#miley cyrus screaming voice: WHAT DOES IT MEAN | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jisungparker · 3 years

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I'm my mother's daughter

pairing: lee minho x fem!reader // ex!bang chan x fem!reader

song: miley cyrus - mother’s daughter

themes: fluff, angst, smut (+ general warnings below)

snippet: “No, seriously. I’m sorry that I upset you, and I’m sorry you had to see it.. to hear it. But I’m more sorry I ever had to, because you shouldn’t have. You didn’t deserve any of it. And if you thought for a second that anything you’ve done deserved any of that? Then I’m going to spend every day undoing that.. because it’s me and you now, okay? If someone has something to say about you, they’re saying it to me too. And that’s it.” 29k

general warnings: fem!reader struggles to get pregnant and does get pregnant; reader’s mother is dead; mentions/descriptions of mental health disorders: narcissistic personality disorder (reader’s mother), postnatal depression (only symptoms of; not diagnosed or treated; only talked out); reader’s mother is incorrectly diagnosed with: bipolar disorder, pathological lying); reader refers to chan as controlling (his actions) and he can be read as manipulative; mentions of low sperm count and infertility (insults referring to these are made); violence (a quickly ended fist fight); blood mention; arson mention; mention of fem!reader’s period; user dissociates a few times throughout fic; possible food/diet/weight related triggers in reference to pregnancy; game of thrones incest joke (one); christianity.

smut warnings: thigh riding, nipply play, fingering (f receiving); oral (m + f receiving); piv; cum eating; pregnant seggz happens.

a/n: ATTENTION: LEE MINHO IS A SOFT LOVER AND I WILL DIE ON THAT HILL. Also, this is me trying to prove to myself that someone can have good intentions, be the sweetest angel ever and still be the main antagonist of a story. With that being said… BANG CHAN HAS NOT A BAD BONE IN HIS BODY. GOODNIGHT. This was.. a lot. But also the best thing I have ever done and I hope you love it. Thank you if you do read it. Have a GREAT day.

0 MONTHS

“Y/N! Open the door!”

The first thing your mother taught about love was that it can’t fix everything. Of course she lied, your mother always lied. She lied about a whole manner of things, no matter how great or small. If she could lie about it, she would. Whether it be the tooth fairy, Saint Nicholas, the Easter bunny. Her string of pre, post and during extramarital affairs, the reason your father left, his real identity. That being said, you always believed her worst offence was her insistence that she ever really loved you, the lie easily slipping out between her dry, gnawed lips before a kiss goodnight, every wave goodbye. But you were wrong. Your mother’s most heinous offence was the first thing she ever taught you about love.

“Y/N,” his voice is soft now, almost soothing. You recognise that trick a mile away. Ears already numb, you dig the heel of your palms further into them, your eyes squished against your knees. “I didn’t mean what I said before. It’s not your fault, okay? None of this is your fault. So just- just come out so we can talk. Please?”

“Chan, just go!” You can feel him, his hands shaking the handle as he kneels at the sound of your voice. “Just- get out!”

“Y/N, please.” You think you might scream just to drown him out. Scream until you can’t anymore, scream until he gives up on you. But you’re no longer a kid, you’re an adult, and adults don’t scream just to be heard. “Just talk to me.”

Chan can’t take back what he said. About your mother, or your many failed attempts at becoming the very thing you feared being the most. “There’s nothing to talk about. I’m the reason this isn’t working, you said so yourself-”

“I was wrong. I didn’t mean that, I was just angry. It’s not your fault-”

“What difference does it make?” He tries the door again when he hears you begin to cry, the handle stiff beneath his palm. “I can’t give you what you want, so just go.”

“What I want is you, Y/N. I love you.”

“Why? Just get out before it’s too late-” It even hurts to speak, your chest tight, throat dry as you think back to just minutes ago. “That’s what you want right? Then go!”

Your mother always lied.

Love can’t fix everything.

“I’m over this. I’m over trying- I’m over you! I’m done! So just- get out!”

Love can’t fix everything, love can’t fix a damn thing.

‘Breakup advice: Five foolproof tips for getting over your ex. Add your own in the comments down below.’ When the words glare up at you from your phone screen, you stiffen. As naturally as you can, you look around your empty, larger than usual apartment, wondering how your timeline just.. knew. Your eyes skim over the spot where Chan would usually sit, on the cream couch opposite, scouring prenatal care sites. You keep reading before the tiny well in your eyes swells into a full blown stream.

‘In the wise words of our Lord and Saviour: If you’re under him, you ain’t gettin’ over him.’ That was easy enough. Of late, the very idea of fucking Chan made you want to set yourself on fire on a regular day, let alone now. That’s not to say the sex wasn’t great before. It was. At times you thought Chan had your bodymap tattooed to the inside of his eyelids. He knew you like the back of his hand, right next to the entire arachnid family. That’s when you knew you had it bad: when Chan could go on for hours debunking all the myths about his beloved black widows, as if the conversation alone didn’t make you want to set yourself on fire. You wonder if there is a tip about how to stave off the sudden urge to commit self-arson when your eyes catch the time. As of eight minutes ago you have gone a full twenty-four hours without speaking to Chan. Not without great effort on your part. He has called too many times to count, your voicemail full to the figurative brim, pixels pouring out the sides of an imaginary, digital mailbox, his apologies tumbling out into the abyss.

‘As cliche as it sounds: Do some stretches! Stay healthy!’ You laugh aloud. You’re in better shape than you have ever been your entire life. You’re even bingeing on fruit bars and spoonfuls of peanut butter, too lazy to leave the house for any real junk food. Chan had you on a diet so strict, he cleared your cupboards of any and all food deemed remotely enjoyable. You remember a fight that ensued the day Felix called in a rage, asking why he had to hear from Jisung who heard from Changbin that you and Chan were trying for a baby, after the anything but subtle Chan asked the sports nutritionist of all people for a prenatal diet ‘for a friend’. Chan even went as far as cancelling any date nights that meant so much as driving by a fast food place, and considering your apartment building was wedged between a bakery and an Italian place, you weren’t too surprised when he started cooking for date night. Damn those prenatal care sites.

‘*Trigger warning to those without a bath tub* Fill that puppy to the brim and give yourself a good soak! You deserve it!’ This one is less a tip, but rather a need. It should go without saying that too lazy to leave the house went as far as not bathing. In fact, you’re still in your outfit from the night before. It had been date night and to Chan’s credit, he covered your eyes as he guided you off the temptation plagued street before taking you to an ice-cream parlour. To Chan’s discredit, he hadn’t said the ice-cream there sucked. It’s what started the argument, why you weren’t up for sex on sex night - which, bar the few fleeting days of your period, was every other day without fail for the last six months. Anyway, the ice-cream sucked. Of course this escalated, Chan’s positive and down right aggravating facade crumbling as you kept complaining. You think it’s a defence you’ve always had, projecting. You learned it from your mother. It wasn’t her fault the tooth fairy didn’t visit, but yours because the poor thing couldn’t get the tooth out from under your big head. It wasn’t her fault you didn't have money for college, but yours for thinking you could afford to go in the first place. It wasn’t her fault your dad left, but yours - for not being his to begin with.

‘Step one: Pick up that phone; Step two (unless you’re using your phone to read this, then wait until after you finish): Call your bestie.. bestie!’. You haven’t found the courage to call Felix yet. Instead, you count down the seconds until Chan finally caves, accepting that maybe you’re serious about your breakup and does the job for you. You can picture it now, Felix’s sweet concern pouring through the receiver, overpowering his anger for being the last to know everything. His soothing voice drowned out by his laboured breaths as he sprints straight to your apartment. It might make you feel better, you think, seeing Felix. It would feel better than spending the night wallowing in self pity, in your own filth. It might even fix the ache in your chest, having someone hold you that wasn’t doing it just to put a baby in you on the day an app told them to. The idea quickly evolves into an action as you decide to call him. But then your door knocks, making you give your apartment another once over.

“I swear to God, if Felix is at the door I’m checking for bugs,” you mutter threateningly, though a little bit hopeful.

‘Hey.” The thought of Chan being on the other side of the door crosses your mind a few seconds too late when you’re met with someone who isn’t your bleach blonde best friend. Though disappointed, you’re still relieved it isn’t Chan. “Chan here?”

“No.” Even with all the time you have spent crying over him these past twenty four hours, you still hadn’t said his name aloud. Hearing it jars you in a way you can’t ignore. And neither can he.

“You good?”

Concern isn’t a word you would attach to Lee Minho. Though you’re not sure of many you would. You don’t know him as well as one would know one of their boyfriend’s best friends, though you used to. Kind of. You all went to college together, once you took out a loan the same cost as a suburban house deposit. Funnily, you had met Minho first. Though initially an unusual choice of friend for your childhood best friend, you met him at Felix’s first dance showcase. Described by the entire dance team as the Terpsichore of their squad, the then Sophomore’s abilities really hadn’t been exaggerated. Minho danced like his namesake willed it. The only solo of the night, Minho moved like his feet were at the piano’s command, music flowing through him as he glided across the stage, memory alone guiding his steps. As if the dance were embedded in his very bones, his muscles twitching from the tension but soothed by his skill.

You never said so. You never got the chance. He was an ass then, and he’s an ass now.

“Oi!” It took Minho’s hand waving in your face to realise he was still standing there, waiting for a response. When you just blink, staring at him, he sniffs in obvious exasperation. “Did he say when he’d be back?”

“He won’t be.” You say stupidly, though you only realise this when his brows knit, rushing to add- “For a while. He won’t be back for a while.”

“Okay.” There’s another stare off before he sighs. “Do you even know why I’m here?”

A lie rests on the tip of your tongue before you bite it back. You promised yourself a very long time ago that you would never be like your mother, that though lies never hurt in the moment, they did in the long run. But then again, you have just spent the last few months of your relationship pretending. And everyone knows the difference between a lie and pretend is imagination, which you think you have plenty of. You think you might comment a tip of your own: ‘Do all the things you wanted to before your ex came and ruined everything.’

“Of course,” you nod, giving him a once over you see the huge tool kit he has by his feet. “To fix the..”

“..the coffee machine.”

“The coffee machine! Yes! Of course!” Moving aside, you let him in, missing how his eyes linger on you as he removes his shoes. Following him to your kitchen, again, you realise seconds too late what you’re sure Minho knows too. You don’t have a coffee machine.

Chan sent him.

When he places, or rather drops Chan’s industrial tool kit on your laminate floor, you glare at him as he turns to face you. “Minho, if you’re here to talk about Chan, you might as well leave-”

“I’m not.” He says simply, removing his jacket as he stares into your red rimmed eyes. “I’m here to babysit.”

You wonder why the word irks you. Less because you know he means you, more because that could- or rather should be a reason he’s here one day. But it won’t be. “Chan sent you to babysit me?”

“Not his exact words,” his voice is muffled by your cupboards, cupboards he is scouring for anything remotely tasty. You wonder who's going to tell him. “But he might as well have- why do you guys always have such shit food?”

“Minho, go home.”

“Can’t do that.” Squatting with only a dancer’s ease, he continues his futile search before reaching for his phone. “Chan’s weeping kept me up all night. And I’ve heard you cry, you’re not nearly as loud- want anything?” Shoving his phone in your hand, he walks around you and out of the kitchen. Looking at the screen, you see a delivery app open. You never thought to order in. You never do.

Just then, you hear the television in the other room and think you might scream.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Entering your living room, you find him lounged on the opposite end of your couch, his feet on the dent your body had made. “You’re not staying here.”

“Look,” he starts, spitting out the bite he took of your fruit bar. “He tried calling Felix but he’s not picking up and thought it’s because he’s here. But evidently-” he declares, waving his hands around your empty apartment. “He’s not. And you’re clearly in no state to be alone.”

“I’m fine.”

“Right,” he says, grabbing his phone out of your hands and eyeing the app. “And you also didn’t almost cry when I said his name earlier- pick something, I’m not picking for you.”

“I ate already..” Minho isn’t a particularly intimidating person once you get to know him. But given how little you do, you roll your eyes before taking the phone back and adding food. You won’t deny your excitement. It would be your first takeout in a while. Your first unhealthy, unplanned meal for months. You stave off thoughts of what that was meant to mean before. When you’re done he reads through it before looking up. “What?”

“Is that it?” When you nod, he shrugs, probably adding on some extra sides for good measure. It’s a few more seconds before he realises you’re still watching him, unmoving. “You gonna sit?”

“You’re in my seat.”

“No,” he says, pointing at the stretch of emerald beside him. “That’s your seat.” Glaring at him, you wonder whether it’s worth a fight. You decide against it. You’ve got no fight left. It’s suddenly quiet, minus the sound of the show on the television. Until Minho ruins it, of course. “It’s on its way.”

Ignoring him, you keep your eyes on the screen, taking nothing in. All you can think is how does he do it? Chan. How has he found a way to be controlling from all the way across town?

“Where’s Felix?” You nearly jump, his voice loud in the otherwise silent space. “Why isn’t he here?”

“Not everyone goes crying to their best friend after a breakup.”

“Don’t let Jisung hear you say that,” he laughs, unperturbed. “But a breakup you say?”

“Sorry,” you mock. “I know you’re not familiar with the term. It happens at the end of a relationship. Should I explain that one too?”

“Oh, I know about those,” you hate that he’s enjoying this because you know he’s goading you. “I just know he’s not calling it that.”

You also hate how good he is at it. “What is he calling it?”

“A misunderstanding.”

“A what?” Minho might regret saying that. No, actually he does, especially when your eyes start to fill with hateful tears, your nails nearly cutting your palms. “A misunderstanding?”

“Yeah.”

“Did he tell you what he said to me?” You nearly cry, seething at the idea of Chan belittling what was meant to be the end of your almost six year relationship. “A misunderstanding? There was no misunderstanding! Does he think I’m stupid? A misunderstanding? How can I misunderstand when he kept saying it to make sure I didn’t fucking misunderstand?” You turn to see Minho watching you, his face expressionless bar the growing concern behind his eyes, sprinkled with a pinch of fear. “I have tried- for months, months- to give that prick what he wanted. Months! Months of no drinking, no smoking, no nothing! Months of fucking crystals and fish oils, and vitamins, of- of counting calories, of dieting! Of his constant nitpicking, months of lying, of being blamed, being babied, of being a fucking sex doll! Months of fucking hating my life!”

“Hey, I’m sorry I-”

“And he calls it a misunderstanding!”

“Y/N!” He’s on one knee in front of you at this point, hands on your shoulders. He has to shake you a little bit, his eyes wide as he stares right into yours. They’re streaming, right down your cheeks into your lap. It’s quiet for a while after, his hands awkwardly squeezing your shoulders as you pant, your body weak from a full day of barely moving to such an intense excursion of energy. When he raises his brows in silent ask, you nod, watching him stand before he quietly asks- “You been outside today? D’you need some air?”

Grabbing his coat, he pats his pockets as he waits by your kitchen door. You don’t say anything, you just sigh and get up, leading the way to your fire escape. Unlatching the kitchen window, he climbs out first, moving along to make room for you. When he moves to shimmy the window back down, you almost yell when he rushes- “This isn’t my first time, chill,” before wedging a broken piece of wood in the gap. Digging around his pockets, he explains- “You guys have alright parties but I’m not doing two flights of stairs just for a cigarette.”

Eyeing the cigarette he offers you, you’re hesitant as you take it. As much as you hated Chan when he suggested you quit, stopping was one of the only choices you don’t regret making. “You’re smoking again?” You’re not sure why it surprises you so much. Minho smoked in college, not often sure, but often enough to deem him a smoker. You hadn’t seen him smoke since he graduated though, when he took up dancing professionally. So the sight is slightly jarring.

“Not really,” the wind blows when he sparks up, so you cup your hands to protect the flame. “Cheers- I just have them for when I’m stressed.”

“Oh.” He lights yours with far more ease, pocketing his lighter when you ask- “So, you’re stressed?”

“No, I just haven’t slept in twenty four hours.” He says, staring out at the street below. Taking another drag, the smoke billows in the wind when he admits- “And I’m not having this for me.”

“I’m not stressed.” You see his raised brow from your peripheral, forcing you to add- “I’m angry.”

It’s silent for a moment before he reluctantly asks- “Do you want to talk about it?”

You’re not dumb. You know whatever you say will go straight to Chan. “Not particularly.”

“Okay.” It’s silent for another moment before he adds- “You can if you want. I won’t tell him.”

“Sure.”

“Seriously,” and to his credit, he does sound serious. Which is another word you wouldn’t attach to him. Minho wasn’t a serious guy. Sure he looked it, while dancing, while listening, while doing.. anything really. Actually, based on first looks alone, you wouldn’t think Minho was anything but. You forget your point when he speaks again. “Look, I know he’s my friend, but if you don’t want me to, I won’t.”

Chewing your lip, you consider it. But this is Chan’s friend, one of his best. He’s at his house for god’s sake. They’d been friends a whole lot longer than you’d even known them. What loyalty does he owe you?

“Plus, you’re quite scary when you’re angry,” he admits. Tempting, you think, but not enough. “And..”

“And what?”

Straightening his back, he stands, leaning over the railing, he looks down onto the street. Voice slightly muffled by the light traffic below, he sighs. “I’ve been trying for years and I still haven’t gotten under your skin. So if Chan can do all that-” he pauses to nod his head towards your kitchen, to your living room more specifically. “In a few months? I wanna know about it.”

“And what?” You scoff, feeling light headed as you take a long drag. “Take notes?”

“No.” Looking at him, you see something new. Annoyance. Though you think it might be misdirected when he continues- “So I can check him for it.”

You stare at him for a second. A long one. Or it feels that way as he holds your gaze, letting you decide whether you trust him or not. You decide you do, even if it’s on Felix’s merit alone. At least that’s what you tell yourself.

“We’re- we were- Chan and I. We were trying for a baby.” He doesn’t seem surprised, but you reckoned he knew as much. Every other fucker did. “It has been a while since we started,” you lie. Well, not exactly. It has been a while, but ‘a while’ suggests you don’t know how long. You do. You always counted the days in your head whenever Chan said something that made you want to quit. “And it hasn’t been working. I had enough.”

“Right.” Ashing out his cigarette, he reaches for a manky tea cup before offering it to you. “And that started the fight?”

“No,” you laugh. “The shitty ice-cream did.”

“Right..” Watching you oddly, he asks- “How?”

“Well, I was just sick of everything. So I said, ‘is this our life now? Shit sex and ice-cream’?” You laugh when he does, joining him at the railing. “I couldn’t do a thing for myself anymore. It was like I went from a mother who didn’t give a fuck to one who did, in every sense of the word. I was suffocating. So I said enough.”

When you don’t say anything more, he turns to you. “But what did he do?”

“Nothing.. bad bad. Just- said things I didn’t like. About me, my mom..” You swallow, realising you don’t ever talk about her to anyone. Barely to Felix, even less to Chan. Because even with as little as he knew, he still managed to weaponise it. “She was bipolar, lied a lot. She wasn’t a terrible mom, just shouldn’t have been one. I guess it’s made me feel like.. like maybe I shouldn’t either. Like all our issues was a sign of that. That’s what upset him. That I wasn’t looking at it how he was, that I wasn’t letting go of that, wasn’t believing everything would work. And I said because I didn’t. I don’t. Not anymore. I was done trying, and the worst bit is it wasn’t because of my mom, or me, or anything else making me want to stop. Just him.”

You don’t realise you’re crying until the wind blows because it’s sharp, like little knives to the cheek. Minho doesn’t say anything for a while. What is there to say? You think what Felix would say were he here. ‘Babe.’ It always started like that. He wouldn’t mention you not telling him. Felix wasn’t like that, not when you needed him. He’d just hold you. Chan would do the same once upon a time, words tumbling out of his mouth to calm you down, bring you back to him. Your mother? She never saw you cry. You never let her.

But Minho? What will Minho say? Something funny maybe, something about your poor taste in men and his likewise poor taste in friends. You’ll probably correct him, ‘you know Felix, you prick’, to which he’d agree, before reminding you he said ‘friends’ as in, in general, not all.

But he doesn’t. He just says- “I’m glad you did that.”

To which you say- “What?”

Zipping up his jacket, he shrugs. “What what? I’m glad. No one should do something they don’t want to, especially something so serious. And whether you’re to ‘blame’ or not, whether he’s sorry or not, what he said was wrong. Deal with your shit in your own time, it’s not up to anyone else, not even you. If it was, you wouldn’t be so unhappy.”

Blinking at him, you watch him look away. You both stay like this for a while, a long while, letting the cold air bite your skin as you bask in the night air. An unpeaceful peace.

“Oh,” Minho says, digging his phone out. “Foods here.”

It wasn’t spring rolls or prawn toast Minho was adding. It was booze.

Though maybe he should have, because he did say for you not to touch his extra order of vegetable chowmein, before giving up after thirty long minutes of your annoying pleas, and now you’re feeling all kinds of tipsy. You’re both only a bottle and a half of red wine deep, but you hadn’t drank in a while. Which explains why the sight of him on your upholstered couch doesn’t bother you as much as it did before. You also don’t know how you got onto the topic of your diet plan, but he’s cringed from start to end.

“So, wait-” forgoing his glass, Minho reaches for the bottle, drinking straight from it. “You’re telling me, you couldn’t eat steak?”

“Not unless it was well done. But who’s-”

“Who’s eating that?”

“I know. Yeah, he didn’t let me do a lot. Which is crazy because I wasn’t even pregnant, and I was like, ‘can I do nine months of this?’”

“Of what?”

“I’ve been eating like an olympian for the last six months. You know, I can’t even look at Changbin without wanting to scream. Which is unfair but you know what else is? I have muscles in my jaw, Minho. My jaw, from biting my tongue every time I heard ‘Changbin said’. One time I was just gonna ask if Changbin wanted to join us one evening. Make sure he wasn’t fucking me wrong.” Minho splutters at that, but you’re on a roll. “No word of a lie! One time, I’m geared up, you know? I’m ready to go, actually in the mood for once and this idiot goes- ‘Oh! Changbin said..’ while he’s fucking sliding in.. and I’m like, you know what, he might as well fuck Changbin seeing as he loves him so much.” If you stopped then, you reckon that would’ve been fine. But it’s not the first time you didn’t stop something you thought wasn’t right before unthinkingly adding- “By this point, I was already imagining other people, he was this close to sticking Changbin’s face up there and I couldn’t imagine you guys while fucking, what if I said your names?”

By now, Minho has mopped up as much red wine as he possibly could without you noticing, but even if he hadn’t he’d have stopped at that, watching your face quickly disappear behind your empty glass. “So what..” he starts, question forming as he goes. “If you- if you weren’t scared you’d moan our names you’d do it? Imagine us?”

A bit slower on the uptake than usual, you still clock on. He’s goading you. You know it. He’s looking for a reaction.

The issue is, what reaction is it? Does he want to embarrass you? Or get under your skin?

You could never tell with him.

So you do what feels most natural. Most true to you.

With a shrug, you quickly snatch the bottle before he can, refilling your glass carefully as you eye the mess you watched but ignored him make. “Yeah.”

Minho always had no tells. You realise nothing has changed while you watch him wait for the bottle, taking a long sip before asking- “Who?”

Your shrug is less natural this time, you can feel it in the stiffness of your back. Your words are even less so. “I dunno.” You take an emergency sip, before adding- “Hyunjin’s cute.”

Hyunjin is a natural first. Who wouldn’t want to fuck Hyunjin?

“He is.” Minho agrees, staring blankly at you. When he doesn’t say anything more, you feel the urge to continue. To keep proving him wrong.

“And Seungmin,” you admit, thankfully a little less timid, though you think the drink is to thank for that. “I don’t think I’ve got a type, but I dated a lot of guys like him before Chan.”

“Like him how?”

You don’t shrug this time in fear you might get stuck that way. “Just chill. I feel like he matches my vibe.”

Minho nods at that, watching as you down the last of the wine. It’s quiet when you see him remember something. Something you too remembered. Something that if you had remembered sooner, you reckon you would have steered clear of Seungmin’s name the whole night.

“Wasn’t there this time you said,” Fuck. “And I quote-” Double fuck. “‘How are you two so alike, yet I don’t want to punch Seungmin everytime he opens his mouth?’”

“Cute that you remember.”

“Cute you think I’d forget.”

“Remind me why you’re in my house again?”

“I’m babysit-” The joke ends as soon as he cuts himself off. All of it. The banter, the light mood. The term wouldn’t have bothered you this time. It wouldn’t be personal, it wouldn’t be a dig, it’d just be a word. But when you see concern flash over his eyes, you feel them coming. Tears. Hot tears. Hateful tears. “Hey, I’m sorry-”

“No, it’s fine-”

You don’t think you have ever hugged Minho. Not once. Of course, you have seen him hug everyone else, but you pitied them all, even going as far as refusing to hug Felix after he did so. It wasn’t only something you had never imagined happening, but something you never once imagined needing. But even though you deny it, you have always craved attention, or rather affection. You realise this as soon as you’re engulfed by him, finding it impossible to forget him and just focus on the feeling. His arms aren’t as big as Chan’s, and they aren’t as slim as Felix’s, Minho’s resting at a happy middle. They’re.. good. The hug feels good in the way Chan’s feel safe, and the way Felix’s are affectionate. It feels good, though fleeting. As if you don’t need them around you forever but just long enough to make you feel good, feel better.

Minho holds you like he will for as long as you need.

And he does. Some time passes as Minho just cradles you in his arms, sitting there, limp though gripping as you cry, a palm firmly rubbing up and down your spine. It’s surreal in a way, how fast things change. How one day, Minho was the elusive friend of a friend, then suddenly your anchor. A stranger at times yet so familiar too. How he could be the last person you look for in a room, though the safest place when you need him to be. Like now, as he slowly purges you of all anguish, with nothing but his touch.

Minho holds you like he will for as long as you need. Which is about ten minutes, your warm tears soaking his shirt through to the skin. You can imagine the feeling, the discomfort. It’s what pulls you together, sniffling as you rest your head on his firm chest.

“You did that on purpose,” when you feel him stiffen beneath you, imagining his defensive face, you clarify- “You obviously just wanted to make a move.”

You relax when he does, his words wedged between a scoff. “You act like I have shame,” pulling away from him, you look up to find him smirking. “Like I need an excuse-”

Only then do your eyes meet, his full of guarded concern, yours red, wet, tired. He’s close, close enough to see where the warmth in your iris’ end, and the red begins. When he doesn’t waver, just holding your gaze, you clear your dry throat, thinking of something to assuage the awkward air.

“I’m gonna go shower,” you say suddenly, throwing yourself off the couch. “Get ready for bed.”

“Cool.”

When you return, you find him sitting in the same place, your dent more or less gone. Your eyes almost meet when he looks up from his phone, yours still focused on the spot over his shoulder, a question forming.

Where would he sleep? The obvious answer is the couch, but would he be comfortable? ‘What choice does he have?’, you ask yourself. ‘It wasn’t me who displaced him-’

“I’m not-” again, you have to stop yourself jumping when he speaks suddenly, his spine straight, face unreadable. “I’m not.. texting anyone if that’s what you’re-”

“What?” His sudden assurance comes at an odd time, especially when the thought hadn’t crossed your mind. “I-I didn’t.. I wasn’t thinking that.” He raises a brow, locking his phone before he tosses it aside, waiting. “I was just thinking where you’d sleep.”

“Oh.” When you look at him, you think he’s- and it could be a trick of the light but.. he’s blushing. Was he being defensive? He couldn’t have been. Not for no reason. But if he thought you were accusing him, maybe he was worried.. offended? Maybe concerned. He doesn’t give you more time to think when he clears his throat, ‘solving’ the issue. “Well, here’s fine.. though Chan is in my bed, so I would think an eye for an eye-”

“And I would think I missed the part where that’s my problem,” you hum with a faux pout, pointing a thumb down the hall. “Come, I’ve got pillows and stuff.”

Groaning, he still stands and follows you to the end of the hall, watching as you open a door to the tiniest nook you call your utility room. It’s nothing exciting. Just a washer, dryer, sink and storage. Swinging a little cupboard door open, you reach for two pillowcases and pass them to him. Stepping up onto the nearest machine to the wall, you grab two pillows and a blanket from a little gap in the wall you’d stuffed them in. When you move to sit, you feel his hands hovering by your hips, steadying you. “I got it,” you say, sitting before taking a pillow case from him.

“I didn’t know this existed,” he says, a little too loud for the small room.

“We call it Felix’s room,” you joke, remembering when you first dubbed it that, imagining him one day haunting the small room, kindly turning the pillow case outside-in for future owners. When he just stares at you, you huff. “You don’t think he looks a bit like a cat?”

“No.”

“Whatever.” Looking at a little corner by the dryer, you explain- “When I first got this place, I always pictured a litter box tucked in right there.”

“You like cats?” He asks, watching you nod. “Why don’t you get one?”

“Chan’s not a fan..” when he raises a brow, you laugh. Oh yeah. It feels awkward for just a second before you remember- “You have a cat right?”

“Yeah,” he nods with a smile, trading you the second pillow case for the first pillow. “Three.”

“Three?” You don’t realise you’re smiling until he tilts his head. Shaking your head, intrigued by the softness on his face, you quietly mumble- “That’s sweet. I didn’t expect that.”

“You’re not the first person to say that.”

“What?” Aghast, you ask mockingly, “You mean there are other people who don’t think you’re a cat person?”

“Har har”, hitting you with the pillow before he looks around the room, he points out- “It’s really warm, mine would love it in here.”

“Stop, you’re tempting me.”

“Why not?” He shrugs. “What’s stopping you?”

What is stopping you? Not Chan.. though you’re not sure the two are unrelated.

“I guess it’s just a bit.. weird,” explaining as you roll your neck- “You know, downgrading from a kid to a cat.”

“Downgrade.” He scowls with an eye roll. “Sure.”

“I take it you’re a cat dad?”

