#no single person is to blame and no single person can fix it

[golden-cherry]

deal - cl16 (59/59)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: The end.

Warnings: heavy on the angst, heartbreak, mention of panic attack

Word Count: 3.8k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: the end of deal. thank you for coming on this ride with me. it's been over two years and I couldn't be more grateful for every single one of you. for every like. every comment. every message. I love you.

The iron railing he clutches with his fingers as if it were a lifeline is freezing cold. The frosty wind creeps under his layers of clothing, his shirt and the normally soft sweater, which now feels like steel wool and scratches his skin. But he doesn't feel it, the biting cold that envelops him and tugs at him. 

Somehow, he doesn't feel anything anymore.

In front of him lies his home, warm lights illuminating the night, and on other days, this would be a sight that would calm him, that would feel like a welcome home after a grueling race weekend. But all he sees now is a city that no longer feels like home. 

And he knows why.

He sees it every time he closes his eyes. The moment that destroyed everything. The moment he thought would never happen. 

The moment he lost you. 

Charles notices the patio door opening behind him, but he doesn't turn around. After all, he knows exactly who is keeping him company right now. And he also knows the look he's being given, without taking his eyes off Monaco. 

“I've got you a hot chocolate.” His best friend's voice is quiet, as if he doesn't want to interrupt the race car driver's train of thought. “If you want.”

Charles hears ceramic on glass as Joris sets the cup down on the table behind him, but he keeps his gaze fixed on the houses in front of him. Whether he drinks the hot chocolate or his favorite tea or eats the hottest chili pepper, nothing can dispel the cold inside him.

It has taken hold there, its claws dug into his guts and its teeth sunk into his heart. It is so cold and icy that it feels like anesthesia, as if his organs are shutting down and refusing to continue working to keep him alive. As if his body knows exactly what it needs to do to kill the pain.

But unfortunately, the pain is omnipresent. 

Joris stands next to him at the railing of his terrace and also looks out over the houses. Charles sees his breath in his peripheral vision as he exhales. “You'll have to go back inside at some point. You'll freeze to death out there.”

He doesn't care enough about his best friend's concern to respond. Charles knows he can't stay out here forever. Eventually, he'll have to go back to the living room or go home or pack his bags to race somewhere else on this godforsaken planet.

He'll have to go on living as if he hadn't lost the love of his life. As if he hadn't pushed her away in the cruelest way he could imagine. As if everything were fine and the only person he ever truly loved hadn't fled the country and moved away to start a new life.

A life without him. 

He deserves the pain, in his opinion. The emptiness inside him, that hole in his heart that can never be filled as long as you're not with him. The weight of the fact that he alone can be blamed for all of this rests on his shoulders, pressing down on his chest like a panic attack that won't go away. He can't breathe, can't think. 

He can't be without you.

“Charles,” his friend tries again. 

“I'm begging you. You have to take care of yourself. I know how you feel, but it -”

“You have no idea how I feel,” he interrupts his best friend harshly, without looking at him. He notices that Joris is raising his hand to put it on his shoulder to comfort him, but the Monegasque takes a step to the side. The friendly hand drops again. 

“Charles -”

“Just stop.” His tone is hard and cold, and he doesn't sound like the man Joris has known all his life. Not even after that crappy race weekend here a few years ago, when Charles didn't even start the race, did he sound so - unfamiliar. 

The men just stand there staring ahead, only the whistling of the wind around them filling the otherwise silent night. Not even cars are driving through the streets, not a soul is to be seen. It's oppressive. 

Charles' fingers cramp around the metal. He takes a breath, then another, and then: “I'm sorry.” The usually warm voice that can light up any room with its laughter sounds tired and exhausted, as if the man it belongs to hasn't slept in days. 

He hasn't, at least not properly. Only a few hours at a time, and his sleep is plagued by nightmares, by your face, by the feeling of having lost you. And when he wakes up, there's that brief moment, that millisecond, when he forgets that you're gone - and as soon as reality catches up with him, his heart stops. 

Joris looks over at him, sees the emotionless expression on his best friend's face, and feels completely helpless. As the race car driver's longest friend, he usually knows what to say to help, to be a support - but how can he help someone who can't really be helped?

It hurts him to see him like this. So passionless, so detached, so unrecognizable. As if everything positive about Charles had also vanished with your disappearance. As if Monaco had become a little colder since then. 

“I'd really like to help you,” he tries again, looking at Charles' hands, which are reddened from the cold. “I just don't know how.” Or if his friend would even let him.

The Monegasque shakes his head slightly. “No one can help me.” His warm breath rises in little clouds in front of his face. 

“You sound like you've already given up,” Joris says quietly, almost reproachfully, but more out of concern than anger.

Charles shrugs his shoulders and lets them drop again. “Maybe I have,” he murmurs, as if he doesn't care whether anyone understands him or not. “Maybe it's easier that way.”

Joris scrapes his foot across the cold stone, as if movement could chase the helplessness from his body. He looks at his best friend, searching for something to hold on to - a glance, a word, anything. But Charles remains frozen, like a statue in the middle of Monaco's wintry silence. 

“Do you want to go somewhere? Have some tea if you don't want hot chocolate? Or just... be inside?” It sounds awkward, almost banal, but Joris means it. Anything would be better than standing there in the cold next to this broken man, unable to do anything. 

But Charles just shakes his head. “I don't want anything.” His voice is calm, but it sounds like glass about to shatter.

Joris nods slowly, more out of uncertainty than understanding. He had seen many sides of Charles - the loud, ambitious, focused athlete, the loving friend. But this side, so sharply indifferent, is new. And frightening. 

“You don't have to tell me everything,” he says after a while. "I don't want to pressure you, especially because I can't. I don't know what happens behind closed doors, but... I'm here. Even if I don't know how I can help you."

Charles doesn't respond. His gaze remains fixed on a point somewhere in the invisible nothingness of the night. But then, for just a split second, his face twitches. His jaw tenses as if he's trying to hold something back - a word, a tremor, a tear. 

His best friend sees it. And although Charles immediately regains his composure, smoothes the expression on his face, and lowers his gaze, the moment has not gone unnoticed. And a little hope flares up in Joris's chest.

“You still feel something, right?” he asks quietly. 

Charles breathes in through his nose, long and controlled. When he answers, his voice sounds cold again. “It doesn't matter.”

Joris shoves his hands into the pockets of his thick jacket and wonders for a moment how Charles isn't freezing in his sweater. He wants to say something, anything to dispel the coldness in his voice, but everything that comes to mind sounds too grand or too empty. So he remains silent for a moment. 

He looks over at him. “It matters to me,” he says finally.

Charles doesn't answer, continuing to stare straight ahead as if his friend isn't even there, but something about his gaze has changed. It's no longer the rigid emptiness of a moment ago—more like a kind of escape. As if he doesn't want to be seen. Not now, when something inside him is threatening to crumble. 

“I know you don't want anyone to get close to you,” Joris continues. “But I'm not just anyone. I'm not here because I feel sorry for you. I'm here because you're my friend. And because I can't stand by and watch you destroy yourself. And because I miss you. The real you.”

Again, no response. Then, very quietly: “The real me... is gone.”

Joris's heart tightens. “No,” he says gently. “He's hurt. But he's not gone.”

Charles's lips press together. For a moment, he looks like someone caught between two impulses - the need to push everything away and the desire to simply be heard. 

Joris takes a tentative step closer, carefully, as if walking on thin ice, trying to close the distance between them. “Let me at least do something,” he pleads, almost begging. “You don't have to go through this alone. I mean it, Charles.”

His jaw muscles tense again, his eyes stubbornly fixed on the darkness in front of him. “I'm alone,” he says in a strained voice. “And that's better this way.”

“For whom?” Joris' voice becomes firmer, more urgent. “For you? For her? For anyone?”

Charles' eyes narrow and his shoulders stiffen noticeably. “What do you mean?” he asks sharply, without looking at his best friend.

“You know exactly what I mean,” he replies calmly but unwaveringly. “Who is this better for? For you - because you're punishing yourself for what happened? For her - because you think you have to protect her? Do you mean the one who left you? Or do you mean Elena?” He pronounces the name carefully, as if touching a fresh wound. 

Charles's gaze hardens. A muscle twitches on his cheek. “Don't do this,” he hisses.

“No.” Joris's voice grows firmer. "You talk about how it's better to be alone, but everything about you screams that you're going down. And I want to know if you're doing it for yourself - or for her. For the one who took your oxygen away when she left, or for the one you showed up with on that damn red carpet, even though—“ He breaks off, shaking his head slightly. 

Charles snorts through his nose, his tone bitter. ”You don't know anything."

“Then explain it to me!” Joris snaps. “Explain it to me so I can finally understand why you act like closeness is poison and help is an attack. I was there, Charles. I was there when you broke down, when you stopped talking. And I'm still here, but you - you're doing everything you can to keep me out.”

Charles' hands are shaking now. Only a little, but enough to be noticeable. He takes his fingers off the railing and crosses his arms as if to hold himself together. The anger in his voice is cutting. “You don't understand, Joris!” Charles blurts out, his words sharper than intended. “You can't understand!”

His voice echoes between the walls, carrying the harshness of a man who has long since given up on saving himself. For a moment, it is not the controlled Charles who always knew how to behave, but someone standing on the edge - of the abyss, of exhaustion, perhaps even of himself. 

Joris remains calm, does not flinch, even though the blow hits home. “Then help me understand,” he says quietly. “I'm not here to judge you. I don't want to lose you.”

Charles laughs bitterly, without any joy. “You've already lost me,” he says. “Everyone has.”

“That's not true.”

“Yes, it is,” Charles snaps, and now there are tears in his voice, though not in his eyes. “She left me, Joris. Because I lied to her. Because I -” His voice breaks, he bites his lip as if he can hold back the truth. 

Joris's gaze softens. Finally, he thinks. At last, a crack in this impenetrable wall. 

Charles struggles with himself. The coldness is deep in his voice, his movements, his thoughts. Everything about him seems tense, on the verge of snapping. “I had to do it,” he whispers finally, barely audible. “It was the only way.”

“What was the only way?” Joris presses, taking half a step closer. “What exactly did you do that justifies all this?”

The athlete shakes his head vigorously, his gaze hard and at the same time haunted. “I can't explain it. It was - it was necessary.”

“Why? Because of Elena?” Joris' voice grows louder again. “Because of that damn gala? You took her with you even though you knew exactly who should have been standing by your side.”

Charles Kiefer tenses up but says nothing.

“Say something,” Joris presses, now completely stunned. “Say something, damn it!”

Charles looks up, his eyes flashing with suppressed anger—or perhaps overwhelm. “What am I supposed to say, Joris?” he asks sharply. “That I regret every day how things turned out? That I miss her every damn night? That I hate myself for letting her believe I didn't care about her?”

The words echo in the air, raw and unprotected. But as soon as he says them, Charles immediately withdraws, almost as if he has frightened himself. 

“Then tell her that,” Joris demands. “You can't just leave everything like this!”

Charles's gaze hardens. “You don't understand.”

“Because you won't explain it to me! I don't want to lose you, Charles. And I don't want to watch you destroy yourself.”

Another bitter laugh, hollow and cold. “Too late.”

Joris wants to say something in response, grab him, shake him - anything to break through that armor. But Charles takes a step back. The distance between them grows with every moment, not just physically, but tangibly. Inevitable. 

“Charles, please. You don't have to carry this alone.”

A flicker in Charles's eyes, barely noticeable. Maybe doubt. Maybe longing. But he immediately erases it, as if he can't bear it himself. “Yes, I have to,” he replies. “Because otherwise everything I've done has been for nothing.”

“You mean with Elena.” Joris' voice is cautious, tentative. “Was she - was she a protective measure? For the press? For her family? For your career? Or - for her?”

The Monegasque shakes his head. “Don't ask. Please.” He almost begs him, unable to talk about it.

Joris's chest tightens. He can see how hard it is for his friend to keep up the façade. How much strength it takes not to just break down. “I'm not asking because I'm curious,” he says quietly. "I'm asking because I understand you. Or at least I'm trying to.“

Charles looks away, turns away. The cold paints a thin film on his lips, but that's not the only reason he's shivering. For a moment, he looks so young, so vulnerable. Then he narrows his eyes, forcing himself to control himself. ”You can't understand,“ he says tonelessly. ”No one can."

“Try anyway.”

Charles just stands there, motionless and silent. It's as if he's fighting an internal battle - between the urge to finally say what's tearing him apart and the panic-stricken fear of what might be left behind.

Joris waits. Silent, caught between hope and helplessness.

But Charles just shakes his head, barely noticeably. Not defiantly, not dismissively, but simply—tired. 

“If I could say it,” his voice almost breaks, “I would.” And with these few sad words, he turns away. He leaves, not abruptly, not dramatically, but with the bitter determination that comes from despair. He hears Joris calling his name, but he doesn't stop, can't stop, as his footsteps fade quietly but definitively. On the street, the fog quickly engulfs him, the darkness behind it doing the rest.

Charles runs. Fast at first, then hurriedly, then slower again—but he keeps moving. As if he could run away from what is eating him up inside. The memories. The guilt. You.

Every street he crosses knows your shadow. Every streetlight reflects a night when you laughed, argued, understood each other without words. Even the wind carries your name in its cold breath. It's unbearable. 

His apartments – each one a prison of glass and luxury. Everywhere there are things of yours that you didn't take with you in your haste. Plants, books, a bottle of your favorite wine that he can't drink or even take out of the fridge because the emptiness in the compartment would be worse. A testament to the fact that you were his. A testament to the fact that he is still yours. 

He can't go there. He can't go near a bed where you once slept. No coffee machine that used to be the first thing he turned on in the morning for you. The walls whisper there. And he doesn't know how long he can stand not listening to them. 

So he walks on, further and further. The streets lose their familiar appearance, the city limits blur. At some point, he is no longer sure whether he is still in Monte Carlo. The lights become fewer and fewer. The night grows colder. But Charles keeps running. 

He runs until his legs grow heavy, until his thoughts are nothing but a single noise. Until he reaches the top.

The viewpoint.

Charles just stands there, staring out into the darkness, where the sea and the sky merge almost seamlessly. Only a few lights glimmer in the distance - boats perhaps, or houses on the coast. Everything seems far away, unreal. The wind tugs at his sweater, but he hardly notices. Only a single moment echoes in his head - the day he brought you here. 

It was shortly after you met, after the first night you shared the small apartment. Not love, not even friendship, but that strange, vibrant thing that arises when two souls recognize each other before they really know each other. 

He had hesitated to bring you here. It's a quiet place, a personal one. Not a place for superficiality or games. But one that laid him bare in a world where he constantly has to pretend and bend himself out of shape to live up to what is expected of him.

But you had looked at him - calm, open, curious. And he hadn't regretted it for a moment. 

"I like to come here when I'm stuck. When I'm stuck in a situation where I wish I could ask him for advice. Or I'm feeling lonely. I may not get an answer here, but somehow – I don't feel quite so alone anymore when I'm here," he had confided in you. He had spoken the words with such gravity that they lingered in the air for a long time, supporting you in your helplessness, even though he didn't know if it helped you in the slightest. 

Words that he now repeats alone on this cold earth, in the silence of the night, as if searching for an answer that would never come. 

Whenever he was here, he spoke to his father - not always out loud, often only in his thoughts. He felt his presence as if he were very close, despite all the years that had passed since he was no longer among the living. Back then, this place gave him stability, comfort, and a kind of inexplicable connection that helped him find his way. 

But today it feels different. Empty. Lonely. As if his father is gone, disappointed in his actions, in the man he had become - or the man he had not become. The closeness that once seemed so natural has disappeared, and with it, all sense of security. 

Charles bites his lip, silent tears on his cheeks, the cold creeping deep into his bones, but not as much as the weight on his heart.

He did it to protect you - from the glare of the spotlight, from the relentless scrutiny of the public, who knew too much about you. He had to pull the ripcord before you were completely lost in the maelstrom of rumors and expectations.

It wasn't a decision made out of recklessness or betrayal, but out of desperation. Out of a desire to create a refuge for you, even if it meant breaking himself in the process.

He couldn't warn you. You probably would have told him you could handle it - the stares, the rumors, the opinions. But that didn't matter. The press would have found out sooner or later. Your last name may not be particularly well known, but a Google search and a little digging would have been enough to bring everything to light.

Your parents are responsible, having done things that would have cast a shadow over your future long ago if they hadn't been dismissed earlier – decisions that made headlines at the time and could still distort your image in Formula 1 today. One wrong move, one wrong connection, and suddenly you would no longer be the subject of discussion, but your origins. Your family. Their mistake.

The public would have been merciless, judging you by their standards, condemning you for something you didn't do. And Charles couldn't let you break under that burden – not when you've already suffered so much.

So now he sits here, on the edge of the world, alone with the cold wind blowing through his tousled hair. The stars above him seem unreachable, as does the comfort he so desperately seeks. His hands are numb from the cold, his heart heavy with pain. 

On this night, he is nothing more than a shadow - lost between guilt and love, between what was and what will never be. And as darkness envelops him like a cloak, he knows that he will carry this pain with him forever. 

He thought of all the deals he had made in his life - promises he had made to give himself and others something to hold on to. But none were as important to him as the one promise he made to protect you.

No matter how deep the darkness, no matter how painful the journey. No matter how much you would hate him for the heartbreak - he would never break that promise.

And he would rather die than break that deal.

💫 end of deal - book one 💫

[ghostboyravenight]

”trans men are the weakest links of the trans community” my trans male friends and I have lived a lifetime of having our bodily autonomy stripped away to the point of sexual harassment. people talk about our bodies like everyone except us owns them because no one can handle the idea of precious female bodies being “mutilated” by gender affirming care. we are treated like traitors by women and as confused, silly girls by men. we have no spaces in which we belong because even the queer community tries to control our bodies. if we pass as men then we get ousted from queer-friendly spaces, and if we don’t pass as men we’re treated like cringe, theyfab trenders. everything we love is considered annoying. we’re called ugly and sad and “what a shame you guys are men haha”. We have to watch as society uses us as an excuse to ban gender affirming care for young people because our bodies belong to the government, because our bodies belong to our mothers, and because our anatomy is the only thing they see us as. And then we have to sit back as the trans community blames us for these bans. “All of these fake transtrenders are the reason they all hate us” when we’re busy having the women in our lives scrutinise our bodies to make sure we’re not being “infected” by the trans contagion. There’s no space we can belong in. No space that tries to make us feel welcome because either they treat us like women or they treat us like dangerous, cis men.

Every trans man I know has been sexually assaulted. Every trans man I know has been brought to suicide attempts, either due to their families or due to people online bullying them to death. Our struggles are constantly diminished and yet behind the scenes we’re fucking exhausted from fighting attacks from every single goddamn side. How fucking dare you call us weak. We’re going through fucking hell like every other goddamn trans person out there and our bodies are being abused and controlled and scrutinised every day of our fucking lives. Have you seen how TERFs talk about our bodies? How they lament us “mutilating” our breasts, our fertility, our anatomy, all in the name of feminism. That’s sexual fucking harassment, and it’s disgusting. But that’s all they fucking see us as. We’re not human, we’re just defected specimens. Cis women give themselves free passes to harass our bodies because they see us as “one of them”. One of them, but wrong. One of them, but need to be fixed. My mother regularly checks my chest to make sure I’m not trying to flatten it, and she can get away with it because “that’s what mothers do to their daughters.” Even when I’m not her daughter. Even when I’m screaming at the top of my lungs wanting to die because my body doesn’t belong to me. My body stopped belonging to me as soon as I came out as trans, because female empowerment doesn’t apply to me anymore. Female empowerment is now about “correcting” me, to restore my body back to its former glory, because only then was I worth something.

We are not weak. We are strong as fuck for dealing with the shit we have to deal with. And the worst part is, so much of the bullying comes from other trans men. We’ve been taught to hate ourselves so much that the only way to get ahead is to put down our own brothers and treat them in the way we’ve been treated.

There is no weak link of the community because we’re all dealing with absolute shit from all sides, but don’t you ever suggest that trans men are somehow the whiny babies who have nothing to complain about when we’re constantly holding back from screaming our guts out because there’s nothing else we can do.

[unboundprompts]

advice for a character who grips control like a lifeline. who wants to be in charge of every little thing because whenever they're not in control of something something bad could happen. has happened. they can't let a single variable be wild or in someone else's hands

How to Write a Controlling Character

Backstory Rooted in Trauma or Guilt

This character likely has a history that has ingrained the belief that they must be in control or face devastating consequences. Perhaps they once trusted someone else with something crucial—a promise, a responsibility, or a life-altering choice—and that trust was broken in a way that had lasting repercussions. For example, maybe they lost someone because they weren’t “careful enough,” or they experienced a betrayal when they trusted another person’s plan.

They might frequently flash back to this moment, possibly catching themselves thinking, If only I’d been the one in control, this wouldn’t have happened. This memory fuels their need to keep a tight grip on everything, especially if they’re in high-stakes situations.

Rigid Daily Routines and Habits

This character’s day is probably packed with small rituals and routines that give them a sense of security. From double-checking door locks to setting multiple alarms, they rely on routines to give themselves a sense of order. In fact, they might be nearly ritualistic about small actions—checking emails three times before sending, never leaving a task halfway finished, or meticulously arranging their workspace.

Even something as simple as making coffee can become a precise process. If someone moves one of their tools or a file from their desk, they may feel a spike of frustration or even anxiety, seeing it as a disruption to their personal “system.” They could feel that control in their daily life is the only thing keeping chaos at bay.

Intensely Observant of Details and Mistakes

They are hyperaware of mistakes or inefficiencies in others, mentally cataloging things like a coworker’s slight lateness or a friend’s disorganization. They may feel a sense of superiority (or frustration) over people who don’t “have it together” and take it upon themselves to organize or “fix” things for others.

In conversation, they might cut people off or “correct” them even over small points, often justifying this to themselves as necessary. For instance, if someone shares a plan that seems half-formed, this character could immediately dive in, pointing out potential problems or filling in details.

Controlling Relationships and Social Situations

This character struggles in relationships where they aren’t the dominant or organizing force. They might instinctively take over when making plans with friends, micromanaging even casual hangouts to make sure everything goes “right.” For example, they might pick the restaurant, plan the travel route, and check weather forecasts—assuming that if they don’t, no one else will think of these things.

When someone resists their attempts at control, they can respond defensively, often turning cold or resentful, unable to understand why anyone wouldn’t want them to manage the situation. Statements like, “Fine, but don’t blame me if this doesn’t go well,” are frequent in their interactions.

Extreme Anxiety or Panic When Control Is Taken Away

When things go beyond their reach, this character might experience panic, as if they’re suddenly powerless. For instance, if an unexpected roadblock prevents them from handling a task (like a canceled flight they needed to board, or a plan that falls apart), they might spend hours trying to regain control, calling every contact or frantically exploring alternatives.

Their reaction may feel extreme to others. Even minor setbacks—such as a colleague taking initiative on a project or a friend planning something without consulting them—can trigger a disproportionate response, like clenching their fists, pacing, or silently stewing as they feel the situation “slipping.”

Inability to Accept Help or Collaboration

Their controlling nature makes it hard for them to collaborate, as they believe their methods are the only ones that work. For them, accepting help feels like an admission of weakness or failure, so they rarely delegate or ask for assistance. If they do reluctantly accept help, they are constantly supervising or “suggesting” things, making it feel more like they’re still in charge.

In a team setting, they might take on all the major tasks, either out of distrust in others’ abilities or a feeling that no one will match their standards. Their motto could be something like, “If you want something done right, do it yourself,” even if that means working late or burning out.

Reluctance to Show Vulnerability or Need

Since vulnerability and control rarely coexist for them, they avoid showing weakness at all costs, preferring to mask stress or struggles as “just part of the job.” If they do become overwhelmed, they’re more likely to shut people out, saying, “I’ve got it handled,” even if it’s far from true.

When people push them to let go or share the load, they might lash out, accusing others of “just not understanding.” They often see their intense responsibility as a form of sacrifice, justifying their behavior with, “If I don’t handle this, who will?”

[chuulyssa]

smut nsfw mdni

boyfriend!toji who is immediately concerned when you call him crying. he’s asking all sorts of questions to you, bombarding you while not letting you speak a single word. “what happened”, “is something wrong”, “do i need to kill someone”, “do you just miss me” or “do i need to come back right now”, but he can’t help it! he gets upset on your behalf, even when you tell him it’s your period making you so unhappy right now, all he wants to do is fight the little aches in your tummy.

boyfriend!toji who does not know the reason you’re crying right now isn’t because of the cramps or the lack of chocolate in the fridge. it’s the pool of warmth in your belly that you’re feeling, because you’re so wet and needy right now, but you can’t do anything about it because you’re on your period! he immediately sighs in relief, but gets serious again just as quick. “we’ll need to do something about it,” you whine, but what could you, or he, do?

boyfriend!toji who knows that for a few days from now, you can only whine and cry to him either in person or on the phone about how much you want to take his dick inside of you, or how much you want him to eat you out, or how you want his fingers to pulse inside you. in, out, in, out, he can’t help but zone out as you cry to him, begging to take his cock for the fifth time since your period started, and he knows he can’t do anything just yet. it angers him because he’s not able to help you in any way.

so boyfriend!toji tries to control himself. he tries to forget how good it feels when you clench around his big cock. he tries to forget how much he wants your soaking cunt on his face too. he tries to ignore the calls from you at work, knowing that hearing you babble on and on about what you want him to do to you will only make him grow needier, and he’ll just have to solve the problem by himself.

boyfriend!toji who soon after gets cornered in a room by you, and you’re so emotional; you think he’s upset at you because he’s been ignoring your calls so often. but he can’t help it. he does not want to burden you with his pleasure, especially when he can’t help you chase yours. but then you hug him so tightly and cling to his body like a koala, and he has to reassure you in this vulnerable state. so he kisses the top of your head and takes a day or two off work to take care of you. he tries to ignore the dull ache in his own cock for as long as he can when he is around you, and fixes the problem when he showers.

boyfriend!toji who snaps when you walk in on him jerking off to older pictures and videos and audios of you. he’s still listening to all those voice recordings you had sent of you talking about how much you want to please him and his big cock. so he slowly guides you inside and makes you suck on his pretty cock. he pulls your hair back and tugs you by your shirt harshly to wrap your lips around him properly or bob your head properly. making you do all the work, promising to return the favour as soon as you “get well”.

boyfriend!toji who keeps his promise, and does fuck you like he hasn’t for years, and eats you out like he’s been starved for decades after your period passes by. he lays you down on his bed and lets you take all of him at once, grinning evilly when you cry out. “you wanted this, didn’t you, baby? or do i need to remind you? see, i still have those lovely recordings you sent me…” see, you can’t blame him! he’s been trying to control himself all this time too, so he needs it just as bad.

“quit complaining now, or would ya like me to make that period disappear for a year? mm, i think i’d like that, these few days have been fucking horrible without your sweet, sweet cunt, darl’”

© chuulyssa 2024 - do not copy, plagiarize or repost my works on any platforms. do not translate.

[dawngyu]

WHAT REMAINS THE SAME

pairing: choi beomgyu x single-parent reader

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

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

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

wc: 31k — playlist

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

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

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

Would things be easier if there was closure?

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

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

"Mom, I'm gonna be late!"

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

"Mommy?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You ready?"

"Aye, aye, captain!" she giggles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Uncle Binnie!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Families.

Because it was Christmas.

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

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

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

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

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

Soobin noticed. "What's wrong?"

"Huh?"

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

Because there had been someone else.

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

You weren't sure if you could.

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart stalls.

"Who?"

You shouldn’t have asked.

"Choi Beomgyu."

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

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

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

"What would my parents think, idiot?"

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

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

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

"You wanna be siblings then?"

"Hell no."

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

The Beomgyu magnet to Y/N.

That’s what everyone called it.

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

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

Not that you’d ever say that out loud.

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

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

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

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

"Hey."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not in front of everyone.

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

Except your mother.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes now filled with relief.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t. Not once.

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

Protective in a way that made your chest ache.

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

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

So, just for a day, you pulled away.

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

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

You never dared again.

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

Beomgyu saw you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You, too, bloomed because of Choi Beomgyu.

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

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

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

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

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

"Then why’d you get it?"

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

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

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

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

"No, Mom!"

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

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

"What?"

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

"As if."

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

You blink. “Huh?”

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

“Okay,” you murmur, “Sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glance at him. “Hm?”

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

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

“I— I’m going out of the country.”

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

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

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

You stare at him.

Leaving. He’s leaving.

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

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

People who leave this town don’t come back.

The thought of him leaving terrified you.

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

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

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

You don’t look back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because he deserves that.

You’ll apologize tomorrow... tomorrow?

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

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

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

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

Choi Beomgyu.

Your breath catches in your throat.

“Hi, pretty.”

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

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

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

And you do.

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

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

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

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

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

Not when he’s looking at you like this.

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

Is it because he's leaving?

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

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

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

Your eyes flew open. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hopelessly, breathlessly in love.

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

“Can I come with you?”

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

It only took a second when you did.

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

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

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

His response was immediate. “You need something?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you, Beomgyu.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He would’ve remembered. He never missed it.

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

Most don’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Every day’s been worse since.

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

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

Not a single sale.

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

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

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

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

"I will. I can’t live without you."

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

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

“Hi, pretty.”

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

It’s not him.

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

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

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

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

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

Does he miss you too?

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

“What is?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But there was nothing.

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

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

Choi Beomgyu.

His name beats in your chest.

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

Choi Beomgyu.

You miss him. You need him.

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

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

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

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

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

It took long for you to give your hands.

It only takes one decision.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he walks away.

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

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

Then—he stops. He turns around.

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

"I’LL COME BACK FOR YOU!"

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

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

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

Every moment with him feels rehearsed.

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

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

You need to buy a pregnancy test.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You believed him.

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

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

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

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

He stiffens beside you. “Why?”

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

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

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

He reaches for your hand.

You let him hold it.

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

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

A baby wrapped in soft cotton blankets.

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

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

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

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

Why does he looks so shock?

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

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

He lied.

“Mom, not here. Please. Let’s talk—”

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

“Mom! Stop!” Jaehyun shouts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You walked home alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You try. Your baby.

You’re going to meet your baby.

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

Think. You have to think of something.

Anything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You should’ve given her at least that.

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

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

Rain lilies. Your eyes linger.

Lily… Nari. Nari that means lily.

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

You finally have a name now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It worked like a miracle.

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

It was survival.

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

As if he’s... here.

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

“Nari, here, baby. Come on, girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I also… heard."

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

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

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

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

"Choi Beomgyu."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The drive was short.

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

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

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

It opens. From the outside.

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

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

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

Choi Beomgyu?

You blinked. Once. Twice.

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

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

You flinched first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, please—”

Three more steps to your car.

Just three.

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

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

It's one of your leg fucking cramps.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everywhere, you think. You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A soft knock at the door startled you awake.

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

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

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

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

Choi Beomgyu.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beomgyu’s walking away.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’LL COME BACK FOR YOU!”

Even if the world changes. Even if you forget.

He will.

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

You’re miles and oceans away.

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

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

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

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

Until it all went up in smoke.

