, really,” he mumbled, walking away to your devices, and for once, you were glad he was walking away. The blush on your cheeks would just never leave.

You took this opportunity to try and calm yourself as much as you possibly could. Your corrupted brain was pushing this as a possible date between you and Yeosang, and luckily, the sentient part of it kept pushing that thought back, but it was getting more and more difficult to do so. How could you not? You were in the comfort of his home, in one of his rooms, and in a place where he’s never brought anyone before. Or so he says.

You weren't surprised to find a sizable selection for the movies. He had a state-of-the-art setup, you’d be pretty surprised if he didn’t. He told you to pick whatever you liked, but you weren’t the insensitive type, you wanted him to have a say in it, too.

You were about to sit down and just wait for him to come back when your foot had accidentally gotten caught on something when you tried to sit on the bed. You tried to see what it was and your brows lifted in surprise when you realized that you had tripped on a small box.

It was conspicuously tucked away underneath the bed, but the edge of it was slightly jutted out. You didn’t think much of it, you figured that Yeosang had stored other things in here. Maybe there were other movie selections that he’d kept in here.

So when you grabbed the box and opened it, you just simply weren’t expecting what you’d find. You were gravely mistaken, there were no movies in there. You wanted to hit yourself, of course there wouldn’t be, DVDs were a thing of the past!

There was a piece of paper on top of everything. You inspected it carefully, and you realized that there was a name in it. A girl’s name. You frowned, that was the name of the girl who was picked last for the project.

You gasped, dropping the piece of paper in realization. Professor Choi did not accidentally put your name twice in that box.

You rummaged more to see what was in the box. Instead, there were photos - multiple of them. Your eyes weren’t completely taking everything in, but there were a myriad of photographs that ranged from professionally printed ones all the way to the wallet-sized polaroid prints.

You bit your lip. You really shouldn’t be doing this, you were invading Yeosang’s privacy, and whether he said it or not, you knew that he appreciated that you didn’t pry on the things he wasn’t ready to tell you.

You wanted badly to know more about Yeosang, but you knew this wasn’t the way to go about it. The box needed to go, and it was about to, but then, you spotted a particular photo that got your attention. You glanced at the door, and with a shaky hand, you took that photo to stare at it closer.

The lump in your throat was making it difficult for you to breathe, you were nervous, but there was no going back from this. That wasn’t all, however, it was mostly the photo in your hand.

There were two people in the photo you were holding, one of which you’ve never seen before. He was quite handsome, you noted. He had the biggest grin on his face that made him look so young, you could barely see his face, that’s how wide he was smiling. Had the situation been different, you would have been fascinated by how much he resembled a fox.

And then, there was Yeosang. In an unfortunate coincidence, you picked up a photo where he was still covering half of his face, but this time, it wasn’t by a mask, it was his hands. This photo must have been taken mid-laughter by somebody else.

You’ve never seen him this happy before. His eyes were also smiling, but one thing that absolutely got you was that when you looked closer, you were pleasantly surprised to find a small birthmark on the side of his face. You realized that he must’ve been covering it lately with makeup.

When you turned the photo around, there was a name in there. Jung Wooyoung. And there was a note in there too, one that you knew to be Yeosang’s handwriting.

There were only four words written on it - I am so sorry.

You swallowed, clearly, you weren’t supposed to see this. You suddenly remembered Jongho’s words from before - something had happened that made him the way he was now.

Shame crept in from the bottom of your heart, you had to pretend that you didn’t see any of this, you had to put the box back the way you found it and forget that you ever saw that picture. But it was too late.

”What the fuck are you doing?”

You gasped, jumping up from where you were seated down, causing the box to fall from your lap, exposing what you were doing, which was basically snooping in on his privacy against his will and without his permission.

The snacks he was carrying was long forgotten on the floor, for he must’ve dropped it after seeing you look through the photos.

You were devastated, but he looked even more devastated as he stood from where he was standing, staring at you with the most disappointed eyes. That was the worst part - he didn’t seem angry, not at all. He looked absolutely broken, and it was your fault.

“Y-Yeosang,” you called out, voice wavering as you felt your tears slowly forming in your eyes. “I c-can explain, please—-”

He looked down at the floor, completely avoiding eye contact with you. Only his fists were moving, they were actively shaking. He had a lump in his throat that he gulped in, albeit with difficulty.

”How could you do this to me?” Yeosang questioned, his voice laced with an unmistakable hint of pain and hurt. He lifted his head, and heart felt like it was getting pulled out of your chest. “How could you?”

You tried walking towards, the photos on the floor long forgotten, but he raised a palm to stop you. “Yeosang,” you called out once more, your desperation seeping out from you.

”I thought you were different,” he chuckled bitterly. He pressed the heel of his palms on his eyes as if he was trying to soothe an oncoming migraine. “But it turns out, you were the worst of them all.”

Your lips quivered, of all the things he had said to you, the things he had insulted you with, this one statement stung the most, mainly because you knew it to be true. You shook your head desperately. “You know it’s not like that,” you cried, ashamed because you didn’t want to lose him, not like this. “I am so, so sorry, Yeosang, please forgive me, I know I was wrong, please.”

“Get the fuck out of my house, Y/N,” he commanded venomously, pointing a shaking finger on the direction away from the room. He exhaled a shaky breath. “I never want to see you again.”

That was when your tears started to fall from your eyes. “Don’t say that,” you sobbed. “P-Please don’t say that—“

”Y/N, you know what hurts the most right now?” Yeosang spat out, running a hand on his hair in frustration. “I could handle the daily insults I hear at campus every single day. That’s fine, I don’t owe anyone an explanation, they can say whatever they want.”

”But you,” he gritted his teeth. “I trusted you, more than I’ve ever come to trust myself,” he took a shaky breath in. “I let you in. The thing that hurts me the most is that I’ve come to care for you. I care about you, Y/N. Do you have any idea how much I want to slap myself right now?”

“You’re right, I am so sorry,” your entire body was shaking, your legs almost threatening to give out. “I’m so sorry, Yeosang, please—-”

“You made me look like an idiot,” he declared. “Get out. Please. I won’t tell you again.”

He turned around to walk away, but your impulses took action by suddenly running forward to give Yeosang a hug from behind. He freezes from the action, but all that did was make you hug him tighter.

”Please, don’t push me away, not like this,” your tears were free-falling, soaking his shirt. “I’m begging you, please.”

“Goddamn it, you have no right to do this right now,” he snapped, grabbing your hand to pry it away from himself before grabbing you by the arm and callously dragging you downstairs.

”Yeosang, stop it, stop—-”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he hissed, grabbing onto your arm tighter, so tight you were sure he’d leave marks on it hours from now, dragging you roughly, not caring if you stumbled and tripped along the way.

He pulls on his door, giving you one last look before completely pushing you out so harshly, you fell on the floor of the elevator that will lead you out. You looked up at him, fat tears still rolling down your eyes, and he looked straight at you without any emotion as he pressed down the button.

It still didn’t hit you, not until the elevator doors opened again and you realized that you were back in the parking lot. You walked out with your wobbly legs as far as it could take you before completely breaking down on the nearby wall, slumping down and hugging your legs together as you wailed your heart out.

You shouldn’t have done it. He had every right to be furious with you right now, and there was no repairing this, you had broken his trust and that’s not something that would ever be the same again even if you gained it back.

The rain from above had begun to mix with your tears and soon enough, you were completely soaked from head to toe. You were so deep in your despair that you didn’t even realize that it had begun raining.

Yeosang’s hoodie did nothing to shield you from the bitter cold. There was only so much your body could take until you had begun shivering, and stupidly, you waited a little thinking that maybe, just maybe, Yeosang would change his mind, especially since you didn’t drive here yourself.

But you knew it was never going to happen. Shaking, you got your phone out and dialed the first number that you saw first. You were sniffling hard, your teeth chattering, sobs broken with hiccups here and there.

“Hello?” Yunho’s sweet and comforting voice came through the line.

“Y-Yunho,” you uttered in broken sobs. “C-Can you please pick me up? I need help.”

“Y/N? Are you okay? Hang on,” his frantic voice asked. “Tell me the address, do not go anywhere. I’m on my way.”

You tried your best to describe the location to him before hanging up. You were glad it was Yunho, his name was eerily close to Yeosang’s in your contact list.

You didn’t notice that car that pulled up directly in front of you, startling yourself when an arm started to help you up, handling you with such care you wanted to cry all over again.

“I got you, I got you,” he reassured, not caring if he got wet by the rain, let alone get his car soaked when you sat inside.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Yunho tried to ask, driving out of the parking lot as soon as he possibly could.

You could only shake your head, the words you wanted to tell him caught in your throat. A hoarse and grating sound from your mouth escaped, instead, your lungs wheezing for air the moment your tears started to fall again. The only thing Yunho could do was be patient, even though the sight of you sobbing your heart out squeezed his own.

It had to be bad, he thought. You were never one to cry, you and Jongho were similar in that aspect while he was the odd one out since he was very easily touched. His grip on the steering wheel tightened, his foot unconsciously stepping on the gas in an attempt to get back to the apartment faster.

He got out of the car in record speed to pound on the apartment door. An annoyed, but confused, Jongho answered. “Go to my car,” he panted. Jongho was about to ask when Yunho cut him off. “It’s Y/N, it’s really bad, Jjong.”

No words need to be said. Jongho moved past him, not even bothering to put on any shoes, as he ran to his car and practically flung the door open. You felt yourself getting carried, but you didn’t bother to look up, your tears blurring your vision, anyway.

“Bathroom,” Yunho said, sighing in concern as he watched Jongho carry you in his arms. “Do it quickly, she was shivering really bad when I picked her up…”

Jongho laid you down on the tub and began filling it with water so you wouldn’t get sick from the rain while Yunho did his best to tuck your hair out of your face as much as possible and helped you out of the hoodie that was weighing your body down. Deep in your heart, you knew that you owe these two forever.

“What the hell happened?” Jongho questioned, the anger in his voice straining his own throat. “I’m going to strangle him. Did he hurt you?”

You didn’t respond, Jongho had to hold you by the shoulders and shake you a bit. “Did he fucking hurt you?”

“Jongho, cut it out, you’re scaring her,” Yunho hissed, prying the latter’s hands off of you in a rare show of his own anger. He kneeled down, gently holding your eyes with his own. “Y/N? I need you to tell us what happened.”

And so you did. It was difficult on your part because you had to retell everything that happened. The longer you talked, the more pitiful you looked - your voice was almost gone, your cheeks sullen and pale, and your eyes rimmed with reddish and purplish hues due to crying. You could see it in their faces that they agreed with the one thing you told them after - that it was, indeed, your fault.

“You didn’t know, okay?” Jongho held your head firmly. “You didn’t know. I should’ve emphasized how fucked up he is before you approached him. ”

“Do you know what’s in the box?” Yunho asked curiously.

You hesitated before answering. “A name. Jung Wooyoung.”

Jongho froze, his hands on his head automatically pulling away as if you had burned him. It pretty much confirmed what you already had in mind - the name had something to do with why Yeosang was the way he was.

All the anger he had simmered down faster than you realized. “I see,” Jongho sighed. “That makes a lot of sense now. Wooyoung is very, very important to Yeosang.”

“Still,” Yunho murmured. “How important has this guy gotta be for him to kick her out like an asshole?”

“Very important,” Jongho deadpanned. He heaved a weighted sigh, completely slumping down on the floor beside the tub. “Wooyoung is Yeosang’s half-brother.“

That night, you already knew that you weren’t feeling the best. There was so much information in your head that you wanted to completely forget for now, but how would you do that when even your own body was reminding you about what had happened today?

If Yeosang forgave you one day, you knew you’d still live with the guilt as long as you’re alive.

You had to skip your classes the next day. As you suspected - more like expected - you had raging fever and there was no way you would be able to go anyway, Yunho guarded your door like a hound.

There was a lot of berating on his end, and admittedly, while it was fascinating to see, the sweet Jeong Yunho had disappeared for a bit when you heard an earful from him when you wouldn’t drink your medicine or eat the soup he bought.

But you had to go the day after that. There was only so much leeway Professor Park could give you without you having to take more extracurricular activities after. The project alone was daunting enough.

That was another thing. You had to tell him that this project with Yeosang might be over and that there was a huge possibility that you were opting out now before it even started.

Your phone kept vibrating in between your classes. You knew it was Yunho reminding you to take it easy. Or perhaps, it was Jongho looking for you. You were actively avoiding him because you knew you’d receive an earful too. Between the two, he was definitely more overprotective.

It was pointless, you couldn’t concentrate on anything. The pounding in your head just wasn’t going to go away in a day or two, even though you hoped it did, and your entire body just felt hot to the touch, sweat kept leaking out of your pores at an alarming rate.

You missed Yeosang already. You were so used to hanging out with him the moment you set foot on campus, and you could already hear the whispers of why you were alone while Yeosang was nowhere to be seen.

It certainly made you mad. The assumption was that you finally got sick of Yeosang and had finally opened your eyes to how weird he was. It wasn’t true at all, you wanted to scream at everyone to stop being judgmental, but you couldn’t even stand straight without toppling over.

It was getting difficult to not give in to your fever. You were walking through the hallways of the campus to get to your next class, not to actually go, but to tell your next professor that you couldn’t attend and needed to go home. You were at your limit, especially when you accidentally bumped into a girl in your class. Luckily, she wasn’t salty about it and asked you if you were okay, instead.

You wouldn’t get the opportunity to answer her. It all happened so fast, black spots were covering your vision and you felt your muscles going weak. Soon enough, your body just gave out on you, and you came tumbling over, passing out in this girl’s arms.

Yeosang saw everything. He hadn’t meant to, he usually took a different hallway to go to his classes since this one was very crowded, but something in his mind just kept telling him to pass through this one just once.

Nothing mattered to him at that moment. He dropped everything - his books, his coffee, his inhibitions, his anger - and ran towards you, not caring at all the stares he was getting. He didn’t care, not anymore, especially not when it came towards you.

He didn’t even realize that Jongho had gotten to you first. His childhood friend was kneeling on the floor, cradling your head to his chest, his hands tapping your cheeks in an attempt to wake you up. He didn’t care about that either.

”Wait, what in God’s name are you doing?” Jongho was thoroughly surprised when Yeosang pushed him away and grabbed your limp body towards himself. He didn’t even have time to register anything when Yeosang began to carry you in one go as if you didn’t weigh anything.

“What does it look like?” Yeosang snapped. “I’m taking her—-”

“Hell no, you are not,” Jongho gritted his teeth, grabbing onto his arm to try and stop him. His explosion had already caught on to the other students, it was embarrassing.

Yeosang tried to shrug off Jongho’s hand, but he didn’t budge and held tighter. “You are the reason she is sick, bastard,” he hissed under his breath. He was about to say more, but he was caught off guard at the way Yeosang glared at him.

There was an intense, burning rage of fire in those eyes. He’s known Yeosang all his life, yet he has never seen this much emotion in his friend’s eyes. He was a no-nonsense type of man, and the magnitude of his feelings written in those eyes, the possessiveness, he had no choice but to let go and let Yeosang carry you away.

White lights penetrated through your eyelids even when they weren’t open. It was odd, you woke up with your eyes completely closed, but that flashing light was completely blinding you. It was unbearable.

You sat up with a groan, your hands clutching your head to soothe the pounding headache that made you want to split your head in half. The last thing you remembered was falling completely into that void, blackness swallowing you into its chasm, and then, nothing.

There was a small moment of panic that set in when you looked around and realized that you had absolutely no idea where you were. The only reason why you knew that you were back in Yeosang’s apartment was that the bed you were lying on smelled exactly like him; that sweet, musky, earthy scent that invaded your olfactory senses always brought heaven down to you.

A sudden ache clustered behind your eyes, the worst kind. It rendered you weak all over again, like your body was suddenly remembering that it was supposed to be sick. And just like that, you fell back asleep.

But not for long. You felt something on your forehead, something wet and cold, and it was disrupting your well-needed rest. Your lips were getting parted a bit, an unconscious groan slipped past them.

“Yunho,” you mumbled, voice scratchy, throat itchy with how sore it was becoming.

Yeosang scoffed softly, his grip on the thermometre tightens ever so slightly, his other hand holding the cold towel on your forehead in place, hoping your fever would lessen, if not completely go away.

You kept mumbling your roommates’ names, specifically Yunho’s. He knew of Yunho, he didn’t mind him, but he’d rather not hear it right now. He’ll let it pass for now, you were quite delirious, after all. It wasn’t something he couldn’t fully blame you for, it was him who was to blame for what happened to you.

His brow raised when your hand suddenly held his, the one holding the towel on your forehead. “Yuyu, cold,” you mumbled.

”Think again, princess,” his left eye twitched in annoyance, but he kept his voice as gentle as possible.

You opened one eye so as to not overwhelm yourself with the light. Ah, how could you forget? You squeezed his hand slightly. “Yeo,” you smiled a little. “Are you still mad at me?”

“I don’t know, you tell me,” he muttered, trying hard not to squeeze your hand back with the small nickname you gave him this time. “You are in my house, in my bed, calling another man’s name. You tell me.”

You frowned when he leaned away. “Keep that thing on,” he pointed at the cloth on your forehead. “I’ll be back to get some soup.”

You didn’t have the heart to tell him that you weren’t in the mood for soup and that you just wanted to go to sleep, so just watched him walk out of the room. You had no right to complain, your heart was getting warmer in your chest at the thought of Yeosang still taking care of you even when he was mad at you.

People don’t know how pure-hearted this man was, but you knew. You knew.

When sleep was about to come knocking towards you once more, Yeosang had to tap your cheeks a bit to wake you up. He wouldn’t admit it, but it did make him feel bad, but you had to eat to replenish your energy.

“Open up,” he lifted the spoon to feed you, himself. “Don’t soil my bed.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle a little, the sound of it a bit grating in your ears. His rough-around-the-edges made you feel reassured, like he was never angry at you in the first place. You’d take this over anything any other day.

With his help, you were able to finish the soup very quickly. Here came the hard part, though - you needed to drink some medicine. Your stomach refused to take anything anymore, you didn’t want to throw up.

”Open your mouth,” Yeosang tried to push the pill in your mouth. “I don't want you dying on me.”

Your fever is taking over your senses now, delirium setting in, and your vision is doubling. “Can I take it later? I really can’t, it’s too bitter,” you whined.

He frowned. “No. I don’t give a damn, take it before I shove it down your throat.”

He sighed exasperatedly when you weren’t letting up. He wasn’t a complete ass, he would never force you to do something you didn’t want to.

An idea crosses his head. He bit his bottom lip apprehensively, there was one thing he could do, but was it going to be worth it?

He took a look at your pitiful state. Drops of sweat trickled down your forehead, yet you were still shivering terribly. Your eyes opened and shut themselves repeatedly, yet they remained unfocused on anything.

One thing was for sure - you were still beautiful. The answer wasn’t lost on him.

He takes his mask off, the one that covered the majority of his face, the one he detested yet swore would never take off. He puts the pill on his tongue, grabs your face, then puts his lips against yours.

You mewled, caught off-guard by the suddenness of it, but you were far too gone to notice and care. This was a dream, it had to be. It was the only way to not lose your mind over this. You were too delirious to see his face, and you didn’t realize that you had already swallowed the pill in the heat of the moment.

He pulled away, giving you a small peck on the nose. He walked towards the door to leave, putting his mask back on in the process, but not before looking back at you one more time. It wasn’t the way he would’ve normally done things, but it helped, didn’t it?

”Yeosang, wait,” you mumbled. It came out as a weak call, but at least he heard you when he turned around. You actually didn’t know if he did, but you just hoped he did.

”What?”

“Whatever it is that’s trapping you in your own mind,” you began. You had no idea what compelled you to say it, your delirium was getting to you, but you just had to say it. “Whatever has happened to you, just know that it wasn’t your fault.”

Yeosang froze, his entire body going rigid. “Go back to sleep,” he muttered, teeth gritted. It wasn’t out of anger, it was out of concern.

”Forgive yourself, please,” you coughed one last time before your head hit the pillow to rest. “And forgive me too…”

He wouldn’t go back to that room until the next day. He clearly had a lot to think about.

He was never truly mad at you, not entirely anyway. Rather, he was terrified. He was utterly scared of you finding out the skeletons in his closet before he told you, and he was close, he was so damn close, but when you found out first, he just couldn’t help the anger that filled his veins at that moment.

You slept for another day straight with Yeosang checking in on you once in a while. He didn’t wake you up, you definitely needed that rest to recuperate your energy

Your phone would ring once in a while but Yeosang was quick to assure Yunho, if he called, that you were fine. And if Jongho called, he wouldn’t even bother picking up. He wanted to be petty, what could he say?

By the third day, you were feeling completely fine. You were able to get up on your own and finally shower after staying on the same bed with the same clothes for a couple of days. You were able to deduce that Yeosang had taken you to his other guest room, the one that didn’t have the theater system.

When you got in the bathroom, you were pleasantly surprised to find clothes already provided in there for you. You couldn’t help the beating of your heart, both in adoration with this man and in the hurt you feel for him.

You hugged your knees, huddling in the corner of the shower as your tears mixed with the cascading water from above you. You hoped that it would wash away all the wrongs you’ve done, but you knew it never worked like that. If only things were that easy.

The shower definitely made you feel better, your body was so sore from laying down for days. You needed to stretch, and so when you looked at the time, you realized that it was only seven o’clock in the morning, so you could make breakfast for you and Yeosang.

Your body was on autopilot, years of making breakfast for Jongho and Yunho has trained you for this very moment. You just hoped Yeosang liked what you made, but you would understand if he didn’t.

“Smells good.”

You screeched, jumping a couple of feet away from where you were standing, throwing the spatula you were holding in the air. There he was, standing at the foot of the stairs just watching you.

He sighed, walking and picking up the spatual to hand it over to you. You avoided eye contact with him when he got so close, you could smell him. It makes your head grow weary with dizziness.

“I’m glad the clothes fit you,” he mumbled, clearing his throat. “Do you feel better?”

“I-I think so,” you replied, tucking a strand of your hair at the back of your ears, not knowing what to do now that he was directly in front of you like this.

When you closed your eyes, you envisioned his face. Not in its entirety, however. You could perfectly see his features one by one when he removed the mask that night, but it was difficult to imagine them all together. Redness coloured your cheeks at the very thought of it.

It wasn’t lost on him what you were thinking. The nervous ticks of your hands and the slightest shift of your body told him everything you needed to know, that you were nervous.

You were expecting him to reply with something snide, something sarcastic, like he has always done with you. But instead, he heaved a sigh so heavy, it sounded like he was completely giving up and surrendering. “What am I going to do with you?” Yeosang said.

You frowned, looking up at him in apprehension. “W-What do you mean?”

“First, you invade my privacy by snooping around,” he said bluntly. You winced. “And then, you have the audacity to get sick. And now you’re here, making me breakfast you know I wouldn’t eat in front of you.”

You bit your lip, chewing on it nervously. You let out a small gasp when his thumb gently presses on your chin, pulling it down a little to stop you from doing so. “And then do you shit like this,” he whispered.

”I’m sorry,” you blurted out. “I’m so sorry for everything, I didn’t mean to be sick, but I’m very grateful that you took care of me.”

He smirked, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, did you really think I’d just leave you hanging like that? Did you honestly think that you weren’t important to me enough?”

You blinked at him owlishly, your mouth opened a little as you stared comically at him. “But, you weren’t wrong,” you gulped, your vulnerability overpowering how nervous you were actually feeling right now. ”I did snoop around but I promise you I didn’t do it on purpose, I promise you—-“

”Shh,” he hushes you, pressing his thumb on your lips this time. “I know, princess, I know,“ he swallowed before continuing. “None of it was your fault, i-it’s all mine. I am so, so sorry, Y/N.”

It hurt you to see him like this, the Yeosang you knew was headstrong, upfront, and outspoken. The Yeosang in front of you right now was vulnerable, just like you, nervous, and hesitant to say what was on his mind. His eyes bore into you, they shone with endearment towards you.

His hand makes way to your cheeks, his hand cupping your face tenderly. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he whispered, a tone I’ve never heard from him before. “I’d never forgive myself if something happened to you.”

You sniffled, forcing a smile on your face. “Nah, you can’t get rid of me that easily,“ you chuckled. “I’m strong, aren’t I? Cheer up, Yeo.”

His hand itched to pull your head closer. “I’ve always liked it when you call my name like that,” he confessed, testing the waters by taking one step closer towards you. “When all you hear everywhere is ‘freak’, it sounds like a treat, you know?”

“I’m the only one who should matter,” you blurted out without thinking. “Those people don’t deserve you, they don’t deserve the smart, kind, empathetic person that you are, they just don’t.”

You saw Yeosang close his eyes slowly, his entire body trembling as he held you. “That’s where you’re wrong,” he muttered, both of his hands holding your face this time. “I don’t deserve you.”

“What? Don’t say that—-”

“I told myself to not cross this line before,” he said, walking forward, his hand pushing you backwards until you hit the countertop with your behind. “So I pushed you down a million times, but the truth was, I’d love it if you knew that you were on my mind.”

Your heart was constricting, shrinking on itself, that it hurt to even breathe. The vulnerability in his eyes was making you tear up. You purse your lips to stop yourself from tearing up then and there. “Do you remember what you told me the other night?” Yeosang asked you, his hand going behind your neck.

You shook your head, not because you didn’t truly remember, but because you can’t even describe what you’re truly feeling right now. “You told me to forgive myself,” he murmured. “But how am I supposed to do that when I was this close to losing you because of some misunderstanding from my insecurities?”

You could feel the weight of what he was saying as something tangible. You gulped, opening your mouth those three little words you’ve always wanted to tell him, but he quickly shook his head.

“Don’t say it,” he pleaded. “Not yet, Y/N. Not yet.”

This was it for Yeosang, it was now or never. With what he’s going to tell you, it’s either you stay or you don’t. There is no in between. He ran his hand through his hair, something you noticed he did a lot when he was frustrated, as if doing so would lessen his unraveling thoughts and feelings.

“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath. He can’t do it, where did he even want to start?

It was a constant push and pull between you and Yeosang - he was good at being there without suffocating, you were good at offering your support without asking for anything in return. It infuriated him, yet intoxicated him. All he wanted was to run away when all you wanted to do was lean on him.

But not anymore, he wasn’t going to run anymore.

“For the lack of a better word, I’m fucked up, Y/N,” he chuckled bitterly, breaking your heart into small pieces. “It wasn’t always like this, you know? I have my reasons, and I was fine being alone, but you.”

He held your hands and warmth spread all throughout your fingertips. It sent sparks down your spine. “The first time I looked at you, you didn’t even notice it. You were the only one who didn’t pay attention to me or said anything remotely stupid about this.”

He was referring to the mask. You stared at him in sadness, was the bar really that low? It wasn’t difficult to not talk about it, it wasn’t your place, and you believed everyone does what they do for a reason regardless or how unreasonable it could be.

His eyes started to search yours. He wanted to stop breathing. It was those eyes of yours. He swallowed a lump on his throat because you always looked at him like the only thing you saw was him. It was too much for him at times, yet it was never enough at the same time.

“There are a lot of things I want to tell you, but I don’t know where to start,” he admitted. He hated how small he sounded. “I want to tell you everything, I’m just stuck in my head lately, that’s all.”

You didn’t respond immediately, what were you supposed to say to something like that? You weren’t good with things like this, and your heart twisted with hurt as you took a good look at him, he looked hopeful yet sad. Yeosang thought you looked so understanding right now, and he wanted to scream.

“You saw it when you opened the box, didn’t you?”

You tilted your head, confused at first, but you knew exactly what he was talking about. You wanted to hear it from him. “What about it?”

“I’m so stupid,” he chuckled bitterly. “I guess I was embarrassed when you found out that you weren’t going to be my original partner for the project.”

Your heart thudded in your chest. I knew it, you thought. You did have an inkling, but you didn’t want to assume anything. “I don’t know why I did it, but I don’t regret it. Deep down, I think Professor Choi knew,” he continued.

You noticed that he was slowly pulling away, you can read it in his eyes that he’s said enough. You weren’t going to let him do that.

”Yeosang,” you uttered his name with gentle care; with such grace. “You can tell me anything, alright? No matter what it is, I’m here. You have no reason to carry your burdens by yourself anymore.”

You could tell that your words hit him like a hurricane. You stared at him, the conflict in his eyes, oh, how you want to take that all away from him. You definitely wanted to tell him how you felt about him, and you just might.

Yeosang stepped closer to you, your face almost brushing against his chest. His hand tightened their hold on your and the contact sent jolts of shivers against your scalp. He was having an internal conflict, his resolve slowly breaking down in front of you as his eyes met with yours once again. You almost couldn’t handle the softness in his eyes, it was too much, yet it was everything.

“I don’t think I can do this,” he choked out, eyes reddening. He was pulling away.

But you weren’t going to let him. “You can,” you encouraged, voice gentle yet firm. You brought his hands to your lips and gave them a small peck. “I’m not leaving, even if you push me away. I am not leaving you.”

"No, you don't understand," he counteracted. "I don't want you to lean on me, because I'm falling, and I don't want that for you."

His hands were trembling. "And don't even count on me, because I'm drowning," he gazed at you with despair. "Please don't drown with me."

That hurt more than you thought possible for your heart to take. The emotions behind it were so rough, and for the first time, you didn't know what to do. "What do you want, then?"

"To hold you in my arms," he admitted. "Because I'd let the ocean take me if I can't."

The pounding of Yeosang’s heart slowed down, and finally, he finally felt like he could breathe again. He’d always felt like he was standing on the edge of the cliff, but this time, he could see himself finally jumping towards that liberation he’d always dreamt of chasing.

”Do you trust me?” You suddenly asked him.

It didn’t even take him a second to answer. “With all my heart.”

You suddenly lifted your fingers, eyes never leaving his. The fabric of the mask he wore on his face felt smooth and heavy against your fingertips as you slowly pulled it down and pulled it away from his face. It was the symbolization of it - you were going to set him free.

To say you were starstruck was the least of your concerns. You’ve never seen someone so astoundingly beautiful that it took your breath away. It was like being hit by lightning - so sudden and intense that you felt like you were being blown away. You took all of his features one by one - his perfect nose, his kissable lips, that adorable birthmark that was now in full view.

It certainly brought tears to your eyes. You cupped Yeosang’s face as your tears fell. “You’re beautiful,” you sobbed, more tears filling your lips as you smiled at him. “So beautiful, Yeo. So, so beautiful.”

“I love you,” he whispered, his eyes filling up with his own tears. Finally saying them felt like something broke inside him yet healed at the same time. “I wanted to tell you in a better setting, in a more graceful way, but I don’t think I can keep it all in anymore.”

It was true. The words just slipped out before he could stop himself. It hung in the air, it felt unreal, and it was suffocating because his chest tightened with a mix of fear and anxiety as he waited for your response.

Your eyes widened and for a moment, you thought your knees were going to buckle underneath you. Before you even understood it, yourself, your hands left his face to snake behind his neck and then you were leaning towards him, your lips finally meeting with his.

It was everything and more. He was surprised at first, but then his lips started to move in sync with yours. It was months of pining with one another, feelings that were left unsaid for most of the time. And now you were here, breathing each other in as if today was going to be your last.

You felt so soft and warm against him. You were everything he ever wanted and now that he had you, there was no way he was letting you go. Not again.

”I love you too,” you pulled away slightly, your faces still inches away from each other.

He couldn’t help but chuckle, not in amusement, but in relief. For the first time, he just let himself fall. He felt a deep yearning for you, it was far more than the desire to have you for himself. It was the unadulterated love he had for you.

You bit your lips at the sound of his voice, deep and unfiltered without the mask covering it. Yeosang tentatively held your face, his head tilting, the ghost of his lips fleeting against yours. He hesitated. While he wanted nothing more than to capture your lips one more time, he wanted to ask you one last thing.

“If I kiss you again right now, that will mean you will be mine,” he whispered.

His impatient side was taking over, but no, it was up to you. If you want him, you’ll have him.

You blushed at the implication, but you already knew what you wanted. This was why you fell for him - it wasn’t for what he looked like or what he could and could have offered you, it was his warm and considerate attitude.

Your lips brushed against his. It was meant to be sweet, a confirmation of what your answer was without even needing to spell the words out to him.

Yeosang’s resolve broke when you parted your lips. You let out a breathy, startled cry when he plunged his tongue straight onto your mouth, and your hold on his shoulders did nothing to calm down the wild beating of your heart. He pulled you close to him as if he was scared that you were going to leave him and all you did was kiss him even deeper to prove that you wouldn’t.

He needed to hear that sweet sound again. It was supposed to be a chaste kiss, but when he sucked on your tongue after you had teasingly bitten his bottom lip, sweetness be damned. He swallowed your quiet, whiny moans as he held you closer against him, his hand just holding your cheeks as if you were the most precious of treasures.

The both of you were startled out of the kiss when the loud beeping of the fire alarm sounded from somewhere above you.

You paled, quickly pushing Yeosang away to put the fire away from the burning pan of breakfast that you had totally both forgotten in the heat of the moment. You pouted, disheartened at the blackened eggs, or what was left of it.

Yeosang started to laugh, not believing that an egg cockblocked him. It wasn’t the sarcastic laugh you were used to nor was it that passing laugh he’d make when he was restraining himself. No, this was the tummy-tickling type. His entire face was scrunched up, his lips spread throughout his face, his eyes squinting with that unmistakable happiness, and his demeanor light and free. You loved this look on him.

“Stop making fun of me,” you pouted, laughing in between. You never realized how contagious his laughter was, and that realization led you to another thought - you are loving the new things you were learning about him.

“Just leave them,” he said, taking the pan from you to put it down the sink and pulling you plush against his toned chest.

“Yeosang,” you whined, blushing profusely at his affectionate gestures. It was a total change from who he was just hours prior to this. “Stop, I’m embarrassed…”

When he planted a quick peck on your lips, he couldn’t help but laugh again at your even more reddened face. You were so cute in his eyes, and had he known that he would feel this happy just by being with you like this, he would’ve gotten his head out of his ass a while back.

”I’ll take you out for lunch, princess,” he bargained, holding on to your hand. It wasn’t the first time he said the pet name, but it felt entirely different this time on your ears. “There’s this place I have to take you after.”

You didn’t miss the melancholy in his eyes when he said it, but you tried your best to cheer him up. “Oh? Is this a date, Kang Yeosang?”

”What if it is?” Yeosang scoffed playfully, hugging you from the waist tighter. “Can’t I take my girl out?”

“Who said I was your girl?”

You slightly felt bad at his shocked, widened eyes. You laughed out loud, leaning towards him once more to give him a sweet peck on his cheeks. “Relax, hot stuff,” you smirked when pink tinted his cheeks. “Thank you for loving me.”

A genuine smile crossed his lips, the adoration in his eyes tripling from the words you just uttered. He leaned his forehead against yours, content and happy. “No, thank you for loving me.”

Lunch was better than you could have ever imagined. Yeosang took you to this place that was an hour away from his apartment. Unsurprisingly, it was a high-end place, somewhere you would never have imagined you’d ever dine in.

“Yeo, I feel underdressed,” you frowned in concern, tugging at your dress that you both shopped for on a whim to suit the ambience of the fine dining spot.

”You’re beautiful,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “The most beautiful princess.”

When you finally sat down, he kept looking around, fiddling with his suit uncomfortably. You took his hand in yours in reassurance, it was the first time he went out without his mask and you could tell that he wasn’t used to it.

If only he knew. You ate lunch slowly, not because you were trying to be posh, but because you kept stealing glances at your boyfriend. Your boyfriend. The thought almost made you choke on your food so many times.

He really was the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen, heck, he was even prettier than you ever will be. His features were so refined, like God took his time with him. And now, he was yours.

However, the old Yeosang you knew was still there. He glared nastily at you when you tried to split the bill when you were done eating. You sheepishly smiled at him, putting your card back in your wallet to let him pay for everything. You would make it up to him by kissing him in front of everybody in the restaurant when you were leaving.

Public display of affection wasn’t your thing, but it was so worth it to see his flustered smirk.

”Do you know why I brought you here?” Yeosang questioned, buckling your seatbelt for you like a true gentleman, curiously.

You frowned, looking around from inside the car. You’ve never been here before and to be fair, when you told him to surprise you, he did deliver. “You’re not going to kill me and dump my body out here, aren’t you?” You teased him.

He rolled his eyes dramatically. “I should,” he murmured. He laid his arm at your headrest, looking behind as he reversed the car. You gulped, he looked hot. “Seriously, Y/N? God, you’re so fucking weird.”

You chortled, the snorting sound coming from you was so embarrassing but you didn’t care. “True, but you love me,” you smirked triumphantly.

He sniffled, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. “I know,” he fake cried. “Is it too late for me to find the receipt so I can still return you to the store?”

You gasped, your mouth dropping in mock offense. “Yeosang!”

He wasn’t going to change from that apathetic friend that you had first before this, except that you had the benefit of having his love now.

The drive was smooth-sailing. You felt like you were in cloud nine the entire time, giggling when he would smirk at you knowingly, his hand on yours the entire time while the other was on the steering wheel. You couldn’t help but notice how smooth his hands were.

Soon enough, you were driving in an area where the houses had great views and were situated in prime locations. You didn’t notice it at first, but the more you drove, the bigger the houses got. You weren’t naive, you had an idea just how wealthy Yeosang’s family was, but you were about to find out just how wealthy they actually were.

”Let’s go,” he murmured, unbuckling his seatbelt after parking directly in front of this gated house - mansion, rather. It was intimidating, the driveway, alone, was long and winding, surrounded by pretty lights and vast greenery.

He opened your door for you, holding your hand and gently ushering you out. You gulped, if you felt underdressed earlier when you went to a fine dining restaurant, you definitely felt out of place and you haven’t even gone inside yet.

“You could’ve told me we were going here,” you frowned, your mind already getting poisoned by your own insecurities. You gestured to yourself. “I would’ve dressed better.”

Outside the gates was a small hut-looking station, presumably where the security guards were whose jobs were to filter out who entered the property and kick out whoever isn't welcome. Yeosang knocked twice on the window with his knuckles. You were fascinated when the sliding window opened quickly, seemingly like whoever was there wasn’t expecting to be disturbed when they opened their mouth to speak.

But when they saw who was knocking, they immediately shut up. “Young Master,” the guard said in surprise rather than contempt.

Your boyfriend smiled. “Hello, Juyeon,” he waved slightly. He gestured to me. “I’m with my girl. Open the gates, do not announce my arrival. Wooyo?”

You didn’t pay attention to their conversation, your insecurities getting the best of you. You generally weren’t someone to get intimidated by opulence and the material luxury that this world could offer, but now that it was right in front of you staring you in the face, you didn’t know what to do.

You didn’t realize that the gates had opened and Yeosang was holding your hand again and leading you inside. You smiled politely at the guard, bowing slightly to each other before you turned your attention back to Yeosang.

“You’re beautiful, I told you,” he shook his head, walking forward and leading you in. “If anything, you look perfect.”