Shrugging again, he agrees kind of shyly. “Basically. Feels like having kids sometimes.”

“That’s cute.”

“Woah,” when you look at him, he’s smirking. “Sweet and cute. Stop flirting with me.”

“Shut up, that’s not how I flirt.” When his eyebrows raise, you roll your eyes. “I’m more of a tease,” you explain, straightening out the pillow in your lap. “I like making them think I hate them.”

“Hm.”

It’s quiet for a second before you realise what you’ve said. What you’ve confessed to.

“What?”

“What what?” Finally hitting him back, he jumps out the way, laughing. “What? I didn’t say anything. Don’t get mad at me because you admitted you’ve been flirting with me for the last six years.”

“As if!”

“Then what would you call it?”

“Not flirting!” When he just laughs harder, you groan. “And you’re one to talk! You did it back!”

Then, like the most casual, simplest thing in the world, he says- “That’s ‘cos I liked you.”

You blink. “What?”

He shrugs. “I liked you, before obviously.”

“Before what?”

“Before you and Chan.” You blink hard, silently urging him to continue. “I’m surprised you didn’t know. Felix did.”

“He did?”

When he shrugs again, you realise something that would’ve helped you these past six year. You might both have the same tell. He’s shy. “I mean- it was nothing. Left as quick as it came.”

“Which was how long?”

“Dunno,” looking around the room, he counts the dates on an invisible calendar. “A few months.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” At that, Minho looks at you like you’re an idiot. “Ah, right.”

He wants to say Chan. You almost laugh. Maybe Chan is the ghost that’ll one day haunt this room.

“Well, you should’ve.” You say. “Things could’ve been different.”

“You say that now..” When he laughs, you frown in confusion, making him roll his eyes. “Come on, you fell hard for the guy.” That is true. What you could contest is what he says next. “No one could compete.”

“You don’t know that..”

Crickets.

“..You were flirting, weren’t you?”

“No.” You say, averting your eyes when you add- “I mean not- not the whole time. That’s just how we were, you know?”

“Sure.”

“You’re annoying.”

You always knew how small this room was. But only now do you notice just how small when you recognise the warmth on your legs is his body pressed to your knees as he places the other pillow on your lap.

“You say that.. but I wasn’t the one flirting with you.”

“Yes you were!”

“But you did it first.”

“I didn’t!”

When he just laughs at you, a smile lingering, you hit him. “Look, there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just flirting.” You want to scream, because you know he doesn’t mean before. He means the whole time. “I mean, if it was just flirting like you say..” When you don’t say anything, you groan at the smug look on his face. “I knew it.”

“Well if you knew, then why didn’t you say anything?”

“I already told you why.” Chan. The ghost haunting this conversation. When he doesn’t say anything for a while, you wonder aloud if Felix was the only one who knew.

“Did Chan know?” Met with further silence, you blanch. “He knew?”

Coming to his friend’s defence, he shrugs. “I dunno. I mean I reckon he must have had a clue, I talked about you a lot.”

“You did?” You watch him force a glare at the softness in your voice.

“Only bad things of course.” He adds for good measure, visibly pleased by your timely eye roll. “But..” he starts looking away. “I never talk about anyone.. so yeah.”

All press is good press you guess.

“Wow.” Chan knew Minho liked you. And he still went there. “Well he’s not a very good friend is he?”

Minho just shrugs again. “I would’ve done the same.”

“Really?”

“Have you seen you?”

What is happening?

“What do you mean?”

He doesn’t shrug fully this time, you can see him stopping himself. Oh he’s definitely shy. “I mean just that. You’re-” Oh, he is so shy. “Stop fishing for compliments.”

“It’s hardly fishing if you’re just handing them out.”

Tongue in his cheek, he nods, “Right. Speaking of hand outs..” He’s fully resting on you now, folded arms on the pillows in your lap. “If I asked you out back then, would you have said yes?”

You feel yourself warm as he watches your lips. How the words start then stop forming, how your tongue rests on the back of your top incisors, the ‘no’ struggling to materialise. Why should I lie, you have to ask yourself. Though you can hear your mother’s unusually righteous voice urging you to do so. “Yeah, I would’ve.”

Still staring at your mouth, looking annoyingly pleased by this, he says- “Guess I shoulda done then.”

“Guess you should’ve.”

Aside from your hug earlier, this is the closest you have ever been to Minho without your fist swinging into his arm. Now, and in the insanely warm room you’re both in, you can almost feel his breath on your lips. “Guess I lost my chance.”

That holds weight and rightly gives you immediate pause. He guesses? Is he saying it as in the chance is lost, or is he checking? Is he even serious? Is this Minho taking a joke too far? Is this Minho goading you? Or.. or is this Minho finally taking that chance?

Why should I lie?

“Yeah..” you swallow, eyes on his. You have to clench your fists to stop from trembling when you find his eyes still stuck on your parted lips. “I guess.”

“You guess?” He hums, finally looking up just as your eyes fall. “Or you know?”

Oh. He is definitely taking that chance.

It’s silent for what feels like hours before you breathe- “I guess.”

So. Today, you have gone from avoiding being around Minho for longer than a few minutes at a time, to letting him stay in your home, to hugging him, to kissing him.

And while that seems like a misstep on your part, you can’t find it in you to care. Not when for the first time in what feels like years, someone is kissing you just to kiss you. Just because they want to.. because they want you.

And it’s nice. It isn’t rushed, or urgent, it’s just a kiss. It’s oddly gentle, Minho always seeming like the clashing teeth, bitten lips kind of guy. It jars you how slow his kiss is, how timed it is. As if he’s waited years for it. And then you remember he has. Minho liked you first. Before you ever got with Chan. Maybe before you ever met Chan. Seconds pass like this, his lips moving against yours, his breaths shallowing when you lean into him, your hand on his jaw. You nearly mewl when he hums into it, his tongue licking a slow stripe along the seam of your lips, sliding it in before you finally push the pillows onto the dryer, letting his arms wrap around your waist.

Now would be a good time to stop, to regroup. Realise what you were both doing. You - making out with your ex’s best friend. Minho - making out with his best friend’s ex.

But you don’t. You just let him pull you closer, pressing your chest to his, a hand pressed flat to the top of the machine, leaning his body over yours as he moves his lips to your jaw, pressing them down your neck before sucking. He grins against your skin when you whine, your hips rising up to his, your thighs stuck either side of his.

“What do you want?” He breathes over the cool spot he’d left on your neck. Laughing when you just grind into him again, nearly keening, he repeats- “Tell what you want, I’ll give it to you.”

“I-” he places both his hands either side of your neck, thumbs stroking your jaw, silently coaxing the words from you though unknowingly pushing them down. “I just- I just want to-”

You try to think this through. What do you want?

On the most animalistic, instinctual level - you want to come. For the past six months, maybe more, you have just wanted someone, anyone, to give you the most mind blowing, limb numbing and hip breaking orgasm. You used to want it to be Chan. But now? Now, it could be the delivery guy who left what feels like hours ago now. So you think what’s wrong with it being Minho? What’s left of your sound mind is telling you that you know what’s wrong with that. It’s Minho. Lee Minho, Chan’s best friend. Chan, who you were devoted to. To the point you were prepared to put your whole life on pause to start a family with him, to spend the rest of your life with him.

On the same instinctual level - you wanted a family. You wanted everything Chan did. As a kid, it used to be with a faceless person, the boy down the street. Whenever you played together as kids, it was with Felix when the game suited. Him in a crooked, double knotted tie and oversized dress shirt, you in a stained and tattered white dress with a cushion stuffed under it.

On an emotional level - you just want to feel something. Anything.

What do you want?

“I want you.” You whisper, hoping he just gets it, hoping he just does it.

If he sees the tears forming in your eyes, he ignores them. He ignores them along with all the sirens screaming in his head, telling him this is not why he’s here. This is not why Chan sent him, this is not what Chan said when he meant to take care of you. He ignores that in favour of nodding, a small- “yeah?” falling from his lips as his fingers pinch the ties of your shorts. “In here?”

Where else? You hadn’t changed your bedding. It still smelt like Chan. It didn’t feel right.

“Living room.”

You don’t have to tell him not to go to Chan’s couch. You don’t think he knows the intricacies of your relationship to that level, you don’t think he cares. You just gasp when he drops you on your couch, the one you’d both spent the last few hours undoing all the wrong Chan did just to do some wrong of your own.

You - letting your ex’s best friend kiss a path down your jaw, neck, chest. His fingers slipping into the waistband of your untied shorts, dragging them down your thighs to your knees before trailing them back along the bare path. Minho - letting you, his best friend’s ex, knot your fingers in his hair, reeling as he groans against your skin, his lips sucking a path up the inside of your thighs. His tongue lapping at the sore skin, soothing it as he did the ache his best friend left in your core and chest.

There’s a second where your heart sinks, when you feel him hovering, lingering, praying his second of clarity assuages when the filthiest moan leaves you, his lips sucking gently around your clit.

Love can’t fix everything. But fucking might.

You wake up alone.

Fighting through the pounding in your head, you slap around the coffee table for your bleating phone, turning off the alarm before unlocking it, eyes squinting as they land on the final tip.

‘Finally, always remember the golden rule of breakups: The easiest way to get over someone, is to get under someone else!

You dislike the post.

2 MONTHS

Sixty seconds.

There are times when minutes pass like seconds.

During that one minute count of hide and seek at your rich cousin’s house. During that last minute of pregaming before the cab arrives. During the last minute before bedtime on the night before the summer break ends. During the last minute of your favourite band’s encore stage. During the last minute on the last day of the year. The list goes on. There are times you think it cruel, time. How it slows and speeds at its leisure, both just as torturous, as dreadful. Time always seems to fly by when you need it most, and drags when you don’t.

Like now.

“How long has it been?”

“Uh-“ with his mouth hung open, Felix taps his phone back to life before answering- “Three seconds.”

Fifty-seven seconds.

“And now?”

“Um- six.”

Fifty-four.

“What about-”

“Y/N.” Kneeling on the cool tiled floor, he lifts your head from where it rests in your palms, taking your clammy hands in his before offering them a gentle squeeze. “You’re going to drive yourself crazy.”

“Too late.” You whisper, dragging your eyes up to meet his. “It’s like- I feel like I’m going to be sick.. but I’m not sure if that’s because I’m so nervous or..” He follows your gaze down to your lap. Well, your belly to be exact. Your belly where your fate currently lies. “How long now?”

“Y/N..” He taps on his phone screen anyway, calling out forty-five seconds left on the timer before leaving it on the ceramic tub edge. “You have nothing to be nervous about, this is exciting!”

“For you maybe. Time?”

“Twenty.” Forty seconds. “Listen. You’re going to be a wonderful parent, Y/N. Come on, you have your own place, a growing little business, and I know you and your family aren’t that close-”

“Felix-”

“Twenty-eight seconds- but you have an amazing best friend-”

“No, it’s not that-”

“And a boyfriend who’s crazy about you.”

“Chan and I are done, Lix.” In the silence, you think you could hear Felix’s heart break again, the notion of true love dying behind his eyes everytime you say it. “We’re done and nothing is going to change that. I love Chan, I do, I just- I can’t be with him. Not anymore. Not after.. Not after everything that’s happened.”

‘Everything’ is a topic you and Felix have mixed views on. His view of it being the forgivable - though the jury is still out on whether Felix is the right person to deem it such - drunken night of sad, passionate sex you had with his friend. Your view being the one night stand you had with a now estranged Minho.

“I know that- Y/N, I know that. But this-” he pauses, pointing to the window ledge with the tests on “this might change things.”

“And if it can’t?” He almost argues when you groan- “Lix! What if it isn’t.. What if it’s his?” You don’t have to say it. He knows who he is. “If I- if I am pregnant? This baby is not going to change anything, okay? So can you just drop-”

You’re nearly thrown off the toilet seat by the jolt Felix’s alarm sends through you, his phone sliding into the tub as your bodies rise at the obnoxious bleat coming from it.

“Hey,” he whispers when your hands begin to shake, eyes welling as his fill with understanding. “I’m with you whatever happens.” Grabbing your hands, he smiles. “No matter what, okay?”

Sixty seconds seemed to drag right until you needed them. You think back on the other seconds you’d spent in this same position. Hoping, praying for the opposite of what you did today, only to go unanswered.

And why would today be any different?

You hear Felix muffle his gasp from over your shoulder, his hands landing on your shoulders as yours cradle the two tests.

Two positives.

It’s a funny time to, but you think back to religious studies. The cup of milk. You think back and wonder if maybe God had misheard you, maybe He was the one who misunderstood. Because, yes, this is what you wanted all those months ago. A baby, half yours, half Chan’s. With your warm eyes and his defined nose, dimpled smile. Tufts of tight curls, pointing out in all directions. Small wrinkled fingers clinging to yours. Healthy. Happy. All the things a parent wishes for their child. All the things you wished for yours.

All the things you still wish for.

“So.. do I say congratulations or..”

“I’m gonna be a mom.” You breathe, the pad of your thumb swiping over the two parallel lines. A baby. Your baby.

“Guess that means I should cancel our booking at Levanter this weekend, huh?” Felix jokes, giving your shoulders a small squeeze. When he feels the beginnings of a sob rip through you he coos, “Hey, come here.”

Just as you turn to hug him, you get interrupted, almost dropping the test when your doorbell rings, your eyes snapping to Felix who flinches under your glare. “Who is that?”

“I-I don’t know-”

“Who did you tell?”

“No one!” When the door rings again, the wood shaking under a pounding fist, he adds- “I mean, I may have mentioned it to Jisung when I was leaving- he asked where I was running off to and he swore he wouldn’t- I’m sorry!”

Slamming the bathroom door behind you, the incessant ringing drowns out Felix’s apology.

‘Calm down,’ you tell yourself. ‘It’s just Chan. Just- tell him the truth. Tell him you’re pregnant.’

‘Don’t tell him’. You ignore the haunting dissuasion from your mother’s voice as you swing the door open with a deep breath, but feel it catch when your eyes land on him.

“Is it true?”

Because it’s not him.

“Are you pregnant?”

It’s Minho.

“Is it mine?”

Sixty seconds. Where are they when you need them?

4 MONTHS

There’s an awkward air permeating Changbin’s apartment for a number of reasons.

The first being it’s your first time in a room with them all since you found out. After Felix told Jisung, the line of communication easily gets a little bit fuzzy. You know Jisung does wonders with a story, so you’re certain Felix’s quick bit of news was spun a hundred different ways before it finally reached the second point of contention.

Minho.

Minho who now stands beside Jisung, the two talking in low voices, the latter blatantly tilting his head towards you before the former follows. The second his eyes find you, they drop to your stomach, softening a touch before they find yours then look away. You wonder if you can blame Minho for this, because you’re the one who demanded he keep this a secret - though you’re unsure how well he did such - for a little while longer. But it’s hard to care abot that right now, especially when he’s the reason why the awkwardness is a trifecta.

Chan knows you’re pregnant because of him. Chan had heard some news regarding you going around, and now without a direct line of contact, his first port of call had been Changbin, who directed it to Jisung who - sworn to silence by Felix’s kind pleas and Minho’s threatening warning - couldn’t see a reason not to inform the most likely father of your child. So.. it wasn’t directly Minho’s fault but, you weren’t going to blame the self-titled godfather of your future child for this. And for someone so terrifying, you’d think Minho could handle keeping his best friend quiet.

You don’t need to see Chan to know he’s here. His eyes have been glued to you since you walked in, and the whisper of what can only be your no longer barely there, but rather definitely there baby bump seemed to come with senses to the most heightened level. You feel all the eyes on you, but most of all his as Felix holds his arm out to you, failing to guide you away from every watchful eye, around the drinks table and straight for the snack table.

Seungmin seems to be the only one without a sensor on you, displaying genuine surprise then elation at your arrival.

“Hey,” he says, holding his plate out to you. “Cucumber?”

“Thanks.” You stiffen when Felix leaves to grab two beers for them and a club lemon for you, the seconds following his departure ticking by slowly in your head. Seungmin, always more observant than most, seems to sense this, standing in a way that forces your eyes away from the room full of staring eyes. Relaxing a little, you ask earnestly- “How’ve you been? How’s freelancing treating you?”

“Good. Thanks to you,” he nods with a humble shrug. “I got a few weddings booked from spring through to summer which should keep me fed until winter at the very least.”

“Oh shit, that’s amazing! They all got back to you then?”

“Yep, they loved my portfolio, may need some extra help but Jeongin’s up for playing caddie for some free booze so-”

“Hey.” You can’t make yourself turn towards him, not when you see Seungmin’s eyes widen a touch, quickly searching for someone you assume is Felix before they find yours. He knows. “Sorry, Min. Can I borrow her for a minute?”

You have an excuse readied on your tongue when a body slips between you, a head of dirty blonde hair filling your vision. “Hey, I got you a drink.”

“Should she be drinking-”

“A coke?” Minho jokes, voice empty. “Yeah, I think she’s good.”

“Y/N,” Chan calls, glaring at the cup, easily ignoring his friend. “Can we talk?”

“I said she’s good.”

“Minho.” His eyes are unnaturally soft when they meet your hard ones. Soft for him at least. “I’m good.”

Following Chan to the backyard, you force a smile when he holds the messily scrawled and crookedly hung ‘Happy Birthday Hyunjin’ banner up for you to pass under. The signs of early spring and open air flood your lungs as he guides you past the drinking games set up, to the rattan garden set.

Naturally, everything is weird, given your recent break up and growing bump. It’s especially weird because his eyes won’t leave your lap where your clenched fists lay, pressed to the no longer baggy t-shirt you opted for today.

Given the past few months - his departure from your life, your radio silence and what he must have heard through the grapevine - you know what’s coming. Chan knows it isn’t his. So you just brace yourself for the inevitable when he clears his throat, his voice coming out in a low whisper-

“I’m sorry.”

Looking up, you find his soft eyes have finally found their way to yours, admiring the faint glow.

“You’re sorry?”

“Yeah, for-” you blink a few times before you realise.. he’s crying. “I’m sorry I didn’t reach out sooner.” Either he ignores your confusion, or he just can’t place it when he continues- “I know what I said wasn’t fair, blaming you for all of it, for everything. It wasn’t fair and I know it’s my fault you didn’t tell me, that you didn’t think you could tell me. But I thought if I gave you space you would eventually and- I’m sorry.”

“Chan-”

“But- but I’m here now. And I want to be here for you, for him..” Him, you think, watching in a sick slow motion as Chan raises then lowers his outstretched hand to your belly. “I’m ready for us to be a family.”

Fuck.

“Chan,” you start, words jumbling in your head, sticking in your throat as you catch on. “Chan, I-”

“Listen, I know. I know it’s not how we planned.” His eyes shine when he smiles at you, thumb rubbing over your t-shirt slowly. “I wasn’t there for you and I should have been but I am now. I’m here now.”

“Chan-”

“And I’ll spend everyday making it up to you,” he promises, wiping his cheek with his other hand. “To both of you.”

Could you do it? Say the words to ruin this undeservingly tranquil moment? The love of your life, beaming at you as you carry what could’ve very well been the ticket to your future together, his eyes wet as he strokes the bump of what he thinks is his son. Chan’s son. Chan’s baby. Your baby with Chan, the love of your life. You wonder if you could lie. Pretend. Act as if there isn’t a hateful truth kicking down the door of your perfect life together - a paternity test you’d quickly and embarrassingly asked for nearly two months ago. Even with that, you consider it. Could you act like you didn’t destroy everything the second he left? You think you could.. But when your mother’s voice in your head even agrees, the idea dies in your head right as the very reason you couldn’t decides the same.

“Get your hand off her.” Your head snaps to Minho when he speaks, his presence and voice too hard for the moment you’re trying very hard to cling to. Chan was right. This isn’t how you planned it. And you’re only now realising that maybe that’s what you deserve. “Now.”

“Minho, man,” Chan laughs emptily, clicking his tongue. “What is your problem?”

“Right now?” Minho asks, eyes stuck on Chan’s hand. “It’s you.”

“Listen,” Chan sighs, the veins in his now awkwardly placed hand rippling. “This has nothing to do with you. So can you just-”

“It’s not yours.”

In your last few seconds of peace, you wonder. How the words that have spent the last minute screaming in your head suddenly make their way into the air when your own lips couldn’t make them. You wonder, as you stare at Chan, his head turning from his friend back to you, wondering the same, your shaky breaths and the tears welling in your eyes slowly making sick sense. You wonder if things will ever be the same.

“He’s-” Chan tilts his head, withdrawing his hand as the words sour on his tongue. “He’s not mine?” The mood drops in a flash, the warmth in his eyes vanishing as you shake your head, shame flooding you. “Then who-”

Your eyes drop to your lap when you see his gaze flicks back to Minho, his presence and growing discomfort the final clue.

“It’s his?” ‘It’. The term grates at you. How readily he’d been to claim his child, to call ‘it’ his. “You fucked Minho?”

“Chan-”

“Did you?” He spits, venom coursing through him as his blood seeps to his cheeks, chest, ears. “Did you cheat on me?”

“No! No, it wasn’t like that!”

“So, what? I didn’t give you what you wanted so you went and fucked my best friend?” With every acute inflection in his tone, you feel Minho draw nearer. “How could you do this to me?”

“Chan, I didn’t- I just-”

“Were you even going to tell me?” He yells, his voice cracking with every word. “After everything we went through? After everything I did for you? After everything I did for us to be a family and you were fucking around? With him?”

“Chan.” You would envy him right now if you weren’t so angry at him. How calm he seemed, Minho’s firm, grounding presence stood between yours and Chan’s. “Don’t raise your voice at her. She told you, it wasn’t like that.”

“Oh shut the fuck up.” Though so uncharacteristic of him, you don’t have time to flinch when Chan curses, because his face is in Minho’s and two small hands are pulling you away, Felix’s face filling your vision as Minho steps in front of you. “Who the fuck-”

You try to listen over the sound of Felix’s rushed checks, looking you over as you watch them over his shoulder. “Are you okay?” Bleeding into- ‘..advantage! I knew you always wanted-’. “You should come inside, Y/N/” Merging with- ‘You’re just mad you were the problem-’

“Lix! I’m fine!” You try, pushing him off of you when Minho threatens Chan.

“Or what?” Chan laughs, the sound stuck between a growl and a chuckle. It’s almost frightening. “Am I wrong? She’s a fucking mess!”

“I told you to stop calling her that.”

“And what are you going to do if I don’t, hm?”

“I’m gonna make you.”

“Make me? Make me then.” Chan scoffs, glaring at your trembling form in Felix’s arms before growling- “Y/N, you’re a fucking messed up whore-”

Time slows to a complete stop when Chan falls straight through the rattan table, his body landing in a heap as the wood snaps around him. If it had stopped there you could’ve sworn you saw nothing. Because one moment Chan was standing there, a snarl curling his beautiful lips and the next he was on the ground, a halo of wood circling his head. But it didn’t stop. Before anyone could think to stop him, Minho was on him, Chan’s wits slowly returning to him as his friend landed punch after punch, his knuckles surely splitting with every smack. You hear Felix call for someone behind you but it’s hard to hear over the sound of Chan’s grunts, his hands almost circling Minho’s neck before a blur of bodies appear, Changbin and Jisung dragging Minho off their elder.

Shoving him off of you, Felix nearly tumbles when you throw yourself down beside a dazed Chan, ignoring Minho who tries to fight his way out of his friends’ hold. Your fingers stroke along his bloodied cheek, the skin hot, wet to the touch. He hisses before he looks up at you, strength waning as he struggles to push your hand off of him.

“Don’t touch her!”

“Minho, just stop! Please!” You can see the rage pouring out of him before he slowly relents, watching with hateful eyes as you turn back to Chan. “Chan, please. Just- just let me help you. We can fix this- I can fix this.”

“You?” He scoffs, spitting blood out of his mouth. “You can’t fix this. You couldn’t even fix yourself.”

“Uh-” call it awful timing, but maybe looking back, you would call it comedic that this is when Hyunjin decides to walk into his surprise party. Minho restrained, Chan bloody, you knelt beside him four months pregnant. Call it ‘the world’s most depressing freeze frame’. “The fuck is going on?”

You’ll find it in you to apologise one day. You’ll add it to the list.

“That fucking hurts- Y/N!” You don’t look up, deciding instead to press harder against the wound on Minho’s split knuckle. It’s laughable. Him now leaning on the same dryer you also blame for the fight that had ensued just a few hours ago, sink basin swirling with a mixture of blood and floating splinters. When he pulls his hands away from you, you finally look at him, glaring before throwing the rubbing alcohol and clean cotton wool back in the open first aid kit. After shoving it back in the cabinet, you turn off the lights and shut the door on your way out, pettily leaving him in the darkness of Felix’s room. “You can’t ignore me forever, Y/N.”

You almost laugh. If you ever talk to him again, you’ll do better to explain the relationship you had with your mother.

You hear Minho groan from inside the utility room before he pushes the door open, following you into your living room. It has only been a few hours since the fight but apparently you’re really the only one still reeling over it, evidenced by Felix, Jisung and Seungmin eating snacks they stole from the party on your couch. Well, not your couch but the other one. You walk straight past them, seething as you head into your kitchen with no intentions but to be alone. Minho doesn’t give you that though, following you straight inside, forcing you to pretend to look for a snack. Scouring your cupboards, you silently pray they hadn’t gotten their hands on your peanut butter when Minho speaks. Big mistake.

“Is that mine?”

“Is what yours?” Glaring over your shoulder, you glance down, following his eyes to the t-shirt you’re wearing which is in fact his. “Do you want it back?”

“No, dummy,” he’s right behind you, both hands at the ready if you fall. When you first noticed this strange habit of his, you ignored it. Until you felt his hand always hovering near the small of your back, his hands usually free for possible impact. Your eyes nearly fell out of your head when he dared mention that scene from Twilight. “I’m making conversation.”

“Well, don’t.” You have half a mind to push him away from you. If you didn’t hate him right now, you would even find the gesture quite sweet, like you had gradually come to. You decide instead to continue digging through your cupboards before quickly changing your mind. “Actually, seeing as you want to make conversation, how about you tell me what the fuck that was?”

“What what was?”

“What what- are you fucking stupid?” With all the audacity he can summon, Minho frowns cutely. It’s not on purpose, but that isn’t the point. “At Changbin’s! What is wrong with you?”

The idiot shrugs, helping you down from the counter before going into another cupboard, taking the peanut butter out and grabbing a spoon before handing them to you. “Nothing.”

“Minho. You beat up Chan.”

He fails at fighting off a smug smile when he says- “He was being rude to you.”

“You think I couldn’t handle him?”

“Wait,” it irks you to no end, how he raises an eyebrow before taking the jar from you and opening it with ease before handing it back. “Are you mad because I beat him up? Or mad because I thought you couldn’t handle it?”

“Both!”

“It can’t be both,” he frowns, his ultimatum hanging in the air. “Because for the past hour you’ve been all, ‘Minho, how could you do that?’, ‘Minho, what were you thinking?’, and now you’re mad because you wanted to do it yourself.”

“No, I’m mad because you made this already bad situation worse!”

“Oh,” with a low chuckle he gazes up at you. “Listen, if you still feel guilty about what happened, you need to drop it. And if you thought I was going to just stand there while he ripped into the mother of my child..” You almost soften when his voice trails off, his eyes quickly looking away from you. “Look. As soon as we decided to keep it, we became a family and you signed up for all this, alright?”

“’It’?”

“Well, you don’t want to know what it is so-”

“Don’t call our baby ‘it‘!” You seethe before taking a deep breath, placing a hand under your bump. Sighing, you miss his fleeting smile. “Minho, you can’t just fight everyone who has something bad to say about me.”

“Watch me.” When you glare, he just blinks back, resting his head on a cupboard door. “In a few months, it’s going to be you, me and-” when your glare hardens, he makes himself stop. Your blood pressure has become a concern of his after your last check up. So he slows his mind down, thinking out his words. “Our baby. Meaning I’ll only get worse, so try and get used to it, yeah?”

“Worse than this? Are you insane?” When he just shrugs, smirking as your fingers tighten around your poor spoon before you point it at him, warning- “Don’t piss me off, Minho, I’ll kick your ass. Pregnant and all.”

“I’d love to see that.”

“Minho. Don’t play with me.” If you weren’t so irate, you’d realise he wasn’t joking, but he had never taken you seriously before. Why would he start now? “I’m not kidding.”

“I know,” he shrugs, pushing himself off of the counter. “At least I hope you’re not.” Taking a few careful steps, you squint as he approaches you, stopping a foot away. “You know you’re kinda sexy when you’re mad?”

Staring dumbly, you watch him lean in before you glare at him mustering all the anger you could to turn him down. “You better not think because I’m having your baby that we’re a thing. Because we are not a thing. Not even close. So don’t even act like we are when we’re not.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”

“Minho, shut the fuck up.”

“Make me.” You think you might scream when he rests his palms on the counter behind you. It’s only then you ask yourself the big questions. What game is he playing? Does he win if you pull away? Does he win if you don’t? Do you want to pull away? Is there any version of this where you come out on top? “Make me then.”

“I swear to God, I will.”

“You will?” The answer is yes. To his question, and your own. There is a way to win this. Whatever this is. You’re just not sure you're happy with such a murky victory. You go with it anyway, Minho watching as your glory and inevitable defeat merge into one, darkening your angry eyes, his taunt fanning your lips as he bumps your nose with his. “Go on then.”

You have to keep reminding yourself you’re meant to hate this man. The father of your child. The best friend of your ex. It’s hard though, especially when you’re the one to close the space between you, your lips closing around his smirk, drawing the softest hum. Hands firmly on the counter he leans into you, avoiding your bump with effortless skill, sliding his tongue into your mouth as your hands find his jaw and nape pulling him closer. When you push up into him, wanting to feel him on you, nails scraping along his scalp, he swallows a groan before he turns you, resting his back on the counter, pulling you flush against him. Again, he takes care. Moving his mouth against yours as he savours you, every lick, suck and pant, angling and cradling your face with the same hands that bled just hours ago. Minho handles you like the most valuable, most revered, most important thing in the world to him.