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

Your letters. God, your letters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Still, he didn’t stop.

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

It had been over a year.

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

He’d been writing your address wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mommy!”

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

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

It tears him apart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

His breath catches.

Of course she is.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That’s what made it unbearable.

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

You were the one who gave up first.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's still bright out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The elevator dings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s still empty.

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

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

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

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

Just like you always used to.

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

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

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

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

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

He's helping you.

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

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

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

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

He keeps drying the plates you pass to him.

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

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

Who’s been taking care of you?

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

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

“Thank you, Beomgyu.”

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

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

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

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

“What’s this?” — “Merry Christmas.”

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

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

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

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

Can we be friends, again?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You became... somewhat friends.

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

Your hands still. “What? Why?”

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

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

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

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

It made you want to dream again.

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

So fucking beautiful.

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

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

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

How did she learn to love like that?

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

But he already wants forever.

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

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

“That’s cool, kid,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The father of your child.

Jaehyun.

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

Nari doesn’t like strangers.

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

Jaehyun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That does it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He only sees you.

“…Let’s go.”

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

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

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

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

“No, baby.”

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

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

He swallows.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Soobin glances over. “Hm?”

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

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

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

That day had been a moment of weakness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Beomgyu—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You know, you know that feeling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His breath catches in his throat.

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

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

Because you just shattered him.

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

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

He’s completely undone.

You barely get to speak again before he’s on you. He can't stop himself anymore. It’s how you looked, whispered the words that you loved him after all this time. His hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him, his body heat searing through your clothes. His lips crash into yours—hungry, desperate, like he’s been starved for you. His mouth moves against yours, claiming, taking.

His fingers thread through your hair, tilting your head back as his tongue slides against yours. His hands roam down, gripping, pulling, making sure you feel every bit of him. He grabs your wrists, lifting them, wrapping your arms around his neck as his lips move to your jaw, then to your neck, his breath ragged as he nips your sensitive skin. "I missed you," he murmurs. Another kiss—hotter, deeper, his body pressing your back against the wall. "I got fucking scared you'd never let me in."

His movements were hurried, frantic, as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he let go. In one swift motion, he lifted you, his steps unsteady as he carried you to the bedroom. Your bedroom. The air felt heavy as he laid you down on the mattress.

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

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

"You're stuck with me now." His hands moved to your shoulders, then slid down to your waist, pulling you to him. He grinds desperately to you. You never knew that lips could talk without uttering a word as he captures your lips again and again. "I can't stay away anymore. I can't live without you."

You surrendered to his touch, your body softening beneath him. Your hands gripped his shoulders for balance as he pressed you deeper into the mattress, which groaned under your shifting weight. You reached for Beomgyu’s lips, catching him off guard as you kissed him with everything you had, tongues colliding in a heated frenzy. His hand slid between your thighs, cupping your middle and sending a shiver through you. But even in the haze of his taste, a heavy guilt settled in your chest. "Gyu,"

"I need you, baby." His breaths were ragged, syncing with your every moan as his tongue tangled with yours. Your fingers tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling him closer, urging him on. His body pressed against yours, grinding to yours, while his hands roamed over your skin, igniting every nerve he touched. His lips trailed downward, leaving soft kisses that melted into your flesh, a path leading straight to your core.

He stripped you of every barrier, leaving you bare under his gaze. His eyes shimmered with adoration and awe as they traced your body. You hadn’t realized how powerless you were against him until your legs parted, welcoming him. He's on top of you, looked at you like you were sacred, like you were his entire world. Beomgyu's eyes never left yours as his fingers found your hand, he intertwines your fingers.

“It's going to be okay… I'll be here now.” he whispered between kisses, his voice breaking in a way that made your heart ache. Tears pricked your eyes because you wanted to believe him. You needed to believe him. His hands explored further, his fingers shakily reaching for your clit, pinching softly then roughly rubbing, coaxing sounds from your lips that you didn’t know you were capable of.

"I'll fix everything for us, for you." He looks at you—wanting to see every expression you make. His face hovers and with his fingers he spreads you apart. He swallows, salivating. He sticks his tongue out, lightly licking your clit. You taste so—he buries his face in, tongue inside, hands on your hips. "Shit, you've always tasted this good," He groans, lapping up, sucking the arousal out of you. He moves up, nose bumping on your clit then he suckles more. His cock throbs with every taste of you, the way you melt against his mouth driving him insane. He feels you slick against his chin, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t leave a single inch of you untouched by his warm, greedy mouth. It was as if your body had been crafted for his lips alone, flesh and heat meant to be devoured at his leisure.

When you tug hard on his hair, he groans against you, finally pulling back. His lips glisten as he moves up your body. He crashes his mouth onto yours, the kiss deep and hungry, and you taste yourself on his tongue—messy, desperate, a mix of him and you, blurring the lines between who’s devouring who.

“I love you,” he murmured as he positioned himself, slowly sliding into you. A low, guttural sound escaped him as he felt you, tight and warm, pulling him deeper. He's sure he'll come right there and then. His face buried itself in the curve of your neck, and his words spilled out—

"You feel so so good, don't ask me to stop, please." His touch was gentle even as his thrusts inside you grew more desperate. He cradled your head, kissed away your tears, and pressed his lips to your cheek. “I’m in love with you, Y/N,"

“I love you,” you replied, capturing his lips in a desperate kiss as you both unravelled together, bodies trembling in unison. Your thighs clenched tightly around his waist.

"Beomgyu, I— I'm sorry—" You whispered his name and it made tears well up in his eyes. His hand gently pushed the damp strands of hair from your face, and he pressed tender kisses along your cheeks, your temple, and your jaw.

“Shh, I know baby,” he whispered, pulling you against his chest, holding you like he was afraid you’d slip away. His lips brushed the crown of your head.

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

You’re starting to breathe.

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

How can someone like him be real?

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

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

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

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

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

You hear him, but your heart is louder.

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

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

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

"Where's my ring?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our house.

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

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

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

“Daddy!” The word rings out like a bell, and you both freeze. Beomgyu goes completely still beside you, breath caught in his throat. You turn just in time to see Nari bounding down the hallway, a soft, excited smile lighting up her face.

“Do I get my own room now?” she asks, as if she didn’t just change the world with one word. You and Beomgyu look at each other, stunned; eyes wide, not in disbelief, but in something far softer.

It’s the first time. The very first time she’s called him that.

Beomgyu blinks quickly, like he’s trying to make sure he’s not dreaming, like if he moves too fast it might vanish. Then, he drops to his knees and opens his arms. Nari runs into them without hesitation.

He wraps her up tightly, heart thundering, eyes glassy with everything he’s feeling all at once; shock, love, awe. He buries his face into her tiny shoulder and laughs through it, voice thick.

“Of course you get your own room, sweetheart,” he says, pulling back just enough to look at her. “You can have anything. Daddy will give it to you. Anything you want.”

Shit happens. Life happens.

It breaks you in places you didn’t know could crack. It tests you, takes from you, forces you to let go of things before you're ready. Time passes. Plans fall apart, but no matter how far you go, no matter how the story twists, no matter what you've been through, you always end up where you belong to. Always end up with them.

The ties between may fray. Fate may take unexpected turns. You might walk through fire, lose your way, forget who you were before the world touched you, come back with more scars than dreams. But nothing, nothing, not even all the wreckage life leaves behind… can stop two souls that are meant for each other.

The things that the world can’t touch.

It remains the same.

taglist: @heesmiles @lovingbeomgyudayone @virtaideen @hyukascampfire @fancypeacepersona @bamgeutori @lilbrorufr @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @xylatox @yunverie @imlonelydontsendhelp @moagyuu @immelissaaa @readinmidnight @pagelets @wonderstrucktae @boba-beom @nightblythe @hyuckxtagram @hoefororeo @beomgyusluver @feet4liferss @soobinbunnie5 @soohashits @lostgirlysstuff @demidelulu @love-be0m @razsberrie @strawberryshoujosundae @y2kgyu @usuallyunlikelyfox @xi0riae @giegiemon @okkotsuevie @beomkyum @i-am-not-dal @cherr4es @brrytears @yystarz @moonlightgrleric @lumpynoofles @raspberrii @baekberrie

[impish-baby]

Hi! I hope you make sure to drink some water, eat a little something, and keep warm. May I request a fic where let's say the hero's sidekick gets kidnapped by a group of villains? When they wake up in an unfamiliar place they panic and start to regress but they're trying to hide it when they begin to get interrogated...(they're failing miserably at hiding it)

Maybe the villain and sidekick are hybrids? Up to you. Thank you and keep safe!

In April, I open my bill - platonic yandere! villians × sidekick! reader (pt.1) - 🪶🗡

You're so getting benched after this.

It's not even your fault that you were caught! Maybe you begged a little to go out on a mission, but it was supposed to be a simple stake out, not an ambush. Nobody has let you out on the field without a babysitter since you started training! And the one time you are, you're kidnapped. Great. You'll never hear the end of it.

To make things better, there's a power suppressor strapped to your ankle. Cowards. It not like you're already bound to the damm chair you woke up in, they just had to go the extra mile. Maybe they see you as an actual threat? A tiny bit of pride swells in your chest.

You are a threat! You're part of the best hero team there is, doesn't matter that you aren't debuted out to the public yet, you're still an important member!

.....they're going to come save you soon, you know it.

There's no way you've been passed out for very long, a few hours at most, right? Yeah, it won't be too long now.

On the bright side, you're not beat up! A small donk to the back of the head and that's it. Your wings ache from being fixed to your back, but at least you'll be able to stretch them when you're back to base. Gotta look at the positive things.

When the door clicks open you're just expecting to see the same idiot goons that grabbed you in the first place, not the nemesis of your mentor.

You take it back, there's absolutely no positives.

"My, you are certainly a treat.. I should've given Helix and his crew more credit." Asphodel has a pleasant smile on his face, it's the opposite of comforting. "You're the one that's gotten the city all in a buzz, huh? The little sidekick Apollo took so graciously under his wing.."

You're not scared. You're not. You're terrified.

So much blood has been split by the villian you could fill an ocean and still have some leftover. He's cruel, careless, the last hero he sinked his claws into was dropped unceremoniously on the steps of the capital building. The only thing your team might be retrieving is a corpse.

"So, dearest, I'm awfully curious. Everyone is really. Why don't you tell me a little about yourself?" A plush stool is dragged in front of you so the villain can sit, his own wings spread out gracefully behind him. Lucky bastard.

When you only glare silently he chuckles, his smile turning into a smirk. "Aw, are you shy? Poor thing, here, I'll go first to ease your nerves." Asphodel holds put his hand like he expects you to shake it, "I imagine you know my name already, so I won't bore you with telling you things you're already aware of, but I have very special plans for you. It's such a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

You'll die alone. The last thing you'll have done before going out is getting in a stupid argument with everyone because they said you weren't ready to do things solo. At least you can't tell a dead person I told you so. Nobody can blame you for the wetness slipping down your cheeks either.

"Oh, are those tears already?" He feighns surpise, placing the previously outstretched hand over his heart. "I thought you were a hero in training? How unbecoming of someone under the city's golden boy's tutelage."

A pathetic chirp almost leaves your lips before you bite your tongue. You just want your nest. You want to wake up like this was a horrible nightmare and have Apollo baby you like you're a delicate fledgling again.

"I haven't touched a single hair on your pretty head and already you've started with the waterworks." He gives a disappointed sigh, "perhaps that's why you've been here a week with no pesky heros showing up, they finally have a chance to be rid of a weakling among their ranks."

A week? No. No, someone would've come for you by then.

"Hm?" He leans towards you, cupping your cheek surprisingly gentle. It still makes you flinch. "You don't believe me, do you, dear?" Asphodel hums, leaning back and pulling a phone from his pocket. "Here, see for yourself."

The mission was Monday, it's 10 pm on Saturday now.

A news report just rubs salt in the wound, there's not one mention of your name. Not a missing persons report. There's nothing to attribute that someone's been looking for you at all.

"It's a little mean of them, isn't it?" He turns the video off before putting the phone back into his pocket, "Abandoning you here with me, don't fret though, darling."

A broken chirp finally does leave you when he reaches to pet your head, his eyes widening almost as much as yours are. "Oh. Oh. That does make my job so much easier."

He stands up in a blink of an eye to reach under your costume, shushing you softly. "It's ok, I'll only be a moment." Asphodel gasps when he brushes your feathers, stepping back and wagging a finger at you. "Naughty thing, do you know how bad for you that is? Goodness.."

You're still frozen still with fear and shock, not even moving when he starts to untie you from the chair. "Honestly.. we'll hope that you haven't done any permanent damage, it'll be a shame if you're grounded because of this."

You were told that it's safe. That you still used your wings enough, so you didn't need to worry about your flight being affected. You trusted Apollo and the others more than anything.

"There we are.." Asphodel also goes ahead and takes off your cloak for you once the restraints are gone, cutting two slits into the back of your undershirt with his talons so your wings can slip through. "Perfect, that must feel so much better."

It does, or it would if he didn't immediately start picking through your feathers.

"Hush," he's being careful, straightening anything that's out of place with a practiced hand. "I'm helping, my dove. You're safe, those old nasty heroes that betrayed you don't matter. Just focus on me."

You don't mean to melt into his arms, but all the emotions you feel mix into a confusing mess. Being held makes it go away a little.

"Good, you're such a good little one, aren't you?" He coos, words dripping with honeyed sweetness. "You don't think about anything else other than feeling safe with me, that's all you need to know."

(a/n: apologies..I got away from the prompt with this I think qwq hopefully it was still enjoyable! I'll do something more with reader regressing if there's interest)

[bambooswordwielder]

Obsessed with the fact that Shen Yuan only transmigrates when all the Peaklords have settled into their positions for a few years because the idea of Shang Qinghua being stuck watching Shen Jiu and Liu Qingge arguing for nth time about some budget detail that is DEFINITELY getting overblown now and just being stuck thinking

"Damn this would've been such a good enemies to lovers plot line... Imagine how much I could've made off of them..." and regretting not monetising their rivalry more before he killed off Liu Qingge ( "Oh and the angst Shen Qingqiu would've faced after his secret lover died and everyone blamed him for it! Fans would've been begging for more extras!" 🐹💔)

Like all the peaklords are desperately trying to mediate and fix the situation and Shang Qinghua is just imagining his one hundredth Fix-It Fic/AU where Shen Jiu is the King's trusted scholar and Liu Qingge is the King's personal bodyguard

Everyone thinks when a single tear falls from Shang Qinghua's eyes its because during Liu Qingge and Shen Jiu's fight they destroyed both his newly drafted budget (for the fifth time that month) and the fact they also destroyed the table (for the third time that week and the week just started)

Reality is Shang Qinghua is crying because he thought of an angsty death scene for the two Romeo and Juliet style because both their families couldn't accept them being together

Years of this pass and at some point he even picks up writing again (specifically about characters clearly based on Shen Jiu and Liu Qingge) and he gets really popular, popular enough his novels start to flood all of Cang Qiong and even Liu Mingyan takes some inspiration from them

Everyone knows damn well that the characters are clearly meant to be Peaklord Shen and Peaklord Liu, but no one tells because they all are legitimately waiting for the next volume of "Battle-to-your-poisonous-heart-and-peaches"

Does everyone know it's Shang Qinghua... Noooo.. Would anyone admit if they did know.... No.

Then all the sudden on day Shen Qingqiu suddenly looked in the dictionary and discovered what the word 'nice' is and now he doesn't abuse his students 🐹🤯

He even let himself get poisoned and potentially ruined his cultivation for life for Luo Binghe of all people!? Um excuse Airplane Logic, but the MC is supposed to only get all the good stuff AFTER he falls into the abyss!

And what's this about Liu Qingge helping to 'clear' his meridians so he has to personally visit Qing Jing peak every week?? Def something is off, an author knows fishy when he sees it

For how many years Shang Qinghua is stuck watching these two do their whole "You're my precious Shidi" and "I'll always be here for you" act and he's just stuck eating dogfood wondering when exactly is the marriage extra coming in and why the System won't tell me why Shen Qingqiu is acting all happy go lucky now

Shang Qinghua notices Shen Qingqiu talking to Yue Qingyuan more, he notices Qing Jing disciples running straight to Shen Qingqiu with joy and excitement rather than the reserved fear they had before, he notices how Shen Qingqiu only glares at him twice every meeting than before!

Maybe this isn't his version of PIDW, maybe it's a fan made version where Liu Qingge and Shen Qingqiu fall in love and with the power of love and friendship Shen Qingqiu learns to be kind and to care and isn't going to cause Luo Binghe to go down his dark path and maybe they can all have a happyily ever after—

*Endless Abyss Arc*

"Oh fuck–"

[Before Endless Abyss Arc]

*Shang Qinghua watching from a distance as Luo Binghe is practically clinging to Shen Qingqiu's side. Shen Qingqiu pats Luo Binghe's head and Luo Binghe does THAT smile he only does for his wives*

"Well this is an interesting fanfic..."

[After Airplane Reveal]

"Wait... So you're actually a transmigrater as well, Cucumber-Bro?"

"Yeah, and?"

"..."

"Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Do you hate, or have you at least at some point hated, Liu Qingge?"

"I– No–Wait what???"

"Let me reword it. Have you ever considered murdering him at one point?"

"WHYAREYOUASKINGMETHESEQUESTIONS!? YOUKNOWWHATHAPPENEDTOSHENJIU! IMNOTRISKINGHISFATE!"

"... So I'll take that as a no."

"OBVIOUSLY!?"

"So it's just a normal Friends to lovers 😮‍💨 No flavour 🙄"

Shang Qinghua was then brutally attacked.

[During the Five Years SY was dead]

*Shang Qinghua watching Liu Qingge go every single day to fight Luo Binghe for Shen Qingqiu's body*

"Oh my Airplane.... It's not a enemies-to-lovers... It's not Teacher X Disciple... It's a bloody love triangle with both! Oh how much money this plot would've made me 💔 I would've been able to pay for four months worth of rent and groceries!"

Random Disciple visiting An Ding: "Um.... Is Shang-Shibo okay? He fell on the ground?"

An Ding Disciple: "Leave him. He does that sometimes. Now about your budget request..."

*Shang Qinghua screaming in the background*

Random Disciple: "..."

An Ding Disciple: "..."

Random Disciple: "Should we check on–"

An Ding Disciple, now dragging other disciple away: "Let's settle this at your peak."

Years later when Bingqiu have already had their wedding and everyone has become somewhat tolerant of their relationship, Shang Qinghua just sighs loudly and Shen Yuan asks him what's up. Shang Qinghua looks him in the eyes and just shakes his head.

"My ship...💔"

"..."

"OW– Why did you have go hit me on the head!?"

"Because I don't want to know what's going on in there and I need to make sure what's in there stays in there."

[sirxaibs]

PLEASE DO PART 2 OF SAL WITH POPULAR READER IT WAS SO CUTE😭❤️❤️❤️❤️

Sal Fisher X Reader (popular trope)

The Mask

masterlist

Part 1

Chat this is way more tender than showing off the popular stuff. But i hope to bring justice after all this time 😭��� This is technically a part two, like now months after of getting close. They’re dynamic now is being very friendly and weirdly close because both the reader and Sal are stupid

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚The horror movie wasn’t even that good. The plot was all over the place, the killer had a laughably bad mask, and the jump scares were so predictable that Larry had started mocking them out loud before they happened.

the three of you had ended up crammed into Sal’s bed his tiny, creaky bed pressed shoulder to shoulder under a single threadbare blanket while the glow of the TV flickered dimly across the room. Sal was in the middle, naturally. It started innocently enough. You’d sprawled out across the edge of the mattress first, claiming the wall side because you said it made you feel safe during horror movies. Larry flopped down next to you with zero grace, mumbling about how his ass was falling asleep from sitting on the floor. Sal, caught between the two of you, had hesitated only slightly before sitting, then laying back, sandwiched between you and his best friend.

Now, here you were. Trapped between the cool wall and the even cooler boy you had far too many complicated thoughts about.

You could feel the warmth of Sal’s arm brushing against yours every time he shifted. He was stiff at first, like he was hyper aware of the space or lack of it but over time, he’d relaxed into it, perhaps forgetting he was in between two people with vastly different personal space boundaries. Larry’s knee kept nudging Sal’s leg as he shifted around, while Sal’s hand occasionally bumped yours when he reached to adjust the volume or grab the popcorn bowl.

You weren’t even paying attention to the movie anymore. Your eyes were fixed on the screen, but your brain was a blur focused on how close Sal’s shoulder was to yours.

Now over the past few months, you've gotten very close to the gang. Especially Sal having been the first person to meet out of everyone. Anytime you weren’t with the cheer squad, you can bet your money that you'd be with sal any left over time you have. Though with him so close it made you reflect when you started to have that fuzzy feeling.

“I swear this thing is rigged,” Sal declared, slumping onto the carpet with a thud. “There’s no way you beat me again”

Todd, deadpan, didn’t even glance up from his Game Boy. “You lost. Again. face it sal, when it comes to tech im just better.”

It should’ve been just another silly moment like the dozens you’d already shared. You’d known Sal for over a year now, spent hours beside him investigating things you probably shouldn’t, watching horror movies until sleep claimed one of you first, and wandering the neighborhood talking about everything and nothing.

“I dunno, Todd,” Ash chimed in, laying across the couch upside down with her hair dangling off the edge. “Kinda feels like demonic assistance.”

Sal pointed a dramatic finger at her. “Thank you. Finally, someone with eyes.”

You snorted from your spot on the beanbag chair. “You sure it’s not just your lack of hand eye coordination? Or the fact that you panic every time the blocks get fast?”

Sal propped himself up on one elbow, mask tilted just enough to show the sparkle of amusement in his eyes. “I’ll have you know, I am a master of panic. I’ve built my whole life around it.”

“Clearly,” you teased. “You died like three times in under a minute.”

“sick of you to call me out like this in front of my peers,” he huffed. “I’m a sensitive soul.”

Ash cackled. “You’re about as sensitive as a brick.”

Sal threw a pillow at her. “I thought you were on my side you freak”

Ash gasped. “Y/n has my heart, try harder bitch”

You raised your hands, grinning. “Don’t blame me for your failures”

Sal turned toward you, sitting cross legged now. “So what were you both talking about”

“Kyle!” Ash laughed. “Yes, and apparently he wrote Jessica a love poem that he accidentally printed on the back of the science quiz handouts.”

Todd finally looked up, blinking. “That was real? I thought that was a formatting error.”

Sal looked like he was about to pass out from joy. “That’s the most tragic thing I’ve ever heard.”

You burst into laughter again, curling into the beanbag as your sides started to ache. You barely noticed the way your eyes drifted to Sal how relaxed he looked. His legs sprawled out, one hand resting lazily over his knee, the other tossing a Cheez It at Ash’s face. His hair was slightly messier than usual, and his voice was rough from all the laughing. He looked so alive, just glowing in his own sarcastic, effortless way. You’d spent so many afternoons like this at his side during investigations, trading secrets, hanging out until your eyes drooped shut.

Well. Your heart did something. But the second you realized your stare might last too long, Ash turned to you and squinted. “Y/N, you’ve been weirdly quiet. What’s that face about?”

You instantly waved her off, grabbing a nearby pillow and throwing it at her. “Please. im just having flash backs to class, Ms. Peterson’s insane obsession with sweater vests.” change the direction of this questioning worked effortlessly.

Ash laughed. “No, seriously, what is up with that? She wore a glittery one last Friday. Like bedazzled with rhinestones.”

Todd chimed in, glancing up. “Technically, those weren’t rhinestones. They were imitation crystal beads.”

Ash blinked at him. “How do you even know that?”

“I read the morning announcements. There was a fundraiser.”

Sal snorted. “You guys are just jealous you can’t rock a crystal bedazzled vest like Peterson.”

You leaned forward with a grin. “Oh, yeah? Prove it. Come to school tomorrow with a glittery vest, Fisher.”

He turned to you with mock sincerity. “Y/N, if I had one, I would burn it in an instant, dont try me”

You giggled. “Sal, I dare you to wear a bedazzled vest next Friday.”

“Absolutely not,” he said immediately. “I have standards.”

Ash leaned over. “Even if we pay you?”

“Especially if you pay me. I won’t be bribed into that shit.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I am plenty fun. I just don’t want to look like a disco ball during third period.”

You laughed, and it slipped out easier than usual. That warmth was still there in your chest, but you ignored it. Let it settle. You nudged Ash again, changing the subject quickly. “Anyway. Did you hear about what happened during gym today?”

Ash lit up instantly. “Oh my god, yes. Mike tried to do a backflip and ended up hitting Coach in the face!”

“He what?!” Sal exclaimed,

Todd shook his head, lips twitching. “And I missed this?”

“Coach had a whistle in his mouth and choked on it,” you said, trying not to wheeze. “They had to do the Heimlich.”

Ash added, “Mike cried and swore he was just trying to get the attention of a girl in class.’”

Sal was giving a deadpan “I can’t take any of you seriously anymore.”

“That’s fair,” you said with a grin, feeling the moment settle in like a warm blanket. You didn’t mention the way Sal’s voice sounded when he was laughing like that or how he stole glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking. Anyways that was a small moment that made you realize you might’ve had it bad for the guy beside you. Like to preface though, Since the beginning you've always thought he was cute.

Larry, on the other hand, was having the time of his life.

“Dude, did you see that?” Larry said, laughing with his mouth half full of popcorn. “The guy just walked right into the room with the creepy ass doll like he wanted to die.”

Sal gave a small laugh. “You’d do the same thing.”

“Nah, I’d throw hands with the ghost.”

“You can’t punch ghosts, dumbass,” Sal murmured, tone dry.

“Bet.”

You snorted softly, stifling your laugh with the back of your hand. Sal turned his head slightly at the sound, and for a second, your eyes met. His hair was slightly messy from leaning back, the soft blue strands catching the glow of the TV light. You felt your breath catch for a moment before you turned back to the screen. The silence that followed was heavier than it should have been. Sal looked away first. Another jump scare came on some screeching violin noise and a face popping up in the mirror. You jumped a little out of instinct, and your hand brushed against Sal’s again. This time, neither of you pulled away.

Larry didn’t notice. He was too busy making ghost noises and tossing popcorn into the air to catch in his mouth.

“I’m just saying,” he mumbled through another handful, “this killer sucks. If I were in this movie, I’d be the final dude, for sure.”

“Final girl,” you corrected automatically, teasing. “That’s the trope.”

“I’d be the final badass, dont bring gender into this.”

Sal let out a quiet chuckle. You turned your head just enough to glance at him again. He looked relaxed now, nestled between the two of you, his bangs falling over the edge of his mask. The bed dipped slightly beneath your hips, everything too close and far too warm, but you didn’t want to move. You could feel the slow, even rhythm of his breathing. His fingers curled slightly when they brushed yours again accidental, maybe but they didn’t move away. You didn’t either.

Your voice was quiet when you spoke next. “I thinks it’s pointless to pay attention to whatever plot they're trying to do.”

Sal hummed softly. “You’re right.”

Larry, sprawled at the foot of the bed now, his long legs hanging off the edge, yawned. “You guys wanna turn it off?”

You shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. We can let it play out”

The movie droned on in the background. Some character screaming. A door slamming. The warmth of Sal beside you, the ridiculous commentary from Larry, the soft creak of the old bed beneath your bodies.

None of it made sense.

it felt like the kind of night you’d remember for a long time. when Sal’s pinky finally, cautiously, hooked around yours, You didn’t let go.

Looking back af the screen. The movie had reached a new low. The antagonist had suddenly sprouted wings, apparently possessed by the ghost of some ancient demon priest who spoke entirely in Latin. Larry had just finished mocking the last jump scare with an exaggerated scream and a pillow swing before everything finally, mercifully, quieted down again.

SNNOOOORRRT.

The sound cut through the room like a chainsaw through silence. You and Sal both flinched instinctively, heads snapping in unison toward the other side of the bed. There, sprawled diagonally across the mattress like a starfish, was Larry. His mouth hung open just enough to catch flies, and one leg was draped off the side. His chest rose and fell with each obnoxiously loud snore each one somehow louder and more theatrical than the last.

You stared at him for a moment in stunned silence. Then glanced at Sal. Sal was already looking at you. You didn’t even try to hold it in you burst into giggles, muffling the sound against your hand. “Holy crap,” you whispered between snorts, “is he alive? That sounds like a damn chainsaw.”

Sal blinked a few times, then snorted too. “He does that when he sleeps in weird positions. Sometimes I have to check he’s not choking on his own tongue.”

That only made you laugh harder, your shoulder bumping into Sal’s as you leaned against the wall behind you for support. Larry shifted slightly, letting out another guttural snore, then smacked his lips and mumbled something incoherent like, “Nah, man…tuna doesn’t even talk…” before rolling over.

You wiped a tear from your eye, still grinning. “I really like your friends.”

Sal turned to look at you, still smiling faintly. “…Yeah?”

You nodded, the laughter slowly settling into a fond warmth in your chest. “They’re so weird. Like, weird weird. But in the best way. It’s kinda refreshing.”

Sal didn’t reply immediately, but he looked at you with a softness you hadn’t seen all night quiet, thoughtful, a little shy. “They grow on you,” he finally said, voice low. “I wouldnt trade them”

You gave him a lopsided grin. “You’re all a mess, but I love it. It’s… nice. Being here.”

He looked down briefly, then back at you. The glow of the TV flickered over the curve of his mask, casting little shadows across the stitched mouth. “…It’s nice having you here too,” he murmured.

For a beat. Just sat there his pinky still lightly hooked around yours, Larry still snoring like a freight train beside you, and the TV screen casting a soft light across the room full of haunted masks, scattered notebooks, and a lingering warmth that neither ghosts nor horror movies could quite touch. in that quiet moment, the scariest thing wasn’t the movie on screen. It was how much you didn’t want this to end.

The movie finally ended with a whimper literally. Some distant scream echoed through a crumbling church, the screen cut to black, and the credits rolled in awkward silence, accompanied by a weirdly cheerful piano score that absolutely didn’t fit the vibe. Sal reached for the remote, turned the volume down, and let out a soft breath. “That was… something.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, trying not to laugh. “Top tier trash.”

“Totally gonna recommend it to Todd.”

You turned your head slowly toward him “You’re evil.”

He shrugged, feigning innocence. “He made me sit through that documentary on haunted ink last week. This is payback.”

You let out a soft snort and leaned your head back against the wall again. The room had grown quiet, aside from the occasional creak of the floorboards and the SNOOOORRRT from the other side of the bed. Larry had somehow managed to rotate even more in his sleep. His arm now stretched across Sal’s chest like he was guarding him from a night demon, one leg slung over the edge of the mattress, the other pinning your ankle down like it was holding a prize hostage.

You blinked down at the limb. “Uh…”

Sal looked too. You both slowly scanned the human barricade between freedom and the floor.“…We’re stuck,” Sal said plainly.

“Caged,” you whispered dramatically. “By the beast.”

Sal stifled a laugh, trying not to move too much under Larry’s deadweight arm. “I can’t even feel my side anymore.”

You poked Larry’s leg with your toe. “I think his soul left his body like ten minutes ago. He’s in another realm now.”

