#ran out of time for my break and words to say so back to work I go

[eraserbread]

God forbid a girl asks for some ex-husband kento (pls 🥺)

kento really should leave. it's obvious -- this is not his home anymore.

no, it's his daughters and ex-wife's. he handed it over like stone once the divorce went final, wanting his girl to grow up in spacious security. he'll sign on a lackluster one-bedroom in the city just so all of his money can flow into keeping you afloat.

though you're perpetually trapped by him, using a bank account he monitors and living in a home you don't pay for, he still gives you grace. it's because he's guilty. kento knows he fucked you over, it's why he's pacing your bedroom door where he knows you're asleep.

he's a good dad, carving out time between missions to run and take his daughter to school. it's the one constant his little girl has, and in first grade, she's old enough to understand that he's never really around.

it's why he has her hello kitty lunch box tight in his grip that she left in his car today. he knows you need to pack it for tomorrow and would likely freak out if you lost it, so he needed to hand it to you personally.

or, that's what he tells himself to justify the anxious pacing. he needs to swallow that familiar need for you that brews in his bones and leaves him tossing and turning through his sleepless nights. It's only been a year without you; surely he can handle a lifetime, right?

all he was going to do was drop the box on your nightstand, send a quick text, and be on his way. but, you had other ideas.

it was his stupid pacing; it woke you up, and now you were staring at the windowless wall, scowling into nothingness. blankets are bunched neatly at your lace-covered waist, wrapped in a honeymoon artifact you used to show off for your husband, now your insecure ex who doesn't speak more than two sentences at a time.

unless, it's to tell you to be obedient, or stop talking.

this time, it's you who initiates the talking. "what are you doing?"

you can't see the tense in his shoulders when he realizes you're awake. he thought he could get lucky, sneaking around like a criminal. you wouldn't give him luck -- he doesn't deserve peace.

"just dropping off rin's bento box." the hard plastic hits your side table, and you shudder. his voice is deep like he's tired. "she ran out of my car like she was mad this evening... all to see you. she's a mother's girl, not like I can blame her much."

"she has like eight bentos, you could've left it."

kento sighs, letting your words overtake and shove his efforts right back in his face. "it's her favorite."

"she has eight favorites."

"okay." he deadpans. "anything else i'm doing wrong? or that I don't know?"

"nanami, we'd be here all night if I told you the truth." with every sentence, it's becoming increasingly obvious that you won't be getting much sleep. you sit up, pulling your blankets around your half-decent body. "say it. whatever it is that brought you here with the excuse of a bento."

you know better than to expect kento to listen, but you don't expect him to round the expanse of the bed, dropping to his knees right next to you. he attempts to reach for your tangled hand, but you swat him away, gaze full of indignant fires.

"forgive me... please." he's muttering, head dipped in embarrassment. since he gave you up, he's realized it as his biggest mistake. he can't calm the burning within him at night, he can't stand going back to his old ways - convenience store dinners and storefront sandwiches. but, he also can't let you be dragged into his work again. He could see the effect it pulled you into, the worry that ate you alive every time you saw him. but, there must be an answer, some alternative to cold-turkey. you are an addiction.

"forgive you? forgive you for what? breaking apart our family? giving up? giving in to your cowardice? i don't think you understand -- you leaving me doesn't just affect you and I, it affects rin in ways we won't see until it's eating us alive. that's on you. it's your fault." always level-headed, always the voice of reason even if it's painful. kento nods, but can't look at you.

"forgive... me..." he pleads, emotionless and unblinking at the rugged floor. "...please."

you scoff, pushing away from him on the bed. you crawl to the other side, the side nanami left the bento, and take it as an excuse to run from this situation.

"you're just going to walk away?"

"yes! because i'm not dealing with your bullshit." he follows you out into the hallway, past your sleeping daughters room and into the kitchen. you can feel his shadowed eyes staring at the jutting expose of your ass through the nightgown, but for some reason it doesn't bother you. emotionally, you're as disconnected as possible, but your body still likes him. i mean, it's undeniable, kento will always be the most attractive man you've ever, ever seen.

it was not you who cut those ties. never you.

and he's crowding you as you turn on the faucet, opening rin's box and putting it under. kento is on you the entire time, but he actually corners you against the sink, huge body caging you in, hands planted at your either side. his breathing is nasally and pathetic. you're scowling.

"...ignore that."

you're squinting, trying to gauge what you're ignoring. then, you can feel it. anger rises your body temperature. an erection, pressing right between the swells of your loosely covered ass. "you're genuinely so unbelievable."

you've begun washing the dish, spinning soapy water in the painted pink plastic as he breathes on your neck. you wish you can push him away and lessen him to a lifetime of sexual pining and angst, but you're stoic.

the dish is washed, you're turning around, breathless. and just as you go to close your hand over his cheek and give in, a tiny voice from the hallway catches you.

"mama?" your little girl whines, one eye cracked open in the harshness of the lights. she's all messy-haired, red-faced and sleepy. in her left hand hangs a tattered kuromi doll. "I heard... dad..."

you've never pushed kento away like this, but he's being pushed, taking it like it's nothing, too. he understands that whatever rin needs comes first - he's okay not being at your attention.

and he loves seeing you two interact as you sweep her up in your safe arms. rin settles on your hip, long legs kicking into the air as she rests on your shoulder. "sleepy."

"i know, my baby." you coo, running a hand through her hair. "want me to put you back to sleep?"

staring at her twin, her dad, rin nods her sleepy head, using a fist to tug at her right eye. "dad... bye, daddy."

"bye, my princess." kento stands from his lean on the counter, closing in to kiss rin on the cheek. he lingers for a moment, peeking up to your unreadable gaze. you make him feel so little, now. like he hardly exists as a human, let alone the father of your child and the man you loved for over a decade. "sleep well. be nice to your mama, too. I'll be here to take you to school tomorrow."

as you tuck your girl back into bed, she's peaceful. "mama? are you and dad happy again? will he live here again?"

kneeling at her bedside, you smooth the blankets over her figure, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "probably not."

she whines close-eyed, turning her face away from you. "I didn't do anything to make you mad, so why is it my fault?"

"what? rin, dad and i not being together is entirely our fault." you're mindful to the core when speaking to her, deciding it better not to pin blame on you or kento, just for the respect of her mentality.

she whines again, shoving away from your touch defiantly. she's holding kuromi like she's stressed, and it kills you.

"please, mama. please fix it."

[satorusideals]

Airy Spring

a/n: soooo.. fourth post. I honestly need og ideas. I’m trying so hard to think of things. But I’ll get there! My time is limited because of current events but I’ll be on it. Pls give me inspo im crying. Also! I need more moots. Enjoy ig. 🥀

content: fem view, pregnancy, dad gojo, and fluff!!!!!!

It came to no surprise. Your life was so different. By having a puffy stomach, aching feet, sharp back pains, and a little newborn that filled your ears; you were a new woman.

You remember the fateful afternoon that had you pacing back and forth as your hands clasped onto the long piece of plastic. The very item that made you shriek of happiness (?), anxiety (?), and shock.

You were no where near ready to confess to your husband, Satoru Gojo.

He was a busy man.

You both understood that. And the thought of somewhat impeding his plans made you bite your tongue.

In an attempt to continue the normalcy, you make dinner, turn on the lamps, anxiously do laundry, and try to take a warm bath— but as soon as your dear husband begins to rattle the front door— you pace inside the bathroom.

Oh.. how will he react? He’ll be happy, right? What about his schedule? Maybe he’s not hungry..

“I’m back! Guess who’s the best husband that brought kikufuku?? I am!”

Your hairs stick up at his exclamation, and the few droplets of cold sweat begin to build up on the tip of your nose.

Great.

His innocent teasing is always nerve wrecking.

Satoru’s steps get louder by the second, and when you open the bathroom door, he’s standing outside with a smile.

“You took a bath without me?? And here I was trying to rush back home to you” he says with a teasing pout, before wrapping his arms around you.

“I missed you, baby. Did you miss me?” he asks while pulling back to look at your water kissed face.

There was no way to hide from him. Every reaction and cold shoulder you gave him was a clear indicator that something was wrong. Whether it was him or the bad weather— oh, he didn’t know! He took every bad possibility and ran with it.

He loves his dear wife!

During dinner, he felt that enough was enough. No time was wasted and he asked.

“Are you mad at me? I’m sorry— I came as quick as possible.” Satoru pouts and drops his utensils in an attempt to give you his undivided attention.

You sigh and shake your head.

“I’m just tired.. I cleaned the whole house, ya know?”

“Well.. no one asks you to. I’ve offered a maid before.”

Your quick responses are what save you. At least for a bit.

Satoru’s short trips leave a balance of home time and work. These time intervals give you time on how to confess. Or figure out what to even do.

Before you know it, he’s back from another trip. His slender frame is wrapped around you in your large bed with his hand on your now plush hip. An obvious hint at your body’s accommodation.

“You’re so fluffy now.. you gaining?” he innocently asks as his nose buries itself into your scalp.

Satoru yelps at your pinch.

“Ow! What was that for!?”

“You’re a prick. I don’t know why I bother with you!”

He was just asking..

After fighting yourself, both mentally (anxiety) and physically (morning sickness), you break the news before Satoru steps out for his mission.

“‘Toru.. you’re not gonna eat breakfast?”

“Mm.. nah. My stomach hurts if I eat too early. Maybe I’ll come for dinner tomorrow, ‘kay?”

“Okay..” you mutter as his face leans down to kiss the corner of your mouth.

“What’s with the sad face, hm?”

“I just.. don’t know how to tell you.”

“Tell me what..? You’re divorcing me or somethin’?”

“No.. it feels like I’m lying to you.”

He stays silent. You could basically feel his heartbeat. Stray and loud. He honestly would have loved that breakfast instead of feeling this tension you’ve unknowingly created.

“I’m pregnant. You. Me. We’re pregnant.”

Those passing moments between you both felt like eternal.

Satoru’s sleepy eyes widened and made him freeze.

“What? Ha.. ha-ha.. you’re-“

“I’m sorry.”

“Honey, what? Sorry? Wait, what?”

His words made you more confused. Was he surprised or disappointed?

You looked away. The sun’s rays were shining through the room from the window, but left no warmth to comfort you.

Satoru realized his unintended negligence of comforting you and he quickly wrapped his arms around you.

“I’m sorry, Satoru.”

“Stop saying that.. what are you sorry for?”

“We didn’t want this.. I’m sorry.”

He sighs. His hand cups your cheek and pulls you back to look directly into your eyes.

His blue pearls watched your reactions and counted your every freckle and lash without hesitation.

His wonderful wife had just confessed a life altering situation— and here he was stuttering like a high school boy.

“Who said that, hm? Just ‘cus we didn’t plan it, doesn’t mean I don’t want it. Unless.. you don’t want it?”

You shake your head and he quickly begins to rub your back and whisper sweet nothings into your ear.

It was a done deal.

You carry his sweet baby and get all the rest, take-out, midnight cravings, foot massages, and needy booty-calls you desire, even when he was away on missions.

But this was only on the condition of Satoru keeping his missions to a minimum.

And before you knew it— you’re back home with a baby girl.

Her snow kissed hair illuminated your room. Her hazy blue eyes that made you want to squish her face every time she opened her eyes to curiously watch you. It was all a dream— really, who knew you’d be a mother? And who knew you’d be such a daydream? Not your husband.

Oh, your husband was enamored with you both.

His lovely wife who birthed a whole carbon copy of him and the said carbon copy.

Satoru’s entire time at home was busy with his newborn baby girl.

Your husband would clean up and rub your feet while she slept or fed from you. No wasted time in this household.

Her sweet smell and delicate frame were appreciated by you both.

But especially Satoru. A deep contrast between him and his daughter. He was the strongest and had had to learn being the most delicate. His hands and sharp muscles that destroyed cursed were handling the tiny body that he now loved. Her small wails and yawns softened his sharp gaze. No detail went unnoticed by him. Your daughter’s birthmarks were all caught by Satoru, because he wanted to learn every single thing of your creation.

While being a changed woman, it didn’t feel like a complete new load— you had the help of your husband.

And the only thing you could wait, was for her to grow up.

Oh, how you both dreaded that!

But, as time moved on— it was obvious that your sweet girl was a change that you both needed.

[hanniebaeee]

The Secret Hwang

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: reader is pregnant

Genre: exes to lovers?? angst, fluff

Summary: Hyunjin breaks up with you after the company thinks your relationship is affecting his work. What he didn't know was that you were also gearing up to tell him something very important. But then swoops in two angels in disguise, helping you through the tough time, before it all blows over.

You’re breaking up with me?” The words left your lips before your brain could catch up.

Your heart thundered against your ribcage, like it was desperate to escape what was unfolding right then. And your boyfriend of three years, Hyunjin, looked as miserable as you felt.

Hyunjin stood in front of you, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders sagging. He wouldn’t look at you - that was even worse.

“Yes,” he whispered, voice so low it barely registered. “I'm so sorry.”

You take a step closer, his words not making any sense.

“You have to? What the hell does that mean, Hyunjin? Did I…did I do something? Did I hurt you-?”

His head snaps up, his eyes wide and glossy, horrified at the mere suggestion.

“No! Of course not! You’ve never - God, Y/N, no. It’s -” His words faltered, and he looked away again, his hands shaking as they grip his hoodie strings. “It’s…they think it’s affecting me. My work.”

“Who? The company?”

“They said…” He swallowed hard, the words clearly tearing him apart as he forced them out. “They said if I don’t end this, they’ll fire you. They’ll make sure you never work in this industry again. And they’ll…ruin it all for you...”

You stared at him, utterly speechless. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

“So what? You’re just going to do what they want? Throw away three years like it means nothing?”

“It’s not like that,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“Protect me? By breaking me?” You laughed bitterly, even though it felt more like choking.

You knew he wanted to reach for you, to pull you close like he always did when you were upset, but he didn’t move.

“Baby, I don’t have a choice. If I don’t do this-”

You didn't stay to hear the rest. You took a step back before saying, “You’re a coward,”

Hyunjin’s head snapped up like you slapped him, but you pressed on.

“You’re letting them control you. Letting them decide what our love is worth. You’re not even fighting for me.”

Hyunjin’s face crumpled, and for a second, you thought he would reconsider. But he didn't. He just looked really sad. And lost.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

“Goodbye, Hyunjin.”

And then you ran. You didn’t look back. You couldn't. Because if you did, you’d fall apart completely, and you just couldn’t afford that. Not with the tiny life growing inside you.

The three months that followed were hard, no doubt. But relatively less harder than you thought, considering the fact that the boys were on tour. You didn't have to see him everyday as you taught your heart to ‘unlove’ him. If such a thing could be done.

You had decided to go ahead with your pregnancy - bad call probably, because you obviously couldn't tell anyone that your baby was Hyunjin’s. Of course. So you'd have to come up with a creative lie to cover the gap - a non-existent boyfriend or a husband?

It was exhausting.

---

You stood at the kitchen counter, staring at your ultrasound scan result. The sight of your little bean on the screen earlier had brought tears to your eyes - happy bittersweet ones. But mostly, you’d felt so terribly lonely.

Moments like that were meant to be shared, weren’t they? Your heart ached so much. So damn much. You sighed as you gazed at the little form in the black and white image.

Just then, the doorbell rang. Setting the report on the counter, you get the door. What you didn't expect was Felix’s sweet smiling face. You hadn't seen him or any of the boys since the break up (they'd left for the tour), so seeing Felix, your close friend, made you freeze.

“Lix,” you said, your voice more tired than you’d like.

He immediately pulled you into a warm hug, and you had to control that strong urge to just weep.

“Hey,” he said, squeezing you tightly. “I missed you! How have you been?”

“I'm alright. You guys had a good tour I heard,” You managed, stepping aside to let him in.

“It was good,” He said with a smile, and held up a bag. “I brought you a little something from Australia.”

“Lix, you didn’t have to -”

“Oh, hush. I do it all the time.” he said. “You look... tired…you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you lied, waving him off.

“You want me to get his stuff? I have it packed and ready.” You said, wanting to get that out of the way as soon as possible.

“Yeah,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “ Is that okay?”

Your stomach twisted unpleasantly, but you nodded and said, “Yeah, of course. Let me grab it.”

He followed you into the house, and as you went into the bedroom to get Hyunjin’s things, Felix walked into the kitchen to put the things he got for you away.

When you returned with the bag, however, you saw Felix in the kitchen, uncharacteristically quiet. You walked in and completely froze in the doorway.

Felix stood by the counter, holding your ultrasound result, and his usually bright expression was completely blank, his eyes glued black and white image.

“Lix…” you said softly, panic rising in your chest.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice eerily calm, “what is this?”

You didn’t answer, your hands trembling as you clutched the bag of Hyunjin’s things. Tears pricked your eyes, and you knew there was no use pretending or coming up with a lie.

“Please tell me this is not what I think it is.” he said, his voice wavering as he turned to face you with the paper in his hand.

Your silence spoke louder than words. Tears spilled over, and you quickly wiped at them, trying to keep it together. But it was of no use - Felix took one look at your face and let the paper fall onto the counter.

“Oh my God.” His voice cracked as he crossed the room in two giant strides, pulling you into a tight hug.

His arms wrapped around you like a safety net, holding you together.

“Y/N, please don't tell me Hyunjin knocked you up and then broke up with you. Tell me I’m hallucinating. Please.”

You laughed weakly through your tears, the absurdity of the situation hitting you all at once.

“He didn't know, Lix. He didn't know-” You whispered and Felix pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands still on your shoulders.

His mouth opened and closed a few times, like he was trying to form words but couldn't. Finally, he let out a strangled laugh.

“He doesn’t know?!” He shook his head, his freckles standing out against his flushed skin. “Are you kidding me, Y/N? You’re telling me that man broke up with you because he wanted to protect you, and the entire time, you’ve been carrying his baby?”

“I was going to tell him, Lix, I was. That's why I went to meet him, but didn't give me a chance to say anything…he just…he just broke up with me!” you cried, wiping your face. “What was I supposed to do? Tell him and ruin everything?”

“Yes!” Felix shouted, throwing his hands in the air. “Yes, sweetheart, you’re supposed to tell him! He deserves to know. This is big, like life changing big!”

You shook your head, your voice trembling as you said, “Lix, you don’t understand. This is about his career, his dreams. He’s worked so hard to get where he is, and I won’t be the reason he loses it all.”

Felix stared at you, his face a mixture of disbelief and heartbreak.

“Y/N,” he said softly. “You can’t do this alone.”

“I have to,” you whispered, looking down at the floor. “I will.”

“Yes, you do.” His voice was firm, his hands gently cupping your cheeks and tilting your face up to meet his gaze. “But don't have to. I’m here. Whatever you need, anything at all, you’ve got me. You’re not allowed to say no, okay?”

Your breath hitched, the warmth of his hands and the sincerity in his voice had you crumblung all over again. “Lix…”

“I mean it,” he said, his eyes shining with determination. “You’re not doing this alone. I don’t care what it takes. We’re going to figure this out. Together.”

You nodded, sniffling as he wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb. “Thank you.”

Felix didn’t say anything to Hyunjin. True to his word, he kept his mouth shut, but the secret was eating him alive to say the least. The man had gone full protective mode - literally adopting you, and by extension, your unborn child, completely.

And his possessiveness manifested in the most Felix way possible: constant texting. Constant.

Also, he changed your contact name to George. Why? Because no ones gonna get suspicious about a George he's talking to 24*7, right?

---

7:32 am

Felix: Good morning, sunshine! Have you eaten yet? If not, DO IT NOW. Don’t argue with me.

Felix: I will come over if you don't obey me, George!

You: Felix, it’s 7 in the morning. I just woke up. Also, who's George?

Felix: You’re George. That’s your name now. It’s safer this way.

Felix: And don’t dodge the question: HAVE YOU EATEN???

You: I literally just rolled out of bed, Felix. Give me a second to breathe.

Felix: No time to breathe, go FEED THE BABY.

You: This baby isn’t even hungry yet. Can you chill?

Felix: Fine. But just so you know, I won't hesitate from force-feeding you myself.

---

12:45 PM

Felix: Hey, did you go to your appointment today?

You: Yes, I went.

Felix: Pics or it didn’t happen.

You: I’m not sending you pictures of me at the doctor’s office, Lix

Felix: Why not? What if I need to fight the doctor? I need evidence.

You: Why would you need to fight my doctor?

Felix: I dunno, what if they're bad at their job? I’m not taking chances, George.

You: Please stop calling me George.

Felix: It's your name.

---

7:48 PM

Felix: Are you home? Did you eat dinner? Did you lock your doors?

You: Oh my God, Felix, can you give me a second to exist without you breathing down my neck?

Felix: No. I’m invested now.

You: Why are you like this?

Felix: Because my best friend knocked you up and then left you, and now I feel morally obligated to act like your baby daddy by proxy.

You: Please don’t say that again. Ever.

Felix: Too late. Also, how’s George Jr.?

You: Felix, we are NOT naming this baby George Jr.

Felix: Why not? It’s a great name.

You: I’m blocking you.

Felix: No, you’re not.

---

Hyunjin on the other hand was completely unaware of everything that was happening around him. He was completely shut off, pouring his entire self into practice and his work outs.

He missed you. He missed you so damn much. He would randomly take a walk in the building, hoping he'd get a glimpse of you. But seriously, you were nowhere to be seen.

Hyunjin was on his way to the practice room after a particularly unsuccessful attempt to run into you, when he heard the voices. He wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but the venom in their tone caught his attention.

It took him a minute to figure out that they were actually talking about you, and he couldn't help but feel that rage bubbling up inside him.

“She’s gained so much weight lately,” one of the girls snickered. “I mean, have you seen her?”

The other girl laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t know what happened to her. She used to be so put together, but now? She’s just… bloated and tired all the time.”

Hyunjin’s jaw clenched so hard it felt like his teeth might crack. How dare they?! He felt the overwhelming urge to whirl around and to let his emotions loose, to say something.

But of course Hyunjin couldn’t do that. Not really. He was an idol - a carefully constructed image, a brand - and he's already sacrificed way too much for the sake of it. He couldn’t afford to screw it all up now.

So instead, he swallowed his rage, shoved his hands deep into his pockets, and started walking again. And then, as if it was a cruel joke, he saw you.

You were walking down the hallway, dressed in a dark-colored sweater, your hair tied back, wisps escaping to frame your face. You looked tired, yes. But, as always, to him, you looked absolutely beautiful.

But Hyunjin couldn't help but see that something was different. His eyes lingered a little too long on the soft curve of your body. Your face seemed rounder, your stride slightly slower, more careful.

His heart ached as he watched you pause at the corner, adjusting your bag before disappearing around the corner. He missed you so much it physically hurt. Shaking his head, Hyunjin turned and walked away, trying so hard to hold it all together.

He couldn’t keep doing this to himself. He had to move on.

If only he knew that a mini Hyunjin was quite literally baking inside you, tucked away and growing strong under that sweater. If only he knew.

3:40 pm

Felix: How's the nausea?

You: I can't understand why it's called morning sickness if it's gonna last all day and trying to murder me

Felix: Don’t worry, George, I’m gonna make you the perfect meal. Zero vomit potential.

You: Omg

---

Meanwhile in Felix’s kitchen:

Felix was in deep. The counter was a disaster of herbs and half-cut veggies, and a pan bubbled ominously on the stove. His laptop sat precariously on the edge of the counter, streaming a cooking tutorial that Felix was utterly failing to keep up with.

“Chop the ginger finely,” the video said.

Felix frowned down at the mangled, uneven chunks of ginger on his cutting board.

“This is fine, right?” he mumbled to himself, throwing them into a pan.

“No, it’s not fine,” a voice said behind him, calm but dripping with judgment.

Felix jumped, yelping as he nearly knocked the pan off the stove. He whirled around to see Minho leaning casually against the doorframe, arms crossed and a single eyebrow raised.