He chuckled at your confused face. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet, someone important to me,” he explained, his voice taking on a sadder tone even though he tried to hide it from you. “This is my family home. I want everyone to see you for you and they will accept that because I’d hate for you to change just to fit in.”

You didn’t know squat about construction, but even to the inexperienced eye, it was easy to tell that the way the entire property was built was made up of high-quality and premium materials. You were still on the lawn and it was already boasting a large amount of space.

“It’s called common courtesy,” you reasoned out, trying hard not to gawk at your surroundings. “I don’t want to look like I didn’t make an effort or anything.”

You faced the front door with him, pausing when he hesitated to push it open. “You’re literally fine, though I understand where you’re coming from,” he reassured me. “My parents are very kind people, trust me.”

You blanched. “Your parents?”

Now you felt totally out of place, you were about to meet his parents! “Yeo, a-are you sure about this? We’ve only been together for a day, are you sure—-”

“Princess,” he stopped you, worry in his eyes at your panicked state. It significantly calmed you down, but it didn’t stop the wild beating of your heart. “You were my friend first,” he smiled tightly at you. “I think my parents would be pleased to meet the person that helped me and was there for me whenever I needed comfort.”

Your chest warmed, his words hitting you directly in your heart. To say you were touched would be an understatement. “I did that for you?”

“In more ways than one, yeah,” he chuckled, ruffling your hair affectionately before fixing it, tucking the stray ones behind your ears gently and tenderly. “Ready?”

If the driveway and the lawn weren’t enough to impress you and make your jaw hit the floor, the interior of the house definitely did. Everything from the living room down the smallest corners of the walls screamed luxury and money, the attention to detail was impressive, especially since you grew up in a humble home.

”Holy shit, Yeosang,” you blurted out as he gave you a tour. “I knew you had money, but this is crazy.”

“Old money,” he shrugged. “Didn’t Jongho tell you we were childhood friends? My little princess can think about that for a second, hmm?”

You rolled your eyes at him, but he was right. It also didn’t stop the blush from rising up your cheeks. You would just never get used to his affectionate nature being out in the open now.

Besides the few house workers that were delighted at the sight of Yeosang, you didn’t encounter anybody significant yet. You weren’t sure if that was a relief or not, but so far you were enjoying the tour. He showed the pool, the built-in sauna with the promise of using it with you next time, and the outdoor kitchen.

There was also a home theater, but he didn’t stay long. You figured it had something to do with how you two had a falling out a week prior. Instead, he took you to his favourite place - the wine cellar. Apparently, his father loved collecting wine from all over the world. You gulped at the mere thought of the price tag attached to them.

He smirked when he brought you to the main kitchen. Your eyes shone at the granite countertops, the marbled floors, and the custom cabinetry that held every spice and herb known to mankind. There, a kind looking woman approached you with a wide smile. Yeosang introduced her as the head chef.

”I see you got yourself a little girlfriend, Sangie,” she teased mischievously.

Yeosang cleared his throat, rolling his eyes affectionately as he gave the head a tight hug. “It’s been a while,” he whispered with an emotion you haven’t recognized before. “Uhm, this is Y/N,“ he gestures to you after he’s pulled away.

“Nice to meet you,” you smiled as the head chef gave you a tight hug of your own. It certainly touched you, it was such a warm gesture and you’ve never met them before, too.

”Hopefully, Yeosang has been treating you well,” she said with a knowing smile. “My, you are very pretty, dear.”

“Who’s very pretty?”

You turned to a new voice from the entrance of the grand kitchen. Judging from what you were seeing, you knew exactly who this woman was. She looked just like Yeosang, except she was much, much older. She had this elegance and grace that one couldn’t get from anywhere else except for age and the wisdom that came along with it.

You bowed in a ninety-degree angle as politely and as respectfully as you possibly can. “G-Good afternoon, Mrs. Kang, I am so sorry to intrude into your house like this!”

You heard her amused laughter, and when you rose back up, you held back in your own laughter when you saw her hold the shell of her son’s ear and pulled it towards her cheekily.

“You unfilial son of mine,” she started off, ignoring Yeosang’s groans of pain as she tightened her hold. “You haven’t set foot in here for a while and you dare just show up unannounced? Oh, your father will have a field day with you!”

“But it’s okay,” she giggled, your eyes widening when she held you by the arm. “Finally, you bring a beautiful girl home, oh, I thought my son was going to die a virgin forever!”

“Mum! What the hell?”

Yeosang’s mom was a chatterbox, and she was the sweetest. It made you breathe out a sigh of relief because you were slightly terrified that she’d reject your humble background compared to theirs and her son’s lifestyle growing up.

The only way Yeosang was able to drag you away was when you made a promise to her that you’d come back for tea time.

“Princess, I hope this doesn’t deter you from coming back,” he remarked sarcastically, leading you outside with his hand on your lower back. “I swear everybody here is sane.”

As if on cue, the house staff that would either pass the two of you or you would pass bowed and giggled to themselves in amusement and surprise when they saw Yeosang. You smiled awkwardly at everybody, breathing a sigh of relief when you reached the back part of the property once more, except Yeosang led you to an entirely different place.

“I think everybody is sweet and it’s quite endearing to see them like you,” you chuckled. “I get it though. It’s like they haven’t seen you in months.”

“That’s because they actually haven’t seen me in months,” he deadpanned.

You chuckled a bit, thinking that he was joking just to uplift the mood, but when you saw his facial expression remaining unchanged, your smile dropped. “W-Wait, you’re serious?”

“We’ve been technically together for a while now without the label, have you ever seen my family visit or heard a phone call?” Yeosang scoffed, pulling on your hand to stop you from walking. “We’re here.”

Your mouth parted in awe. Flowers littered your vision, they were a dancing rainbow of pretty blossoms. You’ve always dreamt of getting a house one day with a huge garden like this, you could almost detect the insatiable fragrance this garden offered, and the way the beautiful petals curled from the summer heat made you want to touch them. You could stay here and make this your sanctuary.

”But why? Was there any reason you cut contact with them? They love you, Yeo, I could see that,” you said softly, curiosity dancing in your eyes.

He lifted a finger to point at something. “That’s why,” he said. His eyes were swimming with a mixture of anxiety and longing, but when he blinked, it was gone. He offered you his hand once more. “Come along, princess. There’s someone I would like you to meet.”

You didn’t notice it at first, but there was a person on the far end of the garden. The closer you got, the more you realized that it was a man. He was obscured by all the pretty flowers, but he was there clear as day.

Your heart dropped to your feet, for the man was in a wheelchair, his entire right leg in a cast along with his right arm. Was this the reason why Yeosang chose to leave his family? You were nervous to know the answer.

He didn’t notice you at first, too busy basking underneath the sun that was beaming down on him. He had a soft, serene smile painted on his face that signified that he was truly at peace at the moment. Your brows shot up when you got closer, he was handsome.

Finally, he looked up, and then his eyes widened. Between Yeosang’s trembling hands and the man’s widened, unsure eyes, you didn’t know what to do, exactly. The three of you were frozen in time.

“Yeosang,” he whispered, eyes hooded with emotions you couldn’t stand looking at, not because you had something against this man, but because you might end up crying if you stare too long. He tried to get up hurriedly, struggling against his restrictions, and it was when Yeosang finally broke out of his trance and rushed forward.

“Damn it, Wooyoung, what the hell is wrong with you?” Yeosang hissed, his harsh voice a contrast to the gentle way he helped the latter sit back properly on his wheelchair. “Have you lost your mind?”

You purse your lips. Ah, you thought, so this was Wooyoung. The genes in this family continue to astound you. You didn’t recognize him at first - in the photo you saw, Wooyoung had shorter hair, and right now, his hair was long enough to reach his shoulders. And he has a thorny rose tattoo that he didn’t have in the photo.

Wooyoung stared at Yeosang when he lifted his pants a little before squatting down to his level, using his hands to lean on the wheelchair for support. The fox-looking man stared at his brother with no particular expression on his face except for his teary eyes. You felt like you were intruding.

Yeosang smirked lightly, without any malice or ill-intent. “How are you, Woo?”

You weren’t expecting much, in fact, you weren’t expecting anything at all, but you sure as hell weren’t expecting your boyfriend’s face to be, for the lack of a better word, bitch-slapped so hard, it sent his head reeling to the side. The loud, cracking sound of skin hitting skin surprised you, to say the least.

“That’s for disappearing on me for months,” Wooyoung hissed, his hand still in the air.

Yeosang’s mouth was parted in shock. He slowly turned his head back to Wooyoung, his eyes widened, but he didn’t say a word. His cheek was slowly growing red and if it wasn’t for the situation, you would’ve laughed at the handprint forming on the area.

After a while, Wooyoung burst out crying, leaning forward to grab Yeosang by his shirt so he could wrap his arms tightly around him. Yeosang relaxes into the hug, patting Wooyoung’s shaking body whilst rubbing onto his back soothingly like a father comforting a son. The only sound in the garden right now was Wooyoung’s silent wails and sniffles.

“How did you even know I was here?” Wooyoung wondered, sniffling, as he pulled away and took a good look at Yeosang by holding onto his face. “You look…happier.”

You blushed when he side-eyes you mischievously, winking at you subtly before turning his attention back at Yeosang. “You’re a jerk, you know that?” Wooyoung further chided, scoffing loudly at Yeosang, who rolled his eyes. “Dad is pretty pissed at you and mum was running around like a chicken without a head. You left me high and dry, bastard.”

“And you?” Yeosang raised a brow, rubbing his cheek, offended. “What about you?”

“You tell me,” Wooyoung pushed Yeosang’s shoulder. You wanted to giggle at how different the two brothers were. “You were having so much fun at dad’s penthouse.”

Yeosang was genuinely surprised. “How—”

“Anyway,” he grinned, turning his wheelchair manually to face you. He stretches his arm towards you and waves it to gesture to you to come closer to him. “Come, come,” he said. “I need to know the girl who removed my brother’s stick from his ass.”

“Bold of you to assume we’re together,” Yeosang scoffed, motioning for you to sit down on the nearby bench.

“Keep telling yourself that. Move along,” he turned his wheelchair once more, the wheels going over Yeosang’s foot like a bump on the road. He mumbled a small ‘oops,’ not really caring about the latter’s groan of pain as he clutched on his foot while glaring behind the former’s back intensely.

He grinned again, bringing his hand out for you to shake. “Jung Wooyoung, the better looking brother.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Yeosang rebutted. “She’s my girlfriend, dimwit.”

“L/N Y/N, the stick holder,” you smirked, bringing your own hand out to shake his. You tried hard not to stare at his cast and his injuries, though you were extra curious about them especially since Yeosang kept looking at them when he thought Wooyoung didn’t notice, and his eyes held pain.

Wooyoung laughed, surprising you with his high-pitched cackle. “Oh my God, I like her, I like her!” He repeatedly said, slapping his own thigh as he laughed. He batted his eyelashes at you. “So, what did you do to bring my brother out of his shell?”

It was when the atmosphere turned tense. Yeosang’s shoulders stiffened, his back muscles turning rigid. “I don’t think we should talk about that right now,” he murmured, sitting beside you and draping an arm across your shoulders. “There’s so much time, Woo–”

“What, so much time for you to leave again? I won’t see you for months, hell, I might not see you again, knowing you,” Wooyoung scoffed, sighing heavily. He looked up at the sky again for minutes before setting his eyes towards Yeosang once more. “You need to let go, Sangie,” he paused, tilting his chin at me. “Does she know?”

Your curiosity was definitely piqued this time. Yeosang shook his head. “That’s why I’m here,” he sighed. He looked at you, giving you a tight smile. “I figured if you’re going to be with me, you have to know soon, anyway.”

“Is this related to why you covered your face the entire time during this semester?” You wondered absentmindedly, not expecting that it would set off another set of questions.

“Wait, what the hell does that mean?” Wooyoung blurted out in surprise. “Cover your face, how? Yeosang?”

Both of you proceeded to tell in your own experiences on how Yeosang would wear a mask to cover the bottom half of his face on campus and even around you until recently. Wooyoung’s jaw dropped lower and lower down to the floor the more you recounted your experiences, especially how Yeosang was being treated by the other students.

Wooyoung had this forlorn look on his face that got sadder and sadder the more you talked to the point that you regretted talking in the first place. He rubbed his face with his hands frustratedly. “Damn it, Sangie, I told you, I’m fine.”

Yeosang raised a brow, giving his injuries a pointed look, making Wooyoung roll his eyes. “It will heal,” he tried to console, but it wasn’t working. He turned to you, eyes laced with pain, before he sighed and spoke. “There was a car accident a couple of months ago. I was in the passenger’s seat, and Yeosang was driving.”

Hearing that felt like a dream, the sudden shock of it not fully sinking into you until Yeosang tightened his hold on your shoulder. “I like you, and you seem like a nice girl,” Wooyoung continued. “But I have to ask you this - what do you think about Yeosang?”

It definitely sparked something in you, it was an easy answer. “Everything,” you grabbed Yeosang’s hands in yours. “He’s very sweet, a bit of a jackass sometimes, but it’s a part of his personality I’m willing to work around because I’m in love with him. Anybody who doesn’t like him is lost on them, and I feel bad for them.”

Wooyoung seemed satisfied with this answer. His hand patted your free hand before he looked down. “There was this girl,” he began, voice hardening. “Long story short, she was obsessed with him. She followed him everywhere, she even broke into our house one night, I mean, this girl was crazy.”

You gasped, turning your head abruptly at Yeosang, who was avoiding eye contact. You had an idea where this was going, you didn’t want to hear the repeated heartbreak for both of them, but you had to because it will help Yeosang move on. You tightened your hold on his hand.

It made sense. It all made sense. The attitude, the melancholy, and the mask. It just made sense. His face was his downfall.

“One day, we were coming home from the arcade,” Wooyoung continued. “Next thing we know, she was trailing us from behind and trying to line herself to the car,” he shook his head bitterly. “She was drunk. One thing led to another, my side of the car hit a pole head on.”

You gasped loudly, covering your mouth with your hands. Anger coursed through your veins, its hot trail going up your brain at the pain that must’ve brought upon everybody. “As you can see, I’m still recovering. Couple of broken bones,” he pointed to his casts. “But I’m fine. I’m alive, aren’t I?”

“It shouldn’t have happened at all,” Yeosang gritted his teeth. “I should have been careful, I should’ve just driven faster, I should’ve,” he paused, sniffling, rubbing his eyes to stop the tears from falling. “If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt, Wooyoung. You lost your baseball scholarship because of me.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Wooyoung shook his head. “It’s her fault, Yeosang. It was never yours, it’s high time you stopped blaming yourself.”

Yeosang buried his head on the crook of your shoulder and neck, his other arm wrapping completely around your shoulders until he was fully hugging you for his own comfort. You and Wooyoung looked at each other and you couldn’t help but admire the man. The accident should have deterred him, but no, he still looked like a bright and cheerful person. Jung Wooyoung was stronger than anyone you know.

Wooyoung lifted his hand, trembling, wanting to reach out to his brother, but he put them back down. “You already gave up your dreams of being an idol because of this, because of that bitch,” he whispered bitterly. You were taken aback at the animosity, but you couldn’t blame him. “How much more of yourself are you going to take?”

Wetness hit your neck, but Yeosang made no sound. You respected it even though you wanted him to just let it out completely. You smoothed his hair out, whispering sweet nothings in his ear and letting him know that you were here for him. You wanted to cry with him, he has been through so much and you never knew.

“A little birdie did tell me to forgive myself,” he chuckled, sniffling a bit before chuckling lightheartedly.

You blushed again when Wooyoung wiggled his eyebrows playfully at you. Yeosang pulls apart from you to lean down to hug his brother. It was then that you all knew that that weight had been lifted off of his shoulders, that the ghost of his past was finally leaving him to be the person he once was slowly, but surely.

“Mum and dad had never blamed you, and neither did I,” Wooyoung closed his eyes, rubbing Yeosang’s back. “We’ll heal together, okay?”

Campus was fascinating, to say the least. You had stayed over Yeosang’s penthouse the entire weekend. You couldn’t bear to leave him after that, but right now, you kept adjusting your sweater because makeup wasn’t enough to cover the hickeys that littered your collarbone and your chest.

After much deliberation, Yeosang had decided to ditch the mask. You assured him that whether or not he wore it would not change anything about your relationship, but all he gave you was a small smile and a reassuring peck on the lips.

“I have you now, I have no reason to wear it anymore,” he said. “Plus, it was getting difficult to wear it, anyway. I don’t know why I even started.”

One thing you were excited about, however, was being in the car with him to spend more time with him since you only had one class together. Luckily, both of your classes started in the afternoon, so you had time in the morning to go on a small date.

“Nervous?” You asked him, holding his hand as he stared out at the parking lot of the campus. “We should have taken my car, it’s a little more laidback.”

“No,” he shook his head. “I’ve been hiding who I am for a while and to be quite frank, there’s only a lot of smack talking I can take, and plus,” he smirked, opening the car door and swinging his legs out. “You’re with me. . I refuse to let you get dragged in this shit.”

You were proud of Yeosang, even though he was slightly nervous, you could tell that he was at least trying. Everyone started to stare, you two were definitely eye-catching. You weren’t the most well-known student, but everybody did recognize you for being a friend of not only Jongho and Yunho, but also Hongjoong.

Yeosang, however, nobody has ever seen him before. You were slightly peeved, it wasn’t that much of a secret that Yeosang was definitely attractive, subjectively and objectively. His jawline was defined, his eyes brighter and more expressive now, and overall, he just looked free.

The closer you got to the crowded places, the more heads turned. Eyes after eyes following your every move, wondering who the handsome man with you was and whether he was a student or just someone you’re with. Yes, people did stare. It was hypocritical and you couldn’t help but get mad, now that Yeosang was more pleasing to their eyes, they chatter with excitement?

“Relax, princess,” Yeosang chuckled, pushing your head towards his so he could plant a small kiss on your forehead. You smirked at all the ‘aww’ and ‘damn’ in the background. “You’re like a little cat with its fur standing up.”

He opened the door to the library for you with a small chuckle and suddenly, his eyes shone with nostalgia. He smirked at you, this was where everything had started, and right now, he was silently making fun of you when you were still technically stalking him back then when you had a crush on him.

Hongjoong smiled brightly at you when you and Yeosang approached the table. “Hey, Y/N. What’s going on?”

You sheepishly gave him the book that you had borrowed from before and avoided eye contact with him when he raised his brows so high, it almost reached his hairline. Even Yeosang was trying not to laugh beside you.

“Y/N, this is the same book from months ago when you were trying to butter up to Kang Yeosang,” Hongjoong muttered, scoffing in disbelief and amusement. “Holy crap, I have to see what your penalty fee would be.”

You didn’t care. You were embarrassed to the high heavens, especially when Yeosang started to put his knuckles in his mouth to stop himself from bursting out laughing. “Yeah? I wonder how that went,” he asked, adding salt to your wounds.

“Oh, you should’ve seen her,” Hongjoong grinned. “She had such a massive crush on the guy, it was hilarious,” he shook his head before clearing his throat. “Sorry about that. Would you like to return a book or borrow one, yourself?”

“I’ll borrow the same book, if you don’t mind,” Yeosang pointed at the Machiavellian book absentmindedly. “I promise to return it on time.”

You hissed at him, actually sounding like a cat, in annoyance. Hongjoong laughed and nodded. “Of course,” he gave Yeosang the logbook and a pen like he did to you before when you borrowed the book, yourself. “I just need you to write your name here.”

“Oh, no need,” Yeosang brushed off. “My name should be in the book. Kang Yeosang.”

“Ah, I see—what?” Hongjoong said before doing a comical double-take with his eyes bulged out from its sockets. It was your turn to smirk and look at him in amusement. He looked at Yeosang up and down with a huge smile. “Holy shit, man, you look amazing! I love the coat on you.”

Yeosang was genuinely surprised. At first, he didn’t know how to react and it made you smile. He was still getting used to genuine compliments and you found it adorable. “Hongjoong was one of the people who didn’t judge you,” you supplied.

“Thank you,” your boyfriend’s cheeks were tinted pink.

Class wasn’t any better either. Instead of sitting by the corner like he usually did, Yeosang sat beside you proudly. Those who had been there before you came had either looks of curiosity or awe. The two of you couldn’t help but giggle. Soon enough, the class started to fill up, and then Yunho came to sit beside you like he usually did.

“You,” he seethed, giving you a pointed look. You sheepishly looked back. “You went MIA on both Jongho and I, you owe us for making you worry the whole week!”

He notices who was beside me and does a double look before bowing a little. “Ah, hello, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before,” Yunho juts his hand out respectfully. “Jeong Yunho.”

Yeosang gives me an amused look before he smirks. “But you have seen me before, do you not remember?”

“W-well, no, I don’t think so,” Yunho frowned, his face contorting into confusion before his eyes widened like Hongjoong’s and his mouth dropped open. “Wait, hold on—”

You giggled into your hands, it was so amusing to see your friends’ reactions to Yeosang so far. Yunho’s rant got cut off when Professor Choi entered the room along with Professor Park behind him in tow. You will admit, your two professors were both attractive and you have confessed once or twice to Yeosang that you had a crush on Professor Choi at one point.

There was a third person who trailed behind them and it made you and Yunho snort in amusement. It was Jongho. He didn’t make a point to look at anybody except the professors so he didn’t notice you and Yunho.

“I have Professor Park Seonghwa with me to judge everybody’s performance with me,” Professor Choi gestures to the latter, his dimpled smile swooning everybody present. “I’m hoping for something wonderful today,” he then gestured to Jongho next. “We also have our winner from last semester judging you all.”

You had totally forgotten about that part. Jongho did a solo the other semester. It was the reason why only you and Yunho had been in this class since Jongho was exempted.

Yunho elbowed you amidst all the chatters, droning the Professors’ explanation. “Fucking hell, Y/N, that’s Yeosang?” Yunho whistled in awe. You nodded and he snorted. “I knew it, I damn well knew he’d be attractive, but holy hell, are you sure that’s him?”

“I’m pretty sure I know who my boyfriend is,” you giggled.

You almost felt bad for Yunho, who seems to be going through an internal mental crisis. “Boyfriend? Since when?”

Coincidentally and unluckily for him, Yunho was cut off when his name and Mingi’s were called. He seemed to forget what he was inquiring about and stood up to go. Mingi passed the both of you and smirked before greeting you.

“Wish us luck,” he chuckled. He waved slightly. “What’s up, Yeosang?”

And then he went with Yunho towards the front. Your boyfriend frowned, taken aback by Mingi’s sudden greeting. “How the heck does he know?” Yeosang murmured in surprise. He had always assumed that the campus jock was a massive asshole.

“Hell, if I knew,” you shrugged. “We barely practiced for this thing, ugh. I’m saying goodbye to those benefits now.”

After the camera had been set up by Professor Park, Yunho and Mingi began to introduce themselves towards it. You had totally forgotten that this will be a recorded performance for submission and future referrence. You clutched Yeosang’s hand nervously and he squeezed back.

You weren’t surprised at Yunho’s skills. He occasionally went to a dance studio and had even dragged you and Jongho with him at one point. However, you were definitely taken aback at Mingi’s deep and raspy voice when he started rapping. What’s more is that the guy could dance too. You groaned, you and Yeosang were definitely done for.

When Yunho went back, he looked genuinely happy, and you couldn’t help but beam at him and be happy for him, too. Even Yeosang gave him a friendly pat in the back as a congratulatory gesture.

By then, it was pretty obvious that Yunho and Mingi would win and be exempted for the next semester. Not that the others weren’t good, in fact, there were a couple of close calls. Dancing and acting seemed to be the norm and since nobody except Mingi had rapped, theirs was remarkable.

“L/N Y/N? Kang Yeosang?”

When your names were called, you suddenly felt like your legs had become like lead. Jongho looked up so fast, you were surprised his neck didn’t crack from the whiplash of looking up at your direction as if he knew you were there the entire time. His hold on the pen loosened as he stared at Yeosang in bewilderment as he started to walk down with you.

“What the fuck?” Jongho mouthed at you, perplexed at what he was seeing. You shrugged and gave him a small wink.

At first, it didn’t hit everyone - especially since a handsome man was walking towards the front of the class with you and they were expecting a masked freak. You had to control your oncoming anger, it was easy to get it misplaced since you were in a position where you could give everyone a piece of your mind, but you didn’t want to embarrass Yeosang further.

“Uhm,” Professor Park cleared his throat to mask his own surprise. “You are Yeosang, correct?”

Your boyfriend nodded, showing his campus identification card. “I think so, yeah,” he joked lightheartedly.

All hell broke loose after a small pause. Gasps of surprise, whispers and murmurs of your fellow students all talking about Yeosang, the boy who wore a mask and who everybody called weird or eccentric, but that was long gone by now. There was a small tinge of pink on his cheeks at all the attention but when he looked at you, he knew that everything was alright.

“What will you present to us?” Professor Choi tentatively asked as he started to tinker at the recording camera. He set his wise eyes on Yeosang before lowering his voice, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “We would have given you a fair grading even if you chose to wear your self-expression.”

Yeosang gave the professor a genuine smile, going forward to grab two microphones from a still puzzled Jongho. “Thank you,” he uttered. He gave you one mic before turning again. “Uhm, we're performing a song.”

Professor Choi lifts a surprised brow while Professor Park nods, glee evident on his face. “Ah, we haven’t had anybody sing for us yet,” the former supplied.

“Are you going to be okay? I’m worried for you,” you whispered to him truthfully amidst all the murmurs that were going around the room.

“I’m still used to this,” he reassured. “Former idol, remember?”

The moment the music started, Yeosang lost his soul into the rhythm. You guys had decided long ago that he’d sing all the main parts while you remained as harmonies. You were proud of him and you can see that it felt good for him, his voice elevated your soul like it was your catharsis.

You were still annoyed at all the swoons he was receiving, but you decided to ignore it for now and tamped down your jealousy, not when Yeosang was releasing the emotions he’s held within himself for a while now.

But what surprised you was not only was everyone, including Yunho and Mingi, swaying to the rhythm of Yeosang voice, but someone else’s voice had joined to harmonize with you. You looked at Jongho in surprise and it was his turn to wink at you. Yeosang patted Jongho’s shoulder as the three of you filled the room with your voices.

You weren’t sure if that was okay, but everyone went along with it. Soon enough, everybody was singing along with the two of you. Yeosang’s voice faltered and your quick thinking decided to take over for a few seconds so he could contain himself. He held your hand for comfort, this meant a lot to him, but Jongho comically pulled your hands apart, his eyes widening in a ‘no’ stance.

And soon enough, it was over. Just like when Professor Park picked who your partners would be, your performance was also the last for the day. Cheers along with loud claps surrounded the entire room and Professor Choi had to calm everybody down to not disrupt the neighbouring classes, but even he was pleased with the outcome.

“I think it’s safe to say who gets the prize, isn’t it?” Professor Park cleared his throat to hide the smirk that was threatening to spread all over his face.

It was all surreal. Another good thing happened next and Professor Park also announced that Yunho and Mingi were to be exempted as well since their performance was unique on its own. The four of you shared a wide grin with one another, and before you knew it, your classes for the whole day were also exempted, courtesy of Jongho’s smooth-talking so the four of you could hang out.

“Fuck, man, I didn’t know you could sing like that!” Mingi exclaimed as the five of you started to walk to the parking lot. Since classes were still ongoing, you were free to do and say anything you wanted. “You should be an idol, or something.”

Yeosang put his arm across your shoulder and pulled you closer. “I should’ve, shouldn’t I?” He grinned. Then, he cleared his throat. “You guys, uh, don’t care to be associated with me, or something?”

“What do you mean?” Mingi frowned, genuinely puzzled. “Do you not like us?”

“N-No! I mean, it’s not that,” Yeosang blanched, making you snort and laugh after. Before he could explain himself, Mingi, ever the people person, slaps Yeosang’s back playfully.

But Yeosang wasn’t the one surprised, it was Mingi. “Woah.” he blurted out. “Your back muscles, you work out too?! Say, mind if I call another friend of mine? I think he’d like to hang out, too.”

You blushed at the imagery that suddenly popped in your head. Yunho gags jokingly while waving his hands in front of him. “Oh, God, I did not want to know about that in your eyes, Y/N,” he barfs. “Also, you have a number one fan now, Yeosang—”

“Sure,” you glared at Yunho before turning to Mingi. “Depends on who's the friend though—”

“Ya! Song Mingi, what the hell did you want?!”

You all turned to the loud source of the voice and you couldn’t help but laugh out loud at Hongjoong who was marching towards your group with a menacing look, until his eyes went to Yeosang again and he snorted in amusement.

“I will never get over what your face looks like. Are you sure you’re not a model?” Hongjoong waved. “Anyway, Mingi texted me to come here.”

Everyone looked at the gentle giant, who was rubbing the back of his neck. “I may or may not have texted him already to come here…”

Yeosang was surprised again when Hongjoong slapped his back like an old friend does when they see them. “So where to? I’m not gonna lie, I’ve been so burnt out by this university thing,” he rolled his eyes. He sees Yeosang’s hold on you and raises a brow. “Woah, are we interrupting something?”

“Maybe,” you replied cryptically.

“Are you guys together or something?” Jongho blurted out, twirling his car keys on his finger. Leave it to Jongho to be blunt as always.

Yeosang possessively wraps an arm all over your waist from behind and plants his chin on your shoulder. You laughed sheepishly at everybody’s bulged out eyes while Yunho started cackling loudly. “It kinda just happened,” you chuckled.

Yeosang looks at Jongho, who had his eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You gonna do something about it, dad?” He joked, making everyone laugh.

Jongho rolled his eyes dramatically, pinching his nose bridge. “Not only do we have to deal with all the crazy energy this group will have in the future,” he stared pointedly at an excited Mingi, who was shaking Yunho’s collar. “But we also have to deal with you two eye-fucking each other constantly. Spare me the drama, please.”

Suddenly, Jongho and Yeosang stared at each other, a million emotions written in their eyes. You nudge your boyfriend closer to Jongho, giving him a reassuring nod. He shyly rubs the back of his neck before turning to everybody.

“Uhm, I’d love to have company in my place,” he began, causing Jongho to raise a brow. “I’ll send everybody the address, it’s only a fifteen minute drive from here.”

You were proud of Yeosang since he was trying to branch out of his comfort space and trying to let people in now so he could move forward and not get stuck in the past where he was all alone.

“You’re you again,” Jongho mumbled softly, sighing. “Can’t say I miss when you were stuck up and walked around like everybody was going to jump on you. You were a major dickhead, Sangie.”

Before Yeosang could reply, he turned to the rest of the group, who were already planning what to do and who should bring the snacks and stuff. “Uh, go ahead and drive on without us,” he gestured to himself and Jongho.

He turned to you with a small, serene smile. You could have cried, he didn’t even need to say anything, he looked so much happier from when you first met him when he threatened you at the library. “You go ahead without me, princess—”

“Princess,” Hongjoong blabbered out, his delight evident in his tone while the other started to jokingly and openly mock you both for being too sweet.

“I have a score to settle with this brute—” he tried to continue.

“I’m literally right here,” Jongho counteracted, holding his hand to his chest as if he was offended.

You hopped and kissed Yeosang in front of everybody, which resulted in a hilarious ruckus before pulling away and dragging Yunho away so you could get in the car with him. You looked back at your boyfriend, subtly giving him a thumbs, mouthing ‘I’m proud at you’ before completely turning around.

Both Yeosang and Jongho watched as everyone’s car started to peel out of the parking lot one by one underneath the red setting sun of the sky. It painted such a beautiful picture and it set the mood for what was about to come.

Yeosang had a small sense of dread woven into his nervousness. To be fair, it would have been odd if he wasn’t nervous, this was the first time he was talking to Jongho after he had pretty much ghosted him for months, disappearing on him like he did with Wooyoung.

“Listen,” he started, his anxiety through the roof. “I know you’re mad and you have the right to be, but I want you to know that I’m very sorry.”

It was now or never, his relationship with Jongho was on the line. He loved you, but he can’t just turn his back completely to the other person he grew up with. Jongho sighed, the sound of it harsh and unwelcoming.

“I am, I still am,” the latter huffed out. Yeosang hated it, but he understood why. “At least you know how to grasp the situation and you’re not in denial anymore. You piss me off so damn much, you know?”

“I understand,” he breathed out, kicking a nearby pebble off of the ground onto nowhere in particular. This was it, he thought, he had lost Jongho forever.

However, he wasn’t expecting a nudge on the shoulder and a friendly ruffle of his hair. He groaned, as self-deprecating as he was with his appearance, he hated his hair being messed up, and Jongho knew that.

“You’re a goddamn fool,” Jongho shook his head after. He choked out a laugh from his chest. “I’m mad at you for doing this to yourself. I’m mad at you for blaming yourself even though it wasn’t your fault. I’m mad at you for letting those assholes bully you and bring you down.”

“But mostly of all,” Jongho spoke in finality. “I’m mad at you for not letting me help and be there for you when you needed it the most.”

And with that, Jongho finally smiled, his teeth and gums all baring out like the sunshine for him to see. Finally, the last burden off of his shoulders and chest was finally being lifted away. They both laughed out loud as they both got into their cars, which were coincidentally parked next to each other.

“So, you and Y/, huh?” Jongho smirked, the playfulness that Yeosang knew him to have back on his face. How he missed it so.

“Yeah,” he chuckled, hopping into the driver’s seat and rolling the window down so he could still talk to Jongho. “She’s changed me, you know? I mean, I could tell you all the details—”

“Spare me,” Jongho groaned, honking to stop him from talking. “I get it, but I don’t wanna know all the juicy details of your relationship. Just don’t hurt her, or you’ll get a taste of this.”

He lifted his fists up in the air, waving them around comically and causing Yeosang to laugh out loud so much, his tummy and his sides started to ache and cramp up. This was it, this was all he needed. How had he been such a fool to let all of this go? Suddenly, your face popped up in his mind, and he smiled. He vowed to make you happy, for you had given him so much without knowing and asking for anything in return.

“Where to?” Jongho asked after he turned his car on, the sound of the engine being the background noise of it all. It was so fitting.

“You know my dad’s penthouse? The one near yours?”

Jongho’s eyes bulged out. “That’s where you’ve been staying? Fuck, I should’ve known,” he shook his head. Suddenly, he turned to Yeosang with an impish smirk, the delinquency in his face palpable and hard to miss. “Like the old times?”

Yeosang didn’t get it at first, until Jongho revved his engine, smoke coming out of the exhaust at a faster rate, and he laughed, revving his own engine competitively with a grin. When they were younger, they would race each other anywhere - the streets, a dirt road, anywhere. It wasn’t legal, by all means, because they really were young at one point.

“Loser buys dinner for the entire crew?” Jongho chided, his laughter filling the air.

It was contagious and Yeosang went ahead and pressed on the gas. “Deal.”

Dividers by: @strangergraphics

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thedreamlessnights · 1 year ago

Note

Since requests are open, here's my suggestion: I recently revisited my old mythology book and found one of the myths about aphrodite bathing in a lake and blinds some pervs that sneaked up to watch her. Now, the reader might not have the powers of a goddess but you know what she does have? A dagger-happy vampire boyfriend more than willing to shank unwanted peeping toms (in his defense, he actually asked if he could be there, so no harm done here). Idk, I just like the idea of the reader having scary dog privileges and Astarion not minding looking menacing/scary while doing so

Thank you so, so much for this request, anon. It's an absolutely incredible concept, and it fits Astarion so well! I had such a fun time writing it, and I really hope you enjoy the result!

For Your Eyes Only

Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW

Content warnings: Mentions of brief, non-consensual voyeurism. Somewhat graphic violence, as well as mentions of blood, degrading terms, and the description of an injury and death. Explicit sexual content, including: oral sex (receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, blood drinking, and ear play. Tags: Takes place post-Cazador, some point in Act 3. Includes mild spoilers. Established relationship, a bit of emotional hurt/comfort, and tender smut.

Word Count: 5.8k

After the darkness and chill of the Shadowlands, the heat in the city feels suffocating.

You missed the warmth dearly back then, trudging through despair and gloom, thinking of nothing but the inevitable relief of the city. Your bones always ached something awful in that foul place, never warm enough to ward away the icy air. Now, though, it occurs to you that you hadn’t fully appreciated the cold when you had it.

The sun that streams down from the skies is blistering - scorching, even - and without reprieve or relief. Sweat courses down your neck, soaking the collar of your shirt. Your socks are damp inside your boots, and where the leather meets your calves, they’re chafing.

Gods, what you wouldn’t give for a bit of that chill again. Even with the achy bones.

What’s worse is the mud, somehow. One would think that Baldur’s Gate would be scarce on its share of the stuff, but it’s everywhere. Tracked up from Rivington, puddling in the streets, clinging to the bottom of boots.

Granted, your boots have seen more than their fair share of mud since the nautiloid: sticky, wet, warm. It’s seeped into socks and splattered across new armor, stained some of your favorite nightwear. Sometimes, when you’ve finally settled down for dinner, you’ve been able to taste it. No amount of scrubbing rids you of the earthy, bitter taste for long.

The mud in front of you is different, though. By all accounts, the heat should have baked everything at least somewhat dry, but this puddle remains. If it can even be called a puddle, really. The gloppy, wet mess looks more like a pond, and completely blocks the only path ahead. Even the edges of it remain entirely liquid. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it’d just rained.

A quick glance at your map confirms what you’d feared; this is the only nearby route to your destination. You’re on the outskirts of the city. Rock walls line either side of the path, too steep to climb. You know for a fact that Shadowheart had recently used your last Potion of Flying. Either you lose hours of progress to get Gale from camp so you can cross, or you’ll have to proceed through this stupid pond.

Astarion watches you eye the mess with a dramatic flick of his wrist. “Oh, by all means, darling, you go first!” he exclaims, raising a brow. “It won’t be me jumping in that slop.”

Karlach frowns at the mud’s appearance, tapping the toe of her boot against the surface. It ripples at the movement, brown waves gently sloshing against the surface of the nearby stone. “Can’t be that deep, right?”

“I don’t know,” you reply. You’re aching for a stick or loose branch, something to measure it, but there’s nothing around. Just grass and stone, the scalding sun on the back of your neck, and the muddy pond directly in the middle of the path.

“I say we go back,” Shadowheart urges. “I don’t know about any of you, but I’m not keen on dirtying myself.”

“We’d have to backtrack through hours of traveling,” you point out. “There’s no other way forward. I’ve checked the map.”

“Fine,” she relents, crossing her arms across her chest. “You go first, and we’ll follow behind you. Once we’ve seen it’s safe, that is.”

And, hells, you do not want to step foot in there. Not one bit. Still, do you have much of a choice? Your feet are already aching from the day’s walk. It would be devastating to lose all your progress. So, no - you really don’t have a choice, not if you want to get those Netherstones and stop the Absolute in time. The quakes in the city have only been getting worse.

“Alright,” you finally reply, your voice stronger than you feel.