“He’s in his own world,” Sal said, voice light with amusement. You looked at him and smiled. It was easy to joke with him like this. Easy to sit here in the dark, with your arms lightly pressed together, and the weight of Larry’s unconscious limbs holding you hostage.

“Guess we’re staying here, huh?” you murmured.

“Looks like it.” Neither of you moved. Sal’s arm was warm where it rested close to yours, and you could feel the rise and fall of his chest under Larry’s draped arm. The glow from the TV dimmed a little more as the credits faded to black completely.

You sighed. “Not the worst place to be trapped.”

“…Yeah,” he said quietly.

Then Larry mumbled in his sleep “Tell ‘er she forgot the waffles…”

You both burst out laughing again, trying not to shake the bed too much. The laughter faded slowly, melting into a gentle hush the screen now pitch black, and Larry… well, Larry was definitely somewhere deep in dreamland.

You glanced down at the tangle of limbs surrounding you, then turned your head toward Sal with a dramatic sigh. “Well,” you said in a resigned voice, “it seems we have no choice.”

Sal tilted his head, mask catching a faint gleam from the now dim TV light. “…No choice?”

You gave him a mock serious look, eyes wide. “Fate has spoken. We’ve been claimed by the bed. Escape is impossible.”

His lips twitched into a small smile. “So what you’re saying it’s bedtime now?”

“I mean, what other options do we have?” you gestured at Larry’s arm sprawled over his chest and leg flopped across your own. “Unless you’ve got secret teleportation powers you’ve been hiding from me, I think we’re stuck in here for the long haul.”

Sal chuckled softly, shoulders shaking just a bit beneath the weight of Larry’s dead arm hug. “You’re not wrong.”

You wiggled a little, adjusting yourself beneath the blanket and the wall of limbs. “Okay, if we’re stuck here, I’m gonna get at least some comfort out of this.”

Then, before you could second guess yourself, you shifted closer, turning slightly until your head gently rested against Sal’s chest. your temple pressed near his shoulder, nestled just enough to be cozy without smothering. It gave both of your sides a little more breathing room from the dreaded Larry Trap™, but it also… well. It felt nice.

Sal went still. Not tense, exactly. You could feel the way his breath caught for a second before slowly evening out again. His body was warm beneath you, the gentle rise and fall of his chest oddly soothing against your cheek. The soft cotton of his shirt smelled faintly like laundry detergent and something you could only describe as Sal.

Then, in that low, careful tone he used when he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming “…This okay?”

You nodded a little against him. “Yeah. It’s nice. You’re comfy.”

Sal huffed a quiet laugh barely more than a breath but you felt it, vibrating faintly through his chest. His hand, still resting near yours beneath the blanket, inched just slightly closer. You felt your eyelids grow heavier, lulled by the warmth, the softness, the strange, peaceful intimacy of being squished between a snoring cryptid and someone who made your heart beat a little faster every time he so much as looked your way. “…Night, Sal,” you murmured sleepily.

“Night,” he whispered back.

A few quiet minutes passed. Your body had started to melt into sleep heavy, warm, and full of that fuzzy comfort that only came when you truly felt safe. But something stirred just enough to nudge you back toward wakefulness. You blinked your eyes open slowly. The TV had shut off completely now. The shadows in the room were soft, shifting slightly with the moonlight coming in through the window. You tilted your head just a little, eyes drifting up.

Sal was still awake. He hadn’t moved much barely breathed too deeply but you could feel it in the tension in his chest, the way his hand hadn’t quite relaxed beside yours, and most of all… in the quiet presence of his mask still sitting snug against his face.

You stared at it for a second, unsure why it pulled at your heart the way it did. Not because it was strange or unwelcome it was him, after all. But because he was still holding onto something. Even here. Even now. Not that you minded not really. It was part of him. But… even now? When everything else felt so relaxed?

Your voice came out as a soft whisper, so quiet it barely stirred the air between you. “…Hey, Sal?” He hummed softly in response, his chest rising gently beneath your cheek. “…Are you comfortable sleeping in it?”

There was a pause. A beat. You felt him shift, maybe in surprise. Then, quietly, he murmured, “Yeah. I’m fine with it on.”

You didn’t press. You didn’t ask why or if he was sure. You just gave him a soft smile, voice low and kind as your hand lightly brushed his side. “Okay. Just… wanna make sure you’re comfortable, too.”

The silence returne You didn’t expect him to say anything else. You didn’t even lift your head. Just closed your eyes again and let yourself settle back into the rise and fall of his breathing. Soft movement. You felt his hand slowly rise near his face, and heard it the faint sound of buckles. A click. A slide of straps.

Your heart fluttered. You stayed there, resting against him, He laid it down beside the bed, the soft thud of it muffled by the blanket. His chest exhaled fully in a mildly shaky way beneath you for the first time that night.

His arms moved. Then one wrapped gently around your shoulders, the other folding beneath your arm, pulling you just slightly closer just enough that your side was pressed into his, Instead, you felt his hand slide gently around your shoulder, the other tucking under your back as he pulled you in carefully, cautiously, like you were something fragile and precious. Your head nestled closer beneath his chin, skin against skin now. The warmth of his cheek rested near the crown of your head. His heart beat slow and steady beneath your ear, and the faintest brush of his breath stirred your hair as he held you like it was the first time he’d let himself truly breathe.

“I don’t… usually do this,” he murmured, voice barely more than a thread.

“I know,” you whispered.

your fingers lightly curled into the fabric of his shirt, your eyes fluttering shut again as sleep tugged at you like waves lapping against the shore. “…Thank you,” he whispered, so soft you might’ve imagined it.

You slept.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚Morning crept in slowly through Sal’s bedroom window, pale light casting soft streaks across the floor. The warmth of the sun bled into the room, brushing over clothes on the floor, empty snack bags from the night before, and a muted horror movie DVD case teetering on the edge of the nightstand.

The room was still peaceful. Well… until a certain someone began to stir. Larry groaned as he stretched, hair a complete mess, one leg still draped over part of the bed like a corpse washed ashore. He scratched at his head with a yawn that could wake the dead, blinking slowly as his eyes adjusted to the daylight.

“Ugh… why the fuck does my back hurt so much,” he muttered to himself.

Then he paused, eyes drifting lazily to his left… and stopped cold. Sal was still fast asleep, flat on his back, lips parted slightly as he breathed evenly. And you were right on top of him, curled up against his chest like a cat, arm tucked across his stomach, one leg haphazardly resting over his. Sal’s arms were wrapped loosely around your shoulders, and his mask Gone. Completely gone.

Larry’s eyes widened, and a wide, giddy grin began to tug at his face. “…No. Freaking. Way.”

He grabbed his phone off the nightstand like it was the Holy Grail, and with the stealth of someone absolutely used to sneaking snacks at 2 a.m., he held it up and started snapping photos like a proud parent.

Click. One from the side your cheek smooshed into Sal’s chest.

Click. One a little closer Sal’s fingers curled softly into your hoodie sleeve.

Click click click.

Larry was giggling like a little girl, nearly silently, shaking with laughter as he zoomed in on the most disgustingly adorable sleep cuddle combo he’d ever seen. “Homeboy is getting it while I was in bed, Im kinda grossed out” he whispered to himself.

You stirred first. A sleepy groan left your throat as your eyes fluttered open, still half lidded and dazed. You blinked up in confusion, chin still resting against Sal’s chest. “…Larry?”

Sal, still dozing, gave a small hum, barely lifting his head. Larry froze, phone held in midair like he’d been caught robbing a bank.

Then your eyes focused. Your voice, raspy and heavy with sleep, came out in a groggy warning: “…Are you taking pictures?”

Larry grinned. “Don’t mind me. Just documenting the rare and elusive Wholesome Sal Cuddle Beast in his natural habitat.”

Sal groaned beneath you burying his face into your hair. “Larry…”

You let your head drop back to Sal’s chest with a sigh reaching your arm out. “gimme your phone.”

“No can do,” Larry said, flopping back onto the bed dramatically with a grin so smug it could power a city. “This is the cutest shit I’ve ever seen. You two are like… its too early to compare but you both are so gross right now.”

You groaned and hid your face, too sleepy and too cozy to even fight it. Sal, still half asleep, mumbled, “This fucker.”

Larry stood at the doorway now, still grinning like a maniac as he prepared to head down the hall probably to brag to himself in the kitchen about the goldmine of photos he just captured. With his hand on the doorknob, he turned back and said with a finger gun, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do… which admittedly is very little. So, uh, good luck!”

And with that, he disappeared down the hallway cackling to himself. The door clicked shut behind him, and the room settled into silence once again.

The warmth returned almost instantly quiet, unhurried, as if the space itself wanted to return you both to the peaceful cocoon of earlier. You blinked sleepily and slowly tilted your head up from where it rested on Sal’s chest, face still nestled in the soft fabric of his shirt. Your voice was hoarse from sleep, barely above a whisper, warm with affection and the comfort of a morning that didn’t need rushing.

“…Good morning.”

Sal didn’t respond right away. His eyes were already open watching you and he smiled faint, just a curl of the lips. “Good morning,” he whispered back, voice still low from sleep, a touch dazed. “You’re still here.”

You gave a soft, sleepy laugh. “Mmhmm. Guess I didn’t sleepwalk out.”

But the moment didn’t linger quite as simply as that. Because suddenly it hit him. The air shifted in his chest. His eyes flickered slightly, darting away. His arms, still loosely around you, twitched like he was trying to pull them back without making it obvious. He sucked in a shallow breath. The mask. He wasn’t wearing his mask. His skin scarred and marred, one side melted and uneven, parts of his face twisted in ways no teenager should have to learn to accept was all out. In plain view. For you to see. His heart began to pick up, beating against your chest, almost trembling. He must look disgusting. Horrifying. Why didn’t he think about it? Larry saw fine. Whatever. Larry didn’t care. Hes known him long enough that hes seen him before. But you? You were still here. Still on him. Still close enough to see every detail.

His body stiffened ever so slightly. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t move, either. Just braced for whatever was coming whether it was a flinch, a quiet “I’ll let you get dressed,” or the worst… silence. That dreaded kind of silence.

But it never came. Because when he finally risked looking down at you again… You were just looking at him. Softly. Your eyes were lidded still from sleep, but they held nothing except calm like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like the boy in front of you, as he was, didn’t need to apologize for anything. Your hand gently moved, fingers brushing the edge of his jaw in the quietest touch.

“Hi,” you murmured, still smiling faintly.

Sal’s breath caught in his throat.

He couldn’t say anything at first. His throat felt tight, like emotion had quietly wrapped around it while he wasn’t paying attention. He blinked a few times unsure if he was trying to keep the moment or convince himself it was real.

“…You’re not looking away,” he finally said, barely a whisper.

“Why would I?” you replied, your voice just as soft. “It’s just you.”

That simple sentence held the weight of a thousand reassurances.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚The sun hung high over the school courtyard, casting sharp shadows on the cracked pavement of the outdoor cheer practice area. The sounds of sneakers squeaking, laughter, and upbeat music from someone’s speaker filled the air as you and the rest of the cheer team moved through another round of drills.

Your body moved on autopilot now high knees, arms tight, posture upright. The routine was muscle memory, but the heat made your shirt cling to your back and your ponytail stick annoyingly to your neck. Still, the energy around you was infectious.

“Alright, ladies, one more time!” Coach Hollins called out, hands clapping to the beat. “I want clean arms and sharper snaps this time. Let’s move like we mean it!”

You gave a quick nod to the two girls on either side of you Riley and Jae before falling into formation again. The team snapped into motion at the coach’s count.

“One two three, up!”

You lifted your leg into a high kick, arms raised into a perfect ‘V,’ face determined despite the burn in your thighs. Riley to your left let out a huff, shaking her head with a grin.

“You ever get tired of this?” she muttered under her breath.

“Only every second of every minute,” you whispered back, lips twitching upward.

“I heard that!” Coach Hollins barked playfully, but didn’t stop the routine.

After a few more counts, you dropped out of the line and moved to the sidelines with your small stunt group. You all grabbed water bottles and flopped onto the grass, sweat dripping, lungs still catching up.

Jae flopped dramatically onto her back beside you. “I swear this heat is trying to kill us.”

“Pretty sure it’s just the coach,” you said with a smirk, sipping from your bottle. “Sun’s innocent.”

“Oh please,” she groaned. “At this point I’d let the sun fight me. I’m already halfway dead.”

A couple other teammates laughed and plopped down beside you both, forming a loose circle of exhausted girls lying across the grass, limbs sprawled, stretching out like starfish in a sea of overtraining.

“I miss the days when practice meant jumping around for twenty minutes and eating orange slices,” Riley sighed dramatically. “Now it’s like military conditioning disguised with pom poms.”

One of the freshmen piped up, “Wait, you guys had snacks?”

Riley blinked. “You don’t?”

“Okay, okay,” said Kayla, dropping her pom poms onto the grass, “ I swear, if Trent looks at me like that one more time during math class, I’m gonna combust.”

The girls erupted into laughter around you. You leaned back onto your hands, legs stretched in front of you, catching your breath.

“hes a whore dont do it girl” another girl Jessie teased with a grin, nudging Kayla with her elbow.

“Shut up!” Kayla squeaked, face flushing.

You snorted softly and glanced at the sky for a second, internally giggling at how ridiculously teen movie this all felt. Sitting in your uniform on the grass, sweaty and giddy, talking about boys like it was the end of the world if someone didn’t text back in five minutes.

“I’m just saying,” Kayla continued with faux seriousness, “there’s something about a guy who has brains and can fuck so good at the same time. That’s dangerous.”

“He’s not even that cute,” murmured Bree, twirling a strand of her hair. “Now, Brayden from the soccer team? That’s boyfriend material.”

“Nooo,” you chimed in, shaking your head, “Brayden talks like a sentient protein shake.”

Laughter bubbled again as Bree clutched her chest dramatically. “hes hot give me a break!”

“Okay, okay, Y/N, who would you date if you had to pick?” Kayla asked, eyes narrowing with mock seriousness. “And don’t say no one. We’re not letting you wiggle out of this.”

You pursed your lips, pretending to think hard. “Hmm… does Sal Fisher count?”

Dead silence for a beat. Then the girls burst into laughter again slightly more confused this time. “Oh my god, is that the kid with the blue hair and the uh, the face thing?” Jessie asked, trying to keep her tone light.

“Yeah, the one who always wears that mask,” Bree added, stretching her legs. “You actually know him?”

“Sort of,” you shrugged, smiling to yourself. “He’s cool. Quiet, but funny in a weird way.”

The girls exchanged looks, not rude just kind of mystified. “I mean, I guess that’s kind of sweet,” Kayla said, shrugging. “But like… your group’s super different. No offense.”

“None taken,” you said brightly. “Weird’s kind of our whole brand.” They laughed again, and just like that, the moment moved on. You sat back again as the conversation turned to homecoming rumors and some sophomore drama involving lockers and glitter bombs.

The break didn’t last long Coach called for partner drills after another few minutes, and soon you were back on your feet, clapping along to counts, running through pyramid formations, and adjusting grips and stances.

Your muscles ached, sweat trailed down your spine, and the sun felt like it was trying to kiss your skin off but the rhythm of the team, the shouts of encouragement, the shared momentum it kept you going. Even if no one said it aloud, you were proud to be a part of this group.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚The group was cutting through the courtyard, skirting the edge of the cheer practice field on their way to Todd’s house. Ash was in the middle of one of her trademark complaints animated, relentless, and incredibly specific.

“I’m telling you, this guy in biology acts like smiling would kill him. I said one sarcastic thing, and he looked at me like I burned his childhood home to the ground.”

Todd nodded sympathetically. “Sounds like someone with zero sarcasm immunity.”

Larry popped a piece of gum into his mouth and muttered, “Sounds like someone who’s intimidated by a girl with actual brain cells.”

Ash smirked. “Damn right.”

Sal had been quiet, walking just a step behind them, hands in his hoodie pockets. But when they rounded the corner near the cheer practice field, something pulled at his attention.

The music blaring from a cheap speaker. The shuffle of sneakers on grass. The high pitched yelps and laughter. he saw you. You were within practice with the squad, bouncing through a set of drills. It was chaotic, like it always was during this part of practice, and your ponytail whipped around as you dropped into a set. There was a brief moment of clumsiness you tripped over someone’s foot and went tumbling backwards into the grass with a shout.

Sal instinctively took a step forward. From across the field, he watched you burst into laughter. The kind that made your shoulders shake. Your teammates were cracking up, helping you up, brushing you off. You weren’t embarrassed just glowing. Hair a mess, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling.

Sal stopped walking completely. That’s when Larry noticed.

“Anyway, I told him if he ever tried to talk over me again, I’d shove ” Ash was cut off when suddenly, Larry slapped a hand over her mouth.

“MMPH ?!”

He didn’t say a word just wrapped an arm around her shoulders and slowly turned her head in the direction of Sal.

“Look,” Larry whispered dramatically, the grin already forming at the corners of his mouth. “Look.”

Ash squinted. “What am I oh my god.”

Todd caught on and paused beside them.

From where they were standing, Sal was still. Not a single movement. His body was slack, hands relaxed in his pockets, head slightly tilted in your direction. The blue of his eyes was sharper, softer somehow behind the holes in his mask. Even if his expression was hidden behind the black and white plate… something in his posture said everything.

Larry leaned down, whispering like he’d just discovered a hidden species in the wild.

“Dude,” Larry said, grinning ear to ear. “He is so grown up and in love.”

“I didn’t know you could radiate heart eyes,” Ash whispered. “But he’s doing it.”

Todd, adjusting his glasses, studied Sal like he was reading a silent language. “yearning has become a person guys.”

“Yeah, he looks like a guy who just found religion,” Larry muttered.

Sal hadn’t moved. He didn’t even realize his friends had stopped. His gaze was fixed watching you wipe grass from your cheer skirt while laughing breathlessly with your teammates. Even behind the mask, they could tell his whole body was tuned in to you.

Larry smirked and elbowed Ash. “Ten bucks says he doesn’t even know he stopped walking.”

Ash grinned. “Twenty says he doesn’t even remember we’re here.”

Then, just as you glanced in his direction, Sal jolted slightly snapped out of it. You met eyes from across the field. You grinned and gave a short wave. Sal blinked… then raised a hand and gave the tiniest wave back before quickly shoving both hands into his hoodie pocket again.

His friends didn’t miss that either.

Ash snorted. “Yep. Fully gone. He’s toast.”

Larry grinned wickedly. “Imagine being so whipped your body just turns into a statue”

Sal turned toward them, eyes narrowing behind the mask. “…What?”

“Nothing,” Larry said, throwing an arm over Sal’s shoulders as they started walking again. “Just admiring the view. Cheerleading’s real educational this time of year.”

Ash winked. “Super enlightening.”

Todd patted Sal’s back. “Don’t worry. We’ll all act surprised when you confess.”

Sal grumbled under his breath, hoodie pulled tighter over his head. “You guys suck massive balls” But even as they walked away, his head turned one last time. As the group was finally peeling away from the edge of the field, Larry tossing a stick up and catching it while Ash continued her rant, they were just about to pass behind the school building when

“Hey! Todd!”

Your voice rang out over the grass, bright and cheerful, cutting through the late afternoon buzz. They all turned. You jogged over, ponytail bouncing, the edge of your cheer skirt still speckled with grass stains from your earlier fall. Your cheeks were a little flushed from the drills, but you hardly looked winded.

Todd perked up immediately. “Oh hey! What’s up?”

You stopped in front of him, a little breathless but grinning. “I started the physics homework, and I’m already in over my head. Can I go over it with you sometime this week? I promise I’ll bring snacks as a bribe.”

Todd chuckled, already reaching into his backpack. “You don’t even have to bribe me. I’ll text you the notes later and we can meet later, if you want?”

“That would be perfect,” you beamed. “You’re the best, Todd.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he teased with a little smile.

From behind him, Larry whispered theatrically, “Todd’s getting all the love today.”

Ash folded her arms. “As he should. He’s the only one who’s still passing any science class.”

But before you could respond, a sharp whistle blew from the field. Your coach was standing there, arms crossed, clearly waiting. You cringed slightly. “Whoops. Duty calls.”

You started jogging backward toward the field but called over your shoulder with a laugh, “I’ll see you dorks later!”

Larry clutched his chest dramatically. “She says with affection.”

Ash gave a salute. “Go, queen.”

Then you turned slightly, catching Sal’s eyes as you took a few more steps away. He hadn’t said anything hadn’t moved. He was just watching again, quietly, that unreadable expression hidden behind his mask. But his eyes… You smiled at him gently, a little softer than before. “Sal,” you said, “come over tonight, okay?”

He blinked once. “…Okay.”

Your grin widened just a little. And with that, you spun back around and jogged to join your teammates on the field, already calling an apology to your coach as you ran. The group watched in silence for a beat. As you disappeared back onto the field, Sal remained rooted in place like he’d just taken a mild electric shock completely still, hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly tense, though his expression was unreadable beneath the mask.

Larry, however, was already side eyeing him He stepped closer, squinting at Sal like he was trying to solve a puzzle he already knew the answer to. “So… you gonna tell me what that was, or should I just assume she invited you over to ‘study’?”

Sal blinked, slow and cautious. “She just said to come over later.”

Larry let out a low whistle and raised his brows. “Mmmhm. That’s how it starts, man. First it’s ‘come over,’ then it’s ‘sit on my bed,’ then suddenly both of you are pregannt”

Sal sighed. “It’s not like that.”

Larry gave him a lazy grin and elbowed him lightly. “Dude. Come on. You got the invite. That’s grounds FOR WHATEVER. You know how many dudes would sell their souls for a girl to say that to them with even half that softness?”

Todd wandered over, arms crossed and smirking. “It was suspiciously tender.”

Larry gave a mock thoughtful hum. “I’ll bring a flask. And condoms. Not for him. Just in case she realizes what a repressed weirdo he is and I gotta pick up the slack.”

Sal turned his head, deadpan. “You’re disgusting.”

Larry grinned, absolutely unbothered. “And yet, somehow still your best friend. Funny how that works.”

He leaned in a bit, dropping his voice into a mock serious tone. “Okay but real talk her place, alone, after school? foreplay waiting to happen. You sure you’re ready for that? What are you gonna do when she sits too close and your brain short circuits?”

Sal rubbed the back of his neck. “I dunno. Talk?”

Larry snorted. “Pfft. Classic. You better hope you don’t sit on the bed first or she’s gonna think you’ve got moves.”

Todd adjusted his glasses. “let the man breathe, I think that's enough teasing for right now”

Ash smiled. “Yeah! itll be all good, youre always at her place anyways, I dont see why this is anything new.”

Larry nodded sagely. “Look, man, I want you to scream into your phone the minute after you leave’”

Sal groaned, clearly regretting not disappearing with you when he had the chance. “Why do I even talk to you.”

Larry slung an arm over his shoulder. “Because I’m the only one giving you the talk no one else will. You’re entering sacred territory, my guy. The Bedroom Zone. That’s where the hot girls live.”

Sal dragged a hand down his face. “It’s just a casual hangout.”

Larry raised a brow. “Sure. Just like how ‘Netflix and chill’ is about movie appreciation.”

Ash cracked up, Todd chuckled, and Larry gave Sal one last smirk. “Look, if she offers you snacks and puts on a movie? Congrats. You’re halfway to a relationship you won’t admit you’re in for nine months.”

with that, he started walking ahead, hands in his pockets, calling back over his shoulder, “Don’t forget deodorant! And maybe brush your hair this time!” Sal stood there for a beat longer, ears pink, before quietly following, a small, reluctant smile twitching beneath the edge of his mask.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚Your apartment door clicked shut behind you as you kicked your shoes off with a groan that could’ve belonged to someone three decades older.

“Finally,” you muttered, dragging yourself toward the couch like it owed you money. “If I had to chant Hot to go one more time, I was going to throw myself into traffic.”

Sal stepped inside a few seconds later, quiet as usual, closing the door gently behind him. His shoes made a soft thump as he set them by the mat, and he trailed behind you like a shadow familiar, unobtrusive, calm. He always did tend to come over after practice when he could. It wasn’t a thing you had ever needed to explain. He just showed up, like gravity, and you always opened the door like you were expecting him. Because you were.

You dropped onto the couch with a flop, hair sticking to the back of your neck from all the sweat and yelling. “My legs are spaghetti. My soul has left my body. ”

Sal chuckled under his breath, then wandered further in, eyes scanning the room like he always did even though nothing ever changed. It was part habit, part quiet comfort. Your apartment was small, warm, dimly lit. Blankets were folded on the armrest. Your stupid lava lamp was bubbling peacefully on the shelf. The place smelled faintly of vanilla and shampoo and you. Which wouldn’t normally bother him. Except now Larry’s stupid voice was in his head like a mosquito trapped in a tin can. Sal blinked.

Right. Couch. You were on the couch. Not the bed. Totally normal. Sal watched you from the doorway for a moment, something amused in the angle of his head, He shifted a little awkwardly, standing there for a second too long before walking over and settling into the other end of the couch. He usually did that, too always a respectful amount of space, always calm and quiet. But tonight his back was a little straighter. His shoulders a little stiffer. His brain a little louder.

then quietly walked over and lowered himself onto the couch beside you. He sat stiff at first, unsure of how close to get, but your hand reached out to lightly tug on the hem of his sleeve.

“You can sit normal, Sal. I don’t bite,” you mumbled into a throw pillow.

Sal blinked. “…Right.”

So he settled in, closer now. Shoulders relaxed, hands resting in his lap.

You didn’t seem to notice. You sighed and reached for the throw blanket, dragging it over your lap. “I swear, our captain’s trying to kill us before regionals. That girl has no chill at all.”

Sal nodded, fiddling with the frayed end of his sleeve. “You looked good out there. In practice, I mean. You’re, um… really good.”

You cracked a tired smile. “Wow. A whole compliment? Who are you and what have you done with the real Sal?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean it.”

You leaned back, eyes drifting closed for a moment. “Thanks. That’s sweet.”

Sal stared at the ceiling. God. Larry was so annoying. worse he might have been a little right. Sal snuck a glance at you. You were curled up under your blanket, makeup smudged, hair messy, hoodie riding up slightly as you hugged a pillow to your chest. Relaxed. Comfortable. Like this was normal. It was normal. But now his heart was doing this thing in his chest, like it couldn’t decide if it was nervous or just stupid. He’d been in this apartment a hundred times. But now he was acutely aware of every inch of the couch between you. Every sound. Every breath.

“Hey,” you said suddenly, eyes fluttering open. “You okay? You’re quiet.”

Sal blinked. “I’m always quiet.”

You tilted your head, watching him for a second. “Yeah, but this is like… extra quiet. Like ‘do I need to get you tea or something?”

Sal flushed under the mask. “I’m just tired. Long day.”

You nodded like that made perfect sense and scooted over slightly just an inch or two. Just enough to close the space between you a little. “Same. You can lean back, y’know. You look like you’re in timeout.”

You shifted again, grumbling about how sore your thighs were from endless jumping and kicks, and without much thought, you swung your legs up and over Sal’s lap.Sal froze just a bit at the sudden contact like someone had startled a cat but when you didn’t move again, he relaxed slowly. He looked down at your legs draped across him, then up at your face. You weren’t even paying attention, completely at peace.

“So,” you started casually, “there’s this show in the city next month like a mini festival kind of deal? Bunch of local punk and alt bands. Larry and Ash wanna go, and I’m so tempted.”

Sal blinked, his hands awkwardly hovering near your shins. “You gonna go?”

You shrugged. “Maybe. Depends on money, and if we survive regionals without blowing our knees out. But also… I don’t have anything to wear. I can’t show up in pastel to a punk show.”

He gave a small huff of amusement, fingers finally settling on your legs just resting there at first, the lightest contact. “Bet you could make anything work,” he murmured.

You smirked at that, cracking one eye open to look at him. “You flirting with me, Fisher?”

“Barely,” he said, voice teasing but warm.

You grinned and nudged his arm with your foot. You rambled on about some of the bands on the lineup, flipping through your phone with one hand while the other idly tugged at the blanket. Sal nodded, adjusting slightly under your legs. “Yeah. Larry won’t shut up about it. He wants to mosh until he dislocates a shoulder.”

“That’s such a Larry thing. I was thinking about going. It’s not really my usual scene, but I don’t know… it’d be fun.”

Sal tilted his head toward you, curiosity sparking. “You can always see, you did say you liked my music before and its not too far off”

You started rambling, voice soft but animated mentioning outfits with fishnets, oversized band tees, maybe one with a leather jacket if the night was cold. A crop top you hadn’t had a chance to wear yet. And somewhere along the way soft and slow Sal’s fingers began to move.

He hadn’t meant to, not consciously. But as you spoke, he found himself gently running his fingertips along your shin, then your calf, trailing little absentminded patterns with the pads of his fingers. He moved like he was afraid to startle you, every brush of his hand tender and hesitant. You didn’t react at first. Perhaps you didn’t even notice. But your voice dipped a little, more relaxed, like the comfort of it had settled into your bones. Your leg twitched slightly in contentment, and Sal’s hand paused Then continued, slower this time.“That purple top you wore at the bonfire,” he said suddenly, voice quiet, almost like it snuck out of him, “you looked… really nice in it.”

You turned your head toward him, eyes blinking open with a sleepy little smile. “Yeah?”

He nodded, eyes flicking away. His hand stilled again, resting warm and steady on your leg. “Yeah.” Sal blinked, clearly only just now realizing he was still touching you. He froze for a second again, his fingers hovering in place like they’d been caught doing something illegal.

You raised a brow. “What, you gonna stop now?”

He hesitated then quietly resumed, a small smile hidden beneath his mask. “No,” he said softly. “I’ll keep going.”

You smiled to yourself and let your eyes close. despite the thoughts running miles a minute in his head, despite the ghost of Larry’s voice still rattling around somewhere in the background saying, “You’re in too deep, lover boy,” Sal didn’t stop. He just sat there, calm and quiet as ever, slowly tracing lazy circles against your skin.

You yawned, stretching your arms again until your fingertips grazed the top of the couch. “You should just stay the night again,” you said, voice casual, like it wasn’t making Sal’s heart immediately stutter in his chest. “You’ve still got clothes here from the last time. Plus, I don’t feel like saying bye.”

Sal blinked at you, unsure if you were teasing or not. He nodded slowly. “…Yeah. Okay. If you’re cool with it.”

You gave a little grin. “I wouldn’t’ve asked if I wasn’t.”

You sat up slightly, arms propped behind you. “Also, I’ve been craving something sweet all day. Wanna bake something? Cookies? Muffins? Brownies? We’ve got options, Sal.”

He opened his mouth to say something sarcastic but instead, what came out, soft and automatic, was:

“Yeah. Sure. Anything with you.” There was a brief pause. You blinked at him. He blinked at himself. Then his shoulders hunched a little as he realized what he’d just said. “I mean not anything anything. I just meant like I’m down for whatever you wanna bake. Or whatever.” His voice went lower and quicker with each word, panic mode lightly engaged.

You, meanwhile, were trying not to grin like a fool. “Anything with me?” you teased, poking his side.

Sal groaned and covered his face with his hand. “Please forget I said that.”

You smirked. “Relax. I got the message.”