Fuck. This is a thing.

The realisation has you reeling, mindlessly pawing at the waistband of his sweats, fingers trailing to the small tent forming. He groans into your open mouth, pushing his hips up into your closed fist before pulling away, watching you with an unfitting softness, one you’re no longer able to detach from him. It’s all you think of, all you see when you look at him. When you lean back in, he smiles, pecking your lips before resting his forehead on yours, running the tip of his nose along your bridge, whispering softly- “You want me?” When you nod, he nods gently, kissing you a final time before moving to leave. “Let me get rid of them.”

“What?” He points at the door, the living room. Right. “No, don’t. Leave them.”

When he smirks, skin slightly flushed, you frown. “You wanna do it with them here?”

“What? No!” Flustered, you glare when he laughs. “I just-” returning to you, he kisses the top of your head, rubbing your back. You think he knows he was being unfair, goading you at a time like that. Resting your head on his shoulder, you sigh- “I’m hungry.”

“Yeah?” Nodding against his neck, he hums. “Cool. Go sit down, I’ll order something.”

Only when you slip away do you notice his hand was in yours. You notice it more when you stare at your linked fingers, feeling him pull away as you walk away. “You okay?”

“Do I look okay?” You look down when he points, laughing as he pulls his phone out his pocket, trying and failing to readjust himself. When you pout, he rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry, it’ll go away. What do you want?”

You blink.

“One of everything?” When you nod, he nods back. “Okay.”

This is when anyone else would say thank you. You don’t. Instead you walk back to him, kiss him and say- “You’re still a prick,” before trying to walk away again.

Trying, because he pulls you back, holding you in his arms for a second before staring right at you. “I need to say something.” Confused by the sudden pensive look of his gaze, you frown. It’s funny, how seeing Minho so serious has become so worrying in as little as a few months. Funny how much can change in a few short months. “I’m never going to apologise for what I did.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know-”

“No, seriously. I’m sorry that I upset you, and I’m sorry you had to see it.. to hear it. But I’m more sorry I ever had to, because you shouldn’t have. You didn’t deserve any of it. And if you thought for a second that anything you’ve done deserved any of that? Then I’m going to spend every day undoing that.. because it’s me and you now, okay? If someone has something to say about you, they’re saying it to me too. And that’s it.”

You’re quiet for a moment, unsure why your immediate response to this all is to kiss him, cry and run to Felix all at one time. Of course, you do none of that. “You’re just saying that because of the baby.”

“No.” He says firmly, holding you tighter when you try to pull away again. “That night? When you told me everything? When you decided to trust me? I was on your side. And I’ll always be. Nothing’s going to change that. I’m not going anywhere, okay?” He softens when your eyes well, his thumb wiping the apple of your cheek. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good.” Letting you go, he asks again- “One of everything, yeah?”

“Yeah, but no-”

“No fish, yeah I know.”

6 MONTHS

Tonight is the night you decide Changbin’s home is cursed. Its inhabitants, its parties, its gatherings, the lot.

It starts off like any other night. You’re perched on the edge of Changbin’s couch, Minho behind you, his knuckles digging into the knots in your lower back, eyes focused on the television. Jisung is chewing his ear off about the film on the screen, probably fueling the strength he’s using to undo the tension that’s been gradually tightening around your spine. Pausing, he shuffles forward for his beer, one you coerced him into having after hearing he refused the drink in solidarity with you. When he rests his chin on your shoulder, you nudge him off of you, whining when he digs it into your skin. Placing his beer on your knee, he lingers there, finding reprieve as Jisung turns to Seungmin in his absence. It’s then your phone lights up, a text coming through. You miss it, eyes glued to the screen ahead. Like you assume his are. But alas, no. No, Minho’s eyes, distracted by the sudden glare from your phone, have flown to your lap, reading the preview of the brand new message.

“Aren’t we?” Minho says suddenly, taking another sip from his beer when you look at him, eyes looking across the room. When you follow his gaze, you find the person he was addressing staring back with wide eyes, the round pair flicking down to your lap. Looking down you see the silent observation he responded to aloud.

[20:23] Lix: you two are so cute :(

You swallow a groan, digging your elbow in Minho’s chest. The others look over when Minho chokes, fixing you both with a glare. “Stop being loud,” you say to him, gesturing to the room.

“You two are cosy..” Hyunjin coos, looking equal parts disgusted and intrigued.

“That’s what I said.” Felix agrees, the brave fool.

“No,” Minho corrects, back cracking as he straightens up to lean back into the couch. “You said we were cute.”

“Well-” when you glare at him, Felix swallows as he realises he played into Minho’s game. “I mean, of course you guys are cute! You’re going to be parents.. together.”

“Speaking of-” Changbin says, smirking. “Are you?”

“Are you what?” Call it pregnancy rage, call it months of Changbin being the object of your misdirected hate, you glare when his smirk widens, eyes squinting.

“Are you together?”

Your answers blur into one, the rest hearing a ‘yo’ and ‘nes’, which really just sounds like a maybe. And a maybe might as well be a yes. You huff when they all coo mockingly, their teasing drowning out the film on the screen.

“You guys are so annoying.”

“Us?” Hyunjin gasps, a hand flat to his chest before he points an accusatory finger. “Not the two of you pretending you’re not a thing for the last two months?”

“Yeah,” Jisung’s smart ass chimes in, turning his head to look you in the eye, revealing- “Minho doesn’t fight for just anyone, you know?”

“Speaking of-” always fucking speaking of- “You owe me a new rattan table.”

“Put it on my tab.” Minho says simply, squeezing your thigh when you scowl at Changbin.

“You know, it wasn’t funny the first time and it’s not funny the tenth.”

“Can we watch the film?” Seungmin asks over the laughter filling the room.

“Yes, can we?” You agree, making the mistake of reminding everyone of your presence after staying so close under the radar.

“Hey,” pointing toward you, Changbin decides- “if you two are together now, you owe me a table too.”

“Oi, cool it.” Minho says stiffly, his hands returning to work on your back. “Before I send you through a fucking table and all.”

“Chan’s a better man than me,” Changbin groans, shouting over the volume Seungmin just turned up. “I would’ve rocked your shit.” Minho laughs at the idea, rolling his eyes when Changbin smirks. “But to be fair, every man and his dog could see how you felt about Y/N, so even you’re a better man than me.”

“Wow,” Seungmin deadpans, eyes not leaving the screen. “Everyone’s a better man than you, we are so surprised.”

“What- I- mean- is-” Changbin whines, hitting Seungmin with a cushion, warm at the sound of everyone’s laughter. “If you two are together, I hope the reason you’re not telling us isn’t because of everything that happened. We’d be happy for you.”

When he gives you a warm smile, you think tonight could be the night you forgive Changbin. The night you realise maybe Changbin was doing what he thought would help, that he was being a friend. You try to keep this in mind after he stands at the sound of his doorbell ringing, announcing Jeongin’s arrival halfway through the first film of the night. But then suddenly he stiffens, standing straight as a board. Jeongin enters with a big smile, slapping Felix on the shoulder. Felix, who looks aghast at a sight beyond the threshold, Jeongin’s smile dropping as his gaze falls on you. When you feel Minho stiffen behind you, his hands stilling as they journey up your sides, you remember why you hate Changbin.

It isn’t him, or his house.

It’s Chan.

“H-Hey man,” when Jisung stands to greet him, you feel Minho’s hands tighten, pulling you closer towards him. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much,” he sounds strangely calm, as if he just spent the last ten seconds listening to Changbin’s rushed rundown of what he was about to walk into. Or maybe he’s just calm. Something you’re not right now. Your heart is threatening to hammer a hole right out of your back and straight through Minho’s chest. He must feel it because his hands continue rubbing up and down your sides, trying to calm you as Chan turns to you both, pausing for just a second before he speaks. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You say, feeling Minho nod, his hands still running along your sides. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he lies, lips pursed as he nods. You’re sure he can feel everyone’s eyes on you three, you definitely can. Jisung is hovering close behind, as if scared that Chan would lunge on Minho at any second, even with you sitting between them. “You? How you doing?”

You think this is the time your mother meant it was okay to lie. Because the truth is.. you’re fantastic. You’re the happiest you’ve been for a long, long while. But that feels like gloating, and that’s unfair considering you’re pregnant and the father of your child - his best friend- well, ex best friend - who beat him up just months back is holding you firmly to his chest.

So you lie. “I’m good.”

“That’s good..” with a small smile, he quickly turns away, looking for Changbin, saying something about putting drinks in the fridge before he disappears into the kitchen, Changbin following close behind. A few seconds pass before your ears start burning.

As soon as he’s gone Felix turns to you, mouthing ‘you good?’. You nod, because you are. Sure it’s sudden, and weird, and down right fucking awkward, but you’re good. Especially with Minho’s lips on your shoulder, his fingers slipping into the gaps between yours, kindly ignoring the clamminess lining your palms. You wonder if you should leave. Minho wouldn’t refuse if you asked, but he hasn’t asked, which tells you he too knows this was inevitable.

You couldn’t spend your lives avoiding Chan, it wasn’t feasible. You have all the same friends, things like this are bound to happen time and time again. And besides, Chan isn’t a bad person. He’s a great person. In fact, Chan might be one of the best people you know. You like to think you wouldn’t have fallen for someone anything less than. You try not to think what life would be like had none of this ever happened. Not you and Minho, but rather all of your complications. What would life have been like if you tried and succeeded. If you hadn’t-

“Oi,” you turn at the poke in your side, finding him glaring at you. It isn’t hard to see what hides behind it. “Stop thinking so hard, you’re not that bright.”

“Fuck off,” you huff, slapping his thigh as you lean into him further.

“Felix text you.”

[21:01] Lix: chans here

[21:02] Lix: look alive

[21:03] Lix: i wanna be you when i grow up

[21:03] Lix: cos i could neverrrrr

[21:04] Lix: will you stop fucking spacing out!!!

[21:04] hey bestie: You’re worse than Jisung sometimes

When Chan walks back in, your phone lights up again and you glare at Felix whose eyes follow Chan as he texts hurriedly.

[21:04] Lix: how are you not throwing up right now?

[21:04] Lix: do you wanna leave? fake a baby thing

[21:05] Lix: omg hes back

[21:05] Lix: go into labour or something

[21:05] hey bestie: I’m fine don’t text me again it’s obvious

[21:05] Lix: kl kl kl x

This is going to be a long night.

Seungmin gets his wish to finish the film in peace. But at what cost? Because it’s hard to think this silence is peaceful when every heart in the room, bar maybe Minho’s, is beating a mile a minute. His chin on your shoulder, you feel his hand under your shirt, thumb drawing small circles on the side of your bump. It’s not too unlike a night in at your place, minus the added tension and bodies of your friends and ex. For the most part you’re alright, and you know that has everything to do with Minho, and nothing to do with your best friend whose eyes haven’t left you since Chan walked in the house. And they don’t leave you when you pat Minho’s knee, his warmth leaving you when he shifts to help you stand.

When Felix gets up too, you groan when he follows you. “I’m going to pee you creep, go watch the film.”

“Meet me in the kitchen!” He whispers, practically sprinting towards the rendezvous point.

Sitting with a huff, you realise you haven’t given much thought to your actual pregnancy. The science behind it, the feeling of it, the instincts that come with it. You’re growing a life in you. A baby is sitting on your bladder, forcing you to pee at least ten more times a day. The baby is heavy, resting on your knees when you sit. Your baby is.. your baby. You want to protect it. You have to protect it. You tell yourself that’s what fuels your calmness in light of the evening ahead. The humbler part of you tells yourself it’s Minho. How relaxed he is when faced with adversity. He doesn’t run from it, or repel it. He faces it head on. Maybe a bit proud, maybe a bit deranged. Whatever it is, you thank God for it. You thank god for Minho.

What you don’t thank God for is your best friend who stands at the island, bouncing on the balls of his feet, waiting for you to meet him in the kitchen like he asked, just to find him nervously talking to Chan whose head is in the fridge, digging out another beer. You haven’t run in months and think you might before you see him turn, closing the fridge to find you standing there.

You can’t think of anything to say, so you look to Felix. Big mistake. He’s just standing there looking between you both, nervously worrying his lip. When your eyes find Chan’s, a small smile on his lips, you swallow. Chan isn’t a bad person. He’s a great person. In fact, Chan might be one of the best people you know.

“Lix,” you call, reluctantly deciding to save the poor guy. “Can I talk to Chan for a minute?”

“Huh?” When you just raise your eyebrows, he nods his head in agreement. “Uh, okay. I’ll keep your seat warm.” He jokes, squeezing your arm before running to tell everyone.

If the last six months have taught you anything, which they clearly had not, you’re not one to think of the consequences of your actions. You realise this when you just stand there, not at all prepared to talk to Chan. It’s not like you knew he would be here. But if you had, would you even be here? Would this conversation ever happen? Is this the kind of thing you can plan? Why is this so hard? You think he sees your panic, because he says- “Let’s sit down.”

“Hm?” Your eyes follow him as he pulls a chair out for you. “Oh.. thanks.”

He just smiles back, turning a chair towards you before saying- “I actually wanted to talk to you.” When you tilt your head, he rubs his hands down his jeans, his eyes falling to your bump, a sad smile on his lips. “I went-” when the words stick in his throat, you frown, placing your hand over his. Scooting forward, he flips his hand palm up, holding your hand, staring at them joined on his knee. “I saw my doctor. I told him everything, you know. About us, and- yeah. There are these kits, like for-” He laughs then, scratching his neck. When you squeeze his hand, his eyes fly up to yours, calmed by the softness there. “It’s literally a sperm counter, I-I mean a test kit for it.” When you nod, he scoffs, “he was saying if we’re not actively trying right now, why am I doing it? And I didn’t really have an answer, but I think he got it. Anyway, he said it wasn’t too bad, but way lower than it should be.” At the worry on your face, he squeezes your hand. “Nothing to worry about, it should be all good. There’s nothing else to it, just a low count.”

Nodding, you smile. “That’s good, I’m glad.”

“No,” he frowns suddenly, laughing bitterly as he pulls his hand away. “You shouldn’t be glad, Y/N. It was me.”

“What?”

“I’m the one with the problem.” He says, eyes on his lap. “I kept focusing on you, and what you could be doing better, what was wrong with you but it was never you, it was me.”

“Chan, it’s not anyone’s fault-”

“How can you say that?” Pulling away, he holds his head in his hands, sniffing. “I blamed you for everything. I-I ruined everything. If I just took a step back, if I just stopped trying to fix you-”

“Chan, can you just-”

“I kept trying to fix you when it was me, it was me who was broken.”

“Chan!” Pulling his head up, you hold his head in your hands, ignoring the tears on his cheeks, staring right into his wet eyes. “There is nothing wrong with you. Nothing. It might feel that way, but there isn’t. You don’t need fixing, you’re not broken. You’re Chan, okay? You’re more than this. You’re not a measure of your fucking sperm count, or your ability to make a baby. Even if it’s what you want. It doesn’t make you or break you. It’s just something you have to face and deal with. And, god I wanted to do it with you. I wanted all of that with you, I wanted you. And if we knew we would have dealt with it, we would have found a way. But we couldn’t, and nothing’s gonna change that, but that doesn’t mean you should blame yourself.”

“But it’s my fault..”

“It’s not anyone’s fucking fault! You’re not to blame for wanting a family and not being able to get it. You didn’t know, you didn’t choose this, it’s just life. It’s shit and painful, and it’s not up to anyone, not even you-” the words get caught when you hear them loud and clear in your head. His voice. Turning to the door, you find him there leaning against it, Minho’s eyes on you, watching you with a small smile. “If it was up to you, you wouldn’t be so unhappy.” Turning back to Chan, you see he’d followed your gaze, his eyes on Minho. You bring him back, wiping his cheeks with your palms, before dropping them to his fists.

“You know, I actually wanted to apologise, when I said I wanted to talk.”

“Y/N, no-”

“No.” You say, groaning with a laugh. “You’re done talking, it’s my turn.” His eyes dart to the door, flushing at the proud smirk on Minho’s face. “I wanted to say I’m sorry for how this all went. That I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, sorry for..” You swallow then, the idea of apologising for how things turned out curdling your dinner. “But I’m not anymore. I’m not sorry, because I don’t regret any of it: pretending I was happy, lying as if it was what I wanted.. because at first I did, you know? I wanted all of it with you, but after a while I realised I just wanted it because you did, and I wasn’t ready, I was terrified. I’m still fucking terrified. Maybe a little less, but it’s still there. The idea I’m making a big fucking mistake thinking I could do this. Be a mom.. but at the very least, at least I don’t feel alone anymore, I don’t feel like an extra, like a- a willing surrogate. I mean, yeah, I’m still fucking scared, but I’m ready. Ready to do everything I can to give my baby everything my mom couldn’t give me. And I don’t think I’d ever be if we didn’t break up, if all that didn’t happen, if I didn’t have-”

He knows who you want to say. His eyes fly to him, a sad smile on his lips when he watches you copy him, your smile growing when Minho winks at you. You gulp down your guilt, deciding pretending does count as lying, letting Chan see your wide smile, your gleaming eyes.

“I am so sorry I hurt you and I’m sorry you’ve had to do this all on your own. I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you like you always have been for me. And I know it’s selfish and unfair and just fucking shameless, but I miss you. And I want you in my life, to whatever extent you want. If you want to say hi and bye, that’s cool. If you want to go for coffee, that’s cool. If you want to talk about- you know, anything- that’s cool too. If you need a friend, I’ll be there, okay? If you can forgive me, I promise you that I’ll be here.”

Chan isn’t a bad person. He’s a great person. In fact, Chan might be one of the best people you know.

“Only if you can forgive me, too?”

You can’t speak, you just nod, lips pursed, salty with tears. “Of course.”

“Okay.”

It pays to have your own personal masseuse. The pain in your back has pretty much subsided by the time you get into bed, your head on Minho’s arm as his free hand works the last of the knots. He digs a bit harder, when you laugh at him, defending himself. “I didn’t laugh at you. What kind of name is Renesmee?”

“I didn’t say I wanted it for us, I just said I didn’t get why everyone hated it so much.”

“Because it sounds like a virus.”

“You’re a virus- okay! I’m sorry! Ow!” When he snickers, you whine. “Mean.”

Rubbing the spot sweetly, he asks- “Okay, what about a colour?”

“Like what?”

“Vermilion?” When you say nothing, he agrees, “Yeah, maybe not. Sounds too much like vermin.”

“What about something religious?” He laughs then. “What?”

“That’s pretty broad, dummy,” shuffling towards you, he slips his hand around your waist, letting you lean your head further up his arm, wedging his thigh between your two. It came as a big surprise to you how clingy Minho was. At least behind closed doors. When you were with the guys, it was always under the guise of you needing a back massage, or somewhere to rest your head. But alone? You’re touching more often than not. Like now, when he clings to you, engulfing your body with his own. His lips press to your shoulder when he jokes, “What about Christian?”

“Har har.” You wheeze, shoving him. “That’s a little too on the nose.”

When you say nothing more, he sighs against your skin- “It’s a good thing you’re pretty.”

“What about Samson?”

“Doesn’t he die?” It’s quiet again. You can picture his eye roll. “I know they all die, dummy. I just mean, isn’t his death the worst?”

“Crucifixion is definitely worse than getting crushed by rocks.” You have a brainwave. “Oh! What about Jaime?”

“What, like Lannister?” When you nod, he refuses. “We’re not naming our kid after someone who fucked his sister.” When you don’t respond, he kisses your shoulder. “What happened to not wanting the kid to burn in hell?”

“..Did you say our kid?”

“That’s what you’re having right?” He jokes. “Because if you tell me it’s Chan’s this far in-”

“No, dickhead.” Though reluctant, you let yourself laugh at that, suddenly overcome by the fact jokes like that might get made, or rather, the fact jokes like that could be made now that Chan is back in your life. “You didn’t say ‘it’.”

“I mean, that was just a slip of the tongue, it’s still an ‘it’.” When you bite his bicep, he yells- “Fine! I said it! Whatever. So?”

“So.. nothing,” you hum, kissing the same spot on his arm. “It’s just nice.”

“You’re so easily pleased,” he says. “This could get boring real quick.” When he feels you smile against his skin, he sighs, hand wandering back down your spine. You’re spun by how quickly he quells the dull ache, his thumbs dipping into the skin. You spoke too soon. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just a sharp pain.”

“Pain like back pain, or a me pain?”

“You pain.” He ignores the double meaning, laughing against your skin. “What now?”

“So, you’re saying I’m strong?” He thinks he hears your eyes roll. “Good to know.”

“You’re so fucking annoying. What does that even mean?”

Shrugging as best he can, he puckers his lips, letting them drag up the length of your shoulder towards your neck, sighing when you lean into him. “Better?” When you hum, he continues, letting his thumb work your spine as he kisses up your neck, lips closing just below your ear. Try as you may, you can’t stop yourself purring, his body pressed firmly into your back as he moves his hand to toy with the hem of your t-shirt. “You know..” he halts when you gasp, his hand parting your legs pushing his leg up further. “For someone who says we’re not together, you sure don’t act like it.”

“Well, we’re not.”

“Let me change that.” You may not hate this man, but you sure don’t like him. Not when he presses his thigh to your heat, his hand on your hip pushing your weight onto him. It’s embarrassing how easily you follow his lead, rolling your hips slowly against his tensed thigh as he kisses a path back down to your shoulder. “It’s kind of inevitable.”

“Get over yourself.” You agreed to a thing. Yes, mentally. But now that he’s said that, he’s really given you no choice but to refuse. Even if your brain and mouth don’t connect, another major organ getting in the way. “I don’t see you like that.”

“Come on,” he breathes, smiling softly as you struggle to grind against him. “You can do better than that.”

Pressing his leg up higher, a particular grind forces you to mewl- “I’m working on me right now?”

“Good job, anything else?”

“I just- fuck-” the excuse catches when his hand slip under your thigh, fingers working you clit as your hips faulter. You can’t lose Y/N. Not again. “I just broke up with my ex.”

“Ding ding ding.” He laughs, letting his hips meet yours, his desire pressed hard to your thigh. “Almost thought you were short circuiting then. That one was right there.”

“Minho,” you whine, half annoyed, half turned on, fully exhausted. “Stop playing.”

“Who’s playing?” Pulling his sweats down, you think he rises to angle himself but instead just crouches over you, turning your face to his. There’s a subtle flush to his cheeks, even in the low light, the lamps illuminating his skin perfectly. When he leans down to kiss you, his hips resting ever so slightly on yours, lips moving slow as he draws moan after moan, you think he’ll take mercy on you but he instead just breathes- “Be my girl.”

With a whine, you huff- “If I say yes, will you fuck me?” He nods. “Fine.”

You take that as a win. You would’ve said yes regardless.

8 MONTHS

It’s pouring when you arrive, both feet in a shallow puddle as you duck under Felix’s ready umbrella. Tall, mossy gates greet you all, a short cobbled path disappearing somewhere in the thick morning mist. The sudden shower clears a way through it, your feet heavy as you swallow before moving forward, Felix in step with you, Minho a few steps behind. You had never visited the graveyard before. A few miles out of the city, though far enough to deem it a bit too far, your mother’s final resting place was still close enough to fill you with an unquellable guilt. Felix often defended your decision with a few easy truths: you didn’t talk while she was still here, why should death make a difference? Which was true. What difference did death make, minus its insistence on a final goodbye?

When you left your mother’s house, your childhood home for the final time, you didn’t exchange a word. She just sat there, watching with lifeless eyes as you packed up, poor Felix trembling every time he passed her unmoving figure in your living room to fill his parent’s minivan waiting outside. After a final look over the room you had once called yours, you went to say goodbye, only to watch her pass you in the hallway like a stranger in the street, before entering her room and shutting the door.

That was the last you saw of her. That was your final goodbye.

Until today.

You think the July sky had opened just to show it's displeasure with you, God slicking the path up to your mother’s grave. It’s only then you realise. “I don’t know which one it is.”

Turning to you, Felix nods, mumbling something behind him before passing Minho his umbrella, forcing his denim jacket over his head. It’s quiet for a moment before Minho speaks.

“He’s going to find it.” When you just nod, you feel his fingers slip between yours, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. “Do you want to sit down?” Shaking your head, you look around, seeing the wet petals on every other grave. It shouldn’t take him long. Just then, you hear him shout. Turning, you squint through the fog to find him just a few yards away knelt before a headstone, the flowers he insisted on buying resting on it. “You ready?”

You don’t answer, you just let his hand go, feeling the rain kiss your cheeks as you walk towards him. With a hand under your belly, you immediately feel heavy. The weight of the rain on your cardigan, the mud under your boots, the dread in your chest. That’s when you feel it, the bile rising in your throat, a wretch pushing itself out. You swallow it down along with the sudden urge to turn back, strengthening with every step you take. Felix reappears through the mist, his hair and shoulders drenched. He turns when he hears you, a sad smile on his face.

“It’s not so muddy here,” he says, holding his hand out to guide you to the spot by his side. You don’t take it though. You don’t move. You can’t. Because hot, angry tears are spilling onto your cheeks, mingling with the cooling rain, eyes dark as you read then reread the words on your mother’s headstone.

‘Life is not forever, love is.’

A liar in life, and a liar in death.

“Where are you going?” Minho calls when you move to walk past him, headed for the gates mere minutes after you’d arrived. When he grabs your arm, you pull it away. “Hey.”

“Let her go, man,” you hear Felix sigh, seemingly expecting your reaction. “We can come back.”

“No,” Minho laughs, moving to stop you again. “We just drove through two hours of traffic to come here.”

“And we can do it again-”

“We’re not leaving.” Like hell you’re not leaving. It’s what you do, leave when things are too much. Your mother knew it, Felix knew it, Chan knew it, and now Minho was going to learn it. “Y/N-”

“Get off of me.” You move to walk around him, his body slipping in front of you before you can reach the path leading back to his car. When he stops you again, you groan. “Look, I’m sorry I made us come all this way, it was a mistake.”

“No, it wasn’t.” He says, voice annoyingly soft for how hard his eyes are. “You wanted to do this, so you’re doing it.”

“I’m not doing anything!” He squints when you shout, the sound shrill in the quiet churchyard, a silent warning in his eyes. “I’m going home.”

“Do you remember what you told me?”

Yes.

“No, and I don’t care-”

“You said not to let you leave before you said goodbye.”

“And now I’m telling you that I’m going home!”

“And I’m telling you-” he says, gently leading you back towards the grave. “That you’re not.”

“Minho, don’t upset her, if she isn’t ready-”

“No,” he says firmly, pulling you past Felix, bringing you back to the her. “What will upset her, is if we let her back out after making it this far. Look-” ignoring your scowl, he holds your shoulders, letting Felix take his umbrella back. You hate that you can’t help but notice how pretty he looks, drops of rain resting on the tops of his lashes, hitting his cheeks when he blinks, looking you in the eye. “I know this is hard-”

“You have no idea how hard this is-”

“Fine. I don’t. I don’t know how hard this is for you. I’ll never know, and neither will he-” he admits, nodding his head towards Felix. “Neither of us do. We don’t get what you’re feeling, why you wanted to do this in the first place, why you had to come here to do it. I don’t know. But I do know you. And I know you wouldn’t have asked us to come all this way if it wasn’t important to you and if it’s important to you, then I’m going to make sure you see it through, okay?

“She’s gone, Y/N. She’s gone, so there is nothing she can say or do that can hurt you.”

“What if you’re wrong?”

“If I’m wrong? I’m never wrong.” When you shove him in the chest, he laughs, wiping your cheek with his wet palms. “But if I am wrong? If- if she somehow rises from the dead trying to get to you? She has to get through me, okay?”

Closing your eyes for a second, you almost picture it. Your mother’s corpse rising from the earth, reaching out for you. You don’t think you’d need Minho’s help. Pregnant or not.

“Okay?” It’s a few seconds before you sigh, nodding. With a final stare, he kisses the top of your head, taking the umbrella from Felix and handing it to you. “We’ll be over there.”

As they walk away, Felix smacking his friend over and over, Minho nearly shoving him into a nearby grave, you watch them, gulping as they disappear in the cloudy distance.

“Why am I here?” You ask yourself, feeling a lump form in your throat.

‘You know why,’ you think. The voice patronising, impatient. ‘To forgive.’

“But I can’t,” you tell yourself. “I don’t think I ever could. Not before, not now..”

‘But you want to,’ it lies. Your mother’s voice sounding so sure, so confident, so smug. ��You want to forgive, you just always think you’re better than everyone else. Better than me, better than Chan-’

“That’s not true.” You say, defensive. “I-I dont. I never have. You made sure of that.”

‘You could, Y/N. Everyone is capable of doing wrong. Even you.’ She rightly accuses. ‘You think the world owes you some big debt for the card you were dealt. As if you couldn’t have had a worse life. But your life was perfect. You had a home, friends, a family, a mother who loved you-’

“You never loved me-”

‘You don’t know what love is.’

“And whose fault is that?”

‘It’s not about whose fault it is,’ she reminds, throwing your own words back at you. ‘It’s about what you do about it. When I was a child, I thought love was everything. I thought it could fix everything. I thought it was all rainbows, clear skies, prancing through daisy fields, flowers free for the picking.. It was years before I realised I was just killing them all.’

“That wasn’t my fault.”

‘It’s not about whose fault it is.’ She repeats, voice soft yet stern. ‘It’s about what you do about it. It’s not just about love, but everything that comes with it, comes from it. It’s about seeing the world for what it is. Unfair, unjust. It’s about seeing that and taking the little that you get, the good and the bad and making something of it. Taking everything ugly in this world and loving it anyway. Every awful truth, every white lie. It’s about the people around you, taking them as they are, their faults and their merits, and loving them anyway.’