You step forward, pressing your right boot against the mud, then apply your weight. Your heel breaks the surface with a terrifying rush of movement, and your leg instantly slides down into the muck - much deeper than you’d thought, deeper than it should be. When your foot hits the bottom, sticky, cold mud splatters up, painting your shirt, neck, and parts of your face.

Suddenly, the day isn’t quite so warm.

When you finally muster the courage to look down, your right leg is submerged up to the knee, soaking through your trousers. You can practically hear the sick squelch of it making its way into your socks, squishing between your toes.

“Urgh,” you mutter, wrinkling your nose as you attempt to pull your leg up. “Disgusting.” But it won’t budge. In fact, your squirming seems to be making you sink down even further. You try to shift your weight, but your balance is uneven with one leg in and one leg out. You’re dangerously close to losing your footing, and every bit you struggle threatens to tilt you face-first into the makeshift mud pond. In a prime moment of idiocy, you plant your other foot in the mud for support, and find your bottom half completely unable to move.

“What a brilliant idea,” Shadowheart says. “Now you’re stuck.”

“Thank you, Shadowheart,” you grit out, sweat dripping down your neck as you attempt to twist yourself around. “I had no idea!”

Karlach steps behind you, laughing a little. “Come on. Up you go, soldier,” she says, leveraging her arms under yours and giving a quick tug. You’re expecting the mud to release you, but it doesn’t. Your legs don’t budge - not even an inch.

“What in the…?” she mutters, giving another pull. This one has more force behind it; when she tries to haul you up, white-hot pain sears up through your ribs, ripping an agonized cry from your lips. No matter how hard she yanks, the mud’s grip only tightens around you. It’s beginning to feel like you’re a brittle piece of rope in a vicious game of tug-of-war.

“Shit! I’m sorry!” she exclaims. “So, so, sorry!”

“What are you doing?” Astarion asks, his voice suddenly sharp. “You’re hurting her! Put her down!”

“So she can get sucked further into the mud?” Shadowheart asks. Her voice is lined with fear now, which is scaring you more than anything else about this miserable situation. “We have to get her out!”

But it quickly becomes clear that no matter how hard Karlach pulls, it’s useless. Every yank is agony, and you only sink further and further. Tears stream down your cheeks from the pain, and your spine feels like it’s gained a good two inches from being stretched, but still nothing. No give at all.

Eventually, Karlach lets you go. Your body plops down in relief, but the mud is somehow deeper than it was before. It’s up to the bottom of your ribs now.

“Fuck me,” she pants, wiping her forehead. “What should we do?”

“How should I know?” Astarion’s face is drawn, more pallid than usual. His lips are pinched into a line. He should be telling you I told you so, making jokes - and you know he would be, if he were anything but absolutely terrified. Your panic is bad enough with the heaviness of the mud on your chest and lower body, but the look on his face? That tells you it’s even worse than it feels.

“Step back,” Shadowheart instructs quietly. “I have an idea.”

Once the two of them are out of the way, she steps forward. Stretching out her hands, she mutters an incantation into the air. In seconds, the slight chill of the mud surrounding you becomes sharp, painful ice that burns against every exposed inch of skin it touches. A very muddy shade of ice, but ice all the same.

Karlach’s axe crashes through the surface and it shatters, breaking around you. After another hit and a moment of digging, she finally has you out: freezing, still covered in mud, and very sore - but alive.

“Thank you,” you manage, choking out the words between your shivering.

“Never say I didn’t do anything for you,” Shadowheart says, smiling a little. She lets out a breath of relief, the tension bleeding from her shoulders. “Now. Turning around, are we?”

By the time you get back to camp, you’re the most uncomfortable you’ve ever been in your life. You’re wet and cold and exhausted, caked with dried mud that pulls at your skin when you move. It’s in your hair, on your face, and in your shoes, squelching with every step. The feeling makes you want to crawl out of your skin. Your ribs are sore and achy, and - on top of all of that - you’ve lost a good day’s worth of travel.

The only thing you want is to fall into Astarion’s arms, but he wrinkles his nose when you come near, holding out a finger to stop you. “Oh, no you don't,” he says. “Bath first. Then you can talk to me, darling.”

It seems no amount of persuasion is going to change his mind, so you head back to your tent and grab a number of supplies - soap, sponges, a towel, and a change of clothes. Your trusty knife for protection. The river is bound to be freezing, but it’s better than sponging yourself down and hoping for the best.

Thank the gods you’d found a decent pair of boots in an abandoned house today, because the ones that are currently plastered to your feet will take days to dry out, even in the hot sun. When you get to the nearby river, you don’t even bother to take them off before you plunge them into icy water, sufficiently drenching them until you can furiously loosen the mud enough to slip them off and toss them onto the riverbank.

The rest of your clothing gets the same treatment: the trousers which slowly pull away from your skin, the shirt that’s splattered with mud and covered in it up to the waist. Your hair will no doubt be a disaster, too.

You’re still sitting in the soaking-wet clothes when you hear the sound of a twig snapping behind you. Your hand instantly grabs for your knife, ready to throw it at whatever threat might be in the woods as your eyes sweep along the trees.

Nothing. You find nothing.

“Darling,” comes Astarion’s voice. He slips out from the shadows, immaculately clean, gazing down at the weapon in your hand with a lifted brow. “Planning to render me dead twice-over?”

“You scared the living hells out of me, Astarion!” you snap, sucking in a shaky breath. The blade drops from your loosened fingers, softly thumping against the dirt. “What are you doing out here?”

He steps closer, taking a seat on a nearby log. “You were taking ages to get clean,” he whines, sprawling out his legs in front of him. “And, unfortunately, our companions haven’t had an argument all night. How else am I meant to entertain myself? So here I am. Trudging through the woods for your company.”

“You could give me a warning next time,” you reply, still a little jarred. “I thought you were someone hoping to catch an eyeful.”

A smirk flickers across his lips. “Oh, but I am,” he says. “Do you mind terribly?”

Against your will, your cheeks heat, and his smile widens. “I don’t mind,” you say. “Not if you behave, that is. Hands to yourself.”

“I’ll be on my very best behavior,” he promises. Leaning forward, he prods your boots, wrinkling his nose at the sight. “Gods below. Those disgusting things should be burned.”

“I have an extra pair.” You move to tug your shirt off, but it’s clinging to you. “Gods damn that stupid mud pile. I should have asked Gale to use a cleaning spell.”

“Oh, please,” Astarion says. “He’s been sulking in his tent all evening. Apparently, being asked to blow yourself up by an old flame doesn’t do much in the way of socializing.”

The shirt finally pulls free, and it’s clear that your smallclothes have received the same treatment as the rest of your garments. Gods, you really should have asked for that cleaning spell. This mud is going to take ages to get out.

“Hand that here,” Astarion says, motioning for your shirt. You toss it to him, and he inspects it closely before setting aside.

“What?” you ask. “What were you looking for?”

“Oh, darling, nothing,” he says. “That’s my ‘to be burned’ pile. We’ll get you a new one.”

You’d argue, but you aren’t very attached to your current outfit - and besides, after weeks of trekking through wilderness and Shadowlands alike, it’s falling apart even without the mud.

“Do what you want with it,” you grumble, finally pulling off your smallclothes. “That shirt was barely surviving anyway.”

You glance over your shoulder and find him observing with a raised brow, slowly taking the sight of you in. You must look like a mess, but you’d never know it from the glint in the eye, or the complacent smile that plays upon his lips. Heat stirs low in your belly, simmering under your skin. Later, you tell yourself. When you aren’t covered in filth.

You lather up the soap on your sponge, scrubbing away the mud the best you can, but the damned stuff takes ages to get off. By the time you’re finally clean, the silvery moon is high in the sky, and your skin is beginning to prune.

Astarion makes a small comment or two, but mostly seems content to watch you in silence. His gaze burns over every inch of exposed skin, leaving phantom heat wherever it stalls. All you want is to get out of this damned river and touch him, but you’re determined to get every bit of the mud off before you do, and it’s taking much longer than you’d hoped.

When you’re finally presentable, you start on cleaning your filthy smallclothes. The soap is slippery, making it difficult to do much scrubbing, and the water alone is doing hardly anything.

Astarion watches you struggling, huffing as you nearly drop the soap bar in the river. After a moment, he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Dearest, you do realize that it would be much easier if you-”

But his words suddenly cut off. His head snaps toward the woods, and every nerve in your body burns with fear. In the span of seconds, he’s lunged forward, grabbed your knife, and darted after the sound.

Not a moment later, there’s a loud crash - some form of impact as he tackles whatever it was that he heard. You instantly push yourself out of the water without thinking, numb, your heart pounding in your chest as you stumble into the forest after him. It only takes a few steps in before you see it: a man on the ground, Astarion’s knife to his throat.

Your stomach churns, and your skin prickles in the air’s chill. How much had he seen? How long had he been standing there?

Astarion is shouting something at him, and the stranger is struggling against his hold, but it’s useless. He’s a scrawny, weak little thing, no match for Astarion’s lithe, nimble strength. No amount of twisting or fighting dislodges Astarion’s grip. After a moment, he finally gives up, cackling like an old hag as his head plops down against the dirt.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t kill you here and now,” Astarion hisses, anger contorting his features.

In response, the man spits in his face. “She’s your bitch, is she?” he croaks. “You can take a turn after I’m done with her.”

Astarion snarls in response, gripping the man’s collar and pressing the blade deeper into the skin until it draws blood.

“Wait,” you call, stepping closer. “Don’t.”

Astarion blinks in disbelief, sitting up, careful to keep his weight on the stranger underneath. “My love, you can’t be serious,” he says. “You want to spare this-”

“Spare?” you echo, cutting off his words. “Who said anything about sparing him?”

Something glints in his gaze as he takes in your words. “Darling,” he drawls, his tone admirational. “By all means.”

He hands you the knife, and you kneel down next to him. It’s heavy in your hand, cold and smooth as you run your finger over the flat edge of the blade. You stare at the shimmer of it for a moment, entranced, somehow calm in the midst of this chaos. Then you slam the bottom of the hilt into the man’s nose.

There’s a sickening crunch before he screams, blood streaming over his mouth and spilling down his chin. Even after last night’s feeding, Astarion tenses up at the smell of it, but the curl of his lip tells you that he won’t be drinking from this piece of absolute refuse.

When the stranger reaches over and grabs at your arm, you almost don’t even realize - you’re so caught up in your own mind, in the weight of the knife in your hand. Then his nails dig into your skin, and everything hits you at once.

The freezing night air. The stinging, throbbing pain that flares through your skin as he claws at you, unable to do much more. The feel of Astarion’s hand, gentle but firm, prying the knife from your grip. It happens before you can even react - a swift slice of the blade, slitting the man’s throat. Dark blood, gushing from the wound and onto the dirt below.

For a moment, there is nothing but the sound of your breathing. Sharp but shallow, straining in your chest. Jagged air that flows in and out, but it does nothing to stop the increasing amount of black in your vision.

You’ve fought and killed more people than you can count so… why does this feel different? Why here, why now? You’ve nearly died before, so why does the scrape on your arm feel like it’s much more than that?

Then Astarion’s hands envelop your cheeks, blissfully cool, and the panic and pain seep out all at once.

“Darling,” he’s saying, half-breathless, “are you alright?”

You manage to nod, and some of the concern leaves his eyes. He runs his fingers over the scrape on your arm, and you wince. “We need to get you patched up,” he murmurs, his brows pinching together.

“Don’t take me to Shadowheart,” you choke out. She’s already done you enough favors, and you won’t be able to stand her disapproving gaze if you disturb her rest after today’s fiasco.

He huffs. “Stubborn little thing,” he mutters, but he doesn’t argue.

Instead, he heads back to your supplies by the river. When he returns, he wraps a towel over your shoulders, and it’s only then that you realize you’re naked. Completely, utterly naked. It had been bold of you to break that bastard’s nose in the nude, but… well, it hadn’t been your intention.

He’s dead now, though. He’ll never look at you again.

Astarion sweeps you up into his arms and carries you out of the woods along with your clean change of clothes, holding you tight against his chest and leaving your soiled clothing behind.

You can’t find it in you to care at the moment. You’ve scrounged up plenty of clothing along the journey; those torn, stained things won’t be missed. Not to mention, if you ever need more, Astarion will gladly steal you some new ones.

He takes you to your tent, and you’re grateful to see that everyone else has turned in for the night. Anyone awake to see you would inevitably have questions, and this only affirms your decision to avoid Shadowheart - if you woke her up to heal a minor scrape on your arm, she’d be seething.

And though she’d undoubtedly be sympathetic after hearing the cause, you don’t think you can muster up the words to tell her what’d happened.

After he’s carefully set you down on your bedroll, Astarion yanks the flap of your tent closed and reaches for your pack, digging through the contents until he’s found some bandages. His grip is gentle as he takes your arm and swipes some remnants of a healing potion over it. You’ve been through this dozens of times, but you can never seem to shake the urge to wince as it sets in - the potion stings just a bit before it soothes, a sharp tingling that fades into a sweet, balming relief.

You’ve calmed down some, warming up in your tent with him, but Astarion’s hands are shaking as he wraps the wound. His brows are pinched together, his swallows are thick and strained, and he can’t seem to meet your eyes, even when he’s done bandaging you up.

“Astarion,” you murmur. “He’s dead.”

He stills in place, jaw clenching as he inhales sharply, still not meeting your gaze. Instead, he glowers down at the tent’s floor, his hands balling into fists. “He deserved so much worse than that,” he snaps.

You don’t argue with him. Instead, you let him fuss over you, taking the time to smooth through your wet hair, plucking out remaining leaves and twigs from the woods. He gets you into a warm, fluffy robe - only the gods know where he’d managed to find something like that - then pulls you close, his thumb stroking over your cheek. You rest your head against his chest and close your eyes, listening to the soft sounds of his body working under his skin. No heartbeat, of course, just the quiet churn of his movements, the rise and fall of his ribs that’s become habit to him.

After a moment, he takes your face in his hands, just as he had in the woods - but when you meet his gaze, there’s a sharp intensity in his eyes rather than fear. He takes you in little by little, tilting your head up to brush his fingers over the fading marks on your neck.

Then he leans in, and you catch the smell of him you know so well, lingering on his skin like soap. Bergamot, rosemary, brandy. It’s what you associate most with him, that sweet, sharp scent that bathes over you. When his lips finally meet yours, the kiss is rough and desperate, heated and aching. His fangs scrape over your lip, grazing the delicate skin but not breaking it. His tongue slides into your mouth, and his hand returns to the back of your neck, tightening his grip.

One of your hands fix into his shirt as you lean into him, nipping at his lip. You shift your free hand up into his hair, tousling through the soft, silky curls before gently tugging. He groans and pulls you closer, and - gods, it’s incredible. Warmth drags down your spine like a hot coal, searing and addictive. You squirm a little in his grasp, shifting until you’re straddling his hips, and he pulls away to kiss down your jaw, murmuring soft words into the skin.

When he gets to your chest, you let him untie the robe and spread his hands underneath, peeling the fabric off your shoulders, fingers slowly warming as they trail down your back. His hands settle on your waist as he kisses you again, mouth soft against yours.

Gods, you need him. You’re already soaked, and he’s barely even touched you.

You can feel him hardening underneath you, his movements growing desperate, his breathing labored. You grind your hips against him and he lets out a strained noise against your lips, shuddering. He pulls away, examining your expression as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

The movement is tender and incredibly sweet, but you’re hardly patient. You’ve been wanting him ever since he sat on that log in the forest, gaze roaming over every inch of you. You let out a soft whine, attempting to tug off his shirt. He does absolutely nothing to help you.

“Astarion,” you breathe. “Please.”

“Hm? Did you want something, darling?” he asks, the desire in his voice betraying his otherwise casual tone.

“I want you,” you tell him, rolling your hips again in search of the friction you so desperately need. “Please. I want you.”

“Easy, love. You have me,” he replies, brushing his thumb against your lips. Your heart swells with a fondness that would threaten to make you cry if you weren’t so ridiculously needy.

And finally, thank the gods, he takes off his godsdamned shirt.

You run a hand up his shoulder, then into his hair. You’d once thought that he was using a special shampoo - his hair was so soft, it seemed the only explanation. Then you’d seen him with the same shampoo you were using, and you’d practically wept with envy over his ridiculously perfect genes. Even now, as you run your hands through the silk-soft curls, you don’t understand it.

Then you trace up the line of his ear, and he shudders, leaning into your touch. When you gently massage the tip of his helix, he lets out a soft, seeking noise and his eyes flutter shut. Hells, you swear that you can feel him growing even harder beneath you. Another roll of your hips and his eyes slowly open again, half-lidded and glazed with desire. His hands firmly grip your waist, and there’s the briefest sensation of falling as he rolls you back onto your bedroll, tucking the pillow under your head.

He kisses along your clavicle, nosing down your ribs, humming against your skin. Feather-light brushes of his lips meet your ribs, then your breast, pausing to swipe his tongue over your nipple before he proceeds downward. When he arrives at your navel, your legs automatically spread open for him, and he lets out a hum of approval. He takes a leg in his hand and kisses up the thigh, warm, sharp kisses that trail up to the place you want him most.

He starts off slowly - a long lick over your clit, a quick swipe of his tongue before he settles between your legs, propping your thigh over his shoulder and starting a maddening rhythm. After all this time, you really should know how much pleasure to expect - but after everything, after his confession in the Shadowlands and the fear with Cazador, this still feels… new.

And Astarion is very, very good at what he does. He seems to know exactly what you want before you do, before your mind can put it into tangible thought, and before your body can even search for it. He works a finger into you, then two, and you’re left gasping and squirming as he sets an agonizingly slow pace. After a moment, he speeds up, just where you want him, perfect, perfect-

And then he pulls away, and the look on his face practically shouts that he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. Of course he does. He’s always been a tease. His fingers continue their work, languidly dragging in and out of you as he speaks.

“You know,” he says, pressing a kiss to your thigh, “back at the river, this was all I could think about. Getting my mouth on you. Watching you come apart piece by piece.”

Gods, he’s been direct before, but never that direct. Frankly, you’re surprised you don’t come then and there. Instead, you clench hard around his fingers and whimper, rolling your hips in time with his movements.

“Astarion,” you pant, unable to coax your mind into forming a coherent reply. “Gods, Astarion.”

He hums in response, flashing you a wicked grin. “That’s it, darling,” he encourages, shifting his fingers until they’re brushing against a spot that makes your vision black out. “Say my name. Let everyone hear you.”

You manage a laugh that quickly fades into a soft moan. “The entire camp will kill me if I wake them up.”

He nips at your thigh. “Let them try,” he muses. “They’ll have to get through me.”

He lowers his mouth between your legs again, and your head falls back against the pillow. It’s an embarrassingly short time before your muscles start to tense up, wiring you with pleasure from head to toe. One of your hands fixes in his hair, pulling tightly as white-hot pleasure sparks through your abdomen, and oh, gods, you’re coming-

Your vision cuts out again. Your mind fuzzes over, drunk with pleasure, leaving you shuddering, clenching around his fingers, moaning into your free hand.

You know he’d prefer to hear you, but if you actually disturb any of the others, you’ll die of embarrassment. One day, the two of you will have your own house with a real bed, and you’ll be as loud as you want. For now, you muffle your cries into your fingers and tremble through your climax.

Your body floats weightlessly for a moment in what must be Elysium, until you finally rejoin yourself and find your limbs heavy and uncoordinated. Astarion huffs, placing a final kiss on you until he crawls upward, kissing up your chest again.

He’s still holding himself back - you can see it in the way he moves, in the tension of his muscles and the coil of his shoulders. There’s a fire in his eyes, a hunger that you recognize so well. When he reaches your neck, you instinctively tilt your head, allowing him access to his usual spot.

For a moment, he hesitates, his warm breath fanning over the skin as your pulse hammers in your throat. Then he groans, grinding himself into your leg as he bites down, chasing his pleasure against your thigh as your blood spills into his mouth.

You know this routine so very well by now. The sting of the bite, and the numbness that follows. The ebb and flow of your blood, filling his mouth. The slight dizziness that comes before he pulls away, swiping his tongue over the bite for one final taste.

“Gods,” he pants, gripping your shoulder. Then, to your utter disappointment and confusion, he pulls away. “Wait here, my sweet. I need to - I’ll be right back. I promise.”

And before you can protest, he’s scrambling out the tent. For a long, numb moment, you stare at the tent opening, wondering if you’re dreaming. The silence of the tent grates on your ears, echoing the sound of your breathing until you can barely stand it. Then he’s pushing inside again, a scroll in hand as he closes the tent.

“Do I want to know what that is?” you ask.

“A scroll of Silence, darling. I’ve been saving it.” He flashes you a grin, murmuring the incantation as the scroll shimmers in his hand. Pure Weave, confined into parchment.

You don’t hear the spell take effect, but you feel it. It’s a thickness in the air, a heaviness in your movements.

Astarion doesn’t waste another second. He pushes up to kiss you, and it’s messy - your tongue against his, the sting of sharp teeth, your hand in his hair and his hand on the nape of your neck. There’s the taste of metal and herbs: your blood mixed with the remnants of a healing potion. He spreads your legs with his knee, then sits back on his heels and reaches down to undo his trousers.

You study him for a moment. The crease of his brow. The alabaster of his skin, sculpted out like a statue from marble.

If you were an artist, you’d make him your life’s work. You’d chip out his every feature little by little, painstakingly working away at the stone to define the look in his eyes when he tells you he loves you. You’d spend ages carving every wrinkle, every line, every perfect imperfection. The touch of it would be cold, like him, but it could never compare to how he looks as he settles over you, eyes blown dark with desire.

He inches closer, still on his knees, and takes hold of your thighs, lifting them up to meet his hips before gently easing inside of you. He lets out a sharp exhale as he slowly presses deeper, his grip shifting to your waist.

Nothing could compare to the way it feels as he fills you up inch by inch, murmuring praise, telling you how beautiful you are for him. “Darling,” he bites out, gritting his teeth at the pleasure. “If anyone ever tries anything like that with you again, I’ll tear them to shreds.”

You laugh a little, breathless, delirious in the delicious stretch of him inside you. “I won’t stop you. I just might ask to break their nose first.”

He shakes his head, but a small smile plays on his lips before he straightens and starts his rhythm. Slow, even thrusts that leave you grasping at the blankets beneath you, trying to steady yourself in the waves of sensation. He stares down at you, half-drunk on your blood, lips parted and his cheeks flushed.

“You feel incredible,” he breathes. “Gods. You’re incredible.”

Your eyes don’t quite know where to land. They never do. Now, they flutter over his abdomen, taking in the sight of the muscles that ripple and contract with the rolling of his hips. The droplets of sweat that slowly build on his skin, glimmering like crystals.

His jaw clenches, and his pace starts to quicken, and the feeling of him inside of your aching cunt is just so godsdamned good. His cock stretches you out like it was made for you, and soon your lungs are hardly filling with air. You can’t think, and you can scarcely breathe. All you know is that you’re not going to last much longer.

You tug at the blankets and shut your eyes, and he lets out another soft, aching noise as he thrusts deeper, faster, filling you up, the slick sound of your arousal echoing through the tent and mixing with the heaving of your breaths. You clench around him and he groans, shifting the angle of your hips, rhythm frantic.

“That’s it,” he pants. “Come for me, darling.”

And you do. Your body clenches around him as you cry out, back arching, pleasure overtaking every thought but one: Astarion. Astarion, Astarion, Astarion. Your breaths scrape shallowly through your chest and ecstasy burns through every inch of you, every nerve - until you feel paralyzed. Content, thoroughly fucked and sated, but paralyzed.

You’ve just started to come back to your senses when Astarion follows you over the edge, a moan tumbling from his lips that sounds remarkably like your name. His hips thrust a few more times, chasing after his pleasure, clumsy movements that slow to a halt as he shuts his eyes. He shudders, then slackens, carefully pulling out of you before he wraps his hands around your thighs and gently lowers them back to the bedroll.

You can barely move, still lost in the aftershocks of pleasure as he cleans you up, smoothing the hair out of your face as he lays next to you.

“You know,” he says, “I think I’m going to ask Gale to make us another one of those scrolls.”

And, gods, all you can do is laugh.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion fic #astarion smut #bg3 x reader #mywriting

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milf-murdock · 11 months ago

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The Accident

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader (Established Relationship)

Summary: Simon gets the call that you’ve been in an accident and are in the hospital. Warnings: Health scare, mention of hospitals, accident (non graphic), brief mention of injuries (non graphic), hurt/comfort, Soft Simon A/N: This piece is dedicated to a very sweet anon who has been through a lot. Anon, I hope this brings you some comfort <3 I’ve also decided to submit it to @glitterypirateduck's May Writing Challenge! This is one of my favorite tropes, so I hope you all enjoy! Special thank you to @sim0nril3y for taking a look and for all the support

The knife glides effortlessly through the tomato, the metal utensil familiar in Simon’s grip. He makes quick work of the produce, fingers moving rapidly and precisely. “Knife skills aren’t just for the field,” he chuckles to himself as he adds the chopped remains to a bowl before turning his blade on a shallot.

Just as he slices into the root, the clattering vibration of his phone against the countertop interrupts. Simon frowns at the unfamiliar number flashing across the screen. Not many people had this number; he wasn’t one to get stray phone calls, which is exactly how he likes it. He has half a mind to send it to voicemail, but something tugs at his edges. At the last second he swipes across the screen and raises the phone to his ear. The line is empty for a moment.

“Simon?” The sound of your hoarse voice has Simon’s spine straightening, instantly on high alert.

“What’s happened.” The sharp words come out more like a statement than a question. Simon’s heartbeat quickens.

“I’m okay,” you start, but your wobbly voice betrays you. "But there was an accident—" Simon is in motion. Dinner is forgotten on the counter as he heads for the door, stepping into his boots on the way.

“Where are you?” There’s a commotion in the background, some kind of beeping that Simon can’t make out. He catches your hesitation as you wait to reply.

“Love. Where. Are. You.” His words are clipped, and for a split second he fears the phone might actually splinter in his hands given how hard he’s clenching the device.

“I’m in A&E. I—the ambulance just brought me here.”

Simon’s world tilts before him, and he squeezes his eyes shut, breathing in deep. One single stabilizing breath is all he allows himself before opening his eyes, resolute determination clear on his face as a decade of training takes over.

“I’m on my way.” The phone clicks off as he grabs the keys off the hook by the door and rushes to the car.

The drive is a blur; he doesn’t pay attention to how fast he’s going, or what color the stoplights may be. Traffic laws are relative—he’s a man on a mission. His sole focus is getting to you. His heart pounds in his chest as he navigates the final turn, the hospital finally coming into view.

The car barely comes to a full and complete stop at the entryway before Simon’s door flies open.

“Sir, you can’t park here!” A disgruntled attendant calls out to him as he exits the vehicle, but Simon doesn’t even slow down, stepping around the irritated employee before barreling through the hospital entrance.

Only to be brought to a halt at the open lobby before him.

Shit. He hadn’t even thought to ask what room you were in. The frustration intertwines with the panic, and Simon has to force it down.

He’s here. He’ll find you.

And so Simon finds himself at the mercy of the kind, elderly receptionist, who seems to be taking her sweet time locating your information.

Simon tries not to crack the counter beneath his grip, foot tapping against the ground in irritation. You could be in surgery, you could be bleeding out, any number of things could be happening right this moment, and there is nothing he can do. Simon silences these thoughts, keeping the panic at bay. “Keep it together, lieutenant,” he reminds himself silently.

The receptionist, Shelley, her name tag reads, is unfazed by his erratic state, eyes squinting as she adjusts her glasses and leans back from the screen. Simon runs a hand down his face, using every ounce of self control he has to keep up a semblance of propriety.

“Ahh,” Shelley announces triumphantly. “Here they are! I found them.” She turns her gaze to the hulking man in front of her, taking in his large form and tentatively eyeing the tattoos along his forearm. “Sorry, what was your relation to the patient again?” She asks, a note of uncertainty laces her tone.

“I’m—” he hesitates. No words come to the tip of his tongue. He’s not a boyfriend for christ’s sake. Not your husband, though he wished more than ever he could use that word right now.

“Spouse? Partner?” Shelley raises an eyebrow, trying to help fill in the blanks here.

Simon swallowed hard. “Yeah, partner. Just, can you tell me where they are? Please.”

He’s not sure what comes over him as he tacks on that final plea. The desperation is clear in his words, but he couldn’t care less. Fuck it, he is desperate. Desperate to see you. Desperate to know you are okay—see it with his own eyes, feel your hands in his.

Shelley’s pointed gaze turns to one of sympathy. “Room 315, dear. The lift is to the right.”

The words are barely out of her mouth before Simon’s in motion once more. No time for the lift, he thinks to himself as he heads to the stairwell, taking the stairs two at a time up to your floor. Brown eyes frantically scan every room number as he searches for yours before finally finding the correct digits outside the room furthest down the hall. The metal of the door handle is cool beneath his touch as he pushes open the door, charging into the room.

He comes to a stop at the foot of the bed, eyes frantically scanning your body, taking stock of each and every visible injury. He can hardly control the wave of emotions that threaten to pull him down as he takes in your bruised and bandaged appearance.

They’ve already set your arm in a sling, and there’s a large bulk encompassing your entire right leg, the bulk of it obvious even under the thin hospital blanket. An array of cuts and scrapes mar your perfect face, and the sudden onset of pure, unadulterated rage threatens to swallow him whole.

‘I’m going to kill them,’ the words echo in his mind–a dozen violent deaths planned out for whoever did this to you.

“Simon,” your hoarse voice calls out to him, but he can’t hear you over the sound of the roaring in his head.

‘I’m going to hunt them down. And I’m going to fucking kill them for this.’

“Simon,” you say his name louder, firmer, and attempt to sit yourself up. Pain radiates through your body, piercing through the haze of pain meds, and you can’t help the cry of pain that escapes your lips.

That is what pulls Simon out. On instinct, his feet move towards your bed, hand reaching out to clasp around your free hand.

Your lower lip trembles. “Simon.” The word is pitiful on your lips–a plea, a prayer, a cry for help.

It’s enough to pull Simon from the depths of this rage–revenge can wait.

“I’m here.” Simon’s voice wraps around you like a warm blanket, and the dam breaks, tears flowing fast and freely. “It was awful,” you gasp out between sobs. Simon makes soothing shushing sounds as he holds your hand tight in his own, his other hand reaching up to gently brush the tears away, taking care to avoid the scrapes that litter your skin as you recount what details you can remember of the accident.

“Shh, love, it’s okay,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “‘M sorry I wasn’t there, babe.” Bile threatens to rise in the back of his throat as the guilt settles in.

“Should’ve been there, should’ve never left your fucking side.” He stares at the layers of gauze wrapped around your leg, hidden beneath the thin blanket.

“Simon. Look at me,” you insist, waiting for those brown eyes to turn back to you. “Don’t go down that road, Si. There was nothing you could have done to stop this.”

“You don’t know that,” he bites back. Simon immediately regrets the harshness of his note. “You don’t know that,” he tries again, softer this time. “Should’ve been there.” He runs a hand over his face, the adrenaline is fading, causing the events of the past hour to finally catch up to him. He exhales sharply and looks back up at you, eyes determined.

“But ‘m here now. It’s over. I’m here.” He gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “And I’m not going anywhere, love.”

True to his word, Simon stays by your bedside the entire three day stay in the hospital. He denies your pleas to go home and sleep in his own bed, insisting on sleeping in the rough, uncomfortable hospital recliner. Not only was the furniture laughably small for a man of his stature, but after the first night, Simon is convinced it was designed as some kind of long-term-torture device. Not once does he complain though, dismissing your worries with a casual wave of his hand. “Slept in worse conditions in the field, love. This beats a forest floor.” Though by night two, Simon isn’t so sure.

He’s always struggled with nightmares, but those nights in the hospital, his dreams turn to something worse: losing you in a car accident. The scene replays over and over in his mind’s eye until he’s woken up with a start, covered in sweat, and gasping for air. His eyes instantly lock on to the vital signs monitor above you, watching the thin green line of your heartbeat bounce up and down in a steady rhythm. He slows his own breathing down to match pace with yours, staring down at you as you sleep soundly. He watches the subtle rise and fall of your chest, further confirmation that you’re alive.

When he finally gets to bring you home, he acts as though you’re made of fine china, driving ten under the speed limit. He carefully guides you into the house, hands ready to catch you as you struggle with the metal crutches.

“Fuck,” you spit in frustration. “They made it look so easy in the hospital.”

After the second time you almost trip over them, Simon’s exasperation gets the best of him.

“Easy, swee’heart,” he implores, a note of desperation in his voice. “Just got you back, yeah? Can’t have you goin’ right back to A&E.”

He wishes more than anything he could just scoop you up into his arms and carry you straight to the bedroom, but with your leg in its current state, he has to settle for just hovering, perpetually at the ready to catch and support you. He swears the walk from the car to getting you settled in bed takes an entire year off his life.

That first night back at home together, Simon lays awake, watching you sleep. The combination of finally being back in the comfort of your own bed, along with the lack of obnoxiously loud machines beeping and being encumbered by wires, means you fall asleep almost as soon as your head hits the pillow. Simon lays beside you, as close as he dares to get, still so weary of your injuries. He leans over to press a gentle kiss to your temple, just above where a deep cut runs down your face. His finger hovers just above your skin as he traces the shape. “‘M sorry, love. I promise, I’ll take care of ya. This won’t happen again.” His words are barely above a whisper, drowned out by the soft snores of your breathing. He presses one more gentle kiss to you before turning out the light.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley imagine #simon “ghost” riley x reader #ghostchallenge

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obamas-eyebrow · 2 months ago

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Wilted lemon trees

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The recruiter x Female reader

Summary; He roped you into his world, you crawled out. Now he’s sent to kill you. In a game of cat and mouse with way too much feelings for either of you, assassin vs assassin. (think Ada Wong and Leon Kennedy except idk who’d be who) The story follows the plight of trying to kill you as well as flashbacks of better days. This is angstyyyyyy

Wc; 20k...I think I blacked out writing this. (I added breaks though dw)(I added a lil more to the ending lol)

Warnings; Violence, blood, guns, one mention of DMV (not against reader), stalking, one mention of weight gain, recruiter being a creep, they match each other's freak tho, sfw, kissing. Non sexual nudity. All ‘smut’ is just fade to black or mentions. Drinking. Breaking glass, breaking hearts. Death, a lot of it. MAJOR ANGST THERE'S LIKE V V LITTLE FLUFF. No happy ending. Kinda graphic descriptions of injury at the end. No reader body/race/age descriptions (if any pls lmk), but in my mind there’s an age gap. A little ooc at the end I guess. NO USE OF Y/N. English is not my first language, also this is like only kinda proofread so lmk if something is wrong :D

Reader is referred to as 038, Recruiter is referred to as 013, ex gf oc is referred to as 024.

Other ending 🫶🏻

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The pitter patter of rain hit the top of your umbrella with a heavy force, picking up speed as your boots squelched in various little puddles. You hurried under the little bus stop, kneeling down to grab the can of tuna from your handbag. The strays had been following you for a minute or so as you tried to find a dry spot for them to eat. They meowed in affection and contempt, allowing you a few headscratches each before they swatted your hand away, your cue to leave. You walked back out under the rain, still bearing down with intensity as you crossed the empty street to make your way to the narrow back alley where the door to your building was. It was warmer inside, but only by a degree or two. You kicked your shoes off, albeit prematurely, but you knew climbing all these stairs in them would be a mistake.

You sniffed slightly as you fished your key out of its hiding spot, the metal cool on your already freezing hand. Before opening the door, you noticed the carpet in front of it being a little damp. Not enough for anyone to notice, but you did. Mostly because you’d stepped on it barefoot. The apartment door croaked open inwardly, revealing your place just as you’d left it; dark and stuffy. The far window was opened slightly, just a centimeter or two. But you knew for sure you’d always kept it shut, meaning only one thing.

Your view of the studio was obstructed by the wall on the left, only allowing you some vision of the foot of the bed and the bathroom by the door. You were at a disadvantage here, gun in your belt useless if you couldn’t see your target. You flicked the central lights by the door on, the room falling into an eerie yellow glow allowing you to catch a hint of his reflection in the window. Your shoulders relaxed slightly and you allowed yourself to fully step into the place and shut the door.

“You’ve gotten real sloppy.” You shrugged your flimsy coat off and hung it on the hook by the entrance. Dislodging your gun from its spot, you rested it by the table opposite to the bed alongside your keys, paying him no mind.

“Maybe I wanted you to know I’m here.” He spoke plainly, eyes trained on your movements from his comfortable position on the bed. You looked at him then, willing yourself to soak in the man that had been haunting both your nightmares and dreams. Had it been that long since you last saw each other? The fine lines at the corners of his eyes tell you so. Maybe he’d just been smiling more often in your absence, but that's doubtful. You trailed your eyes over the rest of him, pristine suit contrasted by your cheap bedsheets, gun safely within reach by his hip.

“Take your shoes off the bed.” you gave him a tired sigh and he pouted, tilting his head slightly but ultimately humouring you.

You moved to grab a bite from the minifridge by the window, opening it to grab some leftover bread and the nearly empty jar of jam, when an unfamiliar smell hit your nose.

“Did you- Smoke in here? You know I don’t own the place my landlord’s gonna kill me-” “You’ve had quite the fall from grace.”

“Shocking isn’t it.”

He stood up, rocking slightly on his heel with his gun in hand, arms crossed over his chest. You followed his eyeline to a spot where paint was chipping on the ceiling.

“Why do you allow yourself to live like this?”

You turned back to the fridge and grabbed the half-full bottle of cheap whiskey, standing up to grab two of the clean cups on the table and pouring some into each. Swinging your hips softly to shut the fridge door, you turned around to fully face his intense gaze, offering his share. His eyes shot down to the cracked glass and back to you in a mocking manner. He ultimately took the drink though, sipping on it with more class than it deserved.

“How do you drink this crap?” He grimaced.

“It gets the job done. Any more questions for tonight sherlock?” You raised the glass to your head, an attempt to ease the headache that he’s about to cause.

“Yeah. You don’t even have ice?”

You didn’t reply, only watched as he let go of his pride and downed the fluid in the cup, his expression turning into a slight frown as he put the cup down on your bed. You knew this wasn’t him being unable to handle his liquor, just pure disgust at the drink you gave him. And at you, just a little.

“You looked like you needed that.” you chuckled, pointing out the tenseness in his jaw.

“Yeah well, I have a very big job today.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” You feigned innocence, moving closer to him slowly, not that the distance was already that large. He gave you a half lidded look, watching intently as you inched closer to him.

“I think you know,” he smiled slightly.

“Say it.”

“I’m here to kill you.” he whispered, the distance between you now less than a breath’s worth.

“So do it.”

He didn’t move and neither did you, both holding your positions in determination. Or maybe this was a fight for dominance. His hands were rigid at his sides, gun in one and fist balled up in the other, his head was tilted to look at you, gaze finding the contrast between your lips and eyes an interesting sight to compare time and time again. You were getting a little bored, so your hand found it’s way to the one with a gun and brought it up to your torso, aimed straight at the heart.