“Hyung!” Felix squeaked, his voice an octave too high. “What are you doing here?”

“We're having dinner together. Forgot I see ?” Minho asked flatly, his sharp eyes sweeping over the culinary battlefield. He nodded at the laptop screen.

“What’s this? I thought we were ordering?”

Felix scrambled to close the YouTube video but fumbled, sending a spatula clattering to the floor.

“No! I just…uh…thought this recipe looked… yummy?”

Minho’s other eyebrow shot up as he read, “Ginger and lemon soup for nausea relief? That’s not exactly your usual vibe, Lix.”

Felix froze, his brain scrambling for an excuse. “I…uh…”

Minho tilted his head, his gaze locked on Felix. He gestured toward the mess. “Who’s it for?”

“No one!” Felix blurted out too quickly.

Minho smirked - like a cat cornering a mouse. He strolled into the kitchen, plucked up the laptop, and read the YouTube title aloud: “Pregnancy-Friendly Meals, huh?”

Felix groaned internally. He was so dead. Minho set the laptop down and turned to Felix, his face unreadable.

“You’re cooking for Y/N, aren’t you?”

“How…what…why would you -” Felix blinked at him, jaw dropping.

“I saw her going into a maternity hospital last week...and now this? It’s really sweet of you,” Minho said, his tone soft and kind, as he started clearing the counter. “She’s lucky to have a friend like you.”

Felix stared at him, absolutely flabbergasted. How did Minho know? He stayed silent, unsure if confirming or denying would make things worse.

“Relax, I’m not going to say anything. But…” His sharp eyes flicked to the pan on the stove, then back to Felix, a smirk forming on his face. “You’re doing a terrible job. Move.”

Before Felix could protest, Minho rolled up his sleeves and took over. Within minutes, the chaos Felix had created was transformed into a very professionally prepared meal.

Felix hovered awkwardly, torn between relief and panic. “You…you won’t tell anyone, right?”

Minho snorted. “Of course not. And if you’re serious about helping her, then I'll stand right by you.”

He packed up everything in containers and handed it to Felix with a raised eyebrow.

“Now go. She needs to eat.”

---

Felix was at yours in record time, and when he set the food down on the coffee table, you looked up from the couch, sighing softly.

“Did you burn the kitchen down?”

“Nope,” Felix said quickly. “Minho saved me.”

Your head snapped up, eyes wide. “What? Minho? He knows?”

Felix flopped onto the couch beside you, looking absolutely defeated.

“Yeah, apparently he’s known for a while. He saw you going into the maternity hospital one day.”

You groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “Oh my God.”

“He promised not to say anything!” Felix said defensively, holding his hands up. “And he even helped cook this. So, technically, you can’t kill me.”

You glared at him but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

“Thanks for being here, Lix.”

Felix grinned, nudging the plate toward you. “Eat, George. Minho will haunt me if you don’t.”

You rolled your eyes but dug in, and for the first time in days, the food didn’t immediately send you running for the bathroom.

---

The next morning, you woke up to the doorbell, in the early hours. It was still dark outside, as you stumbled out of your bedroom, still half-asleep, and a scowl firmly planted on your face.

“Took you long enough,” Minho mumbled as he walked into your apartment, going straight for the kitchen. 

You were trying to understand if you were hallucinating or if Minho was actually in your kitchen. 

“Minho, what are you doing here?” You asked, trying to tame your hair. 

“Sit,” he commanded without looking up, focused on flipping something in the pan.

You frowned but obeyed, collapsing into a chair at the table. “It’s not even sunrise.”

“Just making sure you eat,” he said simply. “Lix said you're struggling,”

“You're here to cook for me?”

“Yes?”

Before you could respond, the door swung open, and Felix stepped inside, carrying what looked like a bag of groceries. He stopped short, staring at Minho with the same confusion you felt.

“What is he doing here?”

“I could ask the same about you,” Minho shot back without missing a beat, sprinkling a pinch of salt over whatever masterpiece he was working on.

Felix stormed into the kitchen, setting his bag down with an unnecessary thud. “What are you doing, hyung? And what are you even making? George doesn’t even like eggs that much!”

Minho scoffed. “It’s not for you, so why does it matter?”

“It matters because I’m supposed to be taking care of her!” Felix snapped, crossing his arms like an angry puppy.

“Clearly, you weren’t doing a great job,” Minho retorted. “I saw the mess you called cooking yesterday.”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands. “Not this.”

---

Over the next few days, it became a full-on battle between Minho and Felix. It started with each trying to one-up the other in ways that were more amusing than helpful.

One morning, Felix insisted on making pancakes, painstakingly arranging blueberries into a smiley face on each one. “See, George? They’re cute and delicious!”

Minho, unimpressed, countered by making a three-course breakfast complete with fresh juice and perfectly folded napkins. “Pregnant women need nutrients, not art projects,” he said smugly.

Felix glared at him like he wanted to fight. “Pregnant women also need to smile, and my pancakes are adorable.”

But for all their ridiculousness, their constant presence was a comfort. They kept you distracted from the gaping hole in your chest where Hyunjin’s absence had settled. But no amount of blueberry pancakes or perfectly cooked meals could fill that void.

Felix had barged into your apartment one evening with a box of cookies that he'd baked.

“George! I baked you something!”

Minho, already in the kitchen chopping vegetables, glanced over his shoulder with a look that screamed, not this again.

“What are those?” Minho asked, gesturing to Felix's box  with his knife.

“Cookies,” Felix said proudly, setting them on the table in front of you. “Pregnancy-safe, gluten-free, sugar-free, full of love.”

“Full of what?” Minho deadpanned, clearly unimpressed.

“Love!” Felix shot back, hands on his hips. “Something you wouldn’t understand, obviously.”

“Love isn’t a substitute for nutrition, Yongbok. Try again.” Minho snorted.

“Oh, here we go,” you muttered, already bracing for the impending argument as you sat at the table, nibbling cautiously on a cookie.

“You’re just jealous because George Jr. is my baby,” Felix said, crossing his arms and glaring at Minho like he’d just won the argument of the century.

Minho paused mid-chop, turned slowly to face Felix.

“George Jr.?” he asked flatly. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

“What’s wrong with George Jr.?” Felix said defensively. “It’s a strong name! Unique even!”

Minho scoffed. “Unique isn’t always a good thing, Felix. You might as well call the baby Lemon or Carrot.”

“Wow, okay,” you muttered, burying your face in your hands.

“And besides,” Minho continued, turning back to the stove like the conversation was settled, “I do the majority of the cooking, Y/N is thriving on it, so I'm the rightful Appa.”

Felix gasped like Minho had just slapped him.

“Excuse me? Cooking doesn’t make you the dad! I’m the one who gives her all the cuddles and emotional support!”

“You’re like a clingy golden retriever,” Minho shot back, not even turning around.

“Say that again, hyung, I dare -”

“Enough!” you shouted, cutting through their bickering. Both men froze, wide-eyed, and looked at you.

“I'm sure Hyunjin would probably like a say in this whole ‘who’s the dad’ debate.” you said, and the room fell silent. 

And then Minho shrugged casually.

“I mean, sure, if we’re counting his five seconds of contribution to this whole thing.”

You and Felix both turned to stare at him, your mouths dropping open in identical expressions of disbelief. It took approximately two seconds before all three of you burst out laughing.

The laughter started light, then turned uncontrollable, your giggles mixing with Felix’s loud snorts and Minho’s chuckles. You laughed so hard your sides started to hurt, but then, without warning, the giggles morphed into something else.

The tears hit you before you could stop them. One moment you were laughing, and the next, you were crying, the overwhelming mix of emotions crashing over you like a tidal wave.

Felix’s smile faltered, and he rushed to your side, wrapping an arm around you.

“George, hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said softly, his usual sunshine dimmed by concern.

Minho was there a moment later, kneeling in front of you and gently resting a hand on your knee. 

“Breathe, jagi,” he said quietly. “You’re okay. We’re here.”

You sniffled, trying to compose yourself, but the weight of everything - the pregnancy, the secret, missing Hyunjin - was too much.

“I miss him…a lot,” you managed between sobs.

“I know, I know…but we're here for you, George. You’re not alone in this, okay? We’ve got you.” Felix hugged you tighter, his voice steady but emotional.

Minho nodded as he said, “He’s right. You’re stuck with us now. You and George Jr.”

That earned a watery laugh from you, and you wiped at your eyes, looking between them. 

“I don’t deserve you two.”

“Yes, you do,” Minho said firmly.

“Absolutely,” Felix added. “And so does George Jr.”

---

Hyunjin was losing his mind.

It wasn’t just the lingering ache of your absence or the fact that he hadn’t heard your voice in what felt like forever. But it was also Felix, his best friend, his other half, his partner-in-crime. Felix was suddenly a closed book. The guy who usually shared everything, from dumb cat videos to the tiniest gossip about their members, had turned into a human vault. A sketchy human vault.

Felix was constantly disappearing. After practice, during breaks, even in the middle of game nights. When Hyunjin asked, Felix always had some vague excuse. 

“Oh, just running errands!”

“Helping out Minho-hyung with something.”

“Had to grab something for George!”

Who the hell was George? 

Hyunjin squinted every time Felix made one of these excuses. Since when was his best friend suddenly so obsessed with running errands? And why was Minho always involved?

Hyunjin didn’t like it.

At first, he chalked it up to paranoia. Maybe he was overthinking. Obviously, losing you had him extra possessive and clingy. Maybe Felix and Minho were just…hanging out more? It wasn’t a crime. But then Hyunjin started noticing things.

Felix and Minho were inseparable. They’re always whispering about God-knows-what. They’d vanish together after schedules, not even bothering to invite Hyunjin to join.

So naturally, one evening, after a particularly grueling practice session, Hyunjin cornered Felix in the locker room.

“Lix,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall like he was interrogating a criminal. “Where have you been going all the time?”

And to his credit, Felix didn’t even flinch.

“Oh, nowhere. Just hanging out with Minho-hyung. You know how it is.”

“Since when do you and Minho-hyung have this…whatever-this-is?” Hyunjin narrowed his eyes.

Felix shrugged nonchalantly, pulling his hoodie over his head and saying, “We’ve just been vibing.”

“Vibing?” Hyunjin echoed, incredulous. “You disappear every day to vibe? And what’s with all the whispering during practice?”

Felix zipped up his hoodie and slung his bag over his shoulder.

“You’re being dramatic, Hyun. It’s nothing.”

Hyunjin stared at him, trying to gauge if Felix was lying. But Felix’s face was completely blank, a perfect poker face.

“What about Y/N?” Hyunjin asked, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “Have you…seen her?”

At that, Felix paused, just for a second, but it was enough for Hyunjin to notice.

“I'm sure she’s good, Hyun. Busy probably.” he managed, giving him a smile.

Hyunjin frowned, but before he could press further, Felix clapped him on the shoulder.

“Don’t overthink, mate. Get some rest, yeah?”

And just like that, Felix was gone, leaving Hyunjin standing in the empty locker room, more confused than ever.

---

The next day, Hyunjin had been lingering suspiciously around the studio after practice, pretending to stretch while trying (and failing) to overhear Felix and Minho’s latest hushed conversation.

Chris, so so used to all the bullshit his boys pulled on the regular, had noticed this constant whispering between Felix and Minho, and also Hyunjin’s not-so-subtle attempts to loiter. He clapped his hands loudly.

“Hyunjin, go home. You’re exhausted, mate.”

Hyunjin, startled, stammered something about finishing up but Chris gave him a hard enough glare that had him reluctantly packing up and storming off (throwing one last suspicious glance at Felix, who pretended to be engrossed in tying his shoelaces.)

Once Hyunjin was out the door, Chris turned to Felix and Minho, his arms crossed and his leader gaze set to high alert.

“Okay,” he said, his voice stern, “what’s going on with you two? You’ve been sneaking around like teenagers, and I have a bad feeling about it. Spill.”

Felix and Minho exchanged a glance, before Minho shook his head. 

“Nothing’s going on, hyung,” Minho said coolly, leaning against the wall like he wasn’t sweating internally.

Felix, on the other hand, immediately started babbling. 

“Oh, you know, just chilling and cooking and - did you know George is a big fan of pumpkin soup? I’ve been learning how to make it. Minho hyung’s been helping…he’s such a perfectionist in the kitchen, but that’s beside the point -”

But the moment ‘George’ left his mouth, Minho sighed. 

“Who the hell is George?” Chris interrupted, his sharp eyes narrowing.

Minho sighed, muttering, “Great work, Yongbok.”

Felix blinked rapidly, his face heating up. He could do anything, literally anything in the world. But that anything didn't include lying to Chris. 

“Oh, uh, George is just…you know…a friend!” 

“A friend? You’ve been disappearing every day,  and sneaking around because of a friend?”

Felix opened his mouth, probably to launch into another nonsensical explanation, but Minho cut him off.

“George is Y/N,” he said flatly, like he was tired of the charade.

Chris froze.

“What do you mean George is Y/N?” he asked, his voice rising slightly. “What the hell is going on?”

Felix started flailing, his words tripping over each other.

“It’s not like we didn’t want to tell you, hyung, but it’s complicated, and she’s been going through a lot, and she needs all the help and support with George Jr. -”

“George Jr.?!” Chris exclaimed, his voice now echoing off the walls.

Minho, as calm as ever, pointed at Felix. “You’re making it worse.”

Chris threw his hands in the air as he said, “What is George Jr.?!”

“You mean who is George Jr.? It’s the baby. She’s pregnant.” Minho sighed, rubbing his temples.

The room went silent. Chris blinked several times, his expression cycling through shock, confusion, and then something that could only be described as 'Dad Rage'.

“She’s pregnant?! SHE’S PREGNANT, AND YOU TWO KEPT THIS FROM ME?!”

Felix, now thoroughly panicking, looked at Minho like he was begging for help. Minho just shrugged.

Chris glared at both of them. “You’re taking me to her. Right now.”

---

Ten minutes later, there was a knock at your door. You waddled over and opened it to find Chris standing there, his arms crossed and his eyes full of emotion.

Before you could say a word, he pulled you into a bone-crushing hug.

“Y/N,” he said firmly, his voice laced with both worry and frustration. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Behind him, Felix stood pouting like a scolded child and Minho looked like he regretted everything.

“Chris,” you gasped, trying to pull back from his hug. “I can’t breathe!”

He released you but kept his hands on your shoulders, scanning your face like a concerned dad. “You should’ve told me. We’re family, Y/N. You thought of doing this alone? Does he know? Oh my god, he doesn't know, does he?!”

From behind him, Felix muttered, “She’s not alone. I’ve been taking care of her.”

Chris whipped around to face him.

“Oh, you’ve been taking care of her, have you?!”

Felix folded his arms, his pout deepening.

“George Jr. is mine. None of you fake dads are gonna ever-”

Minho, who’d been quiet up until now, rolled his eyes and interrupted him.

“Please. You think you’re the dad just because you baked her cookies? Please.”

Felix turned to him, affronted. “You’ve been helping me! And my baby!”

“Oh, for the love of -” Chris groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, before glancing at you. “We're gonna get through this.”

You smiled at them, nodding. But deep inside, guilt gnawed at you. Everyone except Hyunjin seemed to be catching up. 

You'd started working from home more and more since you started your sixth month. You came over to the company only when you had something important to do. 

This afternoon was supposed to be uneventful. You had planned to drop by the company, grab a few files, and leave quickly. But apparently, fate had other plans.

You were leaving one of the offices when you heard it.

“Y/N?”

The voice was soft, almost hesitant. You froze in place, gripping the files tightly against your chest. Slowly, you turned to see Hyunjin standing a few feet away, his eyes wide as saucers, his gaze locked on you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. His gaze flickered down to your stomach - the not-so-subtle curve of your six-month baby bump that your sweater absolutely failed to conceal under closer scrutiny.

Hyunjin’s face drained of all color.

“What…Y/N…are you…?” he stammered, his voice breaking.

You panicked, taking a step back. “Hyunjin, I -”

But he was already closing the distance between you, his voice rising into a frantic whisper.

“Are you pregnant?!”

You winced, glancing around nervously, but the hallway was thankfully empty. Still, Hyunjin’s voice, even when hushed, completely floored you.

“Hyunjin, let’s not -”

“Are you pregnant?!” he repeated, his voice breaking. His hand gestured toward your stomach, and he looked so utterly wrecked that you couldn’t bring yourself to lie.

So you nodded.

His reaction was immediate. Hyunjin stumbled backward, his eyes welling up with tears, his hands clutching his head as if trying to keep himself from falling apart.

“Oh my God,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “Oh my God. Oh my God, it’s mine, isn’t it?”

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening at the sight of him falling apart. “Hyunjin -”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice was louder now, no longer a whisper. “That’s my baby! Our baby! And you didn’t tell me?”

“Hyunjin, please,” you begged, trying to calm him, but he was a storm you couldn’t contain.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demanded again, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I would’ve left everything for you! Don’t you know that? I would’ve -”

You shook your head fiercely, your own tears spilling over now.

“Hyunjin, I couldn't -”

“I don’t care!” he shouted, his voice cracking painfully. “None of it means anything if I don’t have you!”

Before either of you could say more, Chris appeared, obviously having heard the chaos from the other end of the hallway.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded, his eyes flickering between you and the sobbing mess that was Hyunjin.

“Hyung,” Hyunjin sobbed, clutching Chris’s arm as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. “She’s pregnant. She’s pregnant, and she didn’t tell me. That’s my baby.” His voice broke again, and he leaned heavily into Chris, tears falling freely.

Chris’s expression softened instantly, and he glanced at you as you stood rooted to your spot, tears spilling down your cheeks. 

“Hyunjin, calm down. Let’s talk about this somewhere else, okay?” He tried to guide Hyunjin back toward the practice room, but Hyunjin was not taking orders from anyone at this point.

“No,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’m not going anywhere until she tells me why she didn’t tell me.”

You stepped closer, your heart breaking as you cupped his tear-streaked cheeks with trembling hands. His skin was warm beneath your touch, his eyes red and raw as they searched yours for answers.

“Because,” you whispered, your voice cracking, “I love you. I love you too much to let you give up your dreams for me.”

Hyunjin’s tears fell harder.

“You think I’d regret it?” he choked out. “You think I’d ever regret choosing you? Choosing our baby?”

You shook your head through your tears.

“I couldn’t let you make that choice, Hyun. Not when I knew how much this means to you.”

Before he could respond, Felix and Minho arrived, their worried faces appearing at the end of the hallway. Felix took one look at the scene and immediately rushed to Hyunjin’s side, wrapping an arm around him.

“Hyunjin,” Felix said softly, his own voice shaking. “Come on, breathe.”

Minho, meanwhile, approached you, his arm going around your shoulder, and then glancing at Hyunjin.

“You’re not going to solve anything by falling apart here,” he said calmly. “Pull yourself together.”

But Hyunjin was inconsolable, his sobs growing louder.

“I didn’t know. I didn’t know. She’s been going through this alone, and I didn’t know. What kind of person does that make me?”

You stepped closer, your voice firm as you said, “Hyunjin, stop. You’re not a bad person. This isn’t your fault. If anything, it's mine. For keeping this from you.”

“I want to be there. Oh my God, I love you! Don’t shut me out again,” he whispered brokenly. “Please.”

You nodded, squeezing his hand. “I won’t.”

As Chris and Felix finally led Hyunjin away, Minho stayed behind, pulling you into a hug.

“Well,” he said dryly, “that could’ve gone worse.”

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping your tears. “Could it?”

Minho sshrugged

“At least he knows now. He’ll come around. And when he does…” He smirked faintly. “You’re going to have a hell of a time keeping him out of your hair.”

You sighed, your heart heavy but hopeful. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The company meeting was the stuff of legends. Chris had marched in like the leader of a revolution, Hyunjin trailing behind with fire in his eyes. By the end of it, the higher-ups had no choice but to relent. Hyunjin wasn’t going anywhere. Neither were you. And most importantly, Hyunjin was going to make damn sure his family - you and George Jr. were going to be happy, and with him always. 

Now that he was officially back, Hyunjin wasted no time slipping into full-time ‘husband’ mode. His mission? Make up for every second he’d missed. And maybe, just maybe, remind Minho and Felix that while they had been excellent stand-ins, it was time to hand over the reins to the rightful husband.

But, of course, Felix and Minho had no intention of stepping aside without a fight.

---

You and Hyunjin were finally having some well-deserved downtime - he had you nestled against his chest on the couch, his hand resting protectively on your bump. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt calm. Peaceful.

And then Felix appeared.

“Move,” Felix announced dramatically, striding into the room and pointing at Hyunjin like he was accusing him of a crime.

“What?” Hyunjin asked, frowning.

“I said move,” Felix repeated, already wedging himself between the two of you (particularly experienced with this as he'd done it a hundred times before). 

You couldn’t help but laugh as Felix threw an arm around you and placed his head on your shoulder.

“Just so you know, Mr. Biological Father,” Felix began, glaring pointedly at Hyunjin, “George Jr. is mine. We share an emotional bond that transcends DNA, okay? And, George? She's mine too. You being back changes nothing.”

Hyunjin’s jaw dropped, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. 

“What are you even talking about?! Why are you still calling her that?!”

Felix huffed dramatically, clutching you tighter. 

“Because she’s my George! And I will not stand for you disrupting the sacred trust we’ve built. Now go be useful and bring George her smoothie.”

Hyunjin looked at you, utterly baffled. “You’re seriously letting him call you George?”

“It’s a thing now. I’ve stopped fighting it.” You shrugged, trying to stifle your giggles.

Felix gave Hyunjin a smug grin.

“See? She’s accepted her destiny. Now go.”

Before Hyunjin could fire back, Minho’s voice floated in from the kitchen.

“Yongbok-ah, I’m the one making the smoothie. I know how to serve the smoothie I made. Hyunjin, if you’re so desperate to help, why don’t you go fold the laundry or something?”

Hyunjin groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

“Why am I suddenly the errand boy in my own house?”

Minho appeared in the doorway, smoothie in hand, his expression deadpan.

“Maybe because we’ve been doing all the heavy lifting for months while you were busy, I don’t know, not knowing she was pregnant.” he said, and Hyunjin flinched, clutching his chest like Minho had shot him.

“Okay, low blow.”

“I call it the truth.” Minho smirked. 

“Minho hyung and I have carried this team for far too long. You’re going to have to earn your place here, buddy.” Felix said with a grin. 

Hyunjin threw his hands up in exasperation and said, “She’s literally my girlfriend! How do I have to earn anything?!”

“George belongs to us, Hyunjin. Now go fold the laundry.” Felix said, waving Hyunjin away.

You burst out laughing, clutching your belly as Hyunjin huffed in annoyance before stomping off. He came back with a basket full of freshly washed and dried clothes, and started folding.

“I’ll fold every piece of laundry in Korea if it means overthrowing these two clowns.”

“You guys are all insane, you know that?” you said, shaking your head. 

“We prefer devoted.” Felix grinned.

“Dedicated. Loyal.” Minho nodded. 

“Whatever they are, I’ll beat them at it. Just watch.” Hyunjin rolled his eyes but threw you a wink.

Divider: @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world @nightmarenyxx @channie4lifeee143127

[kooklovee]

HOLD ON TO ME (m) - JJK

Your husband forgets your second anniversary. What starts as disappointment and heartbreak soon spirals into doubt—about your love, your marriage, and whether he even sees you anymore. But when Jungkook realizes his mistake, he’s willing to do anything to prove that his love has never wavered. Can he make it up to you, or is it already too late?