You walked into the kitchen, still grinning as you rummaged through cabinets. “We’re doing cookies. I’ve got chocolate chips, let’s go.”

Sal followed after you, his hands shoved in his pockets now, even if you also unknowingly made his heart trip over itself every ten seconds.

You were already digging through the baking shelf when Sal joined you in the kitchen, He looked more at home than anyone had the right to in someone else’s apartment. And maybe that’s because this wasn’t “someone else’s” anymore not to him. You held up a bag of chocolate chips like it was sacred treasure. “Behold. The only reason this dough will be tolerable.”

Sal smirked faintly, leaning a hip against the counter. “Wow. No faith in your own baking skills?”

You scoffed, tossing the bag on the counter. “I’m realistic. My baking is edible. Not gourmet.”

“I’ve eaten weirder things,” he said, deadpan, reaching for the mixing bowl.

Your eyebrow arched. “That’s not comforting.”

“I mean, you’re letting me help, so who’s really at fault here?”

You made a dramatic show of dumping flour into the bowl. “You've got all my trust, blue boy.”

He nodded solemnly. You passed him the whisk while cracking eggs into a small bowl. Sal took the whisk with a little more flair than necessary. “How do I stir this? is there a certain way or?”

You paused, watching him with amusement. “I dunno, maybe talk dirty to it. ‘Cause these cookies are about to be sinful.”

Without missing a beat, Sal leaned down a little and murmured to the bowl in his calmest voice, “Hey, sugar. You like it rough, or should I ease the chocolate chips in slowly?”

You choked on your laugh so hard you had to grab the counter for support. “SAL. What the hell ?!”

He grinned as he started mixing, shoulder bouncing slightly from his own laughter. “You started it.”

“You said it too well, that’s the problem,” you said, smacking his arm with a dish towel. “Didnt know i was hanging out with a FREAK”

“I try my best” he said, licking a bit of dough off his finger after moving his mask to the side ever so slightly.

You paused. “Did you just raw dog cookie dough? theres eggs in that” He looked at you, expression unreadable under his mask, “…I walked into that one, didn’t I?” you mumbled.

“Hard,” he replied simply.

You groaned, hiding your face behind your hands. “I liked it better when you were flustered and awkward.”

“Too late,” Sal said, dumping the chocolate chips in with an almost smug level of confidence. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling as you reached over to flick flour at him. He ducked with surprising grace, the grin behind the mask audible in his voice. “Try me again and you’re getting dough on your face.”

“Oh no,” you gasped “What ever shall I doooooo” He dipped two fingers in the bowl. “Don’t you dare.” He looked at you. stared deep into your eyes. then slowly took a taste instead. You stared at him, jaw dropped. “Thought you were gonna smear it on me,” you muttered.

“Tempting,” he said casually, licking the last bit of dough off his thumb, “but I’m not wasting chocolate on your forehead.”

“Oh, so we’re economical and sassy tonight are we?”

He shrugged. “Multitasking.”

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ The oven beeped to life, the tray of cookies safely tucked inside. You set the timer with a satisfied little hum, turning on your heel just as Sal moved to put the mixing bowl in the sink. You didn’t mean to step into him, but the narrow kitchen and your complete lack of awareness sent you directly into his chest.

You both froze.

Your hands braced instinctively against his chest, his hands caught at your shoulders in an effort to steady you. It wasn’t a rough impact. The air shifted instantly. You looked up at him, suddenly hyper aware of how close you were. The only thing keeping your faces apart… was the smooth surface of his mask.

Neither of you moved. You looked up, startled at first, but then your gaze softened. The glow of the kitchen light cast gold shadows across the room, and you swore you could see a flush creeping beneath the edge of his hairline.

His hands didn’t drop right away. Neither did yours. barely above a whisper, Sal said, “It’s not fair… how easy it is to want this with you.”

The words fell out of him like they’d been waiting to be said for weeks. stripped of any of the usual carefulness he kept wrapped around himself. Your breath caught, eyes searching his through the hair that had fallen across his face. Your voice was barely above a whisper when you spoke.

“Can I… take it off?”

His breath hitched. He blinked. “Wh– wow, okay. Um. Your phrasing is kinda uh…” He rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his weight. “You make it sound like we’re about to hook up on the counter.”

You blinked then burst out laughing. “Oh my god, Sal.” You smacked his chest lightly. “That wasn’t even what I meant, but now I can’t un hear it.”

He gave a helpless, sheepish shrug, eyes crinkling just a little. “You said it, not me.”

You tilted your head, grinning up at him. “We can save that for another time, then.”

That shut him up. You watched as his brain visibly short circuited, eyes going wide before darting off to the side in panic. His ears turned bright pink beneath his hair.

“Joking,” you whispered, though the glint in your eye said you weren’t completely kidding. “Mostly.”

He let out a soft huff as he let his hands drop from your waist, stepping back just slightly but not enough to break the warmth still hanging between you. You tilted your head. “I’m serious, though. I won’t push. But if you ever feel ready… I’d like to see the whole you again.”

Sal nodded slowly, eyes dropping to the floor for a beat before flicking back up. “I know.”

The beep sliced through the silence like a mischievous little gremlin, reminding you that time and cookies waited for no emotionally charged stare downs. You blinked, the moment still humming in your chest, then snorted softly. “Relax. It’s just the halfway point.”

Sal rolled his eyes, stepping back just a bit more but not enough to be out of reach. “You act like I was the one making it weird.”

You lifted a brow. “Oh, really? ‘It’s not fair how easy it is to want this with you’ that wasn’t a little weird?”

He groaned and rubbed the back of his neck. “You were this close to getting a sweet moment, and you blew it.”

“I didn’t blow anything,” you shot back with a smirk, walking over to check the oven through the glass. “but given the chance .”

“Y/n, don't even start you perv” Sal let out a surprised little laugh behind his mask, looking at you like you were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever seen.

“I cant help it when I’ve got a hot guy in my kitchen,” you said, glancing at him.

He tilted his head, eyes glinting. “Hot guy?”

“Oh, please. Don’t act surprised. You know exactly what you’re doing in those damn sweatpants.”

Another beep interrupted you, louder this time. You spun to open the oven and muttered, “Cookie time,.” Sal chuckled, walking over behind you and peeking over your shoulder as you reached in with the mitts. “Don’t crowd me,” you teased.

“Just trying to make sure you don’t burn your hands.”

“You burn your mouth on these and I’m not driving you to the ER.”

“Oh, I won’t. I’m excellent with handling hot things.”

Your head turned slowly. “You did not just say that.”

He grinned like the smug bastard he secretly was and plucked a chip off the edge of one cookie. “Too late.”

You watched as Sal carefully moved the cookies to a plate. “Okay,” you said between chews, “we’ve officially earned the right to crash. I say we head to my room movie, cookies, blankets, the whole comfy package.”

Sal paused as he was reaching for another cookie, fingers hovering. “Your… room?”

You turned to him, one brow raised. “Yeah. My bed has like… six pillows. And heated blankets. Plus the TV’s bigger.”

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚The movie was already twenty minutes in by the time the two of you had finally settled on your bedYou were leaned against Sal’s shoulder, one of your legs curled beneath you, and his body was warm where it pressed gently into yours. Neither of you said much at first, letting the ambient noise of the film fill the space. It was peaceful. Familiar. But for Sal, something about the moment tugged at his thoughts.

He swallowed thickly, barely noticing the way your head had drifted to rest just a little more against him. He was remembering. Your laughter in his room just a few days ago. The way you’d leaned into him so naturally. your body curled into his side played on repeat in his mind more than the movie ever could. He’d said nothing then, hadn’t even dared breathe too loudly, afraid it would pop the fragile bubble of comfort he’d never known he needed.

But now… it was happening again. Here. In your space. Now, lying beside you again, your hair brushing his jawline every now and then when you shifted slightly, he could feel that same quiet gravity pulling at him.

Sal glanced down at you. You were focused on the screen, but he caught the tiny smile at the corner of your mouth perhaps at the film, or at the warmth of the room, or, maybe because of him. He liked to think it was that last one.

You suddenly shifted, laying more fully against his chest and letting your arm rest lightly across his stomach. “Too many cookies,” you mumbled.

He huffed a laugh, his hand instinctively coming up to rest against your back. “That’s on you. I told you to pace yourself.”

“You say that every time, and yet here we are,” you muttered into his shirt. “Besides, they were good and not as bad as i anticipated. Admit it.”

“They were good,” he said quietly. “You always make them good.” Sal chuckled softly under his breath, a hand resting near your waist under the blanket. He could feel the way you molded against him, so naturally. So easily.

The mask felt heavier than usual. He blinked slowly, something shifting inside him. A decision. It wasn’t sudden. It had been building for a while through the shared jokes, the lingering glances, the safety of your presence. now, here, in the soft glow of your bedroom, with your warmth against his side and your breathing matching his, it didn’t feel terrifying.

Sal reached up and slipped the mask from his face. The air hit his skin differently without it. Vulnerability being oh so strong now. But not in a bad way. Not here.

He held the mask in his lap, his hands fidgeting with the straps while his eyes flicked toward you. His lips parted like he might say something, but the words stuck

It was subtle at first just the faintest change in the way his breathing slowed, like he was bracing himself. Your eyes fluttered up and adjusted to the dim room, and when you tilted your head slightly to look at him…

For a second, you just blinked Sal noticed your gaze immediately and stiffened. “Don’t look too hard,” he said quickly, voice low and tense.

You turned fully toward him, shifting just enough to sit up slightly on your elbow. “Sal,” you murmured, your voice laced with surprise but not a hint of pity.

Then, slowly, your hand lifted toward his face. His eyes flicked to your fingers as they hovered near his cheek, and he flinched just slightly but enough for you to pause. He wasn’t used to being seen like this. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, barely above a whisper. “I just I know it’s not…”

Your hand gently made contact with his cheek, and he stopped talking. You were warm. Steady. You didn’t pull back. Your thumb brushed lightly across his skin, tracing the edge of one of his scars without hesitation.

“It’s not what?” you asked quietly. “Not what you think I want to see? Sal, I’ve wanted to do this for months.”

before he could say anything, you leaned in and pressed your lips softly gently against his. It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was patient. the world could finally stop spinning just long enough for him to realize: he was wanted. Just like this.

Sal’s eyes widened, the warmth of your lips still lingering as you pulled back, close enough that your breath still ghosted across his skin. His ears were red. His cheeks too. He blinked once, then twice. “You… wanted to?” he asked, barely able to meet your eyes.

You smiled, so close he could feel it. “Of course I did.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just looked at you, like he was still waiting to wake up from something too good to be real. Then, hesitantly like testing the weight of the moment Sal leaned in and pressed his lips to yours in return. This kiss was shy, soft, but undeniably him nervous, sweet, and full of something he didn’t quite know how to say yet.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead gently against yours. He was blushing furiously, but he didn’t hide this time.

“…I’ve wanted to too,” he admitted quietly

[thewulf]

Trust in the Tide || Paul Lahote

Summary: Request -Hello!! I loved your forever yours fic!! I was wondering if you could write another Paul Lahote fic where Bella goes to the cullens house and drags her sister Y/N along with. Paul isnt happy about this at all and gets very possessive of Y/N.

A/N: Okay this one is cheeeeeesy but really sweet :)

Pairing: Paul Lahote x Swan Sister Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

TW: Possessiveness, general twilight warnings

On an unusually warm afternoon, with the sun painting the waves in hues of amber and gold, you find yourself lounging on the sands of La Push beach. Beside you, Paul's presence is as comforting as the steady rhythm of the surf. Though known among his peers for his fierce temper and unyielding nature with you he's a different person—gentle, attentive, and uncharacteristically vulnerable.

You've been together for a year now ever since the day he imprinted on you. A single moment that forever changed the course of both your lives. In this year your relationship has blossomed into a deep and passionate connection with you often playing the role of his anchor, the calm in his storm.

As you sit there watching the gulls dance above the waves Paul's hand finds yours, his fingers lacing with yours in a familiar, comforting grip. His other hand brushes away a stray lock of hair from your face tucking it gently behind your ear. "Beautiful day, isn't it?" he murmurs. His voice low and warm carrying over the sound of the waves.

You nod while leaning into his side, feeling the solid strength of him. "It's perfect," you agree, allowing yourself a moment to bask in the simple joy of being here with him away from the complexities of your intertwined worlds.

Paul's gaze is fixed on the horizon, but you know his thoughts are never far from you. In these quiet, unguarded moments you see a side of him that no one else does. You see the vulnerability hidden behind the façade of the tough werewolf. It's a side he only shows to you. It makes your heart swell with a mix of affection and pride.

"Thanks for being here, you know," he says suddenly before turning to look at you with intense, sincere eyes. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Your heart flutters at his words. A gentle reminder of the bond you share. "I'll always be here, Paul," you assure him by squeezing his hand. "No matter what."

In these moments with the salty breeze tangling your hair and the sound of Paul's steady heartbeat under your ear you feel an overwhelming sense of peace. Here, with him, you are home.

But your peaceful afternoon is abruptly shattered when Bella, her brow creased with worry but with a knowing smirk on her face, approaches the two of you on the beach. The sight of her alone is enough to tighten Paul's grip around your waist. His body tensing as if bracing for a storm.

"Whenever you aren't with Charlie, you're always here," Bella comments lightly. Trying to ease the tension with a touch of humor as she nods towards the two of you entwined on the sand.

You can't help but smile even as the worry in Bella's eyes belies her playful tone. "Can you blame me?" you reply with gesturing to the serene beach and then to Paul whose presence is a comforting constant in your life.

Paul attempted to lighten the mood despite the tension. He throws a quizzical glance at Bella. "What brings the vampire girl back down to La Push?" he jokes. Trying to elicit a smile but his voice betrays a hint of his underlying concern.

Bella's expression turns serious again as she ignores Paul’s attempt at humor. "It's Alice," she begins. Her voice dropping to a more urgent whisper. "She had a vision... and it involves you, Y/N. It's not clear, but it's serious enough that we think you should come to the house and talk about it."

Instantly, Paul's embrace tightens. His protective instincts flaring up. "No," he says flatly, his voice laced with a protectiveness that borders on aggression. "She’s not going anywhere near those bloodsuckers."

You squeeze his hand trying to calm the storm you see brewing in his eyes. "Paul, if it's about me… I need to know. I need to understand what's happening," you reason. Your voice a soothing counterpoint to his growling tone.

Bella looks between the two of you, her worry deepening. "It’s not clear what it means yet, but Alice saw a conflict... something that might escalate without your intervention. We think Y/N might be a key to preventing it."

Paul’s body is rigid with conflict. The thought of you walking into what he views as the lion’s den. A place where every instinct tells him you could be in danger, is tearing him apart inside. "You don't understand, Bella. I can’t just let her walk into a potential trap," he argues with his voice strained.

You look up at him. Your heart is aching at the pain and fear etched in his features. "Paul, I need to do this. Not just for me but for all of us. If there’s even a chance that my being there could help prevent a bigger conflict, we have to take it." Your voice is firm. Carrying the weight of your resolve. "I’ll be okay. I went to school with them, remember? They'd never harm a hair on my head."

Seeing the agony in his eyes you reach up to cup his cheek, forcing him to meet your gaze. "I promise Pau, I'll come home right to you. Just wait for me, okay?"

Paul's face is a mask of conflict. He’s torn between his fierce instinct to protect and his deep trust in you. "It's not you I don't trust, you know that," he says, his voice tense. "It's them. It's walking you right into their world... without me even being able to be there to protect you."

You nod understanding his fear. "Paul, I'm Bella's sister," you remind him gently by playing to his more rational side. "They've known me almost as long as they've known her. They'd never hurt me. And this could help everyone. The pack even. Your brothers and sister. It could prevent a bigger conflict. Isn't that worth it?"

He looks out towards the sea, his jaw clenching as he processes your words. "And I can't even escort you there..." he mutters with frustration lacing every word.

With pleading eyes, you look back at him. "I need you to trust me on this," you say softly. "Trust that I'll be okay."

Paul stares into your eyes searching for something that might make this easier. Finally, with a guttural sigh, his resistance crumbles. "Alright," he murmurs. His voice rough with suppressed emotion. "But I’m holding you to that promise. You come straight back to me. Please." He adds with a soft smile.

You grin while squeezing his hand tightly ever so grateful for his trust and understanding. "I will, Paul. I promise." Sensing the weight of the moment you step closer to him before wrapping your arms around his neck. You press a lingering, tender kiss to his lips. A promise of your return sealed with the sweetness of your affection.

As you pull away your eyes lock with his communicating a depth of love and reassurance. "Wait for me," you whisper. It’s a soft plea mixed with a firm promise. He agrees. His expression a mix of resolve and vulnerability. The hard lines of his face softening at your touch.

With one last look you turn and follow Bella to her truck feeling the weight of Paul's gaze on you like a protective cloak. As you climb into the passenger seat and the truck pulls away his figure remains etched against the horizon. A silent sentinel watching over the path you'll return by.

As the truck bumps along the familiar forested road leading to the Cullen house Bella steals a few glances your way her earlier worry momentarily replaced by a hint of curiosity. The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable but it's filled with the unspoken acknowledgment of the distance that has grown between you two. Yet, today, as the trees blur past there’s a tentative bridge being built in those stolen glances.

“You seem really happy, Y/N,” Bella finally says. The words careful but genuine. She adjusts her grip on the steering wheel focusing on the winding road but clearly intent on your response.

Your heart swells at the mention and you can't help but nod enthusiastically. “I am, Bella. Paul... he’s been amazing,” you reply. Your voice tinged with undeniable joy. “He’s so kind to me, you know? In ways that people don’t always see.”

Bella smiles, a soft, understanding smile that reaches her eyes. “I can tell. He looks at you like... like you’re his whole world.” Her tone is reflective, possibly recalling her own complex relationships. “It’s really nice seeing you so taken care of. Makes me feel less worried about dragging you into our... mess today.”

The road smooths out as you approach the Cullen’s long driveway and you let out a small, contented sigh. “Thanks, Bella. I know it’s a lot, with everything going on. But being with Paul, it feels right. Like I’m where I’m supposed to be.” You turn to her with a bright grin spreading across your face. “And don’t worry about today. We’ll handle it just like we handle everything else.”

Bella nods, her expression mixing relief with a bit of admiration. “I’m glad, Y/N. And I’m glad he’s good to you. We all need that… someone who makes us feel like coming home.”

The conversation lulls as the imposing structure of the Cullen house comes into view with its vast windows reflecting the cloudy sky above. Today might be filled with uncertainties but your heart holds on to the warmth of the conversation, the shared smiles, and the reassurance of your sister's concern, making you feel ready for whatever lies ahead.

As you step into the cool, grand interior of the Cullen house the atmosphere is charged with a mix of anticipation and tension. The Cullen’s are all present. Their expressions ranging from curious to concerned. Alice steps forward first with her slight frame contrasting the intensity of her gaze.

"Thank you for coming, Y/N," Alice says sincerely. "I know this isn't easy."

You nod feeling the weight of the situation but bolstered by the earlier conversation with Bella. "Let's just get to the bottom of this, Alice. What exactly did you see?"

Alice describes her vision in greater detail explaining that it involved a confrontation that could escalate tensions not just within Forks but potentially with other vampire groups. Your presence, she suggests, might symbolize a commitment to peace that could soothe rising fears.

Edward, ever the voice of reason, interjects thoughtfully. "I’ve given this some thought. Perhaps there's a way to communicate our intentions without requiring Y/N to be directly involved. We could send a message through Carlisle to the other leaders, clarifying our stance and our commitment to peace. Getting the pack involved this early seems… unwise." His soft smile towards you is comforting and you give him a quick nod back agreeing with his stance.

Jasper, who has been quietly assessing the mood, adds, "And I can reach out to my old contacts. They trust my judgment. If I explain the situation and our peaceful intentions it might help calm any unrest."

You listen to each suggestion feeling a sense of relief that there might be solutions that don't require you to be more involved than necessary. "Both sound like good plans," you agree. "My being here today is a show of good faith and hopefully that's enough. Showing that we're united in wanting peace might be the strongest message we can send."

Carlisle nods in agreement. His expression one of gentle authority. "I think that's wise. We appreciate your willingness to help, Y/N, and your insight has been invaluable. But let's minimize risk where we can."

Esme with her nurturing demeanor smiles warmly at you. "And we're here to support you not to make demands. Let's proceed with those ideas and keep communication open. Should we need you we know how to get ahold of you." She gestures to your sister who was looking more and more relieved.

As the meeting begins to wind down and everyone seems to agree on the proactive steps to take, Emmett can't resist lightening the mood. He leans slightly closer to you with a mischievous glint in his eyes and pretends to sniff the air dramatically. "Y/N, you know I love you, but you kind of stink like wet dog today," he says with a broad grin, clearly teasing.

You can't help but laugh, shaking your head at his typical goofiness. "Emmett, you really never change, do you?" you reply. The laughter making your words light and easy.

Rosalie who was standing beside him rolls her eyes affectionately at her husband's antics but smiles at the exchange. It's clear they all value the levity Emmett brings, especially in tense situations.

"Hey, I'm just saying, maybe a little vampire sparkle wouldn't hurt," Emmett chuckles, winking at you.

As you leave the Cullen house, chuckling over Emmett's playful banter, you feel a genuine warmth from the exchange. It's moments like these in the middle of the gravity of supernatural politics that remind you of the strange yet comforting friendship you've found with the Cullen’s. They might be vampires, but their familial bonds and moments of humor aren't so different from what you find at home with Paul and the pack.

As Bella's truck pulls up to the familiar surroundings of La Push you can already see Paul waiting by the road, his posture tense with anticipation. The moment the truck stops he's at the door pulling it open with a haste that speaks volumes of his anxiety and relief.

"You're back," Paul breathes out. His voice thick with emotion as he helps you out of the truck. His hands are gentle but firm, as if he needs to physically feel that you're safe and sound.

"I'm back, just like I promised," you reassure him by reaching up to touch his face, feeling the rough stubble and the warmth of his skin. His eyes search yours looking for any sign of distress instead relaxing when he sees your calm demeanor.

Before you can fully turn to Paul you remember Bella, still seated in the driver’s seat, watching the exchange with a small smile. "Thanks, Bella. For everything today," you speak while giving her a grateful look.

Bella nods, her eyes softening. "Of course. Take care, you two," she replies. Her voice carrying a hint of relief at seeing you safe and sound with Paul.

Paul who was not one to hold grudges where your safety is involved, nods at Bella. "Thanks for looking out for her," he adds. His tone sincere despite the underlying tension of the day.

With a final wave Bella starts the truck again before pulling away from the curb as you turn back to Paul. His arms are already open, ready to pull you into a secure embrace. "I was worried, you know," he admits once Bella's truck has disappeared from sight, his voice low, almost a whisper against the breeze. "Every minute felt like an hour. But I trust you. I should have remembered that you can handle anything."

You smile softly as you were touched by his concern and his admission. "I know you were worried, and I love you for it," you say while pulling him close for a hug. "But I also knew everything would be okay. We had to make sure of that."

Paul nods, his expression softening as he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes. "I'm sorry for doubting. It's just hard when I think about anything happening to you."

"Nothing happened, Paul. And I had to go today to keep it that way," you explain, hoping he understands the importance of your actions today. Not just for yourself but for the peace it might ensure.

Paul takes a deep breath, his chest rising and falling under your hands. "I get it now. I do. And I'm proud of you, Y/N. Really proud." His words are sincere and filled with a new respect for your judgment and your strength.

The two of you stand there for a moment, just holding each other, the sound of the waves in the background a soothing soundtrack to your reunion. Paul's hold tightens briefly as if reaffirming his promise to always be there for you.

"Why don't we just sit here for a while?" Paul suggests, gesturing towards the beach. "Enjoy the quiet and each other's company. No rush, just us." You grin, grateful for the peaceful end to an eventful day. Settling back onto the sand you lean against him feeling truly at home in his embrace. As the sun begins to set it painted the sky in fiery hues. You savor the moment of calm, the simple joy of being together.

As the evening air grows cooler and a gentle shiver passes through you Paul notices immediately. With a concerned furrow of his brow, he shifts closer, his arms reaching out to you. "Hey, come here," he says softly while pulling you gently towards him. Before you know it you're settled comfortably in his lap. His warmth enveloping you like a protective cloak.

Wrapped in his embrace you can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of safety and love. Paul's hands rub your arms gently, generating warmth, his breath warm against the side of your neck. "Better?" he asks. His voice a soothing rumble in his chest.

"Much," you reply leaning back against him, feeling his heartbeat steady and reassuring against your back. The sound of the waves, the starlit sky, and Paul's presence combine into a perfect ever peaceful moment.

Paul kisses the top of your head gently. An affirmation of his feelings. "I love you. You know that?" he murmurs into your hair. His voice carrying a weight of sincerity. "Not just for being so strong today, but for every day. For being you."

Your heart feels full. His words lifting you even further into a state of bliss. "I love you too, Paul. So much," you whisper back, turning slightly to catch his eye. The look he gives you is filled with adoration and a promise of infinite tomorrows.

As the evening chill sets in and you snuggle deeper into Paul's embrace his heart swells with an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude. Under the vast, starlit sky, as he feels your steady breathing against him Paul's thoughts drift towards the future. A future he envisions vividly with you by his side.

Holding you close, his mind fills with images of similar nights, perhaps a little house of your own nearby where the sounds of the ocean can lull you both to sleep. He imagines lazy mornings with you, shared laughter, and quiet evenings just like this one. Each moment reinforcing the bond between you.

"You know," Paul whispers while breaking the comfortable silence. His voice tinged with a mix of wonder and conviction, "I feel like the luckiest guy on earth to have you. Every day with you feels like a promise of something great."

You look up at him, touched by his sincerity and the soft look in his eyes. "And I feel like the luckiest girl," you respond. Your voice soft. "I can't wait for all those days, Paul."

Content in the quiet night wrapped in each other's arms the world seems to stand still. Eventually, as the night deepens and the chill of the air becomes more pronounced, Paul's concern for your comfort reasserts itself. "Let's get you home before you turn into an ice cube," he jokes lightly. But his care is evident in the way he helps you to your feet and keeps you close as you walk to his car.

When you arrive at your doorstep Paul pulls you into one more long, lingering kiss. This one filled with promises and plans. "See you tomorrow, love. Dream of us," he says as he finally, regretfully, pulls away.

As you watch him drive off his earlier words echo in your heart filling you with warmth and a deep, unshakeable sense of belonging. You step inside already counting the minutes until you see him again, secure in the knowledge that what you have is once-in-a-lifetime. Tonight has not only brought you closer but has also cemented a future you are both eager to build together. One beautiful day at a time.

Permanent Taglist (Message me or comment below if you want to be added!) : @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @kenn-spencerswifey @guacam011y @illisea @hiireadstuff @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @hollyplake

[liyawritesss]

ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴀᴋᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ꜱᴡᴏᴏɴ

-> synopsis: What are some actions that make the batboys swoon, their hearts stop, and have them softening like butter in your hands?

         -> characters: bruce wayne, dick grayson, jason todd, tim drake, damian wayne, duke thomas

-> from: dc’s batman

         -> contains: nothing but some tooth-rotting fluff because we need it lol.

-> a/n: It all started with Bruce, I blame him! They all need some comfort to be honest, and these little mini-scenarios are the result of that. wanted to put something soft and sweet on the dash for this holiday season!

         -> join my taglist!

-> tags: @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @niyahwrites @marsfunzon22 @briology @asensitivecookie @moon-bo-young @flo-milli-shit-hoe @babyboiboyega @romiantic

TOUCH THEIR CHEST. It is probably the single most domestic act you can do to them. When they’re rushing or moving too fast, thoughts running a mile a minute, pause them for a moment. Bring them back to center, focus their attention on you. Tell them to breathe, to close their eyes and take a moment to still themselves. You’re not going anywhere. Tell them that no matter what, they’re doing great, and that if it gets too much, just remember that at the end of every day, they have you to come home to, and every morning you’ll be there to wake up with them in the morning. Then, fix up their clothes and send them on their way to tackle the city they’ve dedicated themselves to serve.

->BRUCE WAYNE, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson

HOLD THEIR FACE IN YOUR HANDS. Focus their attention on you. Shoo away their thoughts and racing mind, bring them down back to earth. Hold their gaze for a moment, and let them see all the love and passion and care you hold for them. This is their safe space, in your arms, in your hands, feeling the softness of your skin surrounding them and the smell of your perfume. Run your thumbs along their cheekbones and let your fingertips tease the ends of their hair. Tell them how handsome they are, how much you love them, and let them drown in your sweet affection; they need it more than you’ll ever know.

->JASON TODD, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne

CARESS THE BACK OF THEIR NECK. Let your fingers trace the skin at their nape, tangle your fingers in the curls of their hair. Let them lean back into your touch, cup the back of their heads, and let them fall into the peaceful surrender that is your protection. Your fresh set tracing along the edge of their hairline, giving them that blissful shiver that makes them bite their bottom lip in relief, that shoots through their body so refreshingly that their eyes close and they relish in the feeling. Gaze at them like they’re the only person in the world, and feel the way they relax and surrender themselves to you.

->DUKE THOMAS, DICK GRAYSON, Tim Drake

[luvergirl-535]

something like love

part - 7

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

word count - 10.7k

c/w - language, drinking/smoking, smut

a/n - took me five days but here’s your long chapter!! i really hope this lives up to your expectations! as always lmk how u feel and live react plsss!!! (also, this is completely unedited and i wrote parts while high. as usual. i will come back to edit later 🙂‍↕️)

There are a lot of things you can learn about somebody in ten years. There are the basics, of course: Their favorite color, and whether it changes every few weeks. Their middle name, and whether they like it. Their childhood stuffed animal, and whether they keep it hidden in a closet.

Then, as you go from knowing each other for one month to one year, and one year to five, you learn other things. You learn about their relationship with intimacy. You learn about why they occasionally stare into space for minutes on end, mind somewhere far away even though they make such an effort to stay close to you. You learn how to ask the right questions in order to crack their shell just enough that they open up to you without breaking.

Azzi knows Paige like she’s a fact—solid, unchallengeable, honest.

But this morning, she doesn’t understand a single thing about her. And that’s not for lack of trying.

After their perfect day turned weird yesterday, Azzi had woken up on high alert. She’s so used to Paige being an open book that it makes her endlessly uneasy when she does strange, mysterious things like creating an ocean between them while they’re sleeping in the same bed.

Naturally, being hopelessly in love with Paige has gotten Azzi used to watching her. Analyzing her. Prodding her and testing her reactions.

So when they first woke up, she watched: Paige, naturally, was still sleeping. She had subconsciously moved toward Azzi in her sleep, but not by much. Her lips were pink and slightly parted, cheeks flushed with sleep, back rising and falling softly. The bedroom window was open in an attempt to fight off the summer heat, and birds were singing outside, waking with the sun—which rose in gentle orange and pink hues, shining through the sheer curtains, painting Paige’s skin and hair pastel. In that moment, Azzi really couldn’t blame herself for falling in love with her.

After Paige woke up, while they methodically went about their morning routines, she analyzed: the first thing she noticed was the silence; unusual, unsettling, and oh-so loud. Paige was never a morning person but she was a chatterbox through and through—she’d always wake up talking Azzi’s ear off about nonsense, and she’d do it drowsily, but she’d do it nonetheless.