“Shoot. Me.”

He took a deep breath in and let it out slowly, air hitting your face as he held his place. You felt his fingers move around the gun, placing an index on the trigger. You moved your face ever closer to his, lips almost touching as you both stood in the stillness of the room. He met your eyes, conflict and turmoil simmering in his.

“You gone soft on me?” You challenged. “How boring, I need a shower,”

You pulled away from his warmth and he watched as you turned around and began undressing, stripping casually and folding your outside clothes neatly on a nearby chair with other garments. You turned back to him once more, finding his gaze begrudgingly fixed on your face rather than your naked form. Once he made sure you were watching, he lazily took in the rest of you, a new tally of scars peppering your arms and abdomen, and one particular nasty one near your hip bone. His eyes stopped at it, observing the irregular healing and stretched, discolored skin in an almost circular shape.

“That one didn’t heal quite well.” He commented.

You chuckled mockingly, stepping towards the tiny closet space to grab a towel and stepped back into his armreach slowly.

“Well the guy who shot me used a shotgun that day, close range too.” You were ever so close to him again. “Ain’t he cruel?”

His nostrils flared slightly, recalling the actions you were referring to. His hand moved to grab you on its own but you slipped away, as you usually did. His gaze never left your back as you disappeared from his line of sight into the bathroom.

“You’ve gained weight.” He said playfully, eliciting a loud laugh from you in the adjacent room. He strolled the short distance to where you were slowly, habitually avoiding making any noise.

“You like?” You leaned your head out of the bathroom door, tilting your head innocently, as if you two were just some couple flirting with each other. “That’s what happens when you stop seeing death so often, you start regaining your appetite. It’s crazy, you should try it sometime.”

You whipped back into the small room. He made his way to its door leaning slightly on the frame, observing as you stepped under the water stream in the far corner. Far is an overstatement actually, it was only a step or two away from him. A singular white light bulb lit the overhead, hanging from some loose wires. Quite the fire hazard. One hand found a way into his pocket whilst the other rested by his side, gun still heavy and presumably loaded. He watched you curiously, your trembling muscles telling him the water was cold. You had your body towards him, head angled away from the water to avoid wetting your hair. You brought your hand over your face, rinsing it with some of the cold, a sobering motion it seemed, as you then quickly met his looming figure.

“You gonna join me or just stand there like a creep?” You finally acknowledged him.

He didn’t know why he obeyed, why his feet made their way into your embrace, stepping under the stream with you, causing his clothes to get soaked. His hair was getting wet too, though he didn’t really mind. Your back hit the cool shower tile, allowing him to step fully in and lean over you. He began shivering a little, too. The cold finally found his skin through the thick suit. Your hands smoothed over his toned abdomen from above the wet dress shirt, roaming up to his shoulders to help him out of the jacket and tossing it onto the ground. He kept his eyes on you, watching as you soaked him all in. His teeth started clattering a little.

“You can’t afford warm water?” he whispered, the distance between you not calling for his voice to be louder than that. You didn’t answer, instead grabbed his tie and pulled him in. He took the initiative to slot his lips onto yours then, soft and unsure. You pulled back momentarily, allowing only a whisker of space between you.

“Why are you being so gentle?” You poked at him. “I’m afraid you’ve really lost your touch.”

“You used to be more polite last I left you.”

“Oh don’t go telling people you left me now, it’ll ruin my image.”

“Do you always have to have the last word?”

“How many more questions are you asking me tonight?”

You were pissing him off, he knew this was purposeful. You loved to get on his nerves, rile him up over the littlest things. He’d abandoned this part of him so long ago, and now here you were forcing it back out of the depths of his being.

He used his free hand to grab your cheek harshly, pulling you into his lips once more. Only this time, the kiss was bruising. He was not letting you get one single breath in, biting at your bottom lip a little causing it to draw blood. He lapped up that flavour like a man starving. Still deep in your air, his loaded hand traveled up with the gun, aiming it at your chin from below. He pulled away only when he physically couldn’t breathe anymore. You were in a very compromising position, you both knew that.

“There he is.” You panted with a small smile, a hand coming up to brush a stray hair off his face. “I’ve missed you, you know.”

He knows, of course he knows. You didn’t acknowledge the threat at your neck, whether this was trust or a challenge he wasn’t sure. He isn’t ever when it comes to you anyway. The water above you two sputered, signaling the end of the reserve. You snorted at his face, he must’ve been appalled or something, and turned the tap off, stepping off to his side leaving his warmth. He stared at his shoes, back to you as you dried yourself and left the room, water dripping down his head and to his feet. He willed himself to just get this over with, end this game you two have going on. Push the memories back down to where no one could elicit them again. His grip on the gun tightened, but what good does that do if he can’t twitch his finger on the trigger.

1. . .1

He stared at the range from behind the thick pane of glass, using the cold cup to ice the bruises on his knuckles. The place was really nothing more than a hole in the wall, but it had it’s charm. A combination bar-gun range with some pool and poker tables, likely a front for money laundering, considering it was only ever busy on weekends. Otherwise it would just be him and the bartender of the night, but he enjoyed the break from the outside world. Plus he could watch amateurs give it their all in a macho-off, usually ending in some form of fight. They disgusted him, the people here. He’d people-watched long enough to know who most of them really were beyond these walls, pathetic and indebted to a vast array of people, yet they blow thousands on stupid bets and rigged games of poker, he can’t get that much entertainment elsewhere really. His spot in the corner gave him quite the view of all the commotions. Occasionally, he’d venture into the poker tables and play a few rounds. Losing his first couple of hands only to win big when the players got cocky. Something about watching low-lifes lose their entire net worth gave him satisfaction. He’d leave the winnings for the waiting staff that night anonymously, though he’s got a feeling they’d caught on to him. Other times, he’d watch as patrons came up with their own gun-shooting competitions, placing silly bets and risky prizes. He always joins those, they’re quite rare. Like tonight. There was a particular man in his mid-thirties that would spark these contests. Ex-policeman, that much he told everyone. Through a little more homework he found out that his wife left him and now he’s running away from several domestic violence charges. Unfortunately, the man had never given him the chance to drain him dry, always refusing to bet any real money on these contests. That’s why he’s resorted to staying at 3rd to 4th place when they play, waiting for the cop to let his guard down. Laying the trap so that he could pull the rug from under him. Yes, he plays the long game here, no matter how often they trash talk.

That’s where he first fully laid eyes on you. You were usually behind the bar, so seeing you waiting tables meant that they were likely very short staffed. You smacked a piece of gum as you maneuvered around drunk patrons to reach the tables. You made it to the gun area with the beers that the men had ordered, looking captivating as ever in your unassuming uniform. Something about you drew his attention, though he couldn’t quite place it. You set the drinks down in front of the loud men, your gaze finding his for only a fraction of a second.

“Thank you doll,” the older policeman said with a bit too much honey in his tone. “Oh and uh one more thing,” causing you to turn around, notebook in hand ready to take the next order.

“How bout that kiss huh,” smooching sounds came out of him and you made a very obvious face, the drunkards around him roaring with laughter. You didn’t say anything, only turned back around to wait more tables.

Later on in the night, after the contest had ended leaving the policeman, once again, victorious. He placed 5th, already almost feeling the fruits of his patience start to blossom as some of the guys had begun discussing re-matches with serious money involved. Oh how he could not wait to drain these fools dry. Bye-bye college fund. You made your way back to their place with refills of their drinks. The bar was a lot less busy now, considering the approaching dawn. Most of the other staff had left, and now that he looked around, most of the bar goers had gone too. Leaving you and the group he sat with. The man couldn’t resist taking another shot at you, now more vulnerable with less people around.

“Cmon sweetheart, what’s a man gotta do to earn your affection?”

You ignored him, continuing to slowly place the cups onto the table. He then slapped two 50,000 won bills on the table. “Cmon baby, how much for the night.”

“Not for sale,” you grumbled.

“Let's make it a bet then. If you win, I’ll give you double the amount” he said, slapping two more bills on top. That piqued your interest. You looked at the money then back up to him.

“And if I lose?”

“You know what, but I’ll be nice. Maybe tip ya after.”

You swallowed thickly, weighing your options carefully.

“What’s the bet?”

“If you could shoot better than my buddy here,” the man pointed back to him, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Then you win.”

You smiled a little.

“Why him? Why not you?”

“Just giving you a fair chance sweet thing,”

You sucked on your teeth a little, smirk evident on the corner of your mouth. You shoved your hand into your pocket and pulled out some bills, tips he assumed, and stacked them onto the money on the table.

“No, I'll shoot against you.”

Ooohs erupted from around. If the man had a little less ego he would’ve seen your confidence and took it as a sign to back out. But he didn’t, instead he sneered and motioned for one of the other men to grab two handguns, 10 bullets each.

The officer went first and the other bartenders huddled in with the group to observe. Out of the ten bottles they used as targets, the man shot down 5. Yes, 5. That was the high score for the night. Though, most of them were drunk and probably struggling with diplopia so that’s impressive enough. They reset the bottles and everyone held their breaths.

He observed your stance, way too comfortable with the weapon to be just a waitress. You shot bottle after bottle, missing not a single one. The dim lighting of the place coupled with the breaths of a dozen men down your back should've thrown you off, but it didn’t. Color him impressed. Cheers of bewilderment rose through the crowd as you moved to grab your money but a hand stopped you, causing the roars to quiet down.

“You cheated.” the officer accused.

“How? I made the bottles blow up?” You mocked.

“One more round, this time we use the bullseyes”

“Hmm I don’t really feel like a rematch,” you pouted, causing the angry man to slap a few more bills onto the table.

“No that won’t do…How about that card?” You smiled innocently and the man’s jaw clenched.

“Fine, but if I win, you won’t like how you’ll end up tonight.”

That statement didn’t scare you, only disgust present on your face as you continued chewing the gum.

He watched in awe once more as you handled the bullseye with ease, the skills of a marksman present in your grip. Though he could tell you were holding back. Ultimately, you had the winning paper. He stood by you as you watched the angry man get escorted away by security as you gave his credit card an obnoxious kiss, followed by waving an enthusiastic goodbye.

He was so intrigued by you, just itching to know more.

2. . .2

He made his way back to where you were, clothes dripping onto the floor with every step he took, panting a little with frustration. It was neither the water nor the cold that bothered him, but the effect you hold over his being. He observed your movements with tongue in cheek, looking at you with his head tilted to the floor slightly as you waltzed around the small space as if nothing happened. As if he wasn't here to end you. As if you hadn’t spoken in almost a year. He spent the better part of it clawing your ghost off his skin, promising himself self control if he ever saw you again.

“Why didn’t you run?” He sneered.

“This is me running.” You replied plainly. He hugged himself a little as he leaned on the wall, crossing one leg over.

“You’re doing a terrible job.”

“Hard to flee the country when you’re legally dead.” You handed him an item of clothing but he refused it before even checking what it was, convincing himself he would not be staying that long anyway. He gave you a mocking sympathetic expression as he decided to pull himself deep into his thoughts to build up the strength to just shoot you.

You took the item back and turned away from him on the opposite side of the room, rummaging through a bag on the floor. He thought of everything he had on the line, everything he was risking by letting you live this long and it fueled his grip on the gun. You’d both gone silent now, the room only filled with the loud clicking of a beat up clock you have on the wall. He cocked his weapon, allowing you the warning to say any last words. Your hands slowly came up from your sides, showcasing their emptiness as you turned around with wide eyes. He didn’t ever gather how you’d been able to read him so well, how you know when he’s weak and when he’s willing to take the shot. You stared at him with a hurt expression.

“Any last word-”

“You won’t make this a game at least?”

“I have a job to do-” His words were cut off by a swift trick of your hands, pulling out a throwing knife from its hiding spot in your sleeve and lodging it in his shooting shoulder, causing the first bullet to miss and break the window instead. His free hand came up to clutch the bleeding joint as his grip weakened in pain, though he kept it aimed at your head. In the meantime, you pulled out a gun yourself, yours aimed directly at him, too. Your expression had changed from fear to determination and he noticed you’d put outside clothes on. He must’ve been distracted while you were changing.

“Is this why you took my jacket off?” He laughed a little and you smirked. Of course you did, ridding him of the only form of protection he had on, leaving him just as vulnerable as you were. Evening the playing field, clever girl.“I don’t want to die,” You shook your head slightly, silently telling him this wasn’t going to be an easy win.

“No hard feelings, 038.” He used your guard ID, further driving a wedge between the two of you. The sudden change in demeanor like a punch in the gut.

“Ditto.”

Time stood still once more as his hand clutched the firearm, carefully weighing the options here. Last time you two had a standoff like this you ended up with that scar and he wasn’t unharmed either, but you both lived. He can’t let that happen again. The yellow bulb casted a weak glow on your face making you look quite ethereal. He couldn’t come up with a way to move things forward. He knew that the moment he took the shot, you would too, leaving you both dead. He also knew that he couldn’t dodge it from such a short distance.

You could though, because you wouldn’t wait for him to take initiative. Another concealed knife made it’s way into his arm as he shot in reaction to your sudden movement, lodging itself near the elbow causing his muscles to misalign and miss you, the shot landing in your biceps instead. You took this opportunity to lunge at him, knocking him to the ground in the process. Your undamaged hand wrestled with his twice injured one in an attempt to disarm him as you straddled his abdomen, but he managed to toss the gun into the other palm and hit you on the head with it throwing you off balance. He moved quickly to position himself on you but not before you managed to grab the weapon embedded in his shoulder, soaking his formerly white shirt with even more red. He re-positioned the pistol to your head as he noticed his blood staining your face, but you managed to stab him in the same arm once more, twisting the knife causing him to cry out in pain. The blood from your little trick dripped onto your lips and you smiled, then took this opportunity to knee him right where the money’s at, hindering him enough to be able to wiggle out from beneath him and get up. 3-1, to you.

The front of your boot collided with his sternum causing him to fall back as you reached down for his gun. You kept your foot there as he panted beneath you, and you made a show of unloading his gun of its ammo all around him, tossing the weapon out of the broken window, your hand then coming up to clutch your injured arm.

“You haven’t changed at all,” he laughed, defeated and bleeding from three different wounds in the same arm.

“You, however, have gotten real rusty.” You kept your own firearm aimed at his head, knowing that logically, this is the only out you have.

“Is it too late to convince you to change your mind?”

“What? And come back to the games?” you asked and he nodded softly. “I left for a reason, 013. Plus they’d have my head the moment I step on the island, I’m not stupid.”

“I could put in a real good word for you,”

“I don’t think you’re as significant as you think you are.”

“Got you in, didn’t I?” That caused you to ponder. “Back then I was even less significant.”

You frowned a little, unsure where he was going with this.

“Is this fear talking, 013? You scared to die? Scared I’ll shoot?”

He laughed, tossing his head to the side a bit before re-meeting your amused expression.

“No. I know you won’t shoot,” He smiled. “Maybe I just miss you too.”

He propped himself onto his elbows as you both panted in frustration, sweat dripping down either of your bodies as you contemplated his words. He was pretty like this, so harmless. It often makes you forget who he really was, so the little weasel wasted no time in reminding you.

In one quick movement, he grabbed the knife in his forearm and stuck it in your leg, hitting bone in the process, you yelped at the sudden pain.

He took the opportunity to volt back up, grabbing an empty bottle from the floor and throwing it at your head, you managed to duck though, the glass shattering on the wall behind. You used this moment to run for the door, bag of belongings slung on your good shoulder. You reached the knob before he grabbed the glass you’d been drinking from earlier and charged at you, smashing it on your head, causing bright blood to drip from your scalp onto your face. He used his position behind you to wrap a strong arm around your neck, his other hand stabilizing your head as he began ridding you of your air supply. You struggled once, twice, smacking his forearm with all your might, then went limp in his embrace. He loosened his grip on you at the relief of your unconsciousness. He hadn’t though, anticipated the shot that rang out. You were only pretending to go limp and the relief he grated you allowed you to snake your arm around yourself, shooting blindly into him. The shot landed near his liver, but he knew it likely missed anything important, you weren’t shooting to kill after all. He clutched his side, vision going a bit blurry from the accumulated blood loss, causing him to drop down against the wall, staining it red.

He watched as you wheezed violently, coughing up blood as you clutched your trachea for relief, your injuries exciting him a little, especially your painted face. You both heaved in unison, either one of you unable to take the winning shot. You kneeled down next to him and stuck a hand in his pocket, he didn’t have the energy to stop you.

“Take me out to dinner first,” he chuckled, earning no reaction from you. You made a show of jiggling his car keys in front of his face, clutching them back in your palm before he could snatch them away. Before you turned to leave you leaned in close and planted a feverish kiss from your busted lip onto his. His hand instinctively cupped your face, dyeing it with some of his blood to match yours. Your bleed seeped slowly into the kiss and he couldn’t get enough of the flavour, chasing your warmth a little when you pulled back, wiping your face and sniffing.

“Don’t keep me waiting for you that long again, baby.” You pecked him harshly once more and rose back up to pull the door open, letting the building’s cold in. This occurrence must not be that rare since none of the residents cared enough to come check or even filter into the hallway. You turned back to him once more, shooting him a smirk-wink combo before slamming the door shut in his face.

His tongue wiped his teeth free of your taste, tangy and metallic as he sighed, laughing a little maniacally to an empty room. The events of the night being the highest form of entertainment to him. Baby. What an odd word, he chuckled. He reached his hand into his pocket to call for backup, something he’d never usually do but he’d rather not bleed out here, all alone. His fingers stilled in his pants as a realisation dawned on him.

You took his wallet too

3. . .3

He’d spent the last few weeks watching you intently, finding out all there was available to know about you. Your name, how old you were, where you grew up, went to school. Basic stuff. He’d also made a habit of following you along your daily routine. It was fun, always being around without your knowledge. He knows where you live and on which floor. He knows what time you get off your morning shift and he’d watch you change into a different uniform for the next. 2 different jobs a day and sometimes you’d add the extra night at the bar. Your favorite coffee spot became his and the store you stop by regularly had started to recognise his face. All information available about you, every routine, every like and dislike, every hobby and nervous habit, he had memorised to heart. He’d held out for this long cause not a single pattern in your past or present gave him a clue about your skills. Not military service, not an ambitious parent, not self defence classes and not even a pastime. Away from that one night at the bar, you’ve never picked up a gun again in the last weeks. How could someone so ordinary hold such a specific skill? Fascinating. He skimmed your medical records looking for any slip up he could find, a wound unfitting for a simple waitress, finding nothing but endless bills piling up in debt. The only logical next step was to just ask, but he had bigger plans.

“She’d have to join circle and work her way up”

He sighed. No, that wasn’t satisfactory. He tried pleading once more with the head guard, his position as head triangle guard not strong enough to make a case, but his charm has gotten him way bigger things before.

“That would be a waste of quite the sharpshooter.”

“When she comes in and is able to display these skills you speak of, we can talk then.”

That's The best he could get.

You got off work, as usual, at around 2am. He waited in the quiet corner of the bar as you rid yourself of the apron and packed your things. He followed from a safe distance, your first stop on a sunday like this being the 24hr convenience store a few streets down. Then you’ll take an extra five minutes to pet the sickly dog whose owners won’t feed him at the end of the street, leaving him some sort of processed meat before you turn back to the actual way home. Near the end of your tour there’s a particular alleyway you have to cross to get home. He’d noticed how you always tense up then, likely due to the constricting and dark nature of the path. He’ll strike you then, it’ll earn him the best possible reaction, scared and alone. That part is for his own enjoyment, nothing more.

Tonight though, weather much warmer and no breeze in the air, you’d taken several unplanned detours to seemingly random places all around. This angered him, following you like a lost puppy, briefcase heavy in hand as he tried to keep up appearances, but your sudden spontaneity put him on edge. He trailed you errand to errand, though you never seemed to have a reason for them. Clothes store then a jewelry one then you went fruit shopping, he really couldn’t fathom what you could be preparing for. At the end of the night though, you fed the ugly dog and treaded back to his made up meeting point. You were several paces ahead of him as you turned the corner into the alley, disappearing from his sight momentarily. He took a deep breath, willing himself to keep the excitement inwardly. He turned the corner in your steps only to be confronted face to face with you. The coldness of your revolver an unexpected feeling on his forehead, doing its best to ward off the summer heat. You stared at him with a tense expression, hand steady around the firearm you were pushing into his temple.

“Drop it.” you ordered, motioning to the bag in his hand, so he obeyed and you kicked it far out of reach across the dirty street floor. Both hands came up in surrender.

“Game’s over pretty boy.”

He shot you one of his million dollar smiles, the one he usually resorted to to get what he wants. It didn’t seem to affect you though, only clenching your jaw as a response.

“I come in peace.”

“That why you’ve been following me for the last month?”

So you noticed him. Did you also notice him watching you change? And jump from job to job? Or just following you home? You were a lot more vigilant than he’d given you credit for. His chest filled with admiration.

“You are not at all who you seem to be, ms…”

“Oh you know my name too?” You scoffed. “You wanna stop flashing your teeth before I make a hole in that head of yours?”

“My apologies,” he cleared his throat, amusement still evident on his face. “So aggressive…” he whispered, but at the distance you two stood at, he knew you heard him. Your expression remained unchanged.

“I’ve come with a proposal for you.”

“I decline.”

He bit his tongue to suppress his smile, letting out a shaky breath of pleasure. He wants nothing more than to break you apart, bit by bit, your strong attitude making the image in his mind ever more satisfying.

“I beg you to let me convince you then.”

You rolled your eyes, “I’m not interested in drug schemes,”

“Do I look like I would approach you for that?”

It was that statement that caused you to take a good look at him, recognition finding its way into your face. Yes, the man from the shooting range.

“Ah, you’re the scammer.”

“I am no such thing.”

“Right, you pretend to be bad at poker so they play their life savings onto the table then win, scamming them out of their money. You’d been doing that at the range too right? But they won’t give you the chance.”

He smiled ear to ear, you knew him a lot more than he anticipated.

“You call it scamming, I call it a fun night out. Besides, I assure you my employer has nothing to do with that.”

“And what makes you think I’m buying whatever you’re selling”

“The fact that you haven’t shot me yet, anyone else wouldn’t have given the strange man following them a chance to speak, let alone converse. So either you’re morbidly curious to what I have to say or you’ve got no sense of self preservation.”

It was your turn to smile, flustered a little as you bit on your bottom lip, his effect now impossible to deny.

“May I ask you lower your weapon?”

“No you look good like this.”

That caught him off guard, causing a little blush to rise to his cheeks.

“We’ll be needing your skills-”

“My shooting?” you interrupted.

“Yes, you can say you’ll be ridding the world of its filth.”

“Sounds like community service.”

“You could call it that.”

Your gun finally went down to your side as you pulled away from him, turning to give him your back “I’m good, thanks.”

“10 million won for around 2 weeks a year. More, if they like you.”

That stopped you in your tracks.

“I know what that kind of money could do for you ms…, the hospital records are easy to access.”

“What’s the catch?” you turned around slowly.

“There’s no catch.”

“What kind of community service is it?”

He crossed the distance between you, picking up his long forgotten case in the process. He smoothed his clothes over and reached into his chest pocket, pulling out a brown business card.

“You’ll just have to find out for yourself.” He offered you the card between two fingers, neat and trimmed. You grabbed it, going to inspect what exactly it says.

3 shapes and a number on the back.

“Hey this doesn’t really-” You looked back up from the paper, finding no trace of the man you’d become familiar with. You never even caught his name. The card in your hand felt heavy, as if it was calling for you to sell your soul to it. Ok that’s a bit dramatic, but the nature in which you were handed it didn’t really ease your worries. What kind of work has their - albeit, smoking hot- representatives stalk potential employees? And they’d take you based on just this guy’s word? He must be important.

You stood dumbly in the dim corridor, gun in one hand pointed at the ground and the card in the other. The kind of money he speaks of…it could change everything, it could give you a new life.

What’s the worst that could happen?

4. . .4

He clutched his side, chasing any form of pain relief he knows won’t come. The streets were empty aside from the occasional bar or party. The car was window sprinkled with raindrops from earlier. They zoomed past the dingy part of town he’d cornered you in, heading back to the main quarters he presumed. The silence was deafening, he waited for anyone to say anything, though there was no one in the car. He was expecting a call from one of the higher guards, though his position granted him a lot of immunity from them.

“013.” a voice came over the speaker and he tensed up, knowing exactly who this belonged to.

“Mr. Frontman.”

He sat up straight, knowing he was likely being watched at the moment, wincing in pain as some blood oozed out at the sudden movement, his vision growing more blurry by the minute. The matter was a lot more serious than he’d given it credit then, to have the man himself discuss what happened with him could only mean one thing. You’d been causing more trouble, running your mouth and needed to be put down. It’s not a lot that could spike his nerves like this, but the thought of losing everything he worked hard for because of some girl, it tore at him.

“What happened tonight?”

He had a feeling the man already knew.

“A slip up, it won’t happen again.”

“I took quite the risk sending you, 013. But you’ve let her get under your skin, again.”

He opened his mouth to protest but only groaned in pain.

“I’ll find her again, and this time I won’t-”

“I’d like you to take backup.”

Backup? He scoffed. He was not a child needing babysitting.

“I assure you-”

“Take 024, that’s an order.” The line clicked and he sighed, grabbing one of the glasses on the armrest and smashing it in anger, both hands then coming up to rake through his damp hair in frustration. He tried to even his breathing, recollect himself and not allow you to have this effect on him, failing miserably. The car screeched to a halt in front of his own building, guess he won’t even get good treatment tonight.

He limped his way to the elevator and smacked the button with a closed fist, leaving blood everywhere he stepped. He leaned back on himself a little, head tilting up to observe the numbers decrease then a ting! His feet shuffled in and punched in his code, the elevator closing shortly after as he began the ascent to the penthouse. With his back against the wood of the elevator wall, he observed his reflection in the metal of the door. Bloody, tired, defeated.

Pathetic.

He couldn’t help but recall the way your hands moved over him earlier, already stupidly missing your touch. Another ting! And he was at his place, cold and empty. His finger flicked the central lighting by the elevator, bringing the place to life. He kicked off his shoes, walking barefoot to the nearby guest bathroom. Guest… yeah. The room was relatively small, in comparison to his main bathroom anyway, but he didn’t want to taint the whole place with blood. He’d hate to get rid of yet another cleaning lady. He stepped into the shower, not bothering to toy with the water settings as he turned it on. For the second time that night, he’d found himself under a stream, only this time the temperature was much more humane. Usually he likes cold showers, but the warmth was a lot more efficient in getting rid of your icy memory. He stripped off his blood-soaked garments, red fluid flowing down his legs and into the drain, tossing the clothes to the side. He rested his pounding head on the tiled wall, sighing as the heat eased his aching muscles. Then he pooled some water into his hands, bringing them over his face and head a few times to wash away all impurities. The injuries littered across his body burned a little causing a shiver to crawl down his spine, he needs to take care of those.

Back out in the kitchen, he made skillful work of the needle and thread through the deep wound as the dirtied clothes sat by the door waiting to be taken care of. He had a towel wrapped around his waist, hair still freshly wet from the shower. He’d fished the bullet out, placing it next to him as a token of defeat. The needle pierced his abdomen easily and he pushed it back out the other side with impatience; he still had a few stab wounds he needs to get to. But at the rate he was going, it would heal quite badly, then you two would be matching. How revolting. Once he was done with that mess, he moved onto using surgical staples for his arm, since there’s no way he could fix that himself.

He used some bags and gloves to handle the clothes next, transporting them to his disposal oven. He tossed everything in there, his shoes, pants and shirt. The door of the furnace slammed shut and he observed the rising fire through the little window. He ought to do that to you, he thought, lit cigarette in hand. He hates smoking, the smell of it and the aftertaste don’t go well with him, but its effects as a stress reliever are undeniable, considering the other option is on the run at the moment. At the image of you sneaking back into his mind, his body slumped a bit forward as he kept his eyes trained on the dancing flames. A thousand thoughts raced through his head, mostly memories of better days and yearnings of what ifs, things that he did not want to dwell on right now. The phone in his hand read the familiar number, one that often left a sour taste in his mouth, but he had to click dial. Captain’s orders. He took a long drag in.

The tone rang once, twice then,

“Hello?” A soft female voice enthusiastically replied from the device, clearly anticipating his call. He could only stare at the contact, grimacing a little at the prospect of who was on the other side, blowing some smoke at the screen.

“Hellooo?” The voice called again, then laughed, “I know it’s you 013,”

“Hello, 024,” he replied finally. “I trust you got the memo,” He took another inhale.

“Yeah I did, wanna come over to discuss?” the voice a little too sultry for him to deal with right now. He knew what she was insinuating, he’d tried to find comfort in her at your disappearance. Big mistake seeing as he spent their fleeting moments together looking for hints of you in her, wasting both of their time. Exhale.

“That will not be necessary, I’ll see you at headquarters tomorrow morning.”

“Aw, sugar, why so cold? She hurt you that bad? I’m always here to kiss it better.” He rolled his eyes, not needing to be present to feel her winking.

“Goodnight 024.” He ended the call before she could get another word in. The fire was long gone now, leaving only ashes and a burnt out cigarette as a testament to the night’s shenanigans.

5. . .5

You woke up groggy in a pristine red and white room, mind scrambling to try and recall where you were and how you’d gotten here, though you could only remember the latter. You took the man in the suit up for his offer, dialing the number a few days later and getting into that weird storage container. Everyone else there knew what to do, leaving you the sheepish odd one out. You considered backing out then, since no one would tell you what the hell was going on, but for some odd reason, you pushed through. Maybe you were worried you wouldn’t see his pretty face again otherwise…maybe. There was a blinking camera in the corner, indicating your every move being watched. You moved the covers off your body to reveal a black set of loungewear underneath; a tank top and leggings. To your right there was a toilet with its cover shut, a red uniform placed neatly on top of it and a black mask with a huge circle on it. You looked around for any instructions, explanations but found none, so you sat cluelessly, weighing the options. But by the time you decided to try the door, a knock came from outside. You shot up, ready for anyone to tell you what the hell was going on. The door cracked open to reveal a looming figure in the same uniform that rested in your room, his face covered by a triangle mask. The whatever pushed past you, welcoming themselves into your room. They turned to the camera to reveal their identity, discarding the cover to the side. You shut the door softly, leaning back on it as you observed him turn around with an eager smile on his face. His presence was oddly comforting.

“I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show up.” you mirrored his expression.

“You’ve been awake for all of 5 minutes, plus I had things to do.” He teased.

“Well?” You gestured to the surroundings.

“Well,” he parroted. “Just put your uniform on, I’ll get you shooting soon enough.”

You nodded and he left the room with determinants in his movements, face once again covered.

He maneuvered through the empty hallways he had access to, mind set on reaching the head guard to work his magic for you. He was evidently excited, hoping for a front seat view of presumably your first kill. The door to the room slid open upon identification, revealing some of the other heads as well as the main one readying up for the game in their lockers. He skipped past everyone and aimed for the highest ranking man in the room.

“She’s here.” he stated.

The other guard sighed, “She can join circle for now-”

“Red light, green light is the best time for her to show you what she could do.”

The man stopped his movements and turned to him, despite having his face hidden and a voice changer on, he could tell that he was tired of his antics.

“013, as head triangle you know we’ve got a full house,” the man said sternly. “If someone drops out for any reason, you could have her fill in.”

That’s all the motivation he needed, he left the bathroom stalls in search of you once more, leaving that lanky kid’s unconscious body in a locked stall. He doesn’t really feel bad for him, he’s a terrible shooter so there’s no net losses anyway.

He knocked on your door once more, an extra mask in hand to be gifted to you. You opened and he observed your figure in the unflattering uniform, face still uncovered. You took a small step to the side to allow him in and shut the door.

“Ok, put this on. Your number is 038, for now.”

Your identity was now fully concealed, the only difference between the two of you being the height.

“Follow my lead, don’t ask questions till we get to the shooting range.”

You nodded and he reached for the door handle but your voice stopped him.

“Wait, I never caught your name.”

“That’s confidential.”

Actually, it's been so long since someone referred to him by his actual name, the people here use guard IDs for ease of recall.

“Oh come on,” you lifted your mask to get rid of the stupid voice changer. “You know all there’s to know about me and I know absolutely nothing! I can’t keep referring to you as ‘gun guy’ in my head.”

He chuckled quietly, appalled at your insistence of finding out who he was. He mirrored your previous action, moving the cover of his face so that you could see him.

“Just call me 013 for now, ok?” He put the cover back on, referring to the number on his chest.You rolled your eyes, “Sure.” and fixed your mask once more.

You trailed behind him as he led you through colourful passageways and winding corridors. Nothing about the place could give you any indication as to where you were or what the task was. Or what’s with the eyesore for uniforms. A few people passed you on your journey, all wearing the same uniform save for different shapes on masks and numbers. He finally brought you over to a small room with black walls and a singular window on the opposite side. The area was tiny, barely leaving any space for you two to stand side by side. The walkie talkie on him made a sound but no words came out, only a sort of code you assume.

“Wait here,” he turned back to deal with whatever that was. “You can take the mask off.”

Didn’t have to tell you twice, that thing is so stupidly suffocating it’s insane. Sweaty too. You have a feeling someone was wearing it before you put it on. Ew.

You crouched to inspect the view from the little hole, sitting on your knees. It looked out onto a vast desert-like arena with painted walls, huge. It was also made so that you’d have to be laying down to shoot, well, like a sniper. Near your side of the arena there was a large doll-like statue with its back to you. Some red guards began filtering into the from the sides, contrasting the dull blues of the place, like blood on a surgeon’s scrubs. The heat was unbearable in the uniform, they really could afford all this but made the thing out of polyester? Was cotton out of budget? Maybe it doesn’t come in this ugly colour.

Your fashion critic moment was cut off by ‘013’ sneaking back into the room, a black case in his hand. He dropped it gently at your feet before taking his mask off and fixing his hair, beads of sweat dancing on his forehead.

“I trust you know how to handle this?”

You popped the case open to reveal a sleek black sniper rifle, the kind way too expensive for you to have ever held it. But you knew the concept.

“More or less.” you grumbled as your hands went to work assembling the piece as he stood over you with his arms crossed, watching with intense eyes. He saw you struggle a little with the support tripod so he leaned down to help you. You both worked in silence and efficiency, moving the completed puzzle to the window. You took your position behind the trigger, patiently awaiting instructions. He sat down by your side, mumbling something into the device in his hands.

The small doors opposite to where you were opened allowing teal blue figures to move in. You used the scope to observe the targets closer.

“People…?” You questioned out loud. “People??”

“I wouldn’t call them that” the gruff voice from behind you replied as you began piecing the situation together.

“What the hell is this?” You turned to find him smiling sickeningly at you, his hands toying with a smaller weapon.

“Red light, green light.”

“The children’s game?”

“If the players move when they shouldn’t, I’ll tell you a number, you find them, then shoot.”

“I’m not killing anyone.”

His jaw clenched in frustration, suddenly making you feel fear in the compromising position you’re in. A voice outside began explaining the game rules.

“The game is simple enough, really, but you’d be surprised how often they mess up.”

He cocked his gun.

“My instructions were also pretty simple but I’ll clarify them for you. They move, I tell you the number, you shoot.” His eyes were fixed on your terrified ones. “Or else I shoot you.”

He pointed the gun at you and something about the whole circumstance made you sure he wasn’t just talking. You turned back to the scope, observing as the players readied themselves for the task and he lodged the gun into your side, keeping it there.

“Do they know?” Your shaky voice betrayed you. You didn’t have to turn around to see the smile on his face, coupled with a short laugh.

“No. Not yet.”

The doll sang her melody and the victims began to play. Stopping at red, going with green. Your palms were sweaty on the trigger as you tried to come up with a way to back out of this, finding no escape. You saw the man move out of turn before 013 relayed the number to you.

“255”

You had the shot aligned to his head, breath getting quick and frantic. He pushed the gun further into you.

“Do it.”

So you did, jumping back a little at the loud bang.

“Domino down.” He laughed into the walkie talkie and you weren’t sure what he meant. Soon enough though, the realisation came to you.

The arena descended into chaos, almost half of the players had now started running the way they came from, breaking the rules.

He leaned in close to your ear.

“Cmon now, don’t disappoint me.”

You blocked it all out, the screams and cries of fear, the blood splashing all around outside, the clothes sticking to your skin, all of it, and began to shoot.

Moving targets were always your favourite anyway.

Shot after shot after shot. You became numb to it, the thought that these were real people, bargaining with the idea of it being either you or them. No longer waiting for the numbers to be called out, you can tell who lost yourself. The machine in your hands made headshots a breeze, the scope making it impossible to miss, or maybe you were just getting cocky, knowing you’ve shot better with much more rudimentary equipment.

“013,” a voice came from behind you, “tell your girl to leave some kills for the rest of us.”

He laughed into the device, “get better.”

You were not his girl.

The rush died down and the doll explained the rules once more to the surviving competitors.

Red light, green light.

You watched closely for any more losers, shooting a handful in the remaining game time. Your lip was bloody from how hard you were biting it as you got back up with a vacant look in your eyes. He got up as well, grabbing your discarded mask and handing it to your shaking grip. His hand came up to your face, brushing some of the blood on your lips with his thumb. You swatted his arm away and looked at him, a sick smile plastered on that perfect face of his. You turned back to the door and quickly left as he watched you in amusement, bringing the bloodied digit onto his tongue. Kneeling back down to dismantle the weapon, he wondered with a smirk if you’d even be able to find your way back, or if he would find you in some empty corner all scared and alone, easy prey. He put the gun back into its case and exited the room, being met with a short triangle guard’s presence blocking his way. 024.

“Who was that?”

“New recruit.”

“You don’t sneak into new recruits’ rooms or personally oversee their stay. Who is that?”

“Why does it matter to you?”

“I’m…curious.”

“Sounds like jealousy.”

The woman only shrugged.

“I made whatever was between us clear, 024. Don’t interest yourself in my personal life.”

“Personal?”

He pushed past her, berating himself for giving too much away. But he only had one thing on his mind at the moment and he wanted to be there to watch it.

You didn’t end up seeing him again for the rest of your time there, falling back into ‘circle guard’ duties. From laundry to cooking and cleaning the arenas, this was much more tame than the excitement you had that first day. 6 nights went by in a blur, moving from one duty to the next. You didn’t actually know what the protocols were like here but some of the other circles were kind enough to show you the ropes.

Kind.

Funny word.

From your interactions you’d learnt that most of them were in similar situations to you, broke and struggling, which really conflicted you but you tried not to think about it. You heard them speak of talks of making routines stricter, limiting interactions between guards. Maybe someone got pregnant.

At the end of the week there was a celebratory gala that you had to cater at, as the lowest guard rank of course. They switched out your uniforms in favour of sleek black suits and decorative face masks. You saw him then.