“Is that what you did?” You wonder, fiddling with the petal on her bouquet. “Loved me anyway?”

‘No,’ you almost hear her laugh. You almost miss the sound. ‘I loved you double. I made you strong.’

“Do I look strong to you?” You seeth. “Does this look like strength?”

‘I see you’re everything I couldn’t be.’ She admits, pride bleeding into it. ‘I saw you do everything I couldn’t do, saw you leave because you were unhappy. I’ve seen you get everything you ever wanted, seen you stumble and get back up again. I’ve seen you learn to forgive, learn to fix things yourself. Not let the world have its way, I saw you become strong.’

“No thanks to you.”

‘No,’ she agrees. ‘No, it was thanks to you. I know you don’t agree with my methods, I never expected you to. I never intended for you to hate me, but if it made you what you are today, then I’d do it all over again, in this life and the next. I’d be your mother in any lifetime, just to see you become who you are today.’

“But you didn’t,” you cry, the fog waning as you glare at the headstone, the rain slowing to a near stop, droplets rolling off of her. “You didn’t. You’re not here to see and that’s your fault.”

‘It’s not about whose fault it is. It’s about what you do about it.’ She repeats a final time. ‘I’m not here, and if I was I probably wouldn’t admit it anyway, but you’re better than I ever hoped you’d be. I will never apologise for that. I will never apologise for trying my best, even when you felt I didn’t. I will never apologise for letting you go, because that was what you had to do. You’d still hate me if I didn’t.’

“I do hate you,” you say, a weight filling your chest, hatred seeping out of you every time you fight to cling to it. “I hate you for not being here, to help me, to tell me how to do this. I hate you for not trying harder.”

‘All I could do was my best, Y/N. You’ll see that one day, the same way I did. One day, you’ll see it makes no difference, my being there or not. Because no one can tell you how to be a mother. You just figure it out as you go. And you may have hated me for it, but there’s no version of you I would have rathered make. None.

‘Great mother’s might have skipped a few generations in your family,’ she says forlornly, her voice growing distant. ‘Mine was too soft, and yours too firm. I know that will end with you.’

“And what if it doesn’t- what if I can’t?”

‘Well, I don’t know.’ She breathes, voice fading with the mist, ‘There’s only one way to find out.’

It’s well past sunset when you finally get back to your apartment. Minho close behind you on the stairs, a hand on your back as you climb each step slowly.

“I finally see why Felix is the way he is,” Minho comments randomly. You had tried to drop Felix at his parents house before heading back earlier, only to be whisked inside, doted on like the child they never had but happily took in. Which isn’t far from the truth. The summer before college, you moved into the Lees’ spare room, slowly shedding the idea you were imposing with every family dinner, every picture of you placed on a wall. “They’re sweet.”

“Yeah,” you agree, opening your front door. “Don’t know what I would’ve done without them.”

They were the guarantors for the place you currently call home. You remember the day you had asked, or tried to at least. You and Felix had both returned for the holidays. You were settled in a small flat a few roads away from where you live now, your heart set on this place. It was awkward, for you anyway. Once Felix had gone out, begrudgingly promising not to interfere, you got started making dinner, certain his parents would say no if you offered. It wasn’t anything special, just spaghetti bolognaise, the sauce wafting through the house just as it was ready.

It took a few tries to force the topic out, your viewing a few places, being accepted for a one bed just a short walk from Felix’s current place with Jisung. They loved the idea, they were happy, proud you were thinking of your future. Before you ever got the chance, you watched Felix’s dad speak around his mouthful of garlic bread- ‘We can’t wait to see it. If you need anything - some furniture, a guarantor - anything, you let us know, okay?’

To this day, Felix still tells everyone the story of how he came back home to find you and his mom weeping at the dining table, his dad watching with wide, confused eyes.

Throwing your coat off, you head straight for the couch, collapsing in a heap as you watch Minho sit on the coffee table to take off your boots. “Thank you.”

He just grunts, placing your foot on his lap before tugging. “My mum said if there’s one thing I should do, it’s this.”

“Take off my shoes?”

He shrugs, “something about not being able to bend over,” laughing when you lean forward, trying and failing to reach the other shoe.

“What else did she say?”

He shrugs again. “That you’re cute.” When you roll your eyes, sliding down the couch a bit as he pulls the other boot off. “She did, she said we should get married too.” When you blanch, less at the idea, more that she said it, that he repeated it, he adds- “That’s what I thought, me, marry a whore?”

Kicking his knee, you glare when he takes both feet in his hands, and turns you before sitting beside you, resting your legs on his lap. “Just a few months ago, you beat someone up for calling me that.”

Laughing, he raises a hand to your face, tucking your hair behind your ear. “And I’d do it again.” It takes some effort, but you scoot forward, resting your head on his shoulder as you gaze up at him. “You know, people like us used to make me sick.”

“Hm, like what?”

“People in love.” The words so easily from his lips, it takes you a while to realise what he’s said. He doesn’t give you time to comment on it. “It’s disgusting.”

“Not when you’re in it,” you breathe, kissing his shoulder. He just hums, accepting your silent declaration. It’s fitting, you think. It’s quiet for a while, his hand trailing up and down your back, cheek resting on the top of your head. “You staying tonight?”

“Y/N,” he says flatly, “I haven’t slept at my place in weeks.”

“I know,” it doesn’t stop you worrying, that one day he’ll want his space. That he’ll just go. “Just checking.”

A few seconds pass in silence before he asks- “Do you like this place?”

That’s random, you think. Well, not so random, considering your story earlier. But it feels that way, feels loaded. Nodding beneath him, answering- “Yeah, it was the first place I ever got that really felt like home, you know?”

“Ok.” When he says nothing else, you lean back to look at him, finding his eyes stuck on the black television screen.

“Why?”

“Nothing.”

“Minho,” he huffs before looking at you, his guarded gaze a little unsettling. “Why?”

“Nothing,” he repeats, before adding- “Just a little small.”

“Well,” you hum, suddenly defensive of your just a little small sanctuary. “I was one person then.”

“And now?”

You try to bite back a smile. You fail miserably. “Well, now we’re two.” He smiles when you let it show, his eyes falling to his hand over yours, the one resting on your belly. Soon it’ll be three.

“So?”

“So, nothing. It’s just..” When you raise an eyebrow, he looks away again, watching your reflection on the shiny black screen. “My place is kinda far..”

“Yes?”

“And I’m kinda sick of going to feel the cats everyday.”

“Mm?”

“Because I’m always here, so..” Unable to make out your expression in the matted glass, he looks down to find you smirking. He glares, huffing. “Forget it.”

“No no, go on.” When he moves to remove your legs from his lap, you grab his hands. “No, seriously, what were you gonna say?” When he just glares, looking away, you lean up to kiss his cheek, then pout when he turns back to you. “I’m sorry. Please?”

Staring at you, he sighs. “..I don’t see why we need two places.”

“Well,” you start, begging your face to stay neutral. “That’s because we don’t live together..”

“I know.” When you just stare with hopeful, encouraging eyes, corners of your lips upturned, he groans. “You’re not as subtle as you think you are.”

“Just say what you wanna say Minho.”

“No,” he refuses, crossing his arms. “You ruined it.”

“Whatever.” With a shrug, you lean your head on his shoulder before he nudges you off of him. Pressing your lips to his shoulder, trying and failing to muffle your laughter. The shoe is finally on the other foot, and he doesn’t like it. Serves him right.

“So this is how that feels.” He muses, rolling his eyes at the sound of your laughter before silencing you with a kiss. His palm meets your cheek, his thumb rubbing your jaw with slow, near hypnotic strokes. Resting his forehead on yours, he breathes- “Move in with me.”

Pursing your lips you hum, pretending to think, jumping when he pokes you in the rib. “Okay! Okay.”

It’s funny how in just a few months, Minho went from your mutual friend, to the catalyst for so much change in your life. How you went from mere strangers to lovers, acquaintances to parents. From alone to together. You and him. Him and you. It’s.. bliss.

And then it isn’t. Suddenly, it’s anything but.

“Fuck.”

Minho feels you stiffen beneath him, eyes blown wide. “What is it?”

“I think-” No, you know. It’s just less embarrassing to outright admit. “I think I pissed myself?”

You watch him bite back a laugh, his eyes rolling to feign nonchalance. For whose sake, you don’t know. You appreciate it regardless. He was right, you two are disgusting.

Kissing your forehead, he goes to move you off of his lap when you grit your teeth, hands balling into fits as you muffle a scream. Sitting up fully, he holds your head in his hands. Your eyes screw shut as you try to navigate the pain, try to locate it. He doesn’t move, until you gasp, teary eyes flying open, the pain subsiding as quickly as it came.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” you force out, winded. “Fuck- I don’t know what that was.”

“Where does it hurt?” He asks, thumbs running over your cheeks.

“All down my back,” you breathe, bringing a hand under your belly. “-and right here.”

It’s quiet for a few seconds before he stiffens, eyes wide.

“What?” He says nothing, shifting you slightly to look at the dark spot on the couch.

“Shit.”

“What?” Even in his haste, he moves you off of him with the utmost care, placing your feet gently on the carpet before getting up. “Minho! Don’t go!”

“Hey, hey,” still a little pale, he turns to you, kneeling on the ground, rubbing your knees. “Wait here for me, okay? Deep breaths.” When he tries to leave again, you latch onto his arm, blinking back tears. “You didn’t piss yourself, I think you’re in labour.”

Labour.

You’re in.. labour?

“No, no, no- I’m not. It’s too soon- stop that! Just- stay! Where are you going!”

“I need to pack your hospital bag,” he says with as little smugness as is possible for Minho. Which isn’t much. You had been putting it off for a while, swearing he was being over prepared. “Don’t move, I’m coming right back.”

“Minho!” He’s gone for what feels like hours, the pain dull but lingering as you think over his words. Labour. Hospital bag. Deep breaths. It’s then you realise you’d been holding your breath. You curse him on your second inhale, a pain shooting through your groin, all the way up your back and over your shoulders. He runs in at the sound of your scream, frowning at the sight of you, tears streaming down your cheeks. Through the pain you feel him stroking your head, mumbling about something. “It’s too soon,” you cry, watching him unbutton your dress, helping you stand. Your eyes catch the sweats and t-shirt slung over his shoulder. “We still have a few weeks.”

“It’s gonna be okay,” he rushes, stripping you with just enough care. “It’s just a few weeks, baby.”

Dropping your head to his shoulder you just weep. Baby. You haven’t heard that from him yet. It’d have you reeling if it didn’t happen now. Especially when your baby is coming. Shit. Your baby is coming. “No. I wanted more time..”

“It’s okay,” kissing your temple, he strokes your head, patting his pocket, checking for his phone and keys. “We’re ready, we don’t need time.”

“No.” You cry, sniffling. “I wanted more time with you.”

“I told you, dummy.” He smiles, kissing your forehead before he walks you to the door, grabbing your hospital bag. “I’m not going anywhere.”

10 MONTHS

Clenching and unclenching his fist, Chan exhales before letting his knuckles hit the door with three soft strikes.

Except the few times he forgot his key, Chan can’t remember ever knocking on your front door. It’s jarring, to think of himself as a guest in your home after years of the opposite. It’s even more jarring to see who welcomes him: a visibly exhausted yet ever handsome, Minho.

Neither of them speak for a few seconds, Minho’s tired eyes warming slightly as Chan’s rested pair look him over. “You look like shit, mate.”

“I feel like it,” Minho laughs, pulling the door open a bit more to welcome his old friend inside. It’s surprisingly quiet, Chan thinks, for a house with a newborn. “They’re sleeping.”

“Right.” He was never subtle, he remembers you saying once, evidenced by his eyes slowly scanning the living room. It’s neat, bar the moses basket and brand new bottle cleaner sat atop the coffee table. “Good thing I didn’t get that then,” he says, pointing at the contraption.

“Yeah, Felix dropped it round when we got home last week,” Minho grumbles, scratching his head. “Still can’t figure it out.”

“Want me to take a look?” Minho doesn’t say anything as he raises his hand, gesturing to the couch. The space has changed slightly. His- the other couch, is against the wall now, the moses basket in its place. Sitting, he digs out the instructions, eyeing them quietly.

“Want a drink?”

“Yeah, sure.”

When Minho heads into the kitchen, Chan swallows. He hadn’t spoken to Minho. Not a word since the fight. He’d spoken to you though. The odd text here and there, you’d met for that coffee you promised, awkwardly steering clear of the topic of you both and sticking to catching up. He asked about the baby, you told him about the baby. You reluctantly asked about his spiders, and he told you about the spiders. It was amicable. It was nice.

He and Minho however? “Here.”

It was weird. He knew him before he ever knew you. The pair met at your college open day, the elder of the two spending the day guiding the latter and his parents through the near mile long campus, quietly telling him all the best spots for studying, partying, even doing laundry. Random tips and tricks to making it through college life. His parents spoke more than he did, still unsure about their only child moving to a college so far from home. Chan had happily soothed their concerns, complimenting the college dance programme, watching Minho’s eyes light up at its mention. Like they do now, when Chan asks about you.

“She’s good,” though like always, behind them lingers some restraint. It isn’t for his sake, Chan thinks. Minho, though one to downplay something for his own discretion, unknowingly gives something else away. Something is wrong. “Just adjusting.”

“What d’you mean?”

Looking up from the finally assembled and currently cleansing bottle cleaner, Minho sighs- “She’s still trying to get used to everything. Feeding, changing.. it’s all still new, I guess.”

Nodding, Chan sips his beer, watching Minho dig the heels of his palms into his eyes with a yawn. “But she’s okay, right?” Blinking, Minho sniffs. It was weird. Seeing Minho so pensive, so troubled. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” shaking his head, he swallows. “No, it’s just-” the words catch in his throat. Chan thinks he’s over stepping when his eyes widen, catching the gleam in Minho’s eyes. “She’s- she’s struggling.”

“With what?”

“All of it.” He doesn’t say anything for a while, wringing his hands before he looks at Chan, seeing the warmth, the concern in his eyes. “She was early,” he says, thinking back. “So that came as a shock, and because of it they couldn’t come home straight away. Baby had to stay, get monitored. On top of that, Y/N got an infection which freaked her out a bit. I had to stay here, she wasn’t able to see her all the time. All the weeks alone in hospital, I think everything started getting to her.”

Chan just nods, a little antsy at no sign of you in the time he’s been here. He isn’t proud of it, but hearing from you has really helped him. Going from spending nearly every night with you to radio silence, the slow stream of contact has done wonders for him. When he’d only heard the news from Felix after you promised to update him, he panicked. It’s why he’s here.

“She’s active, like, she’s proper eager to help. But- just not with her? I love doing it, all of it. And she’s been amazing, she’s cooking, cleaning, tidying up, making bottles.. but when it comes to the baby, it’s like she’s terrified of doing something wrong. And she wants to, I can see it. When I walk in on them, when she thinks I’m not looking, I catch her playing with her, poking her cheek, shaking her foot or something,” Minho remembers with a soft grin. “But, besides that? Nothing. As if she can’t? Or isn’t allowed to? Or thinks she doesn’t deserve to, doesn’t deserve her. It’s like she thinks she might hurt her, as if she ever could. And I don’t get it but after all the complications, I think she’s- it’s like-”

It’s weird, but Chan doesn’t think twice before getting up, hugging Minho tight as he cries. Sobs ripping through him as he muffles the sound in Chan’s shoulder. It’s terrifying. What could be so wrong that Minho could be like this. The Lee Minho. Chan has never seen Minho like this. He wants to know why.. until he doesn’t.

“I think she thinks it was her fault.”

Chan squeezes tighter at that, his own words screaming back at him, mocking him.

‘Maybe your dad had the right idea, getting out before it was too late, because I’m not sticking around while you fuck up our kid too.’

“Can I talk to her?” Chan breathes suddenly, worried at Minho’s confused glare, his red eyes scanning the paling face of his old friend. What would it do? Chan telling you to grow up, to get up and be a mother. Chan almost backtracks at the distrust in Minho’s eyes, the same warning look he remembers from the party darkening them. But he holds his ground. “I think I can help.”

After a long second, Minho sniffs, daring him- “Say anything to hurt her-”

“I won’t.” Chan promises, swallowing. “I swear.”

With a hard stare, Minho nods. Sighing- “You know where she is.”

It’s quiet, bar the soft breaths from the cot beside your bed when the door knocks, your eyes moving toward it, a grin already forming on your lips. It lessens into a soft smile when he doesn’t appear but Chan does, a pink, paper gift bag in his hands. Sitting up, you tilt your head. “Hey you.”

“Hey,” Chan smiles, eyes meeting yours. “I come bearing gifts.. Well, one gift.”

“You didn’t have to.” You try, laughing when he glares playfully. It’s easy with you, Chan thinks. Not so much in a bedroom he once shared with you, his eyes catching the box marked Minho, dance trophies spilling out. But it’s easy, almost like it used to be. “What is it?”

Stuffing his hand in the bag, he pulls it out to reveal a stuffed wolf, a pink bow wrapped around its neck.

“You look adorable.”

“Har har,” he grumbles, moving to hand it to you, watching you twirl it between your hands. “It was Felix’s idea.”

“That explains it,” you say, watching his brows knit. “I think he told you all the same thing,” you smile, pointing at the array of stuffed animals at her feet, most impressed by the pig-rabbit hybrid at the end, the quokka and chicken nestled just north of her tiny, perfectly round head. Turning back to you, his brows almost blend into one as you hand it back to him, telling him- “Put them together.”

“No, you do it,” he tries, watching you stiffen only just. “I don’t want to mess up the arrangement.”

“You could never.” You say simply, folding up a pile of muslin.

Though the words give him pause, they’re not enough to prove Minho’s point, but they’re something. Chan has seen you with kids. They gravitate towards you, and you to them. It’s part of the reason you two started discussing trying, traversing your early hesitance at the idea of becoming the very thing you feared the most. So, to see you, smiling eyes glued to her round face, sitting a good few feet away from your newborn.. it’s strange.

“How you feeling?” He asks suddenly, your head turning at the sound, as if you’d forgotten he were there. “Felix said it wasn’t.. easy?”

“Is it meant to be?” You joke, shrugging. “I’m good. She was-” you frown at the memory, shaking your head ever so slightly, patting the folded muslin in your lap. “We’re good.”

“That’s good,” he nods warmly, eyeing the half packed boxes. “Almost all packed up?”

“Yeah,” you grin, pointing to a box of Minho’s stuff, “his stuff is already done from his place but still got all mine to do. Lix’s parents said they’d take some of it in their attic but just need to decide what.”

“Right, right.”

“Did Lix show you it?” When he shakes his head, you reach for your phone, going on about the cute two-bed a couple blocks away. He thinks he gets it now. How ready you are to talk about anything and everything except what is wrong. He’s about to think up another way to bring it up when the baby wakes, the beginnings of a cry already cutting through the room.

Looking toward you, he sees it clearly. How you shrink into yourself, a frown forming on your delicate features, your body rising sharply as you go to call for Minho. “I’ll just go get him-”

“Hey, hey,” you’re almost at the door when he rushes- “It’s okay, may I?”

You nod immediately, the trust in your eyes warming him. He feels your eyes on him as he walks to pick her up, his voice low as he coos at her, large hands carefully lifting her from the cot before cradling her in his big arms. She was tiny, but even more so with Chan, her small body sinking into the puffy sleeves of his sweatshirt. He silences her with a few gentle rocks, arms still swinging side to side before he looks up, finding you watching them in silent awe. Chan has always been good at everything, why would this be any different?

When she cries again, probably unfamiliar with his smell, or the ridges in his arms, the depth of his voice different to her dad’s, he’s quick to navigate it, soothing her- “Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, there you go-” Ah, this is awkward. “Felix never sent her name when he text.”

Looking up, he finds you chewing your lips, rubbing your palms down your top. “She- she doesn’t have one yet.” Swallowing, you nod towards the door. “I told Minho to just pick one but he kept saying ‘no, that’s not how it works’, so we’re still deciding.” He keeps rocking her, nodding gently as you continue. “You know, without a name, she technically doesn’t legally exist because we can’t get her a birth certificate? It’s very Matrix, don’t you think?”

“Yeah..” he breathes, looking at her then back to you. “Have you thought of any names?”

“Uh-” You think for a moment before shrugging, coming up short. Kora comes to mind. Soon to be cursed to a half life in hell, the rest in fleeting happiness until her return there. Maybe Persephone, like she came to be known. You say neither. “Nothing really suits her.”

“None?” You shake your head, sitting when he does. “She doesn’t look like anyone?”

You remain silent for a moment, a sad smile on your face as you whisper, “She looks a bit like my mom..” his eyes dart to your cheek then, watching you swipe your hand over it as you laugh. “Poor thing.”

“Hey-”

“Ignore me, I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Chan, it’s fine.”

“Y/N.”

“I’m fine!” You say suddenly, a shout quiet enough not to wake her. A loud whisper of sorts. “I’m fine, she’s fine, we’re all fine. She hasn’t got a name yet because Minho won’t pick and I can’t decide because.. because every time I look at her, I see my mom. I look at her, and I remember how.. how everything is my fault.”

“Y/N, that’s not true-”

“Yes it is. Everything is. Her, me and you, my mom. Her bipolar came after I did, she lived her whole life before me, and I came in and ruined it. She spiralled after I left, and now she’s gone. So you know, maybe if I never did, she’d still be here. Maybe she’d tell me what to do, how to fix this, how to- how to be a fucking mom.” Your breaths shallow with every word, your eyes still stuck on Chan’s arms, tears finally spilling over the edge of your welling eyes. “I hated her because she didn’t want me but had me anyway. And now look at me. I wanted her so bad, and I have no fucking clue how to take care of her. So which is worse, huh? Having a baby you don’t want and still trying, only for her to walk out on you? Or having one you do want and fucking everything up? I finally went to see her a few months ago. Being there finally made me realise that maybe I should’ve cut her some slack. That maybe she did everything she could, that everything she did was to make me strong, to prepare me for life, for this. And she did it all on her own, all by herself. I have someone to help and I still can’t do it. I’m still fucking it up.

“But hey,” you shrug with a small smile, eye’s gleaming. “She’s only half me right? The other half is the only thing saving her.” Your laughter cuts through the hate you feel for yourself, staring at the spot where Chan once sat as he rises to place your sleeping daughter in her cot. “Minho’s perfect with her. It’s the only thing getting me through every day, seeing them together. It just clicked for him. Like he was born to do this, to be a dad, be her dad. She stops crying the second he enters the room, she’s barely two months and smiles when she hears him. She’s gorgeous, just like him. She’s perfect. He’s perfect. And I’m-” it’s then your eyes find Chan, his so full of concern, full of pity. It makes your stomach turn. “I’m just- I just can’t do it.”

Is it wrong? To miss Chan holding you? To miss him comforting you? To miss the way his presence alone can fix so much without so much as a word said? Encasing you in his arms as he squeezes every drop from you, his damp shoulder pressed to your cheek, your nose breathing in his scent, soothed by the very smell of your ex lover? You think not. Not when you experienced so much together, lived together, loved one another.

And you think you still do, just not in the way you once did. Not the way you love Minho, or the way you love Felix. It’s something else entirely. You love Chan in the way you think you would have had your lives been different, had he not taken Minho’s chance so many years ago, had he just been your friend.

You love Chan how you think you always should have. Not as a lover, but a friend.

A friend who takes you as you are, who has seen every part of you, both good and bad and loves you anyway. A friend who holds you tight, stroking your hair with gentle pats, rocking you side to side before breathing- “I’m going to say something you’re not going to like-”

“That isn’t new-”

“And I want you to listen until I’m done,” he laughs, squeezing tighter. “Okay?”

It’s a few seconds before you nod, giving him a final squeeze before pulling away.

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” The words come out softly, echoing your own. “You- Y/N, you? Are the best person I know.” He glares when you open your mouth, watching it shut as the words die on your tongue, leaving you to think them instead. You both know Felix Lee. “We were together for over five years and those were five of the best years of my life. You gave those to me. And I know they weren’t all the same for you, I know you put a lot aside for me. Everything with your mom, everything you were feeling, everything you wanted in life. I wanted a family and you tried for me, you tried because you wanted what I did and I didn’t think of you, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry because maybe if I did, if I just thought about you for a second, we could’ve worked on everything together, instead of trying to patch everything up with a baby. If I thought of you then, then maybe we could’ve been happy.. maybe you would’ve been happy. Maybe if I tried to show you that you weren’t just your mother’s daughter, but that you were so, so much more, things would be different.

“But they aren’t. And maybe that’s how it was meant to be. Y/N, you’ve spent your whole life on your own. You raised yourself, you loved yourself. You did everything yourself. And a few months ago, it would’ve killed me to admit it, but now you don’t have to. You have Minho, you have her,” he smiles, looking at your now awake, humming daughter. “You have a beautiful baby, a beautiful life. And it may not be how you planned, how you wanted it, but it’s your life now. And I wouldn’t want it for anyone else. Your daughter is so lucky to have you. And sure your mom wasn’t the best, but she made you Y/N. You’re loving, and caring, you give everyone who walks into your life so much of yourself, you don’t even see that you’re hurting. And I know you think you’re helping her, by staying away, by standing aside. I know you think you’re doing the best thing for her, but you can’t hurt yourself just to protect her. There’s nothing to protect her from! You say Minho’s the best chance she’s got? This girl is already half you, which means half of her already has the best chance she could ever have. There is no version of you that doesn’t deserve her, deserve everything you want. You don’t have to learn how to be a mother, Y/N. You just do it. You just figure it out as you go. And you already wanting the world for her is proof enough that you’re a good mother, great even.

“How everything turned out with your mom is shit. It is. But you’re not her. You’re you. Yes, you are your mother’s daughter, but this girl is yours. And she’s going to be okay, more than okay.. because she has you.”

You read once that babies can sense sadness, and though that isn’t even close to what you’re feeling, you think yours can sense something as she suddenly cries, her swaddled body shifting side to side. When the door opens at the sound, Chan also moving to grab her, you wipe your cheek, grabbing his arm-

“I’ll get her,” you breathe, looking toward Minho, rolling your eyes at his teary, almost annoying astonishment.. “I am her mom, aren’t I?”

“Go on then,” he glares, watching in quiet awe as you walk over to her, only slightly hesitant as you lower your hands to her head and feet before raising her out of the cot.

“She’s so small,” you whisper, smiling at them both, before holding her close, feeling her settle as she rests her head over your heart. “Hi love,” looking up at you, you watch her lips curl, the whispers of a smile on her face. It’s then you see it, in the soft curves of her cheeks, the slight arch of her brows, the tiny dip of her nose. You think you saw it all along. She doesn’t look like your mother, or maybe she does, because- “She kinda looks like me.”

12 MONTHS

“At this time we call on the parents, grandparents and chosen godparents of Love Lee to come forward.”

Looking over your shoulder, you glare at your group of friends gathered in the second row pew, quickly silencing their snickers.

“‘Love Lee’, whose clever idea was that again?”

“Y/N’s,” Minho grumbles, flicking Jisung’s forehead before getting up. “We didn’t realise until we went to the town hall- wake him up.”

“Why are you flicking me? I wasn’t the one who named her,” Jisung grumbles, rubbing his forehead as he nudges Jeongin awake. “Wake up, you’re drooling.” Watching Felix and his parents get up to approach the baptismal font, Jisung slouches a little before announcing to no one in particular, “I didn’t want the first one anyway, the first kid is always boring. I want the second one. The fun one, ya know?”

“Whatever makes you feel better,” Changbin smirks, giving Felix a thumbs up when he straightens his suit jacket.

“No seriously,” Jisung defends, watching you place Love in the priest’s waiting arms. “Think about it. Harry and William, Anna and Elsa, Solange and Bey- no not that one. Yeji and Hyunjin!”

“Hey!” Hyunjin warns, glaring as Jisung turns to a grinning Yeji a row behind, winking.

“Yep. Firstborns are overrated. I’m getting the second one.”

“You keep telling yourself that, mate.” Chan says suddenly, patting his friend’s shoulder as he shuffles along the pew to join the others at the font.

Glaring at his retreating figure, Jisung muses- “And besides, if anything happens to Chan or Felix, I’m next in line.”

“Who said?” Seungmin laughs, kneeling beside Jeongin to snap a shot of you all gathered by the font, Felix and Chan listening carefully to the priest. “Because I’m pretty sure they’re not picking the bitter friend with no money to raise their kid if they die-”

“Hey, fuck you man-” at the chorus of gasps, a revenge elbow in the rib back from Jeongin and a glare from Minho’s parents at the front, Jisung bows his head, whispering- “Why are they doing this anyway? Are they even religious?”

“I think Minho said something about Y/N not wanting Love to burn in the eternal flame.” Jeongin yawns, shoving him as he stretches.

It’s silent for a second before Jisung nods. “I love The Bangles.”

“Hey Love! Hi! Hi, look at me! There we go.. everyone say ‘Happy Christening’.”

“Happy Christening!”

With a final few snaps of the shutter, Seungmin’s job is done for the evening. “Okay, Seungmin, you’re done. Nope, you’re done. Take this-” you say firmly, placing an open beer in his hand, grabbing the camera off of him. “Go have fun.”

“I just want to get a few more-”

“Go!” With a glare and failed final try, he concedes, taking a long swig of the beer before moving to stalk off when you pull him back. “No, wait!”

“No, no, I’m not in the pictures, I just take them.”

“But what if when she’s older she asks why you weren’t here?” You pout, grinning when he sighs, following your line of sight to find the four month old bouncing on Jeongin’s lap, squealing as she rises in the air. Just then, your eyes catch on a familiar head of blonde hair. “Quick, go grab her before Felix gets her. You’ll never get her off him.”