Pairing - CeoHusband!Jungkook x Wife!Reader

Genre - 18+, established relationship au, angst, fluff, smut, some more angst MDNI

ONESHOT - 11k words

Warnings - angsty ride, hurt/comfort, workaholic Jungkook, miscommunication, emotional distress, crying, deep emotional intimacy, slow build, Jungkook is an idiot but trust me he's sweet alright😭, Explicit smut- unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), soft dom Jk, nipple play, slow & passionate sex, lots of kissing, love-making, creampie, pet names <3, praises, happy ending (sad ending's not in my veins🫸)

a/n- snsjkqkw It's my first fic🥹 do let me know your thoughts on it <3 n consider a reblog if you like it, thank you for reading! 🫶

Masterlist kofi☕

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The soft glow of the overhead light casts long shadows across the dining room, but its warmth does nothing to chase away the cold emptiness creeping into your chest. You sit in one of the dining chairs, fingers idly tracing the gold band on your ring finger—the once-familiar weight of it feeling heavier than ever. The house is silent, except for the distant hum of the city beyond the windows.

Jungkook is late. Again.

You’ve lost count of how many nights have passed like this—curled up alone in bed, the space beside you growing colder with each passing hour. He always has a reason. A meeting that ran overtime, a last-minute project, something urgent that demands his attention more than you do. And you’ve always understood. Until now.

Your second anniversary is just around the corner, and for the first time in weeks, you have something to look forward to. Something that, surely, he wouldn’t forget.

You let out a slow breath, staring at the untouched dinner on the table. It’s the third time this week you’ve set two plates, only to eat alone. The food has long gone cold, but you still can’t bring yourself to clear it away. Some foolish, desperate part of you still hopes Jungkook will walk through the door, pulling you into his arms, murmuring apologies against your skin.

But the door stays closed. Your phone stays silent.

You check the time—almost midnight.

He used to call. Even when he was busy, he always found a way to let you know he was thinking about you. A quick text. A voice note. Something. Now, hours pass without a word, and you’re left wondering when exactly you started feeling like a ghost in your own marriage.

You clench your fists, blinking back the sting in your eyes. This isn’t you. You don’t doubt him. You don’t overthink things. But these days, love feels a lot like waiting, and waiting feels a lot like breaking.

And you’re so damn tired of breaking.

You close your eyes, trying to remember the Jungkook from before—before work took over, before the distance set in. The man who, despite his quiet nature, always found a way to make you feel cherished. He wasn’t one for grand speeches, but his words had always carried weight. Small, simple confessions once meant everything. Now, silence is all you get.

It wasn’t always easy with Jungkook. Back in college, he was cold, reserved, a storm you could never quite predict. But little by little, he let you in. His love had been careful, deliberate—whispered promises in the dark, stolen glances across crowded rooms, fingertips brushing against yours like a secret only the two of you understood.

And now, it feels like you’re losing him.

The thought sends a sharp ache through your chest. You tell yourself it’s just work, that the weight of being CEO is heavier than either of you expected. That he still loves you, even if he doesn’t say it as often.

But love isn’t supposed to feel like this.

The clock hits midnight.

You don’t know what you were expecting. A text? A call? Maybe the sound of the front door unlocking, Jungkook stepping in, exhausted but still managing to hold you close?

But there’s nothing.

Your throat tightens as you stare at the small cake sitting on the dining table, the frosting slightly uneven, the decorations a little clumsy. You were never a good cook—Jungkook knew that better than anyone. But in the early days of your marriage, you had tried. Because back then, cooking together had been something special. Flour-dusted fingertips, shared laughter over burnt pancakes, stolen kisses between stirring batter.

So tonight, with him too busy and too stressed, you thought a quiet, cozy celebration would be enough. Something small, something just for the two of you.

But now, looking at the untouched dinner, the unlit candle, and the cake that no longer seems worth eating, you realize how foolish that hope was.

You glance at your phone—no messages, no missed calls.

You put away the plates. You put the cake in the fridge, even though you know it’ll probably stay there, forgotten.

And then you crawl into bed alone, wrapping your arms around yourself because if Jungkook won’t hold you, who else will?

-----------------------

You stir, feeling the warmth of an arm lazily draped around your stomach. The weight is familiar, grounding, and for a moment, it feels like everything is okay.

Jungkook is still asleep. Shirtless, his toned chest rises and falls in steady breaths, his face soft in the morning light. His dark lashes cast faint shadows on his skin, and his lips—parted just slightly—make him look so much younger, so much more at peace.

You take your time looking at him, memorizing the exhaustion on his face, the faint crease between his brows even in sleep. He must’ve come home late—so late that you hadn’t even heard him.

Still, he’s here. Beside you. And that alone is enough to make something flicker in your chest.

Maybe he’s planned to stay home today. Maybe he remembers.

You can’t help but lean in, pressing a soft, loving kiss against his cheek. His skin is warm beneath your lips, and for a fleeting moment, everything feels like it used to.

Jungkook mumbles something incoherent, his brows knitting slightly before relaxing again. A small, sleepy noise escapes him, and the sound makes you giggle softly.

He stirs, his grip on your waist tightening just a little before his lashes flutter open. His dark eyes, still hazy with sleep, land on you, and for a second, there’s nothing but quiet warmth in them.

"You're up early," he murmurs, his voice thick with drowsiness. His thumb absentmindedly brushes over your waist, a touch so familiar yet so foreign all at once.

You smile, brushing a few strands of hair from his forehead. "Couldn't sleep much," you admit softly.

Jungkook hums in response, his eyes falling shut again for a moment. He nuzzles into the pillow, his grip on you still firm like he has no intention of letting you go. And for a brief, fragile second, the weight of last night, of the distance, of everything, seems to disappear.

Maybe he really did plan to stay home today. Maybe this morning means something.

Your heart clenches with the smallest trace of hope.

Jungkook lets out a long breath and shifts onto his back, stretching his arms above his head before blindly reaching for his phone on the nightstand. His warmth leaves your side, the air turning cold almost instantly.

You watch as his expression shifts, sleep slipping away as his screen lights up. His brows furrow, jaw tightening ever so slightly.

Then, with barely a glance in your direction, he mutters, "Shit, I need to get to the office."

The hope you held onto so desperately?

Gone.

You blink, your mind scrambling to catch up.

Maybe he's kidding. Maybe this is just one of his teasing games, the kind where he acts all nonchalant just to catch you off guard later. That’s how it used to be—him pretending to forget something important, only to turn around and surprise you in a way that left you breathless.

So you wait.

You wait for the smirk to tug at his lips, for him to toss his phone aside and pull you into his arms. You wait for him to kiss you insane, to murmur a husky "Happy anniversary, baby," against your skin.

You wait for him to prove you wrong.

But he doesn't.

Jungkook swings his legs over the bed, rubbing a hand down his face before standing up. He moves through the motions—grabbing a fresh shirt from the dresser, checking his notifications again, already half-immersed in whatever work emergency is pulling him away.

The realization settles in, slow and suffocating. He’s not playing. He’s not pretending. He really forgot.

And with that, the last flicker of hope inside you dies.

-------------------------

The sound of the bathroom door clicking shut barely registers in your mind. The faint rush of water follows soon after, but you’re still frozen in place, staring at the empty space where Jungkook was just moments ago.

Your fingers grip the sheets as you try to process it—try to make sense of the ache settling deep in your chest.

He forgot.

The thought circles endlessly, refusing to fade. It should be simple, just a mistake, an oversight, something easily fixed with an apology. But it doesn’t feel simple. It feels like another crack in something that’s already been fragile for weeks.

Your gaze drifts to your phone, the screen lighting up with messages from friends and family. Warm wishes, sweet texts—all reminders of the day that Jungkook should have been the first to acknowledge. And of course, they must have messaged him too.

But you know the answer before you even have to question it. Jungkook has two phones—one for work, one for personal use. And these days, his personal phone sits untouched, collecting dust somewhere in the house while his work phone never leaves his side.

Your throat tightens.

Even if someone did remind him, would he have even seen it? Would it have even mattered?

You swallow hard, blinking against the sudden sting in your eyes.

Maybe you should say something. Maybe you should remind him.

But a part of you—one that you don’t want to acknowledge—wonders if it even matters anymore.

You push yourself up from the bed, the weight in your chest making it harder than it should be. You don’t want to sit here, waiting—waiting for him to remember, waiting for an apology that might never come.

So you move. Just as you step toward the bathroom, the shower turns off. The door opens a moment later, steam curling into the cool morning air as Jungkook steps out, towel slung low around his waist, droplets of water trailing down his toned chest.

For a brief second, your eyes meet. He looks at you, blinking away the last remnants of sleep, his expression unreadable. There’s no sign of realization, no flicker of guilt or hesitation. Just the same tired, distracted gaze you’ve been seeing for weeks.

You say nothing. Instead, you walk past him, entering the washroom to go about your usual routine—brushing your teeth, washing your face, anything to avoid the tightness in your throat.

The sound of the sink running is the only thing filling the silence between you.

By the time you step out of the washroom, Jungkook is already dressed for work. His tie is slightly loosened, one hand adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves while the other holds his ever-present work phone. He looks like he’s in a hurry, but that isn’t surprising. He’s been having breakfast at the office for weeks now—always rushing out, always too busy.

Still, you can’t grasp that he’s actually forgotten.

Some part of you still expects him to pause, to turn around and say something. But he doesn’t. He’s focused on his screen, scanning through emails like today is just another ordinary morning.

Your chest tightens. You need to look away before the emotions creeping up inside you spill over. So, you pretend.

You settle at the table, opening your laptop like it’s just another workday. Since you’ve been working from home for the past couple of months, this isn’t unusual—but today, it’s not about work. It’s about avoiding him. About keeping your head down so he doesn’t see the way your hands tremble slightly.

If you act normal, maybe it’ll hurt less. Maybe you won’t break in front of him.

And maybe, just maybe, if you pretend hard enough, you can fool yourself into believing it doesn’t hurt at all.

“Baby, can you help me with the tie?”

His voice is smooth, familiar—like every other morning before this one. Like today isn’t supposed to mean more.

You hesitate for half a second before standing up, walking toward him. Your fingers move automatically, looping the fabric, tightening the knot, straightening it against his crisp shirt. You should pull away the moment you’re done, return to your seat, to your laptop, to pretending like everything is fine.

But just as you step back, Jungkook’s hand catches your wrist.

Before you can react, he tugs you closer, his warmth enveloping you as his large hand cups the side of your face, fingers splayed against your skin like he’s memorizing the feel of you. His touch is tender, his thumb tracing slow circles against your cheek, his dark eyes holding yours for a beat too long—like he’s seeing you, really seeing you, for the first time in days.

Then, he kisses you.

Slow, warm, lingering. Like he actually means it. Like he actually feels it.

“Need it for good luck,” he mumbles lovingly against your lips, his voice deep, hushed.

You blink up at him.

Jungkook pulls back slightly, offering a small smile. “Big deal with the Kims today.”

And just like that, reality crashes back in.

Your mind struggles to process, to understand how he can be like this—how he can kiss you like this and still not remember.

His mind is somewhere else. His thoughts, his focus—none of it is here. None of it is with you.

You force a smile, nodding wordlessly. Because what else is there to say?

------------------------

Jungkook moves around the house, gathering his things—his wallet, his keys. You stay where you are, settled on the couch with your laptop open, pretending to be busy, pretending that your heart isn’t sitting heavy in your chest.

Just as he’s about to leave, he steps toward you, bending down to press a quick kiss to your forehead.

“Love you,” he murmurs.

Before you can even respond, he’s already halfway through the living room, his focus elsewhere, his steps hurried.

A bitter chuckle escapes your lips before you can stop it.

You remember a time when things were different—when he used to whine, pout, and nudge you relentlessly if you didn’t say it back right away, just to tease him.

Flashback

The movie playing in the background had long been forgotten, the dialogue drowned out by the soft moans slipping from your lips. The purple neon glow cast dreamy hues across the living room, painting Jungkook’s skin in shades of violet as he moved above you.

His fingers laced tightly with yours, grip tightening slightly as his thrusts grew more desperate.

“J-Jungkook…” you moaned softly, nails digging into his hand.

He groaned against your neck, his breath hot, voice wrecked. “Fuck, baby…”

Your body arched beneath him, pleasure building to something uncontrollable. “I—I’m gonna—”

“Come for me, baby,” he urged, voice deep and rough, sending you tumbling over the edge.

You both unraveled together, gasping, shaking, holding onto each other like the world outside didn’t exist.

Jungkook pressed lazy, loving kisses all over your face, his lips brushing over your cheeks, your eyelids, the tip of your nose. “You alright?” he whispered.

You nodded, a sleepy, satisfied smile tugging at your lips. But then he just stared at you. A little too long. A little too intensely.

And then, barely above a whisper—like a secret meant only for you—he said, “I love you.”

Your eyes widened slightly, a playful grin tugging at the corner of your lips as you bit down on them, trying to contain your smile. He’d been saying it more often lately, slowly getting used to voicing what he felt.

But when you took a second too long to respond, he groaned dramatically, dropping his head into the crook of your neck like a kicked puppy.

“Say it back,” he grumbled.

“What?” you teased, laughing.

Jungkook huffed, then playfully bit down on your shoulder. Not hard—just enough to make you squeal.

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice muffled against your skin.

Still giggling, you cupped his face and pressed a soft kiss to his nose. “I love you, you big baby.”

His grin was instant, arms wrapping around you as he pulled you even closer, like he could never get enough.

End of Flashback

Now, he just says it in passing—quick, thoughtless, already moving on.

The front door clicks shut, and just like that, Jungkook is gone.

You sit there, fingers motionless on your laptop’s keyboard as the weight of what just happened settles deep in your chest. He forgot. He kissed you, held you, told you he loved you—but none of it was because he remembered.

Is this what your relationship has become?

Work, work, work. Always work.

It’s not that you expect Jungkook to run behind you all the time, to ditch his responsibilities just to shower you with affection. Hell, you supported him through everything—through college, through late nights chasing his dreams, through every stressful moment leading up to him becoming CEO. You believed in him.

But what about your love? Your marriage? Communication?

You’ve been patient. Too patient—more understanding than any normal wife would be. And you know Jungkook. You know he loves you, would bring you the whole damn world if you asked. But then why—why are you beginning to question it all?

Jungkook stepped into the CEO position a few months ago. At first, things were fine. He handled it well, still made time for you. But then… everything became about work. Slowly, then all at once.

You can’t even remember the last time you had truly loving sex. Not that Jungkook doesn’t love you—but it doesn’t feel the same anymore. There’s tension in his touch, frustration in the way he moves against you. It’s not the warmth, the desperation to be close to you like it used to be.

Is this how life is going to be from now on?

Sure, you could talk to Jungkook about your feelings. Tell him that the distance is starting to feel unbearable.

But when?

When he’s always checking his phone? When he barely even looks at you in the mornings? When you feel like you’re living with the CEO rather than your husband?

Well, happy anniversary to you.

------------------------

Your gaze drops to your hand, to the delicate band wrapped around your finger.

Your wedding ring.

For the first time in a long time, you really look at it—tracing the intricate details, the subtle shimmer in the morning light. And suddenly, it feels… heavier. Like you’re only noticing the weight of it now, as if it’s trying to remind you of everything it once meant.

Before you even realize what you’re doing, your fingers slip beneath the band, sliding it off. It’s only when the cool air brushes against your bare skin that it hits you.

Your breath catches, eyes widening at the sight of the ring resting in your palm. You hadn’t even thought about it—you just did it. And now, staring at the small, beautiful piece of jewelry, something inside you cracks. Tears gather before you can stop them.

Jungkook had spent weeks searching for this ring. Dragged you to countless jewelry stores, analyzing every cut, every design, obsessed with finding the perfect one. And no matter how many times you had told him that anything would make you happy, he had refused to settle for less.

"It has to be special," he had murmured against your temple the day he finally found it, slipping it onto your finger with the softest smile. "Because you’re special."

A broken sob escapes your throat as you clutch the ring tightly in your palm.

How did you end up here?

-----------------------

Jungkook leans back in his chair, exhaling slowly as he watches the final contract details appear on his screen. The deal with the Kims had gone smoothly—better than expected, actually. It should’ve been a moment of satisfaction, of relief.

Instead, he just drowns himself in more work.

The hours blur together, his coffee going cold beside him as he moves from one task to another. Another meeting. Another report. Another email. The same routine, the same cycle.

It’s later than evening when a familiar voice interrupts the quiet hum of his office.

“So you’re really here.”

Jungkook glances up, his fingers still typing as Taehyung steps into his cabin, arms crossed, a deep frown on his face.

“Hey, hyung,” Jungkook greets, barely looking away from his screen.

Taehyung scoffs, shaking his head playfully. “I really didn’t believe it when Yuna said you were still in your cabin.”

Jungkook blinks, confused. “Why?”

Taehyung gives him a look like he’s the biggest idiot in the world. “Y/N must really love you to let you work even today. My wife—dude, she would’ve killed me.”

Jungkook hums absentmindedly, still typing, still lost in work. “Mmm.”

Taehyung clicks his tongue, watching him for a second before letting out a chuckle. “Anyways, you’re still an asshole for working on your anniversary.”

Jungkook’s fingers freeze over the keyboard. The realization crashes into him all at once—like a punch to the gut, like ice spreading through his veins.

Fuck.

Jungkook’s fingers hover motionless over the keyboard.

His mind races to catch up with Taehyung’s words, but they don’t make sense—not right away.

Anniversary?

No, that can’t be right. His brows furrow slightly as he glances at the date on his laptop screen.

November 22.

His wedding anniversary.

For a second, he just stares, as if the numbers might shift into something else, something that doesn’t prove what an absolute idiot he’s been. His heartbeat picks up, but his body doesn’t move. It’s like his brain refuses to register it fully, like if he doesn’t react, it won’t be real.

He’d forgotten.

Completely.

No hints, no reminders, no last-minute realization before heading out this morning. Just an entire day of emails, meetings, and a deal he had been so damn focused on that he hadn’t even spared a single thought for you.

His wife.

But—no, that can’t be right. He would’ve remembered. He should’ve remembered.

His jaw tightens, his mind scrambling for some excuse, some reason—anything—to justify how this happened. But no matter how many ways he tries to twist it, the truth doesn’t change.

You had expected something. Of course you had. And Jungkook had given you nothing.

Taehyung’s voice barely registers now, his casual teasing just background noise to the way Jungkook’s pulse is starting to hammer against his ribs.

His wife. His love. His anniversary.

And he had let it pass him by like it was just another day.

How the fuck is he supposed to fix this?

Taehyung squints at Jungkook, waiting for some kind of reaction—any reaction. When Jungkook stays quiet, his fingers frozen over the keyboard, Taehyung lets out a sharp laugh.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” He leans forward, palms flat on Jungkook’s desk. “You just realized, didn’t you?”

Jungkook inhales deeply through his nose, his jaw tightening. “Hyung, not now.”

“Oh, no. Especially now,” Taehyung shoots back, shaking his head. “Damn, man. Y/N must really love you to put up with this shit.”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, his mind already spiraling. He checks the time—late. The entire day is gone. He’s spent hours sitting here, drowning himself in work while you—

Fuck.

He pushes his chair back abruptly, grabbing his phone and shoving it into his pocket. His coat is next, yanked from the back of his chair as he moves on instinct.

“Whoa, whoa.” Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “So now you care?”

Jungkook levels him with a glare, his voice lower, sharper. “Hyung.”

Taehyung lifts his hands in surrender, though his smirk lingers. “Go. Try not to get divorced on your second anniversary.”

Jungkook doesn’t wait for another word. He’s already out the door, moving faster than he has all day.

And for the first time today, work is the last thing on his mind.

-----------------------

Jungkook’s mind races as he grips the steering wheel, his fingers tightening with every passing second. The city lights blur past, but all he can focus on is the suffocating weight in his chest.

How the fuck did he forget?

His phone vibrates in the passenger seat—probably another work email—but for the first time in months, he ignores it. Instead, he swipes through his contacts, pressing the first name that comes to mind.

“Pick up, pick up,” he mutters, jaw clenched as the dial tone rings.

“Yes, Mr.Jeon?”

“Yuna.” His voice is rushed, urgent. “I need you to get me something. Flowers. A gift. Something big—just—fuck, anything.”

A pause. “Sir?”

“Now,” he snaps.

There’s a shuffle on the other end before his assistant hesitantly speaks again. “I…Mr.Jeon, it’s almost 10 p.m. Most places are closed.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. Of course they are. Because he’s too fucking late.

His grip tightens around the wheel. “Just—check. Call whoever. I’ll pay whatever.”

“Understood,” Yuna replies before hanging up.

What the fuck is he even doing?

No expensive gift, no overpriced bouquet, no last-minute grand gesture can erase the fact that he forgot. That he spent an entire day drowning in work while you—his wife, his love, the woman who has stood by him through everything—sat at home, waiting for him to remember.

His hands clench the wheel.

How much had he missed? How much had he ignored?

And the worst part—the part that makes his pulse spike, that has panic clawing at his ribs—is the question he doesn’t have an answer to.

What if you’re done waiting?

Jungkook slams his foot down on the gas.

He’s not losing you. He won’t.

------------------------

Jungkook steps into the house, and immediately, something feels off. The air is still. The silence stretches, suffocating, pressing against his chest. Almost all the lights are off, the space eerily empty, like no one has been here for hours.

His throat dries. “Baby?”

No answer.

He frowns, dropping his keys onto the counter with a sharp clink. His feet move quickly, checking the kitchen, the living room, even the hallway leading to the bedroom—nothing.

A weird feeling starts creeping up his spine. His heart beats faster as he strides toward the bedroom door, pushing it open—only to find the bed untouched, the sheets exactly the way he had left them this morning.

You’re not here.

His pulse spikes, a cold sweat forming at the base of his neck. His hands tremble as he yanks his phone out, immediately dialing your number.

One ring.

Two rings.

Three.

Straight to voicemail.

His stomach drops. A shaky breath escapes him as he stares at his screen, the call log mocking him with the lack of response. His fingers tighten around the device, his mind spiraling.

Where are you? At this time of night—alone—where could you have gone?

The walls feel like they’re closing in on him. His lungs strain for air.

Then, another thought claws its way in, violent and unwelcome.

Did you leave?

No. No. His chest tightens, his breath coming faster now. That’s not—that’s not possible. You wouldn’t just leave him. You wouldn’t—

He swallows hard, shaking his head. Don’t go there, Jungkook. Don’t even fucking go there.

But the panic is already curling around his ribs, suffocating, unrelenting.

You’re not here. And right now, that is the worst fucking thing in the world.

Jungkook’s fingers tremble as he redials your number.

Voicemail. Again.

“Fuck.” His breath comes out uneven, panic clawing at his throat. His hands are clammy, his chest tightening with every passing second. Where are you?

His mind is spiraling now, every worst-case scenario flashing through his head. His jaw clenches as he swipes to his contact list calling your friends.

Each time, the same response.

No, I haven’t seen her.

Did you check with—

Wait, what’s going on?

Jungkook grits his teeth, his hand tightening into a fist. His breathing is shallow, his pulse out of control. You weren’t with your friends. You weren’t picking up. You weren’t home.

And he still had no idea where you were.

Jungkook grabs his car keys with shaky hands, his mind racing. He doesn’t know where to go, doesn’t have a plan—all he knows is that he has to find you.

His feet move on instinct, carrying him toward the door. But just as he reaches for the handle, something catches his eye.

A small glint.

His breath stills. His gaze shifts toward the couch, and that’s when he sees it.

Your wedding ring.

Sitting there. Abandoned.

For a moment, everything stops. The pounding in his chest, the rush of his movements—everything.

The air in the room feels heavier, suffocating. His fingers twitch at his sides as he stares at the delicate band, his stomach twisting into something painful.

You never took it off. Never.

Jungkook swallows, his throat suddenly dry. He steps forward, slowly, almost cautiously, like touching it will somehow make this nightmare real.

His hand trembles as he picks it up, the cool metal pressing into his palm..

Jungkook stares at the ring in his palm, his vision blurring as a lump lodges itself in his throat. Tears burn at the corners of his eyes, his chest tightening painfully.

You wouldn’t just leave him like that… would you?

The thought alone knocks the air from his lungs. His grip on the ring tightens as his mind spirals, drowning in questions that only make the ache worse.