He had a different mask on, but you knew it was him, looking care-free as ever with his arm draped around some girl. All you could think about is what he made you go through, the stuff he put you in. You were so incredibly angry at him for acting like nothing happened at all. You totally spilt wine on him that night, ruining his outfit then scurrying away in giggles to one of the staff rooms.

You heard he looked for you all night.

The next time you crossed paths again was the night you were leaving. You only knew it was him because of his number and that obnoxious stance of his. He made you sick. Still hot though, unfortunately. He was standing next to some other guards and a man dressed in all black as they bid all circle guards goodbye. The man in black, who you’d come to learn was the frontman, gave some sappy, thank you for your service type speech and left you on your way.

You promised yourself you’ll never trust random men in dark alleyways again.

6. . .6

He remained quiet, allowing the unknown number to identify themselves first. He was, afterall, used to receiving key info from burner phones and unsaved callers.

“Is this supposed to make me feel jealous?”

He smiled, biting his lip a little to prevent himself from alerting his partner. Your voice was music to his ears, a welcome comeback after a little less than 3 months of silence. His wounds were a lot better now, his mind way more set on the goal. For the past weeks he’d been working with 024 to pin you down on the map, attempting to pull on leads and follow weak clues to where you were. You hadn’t been making things easy, he expected no less. You were at least decent enough to leave his car in pristine condition at some junkyard and he was able to retrieve it before they tore it apart. Barely. You were more clever than he often gave you credit for, disappearing without a trace on such short notice, but you were bound to slip up eventually. Currently, he was sat with her at a lively cafe, observing your meeting with a friend of yours. They thought you hadn’t spotted them, leaving shortly after a quick exchange and heading to your motorbike, rented and license plate-less of course, back to your hideout. Following you would be difficult, especially in a vehicle so obvious to you as theirs, so they needed to come up with another way.

But here you were, dropping it at his feet.

Amatuere work.

“Hello again, 038,”

“I suggest you get rid of her.”

“...Or?”

That seemed to shut you up, long enough for him to signal to 024 for help in tracking the number. It was a temporary phone no doubt, but it could give a clue.

“You need a nanny to help you find me 013?”

He knew you were just trying to rile him up, but his plan was working so he wouldn’t quite give in yet.

“You’re very slippery,”

That earned a chuckle.

“I warned you.”

The line cut off, but the location was already obtained. And, stupidly enough, it seemed you were keeping the phone on you, giving away your temporary escape. A busted motel in the outskirts of seoul, a place where there's more shady people than not, allowing you to blend right in. You’d done everything right up until now; used cash, avoided cameras, changed your gait but it was jealousy, jealousy that was your ultimate demise. He moved the cup of cold coffee to his lips to avoid the smirk catching the other woman’s attention.

The location was just as he’d imagined; cheap and with a laughable amount of security. All he had to do was bribe the front desk with a stack and they gave your room number up immediately, 8F, the money probably worth more than your entire stay’s worth. The key felt light in his palm.

“I’ll take the inside, you wait out here in case she gets away.”

“No, I'm coming in with you.”

He sighed, already feeling suffocated in the car at the thought of confronting you again, he’d really rather not have the other woman in there too.

“And if she manages to escape? Or never even enters the room because she caught us?”

He wasn’t really making sense, prompting 024 to give him a look.

“From the moment she walks in, I’ll give you 5 minutes. After that I’m coming in to finish the job. I know you won’t.”

He rolled his eyes, opening the door and stepping out into the cool night air.

“You better not screw each other!” She called out, he pretended not to hear it.

There was not much inside that caught his eye, the place as unwelcoming as your last one. It was, however, an absolute mess. Clothes strewn about all over, unmade sheets and leftover takeout on the bed. The place was, well, filthy. Very unlike you. On the nightstand sat your notepad, a habit he noticed you always held close. He couldn’t stop himself from looking through it. It was filled with random entries and detailed sketches of everyday items. There was a page for the night you saw each other again, three months ago. The paper was stained with tears.

He hasn’t changed a bit, still a psycho freak and still so. hot. It’s actually infuriating now. Left my mark on him though, physically and emotionally. My leg hurts like hell, my head too, but you should’ve seen the other guy, haha.

Seeing him again was…oh I don’t know. Everytime I pretend I’m over him he sneaks back into my mind one way or another. If only he wasn’t trying to kill me. Sigh, maybe in another life we end up together, the normal way. I know I shouldn't, but I miss him. So, so, so, so, so, you get the point, much. I think he missed me too, doubt his pride would let him admit that though. Wait he actually did admit that, but I think he was just talking. I feel so empty, he’s left a print on me I can’t freaking get rid of. He’s trying to K I L L you you idiot, pull yourself together. I should've killed him when I got the chance. But I always wonder, you know? What if he could change? What if we could be? I feel so silly, thinking of white picket fences and wrap around porches with a man who can’t wait to put a bullet through my skull.

He tried not to let your words get to him, tried to ignore the feeling it made in his chest. Longing. You weren’t the only one dreaming of different circumstances. Though he hates to admit it, he’d been looking for your face in every crowd and your voice in every song. He may be a maniac, sure. But that didn’t stop you from sneaking into his barren heart. What a mess.

The following page had a drawing of your kiss in the shower, done in pencil and with an amazing attention to detail, reminding him of the exact woman you were before he roped you into his world. He doesn’t regret it though, it gave him the pleasure of knowing you. He ripped the page out, keeping it as his personal souvenir of you.

He flipped through the next few pages.

Meeting with x at 9;00PM, by the nursery

Flip,

Need to buy some metoprolol, DON’T FORGET!!!!

Flip,

Total spent; 6k! Girl get it together.

Flip,

Saw him again today, he is so fine ffs. 024 was with him, lol. Gonna have to work harder than that to get me mad, babe.

Flip,

Though it is a bit unfair don’t you think?

That one caught his eye, flip,

2 against one? Low blow.

What? Flip,

Surely you’ve gotten it by now.

His breath grew quicker. Flip,

If you’re reading this, it’s too late.

See you soon ;)

The smile on his lips remained as he shut the notepad forcefully, feeling himself slowly lose it.He turned on his heel, the journal still in his hands, toward the widow that was covered by blinds. It overlooked the parking lot, allowing him to have a direct view of his car.

Empty.

Whatever you had planned involved 024, apparently. His jaw clenched so hard he felt his teeth might shatter. The anger got too much, you were, once again, two steps ahead of him. This time, he genuinely had no idea what you might be up to, or where you were. He yelled in frustration, slamming the notepad against the far wall. But it wasn’t enough. He picked up the bedside lamp and shattered it on the window, pieces of glass flying everywhere, cutting him all over his face and chest. His hands shook as he did a final sweep of the room and adjoining bathroom; no sign of you. This was a setup, and he fell for it. Of course you’re smarter than to leave your location on, so easy to access. He should’ve guessed.

Now though,

Now this game ends.

He stormed away to his vehicle, hair a mess and blood staining his shirt. He tried not to feel hurt over the words you wrote, assuming now that you only put them to mess with him. Of course you don’t love him.

He doesn’t either.

In fact, he can not wait to watch the life drain from behind your eyes as your body lays there helplessly, at his mercy.

He was in for another surprise at the car though, looking down to find it nearly touching the ground. Slashed tires. These were custom made, you moron. But of course you wouldn’t let him find you that easily, you had to slow him down somehow. He kicked the stupid thing, turning back to wipe a hand over his face and through his hair. He had to think of something, fast.

4 cheap tires and a long 50 minute drive later, he parked his car carelessly at the foot of his building. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for, only thing he knows is that if the plan went sour, 024 was meant to meet him back here. He gave her a temporary code that his phone notified him of it being used, meaning she was back here. Maybe she overpowered you somehow and brought you back here for him to kill you himself, but why not call? Whatever it was, he knew they’re regrouping now. The 10 second ride up felt longer than usual, the uncertainty of what to expect kept him on edge. He tried 024’s number again and again, nothing. The doors to his place slid open, revealing a dark and empty apartment, though that only worsened his worries. He flicked the lights on and did a quick view of the immediate environment; peaceful. Nothing out of place. Well, nothing except the sleeping figure on his couch. He pulled out his revolver, only 2 bullets inside because of an altercation he got into on his way here. The figure was completely covered and he couldn’t really make out who it was, he approached from behind the couch, shoulders relaxing a little at the sight of 024’s shoes. Then he saw it.

Blood.

So so so much blood. Dripping from the body down to stain his perfectly white carpet. He moved the cover quickly, cringing a little at the sight. It was 024, slashed and torn from multiple places, a handful of bullet wounds all around. She was still breathing, somehow, though she was definitely unconscious. He saw something move out of the corner of his eye on the upper floor, making the hair on his arms stand up. He whipped around quickly, but his gun was shot out of his hands before he could do anything.

You emerged from your hiding like some cartoonish villain, twirling the gun in your hands a few times before blowing off imaginary smoke. You rested against the black railing, giving him a clear look of your face. Bloodied, bruised with a few cuts, but so cocky.

“Surprise!” You said in a sing-song voice.

“Missed me?”

7. . .7

The bar was less busy than usual, regulars turning in for the night rather than stay their normal hours, leaving you and just a few more patrons who were closing their tab for the night. It was nice like this, quiet. No big fights or smashed glass, just a few drinks and counter wipe-downs. The days seemed to have been blending together these past weeks, routine just barely changing, if at all. You were at peace with all this though, guilt of the blood on your hands slowly being washed away with the ordinary day-to-day.

Money though, now that’s another issue.

The not so small payout you’d gotten was always on your mind, seeing as to how your life greatly improved afterwards. You slept more soundly at night, knowing that the next meal will be warm and within reach. Sure, it didn’t really affect your debt on the grand scale of things, but it did make you more comfortable. You know you shouldn’t consider going back, calling that number again and putting in a better effort, you were better than this. Better than killing for dirty cash.

Or you tried to be anyway.

The bar had been barren for almost an hour, but you had to stay open for at least another two, management’s orders. You could risk it, just leave and deal with it next time, but you preferred having a stable source of income to gambling it. You hadn’t heard anyone come in, not even that obnoxious bell by the door. You had your back to the bartop, inspecting the bottles with hyper focus, trying to decide if you should re-arrange them..for fun. Or boredom. But you were taken out of your trance by a firm knock on the bar behind you. You turned around only for your eyes to meet his.

“You.” You sneered, causing him to smile a little.

“Missed you.”

Your expression didn’t falter, pure anger evident on your face. You crossed your arms over your chest, unsure what to do now. You hadn’t seen him since that day, 2 months ago. He looked so different in this lighting, almost like a normal person, rather than a mass murderer. The grey shirt he wore was two sizes too small for him, suffocating his biceps. His hair was neat, as it usually is and he wore a pair of black combat pants, with boots to match, he almost looked human.

“What the hell do you want?”

He raised his arms up in a mock surrender, “Just wanted to see how you’re doing, that’s all.”

“I’m well, you can leave now.”

“Oof, ice cold.” he pretended to get stabbed in the heart and you huffed in annoyance.

“I wanted to talk to you actually, but how about we make it fun. Let’s play poker-”

“I will not be doing that.”

“How about pool then?”

That got you thinking. With poker, a liar like him would easily beat you, but you were pretty good at pool, meaning you could beat him at whatever his ulterior motives were. It’s not like you had anything better to do anyway. Realistically though, you should be telling him to piss off, not allowing him access to you again. But that charm of his…unfortunately difficult to resist.

“Sure,” you sighed.

“But we need to make it interesting. How about this; everytime someone gets a ball in, they can ask the other person a question. If the person refuses to answer then they have to-”

“Strip.” You pushed past him to set the table up.

“Bold. I was going to say take a shot but, as you please.” he smiled.

You set the balls in their place and handed him a stick.

“Ladies first,” ever the gentleman, you rolled your eyes.

Conversation between plays was kept to a minimum, the place was so silent, filled only with the sounds of balls rolling and colliding. You got the first point in. He gestured with his hands, almost like he was a bit excited, then leaned onto his stick, awaiting your question.

“What’s your real name?” You smirked a bit, knowing that his body is about to go on display. He sighed loudly before resting the stick to the side, arms coming to pull his shirt off of his head, revealing a very toned, well-looked after chest.

He whistled “Eyes up here.” smirking a little. This atmosphere allowed you to loosen up, quipping back at him with

“Nice tits.”

He won the next point.

“Where did you learn to shoot like that?”

So your apron came off.

“Oh come on now, no cheating,” he winked, prompting you to unbutton your work top as well.

He whistles again, “Anything else you hiding down there?”

“You’ll just have to work hard to find out”

The next few rounds were spent blocking each other’s wins, the air was getting tenser with neither of you willing to break the silence between, neither of you wanting to strip nor spill. Well that was broken by a smug victory smile on his face, you slumped a bit, ready to likely have to strip again. You stared at him and you could almost catch the amusement behind his eyes, like the question had been eating up at him for a bit.

“Was that your first kill?”

Of course that’s what he wants to know. It wasn’t, but you’d put that part behind you a while ago, hoping to never fall back into old habits, blood money. You’d built up a new life for yourself, albeit a bit pathetic compared to how you used to lavishly spend. You’d strayed so far away from your old ways, you’d almost started to believe you were a good person. Almost.

“Yes.” You breathed out.

“Strip.”

“What?”

“I said strip.”

“No I heard you- I answered the question; I’m not stripping.”

He stalked towards you, a sure and entertained look on his face.

“Liar.”

“I don’t follow?”

“That was most certainly not your first kill, you were way too comfortable with that trigger. Fast too. Would’ve taken a little more hesitation from someone clean, don’t you think? I mean-”

He laughed, bringing his free hand up to squeeze his lips. He leaned on the table only inches away from you. “You killed those people no problem, headshots and all. Anyone else would’ve shot one or two at most, you capped off at 76, almost as high as my high score! Very-”

“You had a gun to my side you ass,”

“Wasn’t loaded.”

“What?”

“Wasn’t loaded. If you gave a little more resistance I would’ve let it go, let you go. I would never shoot my new favourite thing so early on. I’ve still got plenty of ways to break you and you’ve still got plenty of ways to disappoint me.”

The air in the room was getting tighter, the way he spoke made you gag, your eyes held his with disgust. You knew he was just toying with you, that the gun was more than likely loaded with bullets with your name on them, and that he was just trying to put the blame on you. You tried not to let him get to you, with that satisfied smile and look of admiration he had on at the moment, but it was difficult.

What if?

What if your finger hadn’t been so itchy in the trigger? What if he wasn’t lying?

Someone else would’ve killed them dummy, don’t let him mess with your head.

Yeah, but the blood wouldn’t be on your hands.

The rest of his words registered then. ‘ I would never shoot my new favourite thing so early on. I’ve still got plenty of ways to break you and you’ve still got plenty of ways to disappoint me’

Who does this dude think he is? He’s got you all up in your thoughts conflicted between what you see and what you hear. You could swear he was blushing a little.

What kink is this? Weirdo.

“Who do you think you are?” You picked up one of the balls and angrily threw at him with full force, aiming for that big head of his.

He caught it.

“I’m not your thing, and I think you should leave.”

You began to walk away, setting the stick to the side.

“So it wasn’t your first kill,”

“Piss off,”

He quickly got in front of you to block your little escape.

“You are so very entertaining,”

“Don’t you have something better to do with your life,”

“I do. You can say this is my new hobby.”

“Seek therapy.”

He pouted “You think I’m crazy?”

“A psycho actually.”

“I’m very flattered.”

“Of course you are,” you rolled your eyes, stepping past him to find your long discarded top.

“Didn’t it feel good though? All that money.” He called out, taking a few steps in your direction.

It did, it really did. You faltered a bit. Warm meals and hot showers were a luxury you didn’t realise, along with paid off prescriptions. The fat stack they handed you had left you way more than comfortable, stress about bills gone for a nice period of time. It was the only thing, the only reason, you hadn’t ran away from him until now. The money. You knew it was wrong, to be willing to kill again to have a roof over your head that isn’t leaking, but the comfort was so tempting. Your hands picked up your blouse and began buttoning it, trying to come up with some escape so that his words don’t find their way into your mind. It was difficult, this internal monologue fighting itself, and he could tell.

“You aren’t as moral as you pretend you are, you know?” He chuckled, but you still had your back to him, still refusing to talk. After finishing your top, you picked up his shirt and turned to toss it at him, surprised to see him standing very close to you now. You tensed a bit at the proximity and shoved his shirt into his bare chest.

“Don’t come looking for me again.” You tried to sound sure of yourself.

“Or?” He pulled his shirt over himself, messing his hair up even more in the process.

“Is this what you came here tonight for? A game of pool and one worded replies?”

You moved behind the bar to grab your things. You knew he won’t let you go that easily, you’ll either have to kill him or yourself. Or fake your death and change your name, again.

“I came with an offer actually,”

“I’m not killing more people, you creep.”

“Is it fun to call me every name in the book?”

“I don’t know what you’re actually called, so, yeah.”

“No killing involved this time,” he sighed from the other side of the bar and you shot him a questioning look. He threw his hands up in surrender, “I promise,”

“Oh good, your word means so much to me.”

He made a betrayed expression with his face, lips pouting a little and brows furrowing in sadness. You only stared in annoyance.

“Goodbye, weirdo.”

“We need a helping hand in training new recruits, shooters. I’m sure you could guess why we have a high worker turnover. You’ll only be helping them shoot targets, not humans. Not animals either.” He cut you off before you even spoke, “It’ll be good pay, you might have to help with a few other duties as well. The rules are a lot more relaxed between games, in relation to masks and uniforms. I knew you couldn’t stand them.”

“I would still be helping someone kill someone; a killer by proxy.”

“Don’t go pretending to be noble now, you’re already a killer.” He rolled his eyes, getting a little mad. “Plus if you don’t do it, someone else will. These ‘people’ will die anyway. Might as well get paid for it.”

You paused for a beat. He was, unfortunately, making a good point, to you at least. You were a killer, hands stained with more red than he could imagine, what��s another shade deeper at this point. That or you starve in a cycle of debt and pitiful repayments.

“Why me? Why not someone more willing?”

That was the first time this whole night that he stuttered. Opening his mouth and closing it, trying to find something to say to your question. That caught you off guard, you’d never seen him so…flustered?

Oh.

OH.

“Someone’s got a crush,” you giggled in a sing-song voice, your coat snug around you as you moved close to him, swaying a little, until you were face to face.

“Don’t flatter yourself, I’m just…intrigued by you.”

“Intrigued oh-” you couldn’t stop giggling. “Oh you wanna sleep with me so bad.”

That shut him up, fully, instead just keeping his gaze cast on your face, momentarily jumping to your lips then back up. He didn’t even try to deny it. Leverage, you’ve got leverage over this hot piece of work. Bingo. He was smiling with his jaw tensed forcefully, attempting self control-you guessed.

“Your higher-ups know you’re here, 013?”

Once again, no reply. You moved in closer, just so your lips were barely brushing his.

“Where’s your tough guy act now, hmm?”

You pulled away after a beat, watching as his lips chased yours for a second, but failed.

“I’ll think about it.” You sped a little towards the exit, leaving him with a problem he’ll have to take care of himself.

8. . .8

He observed as you descended the steps lazily, shrugging off your coat to reveal a very provocative dress underneath.

“You wore that to a gunfight?” he questioned the ridiculousness of it all.

“Of course not, it's freezing out.” You chuckled, moving towards his discarded gun. “But you took so long and I got bored. You sure know how to keep a lady waiting”

His jaw clenched as you picked up the weapon and moved towards the open kitchen. He took the moment with your back to him to quickly grab the spare gun under his couch; one of many around the place. But the moment it came into his hands, he could tell something was wrong. It was empty, the glock’s amo cartilage taken out of it. He stared at the thing in defeat, turning around to find you with a smug expression on your face.

“I wouldn’t bother with the rest of them by the way. Or the knives, though I know you can’t aim those to save your life anyway.” you smiled. “Can we not just have a nice night, like normal people?”

“My ex is dead on the couch.”

“Oh she isn’t dead.” you snorted, then your expression suddenly dropped. “Why does this bother you anyway?”

There it was, jealousy. It was such a lovely colour on you, filling him with butterflies. Your jaw tensed, your legs moving closer to where he was.

“You jealous?” he chuckled.

“No, just possessive.”

“Same thing.”

“It wasn’t ‘same thing’ when it was you speaking, no?”

He laughed a little, a smile finding its way onto his lips. He wanted to get it all over with, get rid of you. But something about how you looked in this light, at this hour, some blood on your body born from desire. He saw something then, a future perhaps. You were so similar, two souls meant to be. He couldn't help but allow himself to indulge in you tonight, just this once he’ll let his resolve crumble in favour of his hunger. He drank in your appearance, eyes stopping at all the scratches all over. He wanted to kiss it all better, wipe the stains from your skin. Your eyes scanned him as well, finding the cuts from the glass from earlier. You both stood there in silence, leaning into eachother’s warmth subconsciously. He captured your lips with his with the force of years of yearning, your hands coming up to find his face-

A groan stopped you both, the injured woman behind you struggling to pick herself up. You rolled your eyes, turning your head to shoot her square in the face, ending her run immediately. You turned back to him, a look of lust and admiration painted all over his face.

“Where have your manners gone, sweetheart?” he pretended to be upset. “I mean-really? My white carpet, my tires, you’re milking me dry.”

“Wanted to leave my mark.”

“I think…” he hesitated. “I think you’ve already done that.”

There was a moment, where just everything seemed so normal, regular. Like you two were star crossed lovers who met at the wrong time. Like, if you two worked hard enough, you could have a life of laundry and burnt pancakes.

You slammed your lips onto his once more with desperation and want, air being sucked out of your lungs with passion. Your hand came up to rest on his chest and he winced, causing you to break apart once more.

“We should get you cleaned up, there could be some shards inside.”

He chuckled, “After you.”

You sat in the balcony, the air a lot cooler from how high up you were. He poured you a pretty glass of aged red wine.

“How do I know this isn’t poisoned?”

“Poisoned? You think I’d stoop low enough to poison. That is such a lazy way to kill, you know I’d rather have my fun.”

You worked a soaked gauze on the cuts littering his chest, one particular one having a few shards that you had to pick out of the wound. Nothing needed stitches though. He rested a warm hand on your bare thigh, eyes watching the knot in your brows form in concentration, a sheet of sweat and dirt dried over your face. You avoided his gaze in nervousness, fearing your heart may break out of your chest. He grabbed your forearm, noticing the deep cut in it.

“This needs stitches.”

“It’s ok I’ll do it later-”

“No. It’ll get infected if you leave it like this, let me.”

So you switched roles, sitting back to watch his attentiveness to your pain, hand more gentle than he ever was with anyone or anything ever. Afraid to hurt you. Everytime that needle pierced your skin, you’d tense, to which he’d apologise. Every time. It was like something was different that night, the occasional distant car horn being the only other break in the silence. He finished you up and wrapped your arm, kissing your hand afterwards. His lips were rough and broken on your equally calloused skin, dreary eyes looking up at you. There was a sadness to it all, knowing this won’t-can’t last. Doomed by the narrative, you two were destined to end prematurely. But you pushed it all to the back of your mind, willing yourself to just enjoy the night to come. But first,

“We should burn the body.” You looked over through the glass at the now permanently red stained area. He leaned back on his chair next to yours, spreading his legs until he got comfortable. His dress shirt was unbuttoned, pants hugging his knees as the jacket hung loosely around your bare shoulders. Sighing, he pulled out a cigarette from his pocket along with a lighter, covering the flame to light the smoke.

“Yes, that would be best.” he inhaled a puff, blowing it out towards the night sky.

“You won’t offer me one? Chivalry really is dead.” you teased. He turned to you, firm grip grasping your chin to bring it to his face. He took another inhale then tapped his thumb on your bottom lip and you obliged, opening your mouth to allow him to exhale into it. He then slotted his lips against yours once more, recycling the same breath. He repeated all this a few times, till the cigarette was burnt out, once your breath and the next his, a little game of who could taste sweeter.

“Let's go take care of that.” His forehead rested on yours, but neither of you moved. Another blanket of silence

“We should-”

“Yeah.”

You don’t really know what’s with the awkwardness all of a sudden. You two moved in tandem to transport the dead woman to the little furnace, blood staining both of your bodies. You watched the flames dance around the corpse, the day’s events weighing on your soul, causing you to lean onto him for support. He stood rigid, arms crossed as his breathing slowed with your touch. You hugged yourself for a little warmth, before taking a deep breath to break the silence.

“Are you still going to kill me?”

He sighed, “I have no other option, you killed 024, they’ll have my head otherwise.”

“We could run away,” You stood back up and his hand came to rub his eyes, already not convinced with whatever you wanted to say. “We could leave Seoul, leave korea all together and-”

“And go where? Huh? Run for the rest of our lives?”

“I’ll figure something out, we could go anywhere in the world 013-”

“They’ll find us.”

“We’ll change our names and-”

“Where would we get the money?”

“Same way I always did, odd jobs and daily wages.”

“We’d be dirt poor.”

“But we’d have each other.”

As cheesy as it sounds, you really thought you two could be something more, something permanent. No-one got you like he did, no-one got him like you did.

“Why did you come here tonight 038?”

Tears had built up in the corners of your eyes. “I don’t know I just- I thought you could change, that we could be.”

“You meant it? What you wrote in that notebook? White picket fences and wrap around porches?”

“Yes! Of course I did.” The emotion had leaked from your eyes and streamed down your face. He cast his gaze to the floor, avoiding your sad eyes.

“But you know it won’t be like that, we’d have to slave for our next meal.”

“I don’t mind.” You sniffed.

“I do!” He yelled out suddenly, brushing a hand through his hair and panting in an attempt to compose himself. “I can’t go back to that, 038, I can’t. I don’t- want to. I love my job, I have never felt more fulfilled, ever-”

“You send people to their deaths!”

“They deserve it! Don’t you get it? It’s the one system where they get what they deserve. They could choose not to go. Chose to get up off their ass and crawl their way out, but they chose to-”

“The system doesn’t work that way.”

“It did for me!”

“That’s cause you have charm and a pretty face, 013, you got lucky.”

“It was not luck.”

“Yes it was! The sooner you realise this the sooner you’ll be face to face with the fact that they’d replace you the moment you die.”

“I’m not abandoning my dream life, that is final. So if that’s what you were here for, then go.”

You turned away, makeup running all over your cheeks, but it took him all of 1 second to change his mind, grabbing your wrist and pulling you back into him. His eyes were glassy as he pushed you up against the wall, his hands tangling in your hair as his mouth sought you out once more. Rough, desperate and aching, that’s what this kiss was. You let yourself get lost in his smell as he placed open mouthed kisses on your shoulder. His eyes came up to meet yours for a moment and you both knew what this was. Your final night together, that’s for sure.

Might as well go out with a bang.

His muscles were sore the next morning, he was never really one for sleeping in, but your touch had left more than just surface bruises on him. He got up slowly, finding his phone barren of any indication of the boss finding out what happened, for now anyway. The cold water helped wake him up fully as he recalled last night’s events, cuts burning a little causing a shiver to dance down his body. He slumped against the sink, bloodshot eyes in the mirror stared at him with determination. 024 wasn’t any help, no. He needs to play dirty, do things his way.

Next time he sees you, either one of you will end up dead.

9. . .9

The gala was in full swing, a celebration of yet another successful round of games. You stood off to the side, a drink in hand long forgotten. The gown you were wearing was quite a sight, adorned with hand embroidery and fine stitching that you would otherwise never be unable to afford. It was meant to make you more appealing to the guests of honor; the rich men behind this all. The mask on your face was itchy, but it was better than the dumbass one they usually have you wear. It only covered the top half of your face, allowing you a much more comfortable experience, and a nicer voice. Most of the time, these galas were a gateway for these men to enjoy some of the staff before they departed to their respective countries. You were always spoken for though, 013 making sure none laid hand on you except him, of course. You knew how this night always ends between you two, a week’s worth of pent up frustration on both ends with no other way of contact except short nods in hallways. Usually by this time you two would be sneaking off for your own celebration, but tonight, 013 had been the centre of attention. Praises showered him from VIPs and guards alike, congratulating him on his one of a kind achievement. “He shot his own father?” “Yeah! No hesitation!” “His self control is so admirable.” “Hope I can get to his level one day.” “He’s so hot too, truly has it all” “Is he still with that-”

You zoned back out.

They were bumping him up to ‘recruiter’, a position you were unfamiliar with. He’d refused square/head guard positions, citing them being way too ‘desk job like’ for him. You two hadn’t really talked since his achievement, it all left a sour taste in your mouth. This wasn’t envy-no, this was the realization that the man you were slowly falling in love with was so far gone. So out of it that he shot his own father. You were familiar with their relationship, he was just a poor man’s son. His father was a hard worker, though it never amounted to anything, that’s where the resentment grew. You could tell that 013 was so deluded with this so-called system that he held a grudge against his own father for not being rich. You couldn’t convince him that this ‘get rich quick’ scheme only worked for him by chance. Only worked for you by chance. He cut that awkward conversation short with a little more than a kiss, so you abandoned the topic, seeing as he was unwilling to push it further.

He would shoot you too, if he felt like it. If he felt you’re deserving enough. That was your rude awakening. The only difference between you and his father is that he approached you under different circumstances. Had it been a different person, an actual recruiter back then perhaps, you’d be dead. For sure. It was only chance that you ended up on the other side of the gun.

You’d already been toying with the idea of running away, leaving it all behind and starting over again. Avoiding trouble for real this time. Maybe you’d even snitch on their whole operation. You have enough evidence, polaroids and such, of the place, the deaths. You could attempt to put an end to it all, the weight of the innocent lives lost on this island was beginning to get to you. This was the straw that broke the camel’s back, your sign to leave it all behind.

You can’t pretend you won’t miss him though.

During your years working here, you’d grown impossibly closer. Bunking together secretly during the games and him finding you after. Always. You’re not sure if you could label it, since you never really discussed it, but no-one approached you and no-one approached him. You were both unofficially off limits.

In a better world, you’d call it love.

He showed you parts of him no one else had ever seen, swore up and down that his name was a fact lost to the test of time, and held you in his arms as you cried. He always knew how to make it all better; the guilt, shame. You try not to let yourself wonder how things would’ve been if you’d met him earlier, before all this. If you could’ve somehow saved him from the lie he was living, built a life for the two of you far far away from all this death. He loved cats, though he wouldn’t admit he loved anything in this world. There was a certain softness in how he handled strays that would cross your path, he treated you like that, too. Sometimes. You’d have a house full of kittens with him if he’d let you. Best not to dwell on it, seeing as he was being fawned over by everyone at the event. It was too late for him now, but maybe you could save yourself. You spent the rest of the night in the corner, people watching, and he spent the rest of the night being swept away from your proximity by fans.

By the end of the party, you walked back to your room barefoot, heals in hand to avoid sore feet later. It would be best to slip away tonight, before any attention is drawn to you. It wasn’t forbidden to leave, but 013 knows you won’t be quiet, leave peacefully. He’d either force you to stay or convince the higher ups to kill you, now that that's so easy for him to do. You needed to make your getaway tonight, allowing some distance before he starts hunting you down. With everyone high on festivities, you were sure no-one would stop you. In your room, you’d packed up all your belongings that they’d allowed you to bring, along with all the cash you could find. It wasn’t a lot, but you’ve survived with less. You knew where they kept spare speed boats for emergencies, and the air was clear enough to give you a smooth ride. Yes, it was perfect, all of it.

Tonight had to be your getaway.

A knock on your door pulled you out of the excitement, tensing a little, as it could only ever be one person. You opened the door slightly, allowing only yourself to be viewed and not your escape backpack. It was him, 013, glowing from the party’s flattery. His mask was off and he had a shotgun slung over his shoulder, still wearing his party clothes; a nice dress shirt, unbuttoned to his belly button and a pair of beige pants. You didn’t say anything, fearing that your voice would betray you. You weren’t as good of a liar as he was, and he’d be able to smell you out if he lingered for long enough. He leaned on the door frame, a smile crept up his face.

“Well, you looked gorgeous tonight” he slurred a little, clearly tipsy from all the drinks he was offered. It caused you to giggle.

“You didn’t look so bad yourself.” you bit your lip. “Congrats on your uh- promotion”

“Gonna treat you to something real nice with it,” he winked, laughing to himself.

“013, are you- ok? I know everyone is celebrating, but this is quite a heavy thing that you did, do you wanna-”

“I’m fine, better than ever actually. Some of the triangles and I are going shooting,” he pointed to the shotgun. “Join me-us?”

“I’m calling it in for tonight actually,”

“What’s wrong?”

Shoot, he’s sobering up.

“Nothing, just tired.”

“Well if you let me in, I’ll make you feel better.”

You tensed, he noticed. “No uh, you wanted to go shooting, no? You should enjoy your big night.”

“Who’s in the room?”

“What? No-one, what are you on-”

He pushed past you, finding no-one, like you said, instead spotting your getaway bag by the door. Your hands shook, he had his back to you so you weren’t able to read his expression. You moved to the bag, zipping it up and trying to save face.

“Just packing up for next week.”

“A whole 5 days before we leave?”

“I like a tidy room.”

“I suggest you stop lying to me.”

He had turned to face you, bag in your hand as you stood by the slightly opened door. You swallowed your fears, knowing there's no way out of this situation except through it.

“I…don’t want to do this anymore.”

“What? The games? No one is forcing you to come back, you do that out of your complete free will.”

“I know but, it’s all too much, I want to leave, now.”

He stared at you for a moment, tongue pushing the inside of his cheek as he pieced your story together.

“You’re going to rat us out.” he stalked towards you, grabbing the gun off his shoulder.

You took that as your cue to-

“Run sweetheart, cmon, make this entertaining. Run.”

So you did, through winding passageways and long, empty halls, you ran with all your might. You weren’t out of shape; much more agile and faster than he was, allowing you a good space between you two, but the adrenaline and fear of it all made your lungs burn. You made it out of the building complex without hearing a single shot ring out. This was way too easy.

You headed through the woods straight to the emergency dock, leaping over bushes and fallen trees left and right. You had made it all the way to the sheds near the boats when you spotted him.

He must’ve taken a shortcut, must’ve known you were coming through here. He had the gun cocked in his hand, it was a disadvantage for sure, the smaller gun in your possession easier and faster to shoot with. But just as you don’t miss no matter the weapon, he doesn’t either. It worried you, how willing he would be to shoot you dead. But it can’t end here, you won’t allow it. The air was humid this time of year, causing your desperate breaths to be inefficient. You figured taking him head-on would be useless, you needed to-

He whipped around suddenly, gun aimed at your head.

“Found you.”

You got up with your hands in surrender, a little defeated at your failed escape.

“Come here.”

You obeyed, avoiding the last few lines of bushes before it turned into sand. He didn’t ask you to stop, allowing you to reach all the way to feel his breath on your face.

“I can forgive you for this, but-”

But you had one more trick up your sleeve. You slammed the gun in your hand onto his head, banking on the alcohol from earlier already making him loopy, effectively knocking him out. You wasted no time in rushing to one of the boats, turning the keys into the ignition and starting the loud machinery. Victory was within reach.

Bang!

You had your back turned to him, so you hadn’t seen nor heard him get up and stalk towards you. He was standing just off the side of the boat, shotgun emitting some smoke from where he fired it. It had hit you in the abdomen, shots dispersing only a little due to his proximity. You fell back onto the wheel, bringing a hand up to push the boat forward.

He watched you disappear into the night, not attempting to attack again.

10. . .10

ALT ENDING (FLUFF)

He watched through the scope as the car approached his made up end spot. Welcome to the final show. The car you picked out was unassuming, grey and very much a family car but he caught your alias pretty easily. You were speeding down an empty backcountry road, almost at your sweet sweet escape, not on his watch though. He shot the bullet, hitting your tires immediately, causing the car to flip over into a nearby ditch. He abandoned his position, taking his gun with him to ensure the job is done. The wreck caught up in flames, the light from the fire casting a yellow glow onto the surroundings. He approached your position under the turned-over car. Your back was to the ground as your hands were reaching for your gun, but it was too far away, plus he kicked it from your line of sight with his polished shoe. You panted, looking down at your immovable lower body with defeat. He watched you, so helpless and at his mercy and he couldn’t help but feel a little bad. Just a little.

“Bad time to say that suit looks great on you?” You coughed. “Brings your face out.”

“Get up.” he kicked your side softly, causing you to cough more.

“Way to kick a woman when she’s down.”

The heat from the flames was becoming unbearable, even in the cool spring night air. The fire was inching closer to where you were, and he’d really rather not have to hear you burn to death.

“Get. Up.” He picked your gun back up, tossing it at your side once more, allowing you a ‘fair fight’.

“I can’t-” a sob got caught in your throat. “I can’t feel my legs.”

The crackle and whooshing of the fire were the only sounds heard, both of you silent as the situation set in. You didn’t have it in you to fight, to grab the gun and shoot him, because you were already dead. Tears began streaming down your face, sobs wracking your already battered and bruised body. He stood there with his hands at his sides, hesitant and awkward. He hadn’t imagined it being this easy, this quick, hadn’t pictured you going down without a fight.

Hadn’t truly come to terms at the thought of losing you, permanently.

“Cmon now, don’t give up so easily.” His voice shook, the weight of his actions slowly dawning on him.

“I can’t- 013, I-” You were fully crying now, “I don’t want to go like this.”

He knew what you meant, the fire was likely already at some part of you. He dropped his weapon, hurrying over to attempt to lift the car a little to give you crawl space. The metal of the door burnt his hands, but he endured, for you.

You made it out, crawling on your cut up forearms and collapsing when your legs were free. You couldn’t see them, obviously, but he could. They had burns and deep wounds all over, he could see the bone in a few places from the severity of the cuts. They were also twisted and contorted in terrible ways, meaning multiple breaks and fractures. It was a good thing you couldn’t feel them.

Your breaths had become wheezes, more desperate gasps for air. He felt dizzy, his eyes welling up with tears.

“Come- Come on now sweetheart,” he sniffed. “Let me help you up.”

He doesn't know why he did that, why he supported your upper body with his since your legs couldn’t. You rested your head on his chest, your body slumping a little from lack of leg support. You sobbed into his shirt, afraid and in pain. The stupid car’s radio sputtered on, playing some slow classical song that was filled with static due to bad service. You chuckled between sobs.

“How poetic.” You looked up at him, eyes finally meeting the one’s of the man that took your life. He began swaying you two gently to the tune, arms doing their best to keep you up. You looked at him with so much sincerity, admiration, as if he wasn’t the one that’s been trying to kill you all this time.

“We would’ve made quite the couple you and I, 013. I wish that I could’ve met you sooner, kept you from all the horrors they let you stain your hands with.”

That’s when it all got too much for him.

Now more than ever, he wanted to sweep you away, take you to some remote countryside and build that stupid house you wanted with his own bare hands. He wanted to wake up next to your sleeping figure, rush to make you breakfast before you got up to scold him as to why he wasn’t in bed. He wanted to hold your hand on bad days and listen to your endless lame jokes. He wanted his every moment to be filled with your air. The years you two had spent together may have not been conventional, but, for the first time in his life, someone got him. Someone understood him for what he was, not what he was pretending to be. You’d brought so much life into his days that it completely changed him. People would tell him he’d gotten softer, and though he would deny it, you must’ve had some invisible print on his actions. He should’ve spent his days protecting you, warding off evil like some knight. Should’ve grown old with you, watched you croak and grey, instead he has to watch the life drain from your eyes in this very moment.