The second thing she noticed was the way Paige refused to look her in the eye. Not even once, not even for a second. There was no sleepy smile when she woke up to find Azzi next to her, no silly faces while the two of them got dressed, no lidded, sleepy eye contact through the mirror while they brushed their teeth side-by-side.

And the third thing: Paige wouldn’t touch her. Not to brush against the small of her back while she moved past her into the bathroom. Not to pull her hair back for her as she did her makeup. Not even to fix her blouse when she mistakenly buttoned it wrong.

Now, the two of them are in the kitchen, alone—Paige’s siblings are still sleeping and her parents are both back at work, which is a blessing, honestly.

It’s time for Azzi to prod.

“Paige,” she says casually, the first thing they’ve said to each other all morning, “can you make me some coffee?”

Paige looks up from where she’d been on her phone, expression almost surprised at having been addressed. She looks as if she’s about to point to herself and say, “Who, me?”

Instead, she glances suspiciously between the coffee machine and where Azzi leans against the counter not four feet away from it. Azzi almost dares her to challenge her, to say something snarky like ‘Why don’t you get your own damn coffee?’

Paige may be acting weird, but Paige is Paige. And things may be changing in ways neither of them wants it to change but she would still do anything for Azzi. So, without a word, she gets up from her barstool and heads to the Keurig, sauntering all cool and level-headed like she’s not acting odd as hell right now.

It’s a little disappointing that Paige still hasn’t spoke, but not surprising. Sometimes she needs some extra help.

“So…” Azzi trails, waiting for Paige’s eyebrow raise and ‘So, what?’ back. It doesn’t come. Paige stares intensely at the coffee machine.

“How’d you sleep?” Azzi finally asks.

Paige starts rifling through the cabinets for a mug while the coffee starts up. Azzi can barely hear it when she says, “Alright,” but it still counts because it’s something. Two whole syllables.

“Any dreams?”

Is she imagining it? Or does Paige stiffen up at that?

No, she’s definitely not imagining it. Because when Paige turns to finally look at her—for the first time this morning, mind you—her eyes are wide and—is that a flush creeping over her cheeks? “Why you askin’ about my dreams? Did I sleep talk or sum’?”

Puzzled, Azzi blinks at her best friend, wondering why idle small talk would get such a reaction out of her. “Um, no? Just asking.”

Paige narrows her eyes at her, but when Azzi just stares back, perplexed, she relaxes and turns away. “Oh. Aight.”

“Well, I had a dream,” Azzi says. “We were characters in South Park.”

On any normal day, this would’ve had Paige interested and on the edge of her seat like that. But today, Paige just hums, kneeling down to pull sugar and vanilla syrup from a drawer.

“And you sounded like Eric and I sounded like Stan.”

Paige straightens up, heading to the fridge. “They sound the same to me.”

Azzi glares holes into the back of her best friend’s head. “And we were playing basketball. But we were all short and stuff, so the ball was, like, as big as we were. I still got a ton of shots on you, obviously.”

Paige turns around with cream in her hand, Azzi flashes a dazzling smile, dimple and all. Paige barely even glances her way.

She’s not even going to argue with that? She’s not going to laugh at the sheer stupidity of that silly dream? She’s not going to fondly roll her eyes at Azzi’s grin?

Azzi’s starting to think something more sinister is going on here. Maybe alien abduction.

“P?” she asks, almost meekly, a last-ditch effort.

Paige merely hums, beginning to make Azzi’s coffee exactly the way she likes it, and that warms her a little bit.

“Hey,” she says, stepping closer, leaning against the counter beside Paige. “You good?”

“Uh-huh,” Paige replies. But her voice is…shaky. Not quite like herself.

Beginning to get a little concerned now—not just for the entire trajectory of their relationship but for her—Azzi lays a hand on her shoulder, gently so as not to spook her, almost like she’s a timid dog. “You sure?”

Azzi studies Paige’s face carefully. She’s gone pale, except for the blush on her cheeks, which is now brilliantly (and adorably) pink.

Paige nods, but Azzi doesn’t buy that one bit, and now she’s wondering whether this is really about yesterday like she’d originally thought. Maybe this whole time she’s been so self-centered to think it was about her. Maybe it’s got nothing to do with her at all.

The thought is so relieving it nearly makes her knees buckle.

Almost gleefully, Azzi reaches up to touch Paige’s forehead, and then her cheeks. “Are you feeling okay? Are you sick?”

“Azzi, I’m fine,” Paige insists, and she sounds so defensive that it has the opposite effect.

Sure of herself now, Azzi wraps her hands around the back of Paige’s neck, pulling her down so her best friend’s forehead is to her cheek—something Katie always did to her and her brothers when they were little. “I dunno, P. You feel kinda warm to me.”

“Shit,” Paige hisses, suddenly yanking herself from Azzi’s grasp, staring down at her hands. Azzi follows her gaze to find Paige has spilled a good amount of cream over the counter.

“Hey, it’s okay—“ Azzi begins, reaching for the roll of paper towels, but Paige holds up a hand to stop her.

“Azzi. For real. Just…listen, I need a sec, okay?” she’s still all wobbly, and her hands are shaking as she brings them up to rub at her jaw, eyes closed.

Surprised, Azzi rears back a few steps, putting distance between them. “P, what…?

“I’m fine,” Paige says, but it sounds like she’s on the verge of tears as she cups her own face with her palms and it goes against every instinct Azzi has but she begins to back away. Slowly, like she’s waiting for Paige to change her mind, for her to reach for Azzi and fall into her arms and tell her what the fuck is going on right now.

She doesn’t. And Azzi can only mutter, “I’ll be in the room,” before she’s out the kitchen, heading up the stairs and clutching at her stomach like she can somehow stop the anxiety boiling deep inside.

————————————————

An hour later, Paige is walking through the bedroom door with a jovial smile on her face.

Azzi startles when her best friend walks into the room, preparing to deal with this mood that seems to have overtaken her, and her jaw very nearly drops when she sees the expression on Paige’s face.

“Hey,” Paige says when she spots Azzi (who has been curled on the bed for the past hour, trying to stave off these new existential crises). “Watcha up to?”

Azzi doesn’t reply. She doesn’t even sit up. She just stares at this scarily bipolar form which has somehow taken the shape of her best friend.

“It’s too hot to be out today,” Paige goes on without waiting for an answer. She kneels down to rifle around in her suitcase. “So I was thinking the movies? Just me and you?”

And then she starts humming. Like, actually humming to herself.

Azzi has absolutely no idea how to approach this situation. She’s almost afraid to even move, as if Paige were a motion-activated bomb—because that’s kind of what it feels like right now.

“Yo,” Paige says at Azzi’s continued silence, standing up with a pair of shoes in hand. “You wanna go or not?”

Azzi wishes she could bask in it—the sudden normalcy, the way Paige is talking to her and looking her in the eye and no longer seeming on the brink of passing out. But it’s such a stark difference from this morning that all Azzi can do is wonder what happened in the past hour to cause such a severe change.

“Azzi,” Paige urges, and for some reason that’s what gets Azzi moving.

She sits up straight, staring Paige dead in the eye when she asks, “What is up with you?”

Paige doesn’t get defensive, and that tells her everything she needs to know. “Nothin’. Just wanna go watch a movie.”

Azzi doesn’t return her friend’s charming smile. “Don’t play, Paige.”

Paige has the audacity to look confused. “Huh?”

If she’s going to play dumb, that leaves Azzi no choice but to be direct. “I’m just wondering why you were acting bitchy to me all morning and now you’re walking in here, acting like nothing happened?”

“Oh, that,” Paige replies, but there’s nothing convincing about her clueless act. It’s obvious in the way she averts her eyes, crosses her arms. “I just didn’t feel good, like you said. But I took some medicine, so we’re up.”

“Uh-huh,” Azzi replies.

“Yeah.”

“So, you didn’t feel good. That’s it.”

“Yep,” Paige replies cheerfully, kneeling down to start putting her shoes on.

“And that’s why you couldn’t touch me, or talk to me. Or even, like, look at me.”

Paige stares down at her feet, fiddling with the laces, tying them slowly to put off the inevitable moment she’ll have to stand back up again. “I dunno. Didn’t notice I was doing that.”

“Paige,” Azzi says, and Paige must sense that she’s really serious now because she looks up, watching her swing her legs over the edge of the bed. “Please, just talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Paige replies simply, standing with one shoe untied to sit by Azzi on the bed.

Her detachment, her false answers and carelessness, are so frustrating it almost makes Azzi want to cry. “If you’re mad at me about—what I said yesterday, at the lake, then just tell me. I don’t want things to be weird between us just because we’re not talking—“

“Whoa, hey, slow down,” Paige says, and the hand she places on Azzi’s knee is so comforting she really could cry at this point. “I’m not mad at you. Did you think that this whole time?”

“Obviously.” Azzi widens her eyes at her emphatically. “What else was I supposed to think, when you were acting all weird towards me?”

Paige frowns at that, looking genuinely troubled at the notion of Azzi’s internal conflict. “I’m not mad at you, ma, for real. I just—“ she sighs, taking her hand off Azzi’s knee to run over her face. “I couldn’t really sleep last night, my mind was going like a hundred miles per minute for some reason.”

“About what?” Azzi asks.

There’s that same reaction from earlier—the stiffness and the blush. Like she’s embarrassed, or maybe even guilty?

Seriously, what is that about?

“Oh, nothing,” Paige replies airily, waving her off despite her mildly visceral reaction to the question. “Just a buncha stuff. And then, well…” she trails off, glancing at Azzi to see if she’ll be able to get away with it. She’s met with a stern glare that clearly says don’t you dare close up on me again, and sighs before continuing. “I’ll be real, I did have some dreams last night, once I finally fell asleep. And they were—they kept waking me up, but every time I fell back asleep they’d just come back again.”

“Like, scary dreams?” Azzi asks, brows furrowed. Paige has occasionally had nightmares while they were together, but they always have her jerking around or talking in her sleep so much that it wakes Azzi, who will wake her best friend and speak softly to her of good, happy things in order to lull her back to sleep. It’s never affected Paige so badly that she was a completely different person when she woke up.

Azzi watches Paige’s throat bob as she swallows thickly before saying, “Something like that.”

Azzi doesn’t reply. She doesn’t really know how to—doesn’t know where she stands right now, in this weird, unfamiliar territory they’ve stepped into.

Paige speaks for her, never good with lingering silences. “Hey, uh, a few of my cousins up here—they’re around our age, and they’re gonna be throwing this big party tomorrow. They invited us to go.”

Azzi hesitates. “They invited both of us?”

“They wanna meet you. Since you’re my…”

“Girlfriend,” Azzi finishes.

Paige nods slowly. “Right.”

“And you really wanna go? With me?” Azzi asks.

Paige scoots a little closer, lays her hand palm-up on Azzi’s leg. When Azzi takes it, instinctually, it’s like finding her footing again. “Don’t wanna go anywhere without you.”

One of these days, Azzi will learn her lesson. One of these days, she’ll straighten her spine and figure out how to tell Paige no, how to say what she really wants to say.

Today, though, is just like any other. That is to say, Azzi falls for pretty blue eyes and prettier words, and says what she knows Paige wants to hear: “Okay. Why not?”

Paige grins at her, and Azzi almost forgets this whole strange morning, their little argument yesterday, the kiss that preceded it.

Key word: Almost.

Because there’s this sinking feeling in her stomach that won’t quite let her forget.

————————————————

Getting ready for this party is turning out to be absolute hell.

“Azzi, just get ready at the hotel.”

“No, Paige.”

Paige sighs dramatically. While Azzi has spent the past thirty minutes stressing, carefully picking an outfit that will be cute, reasonable for the weather, and won’t wrinkle during the two-hour car ride to the next town over, Paige has been sitting peacefully on the bed, making unhelpful comments and showing Azzi TikToks every two minutes.

“At least do your makeup there. It’ll sweat off during the car ride.”

“I have a good setting spray.”

“Azziii, for real, I wanna get on the road,” Paige says, practically whining at this point.

Sighing, Azzi shakes her head, knowing she’s going to lose this argument no matter what. “Okay, fine. But still—my outfit.”

Paige, apparently deciding to be helpful, rolls off the bed and sits beside Azzi by her suitcase. “You got so many outfits to choose from.”

“None of them are working.”

“Just wear basketball shorts like me.”

Unfortunately, Azzi isn’t sure she’s masc enough to get away with basketball shorts, a sports bra, and an oversized button-up quite like Paige can. But Paige wouldn’t understand that.

“What about these jeans?” Azzi asks instead of answering Paige’s suggestion.

“Nah,” Paige says, “it’s s’posed to be hot tonight. Wear shorts.”

“Okay…” digging around, Azzi finds a little pair of shorts she isn’t really sure why she brought—she could never wear them around Paige’s family. With all the rips in the front, and the way it hugs her ass, it’s not exactly family-friendly. But for a party…

Spotting the way Azzi’s hand is lingering over the shorts, Paige grabs them up and holds them in front of her. She appraises them for a moment before putting them in Azzi’s lap. “These.”

“You think?” Azzi hesitates.

“Yup,” Paige replies simply. “Think they’re cute. And you won’t overheat.”

With some more help from Paige, Azzi finally ends up in an outfit that the two of them have deemed suitable for the occasion.

(“Are you sure it’s not too…slutty?” Azzi had asked, looking at herself in the mirror—Paige came up behind her and brushed her hands over her waist and said, “Nah, looks perfect on you,” and Azzi’s decision was made.)

Now, an hour later, only halfway through their mini road trip, Azzi highly regrets the tiny shorts and tinier top.

From the driver’s seat, Paige side-eyes her and smirks when she sees her wriggling around for the millionth time, trying to get comfortable. “You all good?”

“These are up my butt,” Azzi complains, pulling at the hem of her shorts.

“So I’ve heard.”

“Paige!” Azzi’s top begins to slip and she yanks it up, frustrated. “This is uncomfortable.”

“I told you to get ready at the hotel.”

Azzi should’ve been prepared for the I told you so, but it still makes her mad and she crosses her arms, staring out the window with what she’s sure is a mean pout.

Paige reaches over to tug on one of Azzi’s braids. “You sulking over there?”

“No,” Azzi replies, even though she very much is.

There’s a moment of silence, and Azzi is beginning to think Paige is done with the conversation before she says, “Why don’t you just take ‘em off?”

Azzi can’t help but laugh a little at that. “You wish.”

“I’m serious,” Paige replies, and with a quick glance at her side-profile Azzi realizes she’s telling the truth.

“You really want me to strip in your car?” Azzi teases, and before, this is something Paige would’ve laughed at before playfully flirting back. But now, Paige’s eyes widen and dart over to her, and Azzi is maybe not completely teasing.

“Chill,” Paige replies simply, voice betraying nothing even though the blush on her cheeks says otherwise. “Just don’t wanna hear you complaining for the rest of the drive.”

Of course, Azzi is not going to take off her shorts. Things between her and Paige are already weird and, not to mention, she’s wearing a thong. It would be crazy. It would be inappropriate.

But these shorts are really tight. And they still have an hour to go. And maybe Paige would give her The Look, the one Azzi hates and doesn’t understand but is also coming to associate with those charged moments between them, the moments where things shift and change and it seems as if any minute one of them is going to surge forward and—

Slowly, Azzi reaches across herself, and unbuckles her seatbelt.

Paige’s breath hitches. “What’re you doing?”

Azzi hums, and her fingers move to her own stomach, letting them trail down playfully to the button of her jeans, watching Paige’s eyes go from her to the road and back. “Just taking your advice.”

“Oh,” Paige says.

Azzi pulls the zipper down.

The two of them have seen each other in various states of undress countless times before—last year, Paige got so drunk that Azzi even had to help her out of her clothes completely and into the shower. But Paige was laughing and rambling and tripping everywhere and Azzi’s sole focus was on making sure she didn’t slip and crack her head on the shower tiles.

Azzi’s never given herself the opportunity to look the way she really wants to. And she’s been operating under the fact that she would never be looked at the way she wants to be, either.

But now, as she lifts her hips off the seat and wriggles out of these tight little shorts, Paige is looking. She’s looking so hard they might crash.

The shorts slide down her leg, dangle around one of her ankles. Azzi lifts her foot and delicately plucks it off. Tosses it into the backseat.

Paige’s hand twitches on the center console. Fingers splaying wide open like they need something to do.

Azzi has spent practically her whole life giving Paige whatever she wants, because that’s what you do when you’re in love with somebody, isn’t it? And so there’s really no thought to it when she takes Paige’s hand. Nothing tentative in the way she lifts their joint hands, pulls them into her lap. No hesitation when she presses Paige’s palm into her bare thigh.

Paige is staring firmly ahead now. The hand still on the wheel is fisted tight, knuckles bloodless. And when she mutters Azzi’s name, it’s quiet but unmistakable.

For the first time, knowing that Paige can see her in her peripheral vision, Azzi lets herself look. Lets herself study the flutter of her lashes, the slope of her nose, the pink of her lips. Her sharp jawline, her furrowed brows, her neck and collarbones. And then her eyes travel back up to Paige’s, admiring the blue shamelessly as she whispers, “You can touch me, Paige.”

Paige’s throat bobs. Her fingers twitch. And then, slowly but surely, they dance over Azzi’s skin. Azzi gasps softly when they brush the inside of her thigh, and that seems to encourage Paige because her hand travels higher, up to wear her shorts would’ve been covering, tips of her fingers getting so fucking close to where Azzi has wanted her for so long.

And then she stops. Straightens her shoulders and focuses more sternly on the road, but her hand stays firmly put before it squeezes just a little bit.

Azzi’s eyes flutter shut.

They may or may not spend the rest of the car ride just like that.

————————————————

Even before they step inside, Azzi can already tell how bumping this party is. Loud music blasts from behind the front door, and flashing LED lights shine through the curtains on the windows. For the first time, Azzi gets a little nervous—with parties, Paige usually finds some random people to branch off with while Azzi hangs out with whatever team members came with them. Now, with just the two of them, Azzi worries about being left in a corner with a red solo cup and a headache. The thought makes her turn to Paige.

Paige, mid-reach for the doorknob, pauses when she clocks Azzi’s anxious expression. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I just—“ Azzi sighs, then clutches onto Paige’s arm, glancing nervously toward the front door and the party that lurks within. “Don’t leave me tonight, okay?”

Paige smiles softly, and Azzi thinks briefly that friends don’t look at each other this way. “I won’t, ma. Promise.”

And Azzi believes her.

When they finally get inside, Azzj counts on them being able to slip in unnoticed, considering how many people must be crammed into this house. But, to her surprise, they’ve barely even shut the door behind them before the foyer—and the open living room beyond—absolutely erupts. People were laughing and talking and singing before, but now there’s straight-up screaming as young adults crowd around the two of them, whooping and hollering and saying things like “Lil Paigey in da house!”

Paige laughs, waving people off as she reunites with old friends, and the crowd seems to be trying to separate them but Paige wraps her arms firmly around Azzi’s waist and doesn’t let go.

After a minute, the crowd calms down, letting Paige’s cousins come up and give her hugs, the three girls squealing (Azzi doesn’t think she’s ever heard Paige squeal before) as they gush about how much they missed each other and how good they look and Azzi almost misses it when one of them says, “Oh my god, hi! Cousin-in-law!” before she’s the one being attacked with hugs.

“I’m so happy we finally get to meet you!” One of them—Avery, Azzi thinks—says quite loudly in her ear.

The other one—Lauren—squeezes her so hard she almost lifts her off the ground. “You’re so pretty! Look at her, holy shit, you’re so pretty!”

After the initial shock, Azzi can’t help but laugh, the excitement from these two girls nothing if not contagious.

After a few seconds, Paige pulls them off her, gathering her right back into her side once she’s free. “Chill on her, we just got here!”

Standing beside Paige, and in front of these two girls, all three of which have matching smiles, blue eyes, and blonde hair, it’s sort of like seeing triple.

“Sorry, we’re just—we’ve been so excited to meet you,” Avery says, cheeks flushed as she grins warmly at her.

Lauren nods in agreement. “P has been gatekeeping you, for real!”

Azzi grins quizzically up at Paige, who shakes her head, thumb rubbing over Azzi’s waist. “Nah, y’all have her social media. I just didn’t wanna share my pictures of her.”

Azzi rolls her eyes, slapping Paige’s stomach with the back of her hand before turning to her cousins. “It’s really good to meet y’all, too.”

The two girls beam at her before reaching for her, each of them taking a hand and tugging.

Paige holds fast to her waist. “Hey, where y’all tryna take her?”

“Relax, we need to give her a grand tour!” Avery says. Azzi wouldn’t mind leaving Paige’s side just as long as she’s with these two girls, but Paige seems to have other opinions about it, if the way she’s relentlessly holding onto her says anything.

“I can come with you,” Paige protests.

“No, P, how are we gonna tell her your embarrassing stories if you’re around?” Lauren jokes, dramatically rolling her eyes.

Paige holds on even tighter at this, and Azzi sort of feels like the rope in a game of tug o’ war. “No way!”

“Paigeee,” Avery whines.

“Yo, for real, gimme my girlfriend back.”

Azzi nudges Paige with her elbow. “I’m good, P.”

Paige looks down at her incredulously. “What happened to, ‘Paige, don’t leave me, I’m sooo nervous’?” Paige asks, all whiny and flirty as she mocks her.

Azzi frowns. “That’s not how I sound!”

Finally, in her moment of distraction, Avery and Lauren manage to wrench Azzi out of Paige’s iron grip. “We’ll take good care of her, Paigey,” Avery assures, slinging her arm around Azzi’s shoulder. “Don’t even worry.”

Paige glares at the two of them, arm outstretched like she’s hoping Azzi will fall right into her, and she can’t lie, she’s more than tempted to.

But she also wants to hear those embarrassing stories her cousins were talking about.

“Go make her a drink or something,” Lauren calls over her shoulder as they whisk her away. “We’ll bring her back soon!”

Azzi sends a sheepish smile and wave her way, giggling when Paige flips her off. Maybe this night will be fun, after all.

————————————————

The tour only lasts around fifteen minutes, but by the time they’re finished, Azzi is missing Paige desperately. She thinks they may be getting a little too attached, but then, haven’t they always been?

When she finally spots Paige, man-spreading on a couch holding two cups, the relief only lasts for a second because then she notices that she is sitting next to a very pretty girl. A very pretty girl with dark skin and dark hair and a gold, glinting nose ring and a laugh that tinkles all the way across the room, even over the raucous noise.

“Oh, boy, look who found Paige,” Lauren grumbles beside Azzi.

Azzi looks over at her. “Who is that?”

“That’s Amariah,” Avery replies. “She grew up in Paige’s neighborhood.”

Amariah. The name rings a bell somewhere far back in Azzi’s memory.

“She’s had a huge crush on Paige for, like, ever,” Lauren goes on.

“And then, when Paige came up during Spring break in junior year, there was this party and they hooked up,” Avery says, and that’s when it clicks.

Amariah, of course. Azzi remembers the call she’d gotten that night, the way Paige’s cheeks were bright red as she told Azzi the whole story of how she’d slept with some random girl at a party. More than anything, Azzi remembers the jealousy, hot and heavy, that had burned in her stomach, and she remembers the way she’d ended the call early only to get no sleep that night—thinking of Paige with another girl.

“Is that so,” Azzi replies.

“Uh-huh,” Avery says. “I’d go get my girl if I were you.”

That’s exactly what she does.

Smiling gratefully at the two girls, Azzi begins making her way through the crowd, marching to the other end of the living room. Paige doesn’t even notice her walking their way, apparently too engrossed in whatever amazing thing Amariah has to talk about. It’s only when she’s a couple feet away that Paige looks up and sees her, and the way she absolutely beams almost makes up for everything. Almost.

“Hey, Az,” Paige says when she gets close enough to hear. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” Azzi replies, unable to keep from smiling back at her best friend. “That my drink?”

“Uh-huh. Been waiting for you.” Paige hands Azzi’s drink to her, then pats her lap, and it takes Azzi a moment to realize that Paige wants her to sit there. Her body starts moving before her mind can catch up, sitting herself sideways on Paige’s lap, skin heating up when Paige’s arm finds its place around her waist. “My cousins bother you?”

Azzi shakes her head, wrapping an arm around Paige’s neck and looking down at her. Their faces are close, noses practically touching, and she can see every detail of Paige’s features, the makeup gracing her eyes and lips and cheeks. Azzi wants so badly to kiss her, and Paige looks like she might be leaning in…

A cough. Loud and intrusive, and it’s not even really a cough—it’s an “Ahem.”

Paige, apparently remembering herself, tears her eyes away from Azzi’s to look over at Amariah. “Oh, my bad, I forgot y’all have never met.”

“We haven’t,” Amariah says, not so much smiling as she is baring her teeth. “Who’s this, Paigey?”

“I’m Azzi,” she says before Paige can introduce her.

“You play at UConn, too, right?” Amariah asks, and Paige and Azzi both nod. “Didn’t know you were comin’ up with P this summer.”

It’s likely been at least a year since Paige saw this girl, and yet she’s calling her Paigey and P like they’re best friends. It makes her tug on Paige’s neck, pulling her head closer almost protectively.

“Couldn’t leave her,” Paige says, and this time, when Azzi looks down at her, Paige does kiss her. Just a peck on the lips, but it makes Azzi take two large swigs from what tastes like the straight vodka in her cup. “Right, baby?”

“Mm,” Azzi hums around the alcohol in her mouth.

“Cool,” Amariah says in a tone that implies she deems nothing about this cool. And even with Azzi so obviously laying her claim, and Paige so obviously all dopey for her, she still has the audacity to scoot a little closer, brushing her hand flirtatiously against Paige’s shoulder. “So, where were we? You were about to tell me that story, from school?”

“Oh, uh,” Paige gives Azzi one last long look before turning back to Amariah, “yeah. Yeah, sorry, lemme try to remember…”

She knows it’s silly, but Azzi is furious. At Amariah, for thinking she has even the slightest chance with Paige, and at Paige, for talking to this girl when she has Azzi literally in her lap.

Azzi finishes off the vodka in her cup, letting it burn her throat and warm her belly. And then, instead of asking Paige to set it on the side table for her, she shifts, swinging her leg over Paige’s and sitting up on her knees so that she’s straddling her, and she barely catches Paige’s shocked expression before she’s leaning over and setting her cup down.

“You finished with that, babe?” she asks Paige, and Paige nods wordlessly, handing Azzi her empty cup. When Azzi leans over again, she knows her tits are fully in Paige’s face.

With both their hands free, Azzi settles back down, sitting fully on Paige, arms around her shoulders. Paige smiles a little wide-eyed up at her, hands resting low on her hips. But then she turns right back to Amariah and continues her story.

What the hell?

Azzi watches Paige’s side profile as she speaks, looking at her just like she looked at her in the car earlier—and the thought of the car, the heat between Azzi’s legs and Paige’s fingers so close to her, possesses her to lean forward and press her lips to Paige’s cheek.

Paige doesn’t respond, doesn’t even falter in her story-telling, but her thumbs start rubbing circles on Azzi’s hips.

So, Azzi kisses her again. And then again higher on her cheekbone, then to the spot beside her ear, and now she’s sort of just trailing slow, sensual kisses across Paige’s jawline, completely unsure how she got here but not about to stop anytime soon.

Paige’s hands slide to the small of her back, clasping behind her like she’s holding her in place. Azzi moves Paige’s hair—which is down, and Azzi loves when Paige wears her hair down—out of the way before placing a tentative, soft kiss on her neck.

Finally, Paige falters. Just a little, probably not even noticeable to Amariah—who is glaring daggers into the side of Azzi’s head, where she’s buried in Paige’s neck.

Gaining confidence from the way Paige’s hands begin rubbing her back, Azzi trails a hot path down the column of her throat and back up, practically licking her way up to Paige’s earlobe before she sucks on it, letting out the quietest, breathiest moan into Paige’s ear.

Paige gasps, but she doesn’t stop telling her stupid fucking story.

Her hands, however, find their way to Azzi’s ass.

Pleased with herself, Azzi takes Paige’s button-up and pushes it off her left shoulder, giving her so much access. She’s on a roll now, and Paige’s hands on her ass feel so good, voice lulling so nicely in her ears even though it’s another girl she’s talking to.

It’s practically feverish, the way she latches onto Paige’s shoulder. Scrapes her teeth against it, bites it, and then sucks. Hard.

Paige stiffens, squeezes her ass.

Azzi doesn’t pull away for what must be an entire minute. And when she does, she opens her eyes, studies the bright-red mark like she’s an artist and this is the best piece of her life. She knows that’ll be purple by tomorrow, and she’s too tipsy to care.

She goes back in and soothes her tongue over the spot, tasting the salt and perfume on Paige’s skin—god, how long has she wanted to taste Paige, just like this? Since she was fourteen? And now she’s finally doing it, and maybe she should suck another hickey into her neck, just for good measure, just to show this bitch Amariah who Paige really belongs to—

“Az,” Paige says into her ear.

Azzi shoots up, and her voice is raspy when she says, “Yeah?”

It’s then that she takes note of how flushed Paige is, how her chest is heaving with each breath she takes. She looks so good like this. Azzi can’t help but lean forward, nuzzling their noses together.

“Hey,” Paige says softly, squeezing her ass which does horrible things to her mind, “why don’t you get us another drink, mama?”

Azzi pouts at her. She does not want to leave this lap.

“I know,” Paige says even though she didn’t even say anything. “I just…” she leans forward until her mouth is beside Azzi’s ear, “can’t hold it together like this. I need a sec, okay?”

And that knowledge—that she has an affect on Paige—turns her mood right around. “Okay, okay.” Reluctantly, she slides off Paige’s lap, straightening out her shorts. “I’ll be right back.” And, somewhat smugly, she looks at Amariah, who is practically fuming at this point. “You want anything?”

“Nah,” Amariah says through gritted teeth. “I’m all good.”

“‘Kay,” Azzi says happily.

She’s not sure, but she swears she hears Paige say, “Thanks, baby,” on her way out.

Fire spreads low in her belly.

————————————————

Later, they find themselves on the floor, all over each other while a couple other girls sit with them. They’re using the drinks they’ve had as an excuse to be practically in each other’s laps, flirting and giggling like nobody’s business—even if they’re kind of making it everybody else’s business with how many people have clocked them tonight.

“Can y’all stop mating for a couple seconds?” Avery asks good-naturedly, elbowing Azzi.

Reluctantly, the two of them pull away from each other, but Paige’s arm stays slung around Azzi’s hips.

“Okay, y’all know what I wanna do?” says one of the girls. There’s only a handful of them, all circled up and pressed together on the living room floor while people party around them. “I wanna play truth or drink.”

“Fun!” Lauren says. “We should do it.”

“Okay, Paige.” This is another girl—Paige introduced them earlier but Azzi doesn’t remember her name. “What’s your body count?”

Paige glances over at Azzi, then uses her free hand to take a drink from the bottle of Malibu they’ve been sharing.

“You keeping secrets from me?” Azzi teases, not nearly as bothered by this as she would be if she were sober.