Were you thinking about this before today?

How long have you been feeling like this—so alone, so unloved—that taking off your ring even crossed your mind?

A sharp breath escapes him, shaky and uneven. His knees buckle, and before he can stop himself, he’s sinking onto the floor, the weight of everything crashing down at once.

The ring feels heavier than it should, pressing into his palm like a cruel reminder of everything he’s neglected, everything he’s taken for granted. He squeezes his eyes shut, exhaling a slow, trembling breath.

He needs to find you. He needs to fix this.

Before it’s too late.

Jungkook exhales shakily, forcing himself to move. His legs feel unsteady, but he pushes through, gripping the wedding ring so tightly it bites into his skin.

Somehow, he manages to stand, his entire body tense with desperation. He stumbles toward the door, his heart pounding, his mind racing with every possibility of where you could be.

But just as his fingers reach for the handle—

The door swings open.

And there you are.

Jungkook freezes, his breath catching in his throat. For a split second, everything stills—his panic, his thoughts, his entire world narrowing to the sight of you standing in front of him.

Then, in the blink of an eye, he moves.

He crashes into you, arms wrapping around you so tightly it nearly knocks the air from your lungs. His grip is desperate, his hands fisting into your clothes, his entire body pressing against yours like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You stand there, stunned, your own arms hovering slightly, unsure of what just happened.

"…Jungkook?” your voice comes out confused, hesitant.

But he just clings to you, burying his face into your neck, his breath warm and uneven against your skin.

You don’t know what’s going on.

But Jungkook?

He feels like he just got his heart beating again. You feel it before you hear it—the way his body trembles against yours, his grip impossibly tight, like he’s holding onto you for dear life.

Then, the sound reaches you. A broken, uneven breath, followed by the unmistakable hitch of a sob.

Your heart clenches. “Kook…” Your voice is soft, laced with worry as you try to pull back, just enough to see his face. But he doesn’t let you. His arms only tighten, his body curling into yours, as if letting go would physically hurt him.

Panic bubbles in your chest, your hands instinctively reaching up to cradle his face, your fingers threading into his hair. “Hey… what happened?” Your voice wavers slightly. “Are you okay? You’re scaring me.”

But Jungkook just shakes his head against your shoulder, another quiet, shaky breath leaving him.

You don’t understand.

But whatever this is—whatever’s breaking him like this—your own heart aches just watching him fall apart. Your concern deepens with every shaky breath that leaves Jungkook. He’s still clinging to you, his body trembling slightly, his face buried against your shoulder like he’s afraid to let go.

You don’t know what’s wrong, but seeing him like this—Jungkook, your Jungkook—completely unraveling, is enough to make panic rise in your chest.

Gently, you pull back, your hands cupping his face. His skin is warm, slightly damp from his tears, and when his glassy eyes finally meet yours, your stomach twists painfully.

“Come inside,” you whisper, your voice softer now, coaxing. “Please.”

He swallows thickly, nodding ever so slightly, but his grip on you doesn’t fully loosen. You guide him inside anyway, one hand wrapped around his wrist as you lead him toward the couch.

He sits down heavily, elbows resting on his knees, fingers threading through his hair as he exhales shakily. His shoulders are still tense, his whole body radiating something raw and unspoken.

You kneel in front of him, reaching for his hands, but he doesn’t lift his head.

Your worry deepens. “Jungkook… please tell me what’s wrong.” Silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating. His fingers twitch against his temples, his breath uneven.

“I—” His voice is hoarse, cracking slightly. He swallows hard, gripping his knees. “I thought you left me.”

You blink, his words settling in, but it takes you a moment to fully process them.

He thought you left him?

Your brows furrow slightly as you shake your head. “Jungkook, I was babysitting Hanuel.”

His breath is still uneven, his hands gripping his knees like he’s trying to ground himself. His eyes flick up to meet yours, confused, searching.

“Hana and Seokjin had a date night,” you explain gently. “They asked me to watch him for a few hours.”

Hanuel, your neighbour's son. Jungkook stares at you, his body still tense, like his mind hasn’t caught up yet. You watch as his lips part slightly, his gaze flickering between you and the ring still clutched in his hand.

His fingers tighten around it, his knuckles paling. A beat of silence passes before he swallows thickly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“…Then why was this on the couch?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, fragile and uncertain, as if he’s afraid of the answer. And for the first time tonight, you don’t know what to say.

“I…” The word barely escapes your lips before you stand up, turning away from him. You can’t meet his eyes—not when your emotions are still raw, not when the weight of everything is pressing so heavily on your chest.

Jungkook notices immediately. Panic flickers across his face, and in an instant, he’s scrambling up after you. “Wait—baby, please.” His voice is desperate now, thick with emotion, his hands reaching out like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, stepping closer, his tone cracking under the weight of his own guilt. “I—fuck, I forgot—I don’t know how, I don’t even have an excuse, but—” He exhales sharply, shaking his head, his eyes glassy as they plead with yours.

“I never meant to make you feel like this,” he whispers. “I swear, I didn’t.” But you still don’t look at him. And that alone is enough to make his heart sink.

You swallow hard, your arms wrapping around yourself as you stare at the floor. His words, his desperation, his guilt—they all swirl around you, but they don’t erase the ache in your chest.

“Do you even realize how much this hurt?” Your voice is quiet, but the weight of it makes Jungkook flinch. “I spent the entire day thinking—hoping—that maybe you had something planned. That maybe you were just pretending to forget.”

Jungkook’s throat bobs as he steps closer, hesitating before reaching for your hand. You don’t pull away, but you don’t hold onto him either.

“I know,” he whispers. “I know I fucked up, baby. I—I was so caught up in work, I just…” He trails off, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “That’s not an excuse. Nothing is. I should’ve remembered. I should’ve been there.”

You let out a hollow laugh, finally lifting your gaze to meet his. “Jungkook… this isn’t just about today.”

His brows furrow, but he doesn’t interrupt.

You take a shaky breath. “It’s been weeks—maybe even longer—since I felt like your wife instead of just… someone waiting for you to come home.” Your voice wavers, but you push through. “And it’s not that I don’t understand. I do. I’ve always understood. But at what point do I stop being understanding and start being invisible to you?”

Jungkook’s breath catches, his grip on your hand tightening like he’s afraid to let go. “You’re not invisible,” he says, voice thick with emotion. “You never could be.”

“Then why do I feel like I am?”

Silence.

Jungkook shakes his head, his jaw clenching as he exhales unsteadily. “I never wanted to make you feel this way,” he murmurs. “You are everything to me, baby. Everything. I don’t even know who I am without you.”

Your eyes sting, but you force yourself to hold his gaze. “Then show me, Jungkook. Because I can’t keep being the only one fighting for us.” The vulnerability in your voice nearly breaks him.

He’s been losing you, piece by piece, for a while now. And he hadn’t even noticed.

Jungkook feels his stomach drop, the weight of your words hitting harder than any argument, any fight you could have thrown at him. His grip on your hand tightens, but you don’t squeeze back.

He’s losing you.

And it’s not because of one forgotten anniversary—it’s because he hasn’t been here.

He swallows hard. “Baby…” His voice cracks, his free hand reaching up to cup your cheek, but you step back before he can touch you.

The distance, however small, is enough to make his chest ache.

“Tell me, Jungkook,” you whisper, your voice barely holding together. “When was the last time we sat down and had breakfast together? When was the last time you really looked at me—not just kissed me on the forehead before rushing out the door?” You shake your head, a bitter chuckle escaping. “When was the last time we made love without it feeling like you were trying to release your stress instead of loving me?”

Jungkook’s breath hitches.

You let out a slow exhale, your voice calmer now but even heavier with hurt. “I don’t need grand gestures. I don’t need fancy gifts or a picture-perfect romance. I just… needed you to see me.”

His entire body feels cold. Because the truth is—he doesn’t have an answer.

He’s been so caught up in his responsibilities, his work, his stress, that he’s let the one person who has always been there for him slip through his fingers.

And the worst part? He didn’t even realize it was happening until now.

“Fuck.” His voice is raw, his hands running through his hair as he looks at you—really looks at you. At the exhaustion in your eyes, the way your lips tremble slightly like you’re holding back everything.

His heart clenches painfully. “I fucked up, didn’t I?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you hold his gaze for a long moment before whispering, “I don’t know, Jungkook. Did you?”

Jungkook's breath is unsteady, his chest rising and falling too quickly as he stares at you—at the distance between you, the weight of your words suffocating him.

He moves. Before you can react, his hands are cupping your face, his touch desperate, almost shaky. His forehead presses against yours as he exhales a trembling breath, like he’s trying to hold himself together.

“I see you,” he whispers, his voice raw, strained. “I swear to god, I see you, baby. I just—I lost myself somewhere along the way, and I didn’t even realize I was dragging us down with me.”

His thumbs brush over your cheekbones, a silent plea laced in his touch. “I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you.”

Your heart clenches, but you don’t push him away. You should—you should make him sit with this, make him feel what it’s been like for you all this time. But then his grip tightens, his voice breaking.

“Please, baby.” His lips hover just above yours, not quite touching, his breath warm against your skin. “Tell me it’s not too late.”

His vulnerability shakes you to your core.

You close your eyes, inhaling deeply, trying to steady yourself. “I don’t want to lose us either, Jungkook,” you whisper. “But I can’t keep being the only one holding on.”

Jungkook shakes his head instantly. “You’re not. You won’t be.” His lips ghost over your forehead before he pulls back just enough to meet your eyes. “Let me prove it to you. Please.”

His desperation is tangible, seeping into every word, every touch. And for the first time tonight, you wonder if maybe—just maybe—he really does see you now.

Jungkook watches you, searching for something—anything—in your eyes that tells him he hasn’t completely lost you.

Before doubt can settle in, he takes your hand, pressing it over his chest, right where his heart is hammering wildly. “Feel that?” he whispers. “That’s what you do to me, baby. Always.”

Your fingers twitch against his shirt, but you don’t pull away. You don’t move at all, just staring up at him, your expression unreadable.

He swallows hard. “I know I don’t say it enough. I know I don’t show it enough, but fuck, Y/n—” His hands tighten around yours, his voice barely above a breath. “There is nothing in this world that matters more to me than you.”

You let out a slow exhale, your gaze flickering, like you want to believe him—like a part of you does, but the hurt is still too fresh. So he gives you more.

“I’ll fix this,” he promises, his thumb brushing soft circles over your wrist. “Not with flowers, or gifts, or some last-minute bullshit—but with me. With us.”

His voice drops lower, thick with emotion. “Just tell me it’s not too late.” Your lips part slightly, but you don’t speak. Instead, you finally—finally—press your palm flat against his chest, feeling the way his heart beats erratically beneath your touch.

It’s enough to break something inside Jungkook. His grip tightens as he leans in, his lips brushing against your temple, then your cheek—soft, slow, hesitant, as if he’s still afraid you’ll slip away.

And when you don’t—when you let him—he exhales a shaky breath, his forehead resting against yours once more.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

Like if he says it enough, he can make up for all the times he didn’t. And maybe—just maybe—you’ll believe him again.

Jungkook’s breath is warm against your skin, his forehead still pressed against yours, his grip on you unwavering. His words linger in the air between you—raw, desperate, filled with a love that had always been there, even when he’d failed to show it.

You swallow hard, blinking against the tears clouding your vision. He’s waiting—watching you so intently, so hopelessly, as if your next words will either put him back together or completely shatter him.

You take a shaky breath. “Jungkook…” Your voice wavers, and his grip tightens instinctively. “I love you too.”

A sharp exhale leaves him, his entire body sinking slightly in relief. But before he can say anything, you continue. “But this hurt,” you whisper. “More than you realize.”

Jungkook stiffens, nodding quickly, his hands cupping your face again, his thumbs brushing away the tears that slip down your cheeks. “I know, baby. I know. And I hate myself for it.” His voice cracks, his jaw clenching before he presses a lingering kiss to your forehead.

You let your eyes flutter shut for a second, exhaling slowly. “I don’t want promises, Jungkook,” you murmur. “I just… I need to feel like I matter to you again.”

His hands tremble slightly as they slide down, wrapping around yours. He lifts them to his lips, pressing gentle, reverent kisses to each of your knuckles, his dark eyes never leaving yours.

“You do,” he whispers. “More than anything. And I’m going to spend every damn day proving that to you.” His voice is steady now—no hesitation, no doubt. Just quiet, determined love. And though the ache in your chest hasn’t fully faded, something shifts.

Because this time, you don’t just hear him. You believe him. Even if just a little.

Jungkook presses another lingering kiss against your knuckles, his touch reverent, as if grounding himself in you. But before he can lose himself completely, you gently murmur, “Have you eaten?”

The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind. He shakes his head, gaze still searching yours. “No… I—"

“Go freshen up,” you say softly, stepping back just a little. “We’ll eat together.”

His fingers twitch against yours, hesitating to let go, but eventually, he nods. With one last glance—like he’s making sure you’re really here—he pulls away and heads toward the shower.

While he’s gone, you move to the kitchen, setting out dinner in quiet contemplation. The ache in your chest hasn’t completely faded, but there’s something else now—a warmth that wasn’t there before.

------------------------

By the time Jungkook emerges, hair damp, dressed in a fresh t-shirt and sweatpants, you’ve already placed the food on the table.

He hesitates for only a second before joining you, sliding into his chair. “Thank you,” he murmurs, voice softer now.

You nod, offering a small smile as you take a seat. The conversation is light—simple, effortless. Jungkook fills the silence, stealing glances at you like he’s still memorizing you all over again. And through it all, his hand never leaves yours, his thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles against your skin.

After dinner, he helps with the dishes, working beside you in quiet understanding. The air between you feels lighter, yet still fragile—like something delicate being pieced back together.

Jungkook sets the last dish onto the drying rack, wiping his hands on the towel before turning to you. There’s a soft, almost hopeful look in his eyes—like he’s clinging to this moment, to the quiet togetherness you’ve shared over dinner.

You step away, hesitating for just a second before opening the refrigerator. Jungkook watches in silence as you carefully pull out the cake, placing on the counter, your fingers grazing the edges of the plate, before finally speaking.

“I…I’d made this.”

The words are quiet, but they hit harder than any raised voice ever could. Jungkook’s entire body stiffening as guilt crashes into him all over again. His eyes flicker to the cake—to the careful details, the effort, the thought you had put into it, for him—and suddenly, it feels like the walls are caving in.

His throat tightens. His fingers curl at his sides. He can’t look at you. He doesn’t deserve to. Tears gather in his eyes, blurring his vision, his heart breaking all over again—not just because he forgot today, but because he had broken you in so many ways without even realizing it.

And that? That’s something he doesn’t know how to forgive himself for.

“Jungkook..”, your voice is soft—barely above a whisper—but it cuts through the heavy silence like a knife.

He wants to look at you, wants to say something—anything—but he can’t. His head remains bowed, his hands gripping the edge of the counter, as if holding himself together takes everything in him.

You take a small step forward, the space between you feeling larger than it actually is. His silence is deafening.

“Jungkook,” you say again, a little firmer this time.

His lips part, a shaky breath slipping through, but no words come out. He wants to speak—to apologize again, to tell you how much he loves you, to somehow fix this—but his throat feels tight, his chest heavy.

He doesn’t know if words are enough.

“I… I’m so fucking sorry, baby,” Jungkook chokes out, his voice trembling as he finally speaks. His hands shake at his sides, his eyes still glassy with unshed tears. “I’ve been an asshole—a terrible husband. I don’t even know how to make this right.” His breath stutters, his words spilling out faster now, raw and desperate.

“I wouldn’t even be surprised if you left me,” he continues, shaking his head. “You should’ve. You deserve better. I—I can’t believe I—”

“Jungkook.”

You don’t let him finish.

Instead, you reach up, cupping his face with both hands, your thumbs brushing away the tears that have already begun to fall. His lips part in surprise, his rambling cut off as you rise onto your toes.

A gentle kiss on his lips.

Soft. Loving.

Tear-streaked and real.

Jungkook exhales shakily against your lips, his whole body melting into yours. His hands find your waist, holding onto you like you’re the only thing keeping him upright.

The kiss is slow—no desperation, no urgency—just you and him, emotions raw and bare. Tears continue to slip down your cheeks, mixing with his, salty and warm, but neither of you pull away. Because in this moment, there’s no need for words.

Just this.

Just love.

When you finally pull away, your forehead rests against his, both of you breathing heavily, your tears still wet against each other’s skin. Jungkook’s grip on your waist is firm, like he’s grounding himself in your touch, afraid to let go. His lips part, like he wants to speak, but before he can, you whisper,

“You’re not a terrible husband, Jungkook.”

Jungkook’s eyes glisten with more unshed tears, his lips pressing into a thin line, unable to speak. You wipe his tears away with your thumbs, offering him the smallest smile. “Just… love me better, okay?”

His throat bobs as he swallows hard, nodding again, more determined this time. “I will.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but you believe him.

You press one last gentle kiss to his cheek before stepping back, glancing at the cake still sitting on the counter. “Come on,” you say, nudging him lightly. “Let’s cut this before it melts.”

Jungkook lets out a breathy chuckle, wiping at his face as he nods. He steps beside you, his hand instinctively finding yours again as you both move toward the small cake. The two of you cut into it together, Jungkook’s fingers lacing through yours around the knife handle. He doesn’t let go, even as you both take small bites in comfortable silence.

Once the plates are cleared, you tug at his wrist, nodding toward the bedroom. “Come to bed?”

Jungkook exhales, relief washing over his features as he nods. “Yeah.”

A few minutes later, you’re both under the covers, warmth surrounding you as Jungkook pulls you against his chest. His arms wrap tightly around you, his breath fanning against the top of your head as he whispers,

“I love you.”

This time, you don’t hesitate to say it back.

“I love you too, Jungkook.”

And for the first time in weeks, you fall asleep in his arms, where you’ve always belonged.

Jungkook’s fingers still tremble against your skin. Even as he holds you, his grip is laced with hesitance, a silent fear lingering beneath the warmth of his touch. It’s in the way his hands press into your back yet remain careful, as if he’s afraid of holding on too tightly.

You can feel the erratic thud of his heart beneath your palm, his breaths uneven, his chest rising and falling as if he’s struggling to keep himself steady.

And something about that—about him—makes your own heart ache.

Slowly, you lift your head from his chest, your eyes locking onto his in the dim glow of the room. His lips part slightly, his gaze unreadable, but the moment you lean in, his breath catches.

You kiss him.

It starts soft—gentle, longing, filled with everything you can’t put into words.

Jungkook melts into it instantly, his grip on you tightening, pulling you impossibly closer. The warmth of his lips, the slight hitch in his breath when you press harder—it sends a familiar heat curling through you.

The kiss deepens, your fingers gripping his t-shirt with urgency, needing to feel more. It’s desperate, heady, the space between you charged with something deeper than just want—something raw, something that had been missing for too long.

Jungkook pulls back gently. His forehead stays pressed against yours, both of you panting softly, but his hands shake slightly as they hold you in place.

His lips part, his breath uneven. “I… we shouldn’t…” He swallows hard, voice thick with hesitation. “I mean… I don’t want you to think I’m gonna fix this with sex.”

His words cut through the haze of warmth between you, grounding you both back in reality. You understand. Because even now—even now—he’s afraid. Afraid that this isn’t enough. Afraid that he isn’t enough.

Your eyes soften as you take in his hesitance, the uncertainty in his gaze, the way his breath trembles against your skin.

You reach up, your fingers threading gently through his hair, grounding him. “I’m never gonna think like that, Kook,” you murmur, your voice quiet but sure.

His lips part slightly, his brows still knitted in concern, but before he can say anything, you lean in again. This time, the kiss is slower—softer—filled with nothing but love.

You linger for a moment, your lips brushing against his as you whisper, “I just… I need you.” Another soft kiss. “Please.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, his entire body shuddering under the weight of your words.

And just like that, whatever hesitation he had left—it’s gone.

Your breaths grow uneven as your lips move against his, the heat between you intensifying with every passing second.

Jungkook shifts, his body hovering over yours, his weight pressing down just enough to make you feel him. His hands slip beneath the oversized t-shirt you’re wearing, his touch still hesitant, fingertips ghosting over your waist like he’s memorizing the feel of you all over again.

But you don’t want hesitation.

You tug at his shirt, a silent plea, and Jungkook obeys without question, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. Before he can think, you pull him back in, capturing his lips in another deep, hungry kiss.

A quiet groan escapes him, his hands finally exploring freely, pressing against your skin, feeling the warmth beneath his palms. His lips leave yours only to trail down your neck, his breath warm as he presses soft, lingering kisses there.

You shiver when he reaches the collar of your shirt, your own hands moving to help him remove it. Dark, love-filled eyes roam over every inch of your skin, his lips parting slightly, as if he’s trying to find the words—but nothing he could say would ever be enough. Still, he tries.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice thick with awe. “So fucking perfect.”

Your breath catches when he lowers himself again, his lips planting soft, reverent kisses along your collarbone, trailing lower—over your shoulder, your chest—his mouth mapping you like you’re something sacred.

His lips slowly wrap around one breast, his tongue flicking teasingly before sucking softly. A moan escapes you, your fingers tangling into his hair, tugging lightly as he hums against your skin. His other hand moves to your neglected breast, his thumb brushing over the sensitive peak as he keeps mouthing sweet nothings against you.

“You’re everything,” he whispers between kisses, his voice muffled against your skin. “I love you so much, baby.”

And as the heat between you builds, his touch grows bolder. A desperate whimper escapes your lips as your fingers tangle deeper into Jungkook’s hair, your body arching toward him, silently pleading for more.

He groans against your skin, the sound low and warm, vibrating through you. “Patience, baby,” he murmurs, pressing another lingering kiss to your chest before trailing lower, his lips tracing the curves of your body. “Let me take my time… let me make love to you.”

The way he says it—love—makes your stomach tighten, your heart aching as much as your body craves him. His hands glide down your waist, slow and purposeful, before slipping between your legs. His fingers find the damp fabric of your panties, pressing just lightly enough to make you gasp. Your hips lift instinctively, chasing his touch, and Jungkook groans at the feeling.

His dark eyes meet yours, silently asking for permission. You nod, unable to form words, and that’s all he needs.

Hooking his fingers into the waistband, he tugs your panties down, dragging them slowly along your legs before discarding them somewhere behind him. His gaze never leaves you as he lowers himself further, trailing kisses down your stomach, over the sensitive skin of your hips.

He settles between your legs. You feel completely bare under his intense gaze, the way his lips part slightly, his eyes darkening as he drinks you in.

“So fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice filled with something reverent, something devoted. His hands spread your thighs wider, his thumbs brushing along your skin in slow, soothing circles.

“My wife.”

The words send a shiver down your spine, making your core clench in anticipation.

Finally, he closes his mouth around you. One long, slow stroke of his tongue, and you fall apart instantly, a breathless moan slipping from your lips as your head tilts back against the pillows.

Jungkook hums against you, pleased, his hands gripping your thighs as he licks another slow, teasing stripe through your folds. “So fucking sweet,” he groans, the heat of his breath against your slick skin making your body tremble. “Gonna make you feel so good, baby.”

He isn't just making love, he's devouring you.

Jungkook hums against you, the vibration sending a shockwave of pleasure up your spine. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open as his tongue moves with slow, deliberate strokes—learning you all over again, savoring every little gasp and shudder that escapes you.

“Jungkook—” Your voice is breathless, almost pleading, your fingers tightening in his hair, tugging him closer.

He groans at that, the sound reverberating through your core as he laps at you with more purpose. His tongue flicks over your clit, teasing, testing, before he sucks gently, making your back arch off the bed.

“Fuck—” You whimper, your thighs threatening to close around his head, but his strong hands keep you spread wide, completely at his mercy.

His lips brushing your sensitive skin as he pulls back just enough to look up at you. His lips are slick, his dark eyes burning with desire.