It was only now he’d realised how deep a scar your death would leave, and he brought it on himself.

“Hey- keep your eyes open for me” he tapped a little on your cheek, hoping to prolong your final dance for a little bit.

No ambulance would make it in time, you’d already lost way too much blood.

You smiled at him, “Kiss me.”

He didn’t waste time in humouring your request, capturing your lips in a matter too gentle for who he was.

You pulled back for a moment, both of your foreheads touching and eyes shut.

“I love you.” You croaked, finding his lips again.

“I love you too.” His tears mixed in with yours, seeping into the kiss with their salty awakening.

He wanted to cry out, now more than ever regret had taken over his soul, but nothing came. He had nothing to offer you; no ambulance, no pain relief and no escape.

“I’m sorry-“ he choked, “I’m so so sorry, sweetheart. I should have- I-” he was struggling to find the words, to articulate his remorse and self hatred in the moment. To make it all better. You only looked at him with so much love in your eyes, as if you were seeing right through him, as if he was the man you wanted him to be. The years you two shared were nothing short of cinematic, he longed to jump back into any of the moments you shared now, un-do it all. It was too much, you tried to ease his turmoil by shushing him softly, shaking your head to stop his rambling.

“It’s ok. It’s ok.” You soothed.

You were leaving, and taking a huge piece of his cold, cold heart with you. You’d left him with so much, and in return, he gave you nothing. It was as if enlightenment had befell him in that moment, allowing him to give you the one piece of himself he’d kept from everyone. Of course, how could he forget.

“My name is-” but by the time he’d put together what he wanted to tell you, you’d gone limp in his arms.

The music from the car sputtered to a stop as the new day’s sun began peeking out from the horizon. This was it. You were dead. He got what he wanted, only to realise what he really wanted too late. He collapsed with your corpse by the wreck, tears dried up and hands shaking uncontrollably. He was covered in your blood, everywhere. His palms, his nails, his face, the shirt. It was the whisper he had of you. He stared at your limp body, still as beautiful as the day he laid eyes on you. He wished he’d never walked into that stupid bar, then you’d still be alive.

He didn’t have much in this world, his character a tough one to handle, but he had you. Used to, anyway. He recalled your words from earlier, about the system that was bound to fail and replace him. He has nothing but that system now, nothing else to give his life to. He wouldn’t ever be able to give what he gave you to anyone else anyway.

“Good work, 013.”

That’s all he got in return for ending your life, the mission file being wiped clean moments later. On his way out, people would congratulate him, pat him on the back for cutting off the last human part of himself. He couldn’t speak, only giving them tense smiles in return. Back at his place, he’d stare at himself in the reflection in the glass, sat by his neatly made bed where he had you last. He hadn’t anticipated the quiet that followed your goodbye.

It was strange, really. Considering you weren’t usually around to drown out the silence with your laughter. But it was the loud thought of you that had kept him distracted.

He fell back into routine, running errands and doing tasks for the games, taking his anger and self loathing out on the participants, never fully being able to recover from your loss.

No one came to your funeral; there was no-one to invite in the first place. He held it mostly for himself, burying the body he was meant to burn, giving you a proper rest. He looked through your records for a long long time, finding himself faltering at every picture of you. For his own peace of mind; he wiped it all. Burnt all the physical copies, keeping only that notebook of yours from the motel. He’d love to say something cheesy like ‘it rained the day of your funeral’ but it didn’t, he held his black umbrella under bright sunlight. That’s what you were, he guesses, warm. He stood there solitarily, he was the likely the last person that will ever speak your name.

And you didn’t even know his.

Nice ending 🤧

#squid game #squid game x reader #squid game fanfic #the salesman #the salesman x reader #the salesman fanfic #salesman x reader #squid game salesman #the recruiter #the recruiter x reader #the recruiter x you #writtings <3

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shadowkoo · 2 months ago

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Up In Flames - Part 2

↠ seungcheol x f.reader | Part 2 = 23.8k (42.7k words total, i’m so sorry but also not really 🗿) | 18+ ↠ genre: smut, action, slow burn, firefighter au, author au, damsel in distress au, ‘let me help you’ wildland firefighter!cheol x ‘i can do it myself’ miss independent yet clumsy!reader

→ Networks: tagged below

@ksmutsociety @k-vanity @lapydiariesnet @keopihausnet

@svthub @thediamondlifenetwork

→ Author Note: thanks to maren @wooahaeproductions and lexi @heechwe for helping me come up with some of these funny nicknames used in here a few months back! this is the first fic of my station 17 collab, check it out here and stay tuned for the next fics from alta @haologram sevń @aaagustd and yannie @wonuwoe!!! dedicated to all my coups girlies, i know you’ll love this <3

⋆˙⟡ m.list ⟡⋆⟡ ao3 ⟡⋆⟡ wips ⟡⋆⟡ updates ⟡⋆⟡ shadow realm ⟡˙⋆

→ READ PART 1 ⟡⋆⟡ SERIES MLIST ←

Last night was a wake-up call. Seungcheol can’t let himself be completely derailed just because of the gravitational pull he feels toward you. Right? That would be crazy…

And yet, as if the universe wasn’t done tormenting him (he still can’t believe the timing of that phone call) he’d gotten another gut punch soon after you took Kate’s call. A text from Mingyu.

Hey, don’t forget about the open spot at Station 17. Interview’s yours if you want it. Come crash with me until then.

In the heat of the moment, still spiraling from nearly losing control with you, Seungcheol had said yes. Told Mingyu he’d be there by tomorrow, which is, technically, today.

Now, lying in bed staring at the ceiling, he wonders if that was the right move. Or if he’s making a huge mistake by leaving.

Or, worse, if staying would be an even bigger one.

…

You wake up alone, not that you expected Seungcheol to climb into your bed during the night, but still, waking up to some slow, lazy morning sex wouldn’t have been the worst thing.

Instead, the only thing greeting you is the smell of breakfast wafting through the air. You smile, stretching as you sit up. Nothing better than breakfast together… and then finishing what we started last night.

With that thought lingering, you climb out of bed and head to the kitchen, excitement bubbling in your chest.

"Morning," you say, sliding onto a stool at the island, watching as he flips the last pancake onto a plate. You expect him to turn, grin at you, maybe tease you about last night, maybe even pick up where you left off.

But he doesn’t.

Something’s off. He seems stiffer than usual, his movements too careful. Your stomach twists.

It’s only when he finally turns around and sets a plate of pancakes in front of you that he drops the bomb.

"I'm leaving today."

You blink. "What?"

"I…figured some stuff out, and I have to be somewhere in a few hours."

You stare at him, waiting for something more. An explanation that makes sense. A reason that doesn’t sound like complete bullshit. Because while you believe him, you also know this has everything to do with last night. And that realization stings.

But you won’t ask. You won’t embarrass yourself like that.

Your pride flares, masking the disappointment sinking into your bones. "I don’t want your pity pancakes," you mutter, pushing the plate back toward him. "Have a safe drive wherever you’re going."

Then, without another word, you turn and disappear into your room, slamming the door behind you.

Part of you hopes he’ll come after you. That he’ll barge in, apologize, explain himself. The other part just wants to be left alone to lick your wounds in peace.

But when you finally gather the courage to come out for an adult conversation, you’re met with nothing but silence.

And an empty house. He left. Without saying goodbye.

Mika whines by the front door, already missing him too.

2 Days Since Seungcheol

The longest two days of your life.

You don’t know if you’re more pissed off or hurt. One minute, you wish you could scream at him "Are you a fucking idiot?" Another part of you wishes you could say "I've fallen so hard for you." Then, you’re convincing yourself that he’s not worth the energy. If he wanted to explain himself, he would’ve. If he cared as much as you do, he wouldn’t have left in the first place.

But then your brain betrays you, reminding you of every touch, every look, every fucking moment that made you feel alive in his presence. And just like that, you’re back to square one, seething, heartbroken, and in desperate need of a distraction.

Unfortunately, waiting for a response from your team isn’t the ideal way to keep your mind occupied. You sent over the latest chapters last night with a simple message: This is the creative direction I’m going with. If you don’t like it, you’ll have to learn to. Otherwise, I’ll take my books elsewhere.

The most assertive you’ve ever been. It felt good to take control, to stand your ground. You channeled all your frustration over Seungcheol into that email, and now all that’s left to do is wait.

Since Kate and Jun are supposed to be arriving sometime today, you’ve spent the last few hours cleaning. Anything to keep yourself busy. The kitchen is spotless, the living room dust-free, and now you’re finishing up in the bedrooms.

As you strip the sheets off the bed, a familiar scent lingers in the fabric. Cedarwood and a subtle musk.

Seungcheol.

You freeze, the breath knocked out of you by something as simple as a goddamn bedsheet. It still smells like him. You close your eyes for a moment, gripping the fabric tighter. As much as you want to erase every trace of him, the idea of washing this last piece of him away feels... unbearable.

“Goddamn it, Cheol,” you whisper, voice trembling.

You shake yourself out of it, throwing the sheets into the hamper with more force than necessary. He left. You need to get over it.

But as you grab fresh linens from the closet, your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

Your heart stutters.

Maybe it’s him. Maybe he got your number from Jun and he’s finally come to his senses, finally realized what a complete asshole move it was to disappear like that.

You practically lunge for your phone, but when you see the sender, your stomach drops.

Not Seungcheol.

Just your editor.

And the message?

A single thumbs-up emoji.

You stare at it, heat rising in your chest. After everything, after putting your foot down, after fighting for your creative vision—this is their response?

No feedback. No acknowledgment. Just a fucking thumbs-up?

A new kind of anger burns through you, one that has nothing to do with Seungcheol.

Needless to say, by the time Kate and Junhui step through the front door, the house is spotless. You’ve spent the last several hours scrubbing, dusting, and organizing—anything to keep yourself from spiraling.

“Hi! I’ve missed you!” Kate beams, pulling you into a tight hug.

You cling to her for a second longer than usual, grounding yourself in the comfort of familiarity.

“What have you been up to? And where’s Seungcheol?” she asks, glancing around as if expecting him to walk out of the kitchen at any moment.

Your stomach twists. They don’t know.

“He left,” you say flatly. “The next morning after you called last.”

Jun sets their bags down, eyes flicking up to meet yours with a look you can’t quite decipher. It’s not surprise, not exactly. More like…concern. Like he already knows there’s more to the story than he’s willing to share.

Kate, however, is instantly thrown. “He what?” Her brows knit together as she takes in your expression, your tired eyes, the way you’re hugging yourself. Realization dawns, and before you can blink, she’s pulling you into another hug.

“Oh honey, come here.”

The warmth of her arms around you, the softness in her voice, it’s enough to break whatever fragile hold you had on your emotions. Your throat tightens, and before you can stop yourself, the whole story spills out.

Every last detail.

From the way he kissed you like he was starving, to the way he pulled away like you’d burned him. The way he left that morning without so much as a goodbye. The way you woke up thinking—no, hoping—you’d get another chance, only to figure out he already made plans to leave.

Kate listens intently, nodding along, her expression shifting between shock, outrage, and deep-seated frustration.

“Okay,” she says finally, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes. “I know you don’t want to hear this, but…maybe he left because he does care.”

You blink. “What? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Jun, who has been quietly watching from the sidelines, finally speaks up. “I mean, it sounds like he panicked. Like he felt something real and it freaked him out.”

Kate nods. “And instead of dealing with it like an adult, he ran.”

You scoff, wiping at your eyes. “Yeah, well, he could have at least said something instead of disappearing like a coward.”

“True,” Jun agrees, “but maybe this isn’t over. If you want to get in touch with him—”

You shake your head. “No. He made his choice. And I’m not going to sit around waiting for him to un-make it.”

Kate studies you for a long moment, then sighs. “Okay. Then let’s get your mind off of it. You need a distraction.”

Jun grins, raising a bottle. “Lucky for you, we brought wine.”

Kate settles onto the couch, shooting her husband a sideways glance as he pours three generous glasses. “Oh, and by the way,” she says casually, “when you text Coups next, tell him I think he’s an ass.”

“Kate!” you groan, your head snapping up.

“What?” she shrugs. “He is.”

You sigh, turning to Jun. “Please don’t say anything to him. I’m already mortified about the whole situation. Clearly, I misread everything, and there’s no need to harass him about it. Really.” You drop your face into your hands. “In fact, I’d love to just forget it ever happened.”

Kate rubs a soothing hand over your back, but you don’t miss the way she exchanges a knowing look with her husband.

“Okay, sweetie,” she says, her voice gentle but far too agreeable. “Whatever you want.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “Kate…”

“What?” she says innocently, sipping her wine.

Jun clears his throat, but there’s the faintest hint of a smirk on his lips.

They’re definitely going to discuss this later.

Five Days Since Seeing You

Seungcheol completed his interview earlier this week, though the term interview is generous. He was practically a shoo-in for the open position. It was more of a formality, a final box to check before officially signing his contract. And just like that, he became the newest firefighter at Station 17.

The guys have been great; they’re so welcoming and easygoing, treating him like he’s been there for years. The transition has been smooth, the work familiar, the routine comforting.

Everything is going great.

And yet, he can’t shake this feeling weighing him down.

Because as much as he should be excited about this new chapter, all he can think about is how much he wants to tell you about it.

He knows he fucked up by leaving. He was panicking, and in the moment, it felt like the only way out. Staying meant inevitably hurting you in the future. Leaving meant hurting you now. Either way, you’d get hurt. He’d hurt you by breaking a promise, something he can’t afford to do right now. Not with his previously delicate state. Not when he’s just finally started to heal.

With a sigh, he leans back in his truck seat, staring up at the office sign in front of him.

He’s really not looking forward to today.

To finalize his transition onto the team, the fire chief required a mandatory meeting with a therapist, a standard “head check” to ensure he was mentally fit for duty.

Normally, he’d be seeing the station’s staffed therapist, Dr. Xu Minghao, but apparently, his schedule was packed this week. So instead, Seungcheol was assigned an outside source for evaluation.

He runs a hand down his face, exhaling slowly.

Of all the things he wanted to do today, sitting in a sterile office, talking about his feelings with a stranger, ranked dead last.

Stepping out of his truck, he locks it and waits for the remaining car to drive by before crossing the road.

“Wow, someone’s gonna slip on that, they should put some salt out,” he says to himself, noticing how icy a section of the sidewalk is, hidden from the sun.

He sighs again, realizing he’s trying to find anything to avoid heading inside.

Get it done and over with ‘Cheol.

With one final groan, he forces himself to step into the office.

The session is more exhausting than he expected. The therapist is sharp, reading between the lines of everything he says, sensing the weight he refuses to fully unpack.

He shifts uncomfortably as she prods at the fire that still haunts him. The way the smoke had swallowed the house. The way the screams had cut off too soon. The way he’d clawed through debris, lungs burning, only to come up short.

She listens, nodding as she takes notes, before finally meeting his eyes.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

That’s what everyone tells him.

But he knows better. He wasn’t the one who set the fire, but he could have tried harder, could have pushed his limits just a little more. Maybe then…

His throat tightens.

“You can blame yourself for life, and they’ll still be dead, Seungcheol.” The therapist’s voice is firm but not unkind. “You can either accept that, grieve, and learn how to move forward. Or you can let this tear apart your life. It’s up to you.”

He looks away, jaw clenching.

After a pause, she signs off on his paperwork. “I’m clearing you for duty, but I highly recommend biweekly follow-ups with Dr. Xu.” She meets his eyes again, unyielding. “I’ll reach out to your chief myself, so don’t think you’re getting out of this. You need this, Seungcheol. You need to deal with your PTSD before it deals with you.”

His fingers tighten into fists on his lap. He nods once.

Seungcheol picks up the papers and drags himself out of the therapy room, his mind heavy and clouded, the weight of the session still pressing down on him. He heads toward the reception area, and that’s when he sees you. His heart lurches in his chest.

You’re a few steps ahead outside the door; maybe it’s the way the tension between you both always seems to linger, or maybe it’s just instinct, but something causes you to turn around, and your eyes meet his.

For a split second, time seems to freeze, and Seungcheol’s heart pounds in his ears. He’s not prepared for this. He has no idea how you’ll react, no idea what to say or do. The regret he feels for walking away hits him like a wave, but there’s no time to address it.

As his thoughts spiral, his eyes dart down. He sees the icy patch on the ground just in time, but it’s too late. You’re already stepping onto it, your foot slipping from under you.

Everything happens in slow motion as Seungcheol’s breath catches and his warning dies in his throat as you fall, your body jerking violently before gravity yanks you down. Your head hits the pavement with a sickening crack, and all the air rushes from his lungs.

“Oh my god, Y/N,” he breathes, scrambling to your side, hands already reaching for you. “Are you okay? Where does it hurt?”

You blink up at him, dazed, and then like flipping a switch, your eyes harden into sharp slits.

“I don’t need your help,” you snap, shoving his hands off. “I’m perfectly capable of standing up on my own.”

His stomach twists at your hostility, but he backs off, hands hovering just in case.

You manage to push yourself upright, wincing as you touch the back of your head. Seungcheol clenches his fists to keep from reaching for you again.

Then, as if just processing the situation, you narrow your eyes even further. “What are you even doing here?”

Seungcheol swallows. He wasn’t prepared for this. Not now, not like this. But he can’t exactly lie, not when the evidence is all around him.

“I had an appointment,” he admits, voice low.

Your brows knit together. “Here?”

He nods.

Realization dawns across your face, and for a second your expression softens. Then it’s gone, replaced by guarded skepticism.

“Right,” you mutter, shaking your head. “Of course.”

Seungcheol doesn’t know what to say. He wants to ask if you’re okay, wants to reach for you again, but he can feel the walls between you, thick and impenetrable.

You exhale sharply, shaking your head once more before muttering, “Whatever. See you around, Seungcheol.”

Hearing you use his actual name and not one of your creative nicknames stings more than he’d like to admit. You turn on your heel, walking away from him without a word, leaving Seungcheol standing there in the cold, his heart heavy in his chest. He watches you take a few steps, but then, just like that, you stumble again.

Before you even have a chance to catch yourself, Seungcheol is by your side, steadying you with a hand on your arm.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but you really should get checked out. You could have a concussion, or worse,” he says, his voice more insistent than he intends it to be.

You scoff, shaking your head. “I’m not going to the ER or urgent care. I’ve got enough on my plate today without wasting hours in a waiting room.”

Seungcheol doesn’t back down. “Then at least come with me to the station. I’ve got guys there with more medical training than I have. They can take a look at you.”

You sigh heavily, frustration clouding your expression. “You’re not going to drop this, are you?”

“Nope,” he says firmly, meeting your gaze, his tone softening just a touch. “You’re not leaving my sight. Not until you get checked out.” And even after that.

…

The ride back to the station feels suffocatingly silent. Seungcheol’s grip on the steering wheel is tight, his knuckles pale from the tension. His mind is a chaotic whirl of worst-case scenarios; brain bleeds, fractured skulls, aneurysm. Every time he glances at you, his stomach twists in anxiety.

He’s brought you to the station, not because he wants to, but because he has to make sure you’re okay. He can’t live with the idea that something’s wrong, something he missed. The place he’s been trying to settle into now feels like a blur as he focuses only on getting you seen by someone qualified.

“We need someone to look her over right now,” Seungcheol says as he helps you inside, his voice clipped, his urgency clear.

Within seconds, someone rushes over, immediately assessing the situation. He’s dark-haired and familiar, locking eyes with Seungcheol.

“She slipped on an ice patch and hit her head pretty hard. She was unsteady after,” Seungcheol explains, the worry still evident in his tone.

You recognize him immediately, it’s the same man who had been there during your power line incident. He offers a small, knowing smile as he addresses you.

“You must have a thing for danger,” he says, trying to lighten the mood, his voice warm. “Alright, follow my finger for me, yeah?”

You nod, rolling your eyes in a way that lets him know you’re not in the mood for jokes, but you follow the instructions anyway. Mingyu finishes checking you over thoroughly, testing for the usual concussion symptoms. His hands are steady as he works, and he even checks for a few other things just to put Seungcheol’s mind at ease.

Through the whole process, you can feel Seungcheol’s gaze on you, his body tense and watchful as he waits for the all-clear.

“Well, good news, no concussion,” one of the firefighters says, giving you a reassuring smile. “But you’re probably going to have a killer headache for the rest of the day, at least.” He stands up and nods, "I’ll grab you some pain relievers and an ice pack."

You almost beg him not to leave. You don’t know if you can handle being alone with Seungcheol right now. The tension is too much, and there’s so much left unsaid. But for some reason, none of the words feel right.

As the firefighter leaves, you can feel the weight of the silence. You don’t want to, but you have to say something.

“Sorry I was so short with you earlier,” you start, your voice quieter than you intended. “I was surprised to see you again. You left so suddenly, and I... I just assumed you wanted to forget everything that happened between us.”

Seungcheol runs a hand through his hair, his expression tense and worn. He sighs heavily, his eyes dark with regret. “I didn’t want to leave,” he admits, his voice low and heavy with the burden of unspoken words. “I thought it would be best, though. I just… I didn’t want to make promises to you that I couldn’t keep.” His gaze flickers down to the floor for a moment before meeting your eyes again, filled with vulnerability and uncertainty. “I’m not sure what I want, and I didn’t want to drag you into that.”

The admission hangs in the air between you. The walls that you built to keep him distant start to crumble, but it’s not enough to tear them down entirely. Not yet.

“I missed you,” Seungcheol says, the words slipping out before he can stop them, vulnerable in a way you haven’t heard from him before.

You meet his eyes, feeling the familiar ache twist in your chest. The urge to reach out, but you hold yourself back.

“Well…what now?” you ask, your voice quieter than you intended, unsure where things go from here.

Seungcheol takes a deep breath, eyes softening as he looks at you. “I’ll leave it up to you,” he says. “Can I see your phone?”

You hesitate for just a moment, then dig around in your purse, your fingers brushing over the edges of your phone. You unlock it, hand it to him, and watch as he taps away at the screen.

When he hands it back to you, your heart skips a beat.

He’s added himself to your contacts. Cheolie now sits with a flame emoji beside his number. You stare at it for a moment, a small smile tugging at your lips before you can stop it.

“There,” he says, his voice quieter now. “You have my number. You can use it if you want...or you can pretend you’ve never met me.” His eyes search yours, a hint of hope behind the layers of uncertainty. “But I’m really hoping it’s the latter.”

You laugh softly, a mix of relief and confusion washing over you. “I don’t think I could forget you, even if I wanted to.” You glance down at your phone again, the flame emoji burning a little brighter than it should.

The sun is shining brightly today, casting a golden glow over the city. Its warmth seeps into your skin as you stroll down the sidewalk, Mika prancing ahead, her tail wagging with every step. The fresh air fills your lungs, momentarily easing the tension that’s been sitting in your chest all week.

It’s been seven days since you last saw Seungcheol. Seven days since he handed you the reins, giving you the choice of whether to reach out.

You haven’t wanted to.

Okay, maybe that’s a lie. You’ve definitely wanted to. You’ve hovered over his name in your contacts more times than you’d like to admit, especially late at night when the loneliness creeps in.

But texting him just because you miss him doesn’t feel like the right move. You both need a real conversation, and between book cover meetings, deadlines, and endless revisions, the right time just hasn’t come up yet.

You sigh, wondering if you should just break the ice and say hi.

Then, suddenly, your phone rings. Always interrupting your thoughts. You glance at the screen and answer, barely getting out a greeting before a clipped, professional voice cuts through.

"We’d like to see you this afternoon to discuss your book."

You blink, caught off guard. Getting called into your publisher’s office unexpectedly isn’t usually a good sign. Anxiety prickles at your skin, but you push it down. You can handle this.

The only problem? You’re downtown, window shopping with Mika, and you know you can’t bring her inside. One of the admins has a severe dog allergy, and there’s no way they’ll make an exception.

You quickly fire off a message in your friend group chat, hoping someone can watch her for an hour.

Hey, urgent favor! Can anyone watch Mika for a bit? Got a last-minute meeting.

One by one, the replies roll in. Busy, sorry, stuck at work, wish I could.

Ugh. This is not good. You glance down at Mika, who looks up at you with wide, trusting eyes. An idea creeps into your mind—one you immediately push away.

No. You can’t.

Can you?

You chew on your lip, staring at your phone like it holds the answer. After a deep breath, you sigh and send a quick message before you can second-guess yourself.

A quick twenty minutes later, he rounds the corner. Your heart does an embarrassing little flip when you see Seungcheol, who looks just as effortlessly handsome as ever.

Mika notices him at the same time you do, her tail wagging frantically as she yaps in excitement.

“Hi,” he says, stepping close, his lips brushing your cheek in a brief but familiar gesture.

You exhale, tension leaving your body just a little. “I’m so sorry for asking, but thank you for showing up. You’re literally saving the day, thank you so much.”

His eyes soften. “I’ll always show up,” he says simply, taking Mika’s leash from your hand. “Here, let me take her.”

You hesitate for just a second, watching as he effortlessly soothes Mika, scratching behind her ears.

“Good luck in your meeting,” he adds, his voice warm.

As you turn to go, you glance back once more. He’s already walking off with Mika, talking to her like she understands every word. The sight tugs at something deep inside you, something warm, something dangerous.

Shaking your head, willing yourself to focus. You have a meeting to get through. But damn, that man makes it hard to think straight.

You walk the short distance to your publisher’s building, each step making your heart beat a little faster. The elevator ride up feels both too quick and too slow, carrying you to a floor you’ve spent countless hours on.

The receptionist greets you with a warm smile. “Hi, Miss Y/N. Let me gather the team and let them know you’ve arrived.”

You nod, offering a polite smile as she picks up the phone. Within moments, she gestures toward the hall. “They’re ready for you in the conference room.”

Here goes nothing.

You take a steadying breath and walk down the familiar hallway, knocking lightly before stepping inside. “Hi, everyone, thanks for waiting,” you say, slipping into a chair. Your hands rest on the table, steady despite the nerves buzzing under your skin. “I know we have different ideas about how this book should play out, but as the main creative in the room, I want to emphasize that I want this to work just as much as you all do. So let’s discuss.”

You brace yourself for pushback, but instead, the head editor at the head of the table smiles.

“Thank you for making time to see us in person,” she begins. “We have a very important update to share with you.”

You straighten in your seat, anxiety prickling at your spine.

“We gave the draft of your book to a subgroup of readers to get their initial reactions…” She pauses, dragging out the suspense. “And you were right.”

Your breath catches.

“Almost everyone had the same thing to say, this book is somehow even better than the first. And that’s not something we get to say often.”

For a second, all you can do is blink.

They…loved it?

The weight that’s been pressing on your chest for weeks suddenly lifts, leaving you lightheaded.

You let out a breathless laugh, barely able to contain your shock. “Wait, really?”

The editor nods. “Really. We still have a few minor tweaks to discuss, but overall, the response was overwhelmingly positive.”

Relief floods through you, mixing with a spark of pride. You fought for this version of the story, for your vision, and it paid off.

“Basically, we just want to confirm some plot details and fix potential inconsistencies, and then you’re free to finish writing. The sooner, the better, I might add,” your agent says with a knowing wink, her subtle way of saying she’s proud of you for standing your ground.

You blink, still processing. “So, just to make sure I’m hearing this right… you don’t want me to scrap the chapters and start over?”

“Of course not,” the editor reassures you. “Based on early reviewer notes, we strongly believe sales will surpass expectations.”

She slides a thick stack of papers across the table. It’s filled with feedback, page after page of praise from the test readers.

Your heart pounds as you skim the first note.

If you thought the first book was otherworldly, you’re in for a big surprise with this one. The characters have grown so much, and I truly felt like I was right there in the fight with them.

Another one reads:

I can’t wait for this to be released so I can buy several copies. So dang good.

You exhale sharply, overwhelmed. Looking up, you find a room full of expectant gazes, waiting for your reaction.

“Wow, I—uh.” You shake your head, speechless. “Wow.”

The team chuckles, clearly pleased.

“We figured you’d like to read those,” your agent says warmly. “Feel free to take them home.”

You nod, gripping the papers a little tighter as if they might disappear.

“How about we go through our questions now and then leave you to it?”

You square your shoulders, a fresh wave of determination surging through you. “Sounds good.”

This is really happening.

…

Seungcheol sits on the park bench, one arm draped over the backrest as he scans the path for you. Mika sits obediently at his feet, tail thumping against the ground every so often as she watches the world go by.

He wasn’t expecting your message earlier. After your last conversation at the fire station, he figured you needed space, maybe even a clean break. But when you said you needed help, he didn’t hesitate to figure out what he could do. He would’ve done just about anything.

Watching Mika on his day off hardly counted as a favor. Plus, even if he had been working today, he would’ve just taken her to the station. The guys all love dogs and Mika? She’d eat up the attention.

Then, finally, he sees you.

You’re walking toward him with a bounce in your step, that breathtaking smile stretching across your face. His heart clenches at the sight, he hasn’t seen you like this in a while.

“Hey,” he says, standing up as you approach. “How’d the meeting go?”

Before he can react, you launch yourself into his arms.

He barely has a second to process before instinct kicks in. His arms wrap around you securely, lifting you off the ground like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The warmth of you, the way you fit so perfectly in his hold, it makes his chest ache.

“It went so well! Oh my god,” you gush, your excitement bubbling over. “They gave the rough draft to some readers, and they all loved it!”

Your arms tighten around his neck, and he holds you just a little closer, just a little longer, savoring the moment as long as it will last.

“Of course they loved it,” he says, setting you down gently once you finally loosen your grip. His hands linger for just a second longer than necessary, as if reluctant to let go.

Mika, not one to be left out, jumps up against your leg, her little paws pressing insistently as if demanding her fair share of attention. You laugh, bending down to scratch behind her ears before turning back to Seungcheol.

“Thanks again for helping out,” you say, sincerity laced in every word. “I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“Anytime,” he replies easily, then adds with a smile, “I missed my girls.”

Your heart stumbles in your chest. You hesitate for a second before asking, “Can I ask you something?”

He nods, giving you his full attention.

“That thing you said the other day—about not being sure what you wanted and not wanting to drag me into it—was that just in general? Like, you weren’t sure about anything in your life? Or were you talking about a relationship specifically?”

His eyebrows raise slightly, clearly impressed by your directness. Then he chuckles, shaking his head.

“Damn, woman. Straight to the point,” he teases, picking up Mika’s leash in one hand. With the other, he reaches for yours, intertwining your fingers effortlessly as the two of you start walking out of the park.

He takes a breath, carefully choosing his words. “At first, I thought it would be better if we just stayed friends,” he admits. “I told myself it’d be easier that way. Safer for the both of us.”

A pause. A small squeeze to your hand.

“But the more I’m around you, the more I realize that’s impossible. I’m so unbelievably attracted to you. And it’s not just that, you see me. And honestly?” He turns to look at you with a knowing smile, his voice dropping into something softer, more certain.

“The thought of you going on more dates with losers who don’t deserve you makes me want to throw hands.” His thumb brushes over your knuckles, sending a shiver up your spine. “Especially when we both know I’m the only one for you.”

He hadn’t exactly planned on being that brutally honest, but if you were going to be vulnerable with that direct of a question, the least he could do was return the favor.

Because the truth is, he knows he’s the only one for you. Just like you’re the only one for him.

“Does hearing me say that freak you out?” he asks, searching your expression, hoping you’re not about to bolt.

“No.” You shake your head, exhaling softly. “Actually, it’s relieving to hear.” A small smile tugs at your lips. “I think I’d probably go a little crazy if you started seeing someone else too. I don’t like the idea of you being the hero in someone else’s story.”

His chest tightens, something warm and fierce settling in his ribs.

You reach your apartment building and climb the steps to the front door before turning to face him. “This is me.”

He nods, glancing at Mika, who wags her tail happily.

“Do you want to come up?”

“Just to let Mika inside,” he starts, but then hesitates, shifting on his feet. He rubs the back of his neck before meeting your gaze. “I know it’s last minute, but…I’d love to have dinner with you. Unless you already have plans tonight?”

Hope flickers in his eyes, cautious but steady, and suddenly, you know exactly what your answer is.

“Are you asking me on a date?” you tease, unlocking your door with a growing smile.

Mika bolts inside, immediately rummaging through her toys before dragging her favorite one onto her bed.

“Yes,” Seungcheol confirms without hesitation, shutting the door behind him. His eyes scan your apartment; it’s cozy, well-kept yet lived-in, aside from Mika’s spilled toy bin. It’s very you.

Your smile grows even bigger. “Okay, wait here. I’ll just be a minute.”

You disappear into your bedroom, and when you return, you have a cardigan draped over your arm. “Just in case it gets cold later.”

But before he can respond, you close the space between you and press your lips to his.

“God, I’ve wanted to do that since you came to save me earlier today,” you confess against his mouth.

His hands find your waist as he pulls you in for another, this time deeper, slower, and time stops. Nothing else exists in this moment.

His lips move against yours in a way that leaves you breathless, your fingers curling into his shirt to keep yourself upright.

When he finally breaks away, his forehead rests lightly against yours, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

“C’mon,” he says, voice low and warm, “I know a great sushi place.”

Dinner feels easy, like slipping back into something familiar yet exciting. The conversation flows effortlessly as you both catch up.

Seungcheol tells you about his week, most of it spent training, pushing himself harder than ever. “The meeting with the therapist was the last step so I could start going on calls with the team,” he explains, his eyes lighting up. “I’ve missed the action. The change in pace will be good for me.”

You nod, genuinely happy for him. “That’s great, Cheol. I can tell you’re excited.”

“I am,” he admits, a small smile playing on his lips. “It’s been a long time coming.”

You take a sip of your drink before offering your own update. “Kate and Jun came home earlier than expected,” you tell him, watching his reaction. “And, uh… Kate might hate you just a little bit.”

His grin falters slightly. “Yeah…she might have sent me a rather interesting text about personally castrating me the next time she sees me if I haven’t apologized to you before she finds me.” He shakes his head, chuckling. “Don’t worry, I told her I was already working on a plan to win you back.”

“Oh? And what’s the plan?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Can’t spoil the surprise,” he teases. “But let’s just say it involves a lot of groveling.”

You laugh, then add, “Well, don’t forget about Mika. You have to make it up to her too.”

He leans back in his chair, smug. “Oh, Mika already forgave me. We shared some blueberries earlier while you were in your meeting.”

Your mouth falls open in mock betrayal. “She never shares her blueberries with me.”

“What can I say?” He smirks, shrugging. “She and I have an understanding.”

“Unbelievable,” you huff, though the amused smile on your lips betrays your true feelings. You love that he adores Mika just as much as she adores him.

A comfortable silence settles between you as you both focus on your meals. The restaurant hums with the growing chatter of other diners, the clinking of glasses adding to the cozy atmosphere. The food is delicious, and the company is even better.

You take a sip of your drink, gathering your thoughts before speaking. “So, I have another question for you.”

Seungcheol lifts his gaze, his eyes warm with curiosity as he picks up another bite. He gives you a small nod, silently encouraging you to continue.

“As you might have figured out by now, I’m the kind of person who needs clarity. If I don’t have all the details, my brain starts filling in the gaps, and that never ends well.” You exhale, rolling your drink between your hands. “I also know it’s probably way too soon to bring this up, but if I don’t, I’ll overthink it until I drive myself crazy.”

Seungcheol finishes chewing, setting his chopsticks down as he leans forward slightly, giving you his full attention. “First of all, you don’t have to hesitate to ask me anything,” he says, voice steady. “I’d rather talk things through than have you overthink and stress yourself out.”

His words soothe some of your nerves, but the anticipation is still there.

Seungcheol tilts his head, his expression soft but attentive. “What’s on your mind?” he asks, picking up on your nervous energy.

You sign, then take the plunge. “Are we…dating now? Or starting a relationship?”

His brows furrow slightly. “Is there a difference?” he asks, genuinely curious.

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “I mean…yeah, kind of? But I guess it depends on who you ask. Some people see dating as casual, while a relationship is more serious. I just—” you pause, suddenly aware that you’re rambling. “I don’t need some big, grand definition. I just want to know where your head is at. About us.”

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you feel your chest tighten. The ‘what are we’ conversation has never gone well in your past relationships, and despite how comfortable Seungcheol makes you feel, the fear of rejection still lingers.

He exhales through his nose, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t know much about modern dating labels, but if going on dates, wanting to kiss you all the time, and spending as much of my free time in your presence as possible means that we’re dating, then yeah, we’re dating.”

Your heart skips a beat.

“But more than that,” he continues, his eyes never leaving yours, “I want us to be something real. I don’t want to waste time playing guessing games or pretending we’re something we’re not. So if you’re asking whether we’re in a relationship?” He tilts his head slightly, considering. “I’d say we’re at the beginning of one, if that’s what you want too.”

The knot in your stomach eases, replaced by something warm and fluttery. You don’t even try to hide the smile that breaks across your face.

“That’s how I feel too.”

“Good. Because I don’t plan on letting you go this time.” His grin mirrors yours, warm and full of certainty. Then, after a brief pause, his expression turns just a touch more serious. “Actually, I have a question for you in return.”

You lift your eyes and meet his, intrigued. “Yeah?”

He leans in slightly, his eyes staying locked onto yours. “Will you be my girlfriend? Officially.”

Your heart stumbles over itself.

“I’m asking because I take this seriously. And also,” his lips twitch into a smirk, “so that pretty little brain of yours doesn’t fry.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips gives you away.

“Well?” He lifts a brow, waiting.

You don’t need to think twice. “Yes, Cheoliepop. I’ll be your girlfriend.”

His smirk softens into something sweeter, filled with sincerity and promise. "Good," he says, voice low and warm. But then, his expression shifts as his pocket vibrates. He pulls out his phone, his eyes flicking to the screen. "Shit," he mutters under his breath.

He looks up at you, his face tinged with regret. "Sorry, that’s my pager app for the station."

You raise an eyebrow, already knowing what’s coming. "Gotta go?"

"Yeah," he exhales, frustration flickering in his eyes. "I’m really sorry, but I have to head out now. They need a lot of extra hands. Can I call you later?"

You smile, trying to hide the slight pang of disappointment. "It’s okay, really. And yes, please do."

Standing up, he leans down and presses a quick kiss to your lips before pulling away. He takes a wad of cash out of his wallet and leaves it on the table.

"That’s not necessary," you protest, shaking your head. "I’ve got it, go save the day, or night, whatever."

He shoots you a look that says, don't even think about it and shakes his head. "My girl never pays," he says firmly, his grin returning. "Bye, baby."

With a wink, he heads out, leaving you to watch him go, your heart doing a little flutter at the way he treats you.

"Look who finally decided to show up," Mingyu teases as Seungcheol rushes into the locker room, pulling on his gear with impressive speed.