Paige purses her lips, moving her head from side to side. “There mighta been a few girls I never told you about.”

Azzi gasps, even though she can’t really bring herself to care about other girls—not when Paige is all over her like this. “You gotta tell me later!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Paige replies, cheeky little smile and all. Azzi wants so badly to kiss her.

“Love to see Paige isn’t in her hoe era anymore.” The last girl—Azzi actually remembers this one’s name, it’s Riley—laughs.

“It’s about time she wifed Azzi,” Lauren says. “With how damn much she talks about her.”

All the girls nod, and the one whose name Azzi can’t remember says, “Can we blame her, though? Look at her.”

And then they’re all turning to Azzi, cooing and giggling about how pretty she is and about how ‘if Paige didn’t lock you down I would’ve.’

Paige pulls Azzi into her side. “This one’s mine, y’all can get your own!”

Everybody laughs and the game continues. A couple rounds down, when everybody has gotten a chance to both spill secrets and drink a little bit, Azzi gets asked the most personal question thus far, from Avery: “Out of all the people you’ve slept with, who gave the best head?”

Everybody giggles and Azzi is tipsy and not in her right mind so, instead of making something up, she tells the truth, which is, “I’ve actually never gotten head before.”

Everybody stops laughing, looking at her like their jaws might hit the floor. And then Paige is staring at her wide-eyed and she remembers, they’re dating, and she knows enough to know that Paige is an eater, and if the two of them were actually together she’d probably be getting head, like, three times a day.

So she covers it up with a laugh, waving them all off. “I’m kidding. I think you all know the answer to that,” she says, wishing more than anything she were telling the truth.

Paige kisses her cheek. But as somebody else gets asked a question, she’s still got her brows furrowed in Azzi’s direction, and Azzi wonders what she’s thinking so hard about.

For some unknown reason, she can’t wait to get to the hotel tonight.

—————————————————

The two of them don’t actually leave the party until close to one in the morning. They get far too caught up in beer pong, in dancing—in each other.

When they finally get to the hotel, they’re drunk, but not wasted. Thanks to Avery for making them have a glass of water in between each drink.

Of course, Azzi would rather not be wasted. It’s no fun. She loves this light, swaying feeling that comes with being the right amount of drunk.

But with the way Paige has been looking at her all night, she needs to be more inebriated.

It’s only a couple minutes since they arrived at their hotel room and Paige seems to be thinking the same thing. After she takes off her shoes, she flops face-first onto the bed and says, “Wanna be more drunk right now.”

Azzi giggles, walking towards her best friend and sitting cross-legged next to her. “Me too.”

Paige lifts her head. “Think they have champagne in here or sum’?”

Azzi shakes her head.

Paige sits up and makes to get off the bed. “Nah, I’m sure they do—“

Azzi grabs Paige’s wrist. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she says, pulling Paige to sit beside her. “I just mean…we don’t need to drink more.”

Paige sighs dramatically. “Yeah, I guess you’re probably right.”

“No, silly.” Azzi giggles again. She is so in love with her, cluelessness and all. “I mean…” she reaches into her pocket. And then she pulls out the joint Lauren gifted her earlier. Pre-rolled and everything.

Paige’s eyes light up. “Did you…” she laughs, “steal that?”

“No!” Azzi replies, whacking Paige on the arm. “Nah, your cousin gave it to me. She’s so sweet, huh?”

“Uh-huh,” Paige says, rolling off the bed and rummaging through her overnight bag.

Azzi lays back against the sheets. “Paigey?”

“Yeah?”

“What’re you doing down there?”

“Nothin’, mama, just tryna find—yes!” Paige stands and Azzi leans up on her elbows to watch her get back into bed. She’s holding something square and bright purple in one hand as she crawls rather seductively toward Azzi. “Lighter,” she explains when she gets close.

Azzi smiles widely, excitement bubbling in her belly.

“Hold it up,” Paige instructs, and Azzi does, bringing the joint to her lips, making dangerous eye contact as Paige lights it.

Azzi feels herself relax even before the first puff hits her system. Paige stays close and the smoke blows right into her face, making both of them laugh. Paige stares at her for a moment before saying, “Lemme go open the windows.”

While she’s gone, Azzi takes another two drags, and Paige narrows her eyes as she hops back on the bed. “Aight, slow down. Puff, puff, pass.”

Azzi smiles slyly as she passes the joint, watching Paige smoke it. Paige leans back on her free hand and Azzi lets her eyes rove over her covered shoulders, her sports bra, her stomach.

“Eyes up here,” Paige says, handing it back.

Azzi makes a face, too inebriated to care that she’s been caught.

“You wanna see ‘em?” Paige asks.

Azzi coughs a little on the smoke, “See what?”

Paige raises her eyebrows, then begins undoing her button-up before pushing it off her shoulders. And there, on her left shoulder, are three red marks, already darkening after just a couple hours.

“Huh,” Azzi says, taking another drag, “coulda sworn I only left one.”

Paige snatches the joint back. “Quit hogging this shit!”

“Sorry, sorry.” Azzi would usually roll her eyes, but that would entail taking her gaze from the hickeys on Paige’s skin and she’s not willing to do that for even a second.

“They’re brutal, huh?” Paige asks after two puffs.

Azzi shrugs, leaning up a little more on her elbows when she realizes she’s sliding down. She takes the joint and it hovers near her lips as she says, “I’ve done worse.”

Something flares in Paige’s eyes at that. “To who?”

“Dunno.” When Paige raises her eyebrows, Azzi does it right back, handing the blunt over. “What? You’re not the only one who had a hoe era.”

“Didn’t hear too much about yours,” Paige mumbles, smoking and then giving it back, fumbling for her phone as Azzi takes a puff.

A moment later, R&B starts crooning through the room. “That’s because it’s private, P.”

“Mm-hmm.” The joint is short now as Paige takes it back. “Were you being for real? Earlier?”

Azzi closes her eyes, leaning her head back. “About what?”

“That you’ve never gotten head.”

“Yeah,” Azzi responds. “I was being for real.”

“Hm.” Paige nudges Azzi, and she opens her eyes for another smoke. “Why not?”

“Dunno.”

“There’s no way nobody’s wanted to before.”

“Yeah, it’s not that.” Azzi’s eyes are hooded now as she looks into Paige’s red ones, hands uncoordinated as she hands the blunt back. “I just…I say no, when they offer.”

“Because you don’t want it?”

“Because it’s scary.”

Paige frowns at the joint, which only has a drag left in it now. “What’s scary about it?”

“It’s so…personal.” Azzi shrugs. “I’ve never trusted a stranger enough for that.”

Paige nods, still staring at the blunt. Azzi doesn’t think she’s listening anymore. “That thing almost gone?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Damn.”

“Yeah.” Paige looks at her, then back at the joint. “Here, lay back.”

Azzi grins. “Why?”

“Bro, trust.”

Azzi does. So she lays back, watching as Paige lazily crawls on top of her, straddling her legs.

Azzi’s hands move on their own accord, pressing into Paige’s stomach just to feel the muscle there.

With her free hand, Paige moves her hand to Azzi’s chin. “Open your mouth, mama.”

There’s smoke in the air, pressure between her legs. Azzi squirms to try to relieve it.

“Az,” Paige says, and Azzi’s eyes snap to her at the stern tone. “Open.”

Azzi obeys without hesitating, and she’s too groggy to be surprised when Paige puts her thumb in her mouth, humming a little.

She doesn’t even need to be told before she closes her mouth around it and sucks.

Paige sighs, blunt damn near about to go out as she rocks her hips up against Azzi’s crotch just slightly. “So good for me, hm?”

Azzi nods, trying her best to keep her eyes open as she laves her tongue around Paige’s thumb. They hold eye contact for another moment before Paige remembers the joint and takes the last pull.

Azzi feels a little betrayed, thinking this was just a trick to get the last smoke, but then Paige is leaning down, pulling her thumb out and using it instead to hold her mouth open, before pressing their lips together, shotgunning the smoke directly into Azzi’s lungs.

It’s the easiest drag Azzi’s ever taken.

Azzi is only sort of aware that Paige doesn’t pull away once Azzi inhales. She’s only sort of aware that Paige’s tongue is taking advantage of her open mouth, licking into her for the first time, letting Azzi’s teeth graze over it while they kiss, open-mouthed and sloppy.

Azzi’s heart races when Paige’s hands begin to wander, feeling them go from her throat to her shoulders to her tits, where they hover.

“You good?” Paige mumbles against her. Azzi nods.

Paige squeezes her tits, fisting them up and then brushing her thumbs against her nipples, hard underneath her thin shirt and bra.

“Love your tits,” Paige mumbles, pulling away to kiss down her neck, reminiscent of their moment at the party earlier.

“Yeah?” Azzi breathes.

“Yeah, fuck.” Paige’s breath is hot over Azzi’s neck and she tilts her head to the side, moving her braids out of the way.

“Can’t believe what you pulled tonight,” Paige says, leaning down to nip at Azzi’s shoulders.

“On the couch?” Azzi asks. She can’t help but grin thinking about it.

“You got me all worked up in front of everyone,” Paige’s hands move down to Azzi’s stomach, playing with her belly piercing while she sucks hard at the place she just bit.

“Mm,” Azzi says, closing her eyes and letting the memory, paired with the feeling of Paige’s hands and lips, overtake her. “Couldn’t help it. You were talkin’ to that girl.”

“Yeah, fuck—so needy when you’re jealous, huh?” Paige asks, kissing at Azzi’s cleavage. “That’s so hot.”

“You’re so hot,” Azzi breathes. Under normal circumstances, she’d never boost her best friend’s already huge ego like this. But this is the farthest thing from normal circumstances.

Paige smirks against her skin, the cocky bastard. “Yeah? You think so?”

“Shut up,” Azzi responds, gasping when Paige sucks a mark into the top of her breast.

“This outfit—so fuckin’ slutty,” she says, biting at the sensitive mark she just made.

“You picked it,” Azzi reminds Paige, holding onto her shoulders in an attempt to ground herself.

“I changed my mind. Don’t want anybody to look at you, ever fuckin’ again.”

Azzi laughs breathily at this. “Want me all to yourself?”

Paige lifts her head up to meet her lips again, her arms wrapping around Azzi’s back and arching her off the bed, pulling her close. “You know I do,” she says, pulling back from the kiss to look at Azzi with something like reverence. “All mine.”

Azzi isn’t. All hers, that is. Not really. Not even now. Not knowing that all of this is pretend.

But, maybe Azzi has been all her’s since the day they met. Maybe, years ago, a piece of her heart escaped her own chest and made a home happily in Paige’s, and maybe it will be there forever.

So she nods. “All yours, P.”

Paige smiles so, so big at her, and when they kiss again they’re both giggling, not even really kissing at this point.

“Wait, Paige,” Azzi laughs as Paige’s hand moves to her ass, “what’re we doing?”

“Kissing,” Paige replies.

“Duh, I knew that, genius,” Azzi says, flicking Paige’s forehead, which makes both of them dissolve into giggles again.

“But, seriously,” Azzi continues once she’s gathered herself. “You’re my best friend.”

“And you’re mine,” Paige says, nuzzling their noses together.

“Do you think it’s—like, okay? That we’re doing this?”

Paige licks her lips, pressing another kiss to Azzi’s. “We can say…we’re just practicing. We said we’d practice, remember?”

Azzi nods, remembering that conversation that feels so long ago now. “We did.”

“So, this is us practicing.” Paige kisses her again, “And it has nothing—“ another kiss, “to do with the fact that I love—“ yet another one, “kissing you.”

Azzi laughs, squirming away. “Paige!”

“Hmm,” Paige responds, eyes wandering down Azzi’s body.

“Hey,” Paige says after a moment, “do you trust me?”

Azzi brushes a strand of hair out of Paige’s face before cupping her cheek, smiling when Paige leans into her. “More than anyone.”

“So…” Paige smiles deviously, ducking down to press more kisses into the tops of Azzi’s breasts, “would you let me go down on you?”

Azzi laughs at the pure absurdity of the question. “P, don’t play like that.”

“I’m being so deadass,” Paige says, and when Azzi looks down, Paige is already looking at her. There’s no mirth in her tone, in her eyes.

Azzi’s stomach tumbles. “…Seriously?”

Paige nods.

“You…” Azzi furrows her brows, “want to?”

Paige leans up, kisses her tenderly on the lips. “You have no fucking idea.”

That is new information. New and insane and something she will work through tomorrow, when she’s sober.

Right now, all she can think of is the ache that’s been between her legs all night. And the way Paige could help her with it.

“Please,” Paige mutters against her lips, “wanna make you feel so good, baby.”

Azzi looks at her best friend. Her swollen lips, the hickies on her shoulder, her tousled hair.

And she says, “Okay.”

Paige’s eyes light up, and she wastes no time clarifying. Her hands go straight to Azzi’s top, making quick eye contact and pulling it off when Azzi smiles at her.

“Fuck,” Paige says, staring at Azzi’s tits through her lacy bra.

Azzi watches her with amusement, running her hands through Paige’s hair. “You’re no better than a man.”

“I’m not,” Paige agrees, leaning down to litter kisses over all the newly exposed skin. Feeling her lips over her warm skin is good, but it’s not…enough.

“Paige, can you…”

Paige’s eyes dart up to her, searching her face. “You want me to?”

“Uh-huh.”

Paige’s hands move up from her lower back to her bra clasp, and Azzi lifts slightly off the bed to make it easier. Paige makes quick work of it and then she’s sliding that down her shoulders, throwing it across the room like it’s offended her.

Azzi’s hazy as fuck, high and floaty and carefree, but when Paige looks down at Azzi and stares, everything suddenly feels too scary, too vulnerable. She moves to cover herself up, but Paige catches her wrists, pressing a kiss against each of them, eyes darting back to Azzi’s with a comforting smile. “You okay?”

Azzi nods, then shakes her head, then squeezes her eyes shut, embarrassed. “You’re just—looking at me.”

“I am,” Paige says, and Azzi hates the way she sounds slightly amused. “Az, look at me, for real.”

Reluctantly, Azzi does, and Paige’s eyes are all red and hooded and the smile on her face is dopey and she looks faded as hell, but this is still her best friend. The one who knows her, who sees her—who is seeing her like this, right now—and who still continues to be her best friend.

“I’ll stop looking, if you want,” Paige murmurs, leaning down to brush her lips against Azzi’s ear. “But I don’t think you want that, do you?”

The ache between her legs is nearly painful at this point. Truthfully, Azzi shakes her head.

“You look good, Az,” Paige responds, pulling away and leaning back down to her tits. “So fuckin’ pretty.”

She looks up through her lashes as she leans down and suckles a nipple into her mouth.

Azzi sighs at the first real contact of the night, hands fisting Paige’s hair to pull her impossibly closer, hips bucking up on their own accord.

Paige holds her down, mumbling at her to be patient while she trails kisses over to her other tit, licking around it and flicking her tongue over her nipple before she sucks a mark into the skin just beside it.

“Paige,” Azzi gasps, cradling her best friend’s head close. “Feels so good, oh my God.”

“Yeah?” Paige asks, grazing her teeth over Azzi’s sensitive nipple. Azzi keens, hips fighting against Paige to reach up, looking for any type of friction. It makes her chuckle against Azzi’s skin. “She wants me so bad, huh?”

“Don’t refer to it as she,” Azzi giggles, and Paige laughs, too.

“I’ll say whatever I wanna say,” Paige replies, laughing a bit as her kisses stray further down Azzi’s chest, head bobbing a little to the music in the background while she kisses her languidly.

Azzi smiles down at the top of her head. “This is so crazy.”

“What?” Paige licks around Azzi’s belly piercing, not stopping her when she bucks up this time. “That I’m bouta go down on you?”

Azzi nods, tilting her head back to look at the ceiling. “Yeah. Isn’t it crazy?”

“Uh-huh,” Paige replies, sucking a mark into Azzi’s abs. “Knew I’d do this someday, though.”

Azzi pushes her shoulder playfully. “You did not.”

“Did too.” She smiles devilishly, wiggling her eyebrows while she kisses around the mark she’s made. “You couldn’t resist me if you tried.”

“Shut up,” Azzi says, rolling her eyes.

“Nah,” Paige replies, fingers moving to the button of her jean shorts and fumbling with it. “And you better fix your attitude.”

“What, before you fix it for me?” Azzi asks, lifting her hips to help Paige pull the shorts down.

“Careful,” Paige responds, throwing the shorts somewhere across the room. “Might have to fuck it outta you.”

Azzi nearly whines at the mere thought, and then Paige spreads her legs wide and places open-mouthed kisses on the inside of her thigh, and she really does whine.

Paige bites the soft flesh there, soothing her hands up Azzi’s stomach as she does so.

Azzi’s head falls back once again, because she’s worried if she keeps looking at Paige she’ll come just from this.

“Mm,” Paige hums into her thigh, licking a long stripe up to where she needs her, tongue stopping just shy of her core. “Watchu want, baby? Want me to eat this pussy?”

Azzi’s hips cant up at the words, a breathy moan escaping her lips. “Yes, shit, want you so bad.”

“Know you do,” Paige coos, pressing a kiss to Azzi’s cunt, clothed only in her thong. “So fuckin’ sexy.”

Azzi swears she’s actually floating at this point, levitating off the bed from Paige’s words, her touch, which has gotta be magic.

“Take them—off,” Azzi insists, hands going to the waistband of her panties to do it herself, but Paige stops her.

“I gotchu,” she mutters, kissing down her legs while she pulls the thong down Azzi’s leg, and it soon joins the rest of her clothes on the hotel room floor.

She sits back on her knees, hands rubbing Azzi’s thighs as she admires her, all spread out just for Paige.

And then she bends down and presses the flat of her tongue against Azzi’s dripping cunt.

“Fuck!” Azzi cries out, the sensation against her pussy unfamiliar and sort of odd and so, so good.

Paige licks up her one more time, gathering her wetness before she separates her folds with her fingers and sucks her clit into her mouth, eliciting a surprised gasp from Azzi.

“Good?” she mumbles, pulling back just enough to look up at her.

Azzi nods, pushing her head down urgently. “Uh-huh, just keep going, baby.”

Paige smirks, looping her arms around Azzi’s thighs and pulling her closer, Azzi gasping as she’s jerked forward. She gets back to it, kitten-licking Azzi’s cunt, eyes closed as she tastes her, and then she opens them and groans. “Fuck, Az. Such a pretty fucking pussy.”

A flush settles over Azzi’s entire body at the words, goosebumps popping up over her bare skin even though she’s the farthest thing from cold.

Paige lays one of her hands flat against Azzi’s pelvis, reaching down and using her pointer finger and thumb to keep her spread open while she places filthy, open-mouthed kisses over her cunt, tongue dipping into her like it did her mouth while they were making out. Azzi props herself up on her elbows, chest heaving, wanting to watch. Paige opens her eyes and catches sight of her—hair tossed over one shoulder, tits rising and falling, abs clenching against the pleasure in her core—and groans, sending vibrations straight through Azzi’s pussy.

Paige’s eyes stay open, all hooded and sexy, as she moves her head down and finally dips her tongue inside Azzi’s entrance, pulling a high-pitched whine from her.

Something flashes in Paige’s eyes and Azzi isn’t really sure what happens, but the next thing she knows Paige is burying her entire face in her cunt, tongue fucking up inside of her so good, and Azzi’s head falls back as she lets out a moan that’s downright pornographic. “Oh, feels so good—gonna come, ‘m so close.”

Paige only nods, doubling her efforts and moving her head back and forth, pulling her tongue out to lick repeatedly from her hole to her clit, creating a rhythm that’s absolutely deadly, and then Azzi’s legs are shaking violently, thighs clamping around Paige’s head, and Paige sucks her clit into her mouth and shakes her head, and Azzi practically screams Paige’s name as she comes hard.

Paige eats her through it, slowing down but not stopping, Azzi falling back against the sheets, unable to hold herself up anymore.

“Fuck,” Paige mumbles into her pussy, and when Azzi tilts her head she finds Paige’s mouth and chin shiny with her own slick. “So pretty, mama. Look at you,” she kisses against Azzi’s hole, “comin’ all over my face like that.”

“Paige,” Azzi sighs, reaching down to push Paige’s head away from her overstimulated cunt. Paige doesn’t budge, kissing up to her twitching clit, causing Azzi to jerk. “Baby, it’s too much.”

Paige’s tongue comes back out, licking delicately at her entrance. “Please, Az. One more.”

Azzi shakes her head, holding onto Paige’s hair, trying to close her thighs. “I can’t.”

“Yeah you can,” Paige murmurs against her, nose nuzzling her clit while she tongues her entrance again. “Be such a good girl for me and take it, huh?”

Paige holds Azzi’s thighs firmly open, and Azzi is already dripping again, so that’s that.

Paige digs back in, slurping at Azzi’s impossibly wet cunt, eating her like she’s a woman starved. Azzi is still so sensitive from the last one and it almost hurts when Paige suckles her clit, but it also makes her whine, hips lifting off the bed to hump against Paige’s face.

Paige moans into her, teeth grazing ever-so-slightly against her engorged clit, and that does it—with a weak cry, blonde hair fisted in her hands, Azzi comes for the second time, hips immediately trying to get away as Paige works her through it.

Wiping her face with the back of her hand, Paige crawls back up Azzi’s body, smiling proudly. “Did so good, baby,” she coos, kissing Azzi’s cheek before collapsing next to her, pulling her into her side.

Azzi lets herself be held, tracing her fingers gently over the skin of Paige’s stomach. “You’re good at that.”

���I know, mama,” Paige chuckles.

“Hey…” Azzi presses her hand against Paige’s stomach and lifts herself up so they’re face-to-face, “Paigey, I wanna do you, too.”

Paige stares at her, then shakes her head. “Nah, I’m good, baby.”

“Please?” Azzi pouts. It’s totally unfair that she’s laying here, naked and spent, while Paige is still fully clothed and untouched.

“We gotta go to sleep, it’s getting late,” Paige replies, pulling Azzi back down.

“Why can’t I?” Azzi pries, laying her head on Paige’s chest. “I’d be good, I promise.”

“I know you would,” Paige replies, and she sounds like she means it. “I just…it’s okay. Really.”

Azzi doesn’t argue any more, because Paige is tracing soothing shapes over her back, and slowly but surely she’s being lulled to sleep.

But she does wonder, vaguely, if she will ever get the chance to do this again. And, more pressingly—what this means for them.

—————————————————

The next morning, the first thing Azzi does when she wakes is reach blindly across the bed for something warm and solid and snuggly named Paige.

Her hands fist cold sheets, and her eyes shoot open.

“P?” she calls, listening for sound in the bathroom. No answer.

Azzi looks down at herself, naked and bruised from the waist down.

Fuck. Fuck.

“Paige,” Azzi tries again, rolling out of bed and reaching for her phone. No messages. No note on the bedside table.

Pulling the sheet up to cover herself—even though nobody’s around—she navigates to Paige’s contact and constructs a message:

Hey, where’d you go?

She waits a few minutes for the answer, but when it comes, it’s wholly disappointing:

Went for a run. Be back by eleven.

The period at the end is all too telling.

Paige fucked her last night. And then left her to wake up cold and alone in the morning.

There’s nothing good about this.

@azzibuckets @smiths-fan--13 @ch12334 @makethemhoesmad @the-other-half @rosemariiaa @router2260 @guesswhoitsn @patri-ots87 @unadulteratedcyclepaper @ijustreadignoreme @pazzilover101

also lmk if yall want the songs i listened to while writing *that* scene 😼

[kitchen-spoon]

Steddie where Eddie moves into a small house in a retirement mobile home park. He is the youngest guy there and is pretty handy. All the old ladies in the neighbourhood start to talk about him when he begins to offer his handyman skills to them as well.

One day after finishing up winterizing Mrs. Harrington’s water supply to her trailer she invites Eddie inside for some tea to warm up. Winter hadn’t hit yet but it was already nippy out she told him. Once inside she invites him to come over Sunday night to join her and her friends ‘book club’. At first Eddie politely declines but once she explains to him that its all the old ladies in the neighbourhood sitting around drinking wine, smoking joints, and gossiping he’s in.

Enter Steve who visits his grandma every Sunday for dinner and sometimes stays for her gossip sessions with all the other bitties in the neighbourhood because the snacks are always great. Steve is surprised that week when the door bell rings and a hot long haired pierced man covered in tattoos is standing there instead of another old woman handing him her coat and cane. Steve sputters for a moment but then his grandmother is coming up behind him explaining this is the young man who fixed her water supply for her.

“Well um, thank you for that.” Steve nods awkwardly, watching over his shoulder as his grandmother waddled away back to her friends. “You didn’t have to come though, sorry if she twisted your arm about it, she’s stubborn.” He rubbed at the back of his neck with a small chuckle.

“It’s okay I really don’t mind.” Eddie smiled easily, inching his way into the house and Steve’s personal space. “Smoking weed with a bunch of old ladies and gossiping about my new neighbours sounds like a great way for me to spend my Sunday.” He winked.

“I- yeah it is pretty fun.” Steve agreed having not moved at all. “The snacks are always great too, you’ll have to try Betty’s blondie cake it’s always my favourite.” Steve leaned in to whisper conspiratorially.

Eddie beamed back at him, eyes roving all over Steve’s face before pausing at his lips for a second then darting back up to his eyes. “Lead the way then big boy.” Eddie bit his lip at how red Steve’s face got, he decided to push it slipping his hand into Steve’s.

“Yeah- uh sure yeah.” Steve nodded dumbly staring at their connected hands for a moment before snapping out of it and tugging Eddie along. “Everything is set up in the living room, I just got the fire going to so it should be warm.”

By the end of the night Eddie and Steve were melted into one another on a small single seater in the corner of the room. They watched as all the ladies gathered their coats one by one as their husbands came to collect them.

“It’s sweet.” Steve sighed unprompted, his head lolled against Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie made a questioning noise so he continued. “Seeing their husbands come walk them back home at the end of the night. They aren’t annoyed that their wives are giggly and a bit wobbly they are just happy they are happy and want to be there to take care of them.”

“You are a sappy stoner Steve.” Eddie teased, he moved his hand over and dropped it onto Steve’s thigh giving it a squeeze. “Can’t say I blame you though, it is very cute to see.” Eddie sighed before unsticking himself from Steve’s side and making his way to the door himself. “I better get going, no husband to come walk me home”. He blushed at the implication of his own words.

“I’ll be your husband.” Steve blurted then immediately turned red. “I mean- I meant that I uhum-“

“You can walk me home Steve.” Eddie smiled wide and teasingly. He looked his arm through Steve’s and tugged him through the door, waving goodbye to Mrs.Harrington with a promise to be back next week.

The walk was short considering Eddie was only 2 houses down and one across. They kept their arms looped the entire 3 minutes they walked, and once they reached the door Steve still hadn’t let go.

“Well goodnight.” Steve spoke first, ducking his head away. He took a deep breath then looked back to Eddie determination on his face when he spoke. “See you next week?”

Eddie smiled but shook his head, “I was hoping sooner, how does Wednesday sound?” He moved in closer his hand sliding down to Steve’s waist.

“Wednesday is great I love Wednesday.” Steve nodded frantically then cringed. “I mean I don’t actually love all Wednesday’s just this one because we are-“

Eddie cut his rambling off with a kiss. He leaned in and connected their lips, his free hand coming up to cradle the back of Steve’s head.

Steve melted into the kiss, his body going lax in Eddie’s hold, “Thanks for saving me from embarrassing myself further.”

“Anytime sweetheart.”

[choiuikawa]

.ᐟ SUNA HEADCANONS

CONTENT: Suna Rintaro x Reader, Suna HCS, yapping, drunken confessions, drabble, GN reader, time-skip, "what are we" type of trope

WARNING: might be OOC, non prof read, bad writing

AN: was crying over my dog cus he had surgery but i gotta thug it out 🥲

.ᐟ.ᐟ

• I know he's a millennial, but I like to think that he has gen Z humor. So he'd definitely be the type to have gen Z humor.

• his jokes are updated with every single brainrot that comes out of social media every now and then, for example "stop the edge and start looksmaxxing." (you say something worse right after.)

• I can imagine him having 2 or 3 tattoos, and one of those tattoos is definitely your name.

• HIS TEXTS ARE THE DEFINITION OF SARCASTIC.

• he randomly flexes his biceps in front of you just to see how you would react.

• he could be the type to wrap his arms around your waist from behind and start to slowly kiss your neck.

• this man is full of surprises. A second ago you were just cuddling and suddenly it becomes a full blown make-out session.

• before you were dating, you made it painfully obvious that you liked him but he didn't confess until you confess. (he liked you back, but he just wanted to see how long you could hold up)

• if you started to lose feelings just because you think that he just sees you as a friend, he starts to panic and immediately starts finding a way to fix the gap between the both of you.

• In the end you confessed first, although you were quite tipsy at the time. You just started rambling about how much you liked him.

"did anyone tell ya that yer quite the cute guy?"

"no.."

"well, yer cute thats fo'sho."

"yer drunk. You don't know what yer talking about."

"yes I do.. I like everythin' about ya. Starting from yer personality, humor, unique, funny, understanding and.. and-"

"Do ya mean that?"

"hell yes. I would give you my life if it mean't bein' whiddya. But, you jus see me as one of yer friends. hurts, doesn't it?" tears formed in your eyes while muttering the last sentence.

"no.. no, I— I don't see you as a friend."

"what do you see me as then? tell me please.. if ya tell me I'll move on I s- *hic* -swear.."

"I didn't finish yet, I don't want you to move on and I don't want you to ever think that I see you as a friend, I see you more than that.. please, let me explain m'self, I love you with every single fiber of my body, I love you so much to the point that I can't see my life without you in it. Your presence is so much more to me, I don't see you as my friend, I see you as my world."

• You have never tried kissing anyone before however, you don't know what came over your senses but you just immediately crashed your lips onto his sealing the both of your lips in a messy kiss. It was quite loving if i have to say so myself..

• you're both basically ctrl + c and ctrl + v

• he has you as his lock screen AND home screen no doubt.

• he would send you cheesy texts and pictures of himself just to update you that he's still there LMAO

• he definitely would be the person to own a pet snake

• his favorite color is (ur fav color) because its your favorite color.

• if you were to commit a crime he'd take cover for you and would also probably take the blame IFHAKFHJAJRA

© @cupidsfavors — DO NOT COPY OR REPOST. Reblogs are appreciated!

[konigofmyheart]

long way down ᥫ᭡ pt 4 (end)

MDNI!!!

part 1 ᥫ᭡ part 2 ᥫ᭡ part 3

you took the long way down, but you’ve found love with könig…

(virgin fem!reader, implied age gap: reader is mid 20’s, reader’s ex is drunk + reckless, mentions of blood and light injuries; he gets dealt with then SMUT)

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

people always say time slows down in intense situations, and you can definitely attest to that now. your breath catches in your throat, your knees grow a bit weak as stevens takes another step towards you. he’s drunk off his ass, you can tell by the way he stumbles before you even catch the glint of the beer bottle in his hand. the world narrows to this single alley, the sound of the crowds fading away as you foolishly hope against hope he won't even notice you, that he’ll just throw up in this random alley and carry on to the base, but-

“it’s all your fault”, he hiccups, bleary eyes fighting to focus on you as he takes another step forward.

you open your mouth to… what? respond? warn him away? it doesn't matter because not a sound even comes out. it’s like the night air that refreshed you so nicely mere minutes ago has now stolen your voice. it helps that he’s always been able to talk at you, not needing a response before rambling on. 