Your cheeks burn, he dives back in, this time with more urgency. His tongue moves in tight circles, alternating between slow, teasing strokes and deeper, firmer licks that have your breath hitching.

One hand slides up your stomach, fingers splaying across your skin before reaching your breast, rolling a nipple between his fingers. The combined sensation makes your thighs tremble, a moan tearing from your lips as your hips buck against his mouth.

Jungkook groans, clearly enjoying how responsive you are, his grip on you tightening as he eats you out like it’s his last meal. He flicks his tongue over your clit again, then sucks, harder this time, sending sparks shooting through your body.

“-fuck, Jungkook—” Your head tilts back, eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure builds, coiling tight in your stomach.

He pulls back just enough to murmur against you, “You gonna cum for me, baby?”

The heat inside you is unbearable now, hot and consuming. You nod desperately, your moans spilling freely as you grip his hair, your body teetering on the edge. Jungkook doesn’t stop. He pushes you closer, his mouth working you over with expert precision, his hands holding you steady as your body starts to tremble.

“Come for me, baby,” he whispers against your heat. “Let me taste you.”

And with one final flick of his tongue, you shatter—Pleasure crashes over you, your back arching, thighs trembling as you moan his name like a prayer. Jungkook groans, drinking in everything you give him, his hands stroking your body as he helps you ride it out.

Only when your body goes slack does he finally pull away, pressing soft kisses against your inner thighs, his voice thick with pride and adoration. “You’re so perfect,” he breathes between kisses, his voice thick with adoration. “My love. My wife.”

Jungkook moves up, trailing kisses along your body—over your stomach, your ribs, your collarbone—When he reaches your lips, he captures them in a deep, languid kiss, his hands cradling your face like you’re something fragile, something cherished.

Your fingers roam over his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles before moving lower, brushing over his abdomen until you reach the hardness straining against his sweats.

A groan rumbles from his chest at your touch, his hips twitching into your palm as you cup him, feeling just how ready he is.

“Baby…” he breathes against your lips, voice thick with want. You tug at the waistband of his pants, wordlessly asking for more. Jungkook obliges, sitting back just enough to push them down, kicking them off entirely.

He’s fully hard, the sight of him making your stomach tighten, heat pooling between your legs again. But before you can do anything, before you can even reach for him Jungkook takes your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. The intimacy of it overwhelming.

His other hand moves between your bodies, guiding himself to your entrance, his eyes locked on yours, searching, making sure—

With a final nod from you, he pushes in, slow and careful, stretching you inch by inch.

A soft moan escapes your lips, but Jungkook kisses you instantly, swallowing the sound, his own groan muffled against your mouth as he sinks deeper. The moment he’s fully inside, he stills, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing you in. And as he holds you close, as your bodies mold together so seamlessly, you realize—

This isn’t just sex.

This is home.

Jungkook moves slowly, each roll of his hips deep and deliberate, as if he’s trying to make up for every moment he let slip away. His body is pressed flush against yours, warmth seeping into every inch of your skin, his breath shaky against your lips as he kisses you between each movement.

Your fingers dig softly into his back, nails pressing just enough to ground yourself in the overwhelming sensation of him. One hand moves to his hair, your fingers threading through the strands, tugging gently as his lips travel from your mouth to your jaw, down your neck, planting soft, lingering kisses that make your heart ache.

It’s slow, it’s deep—it’s love.

And then, suddenly, you feel it.

A faint tremble against your body.

Something warm and wet against your neck where Jungkook has buried his face.

Your breath catches as realization dawns—he’s crying. Tears gather in your own eyes without warning, the sheer weight of the moment crashing over you all at once.

You tighten your hold on him, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as you press a soft kiss into his hair. “Kook…” you whisper, your voice barely holding steady.

He shudders at your touch, at the way you hold him, like you’re not just letting him fall apart—but falling apart with him.

“I—” His voice cracks as he exhales shakily, his thrusts faltering for a moment. “I’m so sorry, baby.” His lips find your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he presses kisses there—apology after apology, praise after praise.

“You’re everything to me,” he murmurs between kisses, his words thick with emotion. “You always have been.” A tear slips down your cheek as you cup his face, guiding him up until his forehead rests against yours.

“I know,” you whisper, voice trembling. “I know, Jungkook.”

His lips crash against yours again, the kiss slow and deep, his movements resuming—gentle but full of something raw, something unspoken. His hands grip your waist tighter, his body moving in perfect sync with yours, as if this moment is rewriting everything.

“I’ve got you,” you whisper, voice laced with love. “I’ll always have you.”

Jungkook shudders, gripping you tighter, his lips pressing against your shoulder, his movements slowing but never stopping. You can feel the love in every touch, every kiss, every whispered breath against your skin.

And when the pleasure builds to its peak, you come undone together, your bodies melting into one as waves of warmth crash over you. His name spills from your lips, his deep groan following right after, his arms holding you so tight you swear he never plans on letting go.

Silence lingers, only the sound of heavy breathing filling the space. Then, Jungkook shifts, lifting his head just enough to press the softest kiss to your lips.

“I love you,” he murmurs, voice hoarse but full of devotion. “I don’t deserve you… but I swear, I’ll spend my life proving that I do.”

You cup his face, your thumb brushing away the remnants of dried tears. “Just love me like this, Jungkook,” you whisper, voice steady. “That’s all I need.”

His hands tightening around you as his forehead presses against yours. “I’ll love you more,” he vows, his voice breaking slightly. “More than this, more than anything. Always.” His words settle deep in your chest, warm and real, and when he pulls you impossibly closer, tucking you into his arms, you believe him.

His heartbeat is steady now, no longer frantic with fear—just warm, solid, home.

As sleep begins to pull you under, you hear him whisper one last thing against your hair.

“Happy anniversary, baby.”

---------------------------------------------------

[nekoashiii]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ Not now!

Notes: masterlist \ Part 1

Summary: Your husband is calling you, but a little gremlin keeps declining it.

Tag: @teewritessmth @mitskunicheesecake @rcvcgers @vspxriddles @iloveh4nge

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ Zayne

Zayne sat in the doctor’s lounge, his phone pressed to his ear as he listened to the call ring. Once. Twice. Then—

Call Declined.

His brows furrowed slightly. His hands, steady enough to perform the most delicate heart surgeries, tightened around the phone. He tried again.

Ring. Ring.

Call Declined.

Zayne exhaled slowly through his nose, his grip relaxing, Maybe you were busy. You were probably playing with Elias or cooking dinner Mayne in the shower? He wasn’t the type to overthink, but something about the repeated declines made his stomach twist in a way he wasn’t happy about.

Still, he didn’t want to be a nuisance or cause you unnecessary troubles. He wasn’t the type to text “Call me” like other husbands either, He just sat there for a moment, staring at his phone, before getting up and heading back to work.

He had patients waiting.

Back home, Elias sat cross-legged on the couch, his tiny fingers curled around your phone. Every time it vibrated, his eyes narrowed, and without hesitation, he pressed the red button.

“Papa’s calling,” you pointed out, watching from the kitchen as Elias, without a second thought, hung up again.

He didn’t say a word. Just held the phone like a little dragon hoarding treasure.

You wiped your hands on a towel and walked over, sitting beside him. “Sweetheart, why are you declining Papa’s calls?”

Elias finally looked up at you. His expression was unreadable—so much like Zayne’s that it almost made you laugh. After a moment, he mumbled, “He’s busy.”

You blinked. “That’s why you’re hanging up on him?”

A short nod.

Your heart softened. Elias was a quiet child, much like his father, and even at four years old, he had an odd way of thinking. He wasn’t upset. He wasn’t being stubborn. In his little mind, he just thought he was helping.

You smiled and ran a hand through his soft raven colored hair. “Baby, Papa wouldn’t call if he didn’t want to talk. He’s probably on a break and missing us.”

Elias frowned slightly, as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. He shifted on the couch, staring at the phone. “…Oh.”

You chuckled. “Should we call him back?”

Elias hesitated, then nodded.

Zayne was halfway through reviewing a patient’s chart when his phone vibrated.

Incoming Call: My Love

His fingers moved instinctively, answering before the first ring finished. “Hello?”

“Papa.”

Zayne blinked. It wasn’t you. It was Elias.

The little voice on the other end sounded almost… guilty?

“Elias.” Zayne glanced at the time. “You should be in bed soon.”

A pause. Then, in a quieter voice, “…I hung up your calls.”

Zayne froze. He hadn’t expected that. His first instinct was to ask why, but before he could, Elias continued.

“You were busy. I didn’t wanna bother you.”

Zayne’s grip on the phone tightened. He looked down at his hands, But right now, his own heart ached in a different way.

He wasn’t good with words. Never had been. But there was one thing he knew.

“Elias.” His voice was firm, steady. “You never bother me.”

Another pause.

Then, a quiet, “…Oh.”

Zayne exhaled. “Is Mama there?”

You took the phone, laughing softly. “Your son thought he was being considerate.”

Zayne pinched the bridge of his nose. “Of course he did.” His voice was softer than usual. “Tell him he can always pick up my calls.”

“I think he understands now.” You turned to Elias, who was now curled against your side, looking deep in thought. “Say goodnight to Papa.”

Elias hesitated, then muttered, “Goodnight, Papa.”

Zayne swallowed. He wished he was home.

“Goodnight, Elias. I’ll see you in the morning.”

When Zayne finally stepped through the door that night, the house was quiet. You were already in bed, and Elias was asleep in his room.

Or so he thought.

As he passed Elias’ door, a tiny voice mumbled, “…father?”

Zayne stopped. Slowly, he pushed the door open.

Elias was sitting up in bed, rubbing his sleepy eyes.

Zayne hesitated. He wasn’t good at this. But he walked inside, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?”

Elias didn’t answer. Instead, he reached out with his small hands and grabbed onto Zayne’s sleeve. Not saying anything, just… holding on.

Zayne stared at him before sitting on the edge of his bed.

Then, without a word, he gently rested a hand on his son’s head.

It wasn’t much.

But for them, it was enough.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ Xavier

Xavier stood in the middle of a blood-soaked battlefield, his sword still dripping as he exhaled. The fight had been over in minutes—another nest of Wanderers cleared out.

He wasn’t in a hurry to return to headquarters. Instead, he yawned and pulled out his phone, pressing your number.

Ring. Ring.

Call Declined.

Xavier stared at the screen, brow twitching slightly. That was odd. He tried again.

Call Declined.

The corner of his mouth twitched. He wasn’t a man prone to overreaction, but something about his own family declining his calls irritated him. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. Maybe you were busy. Maybe—

He teleported.

One second, he was in a ruined village surrounded by monster corpses. The next, he was in the living room of his own home.

The sight that greeted him made his left eye twitch.

Leo and Livia—his five-year-old twins—were sitting on the couch, your phone between them, giggling.

Livia saw him first. Her eyes widened, and she smacked Leo’s arm. “Abort mission! Papa’s here!”

Leo nearly dropped the phone. “Crap.”

Xavier didn’t speak for a moment. He simply stared, exhausted, disappointed, and vaguely impressed all at once. “…You two.”

The twins immediately shot to their feet, but it was too late. He was already in front of them, towering over their tiny forms. His sword was still strapped to his back, his hunter uniform stained with dried Wanderer blood.

They didn’t look scared. If anything, they looked ready to bolt.

“…Explain.” His voice was even, calm—but that made it worse.

The twins exchanged glances before Livia, ever the mastermind, said, “Mom said you were busy!”

Leo nodded rapidly. “Yeah! You were fighting monsters, right? We didn’t wanna bother you!”

Xavier sighed through his nose, rubbing his temples. “You declined my calls.”

Livia pouted. “Well… yeah.”

He inhaled deeply. He was not good at this. Discipline, affection—none of it came naturally to him. He could gut a monster in seconds, but parenting? That was an entirely different battlefield.

He crossed his arms, giving them a firm look. “That’s not happening again.”

Leo groaned. “But why? You never talk much anyway!”

Xavier blinked. He squatted down to their level, eyes narrowing. “You have a death wish, don’t you?”

Livia elbowed Leo. “Idiot. Now we’re really in trouble.”

Xavier pinched the bridge of his nose, exhausted beyond belief. He should just pick them up and force them into a timeout—he had the strength for it. But before he could, Livia clapped her hands together.

“Leo, Plan B!”

Leo gasped. “Yes, Plan B!”

Xavier frowned. “What the—”

Before he could react, Livia sprinted left while Leo ran right.

Teleportation was an option, but honestly? He was too damn tired. He just sighed and walked toward the kitchen, knowing exactly where they’d end up.

And there you were, standing at the counter, watching the chaos unfold like it was a normal Tuesday.

Without looking at him, you asked, “I take it you figured out why your calls weren’t getting through?”

Xavier leaned against the counter, exhaling. “Your kids are demons.”

You raised a brow. “My kids?”

He gave you a tired look. “They didn’t get it from me.”

Before you could argue, the sound of a crash echoed from upstairs.

A beat of silence. Then Leo’s voice: “I’LL FIX IT, I PROMISE!”

Xavier closed his eyes, counting to ten.

An hour later, the twins sat on the couch, pouting as Xavier stood in front of them. He wasn’t a loud father. He didn’t yell. But his silent disappointment was somehow worse.

“You’re not getting out of this,” he finally said.

Livia crossed her arms. “It was for a good reason.”

“It was for a stupid reason.”

Leo kicked his legs. “But we didn’t wanna distract you.”

Xavier sighed, rubbing his face. “…You’re my kids. You can always talk to me.”

Livia blinked. “Even when you’re fighting monsters?”

He crouched down, staring at them. “Especially then.”

For the first time, the twins looked guilty.

Xavier softened just a fraction. He wasn’t great at showing affection to kids. He wasn’t the type to hug them randomly or constantly hold them. But he reached out, ruffling their hair roughly or cuddle up with his little demons.

“Next time you hang up on me, I’m making you run laps.”

Leo gasped. “That’s child labor!”

Livia clutched her chest. “You’re cruel, Father.”

Xavier stood, sighing. “You’ll live.”

That night, when the twins were asleep, Xavier sat beside you in bed, rubbing his temples.

“I don’t know how to handle them.”

You smiled, playing with his hair. “You’re doing fine.”

He scoffed. “They don’t listen to me at all.”

You chuckled. “They do. They just like pushing your buttons.”

Xavier sighed, leaning into your touch. “…Next time they ignore my calls, I’m teleporting them into a cold lake.”

You laughed, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Sure you are.”

Xavier didn’t respond. He just yawned, closed his eyes, and finally—finally—slept.

[askthepokemutants]

Caught myself thinking about this blog again at work...

Still debating on how to go about getting things back in order over here. I'm reaching a point elsewhere where I should be able to split my focus a tiny bit, no promises.

Though, for some context, a lot of what's holding things up here-outside of focusing on one blog for nearly 2 years-is just getting the plot parts of this thing sorted out. I've probably said this long ago, but the hang-ups involve characters I don't own [a lot of the last big plot was essentially a sort of crossover as is], so more often than not, I'm thinking about how to progress with them involved. The mod of blog they're from is on hiatus currently, so I guess that's why I'm thinking about things again, hah..

While it didn't get much traction-doing the little RGB thing was something I'd like to do again to ease back into things over here, alongside progressing character-focused stories, and actually BEING an askblog of course. Nothing's written in stone and getting back into things here means... so many redesigns, so it'll be slow when it does happen. Anyway, that's all I have to say, later!

[leclarifies]

letters (MV33)

꒰ max verstappen x childhoodbestfriend! reader ꒱

synopsis┊it was confusing, even though you were continents apart, you never understood why max never responded to your letters, until you attend the belgium gp to finally get the answers you were looking for. inspired by the prompt, "why did you never reply to my letters?" "you wrote me letters?"

genre┊ fluffy, the fluffiest fluff i've ever fluffed.

word count┊ 4.4k

aria yaps┊ i have worked on this non-stop for two days, and i loved the way it turned out, maybe one of my favorite works. enjoy reading this as much as i enjoy writing this!!

SECOND PART

she was always around max, either from the sidelines or the first person max ran to when he won a race, it was always her. not even his father, even though he held his father to the highest regard, but it was always her.

the little wrinkles on the edge of her eyes when she smiled at him, the way her lips would curl up, or the way she would giggle every. single. time. that he would come and hug her after every race finish. he remembers it all. and the way he would snuggle his face in the crook of her neck and asked her softly after he would win a race, 'did you see me win, schatje?'

she would always smile back with a laugh, 'of course i did maxie.'

it was always about max, her life revolved around him, whether he liked it or not. she adored him and maybe he adored her a little bit more. they were childhood friends, they were inseparable since they were little babies, their mothers being friends made it even harder for the both of them to not be attached at the hip.

she loved being in his presence and he loved her.

the divorce between jos and sophie was hard on max, he blamed himself and his career but she was always there to tell him that it's not his fault. that their decision was their own and she never forgot to tell max that it wasn't his fault, no matter how much they told him that it was.

she saw the way jos had pushed max to his limits, get physical with his own son and his way of escaping that life was run to her arms, she was there tending to every bruise, every wound whether physical or emotional. she was his rock and it was final. nothing anyone could ever say or do would change his name.

"schatje," max had gently woken her up from her slumber, and she stirred awake from his soft voice, she noticed where she was and finally remembered what happened.

max had finished lower than expected and jos had thrown hurtful things about max, she was there on his mother's couch, comforting him and had fallen asleep that way, with max on her lap, "are you sleepy?"

she shook her head, not wanting to admit that yes, indeed she was sleepy, but if max needed comfort then that wasn't a big deal to her, "what's wrong maxie?"

"nothing, you can sleep on my bed if you're tired. i can sleep here," max had brushed a stray strand of her hair behind her ear but she refused, she hated taking his bed because she knew how uncomfortable the couch was, she wanted him to sleep well.

but he wouldn't allow her to take the couch, so they both slept on sophie's couch almost cuddled with eachother because they were both stubborn.

max was necessarily content with how he was living his life right now, but she made it better and that's all he could ask for. was it her smile? maybe her presence? max didn't care. the first memory he could remember from his early childhood was her, and it was etched into his memory like stone.

she was content with being max's rock, she was there to keep him grounded and she too only had memories of him from her early childhood. she wouldn't replace him for the world, he was too precious for anything in this earthly world.

but there was one day, it felt like a bomb dropped on her. her father had told her that he would have to move to korea to continue work, and she didn't know how to break the news to max until a few days before she had to leave.

she knew it was wrong to keep something this big away from max, but she was so stricken with anxiety that she never got the chance to until max came over to her house and saw all the packed boxes with their belongings.

"why didn't you tell me sooner?" max was angry, she could tell, by the way he was pacing around her room, looking at the packed boxes around. max thought he meant more to her than just a measly friend, he felt frustrated— betrayed almost. why wouldn't she tell him? why would she keep something as big as this away from him?

"why didn't you say something before? why now? why before you could see me race this weekend?" max was raising his voice now, and she didn't know what to do. her eyes turned glassy and those doe eyes max loved so much just looked so sad.

she stayed quiet, a guilty look on her face. she knew max would break from the news, and she knew that it would affect his performance, but she didn't know how to stay, how to convince her father that she didn't want to go, so yet again, she stayed silent in important moments of her life.

"schatje, can you say something? say anything?!" max yelled and she flinches, she didn't know what to say or what to do, she wanted to say something, say anything. but nothing would come to her lips. it was so hard for her when he was angry like this, it reminded her of his father and his father was deathly scary when angry.

a sigh escapes max's lips when he sees her flinch, coming close to her to wrap her in a hug. tears escaped from her eyes as she held onto max tight, "i didn't know how to tell you," she whispers into max's ear but max didn't say anything to that, just held her even tighter and he did not want to let go.

"it's okay schatje, i'm not mad at you. i could never get mad at you, i'm sorry for raising my voice. i just don't want you to go," tears started to escape max's eyes too, he didn't want to see her go. he wanted her to stay, and she did too. but the universe was pulling them apart and there was nothing either of them could do about it.

the ride to the airport was tough, being only fifteen and sixteen respectively. max held her hand the entire time, not wanting to let go, he didn't want her to leave, she was his biggest support system and he couldn't imagine her gone like that.

she was the most scared of the two of them, what if her father never returned to belgium? what if she was stuck there in korea forever? what if she never got to see his pretty blue eyes anymore?

max was the one to ground her, no longer lost in her thoughts, "can you promise me we'll keep in touch? or maybe visit from time to time?" max was holding onto her hands tightly, she felt like they would bruise, she could only smile and nod.

her mother had called her over, it was time to go. she looked at max for what it felt like the last time and left her life in belgium.

dear schatje,

hi, this is the first week that you're gone and it's bene been so hard without you here with me. i forgot that you weren't here anymore and i was expecting to see your face, but when i didn't, i may or may not have almost cried.

i miss you so much. tell me how it is in korea, is it cold? do they have bears there? what about the food? is it good? can you eat it? i heard there's a lot of spiy spicy food there? honestly i don't care about what they have there, i just care about you.

when can you visit again? can you tell me if you're ever coming back? i'm so worried about you there, i miss you... so much schatje.

written with a lot of love, your maxie.

max always handed off his letters to his father, telling his father to hand it off to his mother because apparently they kept in contact and wanted to send it off to the post office on behalf of him.

he just wondered how she was doing there.

it's been months and countless of letters max had sent, and none of them replied. he was starting to lose hope, he didn't want to think that his best friend would forget about him so easily like that, but he held out hope. he knew that she wouldn't magically forget about him now that she was there.

jealousy bubbled within him when he realized that she would be meeting new people, what if she met someone like him? who enjoyed karting and wanted to steal her attention?

no, he couldn't be thinking like that. he loved her and he knew she loved him as much as he did, so he told himself to just be patient, maybe letters to korea took months to reach?

the naviety was almost laughable but he was fine with it. he just wanted to hear back from his pretty girl.

"i do not understand why you keep writing letters to that stupid girl, she doesn't reply to you and all it does is distract you," jos had reprimanded his son, but max was stubborn. he didn't care what his father had to say, he loved all of her, even when she was thousands of kilometers away. he wanted to talk, even when she never replied.

max was in the process of writing another letter, but he never listened to his father, not about her. not about how much of a distraction she's been to his career, he didn't care. he used it as motivation to get better on the track, so the next time she saw him, he would be a world champion, that's what he silently promised to her.

it had been two years, and he hadn't heard a peep back. slowly, he was starting to lose hope but he couldn't lose hope, every single time he would send off the letters, he told himself that maybe it got lost in the mail.

max kept writing though.

max's debut in f1 was explosive to say the least, his interviews would absolutely go viral by the things he was saying in them. he didn't understand why, he just said what was on his mind.

what was truly on his mind was her.

was he not good enough for her? was him being in f1 not enough to impress her? why wouldn't she write back?

oh god how he missed her.

he still wrote to her weekly, it was religious at this point. he never forgot and he always told his father to send them off to his mother and the week after that was always disappointment because he wouldn't hear anything back.

little did he know, she never received those letters.

max had slowly stopped writing letters as he got into f1, he didn't see a point in it anymore. she never replied. she didn't care. letters didn't take years to reach korea, and he finally lost hope.

winning his first championship felt empty, the pretty girl who used to be waiting for him wasn't there for him anymore. of course, he was happy to win such an impressive feat, who wouldn't? but it just... lacked her.

max indeed lost hope that she would ever write back, but never lost hope that she was out there, somewhere, watching him race every single week and beat the shit out of his rivals. she loved watching him race and that's what he intended to do until the day he died, he wanted to impress her, maybe that was his ulterior motive to becoming a formula one driver.

all just to impress his best friend who had lost contact with him for a decade now.