Rising to the challenge, he takes quick a few quick, short strides in her direction, snatching and spinning her in the air before Felix gets a chance. “Hey!”

“You snooze, you lose,” Seungmin yells over his shoulder before posing. “Hurry up, I think he might kill me.”

Taking a few blurry, a few excellent shots, you look through them before looking up, finding Felix and Jeongin flanking Seungmin. Snapping a few more, you look up to see the rest of the guys approaching, relinquishing their seat on the last piece of furniture in the empty living room.

One of them is missing.

You realise who as you take a few steps back, trying to get them all in. “Oh!”

“Watch it, these are my expensive shoes.”

“All of them are your expensive shoes, idiot.” When he tickles your sides, you gasp, warning- “Careful, if I drop this, Love’ll be fatherless.”

“Don’t worry, Y/N, I’ll happily take his place.” Jisung says honourably before leaning forward to find someone. “Unless of course, Chan wanted to..”

“Oooooo.”

Rolling your eyes, you look towards a laughing Minho, whispering, “No one could replace you.”

“I know,” he whispers over your lips, capturing them with his before the jokes start up again.

“You mad Chan?” Jeongin tries to a less successful reception, Chan’s hand swinging out and grabbing his tie. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“Hey, watch the kid.” Minho warns, leaving your side to take Love in his arms.

“Or what?” Chan says, taking Love from Seungmin before he can, freeing the latter to grab and pack his camera before anything happens to his baby. “There’s no table to throw me through this time.”

“Don’t,” pinching Love’s cheek as he lets Chan hold her. “You’ll start him up again.”

“Who, me?” Changbin shouts, crossing his arms. “The guy whose table still hasn’t been replaced?”

“Well,” Felix muses, “If we hadn’t thrown that party, that fight wouldn’t have happened.”

“Exactly,” you agree, nodding. “So technically.. it’s Hyunjin’s fault.”

“For what?” Hyunjin yells. “Being born?” There’s collective agreement before he huffs. “Love,” he says, walking up to your baby before kissing her forehead. “Goodnight. Thanks for a great time,” before walking out of your apartment, threatening- “Whoever came in my car better find a ride home because none of you are coming with me!”

“I didn’t agree, Jinnie!” Jeongin shouts, kissing Love on the cheek and waving goodbye before running after him.

They suddenly all begin to trickle out, Chan and Felix the last as they grab and slip on their shoes. Minho has to pry Love out of Felix’s hands for you to hug him, his pout lingering when you remember. “Oh!” Running to Felix’s room, you grab something from the cabinet before returning. “We have something for you two. Well, Love does.”

Gasping, Felix turns to the infant. “You didn’t have to get us anything!” Grinning when she reaches for him, squealing as she slaps him across the cheek. “I’m gonna let that slide.”

“Seriously, though,” Chan says, looking at you both as he digs into the bag, pulling out a small box. You feel Minho lean into your side, his slipping onto your hip as Love bounces on his own. They open the gifts in silence, the silver bangles glistening in the low light. Chan catches it first, the tiny inscription. A love heart. “Aw, that’s cute.”

“I love it! Thank you, baby!” He says with a grin, eyeing Minho expectantly before he just shakes his head. With a dejected sigh, a final kiss and a hug goodbye, Felix shrugs his suit jacket back on before he heads for the door, certain Seungmin and Jisung are about to leave him behind. “Chan, need a ride?”

“Uh, yeah. Just give me a minute?” When he’s gone, you feel Minho lean his cheek on your head, Chan smiling softly. “I- uh, I just realised I never said thank you.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Just something to remember today-”

“No,” he laughs, already forgetting the little cuff on his wrist. “Not that- I mean, this is amazing, really. But I meant-” looking at Love, he smiles again. “Thanks for choosing me. I know you could’ve chosen anyone, and I’m honoured you guys picked me.”

“Yeah,” Minho huffs, “Well it was you or Jisung, and I wasn’t picking him.”

“Yeah, he’s a bit pissed about that..” Chan laughs, scratching his neck.

“He’ll get over it,” Minho shrugs. “But you’re my brother, man. Of course.”

“Yeah.” With a clap, he drops a kiss on Love’s head before hugging you both. “I’ll see you guys next week, at the new place?”

“Yes. See you then.”

And then it’s just you three.

When you say it like that, the number feels so small when seven people have just left. But when you remember not even eight months ago, it was just you, it feels like the saying goes: a crowd. No, not a crowd.

A family.

“I thought I told you to stop thinking so hard,” you hear Minho say, turning to find him watching you from the couch, Love napping in her cot next door. “You’re not that bright, you might hurt yourself.”

“Har har.” Walking over to him, you drop yourself in his lap, thinking back to all those months ago when the sight of him jarred you. Now, it wouldn’t feel right without him. It’s funny, how well you fit in his lap now, the reason you're together snoozing away one door down. You bask in the peace for a moment, feeling his hand settle at your lower back, before inching its way up, working the muscles like they once had to. When it meets your neck, turning it towards him, he guides your lips to his.

Kissing Minho is the most natural thing in the world. It’s practically necessary at this point. Feeling his lips move against yours, his hands pulling you over him, slotting your thighs either side of his. Perched on his knees, you feel his fingers slip under the hem of your dress, the white satin gathering on his cuffs as you untie his tie with shaky fingers. When his fingers meet the lace, he pauses, pulling away to look at you, then them.

“These for me?” He asks with a smirk, the smugness almost ruining the gesture. Almost. When you nod, he squints. “You wore these to the church?”

“Mhm.”

“You know,” he says with a low voice, unbuttoning your dress slowly, “If you told me that then, the service would’ve gone a lot differently.”

“Minho,” you warn, or try to, it’s more a whine as he pulls back your dress, knuckles dusting over your clothed heat. “We’re already cohabiting, having sex and had a baby all before marriage. I don’t need sex in a church added to my list of sins.”

“Is this you proposing?” He breathes into your neck, lips latching to the skin when you hit his arm. “Don’t be shy, I would’ve said yes.”

“Fuck off, I am not proposing to you.”

“What?” He asks, unhooking your bra before pressing firmly against your back, bringing your chest to his mouth. Looking up, he watches you through his lashes, the tip of his tongue darting out to lick your nipple, guiding it into his waiting mouth with a gentle suck. “You said it yourself,” his words send a shiver through you, his lips curving as you push your chest toward his waiting mouth. “We’re moving in together, we’re fucking, we have a baby.” Rolling it between his teeth, he grins when you gasp, placing a kiss to the skin just above. “Let’s get married.”

Sitting back on his knees, you glower at him. Not this again.

“You choose the worst times to play games with me.”

“I’ve never played a game with you, baby,” he confesses, looking up at you in earnest. “You just called it that.”

“So you’re admitting you were actively flirting with me when I was with Chan?” He nods. “So you’re a homewrecker?”

“Well,” he shrugs, passing his thumb over your clit, watching your lips part. “There wasn’t really a home to wreck, was there?”

“Have I ever told you you’re really fucking annoying?”

“Yeah, once or twice.” Bringing you back down to him, you feel his arm wrap around your waist, pulling you flush against him, the cool buttons of his shirt biting at the skin on your chest. Sliding down further, you wrap your arms around his neck, feeling him shift before he lifts you to unbuckle his belt and trousers, slipping them down his legs before kicking them off. “Did I ever tell you, you’re beautiful?”

“In less words,” dropping your hand down, you watch his head fall back on the couch, swallowing as you palm him, fingers slowly wrapping around him.

“In less words than two?”

“Yeah,” you laugh, teeth grazing his Adam’s apple, forcing a breath out of him. “You’re pretty selective with your compliments, baby.”

“Well, if I said it too often, it wouldn’t be as meaningful would it?” You suppose, the words are still swimming around in your head. “Kinda like ‘I love you’.”

“You’ve never said you love me.”

“But you know I do,” he says simply, hips rising to your hand as you slip them in his waistband, freeing him with nimble twists of your wrist. Watching you, he hisses- “You do right?” When you raise a brow, letting your thumb graze over his tip, he forces out- “You know I love you?”

“I know,” you pout, letting him take it between his teeth as you slide your closed fist down around him.

“Then marry me.” You look into his warm eyes with exasperation, biting back a smile, biting back a yes as you slide your fist up and down, feeling the weight of him increase beneath your palm. He struggles to retain that warmth, darkness seeping in with every tug, his lips parting as you lean in to kiss him, before he pulls his lips away again. “Marry me.”

“Minho!” Releasing him, you watch him scowl, pouting at your indignation. “Stop messing around!”

“I’m not!”

“Look,” you warn with a sigh, feeling him drag you closer, his breath catching as the lace of your panties rubs his cock just enough to feel a hint of relief. “If you were serious, you’d have a ring and be on one knee, and it wouldn’t be while we’re half naked about to fuck!”

“Well, I’m not on one knee, because we’re about to fuck,” he points out, leaning to the other end of the couch to grab his suit jacket. “But I do-” digging into the pocket, he pulls out a little box, a miniature version of the one’s you’d just gifted your daughter’s godfathers. “Have a ring.”

Opening the box, he turns it towards you, looking awfully smug for someone flushed as red as he is. You stare at it for a while, the silver band topped with a perfectly cut diamond. It’s clean. It’s simple. It’s perfect.

“You’re the mother of my daughter. You’re-” looking up, thinking he might be choking up, you only find him.. Annoyed, begrudgingly admitting- “You’re my best friend at this point,” softened by the tears he finds swimming in your eyes. “I’m- I’m fucking whipped, Y/N. Me. I’m in love with you, okay? I’d do anything for you. Be mine.

“Marry me.”

Oh, you definitely win.

“Okay.” You say, pecking his lips. “I’ll marry you.”

Plucking the ring out the box, he slides it onto your second to last finger, watching it glide on with impeccable ease. When you raise a brow, he confesses- “Felix helped me.”

“He knew?”

“Yeah.” Funny, how good your best friend is at keeping Minho’s secrets and not yours.

“Now, are you gonna sit on my dick or what?”

“I don’t know, can I take my yes back?” Shaking his head, he pumps himself a few times as you slide your panties off, smiling at him. Rolling his eyes, he eyes the piece of fabric as it rolls down, slipping his hand between you two, his middle finger slipping into you with equally impeccable ease. You hear the words before he speaks them. “I swear to god, Minho-”

“Who you been fucking?”

“I had a baby, you dickhead.”

“Mm, sure-” you cut him off as you take him to the hilt, lips closing around his as he grunts, the sound only half the assurance you need. When he looks at you, he mirrors your frown. “What’s wrong?”

“Am I-” you swallow, watching a flush creep down his neck and chest, the words having to force their way out. “Do I still feel good?”

He pouts at that, thumb swiping the streaks left behind on your cheeks. “Yeah, you’re perfect.”

“It’s just..” he watches you, holding himself back from begging you to move, though concern still fills his gaze. “You’re not usually loud but you’re never this quiet.”

“Well, you haven’t started, have you?” He pants out, pushing your hair out of your face. “And Love is asleep next door.”

“Okay,” you concede, feeling him stiffen as you shift slightly, the motion making you squeeze around him. He kisses you then, and again, and again, lips moving slowly, hands finding your hips before he lifts you up and brings you back down, a long, quiet groan leaving his lips as you begin to take over, your knees working extra hard as you rise and fall, his hands creeping up your sides, thumbs rubbing the soft skin beneath your breasts.

His groans slowly fill the air, mingling with yours as you tighten around him, every drag of him along your walls earning increasingly louder mewls, his hands gripping you tighter as you force yourself up and down, a burn growing in your thighs. He senses this as you begin to slow, a smirk pulling his lips to one side. “Need me to take over?”

Fucking liar. He did play games.

You pull a new found strength from this, your hands rubbing their way up his chest to his shoulders, forgoing the action entirely, instead rolling your hips, pushing him against a soft, gradually hardening spot within you with each thrust into him. Each one makes him heady, his jaw tensing with every motion, every squeeze. You feel him pulse inside you, his head falling back on the couch on a particularly slow drag of your heat.

“You better not come in me.”

“Come on,” he whines, feeling you slow to a devastating stop, his thumb moving to rest on your clit. “Chan was right, Jisung’s pissed.”

“If you think I’m having another baby for Han Jisung, you’re insane.”

“Maybe I am,” he huffs before inhaling deeply and turning you both, letting your back fall into the emerald couch, his hips snapping into you with a new found vigour. “Let’s have another.”

“Minho.”

“Fine,” kissing your neck, he lets his thumb find your clit again, fucking into you with his lip between his teeth, releasing it just to say- “You’re swallowing it then.”

“Fine.”

“Fine- fuck,” he slows when you tighten around him, gripping him tight as he circles your clit. Watching your face contort, he laughs to himself. “Close, baby?”

“Mhm,” you hum, not trusting yourself not to scream, as he shortens his strokes, but sharpens them, hammering a spot that has your jaw hanging open. It’s dizzying, the weight of him above you, the angle of him in you, his thumb working on your clit. It’s all too much. A good too much. “M-Minho-”

“It’s okay, baby. Go ahead.” He whispers, kissing your bitten lips, swallowing your scream as you cum, your walls closing around him. Nearly milking him, he’s forced to pull out as he keeps working your clit, kissing your open mouth. “Good girl, that’s it.”

You’re trembling beneath him, the couch soaking up your light film of sweat as you pant, feeling the last of your orgasm fading away, just as you look up, finding him watching you, oddly sweet.

“Come here,” your eyes drop to his slick cock, his fingers gripping the base tight, literally holding back his release. “Hurry.”

“Hold on,” you laugh, gripping his tensed thighs when he kneels, your hands rubbing them as he places the head in your waiting mouth, his hands finding the back of your neck and couch to steady him, the last of his energy draining out of him with every bob of your head and hollow of your cheeks. He shivers when you pull him out, your lips sucking on his tip, tongue swirling.

“Just like that,” he whispers, thumb rubbing along your jaw as you take him back in, letting his hand guide your head. He smirks when you glare at him, almost gagging as your lips touch his base. “Sorry.”

He’s not sorry. Not even a little. But you can take it, he knows you can. If your first night together a year ago was anything to go by.

A year.

A year with Minho. Well, not exactly, but it’s easier to believe that in a full year so much could change. That in one year, Minho went from a stranger at your front door, to the love of your life. That in one year, you went from the lowest point in your life to its peak. That in one year, Minho made you his.

“Shit-” he hisses, feeling you swallow around his head, your cheeks hollowed, milking his cum straight down your throat. Hands still rubbing up and down his thighs, you feel them soften with every gulp, his hand loosening around your neck, his other coming to pull you off him completely, tilting your head up to kiss him as he collapses over you.

“Get- off!” You whine, laughing as he drops his full weight on you. He hums when you wrap your arms around his waist, the tiny pitter patter of paws sounding from down the hall. “Go open Felix’s door for them before they scratch the wood.”

He just groans, a defiant no readied on his lips before the timely cries of your waking daughter sound. “Okay, babe.” He rushes against the skin of your neck, quickly kissing you before running down the hall.

One year ago, you couldn’t imagine being a mother. Now? Now you couldn’t imagine being anything but.

Grabbing your dress, you throw it on, laughing when you see Minho glower, his eyes catching the mess in the litter box. “Hey babe? Wanna trade-”

“Nope!” Closing the door behind you, you switch on a lamp. “Hey, lovely,” you coo, buttoning up your dress as you hear the sound of your voice alone cutting through her wails. “It’s okay, I’m here.” Gathering her in your arms, you grin as she settles, her writhing slowing with each gentle whisper. “Shh, it’s okay. Mommy’s here.”

Some time passes as you sway side to side, perching yourself on the bed, looking around the empty room before looking back down at her fluttering eyes.

“Did you sleep well, angel? Did you dream?” When she just garbles, you nod like the unintelligible sound is the most interesting thing in the world to you. “Oh really? Then what happened?” She murmurs on cue, fingers latching onto one of yours. “Right, right. My mommy used to say if you fall asleep again quickly, you might be able to finish it.” She moves side to side, an obvious no. “No? You’re up?” She squeals. “That’s a shame, but it’s okay. You have so much time to dream and make every one of them come true..” you frown then, back tracking. “But Love, even if they don’t?” You whisper, kissing her tiny fist. “You can just dream again, and try again, and dream again, and try again. And mommy will be there. No matter. Daddy too, okay?”

She squeals again, the sound forcing a grin on your face.

“Does that sound good? Mommy’s gonna do her best for you, and she might make mistakes sometimes, but I don’t want you to ever forget how much I love you. How much daddy loves you, how much your uncles love you, nana Lee, papa Lee.. times two!” You laugh, pressing your lips to her tiny hand. “You’re gonna do great, chicken. I didn’t always think so. Your nanny, she wasn’t always there.. but she taught me how to love, she taught me how to be a mommy by showing me how not to be,” you laugh, wiping your cheek. “There’s a lesson in everything, in every good and bad thing in life. Even the ugliest things, you can take them and learn from them, learn how to carry on. So one day if I’m not here anymore, if Daddy isn’t here, you’ll have every memory, good or bad, to keep you going. You’ll take them as they are, all their faults and their merits, and you’ll love them anyway.”

She whines then, lips down turned. ‘What if I can’t?’

You shrug, kissing her forehead before breathing against her skin, “There’s only one way to find out.”

You are your mother’s daughter. And maybe that in itself is a testament to yourself, your mother, to her mother. One day you will teach your daughter the same. That she is your daughter but that’s not all she is. She is yours, but she is also hers.

You’ll teach her that mother’s lie, but mother’s also love, just like yours did.

Your mother lied, love can’t fix everything. But maybe Love could. Maybe Love did.

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peachyaone · 4 years

Text

angels like you.

pairings: rengoku kyojuro x gn! hashira! reader

warnings: angst and fluff.

A/N: This fic is inspired by "Angels Like You" by Miley Cyrus

plot: in your eyes, he was like an angel. but would an angel ever want someone like you?

You were known as one of the most ruthless hashira's among the others. You killed with no hesitation. People called you a lunatic, heartless or scary when they see you, you always had a prominent frown on your face. And you had no mercy.

But somehow you ended up with Rengoku, the total opposite of what you are.

The two of you met on a mission, you were supposed to eliminate the demon that was terrorizing a village nearby. But an unsuspected Lower Moon attacked when you finished killing the demon.

*flashback*

"Damn it." you thought as you felt a presence behind you, whatever it was, it was reeking with demonic energy. "What do you want with me?" You asked the demon. You turned to look. You saw markings on its eyes. "Lower Moon Three." it read. "Why are you here?" You asked again, your hand on the hilt of your sword. "Lord Muzan wants to speak with you." It said. "Why would the Demon Lord request to speak with a person like me?" Your grip on your sword tightened. You sensed another presence nearby. "They just want to have a conversation with you, no need to get so defensive." The demon teased. "You sent a demon to terrorize a village to get my attention, am I right?" You said.

"Yes, I did. Now, come on. Lord Muzan's patience is wavering by the second." You unsheathed your sword and the tip grazed the demon's neck. "Not another step." you threaten. Your eyes glared daggers into the demon's own. You swore you saw it shiver. "Come on, human. Don't be reckless." It said. "Back down, L/N-san." A bright voice said. Your eyes move to see the tall, golden-haired man approaching you and the demon. "I thought you were on a mission, Rengoku-san," you said. "I was! I finished early and I was on my way back, but my Kasugai crow informed me about the situation you were in, so I stopped by as assistance!"" He said, cheerfully. You turned back to the demon. "Now tell me, why did Muzan want to see me?" You asked, digging your blade harder into its skin. It stayed quiet. "Tell. Me," you said. "L/N-san." You heard Rengoku say. You glared at him, but he seems to be unfazed by your death glare at him. "It's better if you told them. They could get pretty scary when they're mad," He told the demon.

The demon attacked Rengoku, to which he blocked. You moved to attack it. "Breath of Light, Second Form: Shine." You whispered. A bright light shone from your sword as you strike the demon. The demon yelped in pain as your attack burned it. Rengoku pinned it to the ground. "I could burn you. Just like the sun." You said. The demon's eyes widened. "Now tell me." You said. ' H-he wants you to j-join him!" The demon said. "Why?" You asked. The demon didn't know. You sighed and beheaded the demon. You cleaned your sword as you watched its body disintegrated into the air.

You heard shuffling behind you. "L/N-san?" Rengoku asked. You looked at him. "Wanna grab some food before heading back?" He offered. You nodded.

Your relationship bloomed from there.

*Flashback end*

It has been two years since then. You were taking a walk with Shinobu and Mitsuri, waiting for Rengoku to return from his mission. "Hey, L/N. How did someone like you end up with someone like Rengoku?" Mitsuri asked. You looked at her, you knew she was just curious, sometimes she gets too curious for her own good. But her question seems the affect you, so you shrugged. "I have no idea why, Mitsuri-san." You said, eyes looking at the ground. Shinobu patted your shoulder in silent support. She knew how you felt.

You couldn't control your emotions sometimes, that's why you kept up with the facade of not caring, all because you cared too much. You used to be a bright and bubbly person, well until the death of your younger siblings and your father. You were weak, as your father tried his best to protect you and your siblings. But it didn't last long. The demon slayer found you later, covered with your family's blood. You could still hear their screams echoing in your head.

You'd swore to your family that you will kill every single demon that crosses your path, and have your revenge. So you stopped caring, you would try your best not to get too attached. You never attend any events the others would make. You spent all that time training and/or doing missions. That lasted until Rengoku came into your life.

He would slowly coax you out of your shell, you started to attend the birthday parties instead of wishing them with your crow, started to hang out with the others, training with them. You slowly start to open yourself up to them. There are some days where you would go back to your shell, Rengoku was always there to make you feel better. He was your angel.

Why would he do such things for me?

What does he see in a monster like me?

Why does he love me?

Your intrusive thoughts clouded your mind as you kicked some stones on the pathway. You couldn't hear your friends calling you. "L/N-san!" Mitsuri called. You snapped out of your thoughts, looking at her questioningly. She gestured to your estate, which was a few meters away from where you were standing.

There he was, the flame hashira was standing at the entrance of your home. "Rengoku-san!" Shinobu called out. You saw him turn around. He saw you, a bright smile appeared on his face. "Y/N!" He said, rushing over. He stood in front of you. You gave him a small smile, he smiled widened. "Hey, do you mind if I steal them?" He asked. Shinobu and Mitsuri shook their heads, saying their goodbyes before leaving.

"Hey, honey." He greeted you. "Hi." You said. "I missed you!" He said, hugging you softly. You hummed in agreement. "How was the mission?" You asked him, your voice quiet but still hearable. "It went great! We managed to save many people." You nodded. As he talked, you could feel your headspace fading. The thoughts started to come.

He's only with you because he pities you.

You don't deserve to be with him, not after everything thing you've done!

"No! Stop!" You screamed in your head. You held your head in your hands, your eyes squeezed shut. "Hun'?" Rengoku said to you. Bitter tears welled in your eyes as your fingers gripped on your sleeves tightly. You internally hoped that your thoughts could just disappear, you hated them all. You wanted them all gone. You whimpered.

Rengoku’s hand takes yours and your eyes widen as he tugs you into his arms. He held you as his thumbs wiped away your tears. You felt pathetic and weak as you keep a tight hold on his haori. You felt him planting small kisses on your hair and forehead. "Let's get you inside, yeah?" He whispered. You nodded. He lifted you up and carried you into your home.

He sets you down on the futon. Sitting beside you, he pulled you into his lap, cradling your head against his chest as he stroked your hair. "What's going on, darling? What made you so upset?" He asked softly. “I’m a monster, 'Kyo,” you whispered. “I am a heartless, cruel, ruthless monster– why are you with me?!”

“Y/N…”

“I know you don’t agree with me, I mean you are my partner, but fuck, ‘Kyo, you are such an angel! You are the nicest person, you are passionate, kind, beautiful and so damn perfect-” Tears fall down your face and you don’t bother wiping them away as you stare at him. "Why would an angel like you fly down here with me?" you asked. He felt so helpless, you, the love of his life, think so badly about themself? He will never let that happen.

"You are not a monster, Y/N," he said. You looked at him, eyes puffy. "I'm everything they said I am." You said. He kissed you, cutting off your self-deprecating words. "You are not what they say you are." He said. "You are not cruel, heartless, or anything like that! You are an angel too, if they don't think you are, then I'll fight them!" He wiped away your tears. "You've been through so much and they have no right to call you those awful things okay?"

"But Kyojuro-" "No. No backtalk. You are an amazing person, they just don't know you yet." He said with a bright smile. You felt yourself smiling a little. He looked at you in awe, every time you smiled, he would feel so happy that he wants to make you smile every day. "You're so cute, you know that?" He said. You blushed slightly. "Don't mind their words, you're better than that." He said, kissing your head.

"Thank you, Kyojuro." You whispered. "Anytime, Y/N." He whispered back. He held you until you felt better as he reassured you, giving you kisses and whispered sweet nothings in your ear. "Love you 'Kyo." You mumbled, your eyes feeling irritated from crying. You felt light kisses on your eyelids. "Love you too, Y/N!" He said cheerily. You kissed his cheek as you laid your head back on his chest, dozing off.

#rengoku kyoujurou x reader #rengoku x gn! reader #demon slayer #rengoku kyoujurou #eli writes #kimetsu rengoku #kimetsu no yaiba #rengoku x hashira! reader #gn!reader

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lissasmemes · 3 years

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𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐜𝐲𝐫𝐮𝐬' 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐝.

lyrics from miley cyrus’ 2010 album can’t be tamed.

𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤.

“don’t live a lie.” “this is your one life.” “you know in the end it’ll be okay.” “all that really matters are the steps you take.” “say goodbye to the people who tied you up.” “free yourself, slam the door. you’re not a prisoner anymore.” “don’t be afraid to make a move.” “don’t listen to all the people who hate.” “don’t take the abuse.”

𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

“who owns my heart?” “is it love?” “is it art?” “the way you got your body moving, it’s got me confused.” “i can’t tell if it’s the beat or sparks.” “sometimes it’s hard to tell in the dark.”

𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐛𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐝

“i can get a bit crazy.” “every guy everywhere just gives me mad attention.” “they try to change me but they realize they can’t.” “every tomorrow is a day i never plan.” “understand, i can’t be tamed.” “if there is a question about my intentions i’ll tell you.” “i’m not a brat like that.” “i wanna be a part of something i don’t know.” “if you try to hold me back i might explode.” “i’m not a trick you play.” “i’m not a mistake, i’m not a fake. it’s set in my dna.” “don’t change me.” “baby, by now you should know.”

𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧

“we feel miles apart inside.” “was it something i said?” “was it something i did?” “was it something i said or something i did?” “did my words not come out right?” “i tried not to hurt you.” “every rose has its thorn just like every night has its dawn.” “does he know?” “i know that you’d be here right now if i could let you know somehow.” “i can still feel so much pain.” “like a knife that cuts you the wound heals, but the scar remains.” “i know i could have saved a love that night if i’d known what to say.” “instead of making love we both made our separate ways.” “i hear you found somebody new.” “i never meant that much to you.” “to see you cuts me like a knife.”

𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞

“i need to feel your heartbeat when you say you love me.” “i don’t wanna hear it if it’s something that you don’t mean.” “there’s two more lonely people in the world tonight.” “you know my heart is aching.” “i don’t want your sympathy.” “we don’t have to be friends.” “we don’t have to be enemies.” “we don’t have to be friends, we don’t have to be enemies.” “you and i could work it out, or we could kill the lights on what he had before.” “we got something special.”

𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

“i feel it when you fall apart.” “i don’t wanna change your mind, cause i accept you for everything you are.” “in the end no one loses or wins.” “you don’t ever have to read my mind.” “i can’t tell you what the future holds.”

𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫

“there’s sexy boys in every city.” “they’re not what i want.” “there’s sexy boys in every city but they’re not what i want.” “if it just ain’t you then i don’t wanna know.” “now i realize that i was wrong.” “miss you so bad.” “leave the light on.” “so much colder than i remember.” “when i get you back this time i swear i won’t ever let you go.” “i’m saving all my loving for someone and it’s you.”

𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐲

“it’s good to hear your voice.” “i hope you’re doing fine.” “if you ever wondered, i’m lonely here tonight.” “if i could have just one wish i’d have you by my side.” “i miss you.” “i need you.” “i love you more.” “i love you more than i did before.” “no one can take your place.” “it gets harder every day.” “say you love me more.” “i’m sorry it’s this way.” “i’m coming home.” “if you ask me, i will stay.” “i look up at the stars hoping you’re doing the same.” “i never wanna lose you.” “please, always stay.”

𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬

“i can pretend that i don’t see you.” “i can pretend i don’t wanna hold you when you’re around.” “i can pretend i don’t wanna hold you.“ “we know if i looked in your eyes i’d break down.” “if i could, for just one night, be with you, to make it right...” “you won’t have to wonder what we are.” “if i told you that i love you, but i’m doing alright without you, it’d be a lie.”

𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠

“so she can love you like i do.” “i ask myself, is this love at all?” “i’ll be okay.” “i don’t understand why you’re leaving me.” “don’t leave me here.” “i don’t understand why you can’t take me with you.” “you can pretend i don’t exist.” “i’m letting you go for the last time.”

𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐭

“it’s been like this from the start.” “i would scream.” “i would scream, but i’m just this hollow shell.” “please, set me free so i can feel.” “stop trying to live my life for me.” “i need to breathe.” “i’m not your robot.” “i’m just me.” “i’ve been taught to think that what i feel doesn’t matter at all until you say it’s real.”

𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞

“can you hear my voice?” “i’m gonna find you through all the noise.” “it runs through my blood; my heart beats for love.” “my heart beats for love.” “it’s not worth the struggle, the hurt, or the trouble.” “i won’t surrender.” “i’ll wait here forever.” “can’t you see that it’s worth the fight?”