“do you see how i am? …because of you. i’m like this because of you and that-” he mumbles something unintelligible, bracing a hand on the wall to regain his balance. 

this would usually be the point you run, but run where, exactly? even drunk as he is, you’re sure it’d only be too easy for him to catch at you and stop your escape. further down the alley isn’t an option either, you see a faded wall closing that end off. it’d be thoroughly trapping yourself if you head deeper in. it comes down to calming him enough so he’ll let his guard down, just enough for you to slip past. 

“you really don’t look okay. are your friends around?” you ask, your voice tight with fear, praying they’re just around the corner and they’ll come collect him.

“those dickheads… they’re just like everyone else. always laughing at me, never staying-”

smart guys. they caught on to what type of person stevens is quicker than you did. it makes sense, their judgement wouldn’t be clouded by any affection for him, no flashes of the boy you grew up with, of the way he sometimes would regret his outbursts, even if his apologies never really fixed anything. 

he’s within arms reach now, the sharp scent of his many drinks stinging your nose. too close for comfort, yet the second you take a step back, he takes one forward. 

“you should head inside, get some water… or i can go get it for you-” just let me out. 

“so you can go running to your man?” he takes a shuddering breath, his bloodshot eyes flaring with anger. “why do you have to do all this shit? why’d you have to bring him in between us?”

okay, now this is familiar. the blaming, the washing his hands of any wrongdoing to act hurt. 

“that has nothing to do with this. just go back to base, you need water, sleep-” just like before, redirect. make it about him, about how worried you are for him, stroke his ego. 

“shut up!” he shouts, tossing the bottle aside. you flinch at the crash of the glass, practically squeaking as he closes in, your back against the wall you admired the stars from, except this time nothing feels like it’ll be okay. 

“baby, come on… i hate seeing that fucker’s hands all over what’s mine” he slurs, his hands snaking around your waist. 

“benjamin, let go.”

he laughs, a short, raspy sound, tilting his head as he looks down at you. “oh, i’m benjamin now? your man makes you call me that? what happened to benji?” he ends with a sing song voice, actual tears welling in his eyes. 

he’s fully unwell. you’re here, trapped with this unstable guy, the stars just blinking down as if to say they wish they could help, but they’re miles too far. you could cry too, rather you’re the only one here who has the right to cry, but that won’t help a thing. you grit your teeth as he leans closer, burying his nose in your hair, still rambling on about the past, about how good things were, about how you’re such a bitch for moving on. the minute you feel his skin against yours, just his nose brushing against your cheek as he clumsily tries to kiss you, something inside you snaps.  

you shove at him with all your might, wanting him away from you, away from your life, from memory itself-

he snarls- actually snarls like some animal- and then he’s moving quick at you, his entire body tensed for action. 

stiletto’s lessons, her advice and tips run through your mind like a film reel, and before you know it, you’ve landed a punch against stevens’s jaw. it was a clumsy punch, and for a fraction of a second you believe it hurt you more than it hurt him, but when he cups at his face, a look of absolute shock across his features, you know he’s feeling the same throbbing pain you feel in your knuckles. stiletto’s voice rings through your head, reminding you to “strike fast, the moment you stop is the moment you give up your turn”. you sure don’t want to see what he’d do when it’s his turn. the one thing that’s kept him from being a full monster is he’s never physically hurt you, but the unsteady shake to his hands tells you that could change right now if you aren’t quick enough. you’re thanking all the stars for letting you meet stiletto, for having her be so kind as to teach you how to defend yourself, for now you’re elbowing him in the nose, buying yourself time with that blooming pain in his face to strike right under his ribs, knocking the breath from him. 

though he’s been at this longer than you have, it's obvious he never expected you to actually fight back. that was his mistake, his shock and disbelief making him hesitate, giving you the perfect opening. your breath comes in sharp gasps, your own hands shaking as you watch him touch at his upper lip, his fingers coming away shining with his own warm blood. 

something in you wants to curl up now, to hide somewhere- anywhere- but there’s nowhere to go as his face contorts, the blood only adding to the nightmarish effect. at least they won’t be able to say you didn’t go down without a fight, right?

the next seconds seem like a dream, your shuddering breath as you see him launch himself at you again, his arms positioned in preparation to block any attack now, but he doesn’t have to worry about that. you did your part, said your peace, sometimes things just go south like this-

you flinch against the wall as a sudden flash of someone else- könig- intercepts stevens, a grunt leaving the latter as he falls onto his ass on the concrete.

könig looks bigger than he ever has before, drawn up to his full height as he stands in front of you, looking as immovable as a wall. “leave. this is your only warning”, he says, his voice so eerily steady and at odds with the way his hands are shaking, as if it's taking every ounce of his self control to not tear stevens apart. 

you startle as you feel two hands wrap around your shoulders, stiletto now hugging you to her, and you gratefully lean in to her warmth, wishing you could curl up in her arms and forget everything, but stevens’ growl brings you back to this cold, dark alley, to the blood on his face and the ache in your hand-

stevens has always been headstrong, downright stubborn, even when it’s clear his boldness will only yield disastrous results. it doesn’t surprise you one bit when he springs back to his feet and lunges forward again, like he’ll draw könig’s blood, like he won’t end up a mess on the concrete- permanently this time. you blink, and könig has him entirely pinned to the floor, stevens looking like a child compared to könig’s imposing figure- so righteous and solid he could be mistaken for some mythical god. stevens is struggling, all insults and groans, his hands and feet scrabbling at the ground, trying to find purchase to shove könig off, and könig-

könig is so still it’s eerie, his only movement a tilt to his head as he regards stevens, as if he has all the time in the world to weigh his life in his hands. 

stiletto gently takes your hand- the one you landed the first punch with- into hers, her wincing on your behalf as you watch the two men with a numb detachment. “ay, that’s gotta sting, huh, tesoro?” 

könig’s head snaps up at that, his expression instantly softening as it zeros in on you, the tight expression of shock on your face crushing his heart. 

“schatzi-” he begins, his voice so worried and sorry- for what you don’t know- but then horangi is joining this gathering, rubbing at his jaw as he takes in the scene, piecing the story together from your split knuckles to the way könig is pinning stevens to the floor with barely restrained rage. 

years working together make it easy for könig to nod at horangi, horangi giving a terse nod back, communicating silently before he goes to secure stevens as könig shoves off of him, all of könig’s attention now focused on you. 

it's like night and day, the man that was pinning stevens down gone now as he gently takes your hand from stiletto, quietly tutting under his breath, his brows crinkling together under his hood.

“meine liebe- are you- what happened?” he asks, your heart clenching at the way he’s fumbling for words, like it's physically hurting him to see you so scared. 

you manage a shaky “i’m okay”, before stevens protests as horangi pulls him to his feet interrupt. 

“you bitch,” he spits at you, his eyes practically shooting daggers. “you broke my fucking nose.”

“be thankful that’s all that’s broken. were it up to me…” stiletto shoots back with a harsh laugh, her grip on your shoulders tightening. 

könig strokes the back of your hand with his thumb, very carefully avoiding getting his touch too close to your knuckles, his warmth seeping into your hand and over to your very soul. 

“gather your things from base. you’re done,” he says cooly, not even bothering to raise his voice at stevens.

stevens splutters, squirming in horangi’s hold. “what?! you cant-”

“you just assaulted a civilian, and then attempted to assault your superior”, könig cuts in. “i've wanted you gone months ago, yet i tried to be professional. you’ve just given me justification for firing you, nicely wrapped up with witnesses and everything.”

now stevens really loses it, thrashing wildly in horangi’s hold as he curses everything, down to the very stars themselves. 

stiletto kisses the top of your head, giving you a small smile and a “well done, bella” before she's moving to help horangi lead stevens away. 

“we’ll have him off base and banned asap. he won’t bother you anymore, königin,” horangi calls from the entrance of the alley. you nod, even laughing a little as you watch stiletto demonstrate all the ways she would have beaten stevens up as they escort him away. 

“i wish i was as spunky as her” you say quietly, hugging könig’s jacket around yourself, a constant shaking taking over you now that you’re truly spent. könig opens his arms, leaning back a little to give you more than enough space to reject it, to not push you further than you've been pushed tonight, but you gratefully bury yourself against his chest, feeling your heart piece itself back together bit by bit. 

“you did great, schatzi. you did exactly what you should have. i’m so proud of you” he murmurs into your hair, and though it’s must make his back sore to be hunched down like this, you two don’t move for what feels like eons, your watering eyes blurring the stars into a smeared painting as you finally let yourself feel everything that’s happened tonight.

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

“you look like a racoon”, you tease, smiling as you catch sight of könig sitting on the edge of the bed without his mask. his eye black smudged across his eyes really does make him look like one of those fuzzy little guys. 

he watches as you towel your hair off, having showered as soon as you returned to base. 

“do i at least look like a cool racoon?” he asks, his voice soothingly filling the room. 

you nod, draping the now damp towel over the back of a chair as you take his cue- his hand held out, waiting for yours- and walk over to him. you place your hand in his, him quietly tutting again at the sight of your split skin over your knuckles. the smell of aloe fills your nose as he unscrews a little container, scooping some ointment out with a cotton swab before bringing it to your knuckles. könig gently rubs the back of your hand with his thumb when he feels you tense, quietly assuring you it won’t burn, and as always, he speaks the truth. the ointment feels so cooling, soothing the sting of your split knuckles perfectly. 

you smile to yourself as you watch him dutifully wrap a thin bandage around your hand, his hands as steady as if he were performing surgery. he’s always so gentle, so careful, even when he proposed you stay the night at base again, for fear stevens might show at your apartment. he instantly added on that he could stay in horangi’s room after you agreed to his idea, but you grabbed his hand, telling him you’d feel better if he was with you. he quietly shushed you when you said it was silly to still be scared, assuring you it was entirely reasonable considering everything, and that he’d be more than happy to be on guard duty if it made you feel safer. 

it really did, his mere presence helped you relax quicker. you kept your hand in his a little after he finished securing the bandage, debating on whether you should or shouldn’t break the comfortable silence, but you had to say it.

“sorry for going off on my own like that. none of that would have happened if i’d stayed inside with all of you,” you said quietly, feeling a bit guilty that the fun night ended up this way. 

könig gently guided you to meet his eyes, the blue like a slow stream on a summer afternoon. 

“none of what happened was your fault. tell me you understand that, schatzi”, he said, his voice the gentlest you’d ever heard it.

you nod, leaning in to his touch instinctively. his warmth feels like a balm for your very heart, and you can’t help but smile as he shifts his hand to cup your face, cooing a quiet endearment under his breath. the way his thumb strokes your cheek makes you feel so fragile, in the best way possible. like you’re some beautiful, priceless treasure he can’t believe he’s allowed to touch. that’s who he is. someone who’s so noble and caring with those he loves. you’ve been a witness to what a good friend he is, to how he’s never the type to take advantage of a situation even if everything has lined up perfectly for him. you wouldn’t believe someone like him actually existed if it wasn’t for the very real warmth blooming in your chest because of the way he’s looking at you. 

“what is it?” he asks, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he answers your smile with one of his own. 

the worst that could happen already did, didn’t it? what’s there left to lose?

you take a deep breath, shifting on your feet, bracing yourself. 

“the reason i stepped out like that was because i realized this had become real to me… that i wanted you to hold me like that because you wanted to, that i wanted you to call me those names and really mean it, to actually be yours…”

könig hesitates a second, his thumb pausing its steady rhythm on your cheek. 

“schatzi, tonight was very… emotion-packed… you might not mean any of this in the morning-”

“i’m fully aware, but this has nothing to do with what happened. i’ve never meant anything more in my life,” you assure könig, the absolute sincerity in your eyes and voice giving him pause.

time slows again, but this time it’s more than welcome as you two regard each other. he hasn’t given you a verbal response, but könig is sure the look his face is telling you all you need to know. he feels like this is some sick dream, life is dangling the thing he wants most- for someone to see him and still want him- right in front of him, just to snatch it away when he wakes from this fantasy. everyday since knowing you has been a wonderful fantasy, having someone who wants to hear his stories, someone who laughs at his lame jokes, someone who trusts him with her deepest secrets…and somehow wants more? it’s almost too good to be true.

könig’s ever more sure it’s a dream as you take initiative, leaning forward to kiss him. he’d be embarrassed about the sound he makes- like he’s been wounded- if he wasn’t living the best moment of his entire life. your kiss is careful, soft, perfectly fitting the delicate atmosphere. his hands actually shake as the other comes up to cup your face too, könig barely managing to restrain from kissing you the way he’s been wanting to for so long. he could die happy just like this, holding his whole world in his hands, but you did go through something very alarming today, you need rest, time to think everything through properly. könig has half a mind to fight himself as he pulls away from the kiss, your warmth clinging to his lips like it knows it belongs there. 

your face falls a little as you open your eyes, a light blush on your cheeks. “ah, did i read that wrong? i’m so sorry, i shouldn’t have-”   

könig stops you, placing a soft kiss on your forehead before letting his hands fall away from your face, already missing the feeling of your skin against his palms as your apology trails off.

“of course not, schatzi. that was the best kiss of my entire life…i just don’t want to take advantage of tonight. i don’t want you to regret it. how about we talk about it in the morning, when you’ve had time to think?”

you smile at his words, nodding, and then he’s tucking you into bed, telling you he won’t be long. you slowly begin to doze off to the soundtrack of könig’s bedtime routine, the sound of the shower lulling you into a relaxed state. when he joins you in bed, you only have enough energy to reach out and hold his hand before you fall asleep.  

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

your head feels fuzzy when you finally come to the next day, a glance at your phone sending a jolt through you. it’s already well past midday… your disorientation only growing whenyou see könig’s side of the bed already empty, and hear another voice at the door. 

horangi’s quietly telling könig to let him know if you two need anything else, and you hear könig instantly answer. 

“thanks, man, i owe you one…”

“nah, anything for your girl,” horangi teases. “you should eat before it gets cold, though!” he says a bit louder, earning a harsh shushing from könig.  

you tug the covers up to your face, unable to stop the way your face heats at the sound of that. 

könig’s girl…

you could get used to that.

when you pop your head out of the blanket again, you’re greeted with könig’s back as he quietly sets the bag down on his desk, his face lighting up when he turns and sees you awake. 

“guten tag, schatzi… you up for eating? we got your favorite.”

you smile, sitting up in bed and thanking him, you stomach growling to back up your answer. you move to the edge of the bed, laying napkins across the bedspread to catch any crumbs as könig brings the desk chair over, and the two of you eat, könig telling you of his and horangi’s running favor tally. you’re sworn to secrecy about that time horangi got stuck in a vent because of all his gear, könig being the only one on the team able to reach high enough to yank him down, but you two are laughing together, today already a thousand times better than last night. 

you’ve just finished your last bite when horangi’s whispered “hey!” filters through the door. könig playfully groans, finishing up the last bite of his double portion before getting up to answer the door. 

“i’m already awake!” you call out, and horangi now confidently strides into the room, smiling at you. 

“oh good! i’m gonna have to take your man for a little- mission gone south, now they need to make some last minute plans. you don’t mind, right?” 

you shake your head, smiling at the way horangi’s purposely ignoring könig like he’s asking you if he can take your pet out for a bit. 

“go, it’s cleary important. i’ll be fine,” you assure them, and horangi nods at you, plucking up one of the many snacks könig requested for you. to könig’s dismay, it’s his favorite chocolate bar, something horangi clearly knows as he parades it across könig’s view as he makes his way back out. 

“the others are already in the meeting room. let’s go!” he calls, his voice fading as he heads down the hall. 

you set to cleaning, picking up the empty food containers before könig approaches the bed again. 

“leave it, schatzi, please. i’ll pick up when i get back”

“it’ll do me good. it’s relaxing”, you assured him, reaching out to give his hand a squeeze. könig smiles at you, placing a soft kiss on the top of your head, promising to return as soon as he’s no longer needed at the meeting. 

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

you potter around the room, playing music from your phone and smiling at each little könig thing you find. when you change the bed sheets and go to put the dirty ones in the hamper in the corner, you notice a pile of haphazardly folded t-shirts on the clean side. you scoop the pile up, sorting through them on the bed before opening up his closet and finding the hangers. one of the t shirts is so well loved, the design of that old band he likes all cracked and faded on the front, with a list of dates going down the back. figures he’d have gone to that tour, you’d only heard a couple of their songs but they really did fit his vibe so well. you make sure to add those songs to your playlist queue, humming along to them when you move on to the bedside tables, clearing your glass from your side, wiping down the surface, then moving to his side. you clear his glass as well, also picking up a couple snack wrappers from breakfast yesterday, the brands and flavors already filed away in your mind as “könig’s favorites”.

you return two pens and a stack of post its to his desk across the room, opening the drawers to find where they belong. you set them with the others, smiling at the way they’re perfectly organized. he’s pretty tidy overall, he just gets the tiniest bit careless when he’s busy with work- and now you. a flash of pink catches your eyes as you’re about to close the drawer, and you feel your face heat as you recognize the envelope of your letter… it feels like ages since you sent that letter to stevens, a last ditch, misguided effort to get him back, to appease him over something that wasn’t your fault. 

you find yourself laughing a little as you settle on the edge of könig’s bed to reread your words, cringing at just how lost you were. the pictures set your face ablaze, the thought of könig seeing them making butterflies form in your stomach. you knew he’d seen the letter, he told you as much when you first spoke, but you didn’t think he’d keep it. you have half a mind to frame the envelope, to treat it as some magical token, for it led you to könig, someone actually worth the effort and love that you’d been offering to the wrong person. 

it’s funny, but you can’t help but be a little thankful towards stevens. if he hadn’t been such a dick, you wouldn’t know a good thing when you saw it. everyday knowing könig has felt like a dream, his attentiveness, his gentle consideration, his care making you feel like a princess. you finally know what it feels like to be loved, and to truly love him as well. the very thought makes a gentle warmth, like a slowly crackling fire, light in your chest, and you hold it close, practically dancing around the room as you tidy up some more. 

you’re finishing up wiping down the bathroom counter when you hear the door and his voice at the same time, könig’s keys jingling as he hangs them on a little hook on the wall alongside his mask, and shuts the door behind him. 

“schatzi? are you- ah,” he smiles as you poke your head out of the bathroom. 

he looks around the room, taking in every little change your cleaning accomplished, the room finally looking how it does when he has time to focus on putting everything where it belongs. 

“you are magic. everything looks perfect, liebe, thank you,” he says, leaning down to kiss your forehead again.

you hum in response, one of your hands coming up to rest on his arm.

“it’s the least i could do, i’ve been taking up so much of your time, könig. it was very relaxing, actually. how was your meeting?”

“all good, we sorted out a new evac route for the team on the ground. everything’s going smoothly again,” he replies. “but i didn’t come to bore you with my work…how about we go to the cafe for dinner? only if you want to, of course- i can also just make something for us.”

“the cafe sounds great! i’ve been wanting more pie, but…we should talk, no?” you take his hand, leading him to join you in sitting on the edge of the bed. 

you hold up the pink envelope, könig’s eyes widening at the sight, the look on his face matching that of a dog being scolded. 

“so, this letter-”

“i’m so sorry for keeping it, schatzi. i know it wasn’t for me, but i also couldn’t just toss it somewhere and let your number or pictures fall into the wrong hands-”

you smile at his carefulness, the sincerity in his apology making your heart swell.

“let me finish, or i’ll forget the phrasing i practiced!” you giggle, and he visibly relaxes upon realizing you aren’t upset. 

“okay, so- this letter wasn’t originally addressed to you, but i am forever thankful you found it. without this, i wouldn’t have found you. i wouldn’t know how nice it feels to have someone actually care for me, to think about my feelings, to always put me first. i now know what i was living before was a fake fantasy; you taught me what real love is. you taught me that love isn’t walking on eggshells around someone to not upset them, that it’s not putting up with hurtful things for the sake of the other-” you take a breath, emotion making your voice waver a little, and könig reaches out to gently rub your back, giving you the strength you need to continue. “- you are truly the best man i have ever known. i meant it yesterday- the kiss, and that i like you, so much it feels like its gonna make me burst,” you finish, blushing as you force yourself to look könig in the eyes. those butterflies in your stomach now feel like a frenzied swarm, the way your hands tremble matching the way könig’s hands shake as he takes yours. 

for a second, you two just stare at each other, suspended in this dreamlike haze where anything feels possible.

“from the second i read your letter, i fell for you. your very soul was on this page,” könig taps the letter with his free hand, a smile tugging at his lips. “you are unlike anyone i’ve ever known, that’s why i reached out that first time. it was like a voice whispered in my ear that i’d never come across another soul like yours, that i had to secure a connection to you before i lost my chance, and i’m so glad i did. i’m not going to lie, it was… difficult watching you go after him so determinedly, both because of my feelings, and because of who he is, but i just don’t think i can ever say no to you. not with those eyes of yours” he reaches up to cup your face again, and you’re sure he can feel the way your face is burning with each word he says, but he doesn’t let on. “last night- pulling away from your kiss was the hardest thing i’ve done in my life. it’s been on repeat in my head all day, making it damn near impossible for me to even think in the meeting. i’ve never felt this way for anyone, schatzi, i never thought i could- never in my wildest dreams did i imagine i’d love someone as much as i love you, or that the feeling would be reciprocated,” he said, his voice cracking a little as he finished up.

what a picture the two of you must be, both your faces flushed and eyes sparkling with tears at the enormity of your feelings, but any embarrassment has no place here, not with how he’s looking at you like you’re the most precious treasure he’s ever seen. 

this time, he leans in to kiss you, giving you more than enough time to pull away, but why would you do that when you’ve also been replaying the feeling of his lips on yours since last night? this kiss feels like it’s piecing you back together, every brush of your lips against his like a salve to that burning fire in your chest, shaping it until it’s a steady glow, illuminating you from the inside out, stealing your breath as he deepens the kiss, or maybe it’s you, but you two are clutching at each other like your the other’s last hope for life itself. this is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before, now you finally understand what all the books and movies and songs were going on and on about. you’ve gone your whole life craving this, and now that you’ve gotten a taste, you need more. 

you loop your arms behind his neck, pulling him down on top of you as you lay back on the bed. könig, ever so carefully keeps his weight entirely off of you, gently coaxing your mouth open with his tongue. he groans into the kiss as you tangle your fingers in his hair and give a tentative suck to his tongue, and now he’s practically folding into you, his very warm, very firm body enveloping you as he braces his forearms on either side of your head. he pulls away just the slightest from your kiss, the two of you catching your breath as you admire each other, and you wonder if he can somehow sense the fire in your belly, desire stirring awake inside you. 

“könig, i want you.”

“you have me, schatzi, for as long as you wish,” he responds with a light peck to your lips, his eyes practically sparkling as he looks at you. 

“no, i mean… i want you.” 

his eyes widen at your words, at the determination in your voice. he holds himself up on one arm, his free hand coming to smooth your hair away from your face, his fingers brushing against your cheek as his hand shakes a little. 

“liebe… are you sure?” he asks, even his voice is unsteady. 

there’s such softness in his gaze, such love, that you know he’d practically leap across the room if you said no, but he is everything you’ve ever wanted nicely wrapped up in a ribbon the same shade of blue as his eyes.

you respond with a breathless “yes”, the word hanging between this shared space, your breath mixing with his when you reach up to stroke his cheek. he shudders, an expression of such longing and affection on his face when he nuzzles into your touch. each little kiss, from the one he places on your palm to the ones he trails down your arm feel like strokes from a glowing paint brush, like each of his touches will leave a permanent mark.

every single inch of your skin is a masterpiece to him, one he worships with a kiss as he ever so slowly pushes your shirt up. he smiles as you giggle a little with each brush of his lips on your stomach, relishing in the way you’re so relaxed beneath him, trusting him with your very being, something that he will never take lightly. 

you’ve never been more sure of anything in your life than you are right now, each of könig’s touches pleading, asking, and thanking all at the same time, stoking that fire in your belly in the most delicious way. the way könig freezes before uncovering more of you until you nod has you feeling the safest you’ve ever been. it feels like everything’s clicked into place, every sense is heightened in the best way, and you know that life will never be the same after this, this sentiment echoed by the look in his eyes as he takes in the sight of you lying entirely bare on his bed.

könig’s sure he’s died and gone to heaven, he must have, because how else can such a miracle be explained? someone like you loves him, wants him, is looking at him like that… it’s clearly not a dream, though. your pulse beating against his lips as he kissed your neck, your scent flooding his senses, and the way you look now has him feeling like his mind is shutting down. his entire world comes down to just you, to the curve of your breasts, the way your fingers absentmindedly flex on the comforter, to the way your kiss-swollen lips part are all things he wants to commit to memory, to have it permanently emblazoned in his mind, to think of nothing else ever again except you, only you-

your breathless laugh coaxes him back to his senses, your “it’s not fair only you get a show, kö,” coupled with the way you tug at his shirt has him blushing hard. in an instant he’s helping you, tugging his shirt over his head as you paw at his pants, undoing them for him before he pushes them down, baring himself to you body and soul. 

you fare no better than he did in terms of short circuiting at the sight of him. sure, you’d gotten little peeks when he’d lift his shirt in training, or the times he’d emerge from the shower shirtless, but this was a personal display just for you. your eyes greedily trace every dip and curve of his body, the way his muscles twitch as if your stare is actually a touch instead mesmerizes you. he’s covered in scars, reasonably so, this is no easy job, but that just makes you want him more. he’s always seemed bigger than life, and that’s backed up with the sheer size of him. you try not to drool at the sight of his length, the way it droops from its weight despite being entirely hard, the leaking tip matching the slickness between your thighs… you feel not a shred of fear at his size, knowing without a doubt that he’ll do everything to care for you, that he’d never hurt you. you just feel need, need to become one with him, to share your love as you shared your breath after that first kiss-

“i’m sorry about the scars, schatzi… i can leave my shirt on if it makes you feel more comf-” könig‘s breath hitches as you reach out to trace a faded scar slashed over his chest, right where his heart is, and you lean forward and kiss it. 

“you’re beautiful,” you whisper, your eyes practically sparkling as you look up at him. 

könig makes a mental note to write up a list of all the gods he’ll have to thank for you, a boyish grin tugging at his mouth as he guides you to lay back down. he captures your lips in another kiss, pouring all the love he’s kept in these past months, finally getting it off his chest. 

“you are absolutely everything i have ever wanted, meine liebe” he murmurs between the hot, open mouthed kisses he trails from the base of neck down the middle of your chest, pausing to kiss each of your perked nipples before continuing his path to your tummy. 

you instinctively let your thighs fall open at the sensation of his warm breath raising goosebumps on your skin before your mind catches up, your face heating as you realize what he’s about to do.

“oh, you don’t have to-”

he soothes you with a kiss to your inner thigh, his eyes locked onto yours as he settles between your legs. 

“do you want me to, schatzi?” his tone like gasoline to the flame of desire that ignited inside you since you first kissed. 

“...yes. i’ve always wondered what it would feel like,” you admit, unable to lie to him when he’s looking at you with pure devotion like that.

“good girl,” he rewards you with a kiss to the top of your pussy, his smile making you even wetter. “you are to tell me any way i can serve you, any way i can make you feel good and happy. this is a privilege for me, understand?” 

you nod, feeling like your brain is melting out of your ears with the sincerity in his words, in his touch as he licks a slow stripe up your dripping slit, gathering your slick on his tongue. you answer his groan with a whimper, a shiver of pleasure running through your entire body. 

könig’s never been the type to let things slip from between his fingers. everything from targets to promotions are guaranteed his when he sinks his metaphorical teeth in, and this is no different. he wraps his arms around your thighs, holding you spread as he loses himself in your taste, in the angelic moans you bless him with as he laps at your pussy like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, because it is. nothing will ever compare to your taste, he’ll spend every second away from you just wishing he’d be smothered in you like this. könig would be embarrassed at the way he’s groaning, and practically whimpering as he eats you out so desperately, if he’d be able to have any coherent thoughts right now. your hands tangling in his hair must have drained his mind until only you are left, and he sucks on your clit appreciatively, a thanks for realigning his priorities to what truly matters. 

your vocabulary is whittled down to only könig’s name, “yes”, and “more”, your breath hitching on that last one once his determined tongue dips at your entrance while the tip of his crooked nose bumps your clit. you answer his unspoken question with a tug of his hair, bucking your hips to grind against his face, begging him to keep going, the barest worry of being too demanding quickly quashed by the muffled “that’s it, schatzi,” groaned against your pussy by the giant of a man. any response you were considering falls flat on your tongue, replaced by a downright debauched moan as his tongue slips inside you, your slick and his saliva mixing to ease its journey. you could cry at how your fingers will never satisfy you again if you weren’t so occupied with trying to hold on to the last fragment of composure you have left when he begins to slowly thrust his tongue in and out of you, working you open with such heavenly licks until you’re writhing on his bed. 

only your breathy request for more after a moment has könig sliding his tongue out from you, replacing it with his fingers at your entrance, cursing his tongue for not being able to magically expand to fill you up the way you need, the way your clenching entrance betrays. at least his tongue can make itself useful swirling and flicking at your clit as he slowly works a thick finger inside you, his eyes locked onto you, watching for any signs of discomfort, but you just wiggle your hips, moaning so sweetly and welcoming the light stretch as your walls clench around it greedily. 

his own need is a distant, dull throb somewhere against the comforter, instantly having taken a backseat to your comfort and pleasure, to focusing on not overwhelming you as he carefully adds another finger, light little kisses to your clit turning the faint sting to nothing when he pumps them in and out of you, as careful as if he were disarming a bomb. the little glances you reward him with when you look down have his heart clenching, the pure trust and love in your eyes reinforcing that this is what he was made for, caring for you, pleasing you, loving you-

“want another, please,” comes from your lips, your eyes gleaming with determination, with the need to be able to take his length, have him obeying instantly.

he gently adds a third finger, only his tongue moving against your clit until you nod and tug his hair, signaling he can move his hand again, his fingers resuming molding your walls apart with each steady thrust. your eyes widen in surprise, a breathy whine slipping from you when his fingers brush against a special spot inside you that has you seeing stars. 

he raises his eyebrows, his baby blues sparking when you stutter a “t-there, kö- right there” between your moans. 

“of course, schatzi- anything for you- so good, liebe,” his praises sprinkled between insistent sucks to your clit work in tandem with the delicious strokes of his fingers against that sweet spot have your back arching off the bed, reduced to a melted mess, moans of his name slipping from your lips like a chant.

könig could spend the entire rest of his life just like this, hearing you moan his name, watching you use his mouth and fingers, your hips bucking to meet his movements, to get more of his touch, but the need to have you cum all over his face wins out, and he doubles his efforts, groaning at the way you tremble on his bed, a squeaked “i’m gonna cum, kö!” making his mind white out. 

his mouth latches to your pussy, greedily licking up every drop of your nectar as you soak his chin and fingers with your release, the vibration of his groans only prolonging your high. you might have actually seen the light for a minute there, your vision slowly unblurring as you finally open your eyes, whining as you look down at könig practically making out with your pussy, his baby blues rolling back as he licks at your entrance. you release your tight grip on his hair, only to have to tug it again when your breathless whisper of his name falls on deaf ears. he blushes as he reluctantly pulls away from your sensitive pussy, blinking up at you like his mind is buffering. 

the minute you hold your arms out, he’s crawling back up, a little surprised sound leaving him when you tug him in for a kiss again, more panting than anything as the two of you catch your breath, the taste of yourself on his tongue adding fuel to the still simmering desire in your very core. 