"you need to stop figdeting so much," her mother had scolded her, she could only laugh nervously and stop fidgeting around. she wondered why max never wrote back to her, she had written him letters. did he hate her for moving out to korea and not coming to visit belgium?

she shook the thoughts out of her head, she was here now. for his home race, and for the rest of her life. her father had now decided to move back to belgium, because and i quote, 'i don't want my daughter to lose touch with her culture'.

she was 26 now, and she had guessed that he turned 27 not too long ago. it's been so long since she talked to him and she hoped that the spark that she had been yearning for had not been lost to the passages of time.

getting the paddock passes was not easy, it was a war and a half but she managed to snag some for herself and a friend that wanted to visit belgium and would arrive later on in the week.

"how did you even manage to get paddock passes for us?" heejin, her friend that wanted to visit had asked, she could only laugh and explain how she got them, it was a war and a half. heejin laughed along with her as they both arrived and scanned their passes at the entrance.

"i'm gonna meet my best friend here— well it's complicated. i don't think he considers me a best friend anymore, but i still do," she had softly told heejin who was a big formula one fan even before meeting her, heejin raised her eyebrow when she said that.

the both of them were walking down the paddock, passing all of the different team's hospitalities. heejin raised her eyebrow at her friend, who shrugged.

"who's your best friend?" heejin had asked as they pass by the red bull hospitality, she stopped which signalled heejin to stop as well, she looked at the redbull in awe. she hadn't been to a formula one race yet, the closest she'd been was to karting but that didn't bring on the feelings she felt when standing in front of this red bull building.

"well, he's driving the number one car."

"YOUR BEST FRIEND IS MAX VERSTAPPEN?!"

"YOUR BEST FRIEND IS MAX VERSTAPPEN?!"

max had heard a girl yell, he slowly turned his head. he was confused, he didn't have a best friend— well not anymore. she had moved to korea, all memories of her stuck in his head being replayed all over and over again.

that's all he had left of her.

the other girl shushed the girl who yelled, and that's when it dawned on max. the other girl looked awfully familiar, he couldn't quite place why she looked so familiar but she looked like her, like his best friend.

"shh! you can't just yell that out in public," she clamped a hand on her friend's mouth, "they're gonna think i'm insane!" then the both of them giggled, it did sound ridiculous but now he was curious.

was she back? was that her? who was she with? is that her new best friend? is that her?

as they both walked away, max wanted to run up to them, to ask that one particular girl what her name was. what she was doing here and who she was with but all of that died when he got approached by his race engineer.

then he forgot all about that familiar girl that he saw in front of the red bull hospitality.

max would only get another glimpse of her when it was race day, they were walking through the paddock in a similar fashion, but max promised to himself that he would approach them, that he would ask but there was doubt in his heart.

what if she forgot about him?

she couldn't, right?

and so approach them he did, tapping the girl that he felt was so familiar to on the shoulder, she had turned around and they had locked eyes.

it was as if she never left.

the sparks, they all came rushing back and then his heart started beating out of his chest, he wanted to ask so many questions, why she was here, who she was with, when she came back— why she came back, why she never wrote him back.

but the only thing that left his lips were a simple, "hi."

heejin was freaking out, she could tell. she knew that heejin was a big red bull fan too, always talking about how the team was dominating and they had the better car. she had heard all about it. but the little dutchboy she left all those years ago was standing in front of her and not-so little anymore and all those thoughts about her girlfriend was forgotten.

he looked the same, but grown and decked out in red bull merch. she wanted to laugh at how innocent he looked when he tapped her on the shoulder to get her to turn around, he looked stupid, stupidly cute.

all of those feelings from when she was back in belgium came back, she almost forgot what it felt like to be around max— her max. he looked like he was going to cry when he got a good look at her, that he finally realized that yes, it's her. the one that left him in belgium all those years ago.

and maybe she could cry too.

"maxie?" a familiar nickname slipped from her lips and she didn't get a response back, but a bear hug in return.

god, her scent. it was everything to him. he fucking missed it— miss her.

"i thought... i thought you forgot about me," max buried his face into the crook of her neck, she too wrapped her arms around max and buried her face into his chest. his voice was so vulnerable, all she wanted to do was curl around him and tell him that she would never.

she shook her head as she sank into the hug, "i could never forget my maxie," she mumbled into his chest, he held onto her tighter. he never wanted to let go, not now, not ever. she was where she was finally supposed to be, right in his arms.

once they got time alone after his race, max had stolen her away from her friend and dragged her into his driver's room, locking the door and pushing her against the wall, slamming his lips onto hers. he had been dreaming about this for so long, his lips on hers.

he didn't want to so sexual with her, no not yet. being in the small driver's room where they couldn't be free out of the public eye wasn't a good place. he just wanted to touch her, hold her, love her, make sure that she knew how much he had missed this.

missed them being together.

her hands instinctively went up to hold onto his shoulders, holding on for dear life as he kissed her softly. the feelings going through him were a mix of nostalgia, longing and love. he loved her for so long and it was so like her to show up when it mattered the most.

he won it for her today, to show her, that the little max she knew still had it in him to win and to impress her even with a world championship under his belt.

she felt the softness and the gentleness that max was touching her with, she knew how much he loved her. how much he care, how much he longed for her touch and she did too, only so much more.

she had so many questions in her, on why he never replied to the letters she sent or why he never sent any himself, not knowing what happened with her letters and why they never arrived properly.

but she didn't care at the moment, all she cared about was that she was safely in his arms, never to be let go ever again.

safe to say, her lips were to the point of bruising that night. max had forbade her to go back home, or to be away from his sight. he had kissed her silly, not wanting to let her go and there she was, settled nicely in his arms.

it's not like she wanted to go anywhere anyway.

the movie in the background was long forgotten, max's lips felt like they were molded for hers. he had waited for her for so long, waited to feel her skin after so long and this just felt right, it felt right when he was with her.

"maxie— mmhh— my love, stop," she had to talk in between kisses, max didn't want to let her go, his fingers were basically imprinted onto her waist. she was straddling max as he sat upright and kissed her, so softly. like she would break if he was any harder, even though he absolutely did want to kiss her harder.

max released her from the kiss with a pout, his pretty lips were red and swollen from all the kissing they did. everything in the world just seemed to fade into the background when they were together, like everyone else in this world was so insignificant for their time and they were the only people worthy of each other's time.

"but why? i wanna kiss you, i miss you. i have waited for you for ten years, the least you can do is let me kiss you until you're sick of me," max mumbled against her lips and all she could do was giggle.

god, her laugh, he loved it.

she shook her head and left a final peck on his lips, "because i want to talk maxie, we can't just kiss whatever questions we have for eachother away," she told him but he seemed to think otherwise, she had moved back to put a bit of distance in between them, to make sure max didn't go in to kiss her again.

"oh yes we can, i don't care about the questions, schatje. i just wanna be with you, just like old days, but now it's so different because in those ten years without you, i finally realized what i felt and how i felt for you and i can't wait any damn longer to finally kiss those pretty lips of yours, so please. just let me do this for another three hours and we can talk," max begged as he pulled her closer.

she couldn't imagine kissing for another three hours as they spent the last hour doing it, but with him? she would do it for another life-time if she could.

the both of them later had the serious talk when they were done kissing each other, now wanting answers from eachother. their legs were tangled and intertwined with each other's, not wanting to let go from their skin to skin contact.

"first off, why did you never reply to my letters? i wrote you so many. so many that i lost count, i would always write to you but you never replied, why?" max's voice came out strained, all of the painful feelings from the last ten years of his life were coming out, her doe eyes looked up from where she was, laying against his chest.

"you wrote me letters? i wrote you letters, you never replied. i thought you got too busy with your karting career to reply—"

"i could never get too busy to reply to you, but i never got any of your letters, schatje," max murmured against her forehead, kissing it gently after he spoke. she hummed a response before it dawned on her, she had always sent the letters to his father's address and she knew that his father wasn't fond of her, even offering her a huge lump sum of cash just for her to stay away from his son but she never accepted it, always choosing to be beside max, no matter what happened.

she looked up and sighed, she knew what happened now, she connected the pieces, "did you send your letters off to your dad?" she asked, and max nodded before it dawned on him too.

"that fucker hid the letters from you and never sent mine..."

she could only nod sadly, but it didn't matter now. all that mattered was that they were reconnected now.

scattered around them were the countless of letters max had written to her and all of the letters from her that he never received, the years of pining, longing— all of them tucked neatly away into these little envelopes that held all of those unsaid feelings.

a soft sigh escapes her lips, she looked at all of them, there were hundreds maybe. all of them posted to where she stayed in korea but never sent, always kept in a big box where all of his letters were and hers were stuffed in there in a similar fashion.

her heart clenched when she saw how many there were, there were far more many than whatever she sent, even though she did send quite a big sum.

when max had found out, he stormed into jos' house and demanded to ask why he never sent out the letters that he wrote and a big fight broke out, she had to hold of max from physically harming his own father. then they left after given the big box filled with letters.

"there's so many..." she watched in awe as all of them were sorted by date, from the latest to the earliest, max looked up at her with those big blue icy eyes of his, he looked really sad. stuck in his feelings almost, not understand why his father would do whatever he did in the past.

max held her hand gently, pulling her into his embrace, "i have always loved you, even when i was a little kid. i just didn't understand what those feelings were, i just acted on how i felt and being away from you... i just couldn't. so i sent you my love in the form of these letters."

she left a lingering kiss on his cheek, she felt sorry for having to leave all those years ago. she should've fought, should've stood her ground on how much she wanted to stay but she was just a 16 year old kid who didn't know how to, "i know. i'm sorry i had to leave all those years ago."

"don't apologize, schatje. i have never blamed you for leaving me. i have always held love for you in my heart, even if you didn't know it."

"i always knew max, and i still do."

very willing to do a part 2 to this btw, will only do it when requested tho. not proofread, excuse grammar mistakes.

[jamespotterismydaddy]

Capture the Flag

luke castellan x reader

pt 2

A/N: now that i'm writing for other fandoms, feel free to let me know if you only want to be on a hotd taglist. But now, please enjoy the strongest swordsman in camp halfblood

TW: MAJOR SMUT, slight bondage, rough smut, violence, lowkey dark(ish)!luke

word count: 1,699 words

You want Luke Castellan’s head speared on your sword.

It’s like you spend every minute preparing for capture the flag because of him. He spends every last minute of each game cutting down your teammates and stealing your flag, so now it’s time to change the tactic. You ditch your father’s usual battle advice of going for the kill and hope that defence is the best offence for once. You also pray that he will guide your sword anyhow. So there you stand, guarding your flag with two of your most vicious teammates. You dodge the blue team’s first attack that was supposed to draw you off. You may have a short temper but you aren’t stupid. And you’re more than pleased to see the look of surprise on Luke’s face as he approaches.

“Fucking Ares kids.” He grumbles, sword drawn.

“Were you not expecting me, Castellan?” You ask with a vengeful smirk.

He goes right for you. You’re the biggest threat there but he likes to think you’re not even close to his skill level. You would believe that the man plans to cut you down and then your teammates. He always aims for the glory of it all.

“How’s your team gonna get our flag if you’re here?” He asks as he makes the first swing. It’s much better to start off on offence and he’s the one coming at you.

“Who cares. When you’re done, so is your team.” You block him, hating to be on defence but he’s too quick.

“Gods, you didn’t plan ahead of that? There really isn’t anything in that pretty little head of yours, is there? Other than rage of course.”

  You’re a hothead. He knows it. You know it and it doesn’t take much to rile you up. When you’re riled up, you get sloppy. At this point, you don’t care if he guts you, you go for the little fucker’s ankles. You’re actually surprised when he stumbles from blocking your attack. It’s a stupid mistake, especially for him. Though, you aren’t going to let a chance like this slip by. You keep pushing him back, trying to leave him no chance to think in between swings. He trips over a log behind him, the sword falling from his hand. He has no chance now, not on the ground and you won’t be letting him get up.

“Who’s the idiot now?” 

He looks at you as you approach slowly, taunting him. He then grabs his sword and makes a break for it. You’re too shocked to even keep him down.

What the fuck.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen Luke Castellan run from a fight. Not in your 4 years at camp. So you chase after him.

He’s fast, faster than you but you push yourself. He trails away… and away. Then you lose him. 

“Godsdamnit!” You scream into the woods as you jog around where you last saw him. 

You know you can’t stray for long if you’re not fighting Luke so you turn to make your way back to the flag. That’s when he jumps out at you with his sword swinging. You barely have time to block and it puts you off your balance. He swings at you again and again. You fall as you continue to block the merciless strikes. You’re practically holding your sword in the air and hoping for the best. The best doesn’t come as the weapon flies from your hand. He descends on you, straddling your waist as he holds the blade to your throat. He’s smirking.

“You don’t try nearly hard enough.” He says to you. “I know you’re not very clever but hades, my teammates probably already have the flag over the barrier.” 

That’s when you realize how easily you were deceived. Luke didn’t run from you because you bested him; he ran to draw you off. It was a pathetically simple plan and it worked. The heat rises to your cheeks from humiliation. He grabs your two hands and pins them above your head, his grip gentle but also firm.

“I’ll put you in your grave.” You spit out at him.

“Will you now? While I have you essentially restrained?” He’s clearly amused.

You struggle beneath him with all your force but all you manage to do is roll your hips against him, earning a groan from the man. You feel it too, the burning ache between your thighs. You want him. Worse yet, he wants you.

“Let me up.” 

“No. I think you quite like how I have you pinned to the ground.” He smirks.

“You’re delusional.”

“You’re wet.”

He slips a knee between your thighs and rubs it against your clothed pussy. It takes everything in you not to whimper.

“S-Stop.” You stutter out.

“Make me.” He murmurs, continuing to make you grind down on his knee as he leans down and forces you into a hot kiss. You hate how you kiss back, so hungry for him. Your mind is clouded with lust for a moment before you realize the advantage he is giving you. You never technically conceded.

As swiftly as you can, you wrap your free leg around his waist and use your whole strength to throw him off you, startling him enough to free your hands.

“You bitch.” He groans as you jab him in the stomach to try and give yourself enough time to grab your sword but it doesn’t work. He grabs you by the ankle and yanks hard. You slam to the ground right on your stomach. He moves to restrain you by sitting on your thighs so you can’t move your legs and holds your hands behind your back. You clearly didn’t consider how inevitably stronger he is than you.

“Shit.” You whine. His hold isn’t nearly as gentle this time.

“That was a cheap fucking shot.” He says cruelly. He’s pissed now.

“Fuck you. Castellan!” Gods it goes straight to his dick when you call him by his last name. He grips your hair with his free hand and pulls back hard so you have to look at him. You whine again at the sharp pain.

“You just can’t play fair, can you, princess? Maybe I won’t either then.”

 He drops your head and you hear him rustling with something. You realize it’s his belt when you feel the leather against your wrists. He’s binding you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Your voice is full of rage but to him, you just sound petulant. 

 “What you need.” Is his simple answer.

He shifts down so he sits, or rather kneels, with your legs between his. He’s amused by your renewed writhing as an attempt to escape. It is pitiful really. Oh well, he’ll have you writhing for a different reason soon enough.

His fingertips glide across your waist, to your hips and then to your thighs, causing your back to arch upwards slightly, your stomach dipping. He brings his lips down to your ear, his voice is deep and lustful as he says, “Your body seems to know what it wants.”

“I’ll kill you.” You promise.

“Oh, i’m sure you will. But right now, you fucking belong to me.” He yanks on your hair again so you have to look at him and your eyes water from the pain. “I think you like me hurting you.” His other hand slips between your thighs to rub your clit and you let out a strangled moan. “For a girl who is so controlling, it’s interesting how badly you enjoy me manhandling you.”

He yanks your pants down and slips your helmet under your hips so your ass stays high in the air with your chest to the ground.

“This is fucked up.” You say.

“You love it. Your panties are soaked.” And he’s completely right. You’ve never been so turned on before but not a lot of men are as strong and good-looking as Luke Castellan.

He pulls your panties down and groans at the sight of your dripping pussy. He begins to palm himself through his pants and unzips them. “You have about three seconds to tell me if you don’t actually want this.”

You are silent and he chuckles. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

Before you can even prepare yourself or form a thought, his fat cock is shoved inside of you, splitting you open.

“Ah, Luke!” You moan at the pain and pleasure.

“Gods, this is the tightest little pussy i’ve had.” He begins to fuck in and out of you relentlessly, giving you no time to adjust. “Yeah, you’re good for me now, baby. Such a good little cocksleeve.” He punctuates his last words with hard thrusts, the head of his cock bullying into you each time.

All you can do is repeat his name like a mantra as you get pounded on the forest floor by the strongest swordsman in camp. It’s even worse as he begins to rub your clit again, sending you so close to the edge.

“Never gonna have enough of you after this.” Luke murmurs as he feels you squeezing around him. “My good girl.” 

That’s what sends you tumbling over the edge, bringing Luke with you as you do. He never could’ve kept going, not with the way your walls were squeezing around him. He pulls out almost instantly so he can watch his cum spill out of you. He doesn’t wipe it. He just pulls your panties back on and fixes the both of you up. You’re thoroughly spent, he can tell by the way you pant as he releases your wrists.

“You okay?” He asks as he helps you sit up. He grabs your hands so he can kiss the marks on your wrists. After all you’ve done, that’s the act that makes you blush furiously. 

“Um, yeah.” You breathe out.

“I’ll be nicer next time, I promise. Somebody just had to put you in your place first.” He grins wolfishly.

“Next time?” 

That’s when you hear the horn. The blue team has won again.

He pecks a kiss to your cheek. “Time to claim my kleos.” He says cockily before jogging off to meet his team.

taglist (comment to be added):General: @valeskafics @urmomsgirlfriend1 @girlwith-thepearlearring @darylandbethfanforever9 @lovellies @juhdoche @papichulo120627 @watercolorskyy @ophelialaufey @aerangi

[l1tw1ck]

Simeon's Devotion

Sub!Bottom!FTM!Priest Simeon x Dom!Top!AMAB!Holy Knight Reader

Word Count: 2,410

Reverend Simeon, plagued by sinful thoughts of a certain holy knight, is suddenly struck with a high fever and abandons his God

AFAB Language Used | 2K Anniversary Request: For a Simeon Fic | [Breaking the Thermostat]

CW: Non-Con, Heavy Religious Themes, Dom/Sub, Virginity Loss, Bleeding, Size Difference, Oral Sex, Cum Swallowing, Cunnilingus, Belly Bulge, Womb Fucking, Squirting, Creampie, Kidnapping

You knock loudly against Simeon’s doors, heavily injured. You hear the sound of shuffling and see the lights turn on inside. Moments later, he opens the door for you.

Simeon calls out your name in shock. “What happened to you?!” He helps you inside.

“Ran into some demons..” You murmur, sitting down on his couch. “Can you heal me?”

“Of course!” Simeon hastily removes your clothes, leaving you in just an undershirt and boxers. You're both already used to this. “How many this time?”

“I wanna say…30?” You watch him kneel down and use his divine powers on your wounds.

“30?! Did something attract them?”

“I’m not sure. I was on patrol and everything seemed normal. The monsters looked strange too. They all looked like distorted versions of God and they were muttering things like ‘sinner’ and ‘dirty’.” 

“That's strange..”

“Yeah, I’ve never seen anything like it before.” You reach to rub your temple but Simeon quickly heals your headache. “Could I have something to eat? I know you're probably tired so something like crackers would be fine.”

“You need to eat a real meal. I don't mind cooking for you. You can sleep over too, all your clothes are washed.” Simeon finishes your last wound and stands up. It's very common for you to sleep over at Simeon’s due to exhaustion since demons usually show up on the outskirts of town and you live a bit further away. “Think you can take a shower?”

You stand up and groan, the sound making Simeon twitch. “I think so. Thanks, Simeon.”

“God must be disappointed in you. So much for being a priest.” You say, staring at Simeon. He’s wearing sexy see through lingerie and an extravagant matching sheer silk robe. His legs are spread and he’s leaning against his bed frame. His tears are glistening against his cheeks, they’re shining like glitter. “You're nothing but a dirty sinner.” You move his panties aside.

Simeon looks at you, batting his eyelashes. Another tear falls down his cheek. “You’re my god now.”

“That’s right, baby. You’re mine.” You slowly begin to ease your cock inside him. “And I’m yours.” You press your hand against his pelvis, a pretty marking appearing on it.

Simeon suddenly wakes up moaning your name with his hand stuffed in his underwear. He gasps and yanks it out. He quickly wipes his hand on his clothes and begins to pray. “Please deliver me from temptation.” He repeats the same phrase over and over but as his body begins to grow hot, his prayer becomes strange.

“Please give me [Name]’s cock–” Simeon gasps and covers his mouth. “No…Forgive me— I need his co—” He covers his mouth again. He can't talk. He attempts to pray silently but that doesn't work either. It just makes him feel even more horny.

He begins to absentmindedly remove all of his clothes, his hands moving on their own to touch his wet pussy. He leans back, eyes out of focus, and begins to touch himself but he doesn't really know how. He just rubs his folds, which feel extremely sensitive. “I’m…I’m a sinner..” He mumbles, still out of it. “And a slut.”

“Only [Name] will accept me now.” Simeon brings his hand up to his tattoo and presses on it, a wave of pleasure flowing through him. 

He stumbles out of the bed and drunkenly walks to his guest room, where you’re sleeping. Knocking didn't cross his mind as he opened the door. 

“Si- Simeon?” You ask sleepily, sitting up. “Is something wrong?” You can't tell that he's naked. You move to sit on the side of the bed and squint at him.

“Yes..” He says quietly, stepping towards you. He kneels in between your legs. “I need you.”

“What?!” You recoil. “Are you okay? Are you drunk?”

“I’m not drunk.” Simeon presses kisses along your legs down to your feet. “I’ll do anything you want, [Name]. Anything.”

“I think you need to drink some water…you're not thinking straight.” You get off of the bed. As you try to head towards the door, Simeon stops you.

“I don’t need water, I need you.” He pulls you closer, he’s somehow stronger than before, and forces you into a kiss. It doesn't take long for him to pass on his ‘fever’ to you. Heat rushes through your body as your rational thoughts dispel like bubbles. He pulls away and looks at you lovingly. 

“Simeon...” You hold his chin, speaking with a loving tone. “How beautiful.” You mumble. He moans your name breathily.

“Kneel for me.” You order. Simeon kneels once again. You pull down your shorts and boxers at the same time. His eyes widen, hearts forming in them, when he sees your thick length. The process of becoming a Holy Knight can alter someone's body in major ways but he never knew it could change by this much. “Open your mouth.” You run your fingers through his hair.

Simeon opens his mouth and lets you slide your cock inside it. His mouth is unbelievably hot. He can feel the corners of his lips stretching to fit you. The thought of you stretching his pussy open next makes him moan. He stares into your eyes as you begin to thrust. You're sure they're glowing. 

“Your mouth feels amazing.” You moan. Simeon moans as well. “‘S perfect for me..” You speed up your thrusts. He happily allows you to fuck his mouth. He closes his eyes and focuses on your voice. He’s so aroused it's becoming painful.

You tighten your grip on his hair as your thrusts become unruly and desperate. He looks at you again, this time with tears in his eyes. But the tears aren't because he’s upset. “You look so pretty when you cry.” You groan as you come inside his mouth. You slowly pull away as Simeon swallows your seed without hesitation. You're still hard and you both want more. You pick him up and slam him onto the bed. Somehow, the both of you are able to see perfectly in the dark. Maybe it has something to do with the glow in your eyes.

You spread his legs and smile at how wet he is. The marking on his lower stomach glows faintly as you physically observe his pussy with your fingers. He squirms around cutely. You kneel in between his legs, mirroring what he did earlier, and bury your face into his pussy. Simeon moans. “Yes– oh- yes~!” He sucks in a breath. “[Name]~!” It's like he's ascended to heaven. 

You drag your tongue up to his clit and gently suck on it. It quickly and unnaturally swells in your mouth. It feels like he’s stuck on the edge of an orgasm, although it feels good nonetheless. You slip a finger into his hole and then another when you realize how easily it entered him, despite his tightness. “Ooh- oh, [Name]~” Simeon squeezes your fingers tightly as you attempt to finger him. The constant flexing of his walls make it difficult to move them but you don't mind. You’re more interested in how that’ll feel when you fuck him.