#rp meme #rp prompts #rp sentence meme #rp sentence starters #rp sentence prompts #lyric starters #lyrics: misc #artist: miley cyrus

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poetryandloneliness · 2 years

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a love letter

to my nerd ~

I could probably write a ton of pages about you, but I will try to keep it short and sweet (kind of like you HA). I read somewhere that a couple that had been married for 15 years split up after they realized they knew absolutely nothing about one another. I find that so extremely sad. To not truly know the person you love. So what do I know about you? Without being cryptic like my writing usually is, here’s what I’ve compiled so far. I think I realized I was in love with you when I saw that stupid dorky video of you singing blackbird. I don’t know what it was, but your voice put me under some type of spell (on god, as cliche as it sounds). I was like, “oh shit, that was really hot.” The way you seemed so at ease with a guitar in your hand!! And sung in a voice that was so full of soul. You love that guitar. You love music with your whole heart. Even when you’re a *snob* about it sometimes (not really you just have good taste lol). I could listen to your music all day. You really care about people. Even for friends that have sort of left your life without a second thought. Even for that one crazy girl that won’t leave you alone. you still feel compassion for her and check to make sure she’s doing ok. During Beauty and the Beast *the musical*, when monsieur d'arque (aka GOD) was sitting by himself, you were the first person to suggest going over and joining his table. You told me once you like to snowboard. How cool! I could never, quite honestly. You tell me you have no preference for food, but one of these days I’m going to figure out what your favorite restaurant is!! An excuse to get food with my nerd is a welcome excuse indeed. You’re one of the only rational people I’ve met in radical conservative paradise lol. A man who supports the gays and feminists in this town is sadly very rare but very welcome. Thanks for doing the bare minimum (but like actually for being a decent guy). You like Taylor Swift. You really like Fleet Foxes. When you laugh, one side of your mouth crinkles up a little more than the other, giving you this dork grin like the DORK you are (accept it, it’s a proven fact). You can do the Chris-Hemsworth-Thor-squinty-eye-meme face perfectly (it’s actually so funny). I remember the night we so lovingly refer to as “the ~AGH~ night” so vividly because I was screaming, crying, doing the kingdom dance from tangled around my room while also rocking back and forth in the corner shrieking “WHAT DOES IT MEAN?!” like I was Miley Cyrus or somethin. I had been into you for about a month and was very aggressively giving hints that I wanted you. And then you sort of asked me to prom!! Ughhh, night made! The night was made better after you confessed having feelings for me for an entire year!! Which is so funny, I can vividly remember you sending me encouraging messages during mary poppins *the musical* from last year. Hmmm, very smooth, very smooth. You like french kissing. You like the rain. You have the coolest vinyl collection I’ve ever seen. With no one else I’d want to leave prom early, go to the wrong t.g.i friday’s, perform in musicals, debate gorillaz and twenty one pilots lore, make out in the car and get caught by my sister, or share any of our little adventures. I love you so much, the moon and back is too close. Around the entire galaxy, darling.

From your nerd, with love <3

#love letter #the notes dont even matter it's just a love letter bro

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americancowgirl19 · 4 years

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Mutant not Monster - Part One

Part One: Background; this is basically a background part. Dean will be in the next part with Sam. I highly recommend you read this part so you can understand the plot.

Summary: Y/n and her twin brother, Warren, are both mutants. In a world where mutants aren’t accepted, Y/n and her brother have to go on the run as anti-mutant extremists begin hunting their kind down. Sam and Dean are hunters, just not mutant hunters. However, their paths cross and despite a rocky beginning they become allies against not only the war against mutants but the war against mankind.

Warnings: angst, curse, fluff, anti-mutant terrorism

Reader: Female Reader; Y/n Worthington

Pairings: (Eventual) Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,794

A/n: This is more of my own mini story than a specific part of X-Men and Supernatural. I’ll stick as close to supernatural as I can but if you see things that are different than they were in the show, just roll with it. This is kind of a crossover with X-Men and Supernatural but I’m just doing my own thing with the X-Men characters and Supernatural. I’m not going along with any specific movie or comic book. When Dean and Sam come in it’ll technically take place around the season 4 of Supernatural where they know about angels. Also gif is from google and it’s Miley Cyrus from the ‘Can’t Be Tamed’ music video.

Part Two

Masterlist

1989 - Y/n POV - Reader is 9

“Warren slow down!” I shouted after my brother as he scales up the tree. I try to keep up with him but struggle to maintain a steady grip on the bark. My twin brother just laughs and continues to climb branch after branch.

“Y/n! Warren! Be careful!” Our mother shouts approaching the tree. I take a second to look down at her. She stands by the trunk with her arms crossed. Her eyes squint as she looks up into the tree but I doubt she can see us through the branches and leaves. “Don’t climb too high!”

��Come on, Y/n,” Warren says regaining my attention. He motions for me to continue following him. Huffing I reach for the next branch and pull myself up.

“How much farther? Mom doesn’t want us too high,” I tell him.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be fine,” Warren says ignoring the uneasiness in my voice. While I didn’t have a fear of heights, in fact I liked being higher than everyone else, I was afraid of losing my grip from being too tired. As much as I tried to keep up with my brother he seemed to have energy for days.

“Warren, look at this,” I say finding a birds nest. My brother looks down at me before quickly climbing to my spot.

“Wow,” He whispers as the newly hatched birds chirp for their parents. “They’ll be big enough to fly before we know it,” He tells me.

“Do you ever wonder what it’s like to fly?” I ask looking at him.

“All the time,” He says. “I wonder what it’s like to soar with the birds and fly through clouds,”

“You’ll probably get wet,” I warn him. “Clouds are water after all,” Warren shrugs.

“Never been afraid of a few rain drops,” He smirks at me. I smile rolling my eyes. I look back at the baby birds.

“Warren! Y/!” Our mother shouts for us again. “Come down from there, it’s time for supper!”

“Can’t she see we’re busy in the tree?” Warren grumbles. I laugh.

“Come on, I’ll race you to the bottom,” I challenge him. He smirks and begins climbing down at the same time I do.

“If I win, I get your ice cream!” Warren shouts.

“Like hell you will!” I shout back.

“Language, Y/n!” Mother scolds.

“Yeah, language, Birdie,” Warren teases.

“Oh, why don’t you- Ah!” I screech when my feet slide off the branch. I go to cling to the tree but I fail to get a grip. Before I can fall too far Warren has my hand in his.

“I’ve got you!” Warren says quickly.

“Don’t you dare drop me, Warren Worthington!” I shout holding his hand as tightly as I can.

“Never,” Warren reassures me with a playful grin before swinging me to the next branch.

1994 - Y/n POV - Y/n is 14

“St. Joes Catholic School?” I ask with disbelief in my voice. “They’ve got to be kidding, right?” I ask my brother as I flop down on his bed. He walks into the room after me and shuts the door.

“I don’t think they are,” Warren says taking a seat at his desk chair.

“Why are they sending us away?” I whisper but don’t expect an answer. In fact, I’m terrified of what the answer would be. Warren stays quiet as he mulls over the information our parents just dropped on us. “We never fit in here,” I admitted whilst sitting up. Warren glances at me. “They may be our parents but we’re practically strangers to them. We share nothing in common with them except some similarities in our looks. We don’t belong here Warren and they know it,” I sigh looking down at my fingers.

I expect Warren to argue against me like he usually does. This isn’t the first time I’ve voiced my opinions on this matter. Ever since I could remember I’ve felt as if Warren and I were outcasts in our own home. Our parents used to try and connect with us but they gave up years ago.

I didn’t even notice Warren standing up until the bed sinks beside me. I spare him a glance before looking back at my hands. We sit in silence for a few moments before I lay my head on his shoulder. His head soon rests on top of mine.

“Don’t worry, we’ll find a place where we belong,” He reassures me. “We’ll find a home,” I smile as my mind begins imagining what this home would look like. “It’ll be a place where we do fit in and we’re not strangers,”

“As long as you promise we’ll stay together,” I say lifting my head. Warren looks at me. “Don’t you dare leave me, Warren Worthington,”

“Never,” Warren smirks winking at me. “Lighten up a bit, Birdie,” He says nudging my shoulder. “Who knows, maybe St. Joes Catholic School is where we’ll find people to connect too,” He shrugs.

“It would be nice to talk to someone who doesn’t have your ugly mug,” I comment standing from the bed.

“Well, it shouldn’t be hard for me to find someone who doesn’t crack mirrors when they look in them,” Warren fires back. I don’t dignify him with a verbal response. I simply flip him the bird and leave his room.

1997 - Y/n POV - Reader is 17

“Go Warren! Run!” I scream from the stands as my brother overtakes the lead runner in the track meet. I clap loudly and scream when he takes first place without a problem.

“He won! He won!” My brothers girlfriend, Amanda, shouts from beside me. We jump up and down together before laughing excitedly.

When the meet ends the two of us instantly go looking for my twin. I weave through the crowd in his direction. Amanda follows me knowing all too well about my inner Warren Compass. It didn’t matter where I was or where he was, we could always find each other. Amanda also swears that we have some sort of telepathy between us or that we could read each other’s mind. While I knew that neither of those things were true, I did have a sixth sense when it came to my brother. Warren has the same feeling about me as well.

“There he is!” Amanda shouts surpassing me to go to her boyfriend. Warren spins around and pulls her into his arms. She giggles as he spins her around. I gag when they romantically kiss.

“Did you see my last run?” Warren asks us.

“Of course, baby,” Amanda smirks leaning into him not even caring about his drying sweat.

“You mean the one where you look like a flailing chicken without a head?” I ask before doing a dramatic imitation. Amanda snorts while Warren lunges for me. I laugh evading his attempts to put me in a head lock.

“Ok! Ok!” Amanda shouts getting between us. “I want to get back to the dorms, get cleaned up, and go to the party,”

“Hell yeah, baby,” Warren smirking lighting up at the mention of a party. Amanda shakes her head wondering where he gets all his energy. It didn’t matter that he just spent all day running, he still has enough energy to take over the world.

It doesn’t take us long to get back to the dorms and cleaned up. Warren promises to meet us at the party before going to take a shower. Amanda and I both go to the bathroom to do our makeup and to get changed.

“Oh my God, is your back ok?” Amanda instantly asks.

“Um, it’s fine?” I say turning towards her.

“Where did you get all of those bruises?” She wonders.

“Bruises?” I ask before going toward the mirror. “Oh, shit,” I whisper seeing them. They weren’t too bad but they were definitely noticeable.

“What they hell are you doing when I’m not there to supervise you?” Amanda laughs while returning to her makeup.

“I don’t know,” I whisper to myself. I take another moment to stare at the bruises before shaking my head.

A couple weeks pass and the bruises don’t leave. In fact, the grow darker. I take extra care with how I move but it doesn’t matter. The bruising just continues to get worse until things start to get even weirder.

I wake up in my bad with a sore back. That’s nothing new, it’s practically my norm by now. However, waking up to find several feathers in my bed is new. I sit there in confusion as I wonder where the hell these feathers have come from.

“Y/n! Open up!” Warren shouts slamming his fist against my door repeatedly. “Open the door!”

“I’m coming! I’m coming!” I shout hopping out of bed. He doesn’t stop knocking until I let him in. “What the hell?”

“You’re getting random bruising too?” Warren asks the instant I close my door.

“How do you know about that?” I ask.

“Amanda told me,” He said. I frown my eyebrows wondering why now, all of the sudden, she’s telling him about my bruised back. “She told me because of this,” He takes his shirt off and turns his back to me.

“Jesus, Warren,” I whisper looking at his bruises. They’re similar to mind in shape but they’re much darker and slightly bigger. “Wait,” I whisper stepping closer. I run my finger along a section of his back and he instantly flinches away from me.

“Uh, ow!” Warren snaps.

“Sorry!” I raise my hands defensively. “But you have something coming out of your back,”

“What?” He frowns his eyebrows and I nod. He goes to my full length mirror. He then notices the nubs that I pointed out. “Turn around,” He says coming over to me. I do as he says feeling nervous that he might find the same happening to my back.

“I woke up with feathers in my bed,” I whisper holding back a flinch when he touches my bruises.

“Sorry,” He whispers noticing me tense. “You have the same thing happening,” I slowly turn towards him. “I have feathers in my bed too... I thought they were from my pillows but...” His voice trails off.

“What’s happening to us, Warren?” I whisper. He pushes his lips together.

“I don’t know, Birdie,” He whispers back.

1997 - Y/n POV - Reader is 17

“Warren! Warren, open the door!” I shout pounding on his door like he had mine a week previous. “Warren, I know you’re in there, now open the damn door before I break it down,” I growled hitting the door even harder.

A few moments later my puffy eyed brother opens the door just enough for me to slide in before closing it again. He hangs his head as I stare at him. When he sniffles and wipes his nose on his sleeve I snap out of my trance.

“Come here,” I whisper pulling him into a tight hug. I frown my eyebrows when I feel something on his back but I don’t pull away. He holds me so tight that it’s hard to breathe but I just hold him. “What happened?” I whisper.

“She kept asking questions,” He tells me after a few minutes. “She kept wanting to know about the bruises and I just... I couldn’t tell her,” I close my eyes and hold him even closer. I try to hold onto him but he pushes me away. “Then this happens,” He whispers sniffling as he takes off his shirt. I look at his chest before giving him a look. He turns around and I gasp.

Two small white wings have sprouted from his shoulder blades. They look like a baby birds wings. Not nearly big enough to fly nor hold his weight. Despite they’re small size they’re beautiful.

Then it clicks. Our backs have been going through the exact same transition. Slowly, I step back to his bad and fall on it. Warren quickly pulls on his shirt again.

“We’re mutants,” I whisper.

“Yeah,” Warren whispers.

“We’re mutants,” I whisper again. Warren sighs walking over to me. The bed bounces slightly when he collapses beside me.

“Yeah,” He repeats. We lay on his bed in silence as we try to come to terms with the... new development. “I quit track,” He tells me. “Not like I’d be able to hide these things at practices and meets... Plus who knows how big they’ll grow,”

“Warren,” I whisper lowly. “St. Joes is notorious for they’re anti-mutant beliefs,” I say slowly turning my head towards him. Warren continues to stare at the ceiling. He lets out a long sigh.

“Yeah,” He mutters.

“Shit,” I whisper.

1998 - Y/n POV - Reader is 18

‘Y/n Worthington,’

I frown my eyebrows as I slow to a walk in the middle of the empty hallway. I look around for the voice who said my name. However, the few people in the hallway pay no mind to me.

‘Y/n Worthington’ The voice says again. ‘My name is Charles Xavier and I am a mutant like you,’

“I don’t find that very comforting at the moment,” I mutter feeling standoffish. I can hear the voice laugh a bit.

‘No, I expect you wouldn’t’ He says. ‘I’ve been looking for you and your brother for a very long time,’

“Where are you?” I ask as I continue to search for him.

‘Not far from the school,’ He responds vaguely. ‘I need you to listen to me. There is someone on campus that wants to hurt you and your brother,’

“Warren,” I whisper no longer caring about this Charles Xavier. The only thing on my mind is finding Warren. Before I could start my wild goose chase the voice in my head tells me exactly where he is. I don’t bother to question him, I simply race to his location. “Oh my God,” I gasp seeing the building is engulfed in flames.

Before I even try to go into the fire something in the sky catches my attention. I then notice it’s Warren trying to save people. Sprinting into action, I leave the crowd. My pure black wings rip through my long jacket and take me to the sky towards my brother.

“There’s more people on the third floor!” Warren shouts over the noise of the crowd.

“There’s someone after us!” I shout to him.

“No shit! Who do you think started the fire?!” Warren snaps.

“Don’t get snippy with me, Angel!” I growl back at him.

“Just get the people out! I’ll handle the guy that’s trying to kill us,” Warren orders. I want to argue but Warren is already flying off and somebody has to get those people out.

My wings carry me into the building. They fold around my body protectively as I crash through a window and land on the hot floor. It takes some convincing but I finally get the people to trust me enough to allow me to get them to safety.

‘You’re brother is a mile to your left,’ Charles informs me. I send a silent thank you before quickly going towards Warren. I get to him in time to see him dropping a man to his death.

“Warren?” I ask slowly flying towards him. My large yet feminine keep me in the air beside my brother. Warren’s head hangs as he stares at the mans dead body on the ground below us.

‘If you both would join me, I’d like to talk with you,” Charles says in my head. I can only assume Warren hears him as well.

“Angel?” I ask moving even closer to him.

“Let’s just go,” Warren says flying to where Charles wants us to meet him. I glance back to the dead body before flying after my brother.

1998 - Y/n POV - Reader is 18

“Wow,” I whisper walking towards Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.

“Aren’t we a little old to be going to a school like this?” Warren asks as we follow behind Charles. I nod along with Warren’s question seeing as we’re both legally adults.

“This isn’t just a school for the gifted but a home,” Charles explains. Warren’s head snaps towards me at the same time mine snaps to him. “Here you can learn different skills you did not learn at your previous school. You will also meet students with various gifts, some like your own,” I slap Warren’s arm when I see a girl fly past us with wings that came off of a fairy. “You are welcome to stay here for as long as you wish,”

“This place is amazing,” I laugh in wonder. Warren slowly beings to grin which only brightens my mood. Ever since the fire a few days ago, Warren’s smile has been nonexistent.

“I’ll show you to your rooms, allow you to get settled,”

“Are we sharing a room?” Warren wonders.

“While school is in session, yes,” Charles nods. “But when most of the students return to their homes, you can have separate rooms,” I smile at my brother. Even though I didn’t exactly like sharing a room with him, it would be nice to have him close after someone had tried to kill us.

“Well, it’s not as big as the one at mom and dads but it’s cozy,” I say while walking around the room. Charles had left us to settle in a few seconds ago.

“Do you ever wonder what mom and dad are doing?” Warren wonders while tossing his suit case on one of the beds.

“Angel, they haven’t even contacted us since freshmen year,” I remind him. “The only thing they’ve done is financially support us and even that is over now,” I say sitting on my bed. “I try not to think about them because we don’t need them. We just need each other,” I say smiling at him.

“So, you’re saying I’m stuck with your ugly mug for the rest of my life?” Warren asks with a small smirk.

“Aren’t you a lucky duck?” I wink at him. Warren slowly shakes his head. “What happened?” I finally ask. “With that man that you let go?” My mind goes back to the day with the fire and how Warren had let a man fall to his death.

“I don’t even know his name,” Warren whispers. “Just some anti-mutant man,” He tells me. “He said our wings went against his religion and that we had to die,” I can feel my wings twitch but I don’t say anything. “I had him in my hands and I wanted to turn him into the police but then he went on and on about how he wasn’t just going to kill me but kill you as well... I just got so angry. He talked about how he was going to rip our wings off and rid the world of us. The thought of someone out there that wants to kill you as badly as he did made me so angry. Before I knew it I was letting him go and watching him fall.” Warren explains to me. I stand and walk over to him. Warren looks at me as I sit next to him. “I don’t regret killing him. I feel guilt about the fact that I’m not sad over his death,” He says. “But he threatened you, threatened us...” Warren sighs.

“You don’t have to justify your actions to me,” I tell him. “Warren, I would have done the same thing,” I told him. He glances towards me. “You think your need to protect me is one sided? I’d do anything for you. You’re all I have and I’m not going to let anyone hurt you,” I tell him. Warren smiles a bit.

“Don’t you dare leave me, Y/n Worthington,” Warren says quietly. I muster up a playful smirk.

“Never,”

2004 - Y/n POV - Reader is 24

“What do you mean they’re shutting the school down?” Warren snapped. “They can’t do that!”

“They can and they are,” Storm, one of the teachers, says calmly yet her eyes are raging in anger. “The students are to be sent back to there homes-”

“Where they’re going to be hunted down and slaughtered in front of their families,” Beast growls. I sigh rubbing my face tiredly.

Years of peace between mutants and mankind destroyed in one weekend. We tried to do damage control but our efforts were in vain. Almost every pro-mutant policy has been taken away. With the government turning their backs against us the radical anti-mutant organizations are rising against us in a dangerous fashion.

It didn’t take a genius to know that a war is on the horizon. This school is one of the only safe places for the students yet we’re being forced to send them away. We’re being forced to send them back to their families where they won’t be nearly as protected as they are now.

We all knew that with the war would come casualties. These extremists aren’t planning on taking prisoners. They see us as anti-human and a threat to the human race. They see us as monsters. They will kill us every chance they get.

“We have to protect them,” I speak up. “They’re children!” I practically shout. “We can’t just leave them to defend themselves,”

“We’re not going to do that,” Jean shakes her head. “We’ve fought for mutants this long, we’re not just going to give up now,”

“Jean’s right,” Storm nods. “There’s a war coming and it’s going to get ugly,” She warns everyone in the room. “But we’ve been through ugly times before. We can get through this if we work together,”

“We’re ready,” Bobby, one of my closest friends, assures her. “You guys have made sure of that. A lot of us are ready to fight,” Warren, me and the other alumni students nod in agreement.

“Professor?” I asks hesitantly. Charles continues to sit in his wheelchair as he goes over everything in his mind. It pained me to see the man who took my brother and I in in such a state of distress.

Warren and I share a nervous look. After years of living life just the two of us, we finally find out home. Not long after that, our home is threatened. It angers me to the core that people think they can threaten my home without retaliation. As far as I’m concerned everyone that lives under this roof is my family and I will do whatever is necessary to protect them, especially my idiotic twin.

“There here,” Charles whispers, his eyes widening. My head snaps to the side as an explosion shakes the Earth under our feet. Warren’s eyes meet mine and dread fills our hearts. The war’s begun.

@akshi8278

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nike-shawn · 4 years

Text

Vampire Shawn, Part One

Happy Halloween loves! Part two coming soon.... send me any ideas or comments you have for the series!! 🎃🎃

“Hey. Do you need someone to walk you home?”

His eyes are kind. They remind you of your dog’s eyes a little; innocent yet slightly mischievous. You smile to yourself— comparing a handsome boy’s eyes to your dogs’ probably means you’ve had too much to drink.

“I’m fine, actually. Thanks though,” you tell him, handing him your now empty solo cup. “If you could toss that into the trash can behind you, that’d be great.”

He looks slightly confused but takes the cup anyways and quickly deposits it in the large plastic garbage bin that somehow belongs perfectly fine in this dump of a frat house. There are cigarette butts and crushed beer cans underneath each of your steps as you make your way back to your friends in the kitchen.

“Um,” you hear him start again, and you wonder how he caught up to you so fast. “I was just asking because I noticed that the guy you were talking to earlier left with my friend.” You turn to face him. His kind eyes look a little sad now. “He shouted something at you but I don’t think you noticed. Something about ubering?”

“Fuck,” you mutter. It’s not entirely unlike Freddie to leave without you. In fact, it’s starting to become the norm.

“So, like I said, I can walk you home. I got left behind too so…” he drifts off, shrugging.

You look at him for only a few moments before deciding that, yeah, this kid looks trustworthy enough. The alcohol flowing through you is starting to make your eyelids feel heavy and if Freddie is already gone then there’s nothing else for you here. The booze is gone, the house is getting too crowded to move easily, and you’re bored.

“Sure.”

He smiles and you can’t help but return it with one of your own. He nods and leads you out of the party, one gentle hand on your wrist.

You break out into the front lawn of the house and you finally feel like you can breathe properly without the humid, stinking air of the fraternity. The boy looks over at you happily as you dramatically sigh and say “40 degrees never felt so nice”.

“You more of a cold-weather person?”

“Yeah. Love when the leaves change and the snow comes. Best part of the year.”

“I’m a winter person too,” he replies, and you hum a response as you remember how cold his fingers were on your wrist earlier.

You’re a few steps in front of him as you rattle off the directions to your apartment. The two of you start to talk about the guy who was screaming the lyrics to Wrecking Ball by Miley Cyrus when he suddenly stops. You don’t recognize that he isn’t right beside you anymore until he says “wait just a second.”

He takes a step off of the sidewalk and into the grass. Fall leaves crunch underneath his shoes as he peeks into the dense wall of trees right ahead of him. You shift nervously from one foot to the other. “Is something wrong?”

“Do you hear that?” He asks, looking back at you for a moment with an inquisitive look. “Sounds like an animal is hurt.”

You don’t wanna sound like an asshole, but part of you wants to say F it to whatever animal is in there and just get along with your walk. It’s getting chillier and chillier and all you have on is your stupid, skimpy nurses costume. “Is this some Halloween prank?” You ask. “Because it’s not very funny.”

“No, no,” he says. “C’mere. Can you hear that?”

You step forward a bit but are still a ways behind him. You strain your ear to try and hear what he’s hearing.

“I can’t hear anything.”

“Oh,” he says, taking a step back. There’s a shift in his attitude. If you weren’t so drunk maybe you would’ve noticed that he’s suddenly impatient, walking quickly ahead of you.

You are almost out of breath when you see your apartment complex come into view. The boy hasn’t said anything since he stopped to check on the animal. “Um, hey,” you start, “it was really nice of you to walk me back but I’ve got it from here.”

His energy shifts yet again, now back to his happy-go-lucky frat boy persona. He flashes a brilliant smile and starts to undo his flannel. You realize that he went as some kind of lumber jack for Halloween as your gaze follows from where his fingers are loosening a button all the way to his large, tan work boots. “If you won’t let me walk you back, at least let me give you this. You’re shivering.” He hands you his flannel, smile still stretched wide across his pretty features. You absentmindedly wonder why he didn’t offer it earlier but take it anyways, grateful for the extra warmth.

“Thanks,” you say, draping it around your shoulders. He reaches forward and starts to do up the buttons for you. You feel a strong pull towards his body, like you could just melt right into him. Once he has the last one done, the one right at your neck, you two share a laugh and he starts to step backwards, beginning his walk back to wherever he lives. “Nice meeting you!”

“You too,” he replies.

You scramble to find a suitable goodbye, but he’s already walking quickly away from you. You stammer out, “wait, I never got your name!”

He looks over his shoulder, lips quirked up at the ends. “My name’s Shawn.”

And then the night swallows him up.

🖤🖤🖤🖤

Weeks pass and you forget about Shawn. You scold Freddie for leaving you at the party but you aren’t really mad. Although Shawn was slightly odd, nothing happened. There was nothing memorable about the walk back, really, besides that scene with the wounded animal that you couldn’t hear. But you chalk that up to him just being a sympathetic drunk— it’s not a bad thing to want to help another living thing.

You come home from class one day and sling your backpack down on the floor as you flop onto the couch. Your roommates are all gone this weekend visiting family since you have a few days off in the beginning of next week, giving you a whole 4 days to yourself. You sigh happily and turn on a movie.

Rain is pounding on the roof and you’re almost asleep when someone knocks on the door. You’re startled awake by the noise. Quickly, you smooth down your hair with your palms and straighten your shirt before opening the door to reveal…

“Shawn?”

He smiles that signature smile. “Hey. I was just wondering if you had that flannel from a while ago? I have an event and we’re all supposed to wear one.”

You’re taken aback by the surprise, but you hurry to accommodate him since you have had the flannel way too long. You just didn’t know how to find him again. After a quick chat with Freddie you knew that he was a frat brother, but you weren’t going to trek all the way over there just to drop off a shirt. So you say, “yeah of course. Let me just go grab it.”

“Am I allowed to come in?” He asks.

“Oh, yeah! Yes, of course.”

It seems to take him an unnecessary amount of time to actually step into your apartment, but once he does you rush off to grab the flannel that you’re sure has just been bunched up in your closet somewhere.

When you return, he’s still standing by the door. You hand him the shirt and let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding. “There ya go. Sorry it took me so long to get it back to you.”

“No worries,” he assures.

You assume this is the part where he leaves, but he stays put. You rock back awkwardly on your heels.

Suddenly his eyes take on a concerned look. He takes a few steps forward with his hands outstretched, almost like he’s about to catch you. “Woah, are you feeling okay?”

You feel completely fine, though as soon as his hand makes contact with your shoulder you feel heavy and leaden, your eyes already drooping.

You feel only a small pinch before you fall asleep.

🖤🖤🖤🖤

When you wake up, you’re back on your couch, but this time you’re laying horizontally across the cushions with an ice pack on your forehead. You can faintly hear Shawn’s voice coming from the kitchen.

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” you think you hear him saying. “I don’t know what to do.”

You try to sit up but when you do, all the blood rushes from your head and you start to feel dizzy.

“I can’t just do that. She’ll never go for that.”

You try to tune him out. You remember passing out and start to comb through the reasons why you would suddenly lose consciousness. You were nervous, that’s for sure, but you’ve never passed out from that. You haven’t had water in a while. Maybe that’s what it was.

Shawn must’ve ended his phone conversation because he comes into the living room and immediately sits on the floor beside the couch, leaning back on his palms casually. He takes a deep breath. “So,” he starts, “I need to tell you something.”

“I know I passed out.”

He laughs a little, though you can tell he didn’t think it was funny. His face has taken on a worried undertone and he keeps running his hand through his now tousled curls.

At his sudden nervousness, you feel a bloom of your own anxiety crawl up your throat. “What is it?” You ask quietly.

“Have you ever read Twilight?”

The severity of the situation contrasted with the stupidity of his question makes you laugh. “I watched the movies,” you tell him.

“You know how he’s like, all pale and stuff? And he is just really fuckin’ weird?”

You laugh again. “Sure.”

“Real vampires aren’t really like that.”

The smile starts to fall from your face. This doesn’t sound like a joke. “Shawn, what are you even talking about?”

He clears his throat, now moving so he’s a bit further away, leaning his back against the bottom of your lounge chair. “I’m being completely serious when I say this, OK?”

“Okay.”

“I’m a vampire.”

You fight to keep a straight face. A mix of disbelief and anger is starting to show on your features— your eyebrows start to shift towards the middle of your face and your jaw falls open a bit. You want to laugh but you also kinda want to cry. “What?”

“I wouldn’t have told you but, uh,” he pauses, clearing his throat, “something came up when I bit you.”

“You… bit me?”