“that was amazing, kö,” you laugh breathlessly, gently wiping könig’s face dry as he rests his forehead against yours. 

“you are amazing, schatzi,” he corrects you, pressing another soft kiss to your lips, you pulling back when you feel his hard length brush against your thigh. 

“here, let me-”

he shudders at your delicate touch to his length, his cock twitching in the air as he hovers over you

“liebe, that can wait, rest more-”

you grin at the strangled groan that leaves him when you wrap your soft hand around his length, his eyes rolling back slightly. 

“what was that, kö?” you ask teasingly, your heart clenching at the little whine he replies to you with as he bucks into your touch. 

his precum aids your movements, beads of it slicking his tip as you smear it over his skin. you’re marveling at the heavy warmth that is his length, your fingers feeling out the difference between the thin skin sheathing is cock versus the taut, slippery skin that is his tip, so focused on your exploration you gasp when he suddenly flips the two of you, you now seated on his lap as he leans against his headboard. 

“i’m sorry, schatzi, but i was worried i might smush you,” he bashfully explains, even the tips of his ears pink as he takes in the sight of you on his lap, your pretty hand looking so out of place around his length. he’s always considered it a brutish thing like the rest of him, so big and long, practically bending under its own weight, but the way you look at it, pure want on your face, makes him feel like the luckiest man in the universe. 

könig did say to be upfront about your needs, so-

“can i put it in? please?” you ask softly, biting your lip as you try to wrap your fingers around the girth of his length, your pussy clenching when you see how your fingers don’t meet. 

“of course, schatzi,” he rewards you with a soft kiss, pure reverence in the way he cups your face as if he’d be more than happy just staying like this forever. könig pulls away after a moment, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as you scoot forward on his lap to press your pussy against his hard cock. “it’s yours, all yours, just go slow-” 

you gasp at the same time he groans, his hands shooting to your hips to hold you steady as you tremble from your hasty attempt to sink down on his length. need made you a touch too overeager, so desperate to feel him inside. 

“careful, liebe!” könig gently warns, rubbing soothing circles on your hips with his thumbs, the sensation giving you something else to focus on other than the stretch. “we’ll go slow, okay? i don’t want you getting hurt.” 

you nod quickly, laughing softly at the way you really thought you could take it that easily. 

“sounds like a plan”. you rest your hands on his shoulders, his own holding your hips steady and stopping you from accidentally taking more before you’re ready. “that’s just the tip, isn’t it?” you ask, your voice tight with awe and wonder.

könig can’t help the little smirk that forms on his face as you look up at him when he nods. you curse under your breath, biting your lip as your entrance clenches around the bulbous tip of his thick cock.

“promise you won’t push yourself too far, schatzi,” he says, looking at you expectantly. only once you promise does he relax his arms to free you to sink further down, taking a couple inches more, your breathy moan making him grit his teeth to keep his hips from bucking up. 

it’s slow moving for a moment, something könig is thankful for because it gives him time to exercise his self control, using all the mental exercises he knows to simply admire the way your pulse almost imperceptibly jumps at the base of your neck, the way your breathing steadies after each inch you take, his eyes lingering on the sight of your delicate fingers working your clit after he instructed you to, each little tremble of your body making his heart clench as he helps you hold steady to adjust, cooing an endless stream of praises and sweet nothings at you. 

each “that’s my girl”, “so brave, schatzi”, and “that’s it, almost there, liebe” honeys your ears so wonderfully you’re not surprised at the way your slick drips down his length, easing the stretch until you’re little gasps turn to moans of pleasure, your eyes fluttering as you take yet another inch- your hips finally pressed against his. your fingers slip from your clit down to where you’re joined, feeling how little of him is left outside you. 

“i did it!” you gasp, your eyes sparkling as you look up at him. 

könig looks like he’s trying to keep from passing out, in a good way, but he grins, giving your hips a little squeeze as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “told you you’re amazing, schatzi,” before capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

how people don’t go mad from this, from having someone so close you practically become one, is a mystery to you. the mere thought of going back to being empty has you clenching around his length, and you eagerly swallow his groans when you experimentally roll your hips and nip at könig’s bottom lip at the same time, digging your nails into his shoulders as he shudders. 

“shieße, liebling” his broken moans are music to your ears when you finally pull apart, panting softly as he helps you rise until just the tip of his cock is inside you, before you oh so slowly sink back down, his length nestling inside you, making a home for itself, your walls eagerly welcoming it. 

könig absentmindedly wonders if he’s actually dreaming, if he’s been dreaming since before he met you or hallucinated you whilst in some coma, but the way you moan and clench around his length when he cups one of your tits with his rough hand is clearly real, as is the blush that tints your face as you realize you were a bit too loud there, but the rest of the world can fall away for all he cares. “you sound like an angel, liebe” he groans against your tits before taking one into his mouth, sucking eagerly, making you whimper even louder.

your moaned “harder”, and the way your nails dig into his shoulders, is like an activation code for him, his grip on your hips tightening. he pulls off your nipple with a wet pop, the slick skin prickling in the cool air of the room. before he can even verbalize the question, you’re nodding, lifting off his cock and sinking down quicker than before, showing him you can take it. 

the two of you set a steady rhythm, könig helping you lift up before bringing you back down effortlessly, both because of his strength, and because of how wet you are. you’d blush at the wet, lewd noises filling the room, but that’s the last thing on your mind with the absolute masterpiece in front of you. the way his jaw tenses as he groans each time you sink down, the way his eyes flutter when you clench around his length, even the way the muscles in his arm shift as he bounces you on his cock has you moaning louder. you have half a mind to be worried about becoming addicted to this, but then his tip hits that special spot inside you, and suddenly nothing matters but feeling that again and again. 

könig praises you for each bounce, telling you you’re being so good, so strong, even though he’s the one doing most of the work now, but he doesn’t mind one bit. not when you’re making such pretty noises for him, when you’re looking at him with that fuzzy, dazed expression as you tremble in his hold, when you moan his name louder as his length finds your sweet spot. 

“there, schatzi? does that feel good?” he asks softly, pride in his tone at being able to make you moan like that. he doesn’t let up one bit, purposely angling his hips so his tip relentlessly hits that spot, enjoying the way you answer in a string of “yes”s and “don’t stop”s, as if that thought would ever even cross his mind- 

if cumming on his fingers and tongue felt good, this is going to be a whole other level. you bite your lip, practically slumping forward against him as your pussy spasms around his cock, every fibre of your being narrowing down to that intense building pleasure in your belly, the flames now a wild blaze. könig coos at you, helping you support yourself so he can see the way your pretty face twists with pleasure with each of his insistent thrusts.

“are you going to cum, liebe? you want to cum on my cock?” he asks, his own breath hitching with each flutter of your walls around him. 

“please- i’m gonna-” you cut yourself off with a loud moan of his name, your eyes rolling back in your head as you cum all over his length. your mind has gone static, pure white pleasure blinding you as your juices drip down könig’s cock, his groaned praises reaching your ears as if from a great distance, but he’s got you, just like always, gently moving you up and down his length, prolonging your orgasm as you slowly come down. you blink up at him in a daze, your body trembling as you’re now fully slumped against his chest, könig smiling so lovingly at you. 

“that was beautiful, schatzi, thank you” he murmurs softly, pressing soft little kisses to your sticky temple, his tone reverent. “thank you.”

well he did say bringing you pleasure was a privilege, but- “what about you, kö?” you ask softly, shifting your hips to feel his still very hard cock twitch inside you. you sit up, blushing at the squelch of your juices around his cock, and his hands instantly go to support your still trembling body. 

“i’ll take care of it later, liebe, just lay back down-” he gaps a little as you roll your hips, his cock twitching inside your tight heat. 

“let me make you feel good too. i want to,” you add that last bit on at the same time he went to say something, cutting off his selflessness at the root, your heart clenching at the way he looks at you, like he quite can’t believe you’re really there, really wanting him like this. it’s that thought that reinvigorates you, and you decide to prove it to him, getting back into the rhythm of bouncing on his length, his groans making your still sensitive walls flutter around him. 

“you are always so sweet, so good to me, kö, but you have to understand that i want to do the same for you, okay? will you let me do that?” you say softly, grinding down on his cock to punctuate your words. 

you take his strained whine and the way his length pulses inside you as a yes, his grip on your hips tightening. you place your hands over his, giving him the go-ahead to go faster, to tell him you want him to use you as he lets you use him, and he obliges instantly, ever obedient just for you. you moan as he picks up the pace, his fingers digging into your hips as he holds you up just enough for him to thrust up into your fluttering pussy. you didn’t bargain for another orgasm so quickly, but you can feel that familiar pressure building again, könig’s babbled “thank you”s and “so good”s only fanning that flame. 

your nails dig into his shoulders again as he thrusts up into you relentlessly, your back arching at the way his length has practically molded your walls to the shape of him. you nuzzle into könig’s neck, panting softly as your tits smush up against his chest. his hands shift to grip your ass, using it as leverage to keep up the delicious pace, tightening their grip on your skin when you whisper in his ear. 

“kö, i’m gonna cum again-” 

his pace falters, a strained moan leaving him as he responds “ah, schatzi, i don’t think i can- sheiße- don’t think i can hold it”

it takes your pleasure-addled mind a second to catch up, to turn over what he’s saying before you realize his concern, your breath hitching as he gives a particularly hard thrust up into you. 

“i’m on the pill- it’s okay, you can-” 

in an instant he’s groaning into your hair, thrusting up into you at a pace that makes your very toes curl. 

könig’s moaned “cum for me, liebe,” is all it takes before you’re making a bigger mess on his length, your slick dripping down his length as he spills inside you with a strained shout of your name. 

you two cling to each other, könig’s big hand soothingly rubbing circles on your back as your walls milk his length. you fully lay on his chest now, könig having slumped down the bed when he came, and you stay like this, both panting softly as you come down from your highs with his length slowly softening inside you. you rest your chin on his chest, smiling up at him before placing a little kiss over that same scar on his heart, and he gently cups your face, looking at you like you’ve hung the very stars in the sky. 

könig speaks first, a light blush coloring his cheeks. “i love you, schatzi,” he murmurs as his thumb gently strokes the apple of your cheek, your own face heating in response to the sincerity in his voice, his words burrowing their way right to your heart. there isn’t an ounce of expectation on his face, as if he’d be perfectly content just letting his words slowly settle over the two of you like a warm blanket, but you also must speak your mind. 

“i love you, too, könig. this has been the best day of my life,” you respond with a soft smile, your heart clenching as you wish you could stay like this forever, just you and him, just this quiet love and fullness, and you tell him as much. 

“we’ll stay like this as long as you’d like; we’ll be like this anytime you want.” könig promises, bringing your hand to his mouth and pressing soft kisses to each of your fingers. 

“anytime?” you laugh softly, playfully raising an eyebrow at him. “that’s a big promise, kö”.

“i mean it. your wishes are my commands, liebe,” könig says solemnly, but the way a smile tugs at his lips betrays him, as does the way his length twitches to attention inside you in response to the way your walls clenched around him at the thought.   

you spend the rest of the day exchanging kisses, sappy smiles, and “i love you”s like you have all the time in the world, because you do. now that könig has found you, now that you’ve said you want him, he’s never letting go. he makes a silent vow, pressing his words into your skin with each soft kiss. he’ll be yours forever and always, and even after that. 

the end.

♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

taglist <3: @practicalgauntlet @captain-ofmusic @darkangel4121 @laduenadelswing @galactict3a @nexthyperfix @distinguishedprincesstrash @an0nym0u5au7h0r @venuzdaugther

[boohorns1136439]

Learning to belong ~ poly!MHA x fem!Reader (10)

So it’s been a while, huh? I think the beginning of the year crashed into me like a bulldozer, and I wasn’t in the mood to write. Well, I did write, but everything looked like shit from the butt. But at last, I managed to push through it. I tried something different with the writing here, so I hope it’s better than my previous work. Enjoy!

Tags: Pack! Izuku Midoriya X Bakugo Katsuki X Shoto Todoroki X Kirishima Eijirou ; Pack! X fem!Reader ; Omega!Izuku Midoriya ; Omega!Bakugo Katsuki ; Omega!Shoto Todoroki ; Omega!Kirishima Eijirou ; technically Beta!Reader ; modern Au ; post-UA ; Reader has a quirk ; non hero!Reader ; smut eventually ; fem!Reader ; afab!Reader

09 <- 10 -> 11

Masterlist

Taglist

Izuku truly wished they could put this whole incident behind them and move on. He had hoped that once Todoroki sent an email to the hospital director, a carefully worded, deeply sincere apology addressed to Doctor L/N and the hospital, sent the day after his failed attempt at apologizing in person would lift some of the weight off Todoroki and Kirishima’s shoulders. That soon enough, things would settle, and the pack would be back to normal.

But from the moment Todoroki first told them what had happened, Izuku had a bad feeling. He knew that Todoroki going to the hospital alone to apologize was the right thing to do, but there had been something in Todoroki’s eyes, a sharp glint of excitement that didn’t sit right with him. And when he’d returned home that night, he’d found him on the couch, motionless, his hand buried in a bowl of peach slices and his fingers sticky with juice. His expression vacant, and absent. Kirishima hadn’t been the same either. If anything, after hearing about the failed apology attempt, he had gotten worse. Somehow, a single alpha, one Izuku had never even met, had managed to throw his entire pack into chaos.

Rationally, he knew it wasn’t the doctor’s fault. If anyone was to blame, it was his mates. But the whole situation was so strange, so frustrating, that he couldn’t help understand how the hell they had ended up here. He’d tried to ask Todoroki about the alpha, about you, but all he got was a name, and something about the way Todoroki said it made him hesitate to press any further. When he turned to Kirishima, he got even less. The redhead had been too angry that day to remember much at all. All he recalled, a few days later, was an unfamiliar fruity scent mixed with Todoroki’s before he broke the door open.

Now, three days had passed, yet the air in their apartment only grew heavier. And Todoroki, Todoroki was hardly there at all, more shadow than man. He spent most of his days asleep, and when he was awake, he barely moved, barely spoke. Just sat there, eyes fixed on the wall with an hollow expression, as if he were somewhere far beyond their reach. He wasn’t eating either, at least not enough. He’d claimed to have no appetite. The only thing Todoroki had asked for, had eaten without hesitation, was peaches. Not just a few, but an almost absurd amount, day after day, like he was possessed. He would sit there, silent and distant, methodically working through bowl after bowl, as if peaches were the only thing tethering him to reality. And the strangest part? He never seemed satisfied. No matter how many he ate, it was never enough. Since when did Todoroki even like peaches this much? Izuku had no idea and he was getting weird out by the sheer amount of peach’s pits in their trash can.

Izuku had tried to get him to eat more, something other than just peaches. He tried a soft approach, casually suggesting he add something else to his plate, like rice or any protein, just to balance it out. But no matter how he went about it, Todoroki refused every time, just shaking his head and mumbling that he wasn’t hungry. Kirishima’s attempts weren’t successful either, he had brought home soba from Todoroki’s favorite spot, but Todoroki only took a couple of bites before pushing the bowl away. Katsuki couldn’t do any of the gentle approaches. He had yelled, scowled, and was a breath away from shoving food down Todoroki’s throat. But none of it worked. It was like trying to start a fire with wet wood, Todoroki just sat there, blank-eyed and distant, completely unreachable.

It was a mess. A complete, exhausting mess. And if Todoroki was worrying him to death, Kirishima wasn’t far behind.

At least he was still functional, he still ate, still spoke, still went to work, but there was something off. He was quieter, his usual warmth dulled at the edges. Kirishima was their glue, the one who lifted their spirits and held them together when things got rough, but ever since they failed to get through to the hospital, failed to contact you, he hadn’t been himself fully. The only response they had gotten to Todoroki’s email was a generic, automated reply, and that had done nothing but add to Kirishima’s guilt.

Izuku sat on the couch, his laptop on the coffee table while he absentmindedly tapped his fingers against his knee, his thoughts running in circles.

This wasn’t the first time Todoroki had been reckless. Beneath that calm exterior, he could be just as stubborn as Katsuki and him, even rash. But this? The complete detachment, the disregard for his own well-being, the strange obsession with a single food ? It wasn’t just a quiet withdrawal from his pack, It was like he’d stopped caring about himself completely. And that’s worried Izuku to death. He felt sick and helpless, and powerless. Why is this happening? His thoughts spiraled, fast and frantic. Was there something we missed? Maybe he’s just really tired and it will all get sort out ? But this isn’t like him. He’s shutting everyone out. Izuku’s chest tightened. What if I can’t fix this? What if it’s already too late? His mind kept racing, as it always did, with no answers, just more and more questions.

The coldness from their mate reminded him too much of their early high school days, when Todoroki had been a boy made of ice, all sharp edges and frozen shut doors. Izuku felt like the bond they shared had frayed, leaving him disconnected, adrift, as if though he was fading from their grasp.

The pieces didn’t add up. Frankly, the more he thought about it, the stranger it became. How had a simple visit to the hospital turned into this? What exactly had happened in that room? Izuku couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something. And when he felt like that, he did what he always did—he investigated.

He started with the hospital itself, combing through their website, news articles, and patient reviews. Most of it was clean. No major scandals, no malpractice lawsuits, no patient complaints that weren’t immediately resolved. Still unsatisfied, he called the hospital again, this time pushing harder for answers but all he got was a meeting with the director of the hospital tomorrow afternoon which was better than nothing.

After that call, something clicked. When Todoroki came back home, he’d been in heat—and Kirishima had stayed with him through it. But it had been early, too early. The pack tracked their cycles meticulously, they had to. If all of them ended up « indisposed » at the same time, and a high-profile villain struck, it would be a disaster.

This wasn’t just odd. It was wrong, he thought. There has to be an explanation for this.

And so, he dove into research again, scouring medical papers, forums, even the more questionable corners of the internet. At first, all he found were the usual causes—stress, sudden hormonal shifts, pack mates, environmental factors. But none of those fit. None of them explained why Todoroki’s heat had hit him so randomly. And then, buried under layers of medical jargon and old case studies, he found it.

It was possible to induce a heat. Not naturally, not safely, but with the right mix of drugs, it could be done. Hospitals wouldn’t do it legally, of course, but the medications required for it? They weren’t rare. Every one of them could be found in any hospital.

Did someone do this to him? His heart hammered in his chest, just imagining this possibility. The thought alone made his hands tremble with anger. Alphas abusing omegas were not rare, and doctors abusing their patients were even less rare. It disgusted him to think Todoroki and Kirishima were beating themselves over this incident when the doctor was responsible after all. No, just potentially responsible. He couldn’t know for sure but part of him was already certain that this was the explanation.

As Izuku scrolled through paper after paper on this drug, the apartment remained still allowing him to fully soak every information he could find online. The low hum of the heater was the only sound breaking the silence. It was just him and Todoroki tonight, though he hadn’t seen his mate since morning.

But then, footsteps.

Todoroki stepped into the living room, his movements slow, mechanical. He didn’t acknowledge Izuku, didn’t even glance in his direction—just crossed the space and sank onto the couch with a quiet, exhausted sigh. His posture was loose, almost boneless, but there was no real relaxation to it—just the weight of someone running on empty.

Izuku’s fingers hovered over his laptop. He hadn’t even realized how much time had passed, how deep he’d buried himself in his research. Outside the glow of his screen, the apartment was already dark, save for the dim light spilling from the his pc. It was late. Later than he’d thought and he probably start to make dinner for tonight.

Izuku still remained sited on the couch though, seeing Todoroki like this—so empty—only made his anger burn hotter and made him stop his tracks. But he forced himself to swallow it down. He couldn’t afford to lash out, not when he still wasn’t sure. He had to wait for tomorrow, when he’ll have the meeting with the director.

One way or another, he was going to get answers.

Izuku shut his laptop, fingers lingering over the lid. He didn’t want anyone finding out about this—not until he had proof. But before he could fully gather his thoughts, the sudden bang of the front door swinging open, followed by the unmistakable rasp of Katsuki’s voice, nearly sent him jumping to his feet.

“The hell is it so damn dark in here?” Bakugo grumbled, irritated as he flicked on the lights.

Izuku blinked at the sudden brightness, squinting as his blond mate strode inside with Kirishima trailing closely behind.

“Hey, I thought you guys had night patrol,” Izuku said, glancing toward the clock hanging on the wall. They weren’t supposed to be home yet.

“We did,” Bakugo responded as he tossed his keys onto the counter. “Something came up, someone covered for me.”

Kirishima didn’t say anything at first. He moved past Bakugo, arms crossing over his chest as he leaned against the back of the couch, his gaze flickering toward Todoroki. Checking on him.

“My agency had an emergency downtown,” he finally said, voice lacking its usual warmth. “A villain attack turned into a rescue op. They needed extra hands for search and rescue. By the time we were done, they gave me my evening.”

Izuku hummed in acknowledgment, but his attention drifted to Katsuki, who hadn’t moved from where he stood. His gaze was locked onto Todoroki, sharp, expectant.

Waiting

But Todoroki didn’t react. Didn’t look up. Didn’t even acknowledge any of them too.

Just nothing

Bakugo grumbled something under his breath before heading into the kitchen with anger in each step.

I hope y’all enjoyed the chapter! Chapter 11 will be out soon, and we’ll get a Bakugo POV soon too. I wanted to focus on the pack dynamics before the reader enters, and there’ll be more of that next chapter. I think it’s important to show the established couple’s bond, so yeah we’ll get a lot of it and even more after the reader come in the picture.

Doing a taglist is a too much work omg, no wonder most people don’t do it nowadays. On one hand I like that it hard bc that’s mean so many people want to keep up with my fics that I ended having to tag many people, on the other hand this lowkey discouraging me from posting bc I know I have to update the list every time 😭

This is such a fake ass problem to have, I am self aware.

As always, criticisms are welcomed

Big thank you to @cafekitsune who made the beautiful dividers

09 <- 10 -> 11

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[ssentimentals]

second chances {jeon wonwoo}

pairing: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader

prompt: time loop (going back in time to fix mistakes)

warnings: angst with a happy ending

wonwoo thinks you never looked more beautiful than right now, standing next to the altar in a wonderful wedding dress. it looks stunning on you, you look stunning and he carefully puts down his glass of whiskey out of fear that he might break it with his grip. your smile is radiant and there are a lot of unthinkable things he's ready to do to have it directed at him. but no, your radiant smile, your sweet voice, your gentle touches - they are for another man, who's standing next to you in a nice suit, face beaming with pride. wonwoo knows he would've been beaming with pride too if he were to marry you.

mingyu taps his shoulder empathetically. 'you good?'

wonwoo snorts loudly, not bothering to dignify this stupid question with an answer. no, he's not good. he's attending wedding of his best friend, who he always loved more than his own life. he's standing next to all other guests instead of standing next to you, all because of his own stupidity and fears. this is what breaks wonwoo the most - the thought that he could've had this. the knowledge, this deeply rooted confidence, that he really could've had this if only-

'slow down, wonwoo'. mingyu tries to snatch another glass of whiskey out of his hands. 'you'll be drunk in no time.'

'sounds good.' wonwoo mutters, swatting mingyu's hand away from his drink. 'i won't survive this without getting drunk.'

mingyu's eyes soften. 'hyung.. don't do it. she just-' mingyu turns to look at you and then back at wonwoo. 'right person, wrong time. you know? or- i don't know, hyung, what's done is done. let it go.'

wonwoo loves mingyu, but he wants to kill him right now for saying all this stupid shit. let you go? wonwoo doesn't know how to do that. he fears he won't be able to let you go even if he tried. how does one let go of your person? of everything you ever dreamt of? wonwoo doesn't know how, so he downs one more glass and signals waiter to bring him another one. he needs to get obnoxiously drunk to be able to look at you in that dress, knowing full well that you're not marrying him. and he follows this plan dutifully, getting so drunk that standing is not an option. for whatever weird reason his head doesn't hurt though; he just feels like something died in his mouth. his heart stopped beating at the same time you said 'yes' in front of all other guests, in front of god and - wonwoo is not okay. he wish he could just cry it out, but he can't. his fingers tremble when he latches for huge bottle of - scotch? vodka? whiskey? - something and pours it into his glass. he's pretty much alone here, everyone else is on the dance floor, enjoying the night that killed wonwoo. or maybe this night didn't kill him? maybe all these others nights, when he didn't make a first step towards you, when he was too afraid to ruin your friendship - maybe all these nights killed him? you two never really got to the point of being single at the same time, can he blame everything on this? can he blame you too, maybe? you surely knew what he was feeling. you surely felt the same, wonwoo knows, he motherfucking knows. but what's the point of it anyways? you just married another man, a man wonwoo will never be and now you'll never be his too. he drinks whatever is in his glass and closes his eyes. if only he could had a second chance. if only.

===

wonwoo wakes up with a gasp. everything about him feels wrong, his head is about to be split in two and his lungs feel like they are about to collapse. breathing in and out in large gulps, wonwoo sits up, clutching at his chest in panic. it takes him full ten minutes to calm down, for his whole body to stop feeling like he's about go in a kill mode. blinking, he looks around and reality kind of doesn't make sense. he is in his room, surely. but he is in his room from five years ago. wonwoo remembers this stolen from minghao's room chair, remembers those posters on the walls and surely remembers this dying lemon tree on the corner of his desk. he pinches himself hard and for a good measure runs to the bathroom to splash some water on his face. nothing changes. when minghao barges into his room, looking like himself but five years younger, wonwoo thinks he's going crazy. minghao, however, looks at him like he's the one who's crazy: 'dude, we're late. why you're still not dressed?'

wonwoo looks down at his old pjs - fucking hell, the ones he wore throughout his whole university - and almost screams. 'what?'

'it's our last year, woo, we talked how we can't fuck this up,' minghao shakes his head and starts furisouly typing on his phone. 'two minutes to get dressed, you know dr.hermos will be on our ass for being late!'

wonwoo dresses automatically, trying to make sense of whatever is happening. it takes him one lecture to figure out in what year and semester he is, two talks with mingyu and minghao to understand general situation and everything is too real for it to feel like a huge prank. wonwoo, somehow, moved five years back. no one else has memories of the future, no one else knows what's going to happen in five years and most importantly-

'woo?' you call his name, waving. 'come to lunch!'

you are here. of course you are, you are his best friend, you two are on the same course, you- wonwoo breathes out. you are single. he knows this for sure, because he remembers this one short time in the span of all these years, when you two were single at the same time. just for one week, but still. wonwoo holds his breath. he doesn't know how he's here, but if this is it, if this is his chance, if universe somehow decided to bless him... wonwoo swallows. he remembers vividly night before - him drunk out of his mind on your wedding. he remembers it. he never wants to experience it again.

'you alright?' you step closer to him, frowning. 'you look kinda out of it.'

wonwoo shakes his head. how can he tell you that he can't believe that you're standing right here in front of him? not married, not taken by a man who's not him? 'didn't sleep well,' he mutters, trying to smile.

'why?' you step closer, worry etched in your features as your hand reaches out to touch his elbow. 'migraines again?'

the thing about going back five years while keeping your memories of all these five years is how wonwoo can't help but feel incredibly stupid. how could he not propose to you within all these years? how could he be so stupid? how could he ever think that someone else will ever make him feel the way you do? 'nothing to worry about,' he assures you, gentle and soft as he always is with you. 'let's go eat.'

it's weird to come back to the last year of university. wonwoo knows it all, sure, but it also feels foreign. being student felt like a distant memory to him and now he's back to discussing lectures and professors, he's back to - wonwoo freezes. he's back to walking you to your dorm, back to eating dinners with you, back to always spending his time with you. his heart speeds up at this realization. wonwoo has no idea how much time he has: this day, this week or even just few hours, but he has to make most of them. he grabs your wrist right when you enter cafeteria, stopping you shortly: 'can we go outside?' he asks hurriedly. 'i need- can we just go outside?'

you look confused but nod, following him outside. wonwoo doesn't hear a thing apart from his own heart beating loudly. what if this is a weird dream? what if he got so drunk that he literally died and this is some kind of limbo in which he stuck before going to heaven/hell? wonwoo shakes his head, breathing out. he can't think about that now. whatever the hell it is - a dream, hallucination, a divine intervention - wonwoo is not going to waste it. if this is his last chance - fuck, he will risk to ruin your friendship. he will take you never speaking to him again, he will risk it all to never again be on your wedding as a guest.

'you wanted to talk about something important?' you ask after a lapse of silence, turning to him.

your shoulder brushes his arm. wonwoo presses closer, tongue-tied. why is it so hard to form sentences? 'yeah,' he finally croaks. he realizes that he's leading you towards the park where you both met for the first time. 'i...need to say something. important. yes.'

'you're kinda freaking me out, not gonna lie,' you say jokingly with a hint of nerves. 'but take your time. tell me when you're ready.'

how can wonwoo not love you? how can he not when you're this considerate, this sweet, this caring? wonwoo is helpless. he chuckles and shakes his head. your sincerity disarms him and makes it easier to be honest too: 'i'm such an idiot.'

you frown, looking at him questioningly. 'what? no. you're not, woo.'

'i am. i have been in love with you for the last four years and never said a thing. doesn't make me an idiot?' he stops, making you pause too. your eyes are as big as saucers, but you're not running away so it's a good sign. 'i feel like we're always in some relationship with other people and i- it doesn't feel right. i never said anything cause we're friends.'

wonwoo wants to add that he knows where it got him, knows how the future goes in the case when he doesn't say a thing to you. wonders if he should tell you that, but then thinks better of it. you look shocked, but there's hope glimmering in your eyes and wonwoo presses on: 'what if we tried? you and i. just one chance. that's all i'm asking for - one chance.'

you lick your lips. 'you think it'll be good? us, i mean.'

'i think- no, i know that i will regret it my whole life if i don't try.'

and this it, isn't it? that's the main point - wonwoo knows how he felt on your wedding day. nothing can be worse than that, surely. you bite your lip and wonwoo takes your hands in his, giving them light squeeze. 'just one chance,' he repeats, slowly. 'we can be so good together.'

when your lips slowly transform into a smile, wonwoo feels like he can breathe again. 'one chance,' you repeat, shyly looking up at him. 'let's make most of it.'

wonwoo wants to scream. jump up and down like a kid. instead he grabs you by the waist and spins you around. your laughter rings in his ears like the best melody and when he hugs you and you hug him back, he silently prays for this to not end. prays for anyone to not take this away from him. you giggle and he presses a kiss on top of your head, sighing. he will hold on to this one chance and he will never, ever, let you go.

a/n: time loops are my favs! hopefully you liked it, let me know! <3 - nini

my other seventeen works are HERE