"It’s been 8 minutes since I got paged," Seungcheol shoots back, his voice laced with amusement. "I think that’s pretty damn good, considering." He quickly straps on his helmet. "First one already leave?"

"Yeah, Engine 13 rolled out a few minutes ago. We’re just waiting on Wonwoo and the Rookie. None of us were supposed to be on call tonight, but a shopping center across the city has an unnoticed gas leak that’s now a full-on blaze. Two other stations are already there and called for backup."

Seungcheol nods, tugging the zipper of his overalls up and stepping into his boots. His focus sharpens as he prepares himself mentally for what’s to come.

“There you are,” Mingyu says, pointing at Wonwoo and Vernon as they practically sprint to their lockers.

Yunho, one of the station’s firefighter engineers, whistles as the last of them gear up. "Let’s move, crew!"

Within moments, everyone loads up into the truck. The sirens blare to life as they race toward the fire, the adrenaline already kicking in.

"You haven’t stopped smiling since I got here tonight," Vernon observes, squinting as the red hue from the flashing lights dances across his face. "Just that happy to see me again so soon, or because you finally got cleared earlier today?"

"You wish," Seungcheol teases, bumping his shoulder against Vernon’s, who’s sitting next to him.

Wonwoo tilts his head; thinking as he reads, and recognizes, Seungcheol’s face. "Who is she?"

"Who’s who?" Seungcheol asks, his grin betraying him, making it impossible to hide the obvious answer.

Mingyu laughs, pointing a finger at Seungcheol. "It’s the girl he brought here after she slipped on the ice, right?"

"Ahhh," Wonwoo says with a knowing look, "I thought I sensed something there."

"Yeah, well, we made it official tonight," Seungcheol admits, the satisfaction clear in his voice.

Mingyu kicks Seungcheol’s boot with a grin. "Good for you, man. You deserve to be happy."

Seungcheol smiles, grateful for the support, but his focus shifts as the fire engine pulls up to the scene.

The building is ablaze. Flames roar up to the sky, swallowing the structure whole.

Their fire chief, already standing with personnel from the other stations, breaks away from the group and heads toward the newly arrived team. He quickly briefs the firefighters, his voice steady despite the chaos unfolding in front of them. Seungcheol’s focus sharpens as he steps forward, ready to jump into action.

"Everyone who was scheduled to work tonight has been accounted for," the fire chief announces, his voice steady despite the chaos unfolding around them. He surveys the scene, the flames still raging high, a testament to the severity of the situation. "The only concern we have now is a potential person who might’ve been waiting on a delivery out back. We have no confirmation, but it’s a possibility. There's a service entrance on the south side of the building, and I want two of you there to check it out immediately."

Seungcheol stands at attention, nodding as he quickly glances at Mingyu and the others. "I’ll go," he volunteers, already moving toward the south side.

"I’ll go with you," Mingyu replies without hesitation, catching up to him as they head for the back of the building.

The chief doesn’t waste time. "The rest of you, let's join the others and focus on knocking down these flames from the front. We need to contain the fire before it spreads further. Get in there and hit it hard."

"Got it, Chief," Wonwoo responds, his voice firm but calm. He slaps his gloves together, ready to move. Vernon, standing beside him, gives a quick thumbs-up, and the pair heads toward the front of the building, their steps steady and synchronized.

The team moves quickly, and efficiently, their skills are evident in every step they take. Seungcheol can feel the adrenaline surge through him as he secures his face mask, the weight of it grounding him, bringing clarity amidst the chaos. The sirens blare in the background, but his focus is on the building ahead; the flames, the smoke, the crackling heat that pulsates from the structure.

As Seungcheol and Mingyu move further into the danger zone, the heat begins to creep toward them as they reach the service door. Seungcheol doesn’t hesitate to get it open. He kicks it a few times, the metal groaning under the force, and they step inside, immediately hit by a fresh wall of heat and smoke.

The air is thick, stinging with the mixed smell of burning wood, plastic, and metal. Seungcheol’s vision blurs from the smoke, but the fire-resistant gear does its job. His breathing is steady, his focus unbroken. There’s no time for hesitation, no space for doubt. He’s seen fires like this before, and the weight of each decision bears down on him as he forces his body to move faster, his senses heightened to every crackle and shift in the air around him.

"We need to check every side room back here," Mingyu says, his voice low but urgent as they near the entrance. "Make sure if anyone's in there, they know we’re here."

Seungcheol nods, motioning for Mingyu to follow. They’re already scanning for signs of life, flashes of movement, any indication that someone might still be inside. They move swiftly through the dimly lit back hallway, their flashlights piercing the smoke. Each door they pass is carefully checked.

"Nothing yet," Seungcheol mutters, though he can’t shake the feeling that something’s off. The building creaks ominously, and the heat intensifies as they round the corner.

Mingyu splits off, his figure disappearing into the haze of smoke. Seungcheol’s heartbeat quickens. He knows the risks; fire, smoke inhalation, the unpredictability of a building on the verge of collapse. But this is what he’s trained for.

As he moves deeper into the building, he calls out, "Hello? Is anyone in here? We’re here to help!"

Suddenly, a muffled noise, like someone’s cough, pierces through the roar of the fire. Seungcheol’s heart races.

It sounds like it's coming from the storage room ahead. He quickens his pace, adrenaline surging as he approaches the door to the storage room. It’s slightly ajar, and the sound of coughing grows louder.

"Hello?" Seungcheol calls out, his voice firm, commanding.

A faint reply, weak but unmistakable, echoes back. "Help… please."

The heat intensifies, but he pushes forward, moving debris out of his way. His flashlight cuts through the darkness, landing on shattered glass, scorched furniture, and the faintest outline of a figure near an overturned file cabinet. His pulse spikes.

"Mingyu! I’ve got someone!" Seungcheol shouts into his radio, and then yells out, "Over here!"

Mingyu’s voice crackles through the radio, "Copy that. I’m on my way."

As he gets closer, Seungcheol sees that the person is covered in dust and soot, struggling to breathe. Seungcheol’s heart lurches, but he doesn’t waste time.

He rushes toward the figure, carefully lifting them into his arms, feeling the weight of the person’s body. It’s a woman, unconscious but breathing, her skin warm but not burned. He calls out again, voice urgent, but steady.

“Mingyu, she’s alive! I’m getting her out!"

"Got you," Mingyu replies, quickly appearing from the smoke like a shadow, ready to help. He moves to the other side of her, offering his shoulder for support.

Together, they move swiftly, holding the woman between them as they maneuver through the building, dodging debris that falls from above. The sound of the fire crackling is deafening now, but they don’t stop. There’s no time to waste.

As they approach the door, Seungcheol hears the loud, alarming sound of the building creaking, and the ground shifts beneath his feet. The structure is weakening.

"We need to get out now!" Mingyu says, his voice sharp.

They make it outside just as the first signs of the building’s collapse start to echo through the air. The woman is handed off to the paramedics waiting outside with a stretcher. Seungcheol takes a deep breath, grateful that they made it out in time.

"Nice work, Cheol," Mingyu says with a grin, his voice filled with relief.

Seungcheol nods, wiping sweat from his brow, though it’s hard to tell if it’s from the heat of the fire or the weight of the mission. Despite the exhaustion, there’s a quiet pride in Seungcheol’s chest. She’s alive.

The team is still working at the front, battling the flames as the building begins to crumble. Seungcheol and Mingyu make their way back, and the fire chief nods in approval. Seungcheol lets out a long breath, his body still humming with adrenaline.

“Good work,” the chief says, clapping him on the shoulder. “You guys did great.”

Seungcheol doesn’t have time for celebration. His eyes are already scanning the burning building, making sure his team is safe and the fire is under control.

But as the flames begin to die down, and the last of the smoke starts to clear, Seungcheol allows himself a brief moment of relief. They’ve done their job. They’ve saved a life tonight. And that’s what matters most.

“Can we get a table on the patio? It’s too nice to be stuck inside,” Kate asks the hostess as you both approach the cute, bistro-style restaurant. The woman nods with a polite smile, grabbing two menus before leading you to a cozy table in the fenced-in patio area.

The space is adorned with string lights and various colored potted plants, offering the perfect blend of a trendy atmosphere and eclectic style. From here, you have a prime view of the street, ideal for people watching as pedestrians stroll past, some lost in conversation, others in a hurry.

“This was a great idea,” you say as you settle into your chair. “I’m starving.”

Kate grins, flipping open her menu. “I’m just glad you were free for lunch today. Feels like we’ve barely had time to breathe since getting back.” She sighs, leaning back slightly. “I can’t believe it’s already been almost a month since the heart attack. It feels like everything’s been stuck on fast-forward.”

You nod, completely understanding where she’s coming from. It’s been a nonstop whirlwind since everything happened. It’s nice to take a break and relax, even if it’s just for an hour.

The waitress arrives with two glasses of water, the condensation beading along the sides as she sets them down. “Are you ready to order?” she asks with a friendly smile.

After quickly scanning the menu one last time, you both place your orders, opting for fresh, light dishes that match the warm afternoon. The waitress jots everything down before disappearing inside, leaving you and Kate to continue your conversation.

Your talk meanders effortlessly from one topic to the next; updates on work, the latest drama in your friend group, and Kate’s lingering frustration over unpacking all her things after getting home. It’s easy, natural, the way it always is with her.

When the food finally arrives, Kate practically beams. “God, this looks divine,” she says, wasting no time in picking up her sandwich and taking a big bite. Her eyes flutter shut briefly in appreciation before she gives you a satisfied nod of approval.

You both fall into a comfortable silence as you eat, occasionally breaking it to point out stylish outfits worn by pedestrians passing by. For the first time in a while, life is going pretty well.

Excuse yourself for a bathroom visit, you make your way inside, relieved to find no line. After washing your hands and taking a deep breath, you head back toward the patio, ready to enjoy the rest of your lunch.

Just as you step outside, a tall figure moves in front of you, blocking your path. You stop short, and as you lift a hand to shield your eyes from the sun, your stomach twists with recognition.

Daniel. Your ex.

“Hi,” he greets smoothly, a smile on his lips. “It’s a pleasure to see you.”

You arch a brow, unimpressed. “Wish I could say the same,” you deadpan, stepping to the side in an attempt to move past him.

He shifts just as quickly, blocking you again.

From your table, Kate catches sight of the interaction, her expression hardening as she starts to push back her chair. You give her a quick shake of your head, silently telling her you’ve got this.

She hesitates but stays put, eyes locked on Daniel like she’s already planning how to rip into him if he tries anything.

“About?” You scoff, already exasperated. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

He exhales like he’s been rehearsing this moment. “I miss you. I wish things could go back to how they were.”

A humorless laugh escapes you. “Oh, you mean when I was blissfully unaware of your cheating? When I spent a week crying after I caught you? Yeah, no thanks. I think I’ve wasted enough time on you.”

You shift your gaze away, your patience wearing thin. That’s when you spot a familiar figure across the street, broad shoulders and that confident stride you’d recognize anywhere.

Seungcheol.

He’s just stepped out of an apartment complex, following a couple of other firemen. As if he can feel your eyes on him, his head lifts, scanning the area. The second he spots you, a smile tugs at his lips. You wave, instantly tuning out whatever nonsense Daniel is still rambling about.

Seungcheol’s smile falters as his eyes flick to the man standing a little too close to you. His jaw ticks, his easy going demeanor shifting into something more guarded. He doesn’t like it.

It doesn’t take a genius to pick up on the tension; your standoffish stance, Daniel’s pleading expression. Seungcheol can tell there’s history there, and though he trusts you, a flicker of jealousy ignites in his chest.

Without hesitation, he starts making his way over.

“Hi, baby,” Seungcheol grins, leaning over the short patio fence to kiss you. He’ll admit he might have lingered a little longer than necessary, just to make a point. A point that says, She’s taken. Move along.

His lips press firmly against yours, warm and sure, the faint scent of smoke clinging to his uniform. It’s familiar, comforting. When you finally pull back, you glance around only to realize Daniel is gone. Good.

Seungcheol follows your gaze, catching sight of your ex retreating into the restaurant. His brow lifts in silent question, but he doesn’t push. He knows you’ll tell him if it matters.

Instead, he asks. “Can I come over later?”

“Sure,” you muse, tilting your head with a playful smirk. “But only if you bring dinner. I’ll take care of dessert.” Your voice is light, but the meaning behind your words is unmistakable, the teasing glint in your eyes makes sure of that.

Seungcheol’s gaze darkens just a fraction, his smirk growing. “Dangerous offer, baby,” he murmurs, voice dipping low enough that only you can hear. “Deal.”

Kate clears her throat, dragging his attention away from you. He finally acknowledges her with a lazy grin. “Hi, Kate. Bye, Kate.”

She waves, practically buzzing with amusement. “Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just here for the entertainment. Five stars, by the way.”

The firetruck rounds the corner from where it must’ve been parked, sirens off but lights still flashing. Mingyu leans halfway out of the passenger-side window, grinning like he just caught Seungcheol red-handed.

“Come on, lover boy! We’ve got another call!” he shouts, his voice carrying across the street.

Seungcheol huffs a laugh, shaking his head before turning back to you. “Guess I gotta go,” he says, brushing his thumb over your cheek before pressing a quick, lingering kiss to your lips.

“Stay safe,” you murmur, already missing him.

“Always.” He flashes you one last smile before jogging toward the truck and hopping in. The moment the door shuts, Mingyu wiggles his eyebrows at him, and the truck pulls away, leaving you standing there with a racing heart and a silly smile.

Seungcheol shows up at your doorstep with burgers and fries, the scent of crispy, salty goodness filling the air. Your plan for the night had been simple; share dinner, maybe find a movie to watch, and ease into the evening.

But the second you see him, every ounce of restraint flies out the window. His white tee hugs his broad chest, jeans slung low on his hips, and hair slightly tousled from the night air.

You barely give him a chance to say hello before grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him inside, your lips finding his the moment the door clicks shut. He lets out a surprised chuckle, but quickly recovers, kissing you back with just as much urgency.

The forgotten bag of food lands on the table as he wraps his arms around you, allowing you to guide him toward the bedroom. The second the back of his knees hit the mattress, he pulls you down with him, flipping you underneath him with ease.

“So much for dinner,” he murmurs against your lips, grinning.

You tug him closer, breathless. “You can have me first. Then the burger.”

Luckily, he feels the same way. This moment is long overdue.

Seungcheol’s hands explore your body with a slow, tantalizing touch. His fingers trailing over your skin as he eases your shirt over your head. His gaze darkens with desire as he drinks you in before shrugging off his shirt, revealing the sculpted muscles you adore.

Your hands find his broad shoulders, pressing against the firm warmth of his skin. He shivers under your touch, his breath hitching as your fingers trace over the hard lines of his body, mapping every ridge and dip like you want to memorize him.

He rolls his hips into yours, his voice thick with want. “Tell me what you need, baby, and I’ll give you exactly that.”

Your breath hitches as heat pools low in your stomach. “I want you to kiss me,” you murmur, guiding his hand lower before whispering, “here.”

His darkened eyes flick up to yours, lips curving into a knowing smirk. “My pleasure.”

He tugs your pants down with ease, eyes darkening when he sees the damp spot already forming on your panties. His fingers trace over the fabric, teasing, before applying the slightest pressure. The friction makes you gasp, your body arching toward him on instinct.

“You’re already so wet for me,” he murmurs, his voice husky. “You want me to taste you that bad?”

Your desperate nod is all the encouragement he needs. Hooking his fingers around your panties, he slides them down, groaning at the sight of you bare beneath him.

“Fuck,” he exhales, pressing a lingering kiss to your inner thigh before dragging his tongue slowly up your slit. The first stroke makes you shudder, a whimper past your lips.

He hums against you, the vibration sending sparks up your spine. “So perfect,” he praises, spreading you open. His tongue works expertly, flicking, circling, teasing. The pressure of his nose against your clit makes your thighs tremble as he devours you like he was made for this.

Your fingers clutch at the sheets, your back arching as pleasure coils tighter and tighter. “God, that feels so good, Cheol,” you moan, thighs threatening to clamp around his head.

But he doesn’t let up. Not when he knows you’re close, not when he’s determined to make you unravel beneath him, again and again.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against you. The vibration sends a jolt through your body, and you can’t hold back the broken moan that escapes your lips. Your hips roll against his mouth, desperate, chasing the pleasure that’s building so intensely it’s almost unbearable.

And then, pure, white-hot bliss. The coil inside you snaps, pleasure rippling through your body like a shockwave. Your thighs tremble, your back arches, and his name spills from your lips like a prayer.

But Seungcheol isn’t done.

He holds you in place, hands gripping your hips as his tongue continues its merciless assault. He’s ravenous, devouring every wave, every twitch of your body, every moan that falls from your parted lips.

It’s overwhelming, too much. But somehow not enough, and just as you try to catch your breath, another orgasm crashes over you, even more intense than the last. Your body clenches, vision goes dark for a moment as you cry out his name. “Seungcheol!” you gasp, your voice wrecked from pleasure.

When you finally go limp, your body spent and trembling, Seungcheol presses one last kiss against your inner thigh before resting his head there. His dark eyes flick up to yours, filled with emotion. His nose and chin glistening with your release as he smirks, his voice husky and dripping with satisfaction.

“You’re unreal.”

He leans up, capturing your lips in a kiss so deep and intoxicating that it leaves you breathless. The taste of yourself lingers on his tongue, only adding to the fire burning between you. Arousal thrums through your veins as you reach between your bodies, palming his stiff length through the rough denim. The heat of him, even through the fabric, makes you ache with need.

“My turn,” you purr, pushing him back until he’s sitting up, your mouth watering at the thought of taking him deep.

But Seungcheol only grins, dark and full of mischief, before flipping you effortlessly onto your back again, caging you beneath him. “Nuh-uh,” he teases, his voice low and dripping with promise. “Tonight is all about you. I’ve got some making up to do, remember?”

His lips find yours once more, kissing you slow and deep before trailing down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, leaving a scorching path in his wake. When he reaches your chest, his hands skillfully slip behind your back, unhooking your bra in one smooth motion.

He groans as your bare skin is finally revealed to him, his gaze darkening with hunger. “So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs before taking one of your hardened peaks into his mouth. The wet heat of his tongue swirls around you, sucking just enough to make you arch into him, a needy whimper escaping your lips.

His free hand slides down your waist, fingertips dancing over your skin as he worships you, intent on unraveling you piece by piece.

You grab his arm just before his fingers can slip between your legs, your grip tight, your breathing uneven. “As much as I’d love to feel your fingers there,” you pant, your voice desperate, “I need your cock in me before I lose my mind.”

Seungcheol hesitates, his muscles tensing beneath your touch. His mouth opens, as if he’s about to protest, but you don’t give him the chance.

“Please, Seungcheol,” you plead, your voice dripping with need. “Fuck me. I need you so bad. I’m going crazy.”

His grin is slow and teasing, his dark eyes flickering with amusement and pure desire. “You’re supposed to make me work for it,” he murmurs, brushing his lips over yours, savoring your impatience.

“Fuck that,” you whimper, your hands already undoing his pants, shoving them down his hips with urgency. “I already know it’s going to be so good, and I can’t wait any longer. I’ve needed you since that night in the hot tub. Please don’t make me wait any longer.”

Your confession makes his cock throb painfully. The memory of that night, your soaked skin, the way you had looked at him, only fueling his desire. He swears under his breath, his hands gripping your thighs as he positions himself between them.

He strokes himself twice, eyes never leaving yours, drinking in the way you shudder with anticipation beneath him. “I’ve needed you since then too,” he groans, dragging the head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing you just for a second longer.

Then, without further hesitation, he thrusts into you, burying himself in one deep, slow stroke.

“I’m not going anywhere this time,” he groans, voice rough, his forehead pressing against yours as your walls clench around him. "I promise."

“You stretch me so fucking good, oh my god,” you moan, your head tilting back against the pillows as he pulls out just enough to slam back into you, filling you to the hilt.

Seungcheol groans, the sound guttural, his jaw tightening as he watches the way your body takes him so perfectly. So tight, so wet, so fucking perfect. His hands roam over your curves before gripping your hips, using them as leverage to thrust even deeper.

The flames between you grow hotter, consuming you both as your bodies move in perfect sync like you were made for this, made for each other.

His breathing is heavy, lips brushing against your jaw before he captures your wrists in one strong hand, pinning them above your head against the mattress. “Hold still for me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with command and lust.

You whimper at the sudden control, your walls clenching around him in response. “Fuck,” he hisses, his grip tightening just slightly as his hips snap against yours with increasing intensity.

Each thrust sends waves of pleasure crashing through you, your body arching beneath him. The slick sound of your bodies colliding fills the room, mixing with the symphony of your moans and his groans.

His free hand trails down your body, his fingertips ghosting over your skin before pressing firmly against your clit, rubbing tight, deliberate circles.

“Cheol—” you cry out, eyes squeezing shut as pleasure coils tight in your core, the tension threatening to snap at any moment.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasps, his lips brushing over your parted ones. “Let me feel you fall apart.”

Your body obeys his command, trembling as pleasure surges through you. Your walls tighten around him, milking every inch of his cock as your orgasm crashes over you in waves. Seungcheol groans, his grip tightening on your wrists as he slows his thrusts, guiding you through the aftershocks, keeping you grounded while you catch your breath.

He watches you, completely wrecked beneath him, your body glowing with satisfaction, your chest rising and falling with each shaky inhale. And yet, the way your eyes meet his, filled with hunger, tells him you're not done.

“Come in me,” you whisper, voice dripping with desperation, fingers curling into his biceps. “I’m all yours to claim.”

His body tenses at your words, his restraint snapping like a rubber band stretched too thin. A deep groan rumbles in his chest as he thrusts into you one last time, burying himself inside you. The heat of his release floods through your center, your walls fluttering around him as he spills every drop.

He collapses over you, supporting his weight on his forearms, pressing his forehead against yours as he tries to steady his breath. A satisfied smirk tugs at his lips as he leans in, deeply kissing you.

“Mine,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough, possessive.

You hum in agreement, running your fingers through his damp hair. “Yours.”

You lay there together, limbs tangled, basking in the lingering warmth of each other's bodies. The room is thick with the scent of sweat and satisfaction. And the rhythmic rise and fall of your breathing is the only sound filling the quiet. Seungcheol presses a slow, lingering kiss to your lips, pouring unspoken emotions into it.

Eventually, he pulls away with a soft sigh and sits up, running a hand through his messy hair. He disappears into your bathroom and returns with a warm washcloth, kneeling between your legs. His touch is gentle as he cleans you up, his brows furrowed in concentration as he carefully wipes away his release spilling from your folds, making sure you’re comfortable before tending to himself.

You watch him, your heart swelling at the quiet intimacy of it all.

When he’s finished, you sit up slowly, a blissed-out smile stretching across your face. “That,” you begin, “Was so worth the wait.”

He chuckles, tossing the washcloth aside. “Glad to know I met expectations.”

“Please,” you snort, standing to grab a clean pair of panties. You swipe his discarded t-shirt off the floor and throw it on, the hem skimming your upper thighs. “You surpassed every single one.”

Seungcheol smirks, eyes trailing your frame as you move around the room. You catch his gaze and raise a brow. “What?”

“Nothing,” he muses, leaning back on his hands. “Just admiring the view.”

Rolling your eyes fondly, you grab his hand and tug him toward the kitchen. “Come on, I need a french fry in my life. You wanna eat out here, or should I bring it back to bed?”

“You can’t eat in bed,” he scolds lightly.

You shrug. “I do it all the time.”

He shakes his head but follows you out anyway, pulling his boxers back on.

Once the burgers and fries are plated, you both settle on the couch. You hand him a plate before digging in, barely pausing between bites. Seungcheol watches you with amusement, but when you’re not looking, he sneakily drops a fry down for Mika, who’s curled up in her favorite blanket. The pup wags her tail and happily munches on her secret treat.

“Post-sex burgers kinda slap, I’m not gonna lie,” you say, taking another big bite.

Seungcheol doesn’t respond right away, too busy watching you with an expression so soft it borders on devastating. He knows he’s in deep, he has been since the moment he met you. Loving you this much is dangerous, but fuck, it’s so worth the inevitable heartache and future pain he’s setting himself up for.

The following morning, Seungcheol stirs awake at the faint rustling of movement beside him. Still half-asleep, he instinctively reaches out to pull you back into his arms. It’s way too early to be getting up, but his hands find empty sheets. His brows furrow as he cracks his eyes open, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains.

You're standing by the dresser, slipping on a pair of leggings, your hair thrown up into a clip.

“Good morning, Seungshine.”

His heart swells at the nickname, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. “Mmm, morning. Going somewhere, gorgeous?” His deep, raspy morning voice sends a pleasant shiver down your spine.

“Just a quick run to the pharmacy. I’ll be back in a few.” You lean down to press a lingering kiss to his lips. “Don’t get up.”

He hums against your lips but narrows his eyes in suspicion. “What for?”

You straighten, grinning. “Well, if you recall, we ended the night with a big bang, no puns intended. But I don’t take my birth control as consistently as I should, so just to be safe, I’m grabbing a Plan B.”

The realization hits him like a freight train. His eyes widen as he sits up abruptly, pushing the covers off. “Shit—I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think to ask last night.” He scrambles for his jeans. “I’ll come with you—and I’m paying for it. Obviously.”

You chuckle at his flustered state, shaking your head. “Cheol, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he insists, standing and pulling his jeans on. “That should’ve been a conversation before we went at it like animals.” He runs a hand across his face, exhaling sharply. “I feel like an asshole.”

You step closer, moving his hands to cup his face in yours. “You’re not an asshole. We got caught up in the moment, it happens. But we’re handling it now, and that’s what matters.”

He studies you for a moment before sighing, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Still. I wanna come with you.”

You arch a brow. “You sure you wanna be seen in public, bright and early, in the pharmacy aisle buying Plan B?”

He deadpans, “I’m a firefighter, babe. I run into burning buildings for a living. You think I’m scared of the contraceptive aisle?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Fair enough, but you really don’t need to come. I begged for it. And, honestly? I’d beg you to come inside me again because that was so fucking hot.” You give him a teasing grin before adding, “But yeah, just to be safe, I’ll pick one up. Don’t worry, babe.” You flash him a reassuring smile. And the truth is, you’re not upset about it. Shit happens. You wouldn’t change a thing about last night.

But Seungcheol’s face softens with concern, and he shakes his head. “It’s not right, no. If I wasn’t in such a rush last night, I would’ve remembered the condoms in my wallet. But I didn’t, so I’m gonna take care of this and fix it.” His voice carries a mix of guilt and determination, and you can see it’s eating him up inside.

You gently touch his arm, trying to ease his frustration. “Cheol, seriously. There’s nothing to fix. It’s okay.”

His jaw tightens, frustration falling across his features. The sound of him exhaling sharply fills the room. He feels like he’s messed up, and it’s killing him. But then, seeing the look on your face, he softens, his anger shifting to self-recrimination. “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you. I don’t mean to argue. I’m just frustrated with myself. I should’ve used protection, that won’t happen again.”

You step closer, wrapping your arms around him, feeling his stiffened posture. He doesn’t immediately return the hug, his muscles tight with guilt.

“Cheol, get out of your head,” you say softly, your fingers brushing against his back. “We’re good. I’m not mad at you. Please don’t do this to yourself.”

He exhales slowly, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. “Sorry,” he breathes out, his voice full of self-disappointment. “I don’t like messing up.” He pulls away slightly, looking at you with a half-hearted smile. “I’m gonna head to the gym and blow off some steam before my shift. Call me later?”

You nod, offering him a warm, understanding smile. “Of course.”

He gives you one last, lingering kiss on the forehead before grabbing his gym bag and heading for the door. His footsteps fade, but the weight of his thoughts lingers in the room. You just hope he knows that everything is okay.

…

Seungcheol arrives at the station early, eager to clear his mind with a good workout. As soon as he walks in, he spots Vernon already warming up, and they exchange a quick greeting before diving into their routines. Seungcheol starts with his usual heavy dumbbell reps, the weight feels almost too light as his mind drifts away from the frustration of earlier.

His focus sharpens as he moves onto sprints on the treadmill, feeling the burn in his legs, and finally finishes with some deadlifts. Each rep clears a bit more of the tension from his shoulders, his thoughts slowly settling into a rhythm.

It’s only when he checks his phone to switch the song playing through his headphones that his heart drops. There’s a text from you, simple and straightforward: Got the pill, already took it.

The frustration from earlier resurfaces instantly, a knot tightening in his chest. His jaw clenches as he finishes the last set of deadlifts, his mind whirring with thoughts of how to fix things, but also realizing that fixing things isn't always the solution.

“Dang, dude,” Vernon whistles from across the room, clearly noticing the shift in Seungcheol’s demeanor. “You look like you’re about to murder someone.”

Seungcheol lets out a frustrated breath, wiping his face with a towel before flinging it over his shoulder. “You could say that,” he mutters, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Y/N and I argued this morning. She wasn’t having it when I tried to fix something, solve a problem, whatever you wanna call it.”

Vernon raises an eyebrow, setting down his weights. “Oof. Sounds like you’ve met your match, man. Mr. Fix-It’s getting his ass handed to him by Miss Independent, huh?”

Seungcheol runs his hand across his neck, letting out a sigh of exasperation. “Yeah, and it’s infuriating sometimes. She’s clumsy by nature, which I absolutely adore, but she won’t ask for help, even when I offer. I don’t mind helping. I want to. If a problem arises I want to jump in and solve it. Hell, I’d love to do anything to make her day easier, but she just won’t let me. It drives me crazy. I’m trying to be a good boyfriend, but she’s just...so stubborn.”

Vernon chuckles, shaking his head. “That’s all women for you.”

Seungcheol shoots him a side-eye. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Vernon leans against the wall, looking over at him with a knowing smirk. “You’re learning the hard way. It’s like, no matter how much you want to help, they’ll still want to do it themselves. It’s part of the charm...and the frustration.”

Seungcheol snorts, running a hand through his hair again. “Yeah, I’ve noticed. It’s like she wants to carry the weight of the world herself, even if I’m standing right here, ready to take some of it.”

Vernon pats him on the back, a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. “Dude, you’re gonna have to accept that. It’s just how it goes. Just try not to lose your mind over it. You’re not gonna win this one, so don’t let it eat you up.”

Seungcheol nods, letting the advice sink in. Maybe Vernon’s right, maybe this is just one of those things he has to let go of. But damn, it’s hard when all he wants to do is help, especially when he’s so used to fixing everything around him.

Your latest meeting with your publisher went better than you could’ve ever imagined. Over coffee downtown, she told you the great news: your editor approved the final draft of your novel, and it's officially being sent to the press.

In three months, thousands of copies will be printed, bound, and sent out to stores across the world. The feeling of seeing your work finally come to life is overwhelming, and you can't wait to share the news with Seungcheol.

You rush to the station, eager to surprise him. As soon as you walk in, you spot the sweet receptionist at her desk and flash her a bright smile.

“Hey, Y/N! Seungcheol’s in the garage.”

“Thanks!” you call back, your excitement bubbling up as you head toward the garage.

“Mika!” comes the familiar chorus of voices from the station’s crew. Everyone loves your husky, and she loves their attention. She prances around, soaking up the affection before running straight for Wonwoo, ready for a round of frisbee. He takes her out back, tossing the frisbee with a grin as she happily chases it down.

You walk into the garage just as Seungcheol is finishing up something on a truck. Before you can get his attention, he’s already spotted you. He moves swiftly, wrapping his strong arms around you from behind, pulling you against his chest. His lips find the spot just below your ear, planting a soft kiss there.

“What do I owe the pleasure?” he murmurs, his voice low and warm. “I didn’t think I’d see you until after I finished this 48-hour shift.”

You can’t help but laugh, the happiness of the moment bubbling out of you. “Well, I couldn’t wait to see you. I have some huge news!” You tilt your head to catch his gaze. His smile widens at the sound of your enthusiasm.

“What’s that?” he asks, clearly intrigued.

“The book’s officially being printed,” you say, the excitement rushing out in a stream of words. “They approved it, Seungcheol. In three months, it’ll be out in stores!”

Seungcheol freezes, his arms tightening around you as the realization sinks in. “No way.” His voice is filled with awe. “You did it, Y/N.” He turns you around, looking you in the eyes, a thrilled smile on his face. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

You beam, feeling the weight of everything you’ve worked for finally come to fruition. His words only make it feel more real. “I couldn’t have done it without your support. You’re the one who told me to write for myself.”

He presses a quick kiss to your lips, his hands sliding down to rest at your waist. “So, what’s the next step? Are you gonna do a book tour or something?”

You shrug playfully. “I’m still figuring that part out, but for now, I just wanted to celebrate with you and share the news.”

His grin is sinful, full of mischief and raw desire. “Well, I think I know the perfect way to celebrate.”

Before you can ask what he means, Seungcheol takes your hand and tugs you between two fire trucks, tucking you into the dimly lit space where the shadows provide just enough secrecy. Your heart hammers in your chest as you take in his expression. His pupils are blown wide, his lips parted, his entire body practically radiating heat.

The second you’re in position, he crashes his lips to yours His hands grip your hips, fingers digging in just enough to make you whimper against his mouth. He swallows the sound, deepening the kiss, tilting your head to take even more of you.

Then, using his pure strength, he lifts you effortlessly, pinning you against the cool, hard metal of the fire truck. You gasp at the contrast between his burning body and the icy steel. His hips press between your legs, and you can feel him, thick and heavy, even through the layers separating you.

“Fuck, I need you,” he groans, his voice rough with restraint.

Your head spins. “Here?” you whisper, glancing to the side, your nerves and excitement blending together.

He pulls back slightly, his breath fanning over your lips. “Only if you want to.”

God, it’s reckless. You could get caught. But something about the idea of Seungcheol taking you right here, in the middle of his workplace, with his crew just yards away, has arousal pooling between your thighs. It’s like a scene ripped straight from one of your books, and you can’t help but bite your lip, nodding frantically.

A slow, satisfied smirk spreads across his face. “That’s my girl.”

His hands slide under your skirt, fingers tracing the sensitive skin of your thighs before pushing the fabric up to bunch around your hips. You shiver in anticipation as he unzips his pants, the sound sharp in the quiet space. Your breath stutters when his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your legs and tucking them into one of his pockets.

The cool air hits your damp heat before his fingers find you. He lets out a low curse. “So wet for me already.” His voice is pure sin, dripping with desire.

Then, he reaches into another zipper pocket, pulling out a small foil packet. He rips it open with his teeth, grinning as he rolls the condom onto his aching length.

“As wild and unpredictable as you are, I’ve learned my lesson.” His tone is teasing, but his eyes are dark. “So, I always keep a condom on hand. This is my surprise sex stash.” He taps the pocket he pulled it from.

A breathy laugh escapes you, the absurdity of it making your stomach flutter. “That’s so hot, but also so funny.”

He chuckles, “What can I say? I like to be prepared.” Your laughter quickly turns into soft mewls as he rubs his cock through your folds.

And then, without warning, he thrusts into you, stretching you perfectly, filling you in a way that has you gasping against his lips.

He grits his teeth, jaw clenched tight as he bottoms out inside you. His breath comes out in a ragged groan as he mutters, “Always a perfect fucking fit.” The praise sends a fresh wave of heat surging through you, your walls fluttering around him in response.

Then he starts to move. Hard, fast, relentless. His hips snap into yours with an intensity that has your head falling back against the truck, the metal vibrating with each powerful thrust. The pleasure is overwhelming, every nerve in your body is on fire, and you can do nothing but take it, your body molding to his as he fucks you into oblivion.

The sounds of your wetness mixed with his grunts echo dangerously in the garage, and a sudden thrill shoots through you at the realization of how exposed you are. Anyone could walk in. Any second now, someone could round the corner and—

A strangled moan tears from your lips, loud and uncontrollable.

Seungcheol reacts instantly, his free hand flying up to cover your mouth, muffling the desperate sounds threatening to give you away. His other hand remains firm on your waist, guiding your movements as he thrusts deeper, angling perfectly to brush against that sweet, devastating spot inside you.

“Shh, baby,” he rasps against your ear, voice thick with arousal and amusement. “Unless you want them to hear how good I’m fucking you.”

His words send a violent shudder through your body, your nails sinking into his shoulders as you cling to him. His pace only grows rougher, more desperate, like he needs to push you over the edge. And with the way his cock is slamming into you, dragging against your most sensitive spot with every stroke, you know you won’t last much longer.

Your muffled whimpers vibrate against his palm, your body trembling as that familiar coil tightens, winding impossibly tight.

“Fuck,” he grunts, thrusts growing erratic. “You’re close, aren’t you? I can feel you.”

You nod frantically, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the sheer pleasure. You’re right there, teetering on the edge, the tension in your core threatening to snap at any second.

And then—he thrusts particularly deep, his name slipping from your lips against his palm as you shatter around him, your entire body convulsing as pleasure washes over you in overwhelming waves.

Seungcheol tenses, a deep groan tearing from his throat as his release crashes over him. His hips stutter, pressing flush against you as he spills into the condom, his heart pounding wildly against his ribs.

His forehead rests against yours as he catches his breath, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “I swear, it’s better every time.” He kisses you, slow and deep, as if trying to make the moment last a little longer.

Gently, he lowers you back onto your shaky legs, steadying you with firm hands as he smooths down your skirt to cover your still-throbbing core. You blink up at him, dazed, before holding out a hand expectantly. “My panties?”

Seungcheol’s grin turns downright wicked as he pulls his pants back up around his hips. “Nope. Those are mine now.”

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

He shrugs, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Consider them a souvenir.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Fine. But only because my legs are too wobbly to fight you for them.” You shake your head, still trying to regain some semblance of composure. “How the hell did you even hold me up for that long? Guess I gotta start calling you Swole Cheol.”

He throws his head back in laughter, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you steady. “Damn right, baby. Now, let’s get you out of here before someone starts wondering why you look so thoroughly fucked.”

He watches you walk away, a satisfied smirk lingering on his lips as you glance back with a knowing look. Once you're out of sight, he releases a deep breath, running a hand through his hair before making his way to the locker room.

With a sigh, he disposes of the soiled condom, shaking his head at himself. You’re insatiable, Choi Seungcheol. But who could blame him when it came to you? His body already aches for another round, the memory of your warmth and the way you came undone around him burned into his mind.

Unfortunately, that will have to wait until tonight. For now, a very cold shower is in order.

After finishing his grueling 48-hour shift, Seungcheol finally gets to clock out. But instead of heading straight home to crash, he shoots you a text.

Come over?

You don’t hesitate. Obviously.

You haven’t seen his place yet, and curiosity buzzes through you as you drive over. When you arrive, he’s already waiting at the door, wearing nothing but gray sweats you silently pray he never gets rid of, and a tired smile that still somehow makes your stomach flip.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” he says, stepping aside to let you and Mika in. His place is warm and inviting, all dark wood and soft lighting, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air.

You barely get a chance to take in your surroundings before he’s pulling you into his arms, kissing you slow and deep like he’s been starved for you.