He clears his throat again, a nervous tick. “So, there’s something that happens when a vampire is… hungry… Um, and basically I can make you fall asleep just by touching you and when you wake up you don’t remember the bite itself. But, yeah. So, when you fell asleep I bit you. You can probably still feel it.”

You don’t move. Shawn blinks at you a few times, then takes your hand gently and leads it to the junction of your neck and shoulder where there is unmistakable soreness. You don’t stop looking at him, in shock.

“Anyways,” he continues, “does that make sense?”

You look down to where the flannel hung over a chair by the door. It’s snowing now. It shouldn’t be snowing, you idly think. It’s only November 1st.

“Y/N?”

You jolt back to life. “How do you know my name?”

Shawn looks surprised at the question. Of course, there are many other questions you could’ve asked, but this is the one that popped into your head at a time where there is little you can make sense of. He runs a hand through his hair. He says, “I did a little research.”

“How?”

“I put in your address on the auditor’s website.”

Well. That makes sense. Part of you was expecting some kind of magic spell he cast to find out this information.

Shawn stands and offers you his hand. You look at it and blink. He says, “can I show you something?”

You nod and take his hand. You should probably run or ask Shawn if he’s on hard drugs but you don’t. You let him keep your hand in his as he leads you to the bathroom.

As soon as the two of you step in the mirror, you see them. Two puncture wounds, identically shaped and on a backdrop of a dark blue-ish bruise. You gasp out loud, your hands immediately drifting to the spot. You knew that it was sore from when Shawn drew your attention to it earlier, but you didn’t know that it would look like this. This is a bite. An unmistakable bite from someone with two long incisors and a thirst for blood.

And if Shawn’s telling you he’s a vampire, you’re having a hard time refuting it now.

Part Two

#Shawn Mendes imagines #vampire shawn #paranormal shawn #fics

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bananaofswifts · 4 years

Text

The album anticipates questions surrounding the singer’s genre bona fides and leans into each contradiction.

By Jonathan Keefe

4,5 STARTS

ountry and roots music are too often used as shorthand for “serious” artistry, a notion steeped in matters of race and rockist authenticity fetishes. The implication that pop music is an inherently lesser art form has been the focus of the discourse around albums by Justin Timberlake, Lady Gaga, and Miley Cyrus in recent years. Taylor Swift’s Folklore has already been subject to similar—and perhaps similarly misguided—scrutiny. That Swift has enlisted Aaron Dessner of the highly regarded indie-rock band the National as both a songwriting and producing partner—in addition to her frequent pop collaborator Jack Antonoff—and has embraced a grayscale, rustic visual aesthetic for the project has led many to declare the album a credibility maneuver or act of rebranding.

What makes Folklore such a compelling album, then, are the countless ways in which Swift, the savviest and most acutely self-conscious artist of her generation, anticipates questions surrounding her genre bona fides and leans into each apparent contradiction. She invites this degree of “What does it mean?” discursive handwringing because, on some level, it frees her to make the music she wants to make at any given moment. Folklore is neither a culmination of Swift’s career to date nor a pivot in a new direction. She’s doing exactly what she’s always done: offering a collection of incisive, often provocative songs that incorporate authentic, first-person details and leaving others to argue over specific genre signifiers.

Song for song, Folklore finds Swift at a new peak in her command of language. While tracks like “Cardigan” and “Invisible Strings” hinge on protracted metaphors, “Mad Woman” and “Peace” are blunt and plainspoken. In every instance, what’s noteworthy is Swift’s precision in communicating her exact intent. “I can change everything about me to fit in,” she sighs on “Mirrorball,” a sentiment that’s emblematic of her ability to bait autobiographical readings while also actively subverting them. If she’s offering a comment on her own desire to keep up with next-gen pop stars like Billie Eilish, then the obvious follow-up question is why nothing on Folklore sounds like a viable Top 40 single. Swift’s answer comes in the song’s final stanza, a marvel of vulnerability: “I’m still trying everything/To keep you looking at me.”

In other words, Swift’s at a point in her career where she knows chart success is incidental to broad cultural impact, and she has the cachet to sacrifice the former for the sake of the latter. “All Too Well,” from 2012’s Red, has rightfully become one of her signature songs despite not ever having been released as a single, and that same fate seems likely for many of the tracks here. Every song on Folklore boasts at least one couplet or stanza that’s simply extraordinary for its command of language, narrative voice, empathy, or some combination thereof.

The standout “Seven” first presents itself as a wistful remembrance of childhood before revealing the complexities of what we lose as we age: “Picture me in the weeds/Before I learned civility/I used to scream ferociously/Whenever I wanted.” The song also presents a queer text within Swift’s songwriting for the first time, which broadens the narrative voices she’s employed over the course of her career. “Illicit Affairs” builds to what seems like it will be one of the singer’s trademark middle-eight tone shifts, only to end abruptly without resolving into another chorus, enhancing the sense of finality in her dressing-down of a former lover. Rather than pulling her punches by repeating a catchy refrain or hook, she lets some of her bitterest lines linger, and it’s one of the album’s most impactful moments. Later, she sings from the POV of the rejected party on “This Is Me Trying” to devastating effect: “You told me all of my cages were mental/So I got wasted like all my potential.” The track finds Swift giving credence to the other person’s view of her, making for an even more believable narrator.

Swift’s early albums were hamstrung by her insistence that hers was the only story to be told—that, essentially, she was the protagonist in everyone else’s autobiography, and not just in her own. Folklore’s shifting perspectives—an homage to heiress Rebekah Harkness on “The Last Great American Dynasty,” the queer through line in the love triangle of “Cardigan,” “August,” and “Betty”—highlight how Swift’s widening worldview has deepened her skills as a songwriter. And even if none of these tracks sound like a “hit,” “Invisible String” and “This Is Me Trying” still demonstrate Swift’s masterful grasp of song structure. Her use of repetition throughout the album is particularly effective: “The 1” invokes both “the greatest films of all time” and “the greatest loves of all time” as sources of regret, while each stanza on “Invisible String” begins with a line that uses passive voice to create a narrative remove.

That Swift employs her long-established songwriting tropes in novel ways is truly the most significant development on Folklore, rather than her choices of collaborators or whether the album scans as pop or alternative or electro-folk. She’s mined this type of melancholy tone before, but never for the full length of an album and certainly never with such a range of perspectives. It isn’t the weight of the subject matter alone that makes the album feel so vital—it’s the exemplary caliber of her writing. She may sing of wasted potential, but Folklore finds Swift living up to all of the praise she earned for her songwriting earlier in career.

#taylor swift #review #folklore

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singeramg · 5 years

Text

Midnight: Chapter 15

Pairing: Clark Kent/ Metahuman! Black! OFC!

Rating: E or M, NC-17 whatever just not for under 18

Warnings: Smut! ( Finally what I promised right?)

A/n: Okay as as mentioned above this chapter does contain smut, if its not your thing skip to the end. I give a brief summary in my ending author’s note. Please don’t blow me up talking about you weren’t warned.

Catch up HERE!

Midnight: Chapter 15

*Flashback*

“Come on Clark you gotta tighten up my dude. This shit is not cute.”

I was standing in the bedroom to his room at his mother's house, in jeans, yellow t-shirt 70′s writing of the words BOSS, across the chest, my silver hoop earrings and freshly applied cherry carmex. Mrs. Martha had called to to come drag Clark from his self imposed shut down, so instead of a quick mall trip by my lonesome, I was here. He and Lois broke up two weeks ago and he went from optimistic to wanting to follow her to the assignment she picked up overseas (and I told him that might be a bad idea if Superman got a rep for stalking women) he was now in the depression stage. Martha has enough of him not coming out of his room (he also couldn’t go back to the apartment he shared with Lois.) and requests for chocolate and junk food.

Apparently I was the big guns, and I had no clue how bad it was until just now standing in the doorway to the room. It literally had enough empty bottles to become a recycling plant. He was giving me teenage boy vibes and this was a grown ass man.

The part of me that wanted Clark for myself was kind of happy that he and Lois weren’t together but a bigger part of me was crushed for my best friend. I knew how much he loved her, how he planned on proposing to her next month on their anniversary. I could feel how upset he was and I wanted him to feel better.

“Gia what are you doing here?”

“I came to figure out why my best friend has been dodging my phone calls for two days the. I find out he is back at home with his mother and is doing his best to become part of the furniture.”

“I’m sick Gia.”

I stare at him pointedly.

“Kiss my ass your sick....That would work if you were human Clark. You can’t catch a goddamn virus. Now if you had told me a stomach ache I might have believed you. Get your lying ass up dude!”

I walked into the room, and sat at the foot of his bed. He had the covers pulled over his face. He had reached the grief stage and it was not good. I started pulling on the covers trying to inch it down and it worked for the whole of two seconds before he put a stop to that.

“Gia I just want to be left alone.”

I raise an eyebrow and look around in the chaos.

“If this room is any indication to go by you cannot be trusted to be left to your own devices.”

“Giaaaaa.” He groans out and I stifle a giggle, because I know he is in pain but the whine he did was kinda hilarious.

“Kaaaal.”

I copy his tone and then he sighs and pulls the cover tighter. It was my turn to sigh. I kick off my shoes, and walk over to the opposite side of the bed that Clark was laying on.

I focus all my energy into my hand and yank at his cover, having just enough force to pull it away, however I don’t yank it completely off of him, choosing to slide in next to him.

Clark’s big blue eyes look about as sad as I had ever seen him and his hair looked slightly overgrown and he was growing a beard, only clothed in a pair of shorts. Laying down next to him, I reached up to his face, because the face of the strongest man in the world did not look like the strongest.

“Clark you have got to come face the world sometime.”

“Does it have to be today? The world is probably the reason she left. I was so busy saving it that I bet she didn’t want to stay around.”

“Yes boo it has to be today. You can’t sit in here day after day, it won’t make her come back. I’m not saying it isn’t hard to get over something like this but the first step is to try.”

“What if I don’t want to try?”

“Well I guess we could lay here all day? I mean I may or may not start doing my Britney Spears impressions, then maybe I’ll move on to Miley Cyrus, because I know just how much you love that Party in the USA song, then maybe a little “Girl on Fire” by Alicia Keys....”

He doesn’t move

“ Ooh baby, baby, ohh Baby baby”

“Okay okay. I’ll get up just please no singing.”

I start laughing as Clark flips the covers back, and gets up. I knew he absolutely could not stand those songs and/or artists. I couldn’t help but look him over, his body just as fit as ever, slightly jealous that he could spend multiple days eating and drinking nothing but crap and still look like you could grate cheese on his abs.

-“Stop it Gia.”- I told myself because I knew I couldn’t go down that road of thinking.

“So now that you got me out of bed what do you want me to do.”

-‘Get back in.-’ Says my inner-thoughts. Outwardly I say

“I think you need a day out. Get dressed Kent. I’ll wait for you downstairs.”

I pull myself from his bed and start walking, slightly tripping over something on the floor.

“Oh and you need to clean up this mess before we leave, Ms. Martha is not about to chew me out for your mess. No sir.”

“M’am yes M’am.” He says with a look that didn’t scream America Golden boy, but something that was up to no good.

He says cheekily and half ass salutes in my direction. I toss up my middle finger in his direction and start singing, ‘She’s just a girl, but she’s on fire...’, much to his annoyance, and close the door to his room on the way out, knowing he can hear me all the way down the stairs and even is whisper, which annoys him even worse...

*Later that night*

“Clark you are such a cockblocker!”

We were standing near the exit outside of a bar in Metropolis. We had been there about an hour and a half, Clark had a couple of beers while I sipped on a drink. I left him at the table to get us another round and some shots when a good looking guy walked over to me. He was tall, fit and looked like he kept himself together with a neat fade all waved out and a swagger about himself. Also his emotions were quite even keeled. Which was nice and rare for a change of guys coming up to radiating all the emotions of someone only looking to bone. He introduced himself as Terrance, and I gave him my name. We were talking for all of 10 minutes when Clark walked over to where we were standing, and I had just finished laughing at something Terrance had said, Clark puts his hand on my lower back and says

“Gia darling I’ve been looking for you. Did you get the drinks? Oh who is your friend?”

I glared at him and then said “This is Terrence, Terrence this is my friend Clark.”

Clark shakes his hand but I can tell he puts just a little too much force behind it because the guy winces ever so slightly and Clark emotions go from protective, jealous to pleased.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes and instead look at Terrence.

“It was cool to meet you both, I’ve got to get back to my friends.”

He was scurrying away before I could even say goodbye. It was then that I dragged Clark outside.

“What do you mean Gia?”

“Don’t play dumb with me Alien boy.” I say the last part in a whisper and poke him in his chest.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“So you are going to act like you didn’t just almost break ole’ boys hand in there?”

At this he laughs slightly, but it was at least more of a genuine laugh than I had gotten from him in a few weeks.

“I wasn’t going to break it. I just wanted to see how he held up. If he even wants the potential to be in your life he’s got to pass muster.”

“Your muster. He passed mine just fine.”

“You would have chewed him up and spit him back out Gia. Besides he wasn’t worthy I mean he didn’t even have his pants pulled up all the way.”

“I told you if it’s done right is called swagger. Anyway. Like I said you are a cockblocker.”

“Sure, you will be thanking me later from saving you from a bad decision.”

I did some kind of cross between a growl and groan and turned away starting to go back inside realizing Clark wasn’t going to get it. He stops me by gently grabbing my arm.

“Gia wait.”

He pulls me backward to him again, I end squarely folded into his arms, with his front pressed to my back, face in the curls I left down for the night. I ignore how good this feels, the smell of him, the strength corded through his arms as he holds me tightly.

“I am sorry Gia. I guess I just don’t want you to leave me. Tonight was supposed to be about the two of hanging out, helping me get over a heartbreak. I just didn’t want my best friend to leave me to drink alone.”

He says next to my ear and I fight off a shutter. I respond by taking a deep breath and saying.

“I wasn’t going to leave you Clark, what kind of best friend would I be if I let you drink alone?”

I did my best to be mad, but with the way he wrapped his arms around me, the small yet sweet words he used, I was putty. He didn’t have to know how turned on I got by the sound of his voice and honestly I didn’t want to figure out why my heart was racing. If I stayed like this any longer he would figure out it wasn’t from anger.

So I pulled away from him and turned back faux mad and said

“Come on Kent bring your ass, next round is on you...”

One hour later:

We walked into my apartment, glad that I hadn’t left it a mess before heading over to see Clark. He trailed behind me, holding the box of cookies from the late night cookie place not far from my house.

“I still can’t believe we stopped for cookies at 12 in the morning.”

“Come on Clark you know there is nothing better than a warm cookie late at night. How many times have you snuck one of your mom’s cookies at night when she was sleeping.”

He ponders

“Touché. I didn’t even know that place existed.”

“Yes, it’s fairly new but still awesome. My coworker told me about it and I went one night.”

I didn’t tell him my first time going was the night he showed me the ring he got for Lois and I ate way too many cookies and some vanilla ice cream then had a pity party I threw for myself.

He shakes off his jacket and I cut on a lamp in the living room. He goes over to my couch and plops down, carefully as not to break it. He opens the box of treats and starts to eat one. One of the types I picked out, even though he didn’t ask for that one when specifically asked.

I came back with bottles of water from my kitchen to find the travesty in my living room.

“Oh hell naw! You are seriously about to get put the fuck out dude! I know you are not eating my peanut butter chocolate chip cookie.”

“There’s like 3 in here.” He shrugs not giving a care in the world and looking down at his phone.

“Yep and all three were mine Kal-El. Now I’ve got to fight you...”

At this he looks up and notices I have red energy balled up on my fingertips. He has half of the cookie left and offers it to me sheepishly, I almost knock it out his hand but that would be too much of a waste so I grab it and eat the rest and wave my hand at the tv.

“It is so easy to forget you have powers Gia. That you are like me in some ways, but then you do little things like cut a tv on with a wave of your hand or try to kill me and I remember.”

“I’ve been trying to tamper my use but honestly I just don’t want to look for the remote.”

“Good reason. Now since I’m not ready to go home yet and you promised me a movie. What’s on?”

I flicked through Netflix, choosing to cast some action flick I’d been meaning to watch, knowing that anything sappy would just make Clark sad again. I put my feet on the coffee table in front of me, relaxing into the cushions finally. Honestly I wanted to put on pajamas but currently they all consisted of Clark’s shirts and short-shorts (if I even wore those) it wouldn’t be appropriate to wear around him, nor did I want him to take them back. So I stayed in my clothes and Clark had come out of his shoes, socks and the glasses he didn’t need. In a surprise move however instead of sitting straight up on his end of the couch, he lays down, head in my lap.

Most of the time it was Lois he laid on like this or I fell asleep on his shoulder on accident, never fully intentional. I didn't jump up, instead my hands flew up to his hair and pushed it back. He emits relaxed energy and settles further in my lap. I briefly wondered how long had it been since he allowed himself to be cared for?

We watched the movie and I polished off two cookies and we were about halfway through when an intimate scene came on in the film. My heart rate picks up slightly as the faces on scene blur slightly and I let my mind wonder to what it would be like if that was me and Clark.

“You know I can hear your heartbeat right?”

I push at his head playfully and he sits up, but he is much closer than before because of how he had moved to put his head in my lap. He is smiling one of those megawatt smiles and I Want to punch him kinda but I also want to kiss him. The thought only arouses me further and I want to disappear into the couch.

“It’s a perfectly natural reaction to the movie.”

“Sure, this isn’t because you find Sebastian Stan attractive or anything. Sure.”

He takes a large slip of his water, smug.

“Hey I’ve got to take my kicks where I can get them. Since someone that shall remain nameless kept scaring the guys away from me all night.”

“All of them were looking at you like a piece of meat.”

“ Did you ever think that I wanted them too. I mean come on, a girl has her needs.”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you have to sleep with some guy you barely know because he shows you some attention.”

I look at him hurt. He had no clue I was still a virgin but that didn’t give him the right to imply I was whoring myself out to any and everyone. Even if I did he still had no right to judge me.

“Do you really think that low of me Clark? That I sleep with everyone?”

He immediately radiates guilt and regret.

“No I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it. I..I think I’m going to head to bed. You can let yourself out now Kal.”

I say and realize maybe that was one of the reasons he could never see me the way I saw him. This whole time he thought I was a hoe. I get up from my position on the couch, and as my face and eyes burn from embarrassment and sadness I walk to my room, but Clark is faster, stopping in front of me to keep me from the entrance to my bedroom.

“Clark move.”

I say, moving very quickly to the anger stage.

“Gia wait. Please I’m sorry. I swear I wasn’t thinking of you like that. It was bad wording...”

“If it came out that easy then you were already thinking it.”

“I wasn’t! Honest!”

I roll my eyes and focus my energy into my hand again, having practiced just enough strength to move Clark even if he wasn’t willing. I was proud of myself when he actually moved and I had enough time to get into my room, close and lock the door.

“Fucking Jackass.” I whisper to the empty room.

I don’t wait to hear the door close, settling on a hot shower to get all the grime and dirt off of me from sitting in a smoky , sweaty bar half the night. I chastised myself the entire time I was in the shower looking back on all the times we laughed together, me possibly making a sex related joke or dirty throw away comment and realizing he had been thinking that of me the entire time. I grabbed an old shirt and shorts for bed, glad that bras were not required for being in your own home. I cut off the light to en-suite bathroom and jumped nearly a foot finding Clark sitting in my accent chair next to the now open window.

“Goddamnit Kal-El you scared the shit out of me. How did you get in here?”

“You should really keep your windows locked, I mean there are so many weird folks out here that could want to hurt you. Trust me I hear most of them.”

“Well I can deal with most creepers just like I thought I had dealt with the one standing in my room right now.”

I say, waving my hand toward the lamp next to my bed that comes on to illuminate his face. I can feel that he’s sorry and then desire comes right behind the sorry emotions.

“Are you wearing my shirt?”

Clark asks me suddenly, with his head turned slightly, almost in confusion and I take note as I looked down, that it was one of his royals shirts and it fell about mid-thigh, which regrettably hid my shorts.

“I may or may not have borrowed it a while ago, but anyway that is off topic. Why are you still here?”

He comes from the other side of my bed rather quickly, but his gait is not relaxed, it is more of a proud quickstep. I called it his ‘determination’ look, and now I was nervous. Was he mad for me borrowing...stealing the shirt? His emotions didn’t read mad however. In fact they were the exact opposite, the intensity of them made me rub my thighs together slightly.

“I was here to make you listen to my apology because you are being stubborn again and you know exactly how much I hate you being mad at me so I was going to volunteer servitude and grovel shamelessly but now I am not so sure.”

I could feel the tension in the room and I was sure I was just making it awkward for myself. So I crossed the room, away from him, and headed to my dresser, going to a drawer where I kept other nightwear that didn’t belong to Clark. I didn’t have many options but I certainly didn’t want to look at him. I bent down to get a new shirt from the drawer, quickly skipping over the other 6 shirts that belonged to him.

“So what aren’t you sure about Clark? I don’t give apologies for stealing a comfy shirt. Like you want it back or something? I mean at least let me toss it in the wash first.”

Grabbing a purple tank top that I hardly wore, I stood back up, jumping at the slight of Clark directly behind me in the mirror.

“Oh I think I want it back but not after you’ve washed it.”

I haven’t turned around, choosing to stare at him from the mirror. Our eyes are locked and my face feels warm again, I fiddle with the shirt in my hand as lust begins to roll off of Clark in waves. In direct reaction to both of our emotions swirling around I feel myself grow wet.

“You know I’ve been looking for this shirt all over.”

Clark steps close enough that I feel the warmth he radiates on my back. He doesn’t break eye contact as he pulls me backwards, I gasp feeling his hardness poke me in my back, seeing as he was quite a bit taller than me. He leans down his hand still on his waist, and sniffs, I let myself melt closer to him, so unsure of myself or what exactly was happening but unable to stop it. He pulls away from my hair and sniffs again.

“You know Gia, one of the perks of being an ‘Alien boy’ as you like to call me, is that my sense of smell is fantastic. Do you have any clue what I smell now?”

I shake my head, too nervous to say the wrong thing and ruin whatever was happening.

“I smell nothing but you. I can smell how aroused you are and it’s driving me crazy. Usually it’s faint, covered by your clothes and body washes, I can ignore it, chalk it up to you thinking of someone else. This time I can’t.”

“Clark I am...”

“Please don’t say you are sorry Gia. I don’t want you to be. What I want is my shirt back, now are you going to take it off or should I rip it? Although I have to say I’m partial to the first because I want more opportunities to take it off of you in the future.”

I feel my breath leave my lungs and it is almost embarrassing how quick I reach down to the hem of the shirt and pull it upwards. We were still standing in the mirror with my back to him, but with the shirt off and no bra, everything was on display.

Clark delicately runs his fingers down my bare arms, then leans down and his lips meet my shoulders, kissing toward my neck where the junction of my shoulder and neck meet. His hands move to the front of my body, a light touch to my stomach and upwards. The mirror reflects as his large hands grip my breasts and squeeze. I moan out as my eyes drift shut, and my head falls back into his shoulder. I grind myself backward against his hardness and he releases his own moan against my ear. His fingers from one hand drifts over a darkened nipple and then down space between my breasts, trailing down my stomach.

“I could leave as you requested Gia, but I know you don’t want that do you?”

“No. Please stay.” I say and I free myself from his grasp as I turn around. He was still wearing the glasses so I pulled them off, sitting them on the dresser without breaking eye contact with his blue eyes that are blown so wide they are almost black. I reach up, and pull him down by the collar of his shirt, finally kissing him the way I had been dreaming about forever.

He doesn’t break the kiss, only leans down to pick me up and my legs automatically wrap around his waist. He walks over to my bed, laying me down and following with him on top, my legs automatically opening to make space for him between them. He stops kissing me to pull his shirt off revealing the glorious chest I had seen more times than I could count, but never in this context. I reach down to pull at my own shorts, but he stops me.

“Allow me.”

I nod at him still nervous to speak much. I watch him pull my shorts and panties off and he stares at the glistening mound between my legs.

“So wet, I bet you would leave a puddle if I picked you up.”

“A..aaand what will you do about that Kent?”

I taunt him nervously, but it’s not as clear as it would be normally. The smirk he sends in my direction would have melted my panties if I had been wearing them, it screamed dirty.

“Guess I’ll have to clean it up won’t I?”

He says and leans down to kiss me again, my hands fly up into his curls, and meanwhile his hands drifts from my hips downwards to my thighs, his hands are warm and they skim up my thighs teasingly. His fingers don’t stop at my thighs and they finally land at my center., meanwhile he stops kissing my lips and his kisses begin to drift down my body. Warmth soon encloses one of my nipples, teasing me until it is taunt with his wet tongue, and one of his long digits enters me slowly.

“Oh Clark”

I groan and shift to look down. He takes it as encouragement and moves over to my other nipple and after a few more minutes he adds another finger, stretching me. My hips arch into his hand and as he moves them in and out I can feel myself shuttering around his fingers. I want more inside of me than just his fingers but I was still nervous about all of this. I had fooled around before, made it this far with exactly one guy before him but everything felt new with Clark. Before I had always been in control of how I felt and what was being done, but I felt like I had none of that with Clark. He doesn’t stop kissing my chest, down my stomach, his lips meeting his fingers.

This was new to me and as his lips made contact my hips lifted off the bed. My thighs try to drift shut, but of course Clark doesn’t allow that to happen, now using both hands to hold my thighs open, and my hands move back to his head again, desperately wanting to keep him there, with his tongue dancing around my clit.

“Oh my god Clark!”

“You taste so good Gia. I could stay down here and worship at the fountain of you forever.”

My eyes roll shut again, his words making my juice flow even more, which he drinks up with a chuckle against me, the vibrations only driving me further into my pleasure. When he stops eating me out I glare at him like he’s gone mad, I had been so close. Did he not just say he wanted to drink from me forever?

I glare at him, probably more like a pout I figured since he only laughs again.

“Such an attitude for someone who wants to cum.”

“Clark, where are you going?”

I am afraid he’s finally changed his mind about all of this.

“I am not going anywhere beautiful. Everything I need is right here in this room.” He begins unbuckling his jeans, I watch as they slide down his thick thighs revealing his length which I immediately get intimidated by. He is long and thick and I wonder how that plans to fit inside of me? Clark’s eyes follow my eyes to where I had been staring.

“Where is the famous Gia courage? Don’t think you can handle me?”

I can’t meet his eyes and look around the room. I was actually nervous about this moment.

“Actually...I don’t know if I can...I..”

Clark’s eyebrows furrow as he notices that I am no longer looking like I am going to pounce on him, but instead looks like I’m ready to bolt. Instead of climbing on top of me he lays next to me.

“Gia why are you so nervous? You know I would never hurt you right?”

I nod and pull one hand across my chest covering myself, feeling more self conscious the longer he looks at me. I am staring at the wall opposite him.

“I am just nervous that’s all. I’ve ne--- I have never done THIS before okay?”

He doesn’t say much for a moment and I just know he is about to get up and get dressed because somebody that looks like Clark doesn’t want someone inexperienced like me. Why would they? He had to notice all of the women at the bar staring him down all night. He had his pick and those women probably knew what to do and could give him a lot more pleasure than I could.

Clark’s hand comes up to my face, fingers delicately touching, turning it so that I could look at him.

“Gia. Are you saying you are a virgin?”

“Fresh as the fallen snow on a mountain top. Kinda blows your “Gia is hoe” theory doesn’t it?”

I joke, trying to relieve the awkwardness of the room, but Clark doesn’t laugh with me.

“ I’ve never thought that about you and please don’t deflect this... seriously. Are you sure about this? I mean that you want to do this with me?”

I nod. My mouth was too dry to speak, but Clark wasn’t letting that slide.

“I need words from you Gia.”

The command is simple and direct but a turn on nonetheless. I don’t let it show outwardly however.

“Yes Clark. I’m sure. I trust you with this part of me.”

He searched my eyes for a lie, but I knew he wouldn’t find any. His demeanor changes as he kisses me, and his fingers find my opening again. He spends more time opening me up, and he swallows almost every gasp and moan from my lips, then drops back down creating a suction with his lips around my clit that send me soaring.I begin to cum around the fingers tapping that spot inside of me that make me writhe about on the bed.

Once I come down from the high of my orgasm, I find him staring at me again, if I could I’d blush over the intensity of his gaze.

“You are breathtaking Gia.”

He turns and grabs his wallet from the jeans that had been unceremoniously dropped to the floor, producing a condom from inside. I can’t watch him put it on, and I know he can hear how fast my heart is racing again. Clark glides over my body and my legs open wider to make space for him again.

“I promise I will never intentionally hurt you, but this may hurt slightly based off of what I’ve been told love.”

I brace my hands on his strong shoulders.

“ It’s okay. Like I said I trust you.”

I feel his length slide in between my folds gathering the wetness there, before slowly guiding himself inside of my welcoming body. At least I thought it was welcoming, it felt like I was trying to push him out, and it felt like forever before he came to a stop. He stares at me and kisses me again, full engagement of his lips and tongue as he pushes forward, which makes me break the kiss to gasp into his mouth and whimper through the pain. I don’t even realize my face is wet until Clark wipes my face with the hand that is not holding him upwards.

“Breathe please Gia baby.”

I feel my chest rattle as I settle into the pain. Clark is whispering sweet nothings in my ear, and as the pain abates I cue him to move.

He moves out again slowly and as he sets a pace, the pain drifts into pleasure and my nails can’t dig into his back, as his skin doesn’t allow it, so they glide across his back. His hands glide down my body touching every part he could find.

“Ugh Clark Faster.”

The overwhelming sensation builds and I flutter around the hard flesh as it moves in and out of me. Clark is definitely holding back and I can tell as he thrusts me through my orgasm. The second one of the night for me and none for him. I start to feel that maybe this is a penance for him, maybe it me, or maybe even a mistake to him. His desire hadn’t gone away, as he was still hard inside of me.