He can tell he's not going to come from this. He's not sure why, it feels like there's something blocking him from doing so. “Put…put your cock inside me, please~”

You smile and move away, standing back up. “Of course, my love.” You lick your lips and line up your cock with his pussy, slowly coating your tip with his slick. He bites down on his lip and uncontrollably twitches as you begin to sink into his sopping warmth. He throws his head back and grips the bed sheets while moaning shamelessly. You're barely inside him. His entire pussy is throbbing so heavily, it's almost like a second heartbeat. Blood soon spills from your penetration. 

The true representation of his sin.

He moans your name with his enchanting voice. Your cock ‘knocks’ on his cervix and strangely enough, it seems to be allowing your entrance. Like it wants you to enter his womb. You don't think about how that should be impossible and slide further inside him. “It feels– feels so—” He gasps, squirting. His eyelashes are fluttering rapidly.

“There you go, baby. Come for me.” You rub his clit with your thumb. He writhes around, no longer squirting but his cunt’s still squeezing you like crazy. He isn't able to think about anything at all, his brain is overloaded. The outline of his tattoo is becoming a bright blue. “Good boy…keep going.” You praise him.

Simeon wants to say your name again but he is completely unable to speak.

“Let’s make up for all your years of abstaining.” You start to thrust. He slowly comes back down to earth with each thrust you make. 

“Ah–” His eyes are sparkling with tears. “You’re so big���stretching me out~” 

“That’s right, I’m making your pussy fit the shape of my cock.” You slowly rub the bulge on his stomach, fucking him at a slow pace. “Your body’s gonna remember me and only me.”

“That's– that’s all I want~” Simeon moans. “Only you~”

“So pretty…” You brush his hair out of his face. He looks like a painting. You bring your hands to his waist and slowly build up to a faster pace. He reaches for you so you lean in. He wraps his arms around you.

“I love you.” He says in a shaky tone.

“I love you too.” You look into his eyes. For a brief moment, he realizes this isn't the real you, then he brushes it off. He feels strange. “My sweet Simeon.” You kiss him. The bed starts rocking due to your quickened thrusts. You separate from the kiss, some saliva dripping down his lip.

He looks down and notices the marking on his womb is glowing and the same color as his eyes. His desire has been satisfied. It’s all over. He looks up at you, suddenly shaking like a scared rabbit. The artificial light flickers out like a used lightbulb. He can't see you clearly anymore. The only lights are the glow in your eyes and the faint moonlight. “[Name]?” He asks.

“Hm?”

You're still…you’re not aware like he is. He suddenly feels disgusting. He forced you into this. Even if he wasn't completely conscious. He should tell you to stop, but he doesn't want to. Is it so wrong to want a little more? “I…I-” He stutters. “Come- come inside~” If he can't have you, maybe he can have a part of you.

You kiss his cheek. “Of course.” You come inside of him only moments later. It feels like he forced it out of you. You look at him with an exhausted but happy expression before passing out on top of him. He doesn't try to move you.

You slowly wake up. You look around the room and notice a stain on the floor that you didn't notice before. And your bedsheets seem to be different too. You also feel a little strange. Refreshed, but strange. You get up and leave the guest room. You can smell coffee so you go down to the kitchen. “You're up pretty early. Don't you usually sleep in on Tuesdays?”

Simeon shrugs, not looking at you. “I felt like getting up early today.”

“Well, I’m not doing anything today. Maybe I’ll make breakfast this time?”

“It's okay. I’ll make it.”

“If you insist.” You know you can't convince him otherwise. “I wanna do something for you though. You deserve a gift.”

“Protecting my town is more than enough.”

“You’ll never change, huh?” You chuckle. “You know, the bed sheets look different from last night. Am I crazy?”

Simeon breaks the mug in his hand. You shoot up from your chair and rush over to him.

“I- I’m okay.” Simeon heals himself. “There wasn't anything in it yet.” 

“Good. You…seem weird today.” You notice he's not making eye contact with you.

“I..” He presses his forehead onto your chest and frowns, tears forming in his eyes. “I did something horrible last night.”

“What do you mean?” You bring him into a hug and gently rub his back to comfort him.

“Please…please don't hate me.”

“How could I hate you?”

“Last night…something strange came over me. I wasn't fully in control of myself and I forced you to…to..” He begins to sob.

“Simeon?” You ask, concerned.

“I forced you to have intercourse with me!” He blurts out, pulling away from you. He turns around and doesn't look at you.

You pause. “It must’ve been the work of a demon. It's okay, it's not your fault. It wasn't my ‘first time’ but…was it yours?”

Simeon’s eyes widen. “That wasn't your first?”

“No.”

He bites down on his nail. “When?”

“Um…maybe a decade ago?”

“Before you became a knight? And you haven't since then?”

“...Yes.” You assume he's uncomfortable due to his beliefs.

Simeon sighs. You were ‘reborn’ during your ceremony so you’re technically a virgin but you still have the experience. “Are you going to remain celibate?”

“I…well, I hope to find someone in the future. To marry, of course.”

“Oh.” He clenches his fist. “Do you have anyone you’re interested in?”

“I suppose I’ve caught a liking to Solomon, he—”

Simeon whips his head around. The look in his eyes is scary. “No.” He grabs your shirt. “No. You can't. You can't leave me.”

“Simeon?” You look at him in disbelief.

“I…I’m not letting you leave.”

Simeon looks at you sleeping peacefully on his bed. He isn't sure how, but he caused you to pass out and he was able to carry you here. He didn't even break a sweat. Due to a holy knight’s ability to neutralize certain forms of demon magic, Simeon is sure he isn't using that as you would've been fine if he was. But that leaves more questions to be answered.

He slides his hand down to his lower stomach and touches the glowing blue mark on his womb. It hasn't gone away. What is it? If it's not demonic then is it holy? How could this be holy?

He gently caresses your face. “I’m sorry, but I can't allow you to leave.”

You’ll be missed in the order of the holy knights but no one will worry when Simeon tells everyone he has bigger plans for you.

[trashytracktales]

My love….i need some ANGST. Like make me cry….then make me wet 😱😅

IM SORRY ITS BEEN ONR OF THOSE DAYS and your posts always make the day better.

Final call | LN⁴

📞 summary ──── Lando thought that ending things was the right decision. But he never really let go. When one final, desperate call pulls her back into his orbit, old wounds resurface, anger and longing collide, and the lines between love and heartbreak blur.

📞 pairing ──── Lando Norris x (she/her) ex!reader

📞 rating ──── explicit

📞 warnings ──── 18+, mature/sexual content, descriptive language, mentions of drinking, Lando struggling with withdrawals from his usual life, drunken texts, heavy angst and arguments, swearing, heartbreak, power struggles between both characters, smut, fingering with teasing and edging, unprotected sex, praise, desperation, overwhelming pleasure leading to emotional vulnerability, begging, multiple orgasms, post-sex tenderness, crying (I need to touch some grass fr fr).

📞 word count ──── 12.8k

📞 date ──── Mar. 30, 2025

📞 a/n ──── Been working on this for over a month now. It feels like a fever dream, I have no words. Enjoy whatever this is and I apologize in advance 🤧

IT IS A random Saturday night during the winter break, and Lando would rather stay home. But he’s spent the last two months buried in the same routine; rinse and repeat. It’s been easier that way, keeping himself too busy to think, and too exhausted to feel anything else.

This time around, his friends have been quite insistent, pushing him to get out of his self-imposed isolation.

“Come on, mate,” said Max, his frustration evident in every word he uttered, even through the speaker, “One night won’t kill you. Everyone is expecting you to be there.”

“Why would they?” asked Lando, not particularly interested in Max’s answer.

“Because I told them you’ll come. Now, don’t make me a liar, and get your athletic physique up. I’ll get to yours in five.”

Lando tried to argue at first, but Max wouldn’t take no for an answer. So, eventually, after what felt like ages of back-and-forth, he caved, mostly out of morbid curiosity.

Now, standing in the dimly lit bar, surrounded by laughter and music, he wonders why he agreed, after all. When he’s not in the mood to party or to be around people in general, everything is suddenly way too loud, too annoying, and nothing satisfies him. The air is thick with a weird combination between spilled liquor and various perfumes, adding to his irritation.

Avoiding to make a scene, Lando shifts awkwardly, nursing a drink, half-listening to whatever story Connor is animatedly telling. He feels bad when he realizes that he hasn’t seen most of his friends since the breakup, but he knows they’ve only been giving him the space he needed, waiting for him to bounce back.

But Lando hasn’t. He’s just gotten better at pretending things are going the right way. Fake it until you make it, or whatever.

“Landooo,” Max says suddenly, nudging him out of his thoughts. “Look who I ran into!”

Lando turns and his eyes lock on her, her alluring presence catching him off guard.

“This is Eva,” Max continues, “An old friend of mine.”

He can’t help but think how effortlessly beautiful she is, all bright eyes and easy smiles, with the kind of confidence that makes people gravitate toward her instinctively.

“Hey,” the girl says, offering him a playful smirk. “I was starting to think you were just a figment of Max’s imagination.”

Lando forces a chuckle. “Yeah, well. I haven’t been… around much.”

Eva tilts her head, taking him in. “That’s a vague answer.”

Max claps a hand on Lando’s shoulder. “He’s just being mysterious. It’s part of his charm, you’ll see.”

Lando rolls his eyes, but plays along. He knows what Max is doing, but he doesn’t call him out on it.

Because maybe Max is right. Maybe he should try.

And so he does.

He engages in conversation, letting himself slip into the rhythm of it. Eva is funny and easy to talk to. She makes it effortless, steering their interaction in a way that keeps his mind from wandering. As the night progresses, they end up dancing, and hands are suddenly everywhere while the music envelops them like a protective dome.

At some point, he offers to buy her another drink, and she smiles, nodding at Lando’s initiative.

“I’d like that,” she admits, her eyes sparkling under her eyelashes.

They weave through the crowd toward the bar, and as they wait, she leans in a little closer. It’s subtle at first — a touch to his shoulder when she laughs, then her fingers grazing his bicep. Lando notices it, but he doesn’t react. Not until he feels her fingertips brush against his hand. At that, he looks down and sees the way her small hand lingers against his, making his chest tighten.

She’s watching him with anticipation in her expression, waiting for him to do something. Anything. To respond, to take her hand in his, to let this moment be what it’s supposed to be.

Lando closes his eyes for a fraction. Then he pulls his hand away. Eva’s face doesn’t fall, but something shifts in her eyes; the spark goes away, being replaced by something Lando can’t quite decipher. Confusion, perhaps? Understanding, maybe? Pity, for sure.

She nods, taking a step back, putting distance between them. “Right,” her voice is light, but unbothered. “Cheers for the drink, Lando. I should get back to my friends.”

Lando swallows, guilt gnawing at him. “Eva, it’s not that I don’t—”

She stops him with a tiny smile hanging in the corner of her mouth. “Don’t have to explain yourself to me, darling. It was fun meeting you, hope to see you around. Have a nice night.”

And with that, she’s gone.

He watches her disappear into the crowd, debating going after her or scanning the place to find someone else.

Finally, Lando turns back to the bar, giving his head a little shake.

Well, that went well.

He downs the rest of his drink in one go and signals for another. The liquid burns his throat, but it’s still not enough. He needs more, now that he’s alone. Just for tonight.

As Max said, it won’t kill him.

A few minutes later, Lando returns to his people with another drink in hand. He looks much more relaxed, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s still there, somewhere, lost among the lonely nights spent in his apartment, buried under the lies he told his friends just to be left alone.

Max spots him first and frowns, “Mate, where’s Eva?”

Lando shrugs, “I think she didn’t like my bucket hat.”

Max squints in his direction, clearly unimpressed. “You didn’t even try, did you?”

He did, but won’t bother explaining that to Max. It’s not the time nor the place and, taking a slow sip of his new drink, Lando doesn’t answer, ending the conversation there.

HIS PLACE IS drenched in darkness, exactly how he left it, when Lando stumbles in. He kicks off his shoes haphazardly, muttering a curse as one skids across the floor.

So, Max’s plan hadn’t helped; nothing ever does. He had laughed at all the right moments, sipped at overpriced drinks, and told himself he was having fun. But the ride home had been silent, his thoughts crashing against him like a lost boat against the waves in the middle of a storm.

His friend offered to stay over, but didn’t insist when Lando told him he was okay; two months of pretending he was.

Two months of convincing himself he made the right choice, that he needed space to figure out who he was outside of them. He told himself he needed to be alone and focus on his work, because the aftertaste of the last season still lingers. He wants to see his dream manifesting before his eyes, and he knows that comes with a set of sacrifices. He is ready, but how far is he willing to go? What else is he willing to give up?

Because all he’s done in her absence is slowly descending into madness.

With a defeated sigh, Lando collapses onto the couch. His head falls back against the cushions, just as his phone starts buzzing into his pocket. He doesn’t need to check it to know it isn’t her. She hasn’t reached out since the day she walked away, her face crumpling in defeat as she whispered, I can’t keep fighting for something you clearly don’t want.

The memory of her face still haunts him, because he knows now, just as he knew then, that he should have fought harder. He wishes he had at least tried. Although he also knows it wouldn’t have been fair to either of them, because the mental state he was in at the time would’ve made everything worse for both of them.

Without thinking too much of it, his thumb finds her little icon, and before he can stop himself, Lando starts typing.

10:24 PM: Hey, you up?

10:24 PM: Sorry.

10:26 PM: Can we talk?

10:30 PM: You ever think about us?

10:35 PM: Forget I said anything.

10:39 PM: No, actually, don’t. You were everything. You ARE everything.

10:39 PM: I may be a little bit drunk, but I fucking miss you, baby…

10:41 PM: I don’t miss you because I’m drunk BTW. I just miss you.

10:41 PM: All the time.

10:45 PM: Was I ever enough for you? Like, in general… do you think we could’ve made it work?

10:47 PM: God, I hate you for making me question myself like this.

10:58 PM: I don’t hate you. I can’t. I can’t stop thinking about you.

11:59 PM: Remember when we went to Lake Como and got lost trying to find that little café? I think about that all the time. It started raining, and we both got sick, then we stayed in bed for a week.

11:08 PM: Are you happy?

11:10 PM: Please, say something.

11:10 PM: I know I ended this, but don’t ignore me.

11:10 PM: Please…

On the other side of the city, she’s sitting across from a man who could be plucked from a brochure for Monaco’s elite. His posture oozes confidence and he’s immaculate, from the tailored suit to his charm that has her smiling politely but distantly. He’s nothing like Lando, and she noticed that from the first date. That’s the reason why she agreed to go out again. And again.

Now, she’s four dates in, and she tries to convince herself she could get used to seeing this man as something more. But it’s not that easy when all he talks about is crypto currency and boats.

Suddenly, her phone starts buzzing, a succession of vibrations that she tries to ignore at first.

Once.

Twice.

Three-four-five-six-seven times.

When it keeps going, she excuses herself to glance at the screen, and her stomach twists as she sees his name. What freaks her out at first is that only now she realizes that she never changed his contact name, and LANDO ♥︎ now occupies both the entire size of her screen and her entire mind.

“Is everything okay?” her date asks, his voice cutting through her haze.

She blinks, confused, “I’m sorry, yeah,” she says, a wave of heat crawling up her chest and neck. “I forgot to put it on silent.”

A deep ache settles in between her lungs as she touches the icon to silent her phone. She wishes she could do that to her brain right now, because all of a sudden, her entire world starts spinning faster.

It’s the first time he’s reached out since he ended things. For her, this is monumental. But she shouldn’t care. She shouldn’t even be tempted to read whatever nonsense he keeps typing out. But then another message comes through, begging her not to ignore him, and something about the desperation in the rapid notifications makes her break.

“Excuse me,” the girl says quickly, pushing her chair back as she gets up, ready to head towards the bathroom. “I’ll be right back.”

Somehow, she knew the quiet won’t last forever, but she kept hoping that Lando was happy, even without her. She hated him for a few hours after he broke up with her, but all the hatred faded away the next morning, when she woke up in an empty bed, trying her best to understand his decision.

She did, eventually. And she accepted it. More than that, she respected it, because she knew that Lando would do the same for her.

Rage.

She put in so much work, and now it’s all for nothing.

She exhales heavily, gripping the edge of the sink before finally, finally unlocking her phone, not so surprised to see more texts flooding the screen.

11:12 PM: I just wanna talk, I swear.

11:12 PM: Can I call you?

11:12 PM: Just once, please.

11:13 PM: I miss your voice.

Her heart breaks a little, but before she can overthink it, she presses that call button herself, and Lando picks up on the first ring. There’s silence at first. Nothing but his uneven breathing and the faint hum of the muted background noise.

Then, she hears his voice, rough and slightly slurred, “You called.”

She closes her eyes, trying her best to control her trembling hands. “Only to tell you to stop texting me, Lando. I am busy.”

A pause. Then a slow, shaky inhale, followed by Lando’s curiosity, “It’s almost midnight on a Saturday night, how busy are—” he stops himself as if realizing something obvious, his next words dripping in disappointment, “Oh, you’re busy,” he continues, but this time his voice changes to nonchalance. “What am I interrupting?”

She presses her lips in a thin line, bringing her fingers to her temple. “None of—”

“Are you with someone?”

Her throat tightens. “None of your business,” she finally manages to say.

His heavy breath crackles through the speaker. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

She doesn’t confirm it. Doesn’t deny it. Just exhales slowly, wishing she would disintegrate into thin air before the conversation gets to an end.

To break her silence, Lando makes a noise, something caught between a bitter laugh and a sigh. “How boring is he? Be honest.”

The girl blinks, letting out a dry laugh. “Excuse me?”

“The guy you’re with,” says Lando, “How boring is he? Does he talk about taxes and golf? I bet he fucking sucks at golf.”

“Lando, how drunk—”

“Does he make you laugh?” his voice drops, softer now, but unsure. “Like I used to? God, I miss your laugh.”

She grips the sink tighter, warning him, “Stop that.”

Silence.

Then, in true Lando fashion, he blurts out something completely ridiculous, “And I miss you.”

Her stomach flips. Painfully.

He shouldn’t have this right. He broke up with her. He was the one who argued in detail why they should break up and stay that way. Him. But hearing his voice again, after all this time, she realizes how easy it is to fall back into it. Into everything they had.

“I do,” Lando insists, “I really fucking miss you, baby. Do you miss me?”

The words hit like a sucker punch.

Yes.

She bites her lip, willing herself not to break. “No,” she ends up saying.

“No,” he echoes. And for once, he sounds completely sober.

She swallows hard, forcing her voice to stay steady as she repeats, “I am busy. Goodbye, Lando.”

And before he can say anything else, before she lets herself feel too much and tell him the truth, she hangs up. With a heavy heart, she presses the phone against her chest, eyes shut, trying to breathe through the emotions crashing over her.

Breaking up with someone when you still love them is like throwing yourself into a bottomless pit. You don’t know when or if the fall will ever end, you have no idea whether or not you’ll be alone on the other side if it does end, and you certainly don’t know if you’ll make it there alive. They had their problems, of course. Everybody does. But for the first time in their relationship, Lando’s goals didn’t include her, and she had to make peace with it.

Inhaling deeply, she looks back at her reflection then she steels herself, smoothing her dress, and wiping at the corners of her eyes.

THE SECOND SHE hangs up, her words brand themselves into his brain, and for a while, he’s terrified that he’ll go mad, because they won’t stop replaying in his head like a broken record.

Goodbye, Lando. Goodbye, Lando. Goodbye, Lando.

Goodbye.

The finality of it slams into him, sucking the air from his lungs, and all the light from his eyes.

He can’t do anything but stand there, phone still pressed to his ear, as if maybe she’ll change her mind and call back. As if this is just a silly test, some cruel joke played by the universe to see how much more he can take before he completely breaks.

To his horror, the line stays dead, and the realization settles in too quickly for him to process, a dull ache spreading through his chest like poison ivy.

She didn’t even hesitate, didn’t soften, didn’t give him anything to hold onto. And maybe it’s better this way, but how easy is it to close the door on someone like that?

For the past two months, he told himself that if he ever needed her — really needed her — she’d be there for him. Because he knows her, and he knows that no matter how much time passed, no matter how many miles stretched between them, she’d still be his person.

But now, the truth is staring Lando in the face. And it looks like him. She’s gone for good, and he has no one to blame but himself.

His jaw clenches, his hold tightening around the phone so hard he might break it. The room feels too big, too empty, too goddamn quiet to the point it gets too much. With an angry exhale, Lando hurls his phone across the room, watching it smashing against the wall before clattering to the floor, the sound slicing through his ears like a gunshot.

With a deep sigh, he drags his hands down his face, fingers digging into his skin as if he can claw the frustration out of his body.

What did you expect? he asks himself. Then, he laughs. A dry laugh, deprived of real amusement.

At that time, space was what he needed, but she was never something Lando needed to escape. She was his anchor. His safe place. And now, she’s out with some other guy, probably smiling in that adorable way she does when she’s trying to be polite but isn’t actually interested.

Or maybe she is interested. Maybe she is moving on.

The thought nearly guts him.

Pushed by fear from behind, Lando forces himself to move, pacing the the living room while he runs a hand through his hair, irritation simmering beneath his skin like an annoying itch he can’t scratch. His heart is racing, thoughts spiraling faster than he can control. The only time he felt like this before was when his car slipped from his grasp back in 2021 at Spa. He knew he had to brace for impact, and knew his time was limited to do so. The difference now is that he can’t even brace himself, because the impact already took him by surprise.

This can’t be it.

After a moment, he crosses the room and picks up his phone. It has a little crack across the screen, but it’s still functional and, in his foolishness, he takes it as a sign to start typing again.

11:59 PM: Fuck your goodbye. You’re really just going to pretend like I don’t exist?

11:59 PM: After everything?

12:01 AM: Such a fucking liar.

12:01 AM: You can’t tell me you don’t feel anything. That you don’t miss me at all.

12:04 AM: I know I fucked up. I know I hurt you, alright? But I swear to god, I never stopped caring about you.

12:04 AM: Not for a second.

12:07 AM: It’s so stupid, but tell me to move on, and I will.

12:08 AM: Tell me you don’t love me anymore, and I’ll leave you alone.

12:48 AM: Please, don’t leave me like this…

12:48 AM: We can find a way, I know we can.

12:53 AM: No one will ever know you like I do, you know that, right?

12:53 AM: He doesn’t know how you hum when you’re nervous or how you always steal the blanket in your sleep, does he?

01:23 AM: Got it.

01:23 AM: If you ever meant what we promised, just know that this is my final call.

The moment he sends the last text, Lando knows he’s got only one chance to make it right. And maybe he took it too far this time, but he’s also at peace, knowing he did everything he could to catch her attention.

Their worst fight ever, before breaking up, nearly ended them right there and then. They were on the verge of walking away, but when all the anger settled and the silence stretched between them, they both realized neither wanted to lose the other. So, they needed a way to say it. A final chance to make things right.

A final call.

A desperate ‘I need you’. No games, no pretending. If one of them said it, the other showed up, no questions asked.

But the seconds turn into minutes, and the minutes turn into his darkest hour.

HER KNUCKLES ALMOST leave marks against Lando’s door from how aggressively she’s knocking. She is relentless, angry, and insistent, like she wants to break through it at all costs.

Behind the door, Lando frowns, pushing himself off the couch where he’d been slumped, after the realization hit him. But when he swings it open, his heart nearly flatlines.

She’s standing there, chest heaving and eyes wild with fury, with her tears still fresh on her face. Before he can say a word, she pushes him hard, forcing him a step back as she storms inside. The door slams shut behind her, the sound ringing through the silence of his empty apartment.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Lando?” her voice cracks, her chin trembling under the weight of her furious words. “Are you actually serious?”