You don’t make it past the couch. Neither do your clothes.

He lays you down, hovering over you, taking his time worshipping your body. It’s sweet and slow, his lips tracing every inch of your skin, his hands gripping your hips as he sinks into you, rocking into you with a steady rhythm that has your toes curling.

Then, for the next round, he carries you to his bed. Where you take control by straddling him, rolling your hips just right. His hands roam your body, his praises spilling from his lips like he can’t help himself. “You ride me so fucking well,” he groans, his grip tightening as he watches you fall apart above him.

And just when he thinks he’s spent, you pull him into the shower, pressing your chest against the cool tile as he takes you from behind, water cascading over both of you.

By the time you tumble back into his bed, tangled in the sheets, your limbs are heavy with exhaustion. Seungcheol pulls you onto his chest, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back.

He presses a kiss to your temple, murmuring against your skin, “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You hum sleepily, a satisfied smile tugging at your lips. “At least you’ll go happy.”

With a breathy chuckle, he tightens his arms around you. Sleep takes him quickly, and you follow soon after, lulled by the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you.

You sleep soundly for the next couple of hours, wrapped in warmth, the steady rise and fall of Seungcheol’s chest beneath your cheek lulling you into the deepest rest you’ve had in weeks. His scent surrounds you; fresh soap, faint cologne, something inherently him.

But then, movement stirs beside you.

A restless twitch. A sharp inhale. A quiet, broken, “No.”

Your brows knit together as you lift your head, immediately sensing the distress rolling off him in waves. His muscles tense beneath your palm, his fingers gripping the sheets as his breaths grow shallow. Another boom cracks through the night, lightning flashing across the room, illuminating the crease in his brow, and the tremble in his lips.

Then he whispers it, his voice thick with anguish.

"Please don’t be dead."

Your heart clenches. You realize what’s happening in an instant, he’s trapped in another nightmare, reliving something dark, something that still haunts him.

“Seungcheol,” you murmur softly, placing your palm over his racing heart. “You’re dreaming. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

But then another crack of thunder rattles the walls, and his body jerks violently as his eyes snap open, wild and unfocused. His breath comes in quick, panicked gasps, and for a moment, he’s not here. He’s somewhere else, somewhere terrible.

“Cheol, it’s me,” you say quickly, sitting up beside him. “I’m here.”

His gaze darts around the room as if searching for danger, for confirmation that the horrors of his dream weren’t real. Another flash of lightning streaks across the sky, and you see it, the sheer panic in his eyes, the way his entire frame trembles.

Without hesitation, you press your hands over his ears, shielding him from the roaring thunder. He lets out a shaky exhale, squeezing his eyes shut as he leans into your touch. Slowly, gently, you guide him back down onto the bed, keeping your hands in place, anchoring him.

“It’s just a storm,” you whisper. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”

He listens, inhales deeply, exhales slower. Again. And again. Until the tremors in his body ease, until his chest rises and falls at a steady rhythm.

Minutes pass before his grip on you loosens, before his exhausted body succumbs to sleep once more. You stay like that, curled against him, watching over him, your fingers trailing soothing patterns on his skin.

…

The morning light filters softly through his windows, casting a golden glow over Seungcheol’s bare shoulders as he sits across from you at the kitchen table, fingers curled around his coffee mug. The night’s storm has long since passed, but the weight of it still lingers in the air between you.

You take a careful sip, watching him as Mika eats the last of her breakfast. He hasn’t said much since waking up, just his usual quiet “Morning, gorgeous” and a kiss to your forehead before brewing your coffee exactly how you like it. But there’s a tension in his shoulders, a faraway look in his eyes that hasn’t faded since last night.

You set your mug down. “You were really freaked out last night,” you say gently. “Do you want to talk about it? It’s okay if you aren’t ready to.”

He exhales through his nose, his grip on the mug tightening. You see the war happening in his head, his instinct to protect you from the darkness in him battling against his desire to be honest with you. To not keep things hidden.

Finally, he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“That storm...the thunder, the lightning, it took me back,” he admits, voice rough. “There was this wildfire a few months ago. A lightning strike started it. We had barely any warning before it spread out of control.” He pauses, jaw tensing. “A family refused to evacuate. I begged them to go, promised I’d do everything I could to protect their home. But the wind...it changed direction so fast, faster than anyone could’ve predicted.” His knuckles whiten around his cup. “By the time we got back there...it was too late.”

Your heart clenches at the raw anguish in his voice, the way his eyes flicker with a pain so deep it’s nearly unbearable to witness.

“They didn’t make it?” you ask softly.

His throat bobs as he swallows hard. “No one did,” he murmurs. “When we found them, they were still holding onto their baby.” His voice breaks on the last word. “I broke my promise.”

Tears prick your own eyes at the thought, at the unbearable weight he’s carried with him all this time. You reach across the table, placing your hand over his.

“Cheol,” you whisper, squeezing gently. “You did everything you could.”

His jaw clenches, his eyes flicking up to meet yours, red-rimmed and filled with regret and guilt. “Did I?” he rasps. “Because I should’ve convinced them. I should’ve been able to make them leave. I should’ve gotten there sooner.”

“They chose to stay,” you remind him softly.

“They didn’t know any better,” he counters, voice thick with guilt. “They were scared, and I should’ve—” He stops, dragging a hand down his face as he blinks back the tears threatening to spill. “I live with that every damn day. Knowing I couldn’t save them. That I had to carry their bodies out instead.”

The silence between you is heavy, but you don’t rush to fill it. Instead, you shift your chair closer, wrapping your arms around him. He stiffens for half a second before melting into you, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin.

“You carry so much,” you murmur, fingers tracing soothing circles on his back. “More than anyone ever should. But you’re human, Cheol. You can’t save everyone.”

He exhales shakily, nodding against you. “I just wish I could.”

“I know,” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his hair. “And that’s what makes you you.”

For the first time that morning, he lets himself break. And you hold him through it all.

You refuse to let him go, arms wrapped tightly around his broad shoulders as he holds you just as fiercely. His breath is steadying now, though his heartbeat still pounds beneath your fingertips. You don’t say anything; just stay there, grounding him, letting him know he’s not alone.

Then, a sharp alarm cuts through the air. Seungcheol’s phone buzzes insistently against the table, and the moment ends. He exhales deeply, hesitating for just a second before he pulls back to check the screen. His brows knit together, and his entire demeanor shifts.

“I gotta go,” he murmurs, jaw tightening. “House fire.” Uncanny timing.

His movements are swift as he grabs his keys, slipping on his jacket quickly after. He kisses you once, lingering just a little longer than usual, before crouching to ruffle Mika’s fur. “You stay here and keep your mom company, okay?” The husky wags her tail, oblivious to the tension in the air.

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like,” he tells you, pausing at the door. “Though...I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

There’s something unspoken in his words, something heavy. Like a part of him isn’t sure he’ll be back at all.

“That’s okay, I have to pick up my new car at some point today. Be safe,” you whisper, and he nods before he’s out the door, disappearing into the early morning light.

When Seungcheol arrives at the station, the usual buzz of activity is nowhere to be found. Instead, the air is thick, weighed down by everyone’s mood. They move in near silence, expressions grim as they gear up. There’s no room for jokes or casual banter this morning.

The fire must be bad.

It doesn’t take long before the trucks are roaring down the streets, sirens wailing. Seungcheol watches the city blur past through the windshield, his fingers clenching and unclenching around the strap of his harness. His mind drifts back to the wildfire, to the storm, to last night’s memories clawing at the edges of his mind.

Not again.

The moment they arrive on the scene, it’s clear just how dire the situation is. Flames engulf the upper floors of a residential building, thick black smoke pouring from shattered windows. Panicked screams echo through the street as people scramble outside, clutching children, pets, whatever they could grab before escaping.

“Two confirmed still inside,” their Chief barks as they hop off the truck, already securing their oxygen masks.

Seungcheol’s pulse kicks into overdrive.

Two people.

That’s all it takes for him to lose his grip on rational thought.

Adrenaline surges through his veins as he storms toward the entrance, ignoring the heat licking at his skin. The radio crackles in his ear with orders, but they barely register. He has one mission.

Get them out.

“Coups, wait—” someone calls behind him, but he’s already gone, disappearing into the inferno.

Inside, it’s a warzone of collapsing debris and searing flames. Visibility is nearly zero, but he pushes forward, relying on instinct. His breaths come in controlled, measured gasps as he scans the smoke-filled hallway.

A cough. A desperate sound.

There.

He finds them huddled in a bedroom, an older woman shielding a teenage boy with her body. Their faces are streaked with soot, eyes wide with terror.

“It’s okay,” Seungcheol says, voice firm. “I’m getting you out of here.”

The woman clings to him as he hoists the boy onto his back, securing his grip before turning toward the exit. But just as they reach the hallway, an explosion rattles the structure, sending a shower of debris crashing down below them. The floor beneath them groans ominously.

“Shit,” he grits out, adjusting his hold. “Hold on.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

Breaking protocol entirely, Seungcheol barrels forward, his mind laser-focused on getting the trapped family to safety. He moves quickly, weaving through the fiery chaos, dodging falling beams and blistering flames that seem to reach out for him. His breath is ragged, adrenaline coursing through his veins, but nothing will stop him—nothing. Not the heat, not the smoke, not even the ever-encroaching collapse of the building around him.

Then, a massive beam crashes down onto his shoulder, the impact so brutal that a sharp cry of pain is forced from his lips. He staggers but pushes through, gritting his teeth, refusing to let the pain slow him down. His shoulder burns like hell, but he won’t stop, not when the woman’s terrified eyes are locked on him, desperate for his help.

“Cheol!” Mingyu’s voice cuts through the fog of pain, and Seungcheol knows what’s coming even before his friend is fully in view.

“Do you have a death wish?” Mingyu barks, his tone sharp with concern as he catches up, the rest of the unit trailing behind him.

Seungcheol grits his teeth, his jaw clenched tight. He doesn’t have the energy for this right now.

“You guys shouldn’t be in here,” he growls, eyes scanning the wreckage. The staircase is gone, replaced by nothing but broken wood and twisted metal. He shifts the woman in his arms, her fragile weight barely noticeable compared to the responsibility pressing down on his chest.

“Neither should you,” Wonwoo shoots back, annoyance lining his voice as he surveys the scene. “We wait for orders then comply, remember? Protocol.”

Seungcheol shoots him a scowl, shaking his head. “Then why did you follow?” He’s out of breath, but his tone is still biting. The words tumble out without thinking.

“We weren’t going to let you die in here,” Vernon huffs, catching the woman in his arms with a grunt, before nodding to Seungcheol. The teenage boy is next, and Seungcheol carefully lowers him down to safety.

The unit works quickly, their frustration visible, but they all know this is the harsh reality of their job. As Seungcheol is helped down next, Mingyu’s eyes stay fixed on his shoulder, unable to ignore the way Seungcheol’s fingers are tightly gripping his own arm, gloves tight across his knuckles from the pain he's clearly trying to hide.

Seungcheol catches his stare, his expression darkening. The warning is clear in his eyes. Don’t fucking say a thing.

Mingyu swallows hard, but he says nothing. His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t push the issue. Seungcheol’s pride, his reckless courage, has always been part of him. And right now, no amount of scolding will change what’s already been done.

The fire rages behind them, a constant roar of destruction, but Seungcheol keeps his focus, pushing through the pain in his shoulder. The family is safe, that’s all that matters. For now, anyway.

As they burst through the door, the mother and son gasp for fresh air, the paramedics rushing in to attend to them. But Seungcheol barely registers the relief in their faces before the harsh crackling of his radio fills the air. He tenses, hearing the fury behind it, and before he can react, a voice booms from behind him.

“Choi Seungcheol, what the fuck was that?” He turns sharply to see Captain Namjoon storming toward him, absolutely livid.

“You ignored a direct order, you reckless idiot—”

But Seungcheol doesn't flinch, doesn't care. Not when he glances back at the boy, clutching his mother, both of them alive and safe. That’s what matters to him.

The Chief interrupts, his voice cold and authoritative as he steps in front of Seungcheol. “You willingly put yourself and your unit at risk. Disciplinary action will be discussed tomorrow in front of a panel to decide your reprimand for misconduct. You’re dismissed. Get back to the station.”

Seungcheol’s heart sinks, but he knows better than to argue now. What’s done is done.

A slight worry settles in your gut as you glance at the clock, noting that the sun is beginning to dip below the horizon. You haven’t heard from Seungcheol since he left early this morning. You know his job is demanding, but the silence gnaws at you, twisting your thoughts into worst-case scenarios.

You try to distract yourself. You’ve run all your errands, picked up your new car from the dealership, and taken Mika on a long walk in the park. But now, there’s nothing left to occupy your mind. The restlessness builds, gnawing at your thoughts until you can’t sit still any longer.

You decide to drive to the station, thinking that maybe if you wait there, you’ll see Seungcheol when the trucks return. At least then you can breathe a little easier. You leave Mika safely tucked in your apartment, lock up, and head for the station. The closer you get, the more your nerves spark.

But when you pull up and see the big garage doors closed, your stomach drops. That means the trucks are already parked back inside.

Your pulse quickens as you lock your car, your mind racing with questions. You rush through the door, barely noticing the soft murmur of voices inside. When you round the corner, you bump into Mingyu just outside the locker room door.

His eyes meet yours, his usual laid-back demeanor momentarily replaced by a flicker of concern. “Y/N? What are you doing here?” he asks, concerned about your current state, even though his exhaustion is evident.

A flood of worry surges through you as you look at Mingyu, your mind racing with a thousand different scenarios. “How long have you guys been back? Did Seungcheol get mandated to stay for overtime? Or is he hurt?”

Mingyu gives you a look, one that’s part confusion, part understanding, as he puts the pieces together. He raises an eyebrow. “You haven’t heard from him?” he asks, his voice softening as he realizes the depth of your concern.

You shake your head quickly, panic creeping in. "No. He didn’t text me like he was supposed to.”

Mingyu pauses, processing the situation. “He returned from the call this afternoon,” he finally says, his tone thoughtful. “The rest of us got back around dinner time and he was already gone by then. I assumed he was already with you.” He pulls his phone out, texting someone quickly. “Let me check with a few people. We’ll find him. Don’t worry.”

His attempt at reassurance does little to ease the anxiety knotting in your stomach. You let out a breath as he directs you to sit down, and you follow him into the rec room. The worn-out chairs and tables, so familiar to Seungcheol’s coworkers, suddenly feel out of place in the heavy silence hanging between you. Mingyu sits across from you at the table, his fingers drumming anxiously on the surface.

“Why was he the first one back?” you ask, trying to piece together the timeline in your head.

Mingyu’s eyes shift away for a moment, his face tightening, and you can see the hesitation on his features. “I—” He stops himself, clearly uncertain of how much to say. After a long pause, he meets your gaze again, the heaviness in his eyes unmistakable.

“What is it?” you press, your voice rising with urgency. You can feel it now, a gnawing sense that something happened, something bad. “Is he hurt?”

Mingyu’s fingers hover over his phone as he glances down, hesitation clear in the tightness of his posture. After a tense moment, he finally meets your gaze, his voice softer than usual, almost reluctant.

“He…he wasn’t in the best shape when he got back,” he starts, the weight of his words hanging in the air. “They had to take him to the infirmary. Just a minor shoulder injury…” His voice trails off, as if he’s holding something back.

Your heart skips a beat, but you can’t help pressing for more. The knot in your stomach tightens as dread creeps into your thoughts. “There’s more?” you ask, your voice shaky with worry.

Mingyu sighs, his expression unreadable as he shifts in his seat. “He pulled a reckless move today,” he admits, his gaze flicking briefly to his phone again. “Chief forced him to leave after breaking orders. Seungcheol wasn’t supposed to go in like that. He didn’t wait for backup, didn’t follow the plan…” He sighs again, rubbing his hand over his face.

“Vernon answered, he’s with Coups right now. They’re at Shooters. The bar on Fifth.”

Shooter’s. The last place you ever expected to hear about when Seungcheol’s name was involved, especially after what Mingyu just told you.

“Should I go to him?” you ask, standing up as the words tumble out of your mouth before you can stop them. Your legs feel like they’re made of lead, but your heart is racing. All you can think about is getting to Seungcheol, making sure he’s okay, whatever happened today.

Mingyu looks at you, his eyes soft with sympathy. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I think you should. Don’t push him too hard though. He’s not exactly in the best mood.”

You nod, already grabbing your keys from your bag. You’re out the door before another thought can settle in, your mind only focused on reaching Seungcheol.

When you walk in, the thumping rock music and the rhythmic clink of glasses vibrate through the air, filling your ears as you scan the dimly lit room. Your gaze lands on Seungcheol immediately, his broad frame slumped against the bar, his head hanging low as if the weight of the world rests on his shoulders.

Beside him, Vernon sits quietly, his eyes flicking between you and Seungcheol, sensing the brewing tension before it even fully settles.

“Hey, Y/N,” Vernon greets you with a small smile, but his eyes flick to Seungcheol, reading the situation before it can spiral out of control.

As soon as Seungcheol hears your name, his head jerks up like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. His eyes glaze over with a mix of exhaustion and frustration, meet yours, and you can tell he doesn’t want to deal with you right now.

But there’s no way around it. You’re here. And you’re not leaving without talking this through. Vernon takes one last look between you two before silently slipping away, giving you both space to talk.

You sit next to Seungcheol, your presence undeniable, and cross your arms as you wait for him to acknowledge you. He doesn’t.

“Aren’t you curious why I’m here?” you ask, the edge in your voice sharper than you intended.

Seungcheol doesn’t even look at you, lifting his glass to his lips and taking another long swig of whiskey, his silence only making your frustration boil over. "No," he finally grunts in response, not even bothering to meet your eyes.

“Mingyu let me know you were here,” you continue, your voice now firm, cutting through the tension between you two. “After I went to the station, worried because you didn’t come home. And he kindly informed me that you’ve been back from that house fire call for hours."

At your words, Seungcheol’s grip on the glass tightens, his jaw clenched as if he’s trying to hold back the storm. The non-answer he gives you only stokes the fire inside you, and you can feel your patience wearing thin.

His stubbornness frustrates you more than anything, but you refuse to let this go.

“Did you act out today because it was another family? Do you feel like you owed it to the universe to save them, no matter the cost?”

His glare could cut through steel. “Don’t,” he snaps, his voice low and hard.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “Seungcheol, it’s not your fault. They chose to stay behind. You can’t carry that burden. It’s not your responsibility to save everyone, especially when it’s out of your hands.”

But as you watch him, his arm in a sling, the frustration bubbles up inside you. It’s like he’s determined to destroy himself for a past he can’t change.

“I just don’t understand,” you say, frustration edging into your voice. “Why did you forget all rational thought? You never break orders. You know the risks. You could’ve died today. Along with that mother and her son, since you were too focused on your own guilt to consider the usual risks, like weak spots. What if she’d fallen through the floor? What if her son had to watch her die right in front of him because you were in such a rush to right a wrong? Sure, you saved them this time, but what you did was just as reckless as it was selfish. You made it about yourself, Seungcheol. You let your past mistakes dictate your actions and put everything else on the line. You put your team, your friends, and your own life in danger.”

The words hang heavy between you, your chest rising and falling with the weight of them. You wait for him to say something, anything, but the silence stretches on.

“Was it worth it? Do you feel better now?” you bite out, anger and hurt lacing your tone. “I already know the answer to that, seeing you sitting here, ignoring me.”

His fist slams down on the counter, the sound sharp and final. “Enough!” His voice cracks with the tension, and the glass in his hand shatters into pieces on the counter.

Instinctively, your hands reach for the broken glass, not thinking, but the jagged edge cuts through your skin before you can pull away.

"Shit" you mutter, more to yourself than him, as you suck in a sharp breath, pressing napkins to the small wound on your hand. The blood stains the white paper, and you can feel your emotions boiling over.

Seungcheol's voice erupts, raw and jagged, his words like acid. “See? This is exactly what I mean,” he spits. “You’re pissed at me for saving lives today, for doing my job, but look at you. You can’t even get your own shit together! You want to lecture me, but you’re over here falling apart at the smallest thing. How many times do I have to save you, huh? You always come to me with your problems, needing me to fix everything for you. And what do I get in return?”

His hands slam against the bar, his knuckles turning white as his gaze hardens as if he’s trying to bury his emotions behind the anger. "Just go away, Y/N. I can't fix you right now. I can't fix anything about you or me. So just go.”

His words are like a slap, cold and unforgiving, making you recoil. And they leave a burning sting in their wake. The sting isn’t just from the cut; it’s from the weight of his accusation. You take a breath, steadying yourself as you step back, holding the napkin tighter against your palm, trying to hold back the tears.

Without another word, you turn and leave, feeling the heat of the moment suffocating you. He can clean up his own damn mess, because you’ve done all you can.

Seungcheol’s disciplinary panel finally came to a decision today. The verdict hits him hard. Two weeks without pay, and he's benched from responding to fires for the same period. He knows it’s deserved—hell, he was honestly expecting more.

But it still stings. It’s a reminder of how far he pushed everything, how much he screwed up. But deep down, he knows it could’ve been worse. It’s not the worst punishment he could’ve gotten, but it sure as hell feels like a taste of it.

What stings even more, though, is that you’ve been gone for three days. Three days where you won’t answer his calls, won’t reply to his texts, won’t answer your door. He leaves each attempt feeling worse than the last.

And it’s his fault. He knows it. The words he threw at you, the way he pushed you away…he deserves this. He deserves you leaving him, walking away, because he fucked it all up.

He heads to lunch in a haze of guilt, dragging his feet, already dreading the conversation with Jun. He agreed to meet him, mostly because he couldn’t avoid it anymore. But Jun, as usual, knows more than he’s letting on.

Seungcheol is surprised that Jun has Mika with him

“What’s with the dog?” he asks, raising an eyebrow as he sits down.

“I’m watching her while Y/N and Kate are away for the weekend. A resort and spa,” Jun starts, his voice low, careful. “After everything that happened, she needed a break. A well-deserved one.”

Seungcheol's stomach drops, a sickening feeling twisting inside him. “You heard?”

Jun’s gaze softens a little, before nodding.

He hesitates for a split second before the truth spills out. “Yeah, I was working at the hospital when Y/N was getting stitches.”

Seungcheol’s entire world shifts. The air leaves his lungs as his mind struggles to process what Jun is saying. “What?” The word comes out as a whisper, hoarse, the shock of it hitting him like a physical blow. “What happened? She…she got hurt?”

“She cut her hand. On the glass. From the broken drink you threw.”

The words cut through him like a knife, deeper than anything he’d ever felt before. He can feel the weight of his actions, the damage they’ve caused, crashing into him all at once. His breath hitches as he imagines the moment you had to deal with that—alone, after he pushed you away, after he made you feel small.

“Fuck,” he mutters, looking down at the table, unable to meet Jun’s eyes. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

Jun’s gaze hardens, but his tone is gentle. “I know, man. But you need to figure out how to make things right.”

Seungcheol shakes his head, frustration clawing at him. “I don’t know what to do anymore. Everything’s gone up in fucking flames.” His voice cracks slightly, the weight of it settling in his chest like concrete. “She has to know I didn’t mean it. Right? She has to understand. She’s never too much for me to fix. I’m not… I’m not like this. I never meant to hurt her.”

Jun studies him for a long moment before he asks the question that Seungcheol hasn’t fully allowed himself to think about yet.

“You love her, don’t you?”

The question hits him like a shot to the chest, a truth he’s been running from but can’t escape. Seungcheol exhales sharply, his eyes drifting to Mika, who’s sitting at his feet, head tilted in confusion. “Yeah,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “I love her. And I’m scared…I’m scared I’ve lost her for good this time.”

…

The scent of eucalyptus and lavender fills the air, meant to be soothing, but it does nothing to settle the storm raging inside you. The spa worker carefully places cooling eye masks over your lids, letting the skincare seep into your skin, and for a moment, you try to ease yourself into relaxation.

But it’s useless.

You shift restlessly on the plush lounge chair, arms crossing and uncrossing, letting out sharp, annoyed exhales every few minutes. At first, the sadness was all-consuming, a crushing weight that settled deep in your chest. But now? Now, you're just pissy.

It’s not like you ever asked Seungcheol for constant help. If anything, you’ve proven that you can handle things on your own, pushing back every time he tried to coddle you. You told him, over and over again, that you weren’t some helpless damsel in distress. That you didn’t need fixing.

And yet, that night, he made it seem like you were a burden. Like you were too much. Like he was exhausted from having to save you.

Your fingers twitch into fists at the thought, and if he were standing in front of you right now, you’d be seriously tempted to kick his ass.

“Jesus, Y/N,” Kate drawls beside you, not even bothering to lift her eye mask. “You’re getting more worked up by the minute. This is supposed to be relaxing, remember?”

Her voice is teasing, but you know she gets it. She knows how badly you want to scream, to shake Seungcheol and make him understand just how much he hurt you. Hell, Kate probably wants to kick his ass, too.

Frustrated, you rip the eye masks off, only to immediately wince as pain flares through your palm. Your stitches pull, a sharp sting running through your hand. You glance down at them, at the neat, dark lines slicing across your skin. A physical reminder of just how much things have spiraled.

You swallow hard, jaw tightening as Mingyu’s words echo in your head.

Don’t push him too far.

But you did.

And now, you don’t know if there’s anything left to fix.

You let out a frustrated sigh, sitting up and swinging your legs over the side of the lounge chair. The plush robe feels suffocating, the scent of essential oils dizzying rather than calming.

“I’m heading back to the room,” you announce, already reaching for your slippers. “I can’t relax in here. I need to watch some trashy reality TV to feel better about my life.”

Kate lifts her eye mask just enough to peek at you, one brow arching. “You sure? We’ve got a whole hour left. The hot stone massage is next. You want me to come with you?”

You shake your head, forcing a small smile. “No, no, you stay and enjoy the rest of the appointment. You actually deserve this.”

Kate sits up slightly, skepticism written all over her face. “Y/N—”

“I just need to clear my head,” you cut in gently. “I’ll be fine. I just…need a break from all this self-care happy mindset crap.”

She huffs a laugh, but you see the concern lingering in her eyes. “Fine. But if you start drafting an angry text to Seungcheol, I will come drag your ass back here.”

You hold up your injured hand. “Hard to text when my dominant hand is stitched up.”

“Don’t underestimate the power of an angry, one-handed rant,” she quips, settling back into her chair. “Now go, enjoy your reality TV, and for the love of God, don’t think about your emotionally constipated firefighter ex for at least an hour.”

You let out a snort, shaking your head as you make your way toward the exit. But as you step out into the hallway, the weight of everything crashes back down, pressing into your chest like a vice.

You’re not sure if an hour—or even a whole weekend—is going to be enough to stop thinking about Seungcheol.

…

Seungcheol had never been above swallowing his pride when it truly mattered, and right now, nothing mattered more than seeing you.

So he begged. Literally begged Junhui to drive him to the resort. He didn’t care how pathetic it made him look, all he needed was a chance. The smallest sliver of hope that he hadn’t completely destroyed everything between you.

Jun, with his soft heart, eventually caved, wanting everything to work out in the end. Forever the optimist. He muttered something about how Kate was definitely going to chew him out for enabling this, but deep down, he wanted to believe that maybe this wasn’t a lost cause. That maybe Seungcheol could fix what he broke.

And so, Girls’ Weekend was about to be crashed.

As soon as they pull up to the resort, Seungcheol wastes no time heading inside. His pulse pounds with every step, his injured arm stiff in its sling, but he doesn’t let it slow him down.

And then, just his luck—he runs right into Kate.

She’s standing in the hallway, waiting for the elevator, arms crossed the moment she spots him. Her eyes narrow into sharp, unforgiving slits.

“And what the hell are you doing here?” she demands, her tone dripping with disbelief. “Actually—how are you even here?”

Seungcheol, already bracing himself for impact, exhales sharply. “Jun drove.”

Kate’s gaze flicks past him, and when she spots Jun lingering a few feet away, looking guilty as hell, her glare sharpens. “Seriously, Jun?”

Jun shrugs. “He begged.”

Kate rolls her eyes before turning her wrath back on Seungcheol. “Unbelievable. You do realize this is a spa weekend, right? As in, a Seungcheol-free weekend?”

“I just need to talk to her,” he says, voice raw with something dangerously close to desperation. “Please, Kate. Just tell me where she is.”

Kate scoffs, arms tightening over her chest. “Oh, you think I’m just gonna hand her over to you after everything?” She shakes her head. “Not happening.”

Seungcheol clenches his jaw, frustration and regret simmering in his chest. “I know I fucked up. But I need to see her. I need to—”

“What you need is an ass-kicking,” Kate cuts in sharply, stepping closer with fire in her eyes. “And maybe a damn class on how to properly handle your emotions instead of acting like a fucking toddler.”

Seungcheol flinches but doesn’t argue. He knows she’s right.

He swallows hard, forcing down the lump in his throat. “You’re right,” he admits, his voice rough with defeat. “I handled everything wrong—worse than wrong. But please, Kate, I need to fix this. I can’t wait another day without telling her how sorry I am.” His voice wavers, raw and unguarded. “And how much I love her. How much I don’t want to live without her.”

Kate’s sharp gaze falters, just for a second.

Her arms are still crossed, her stance still firm, but there’s the faintest flicker of hesitation in her eyes.

She wants to stay angry. Seungcheol knows that, but he also knows Kate isn’t heartless. She’s seen how much you’ve been hurting, but she can also see it now—the weight of regret pressing down on him, the exhaustion in his face, the way his hand fists at his side like he’s barely keeping himself from falling apart.

She sighs, exasperated. “God, I hate you for making me feel bad for you right now.”

Seungcheol exhales, not quite relief, but something close.

Kate’s eyes dart away, toward the hallway leading to your room. Then she looks back at him. “She’s pissed at you, you know that, right?”

“I know.”

“She’s been trying not to think about you.”

“I know.”

Kate sighs again, this time heavier, before rubbing her temples. “If I send you to her room, and you fuck this up any worse, I will personally make sure you regret it.”

Seungcheol nods without hesitation. “I know.”

Kate looks him over one last time, eyes narrowing. Then, begrudgingly, caves.

“Room 413,” she mutters. “Good luck.”

Seungcheol doesn’t waste another second.

The knock at the door startles you. You quickly wipe away the lingering tears, sniffing as you straighten up. You’re expecting Kate, probably coming to check on you, and the last thing you want is for her to see you crying again. You’ve already done enough of that.

Forcing a smile onto your face, you pull open the door—

—and freeze.

Seungcheol stands on the other side, looking as wrecked as you feel. His eyes are red-rimmed, exhaustion and regret etched deep into the lines of his face. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, like the weight of the world is pressing down on him.

Your stomach twists violently. Especially when you notice his shoulder sling.

Before you can react, before you can slam the door like every part of you is screaming to do, he speaks.

“Before you close the door in my face,” he says, voice tight with desperation, “please—just let me apologize.” He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Even if you don’t want to hear it, even if you never want to see me again after this, you deserve a face-to-face apology for how I treated you that night.”

His voice wavers, raw and unguarded, and for a second, just a second, your heart wants to soften.

But then the memory of his words that night…How many times do I have to save you? Those words claw their way back to the surface, and the anger simmers all over again.

Your grip on the door tightens, but you don’t close it.

Seungcheol takes that as a good sign, and he clings to it like a lifeline.

His voice trembles, raw and unguarded, as he begins. “I am so sorry. There’s nothing I can say that will erase what I did, the cruelty of my words, or the way I made you feel that night. But I can tell you this—I was wrong. So fucking wrong.”

He swallows hard, eyes never leaving yours. “Nothing about you needs to be fixed. Nothing. You are perfect exactly as you are, and I hate myself for ever making you feel otherwise. I love everything about you. Your clumsy quirks, the way you refuse help even when you clearly need it, the way you care so much, sometimes more than you should.” He exhales shakily. “I love you. And if you let me, I will spend forever proving it to you, making sure you feel as loved and seen as you always make me feel.”

A single tear slips down your cheek. Seungcheol reacts instinctively, his thumb brushing it away before he cradles your face in his palm. His touch is warm, familiar, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he continues, voice thick with emotion. “I know I hurt you. And if you need time, I’ll wait. I’ll wait as long as it takes because I know you are the only one for me.” His voice cracks, a tear slipping from his own eyes now. “If it’s not you, it’s no one.”

His hand falls away as he takes a step back. Shoulders slumping, he turns, ready to walk away.

And that’s when you realize, you can’t let him go.

“Wait,” you choke out, the word escaping before you can think twice.

Seungcheol halts, spinning around just as you launch yourself into his arms. He barely has a second to react before you’re clutching onto him with everything you have, burying your face into his neck as if letting go would mean losing him all over again.

His free arm wraps around you instantly, holding you tight, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip even a fraction. His entire body relaxes, melting into yours as he exhales a deep, shuddering breath.

Without a word, he lifts you off the ground, carrying you back inside your room before the door closes and locks you both out.

Because this time, neither of you are walking away.

“I love you,” he breathes, and then his lips are on yours. desperate, searching, like he’s been starving for this moment. And maybe he has. It feels like an eternity since he’s last kissed you, since he’s last held you like this.

The warmth of his words sinks into your heart, dissolving the last remnants of anger, replacing them with something softer. Something inevitable.

“I love you too,” you confess against his lips, your hands framing his face, thumbs tracing over his cheekbones as you pull him back in.

Your kisses grow frantic, heated. All the tension, heartbreak, longing, all of it crashes into this moment. Seungcheol groans as he presses you back against the nearest surface, his fingers digging into your waist after he slips off his sling. He’s nearly recovered anyway.

You suddenly pull back, breathless. “Wait,” you pant, your hands still fisting the fabric of his shirt.

His eyes flicker with concern, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “What? What’s wrong?”

You glance around the room. “Where’s Kate?”

A slow smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “She left with Jun. He was my ride here.”

Relief floods through you, followed immediately by something more electric. “Good,” you murmur, and before he can say another word, your hands find the hem of his shirt, dragging it over his head and tossing it aside.

Seungcheol barely has time to react before you’re pulling him back in, pressing your lips to his with renewed desire. He groans against your mouth, his hands roaming over your back, your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

He carries you over to the bed, lowering you onto the mattress with a gentleness that contradicts the sheer desperation in his touch. His lips barely leave yours as he presses his body against yours, hands mapping the familiar curves of your skin like he’s trying to commit them to memory all over again.

Your movements are frantic, both of you tugging at clothes with a sense of urgency like you need to feel each other, skin to skin, to truly believe that this is real. That this is happening.

But then, just as things are escalating, Seungcheol suddenly tenses. “Wait,” he rasps, his forehead dropping against yours as he forces himself to pull back. “Fuck, wait.” His breathing is ragged as he lifts himself off you, every muscle in his body straining with restraint.

You blink up at him, dazed. “What—?”

“As much as I would love to continue, I don’t have a condom on me,” he admits, voice thick with frustration. He runs a hand down his face, clearly cursing himself. “I wasn’t even sure you’d speak to me. I didn’t plan this far ahead.”

For a split second, he braces himself for frustration or disappointment from you. Instead, a small, amused chuckle slips past your lips.

He frowns. “What’s funny?”

You tilt your head toward your purse, a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. “I have some in there.”

His eyes dart to the bag, then back to you, skepticism flashing across his face. “In your purse?”

You nod. “Yes, Cheol. In my purse. Feel free to check.”

Still looking slightly suspicious, he reaches for the bag and unzips it, peering inside. His brows shoot up when he spots a neatly lined row of condoms tucked away in an inner pocket.

“Why the fuck do you have a whole stash in here?” he asks, holding up the small strip like it personally offended him.

You laugh, propping yourself up on your elbows. “For unplanned moments like this,” you tease, eyes twinkling. “So you can knock that look off your face.”

His jaw clenches, eyes narrowing. “And what look is that?”

“The one where you’re wondering if I’ve been using them with someone else.” Your expression softens as your hand dips down between your legs, his eyes following the movement. Your fingers tease your entrance and you say, “I’m yours, remember?”

Something in him snaps at that. His grip tightens around the condom packet before he tears one away from the rest, tossing the strip back into your bag. The way he looks at you; like you’re his entire world, like he’d burn the earth down if it meant keeping you, sends a wave of heat directly to your core.

He growls in approval, ripping the packet open with his teeth before rolling it on in record time. Then, he’s back over you, caging you beneath him, his lips crashing onto yours once more.

And this time, there’s nothing stopping him.

Seungcheol’s hips move against yours with a slow, deliberate rhythm, sinking into you with a hunger that mirrors your own. His hands find yours, lacing his fingers into yours, holding you in place as if he never wants to let go. His lips trail a path of fiery kisses down the side of your neck, each one a whispered confession of the feelings he’s been holding back, of the love he’s been desperate to give you.

“I love you so much,” he breathes, his voice low and thick with desire, the words dripping with meaning as he presses into you again, as if trying to prove it with every inch of his body. “So fucking much.”

His pace quickens, rolling his hips into yours again and again, his movements becoming more desperate, more frantic. “The way you touch me, the way you always know exactly how to make me feel,” he murmurs between kisses, his lips brushing against your skin as he speaks. “Your generosity, your kindness, how innocent you can be at times despite writing absolute filth in your books.” A wicked smirk crosses his face as he feels the heat rise in your cheeks.

“The sounds you make when I make you feel good, the way your body responds to mine,” he continues, each word punctuated by a shift of his hips, a shift that leaves you breathless, wanting more. “But most of all,” his voice drops to a whisper, eyes locking onto yours as his thumb gently brushes your knuckles, “the way you love me. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. All I’ll ever need.”

Each word, each touch, each kiss seems to bring you closer to unraveling. The coil winds so tight within you, each movement of his pushing you closer to the edge. His body presses into yours, the rhythm of his hips matching the frantic beating of your heart.

His voice, low and rough, murmurs against your ear, words of devotion, each one sending jolts of electricity through your body. He moves with purpose, each thrust taking you higher.

And then, just as the tension reaches its peak, everything explodes in a rush. You come, your body tensing, every nerve igniting as your eyes stay locked on his. You watch the way his expression shifts, the way his breath catches, and in that shared moment, it feels like time itself pauses—just long enough for the two of you to fully experience the depth of your connection.

His grip on you tightens, the intensity of the moment reflected in his eyes, and with a final, desperate thrust, he follows you, his own release washing over him. His name escapes your lips, soft and breathless, and in that instant, there’s no room for anything else but the overwhelming wave of closeness, of love, of pure, shared bliss.

And as the world slowly comes back into focus, you both remain tangled in each other’s arms, hearts still racing, breaths still shaky. The chaos of everything outside, the unresolved tension, the emotional fires that once threatened to destroy you both; none of it matters anymore.

In this moment, it’s just the two of you, holding each other like the world could fall apart and you wouldn’t care. There are no unspoken words, no distance between you, just a quiet understanding that everything you need is here, in his arms.

It feels like the safest place in the world. Where it’s just you and him, imperfectly in sync.

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