“Clark, is there a reason you haven’t… you know.”

His face is hovering above mine, his smile is wide following my question. I feel embarrassed considering I couldn’t even use the right words, despite him being inside of me at the current moment.

“I’ve already asked you to use your words Gia.”

He pushes forward suddenly and I make some cross between as gasp and moan.

“ Fuck.”

“ Well that's a word. A dirty word, but word nonetheless.I’ll give you what you want.”

He teases me.

“I didn’t think anything else expressed that properly.”

“No? I think I can get a few more words out of you tonight. Then again as long as my name is one of them you can say whatever you want baby.”

His hands slide up the back of my thighs, ending behind my knees. He pulls them up and thrust downwards, deeply into me. My arms lock behind his neck and he obliges me to pull him down into a kiss. He thrusts harder and faster, his lips swallowing my groans and cries as we both hear how wet he is inside of me. He was so deep inside of me and I relished in the groans into my ears.

I gave completely into the feelings of the moment, feeling Clark inside of me transcending the moment. As I flutter around him again, and he moves us higher and faster, I realize that us ...like this was what I had been waiting on…

*End flashback*

That night had been one of magic, at least at the time. Clark had taken his time and thoroughly taken me apart, and put me back together. Despite my later ramblings I never regretted that it had been him, and not just because of our son. I haven’t asked Clark if the condom broke and if it did he never told me. I never regretted it because at the time it had been everything I didn’t know I needed and I seriously doubted it would have been that good with anyone else.

The drive back to the manor was long but it gave me time to think. I needed to think about what I could say to Clark. How do you admit to someone that you’ve loved them like forever? One could guess you would just say it, but I didn’t know it would be that simple. I was about halfway home when a shadowy figure appeared in the middle of the road. It causes me to slam my breaks and I find myself spinning in a circle, then I was rolling, where it came to rest against a tree.

I cough roughly looking around for my phone and I am grateful that I was wearing a seat belt. I can feel that I am in extreme pain, blood dripping from my face, but with the smell of gasoline in the air. I can’t stay in this car or I will die. I use heat energy to create a blade to cut my seat belt since it jammed from the impact. I crawl myself from the driver's seat, ignoring the searing in my hands as the broken glass digs into them.

“Fuck.”

I say, noting that my ankle feels like it’s on fire again indicating some sort of injury. Coughing I try to see my way to the road for help as the car begins to smoke. My heart clenches as the shadowy figure walks toward me with nothing but hatred and determination on its heart.

I try to scramble away and try to toss a hasty shield but I’m too weak to manage it.

The figure grows closer and closer, it laughs. Surprising me by being light and feminine.

It comes close enough as the car, that I had moved away from explodes. It pulls off the hood to reveal a familiar face.

“Waa...Tracy?”

“Long Time no see Gia. It’s time to come home.”

And with that she punches me in the face, and everything fades to black...

A/n: Boom.

No but really I truthfully need feedback on this one, because I like reading smut, but hate writing it. Had to get that Superababy here somehow huh?

SUMMARY: Flashback of the night Kalen was conceived! Gia is forced to crash her car and is taken by someone by the name of Tracy who is familiar to Gia.

As always thnk you for reading, commenting and reblogging! You all rock! The taglist is open!

Taglist:

@romyr4 @bloodyinspiredfuck @p3nny4urth0ught5

#Henry Cavill #SUPERMAN X OFC #Superman #Clark Kent xOFC #Clark Kent #henry cavill smut #Clark Kent Smut #fanifiction #dc universe

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zankivich · 5 years

Text

The Arrangement: CEO’s Son/Dom!Shawn x Black Sub Reader Chapter 8

a/n: I hope you didn’t think I’d make it quite so easy. A little pull and tug is worth it sometimes ya know? idk how much longer I’ll be around. Most people don’t engage with the fics anymore and Shawn isn’t really the Shawn I fell in love with anymore. Life just kind of sucks at the moment. But I’ve got this chapter already written so I thought I’d post it. If you liked it and actually want it to continue? I might recommend letting me know tbh. Bye.

Shawn’s point of view

The problem with taking a woman to Rome on the first date is that anything after that just seems silly. What exactly was he to do now? Invite her over to his apartment for sushi? Even he would walk out on that date! It didn’t help that the second they got back to New York, after a very long winded kiss goodbye, that she’d jumped right into preparation for the VMAs. That essentially meant he wasn’t going to see her for days, maybe weeks. VMA season sparked award season in general for the music industry. It might not exactly give an indication of Grammys, but with the award show always arriving right as the ellibility period for the more prestigious honor was ending, it meant that the VMAS was the beginning of the long haul to get your artist at the top of the charts and fucking keep them there. Which also meant that just like she was busy, so was he. The difference was she actually liked her job. And he had...oh how he hated his.

He’s sitting in a marketing meeting for Sarah Leone. Sarah Leone is his dad’s bid for best new artist of the year. Forget the fact that y/n had her secret weapon of Normani and Khalid on one management team, and that he sort of had a feeling she was going to do a solo album release directly before the grammy consideration deadline just to keep the industry on its toes, his dad was thoroughly convinced Sarah was his ticket. And in a lot of ways she was. Small town girl turned mega popstar in a little over a year, her debut album was set to make beautiful numbers. Unfortunately that wasn’t enough. His dad had a very direct line of vision and that vision was complete and total domination. So it wasn’t enough to have your music sell, he wanted his artists to be inescapable from the public eye. Enter this season’s publicity stunt: The MC.

His dad thought it was a clever way to reference Miley Cyrus. Back in the day he’d orchestrated Miley’s dating of a 20 year old when she was 16 to address her rebellious teen phase. What most people saw as a kid going off the rails, was actually a perfectly manipulated moment in pop history. Except the dick cake that lost her the walmart branding deal, that was all her unfortunately.

Sarah was supposed to be seen out and about with mysterious new “it” british singer, Ty Summers. He was 21. She turned 18 just months prior. The two had begun with a close knit friendship, and were now being guided through the early stage of good, whole-hearted, perfectly constructed, “love”. He peers down at one of the new stills for her headline of V magazine, and simply can’t believe she’s 18. The cover makes him uncomfortable, makes him feel icky. No one at the table notices. And his dad isn’t even there, because this is too low level for the kind of work he does anymore.

“Next, I want her in London for the UK press tour. We’ll have her position at Summers’ hotel for half of her stay. I want pap shots at dinner every night out of the week, and I want a prompt at the BBC interview to hint at their connection. We’ll take it from there.” Jaret, one of the senior managers rattled off. “Any questions?”

He twirled boredly in his chair far from interested in the inner workings of career management if none of it meant jack shit about what the artist actually wanted for their career. It felt like such a waste of his time.

“Quick question?” He sighed popping his pen slightly into the air.

“Yes, Mendes?”

“When does she sing?” He shrugged.

The room goes still. It’s a well known fact that Jaret runs the room. He runs the meetings, runs the decisions. He’s top dog on this particular client, and Shawn is merely there under his father’s orders as an informant and nothing more. He was there to make sure things ran smoothly, but he certainly wasn’t there to offer critique. Woops.

“And what exactly does that mean?” Jaret challenged.

Shawn simply shrugged. “Just seems like if we have a musical artist who we signed on the basis of her being able to sing, that we might at some point want that to be the focal point of her career. But you know, I could be wrong.”

“There’s just one thing wrong here Shawn...we did not sign anyone. I did. We don’t make decisions on the intricacies of her career. I do. You are simply a glorified intern. Nothing more, nothing less. And if you’re father wasn’t afraid you’d run off every two seconds I wouldn’t have to babysit your ass right now. So, why don’t you let the professionals determine next steps and play on the computer daddy bought you, or whatever it is you do?”

Ouch.

The room shifted from Jaret back to Shawn. No one went against Jaret. And yet Shawn was perhaps the most unpredictable thing about his father’s company at that point. Needless to say unpredictably was a hell of a thing.

“It must really upset you that I get paid more than you do doesn’t it?” He hummed.

Jaret’s face began to redden, his nerves tighter than his balls that Shawn had such a precarious grip on at the moment.

“Or does it upset you more that I could do your job better than you right now, today, without even the ability to hear the tonedeaf artists you sign that are just pretty enough and just old enough not to get your ass arrested?” He tilted his head in contemplation. “Perhaps it’s even that one time at the company Christmas party where your wife caught you screwing your secretary in your office and stopped crying long enough for me to make her cum before signing the divorce papers? But you’re right Jaret, I simply should just get back to daddy’s computer. My bad.”

“You little son of--”

“Big.” Shawn interrupted sliding smoothly from his chair and packing his shit up from the horrible meeting he’d had no interest in attending in the first place. “I’m big son of a bitch, Jaret. Just ask Sarah.”

Sarah of course being his wife. Ex wife of course. Ex wife number three if we’re being specific.

The door shuts close behind him to Jaret screaming and lurching across the table towards his empty chair. He’d probably hear about it from his dad later. But honestly who cared. Jaret was a creepy asshole, and he was always gonna be a creepy asshole. Sorry not sorry.

***

He’d be a little embarrassed at how aggressively he yanked at the door were it not for the hopeful look in her big brown eyes when he sees her for the first time. He can tell she’s had a long day because her hair is down out of its bun already, tiny spirals falling all around her face and cheeks. But, the way she falls into his arms is enough to make his whole entire day. Because it means that after all the shit she’d been through that day, she wanted to be with him. And that’s the only thing he cared about in the whole world.

“I missed you.” He sighed already capturing her lips in a kiss.

She hummed softly against him, fingers squeezing at his shoulders.

“Missed you too.”

He pushed the door shut with his foot, arms keeping her tucked tightly against him. He’s sure he’s smiling like a complete and total idiot but he can’t help it. It’s this new exciting thing where he no longer has to be afraid of how close he is to her, no longer has to hope he doesn’t stare too long. She knows. And not only does she know, but somehow she feels the same way. It felt like a dream.

He tugged her back towards his kitchen and helped her into a seat before he pulled out the leftovers from his own dinner where he “accidently” ordered for two.

“Tiana said you didn’t eat dinner.” He shrugged at her questioning gaze. “And this little italian place up the block always gives me more than I need.”

She bit her lip and peered from the container of chicken parm to him and back to the parm. He thought for a second she just might fight him on it. And then he remembered how much she liked to eat.

“You and Tiana conspiring against me must stop!” She snorted grabbing the fork clean from his hand to dig in.

He leaned against the granite counter with his chin propped on his hand. She was wonderful. And silly. And a little ridiculous. He kind of loved it.

“Yes, because making sure you consume more than coffee in a twelve hour period is definitely a conspiracy.”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe so.”

“Maybe so.” He mimicked. “I missed the way you argue with me about everything. Feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

Her eyes got wide and bright and she turned a grin towards him that he practically ached to lick off. She was gorgeous.

“You missed me huh? The Shawn Mendes has fallen head first into a little monogamy moment has he?”

Sometimes he liked to think that her favorite past time was taking the piss out of him. It sure seemed that way.

He rolled his eyes back at her and butted his head softly into her neck.

“And what if I have?” He whispered softly. “You have too. Right?”

His nose skimmed along her neck and she shivered. He smiled against her skin. She’d fallen just as hard alright.

“Yea I guess so.” She mumbled.

He pulled back and pressed a kiss to her cheek before grabbing her glass to refill with water.

“You should eat up. You’re gonna need your strength.”

“Excuse me?”

He refilled her glass from the refrigerator and placed in front of her before leaning against the countertop again.

“Oh. I just meant that I plan to fuck you until the birds sing. I don’t want you getting tired on me before I’m done with you.”

His favorite past time was saying the wildest things he could come up with to her in the simplest voice possible and then watching the way it made her eyes bulge in her sockets. God he loved it.

This time she simply stuffed a breadstick in her mouth and hopped out of her seat to start taking her jacket off. It seemed she might be just as needy as he was.

“Yep! Okay. You can come get it now!”

“I’m comin’, baby.” He grinned lifting her up into his arms.

“Goddammit. Carbs and dick. It’s like my birthday or something!”

His bedroom is way too far away. They’ve gotta figure out a way to get there quicker. But he chuckles into her cleavage as he knocks them against walls to stop and kiss her. Her thighs mold to his waist, ass full in his hands. He’s stuck on her completely. And the worst part is that she knows it.

He lets her legs back down to the floor only to press her against the wall of his bedroom, lips, teeth, and tongue beginning a trail along her neck.

“You make me never wanna go back to go work ever again.” She whined, fingers tangling in his hair.

“I’d happily quit if we could stay in bed for the rest of forever.” He murmured.

“Don’t tempt me!”

Maybe he would.

“Mmmm speaking of work, how hard you gonna make my job for me this fall?” He hummed biting down on her lip to solicit a yelp that drove him crazy.

“What do you mean?” She asked, fingers already tugging at his belt.

“I’m supposed to believe Normani’s not releasing an album before awards season?”

Her fingers came to a stuttering stop, and he recognized that her kisses weren’t really kisses anymore. His eyes opened to meet hers and instead of the lust from just moments prior, there was...anger?

“What the fuck, Shawn?”

“W--What? What?” He mumbled reaching for her as she quickly stepped out of his arms.

“Why would you ask me that? Since when the hell do you care when my artists release music?”

He’s a little flustered and his dick is hard and her yelling at him when his dick is hard is only just adding to the complex array of emotions that his brain would surely need more blood to process.

“I--I don’t know! I thought that’s what couples did right? Like they--they ask each other about work and shit. What did I do?”

“Couples?” She paused, all of the steam leaving her like a deflated balloon. “Are we--we’re a couple?”

At this point he’s pretty sure she’s gonna give him a heart attack.

“I….Aren’t we?”

“I--I don’t know. I don’t know, we’ve only been on one fucking date, Shawn. And just because it was wonderful and beautiful and romantic doesn’t mean that you get to ask me questions like that. I just… Shit. I need space.”

“Space?”

His heart leapt a little in his chest. He’d said that word before. “Space”. When people said they needed space it always meant permanent. It meant separation. It meant losing her. And the effect that her words have on him is a little surprising, even though he’s not processing nearly fast enough to catch on. All he can hear, feel, think, breathe is her not wanting him. And in this moment of fragility for him he’s not quite sure how to cope.

“Wait. Just wait a second. I don’t even know what’s happening right now!” He cried his hands held up in surrender. “Let’s just talk. Let’s just talk for a second okay? Tell me what I did wrong and I’ll fix it.”

“No. I don’t want to talk to you right now. I’m going home. I--I’lll call you later.”

She sweeps right past him, her fingers re-buttoning the same buttons she had giggled when he’d undone just seconds ago. He’s so floored by what’s taking place and he’s got no idea how to fix it. How to make her happy. He just wants to make her happy. And he doesn’t want her to go.

“Y/n. Y/n, please? Alright, just talk to me.”

Her fingers slip through his when he reaches for her and just like that she’s gone. And it hurts. It hurts far more than he knows what to do with. What the fuck?

***

*Three days later*

*y/n’s point of view*

A foul mood did not begin to describe what you were in. Everyone had been steering completely clear of you and rightfully so. Anyone who dare breathe wrong in your direction would get an earful. It wasn’t your fault. You hadn’t exactly been sleeping well. Your stomach was in knots. You were stressed as hell. But, none of that was allowed to matter. You had work to do. So, everything else got placed on the backburner.

You’re in your office taking a twenty minute “get your shit together bitch” break when a knock sounds itself on your door. Tiana had been the only one with balls to knock on the door in days, so you had no doubt who it could be.

“Come in, Ti.” You sighed still leaning pathetically across your desk.

The door slides open and unless Tiana grew several feet and turned into a white man over night, it was certainly not your assistant standing there.

“Hi.” Shawn mumbled waving awkwardly in your direction.

He was in a suit again. But not one of the ones from the red carpet that would make your thighs tremble. This must be one of his work ones. It looks too restrictive on his body. He’s wearing a tie, and your fingers itch to remove it, to dishevel him back into the man that you knew. The worst part is that even in discomfort he doesn’t look real. He looks like an ad standing there at your doorway. An absolute vision to behold. You had to remind yourself that you were angry at him.

“How did you--What are you doing here? Shawn?”

He quickly closed the door and strode over to you, at least having the good grace to keep his distance to the chair in front of your desk.

“You didn’t answer any of my calls. Which is fine I guess. I get that maybe you need space but...I really hate what’s going on between us right now.” He mumbled.

His knee is bouncing. You only recognize this because it shakes your desk in a gentle hum. His fingers twist and turn anxiously on your desk as if he’s fighting the urge to reach out and touch your hand. His lips are stress bitten and his hair looks like it’s been the victim of an attack as well.

“Really?” You asked, leaning back slighting your chair in confusion.

He raised an eyebrow. “Yes, really. What did you think I was just out living my best life since you stormed out of my apartment at one am without a word and ignored me for three days?”

“No, I just...I just didn’t realize it would have this great of an effect on you. I guess I--I didn’t know you cared that much.”

“You didn’t know that I care that much? What the hell, y/n?” He groaned. “Why are you doing this right now?”

“Doing what?! What am I doing?”

“You’re pulling away. We sat there in Rome and you asked me to promise you that I was all in. And I am. And now you’re scared, is that it? You don’t know what it might look like for us to be together in the real world, so you’re pulling away from me.”

Well that was certainly a read. You were flustered. Your lips opened and shut around nothing but air as you sat there at a loss for words. It wasn’t conscious, or maybe on some level it was, but Shawn scared the hell out of you. Rome was a beautiful, beautiful bubble, but a bubble nonetheless. The second you got back to New York you couldn’t help but wonder if it would actually work a tall. You were still so different. And much as you liked him, and shit you really fucking liked him, it was terrifying to place yourself into new charted territory. You were scared of him. Of the two of you together. Of what it could mean. And he never even needed you to say it, he just knew it about you instantly.

“Look,” He sighed. “I still don’t really know what I did wrong. I know I probably sound like I’m being a little bitch right now but...shit y/n I just got you and I feel like I’m losing you already. Like you’re not even gonna give me a chance to try to make you happy. Is that how it’s gonna be? Cause if it is just tell me okay? Tell me what you want.”

“I don’t...I don’t know. Okay? I don’t know.” You mumbled

The look that he gives you tells you that this hurts him. That you not being a hundred percent in is painful. Everything was just moving so incredibly fast. One second you couldn’t fathom the idea that Shawn would even want to do more than fuck you, let alone be leading the charge your relationship. It was fast. All of it. And you? You were scared.

“Okay. Well I guess just call me when you figure it out.”

He got out of his seat and headed for the door only throwing you further off your game. You didn’t know much about what you wanted. You just knew that you didn’t want him mad at you, and you didn’t want him to leave. It didn’t help that a part of you felt like you should be leading this matter. You were older, you were the woman. Never had anyone cornered you in the manner that Shawn was in this moment. It was completely different than anything you’d ever experienced.

“Wait--shit. Shawn don’t leave.”

He shook his head. “It’s fine. You’re not ready, and I was. Just…Call when you figure things out. Maybe I’ll talk to you later.”

And just like that he’s gone. Fuck.

***

It’s another long night. You’re tired. You’re heart is heavy. Your ponytail is too tight. And you wanna go to bed. But you have no interest in sleeping alone, and therefore are stuck at your desk again. There’s three different contracts waiting your signature on your desk, but the words have begun to blur. You tell yourself it’s not because you’re crying because you definitely aren’t. It’s just cause you’re tired. Yes.

“Hey, it’s late I’m gonna---oh lord. I haven’t seen you cry since Michelle Obama smiled at you on a red carpet.” Tianna gasped.

You sniffled. “Bitch I am not crying. Go home.”

She rolled her eyes. “Denial or delusion. Your favorite pastimes. Come tell Titi what’s wrong while I’m still awake.”

She plopped herself in the chair opposite your desk and reached for the tissues on your desk to hand to you. You take one begrudgingly.

“You haven’t let me call you Titi since college.”

“Of course I haven’t, “She giggled. “What kind of grown ass woman walks around goin’ by Titi. Now stop deflecting.”

Best friends are no good. They know you too well. It makes it way too hard to hide.

“I….I think I fucked things up.”

“With Shawn you mean?”

You nod slowly.

“Yea, I saw him come out of your office lookin’ like a kicked puppy. I couldn't even get him to laugh for me before he left. You never really said what happened though.” She nudged gently.

A sigh passes through your lips that feels bone deep. Your fingers twitch anxiously against the desk. There’s nowhere to hide here. You just have to be truthful. It’s the worst.

“We...We decided to give it a go. And he took me to Rome, as your meddling ass knows, and it was the most amazing thing I could experience. It was everything I ever thought it would be but...he made it more. And I kept thinking that he was going to stop at some point. I don’t know I thought surely it was gonna work, because how could it you know?”

“No, not quite sis. I don’t know. Maybe you can explain it to me.”

You bite your lip and twitch anxiously.

“I asked him in Rome one of our last nights there if he was gonna be all in. We talked about race and white supremacy and I told him that I needed someone who could stand with me in all of it, not just when it is convenient.”

“And he said…?”

“Well the fucker said yes.” You huffed. “He promised it even.”

“Shit.” Tiana mumbled taking a pause herself. “I would’ve never called Shawn Mendes to be a social justice warrior.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s far from it, now. He’s still a white boy. But he wanted to try. He was willing to try for me.”

“So you can see how maybe I’m missing the part where you fucked up. This sounds a little like a black girl’s love story come true.”

“I went over to his place and he offered me breadsticks and dick, in that order. But then when we were getting to it, he asked me about Normani, Ti. He asked if I was going to ‘make his job harder for him’ by having her release her album before award season.”

“Oh lord, that poor bastard didn’t even know what hit him.” She sighed.

“I’m serious Ti!” You groaned. “I’ve been here before. I’ve had the music exec who wanted to get into my pants just to know what we were doing in this building. I--I can’t go back there. You and I both know that there’s nothing Manny Mendes would love to see more than one his little white girls on top and my people failing on the bottom of the totem pole. We work too goddamn hard for me to lose it.”

Tiana paused for a minute and stared at you. Her eyes were soul searching, the way they tended to be. She was as lovely and amazing as she was terrifying. She knew you better than you knew yourself, and she never hesitated to call you on your bullshit. Even if you didn’t know it was bullshit. Especially when you didn’t know it was bullshit.

“Girl, I love you more than anyone I’ve ever met in my life, but you are truly exhausting.” She sighed and held her hand up as a means to silence you before you even spoke. “Now if you’re not ready for someone to potentially love and take care of you that’s one thing. But if you are intentionally sabotaging yourself because you’re scared you gotta knock it the fuck off.”

“But Ti--”

“No, ma’am. If that boy wanted to know when Normani’s album was dropping he did not need to take your ass to Rome to do it. You have been scorned by this industry more than most will ever recognize, and I know that, and I validate that. But you ain’t in a relationship with Manny Mendes. You’re not in a relationship with the industry. It’s Shawn. And that man hates his dad and his dad’s company more than you do. I love you, but you’re being a bit ridiculous.”

“...Fuck.”

“Fuck, indeed.” She hummed. “You keep doing this. You keep letting outside factors affect everything, and that’s not sustainable. You have to trust him. He has to trust you. That’s the only way it works.”

You peered at her with tired eyes. The kind of eyes that a woman who’d been scorned one time too many might have.

“But what if he hurts me?”

“Than we pick up the pieces. We work at it until your healed. But you don’t get the love without faith. You’ve got to put yourself out there, babe.”

And that is of course how you end up at his place at midnight on Friday nonetheless. Ti had practically ushered you off, offering to close up shop for the night if it meant you would finally leave the office. You’re still in your work jumpsuit with the too tight ponytail and the makeup that you couldn’t wait to take off. The code lets you easily without having to let him know that you’re there. Perhaps that’s why you finally get to hear him this time.

The doors of his fancy apparently are surely made of thicker wood, so he must be sitting right inside the living room. Regardless you hear it in this soft, muted kind of way. It’s an acoustic guitar, the plucking of his fingers just as rounded and full. It’s beautiful and rhythmic and it makes you pause, your fingers still resting on the door knob because then the mother fucker starts to sing.

Maybe I had too many drinks, but that's just what I needed

I hope that you don't think that what I'm saying sounds conceited

When I look across the room and you're staring right back at me

Like somebody told a joke and we're the only ones laughin'

You’re fingers grip tight at the door knob, you’re mind both seemingly filled with a million thoughts and yet too overwhelmed to process any of it. His door is unlocked though and when you stumble inside the vision in your head comes to life. He’s sat on his floor by the fireplace with a guitar you’ve never seen upon his lap. He’s wearing a white tanktop and black sweats. The rosary against his neck nestles against what looks like perfectly tamed chest hair. He is as unreal as ever. And yet somehow, somehow that is not the most astonishing part of everything around you in this moment.

He pops his head up towards you. His fingers don’t still on the guitar at all as he seems to pluck out the melody he’d sung just moments prior.

“Took you long enough. Almost like you were outside eavesdropping or something.” He hummed.

“I...How did you even know I was outside?” You stuttered.

“I get an alert every time someone enters my code. I don’t just wait around for you all the time ya know.”

Rude.

“You...You sing.”

He peered at you, fingers still moving, his head tilted just slightly to the side as if you were as confusing to him as he was to you.

“I sing.” He affirmed. “Is that okay?”

“How come--I mean you never said anything.” You frowned. “That--That song. You wrote that?”

He nodded slowly. “I’ve been given a bit of inspiration lately. Is that what you came here for? To bust me in my hobby?”

This changes things. And surely it wouldn’t have mattered because Ti’ had already convinced you to suck it the fuck up and come over, but the fact that he’s got music in him and never said anything matters. Because there’s a lot he could have asked for. A lot he could have tried to get from you, and he hadn’t. It really didn’t matter to him at all. You were just a fucking asshole.

It occurred to you that you were still standing in the middle of his doorway, so you closed the door and moved slowly near him. He set his guitar off to the side as you plopped one of his decorative pillows in the spot beside him and sat down. Without his guitar, Shawn was a lot more fidgety. He took to playing with his rings on his fingers again, eyes soft and vulnerable pointed in your direction.

“So...Is this it? You come here to end it?” He asked.

You took a deep breath. “No. I came here to apologize.”

His eyes flickered up to your face, a hint of hesitance to them.

“I’ve never heard you apologize in my life.”

You rolled your eyes and punched playfully at his arm, the chiseled muscle probably hurting you more than it hurt him. He wasn’t wrong.

“The truth is...When you asked me about Normani’s release I didn’t think of it as you wanting to know about my day. I didn’t think about it as you wanting to be kind to me at all. I sort of, maybe thought you were snooping trying to figure out a way that you could hurt me.” You admitted softly. “Because--well because that’s what I’ve experienced in the past. And that’s not an excuse but it just is...it’s what I was feeling.”

He squinted his nose up and it would’ve been cute had you not been so flustered.

“Wait, you thought I was gonna hurt you? How?” He asked turning more in your direction.

You winced. “Like...by maybe taking it to your dad. Knowing whether or not Normani’s gonna release would be really beneficial to him.”

There’s a range of emotions that cover his face. First confusion. Then acceptance. And then anger.

“Why would I ever do that to you? What have I ever said or done to make you think that I would choose allegiance to my dad of all people over you. I hate my job, y/n. I hate that company. You know that better than just about anyone.”

“I know! I know that. I just--fuck. You scare me okay!” You whined. “I haven’t been in a healthy relationship in years. I’ve been fucked over in my job, in my relationships, in life constantly. And I didn’t exactly walking into our arrangement expecting to find a relationship. I don’t know how to do this, Shawn. I don’t--I’m not sure I truly deserve it.”

You glanced down at the floor in worry and fear. You wanted it. God, you really wanted it. But, shit if you weren’t terrified to try.

When he crawls into your lap, you’re a little taken aback. For how tall that fucker is, he certainly could use an extra meal or two. But, there’s something about the reversal of his thighs bracketing your hips the way that yours would usually do to his. There’s something about the way his thumb soothes at your pulse point as his fingers rest on either side of your neck. There’s something about the way that he looks at you with tenderness and kindness. It’s a little unlike anything you’d ever quite felt before. And it makes you soften beneath him with ease, all the fire running out of you at once.

“You are...the most hard headed woman I’ve ever met.” He mumbled softly.

You smiled sheepishly. “That’s what my momma’s been telling me since I was born.”

“Well she’s right. But I’m kind of crazy about you. And I don’t like fighting with you. And I don’t like being mad at you, or you being mad at me. I just want to make you happy. This is the first time in my life where I feel like I can make some good out of anything. You feel...right. I like you, and I want to take care of you, and I’d like to have something where we can both give each other that. I’m just as scared as you are, okay? I don’t fucking know what I’m doing either. But I wanna try. Do you?”

Was it really that simple? Could it be that simple?

“I do. I really do.” You whispered.

“Good. That’s all I needed to hear. C’mere.”

For him, it could be.

His fingers knot in your ponytail and he tugs your lips to his with zero hesitation. After a shitty week of back and forth it feels good to not have to think for a while, to let his lips work over yours. He’s dominant even here with his tongue and his hands and his hips. He could’ve made it soft and gentle, but that’s not really what the two of you were about. Or was it?

“I’ve got leftovers in my fridge.” He murmured running his thumb along your bottom lip. “Did you eat dinner?”

You shake your head softly and he quickly climbs off your lap to tug you towards the kitchen. It doesn’t go unnoticed to you that his guitar stays behind in the living room.

“Are we ever gonna talk about the singing thing?”

“Maybe let’s do one heavy thing at a time, aye? I’ll tell you sometime. I promise. For now, do you want egg drop soup or pasta?”

You climbed into your seat at his kitchen counter and quickly tugged at your jacket and ponytail holder.

“Pasta. And one of these days I’m gonna teach your pasty ass how to cook.”

“Sure thing, babe.” He snorted. “I look forward to it.”

***

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