Lando barely has time to react before she shoves him again, her palms pressing into his chest with all the force her adrenaline generates.

He stumbles back, blinking at her in shock.

“You’re such a coward!” she yells, “This is so unfair, you know?” her voice wavers, but her anger doesn’t falter. “You have no right to do this to me. None.”

Lando swallows hard, his mind scrambling to catch up. But too much is happening too quickly, and he doesn’t get the chance, before she interrupts him right when he’s about to speak.

“No. You’ve said enough, now I’m talking,” her breath is ragged while pointing a finger at her chest, her whole body shaking with rage as she glares up at him. “You don’t get to pull me in just to push me away. Again and again. You don’t get to decide when you love me and when you need space. And you sure as hell don’t get to use your last call just to make me drop everything for you. Because of course I will, and you know it!” she says, laughing at herself in disbelief. “That’s so fucking selfish, especially when I know you don’t even mean it, and you’re just too fucking pressed that I’m moving on without you.”

His stomach twists. “I do mean it.”

“Oh, really? Then why do you do this?” she asks, her voice breaking as she shoves him again, weaker this time. “Why? One second, you’re in love with me, and the next, you want to be left alone. And now you’re dragging me back in like I don’t have a choice, like I don’t have a life outside of you.”

Lando flinches, guilt settling deep in his bones. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“You don’t know what you want,” she accuses, her voice trembling in frustration. “Because if you did, you’d know how ridiculous you’re being right now. You can’t do this to people who love you, Lando. You can’t just… fuck with my peace like this just because you’ve had a rough night. I’ve had plenty of those myself!” she loses it, turning around only to take a break from seeing his face.

Her words hit Lando like a freight train, but she doesn’t even realize what she’s just said. She’s too caught up in the whirlwind of emotions, too exhausted from holding herself together. But Lando heard her loud and clear: she still loves him.

He takes a step toward her, thinking that she’s done with pushing, but when she suddenly turns around, she starts hitting his chest again, enough to pour out all the anger, all the irritation, and all the heartbreak she’s been carrying like rocks in her pockets.

Lando just stands there, letting her, because he knows he deserves it.

Finally, she lets out a shaky breath, her hands falling limply against him. Her forehead presses into his chest as the fight drains from her completely, and a sob wracks through her. Instinctively, Lando’s arms move on their own, pulling her into his tight embrace.

He wraps himself around her, his grip firm but careful, like she might slip through his fingers if he’s not careful. Her tears soak into his shirt, and for the first time in months, the floor stopped moving under his feet, and Lando can breathe again.

They stay like that for a long time. No more words. No more yelling. Just the sound of their breathing, and their hearts beating in sync. Lando’s hand is gently moving up and down her back, and she hates how safe she feels with his scent enveloping her from every direction.

She doesn’t know how much time passes, but eventually, she sniffles and pulls away just enough to wipe her cheeks.

Her fingers brush lightly against his damp shirt, letting out out a humorless laugh. “I probably ruined your stupid shirt. There’s make-up all over. Sorry.”

Lando shakes his head, his hands still resting on her waist. “That’s okay.”

She scoffs, stepping back to free herself from his embrace. Next time she looks up at him, her eyes are still glassy, but there’s something softer in them now. Then, quietly, she says, “He was boring, by the way.”

She walks past him without another word, heading straight for the couch, just like she did a thousand times before.

Lando turns to follow her, his mind slowly starting to catch up.

She’s here.

She came.

He hesitates for a moment before he enters her personal space again, watching as she sinks into the couch, exhaling silently as if she’s trying to steady herself. She rubs the mascara smudges beneath her eyes, and the sight twists something deep in his chest, realizing that he did this to her. Again. And he hates it. Hates knowing that he’s the reason she looks so lost, with puffy eyes and tear-streaked cheeks. Hates that she showed up at his door furious, but now she just looks tired. Most likely of him. Of their situation. Of running in circles that he’s designing with the sole purpose of torturing her.

Still, as Lando lowers himself onto the couch beside her, a strange sense of normalcy settles over him. They’ve sat like this countless times before, curled up together watching movies, falling asleep tangled in each other, making love, and sharing lazy conversations over takeout. He can still picture her lying here in one of his hoodies, laughing at some stupid joke he made, eyes bright and full of adoration. But tonight, the space between them is foreign, like a chasm neither of them knows how to cross.

He exhales, raking a hand through his curls. At least, her words sobered him up, his thoughts clearer than they’ve been in months.

“I met someone tonight,” Lando’s voice cuts through the silence.

Her heart drops in her stomach, but she turns her head to look at him. Her expression is unreadable, however, Lando can see the way her fingers tighten on her thighs, like she’s bracing herself.

He swallows. “If you need a reason why, this is it. Max introduced me to her,” his tone is quieter now, a bit uncertain. “I think he was trying to… I don’t know. Set me up, maybe.”

She nods once, a short, clipped motion. “And?”

“I tried,” he admits. “I really did. She was nice. We had a few drinks together.” Lando huffs out something that’s almost a laugh but lacks any real amusement. “I even thought that maybe it could work out. I hoped it would work out.”

She doesn’t say anything, but looks at him with empty eyes and dry lips.

Lando sighs, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. “But then she tried to hold my hand and…”

A beat of silence.

Another deep sigh.

He lifts his head just enough to glance at her from the corner of his eye before continuing, “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t pretend,” he adds, voice faint, like the confession is physically weighing on him. “It felt so wrong.”

She turns her face away, staring at the opposite wall, her jaw clenched. She understands him, of course she does. Because that’s exactly what she was doing before her phone was flooded with his texts — pretending. Faking it. Settling for something that, deep down, was so utterly wrong.

Lando shakes his head. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

He watches her profile, trying his best to understand what’s going on inside her head, what she’s thinking, and if she’s warring with her own heart, just like he did for the past two months.

Finally, Lando leans back against the couch. His fingers drum restlessly against his knee when he starts speaking again, “Do you like him?”

She stiffens. “What?”

“The guy you were with tonight,” he says, studying her closely. “Do you like him?”

The girl rolls her eyes, pressing her lips together. “You are so incredibly stupid, Lando.”

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, “I still want to hear you saying it.”

She hesitates, “I don’t know. He’s nice.”

It’s Lando’s turn to roll his eyes now, “Nice.”

She gives him a sharp look. “Yeah, nice. Like the girl you met? What is wrong with that?”

“Nothing,” he mutters. But when she keeps staring, he forces himself to continue, picking at the lint on his pants, only to avoid her piercing eyes. “It’s just… you never went for nice.”

Her expression flickers between annoyance and something else he can’t quite name.

“You don’t know me like that anymore,” she warns him.

Lando lets out a quiet breath, “People don’t change that easily,” he says it like he talks from experience. “I’d still be able to recognize you blindfolded.”

His words almost knock the wind out of her. She tilts her chin up, trying to hold onto her anger, but it’s slipping through her fingers like sand. Especially when he speaks so soflty, no bitter trace behind his voice. It’s just a fact.

“I don’t know about that,” she whispers.

“I do,” he says, getting closer to her side of the couch.

She takes a breath in, exhaling slowly. “You walked away, Lando. It was your choice. What changed?”

Instead of looking back at her, Lando’s picking now at the skin of his thumb with his nail, until he feels the blood under his fingertip. “I thought I was doing the right thing.”

“For who exactly?”

His chest tightens. “It was for you too,” he says in a defensive tone. “I couldn’t be what you needed. It took me years to finally be competitive, and I barely had time to breathe outside work, let alone be someone you could rely on. There was so much noise around me, I just couldn’t put you in second.”

She shakes her head, her expression caught between irritation and heartbreak. “You didn’t have to change anything for my comfort. I know what racing means to you. Knowing you were there was enough for me.”

He swallows, guilt pressing heavy against his ribs. “Not enough. I didn’t want to drag you down.”

Her lips part, a flash of disbelief crossing her face. “Do you even hear yourself?” she gestures wildly, “You were never dragging me down. I was so happy for you, Lando. Still am,” she blinks rapidly, trying to push down the emotion rising in her throat. “But you decided I was an inconvenience.”

Lando closes his eyes briefly, his fingers curling into fists. He knows she’s right. He knows. But back then, he had convinced himself that letting her go was the only way to keep her from ending up hating him. Now, she’s standing next to him, looking at him like she doesn’t know whether she wants to scream or sob.

“I’m sorry,” it’s all he can say. And then, “I just... missed you.”

Out of instinct, she makes herself smaller on the couch, raising her knees to her chest.

“I tried to act like I didn’t, but I was miserable,” Lando adds, “Everywhere I went, I was looking for you. Waiting for you.”

She closes her eyes, shaking her head again. “Spare me, won’t you?”

“I’m not saying this to change your mind,” he defends himself quickly. “I just need you to know. Because it was eating me alive.”

Her arms loosen around herself, her posture softening just a fraction. “Do you think I wasn’t miserable too?” her voice cracks on the last word. “You said I was pretending you didn’t exist. Do you really think I just walked away and simply forgot about you?”

Lando stares at her, taking in the way her lower lip trembles, the way her eyes are shining with new, unshed tears.

“I don’t know,” he admits.

“Stupid, stupid,” she repeats.

She’s still mad at him. But she aches to be closer, to touch him, to bury her face in his chest and just breathe him in. Just for a moment. Just long enough to pretend that everything is okay again.

Cautious, Lando lifts a hand like he’s giving her time to pull away. But when she doesn’t, his fingers brush against her hair, gently tucking a loose strand behind her ear. His touch is light, barely there, but it still gives her chills. Then, without thinking too much of it, she leans into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut.

A tear slips down her cheek, and before she can wipe it away, Lando’s thumb does.

“I’m sorry.”

She lets out a quiet sob, and that’s all it takes for Lando to pull her into his arms without hesitation. She melts against him, fists gripping the fabric of his shirt, pressing her face back against his chest as she lets more tears out.

Lando buries his face in her hair, whispering all over again, as if that will make her believe him, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Tears are threatening his eyes too, but he closes them before they can escape.

He feels the warmth of her breath against his collarbone and, once again, he’s terrified. He would rather her push him away, rather her scream at him, tell him she hates him, hurt him back. Because all this silence is unbearable. It swallows him whole, and tells him everything he’s too afraid to admit: that he drained her, emptied her out until there was nothing left to give.

He’s about to apologize again, but then he feels it in the way her fingers, still curled into the fabric of his shirt, twitch slightly, and the weight of her head is pressing deeper into his chest — she fell asleep. As soon as things went quiet, she slipped under, exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with the time of night and everything to do with him.

A lump forms in his throat as he presses a lingering kiss to her forehead. He shifts carefully, moving just enough to lean back fully, making sure she’s as comfortable as possible. But unfortunately, sleep doesn’t come easy for him.

HER PALM RESTS against his cheek, the heat of his skin seeping into hers. Every exhale of hers tickles his jaw, and it feels like muscle memory, the way her body molds into his, the way he instinctively holds onto her even in sleep.

Lando doesn’t stir. He never does. He’s always been the type to sleep through anything — alarms, thunderstorms, and morning light flooding the room. Even now, he’s dead to the world, his lips slightly parted, his arm wrapped lazily around her waist.

But his phone vibrates on the coffee table, and that’s what wakes her up, the sound cutting through the stillness. She barely registers it at first, burying her face against his chest, but when it buzzes again and again, she groans softly.

Disoriented, her breath deepens as she takes in her surroundings: the familiar scent, the heavy weight of Lando’s arm, the warmth of his body against hers. And then, all of it crashes down on her. Last night. Every whispered apology, every push, every tear, every way she let herself slip back into him like she never left.

Suddenly, a wave of panic wakes her up for good and, covering her mouth with a trembling hand, she tries to muffle the sob that threatens to escape. She can’t cry again; she’s way too exhausted for that. But her body betrays her, stiffening next to him as his weight becomes suffocating.

Luckily, the continuous buzzing takes her out of it and, reluctantly, she finally reaches for Lando’s phone. The screen lights up with a crack across it, and lots of notifications. It’s 1:04 PM, and a text from an unsaved number catches her attention first:

Hey, Lando ;) This is Eva. Max gave me your number, said you weren’t feeling well last night. I’d like to see you again tonight if...

The rest of the message is cut off by the lock screen, so she lets the phone drop back against the glass of the table, swallowing past the tightness in her throat and slowly turns onto her side, facing him. Lando looks so peaceful like this. His curls are messy, his face slack with sleep, no frown decorating the smooth skin of his forehead. His eyebrows are a little fuzzy, so she gently styles them back into shape with her thumb.

She missed their lazy mornings more than anything. The way the concept of time never seemed to exist when they were wrapped up in each other, away from anything that could potentially come in between them.

Her hand is still weak as she presses her palm to Lando’s chest. His heartbeat thrums beneath her fingertips, steady, warm, alive. That’s why she came here in the first place: for him. And in the clear daylight, she realizes that the familiarity between them can’t be reversed. Last night was a lot, but she can’t let herself fall into it again, no matter how badly her body wants to stay curled into him.

She brings the same palm to her chest then, trying to put some distance, but Lando stirs instinctively. His arm pulls at her waist, his fingers twitching against the fabric of her dress, unwilling to let her go even in the hazy blur of waking up.

His body recognizes hers before his mind does; the warmth, the normalcy of having her there. Then, reality creeps in, dragging him back into consciousness. And with it comes the dull ache pressing against the inside of his skull, the dryness in his throat, the remnants of last night staining his entire body with exhaustion, guilt, and shame.

“I feel like shit,” he speaks against her shoulder, voice raspy from sleep. His head is pounding, his stomach unsettled, but her scent is the only thing guiding him to something steady. He breathes it in, eyes still closed, and continues, “I need a greasy burger for breakfast.”

“It’s past one,” she says quietly.

Lando groans, rolling onto his back, draping an arm over his eyes. He can feel her presence, but even though her body is so close to his, he starts to feel the tension. The distance. He realizes it the second she moves again, getting in a sitting position, ready to leave the bed. Leave him.

Lando’s eyes snap open, desperate to catch a glimpse of her, even as the sunlight nearly blinds him. Her hair is messy, hands resting against her lap. Her dress is all wrinckled and drapes over her frame, making her look small in a way that destroys him. Like she doesn’t belong to this moment, like she’s already halfway out the door.

“I should go,” she says the words that he was so afraid of, and it feels like a knife to his ribs.

“You should stay,” he insists. “We can get something to eat, and I’ll give you a ride home.”

She presses a palm against her forehead, realizing the gravity of the situation. Giving him false hope won’t help anyone.

“No, thank you. Falling asleep was already bad enough.”

Lando clears his throat before speaking again, slightly unsure, “Was it, though?” he asks and, in return, she shoots him a warning look. “I know, I’m sorry.”

However, she’s no longer angry with him. She exhausted the last of her strength last night, and now all that’s left is the bitter taste of what could have been.

“Is that the only thing you’ll say now?”

He licks his lips, throat still dry as if he drank sand. “Yes. Until you forgive me.”

It was meant to be lighthearted, a little joke, and a weak attempt at softening the weight pressing down on both of them. Based on past experiences, she always forgave him. So why should now be any different, right? But when she doesn’t react, when the silence only thickens, he realizes how fucking stupid that was.

She blinks once, twice. Her gaze flickers away, “Your final call,” she says quietly, “Did you do it because of that girl? You got scared because you liked her more than you thought you could?”

Lando’s heart stalls for a second, caught off guard by her inquire. “I don’t know,” he admits. “I don’t know what the hell I was doing. I mean, I was scared. But not of her,” he stops, thinking of it. The frown comes back, and it looks like the thought gives him a headache. “I was scared of falling back into something I couldn’t fix. Still am. You and me… we’re not easy, you know?” he lets out a small, bitter laugh, almost self-deprecating. “We’ve never been easy. And I’m just so tired of fucking things up.”

She doesn’t think much about her actions lately. She wasn’t thinking last night when she left her date in a rush, and she certainly isn’t thinking now, as she turns her body to face him.

“I don’t understand you anymore, Lando. The only thing I do understand is that you pushed me away just so you wouldn’t have to deal with me. Because you couldn’t handle me, is that right?”

Lando winces. The weight of her words hit him harder than any punch. “No, it’s not right. I just didn’t know how to fix… me,” he says it for the first time out loud, his voice breaking on the last part; surprisingly, it’s not making him as uncomfortable as he thought it would. “I didn’t want to lose you. Not like that.”

She scoffs, “And now what? You think one drunken night is enough to put you on the right track? You think you know what you want just because you’re afraid of losing something that’s no longer yours anyway?” the girl asks, watching as his facial expression changing in pain. “I’m sorry, Lando. I don’t mean to be cruel, but I need answers.”

His voice is barely a whisper as he replies, “The only answer I can give you is that I didn’t know how to be what you needed at the time. Is that so hard to believe?”

Her eyes fill with tears, but she blinks them away. “It is,” she agrees, “Because you never asked me what I needed. Not once. You just did what was best for you. And now…,” her voice trails off before moving her eyes on a random point on the floor, “You’re not showing me anything. You can say that all you want, but how do I know you won’t push me away again? I need to know you’re here, that you’re really here.”

Lando reaches for her then, almost instinctively, his hands determined as he cups her face. “I am here,” he whispers, leaning in, his breath shaky against her skin. “You’re just too stubborn to let me back in. And I get why,” he rushes to say as he feels her tensing under his touch. “But, please. Let me fix us. Please.”

Neither of them speak for a while after that. She’s so close to him now, she can hear both of their heartbeats, the weight of every single second hanging between them like lead from a strand of hair.

She is hesitant, but she pulls him in first, her lips barely brushing over his. Even though it’s a featherlight touch, her close proximity ignites something highly flammable in Lando. He stills, his breath caught in his throat, his hands curling into fists as if holding himself back, too afraid to take it any further too fast.

Just as he leans in, just as he starts to close the little gap, slowly, she pulls away. The loss of her, even for a second, makes his patience snap and, without giving her the chance to build another wall between them, he reaches out, fingers threading into her hair, pulling her back to him, this time with purpose.

She doesn’t resist — can’t, really.

His forehead presses against hers and neither of them move, trapped in the space between knowing and doing. His grip tightens against her jaw, thumb stroking over the edge of her cheek, his breath hot against her parted lips. The weight of everything that’s been left unsaid lingers in the air, and it’s suffocating. She exhales shakily, closing her eyes for a moment, her hands sliding up his chest, fingers splayed over his heart, feeling the way it pounds beneath her touch. And then, as if her body betrays every ounce of hesitation in her mind, she fists his shirt and pulls him back against her.

They crash together, and the world tilts within a second.

Their lips meet in a clash of want and desperation that knows no border of sanity. His hands are suddenly everywhere, cradling her face, threading through her hair, tracing the delicate curve of her spine. She presses into him, her nails scraping against the back of his neck, anchoring herself to him like she’s afraid he’ll slip away any minute. Like he’s going to change his mind again, and tell her to leave, because he needs to be alone.

But he won’t. He never will again. The taste of her floods his senses, familiar and intoxicating, making his body buzz with excitement as he deepens the kiss. He breathes her in, trying to make up for every second he’s spent without her.

She wants him, and she’s aware that things could go exponentially wrong after this, but she’s already broke the rules the moment she crossed his threshold last night. She shifts against him, pressing closer, her fingers tracing lazy patterns over his chest. He stirs slightly, humming, his arms automatically locking around her, helping her sit on his lap.

Her lips brush against his jaw, trailing down the column of his throat. She’s barely even touching him, but she knows he feels it, because she hears the way his breathing stutters, the slight twitch of his fingers against her hip. She smiles, shifting again, innocent, except not at all, because her thigh suddenly drags over his, pressing just enough to feel the growing heat between them.

Lando lets out a sleepy grunt, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “What the hell are you doing?” his aroused voice is exactly how she remembers, rough and deep, and able to send shivers down her spine.

She hums, pressing another kiss to his collarbone. “Nothing.”

Lando chuckles, his hand sliding to grab her waist, fingers lazy but firm. “No, I think you’re doing something.”

And, whatever she’s doing, she doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even pause to think.

She lets out a dry laugh, edged with sadness and a hint of accusation, “Always making me ache, aren’t you?” she asks, pressing her lips against his ear, while positioning herself above him, helping Lando get rid of his shirt. Soon enough, her fingers are dragging down his stomach, nails grazing lightly at his abs. “It’s like it turns you on to see me in pain, isn’t it?” the girl sighs, brushing her hips against his in a way that makes him curse under his breath.

His fingers dig more into her waist, his patience thinning by the second. “You know that’s not true,” his voice sounds so angelic, that she actually believes him for a second because of it. “I’m sorry you can’t trust me anymore. But there’s nothing I hate more than to see you hurting because of me.”

She nods, giving him the impression that his words have the power to make her weak. In reality, she’s just curious to find out how sorry he really is.

“You’ve said that about a hundred times already,” the girl reminds him, “How bad, though?” she tries to push the limits, mostly to see if there are any, the words slipping from her lips like something delicate and filthy all at once. “Bad enough that you’ll drunk text me again? To see if I come running to you? Again? To say you’re sorry a hundred more times, hoping I’ll let you fuck me in whatever position you want, for as long as you want just because I feel for your sorry ass?”

His nostrils flare as he exhales in disapproval, “Stop that shit.”

“Why?” her voice sounds overly seductive, but somehow, he knows it’s just a trap. “Isn’t sex your answer to everything?”

There you go.

Lando’s jaw tenses as the words continue to leave her mouth, unforgiving, each one winding around his self-control like a vice. His fingers twitch on her waist, the weight of her straddling him making it impossible to think straight. She knows exactly what she’s doing, pushing, teasing and testing the waters of his restraint.

And fuck, it’s working.

Her dress has ridden up her thighs higher, exposing smooth, warm skin that begs to be touched, and his hands find their way there without permission, fingertips pressing into her like he wants to make sure he’s not just dreaming, and she’s actually there.

“Not trying to fuck my way back to you, if that’s what you mean,” Lando disagrees just as he lets his fingers drift higher, watching the way her breath becomes more uneven. “But won’t back down if it works, either. So what does that say about you? That we’re just the same?”

She puffs out a laugh, but there’s no humor behind it. Just a lot of tension, coiled so tight between them that something is bound to snap. Soon.

“We’re so not,” she argues, tilting her head slightly, her lips so close to his that he can taste her breath. “I actually have the balls to stay when things get tough.”

Her unfiltered comment it’s all it takes.

Lando moves in a blur, gripping her hips and flipping them over in one swift motion, pressing her into the couch as a surprised gasp leaves her lips. He hovers over her, his body fitting perfectly between her open thighs, hands braced on either side of her head. The sudden shift has her looking up at him, wide-eyed, lips parted, and chest heaving in anticipation.

In this position, Lando looks at her like he’s trying to figure out what to do to her, aware that the changing in dynamics favors him. His hands find the hem of her dress, fingertips teasing the edge as he watches her reaction, giving her a chance to stop him — or to take back her words, whichever comes first. But she does neither. Instead, she lifts her hips, a silent plea, and that’s all the permission that Lando needs.

He peels the fabric up, savoring the way her body is revealed inch by inch. His mouth finds the newly exposed skin along her ribs with the speed of a man starved, trailing open-mouthed kisses up her torso, leaving a path of goosebumps in his wake. Lando can feel her shiver beneath him, her fingers tangling into his curls, tugging just enough to pull a string of sweet noises out of him.

“I won’t be able to stop if we—” he murmurs against her skin, a last sliver of hesitation buried underneath all the want.

She cuts him off by cupping his jaw, guiding his face up so he has no choice but to look at her. “I won’t ask you to,” she assures him, lifting her hips up once more to meet his, feeling how hard he is against her. The contact is like a drug she’s been deprived of for too long, and now that she has access to him again, her mouth starts moving before wiring to the rational side of her brain, “I wanna do laundry together later.”

Despite what he’s just said, Lando does stop, watching her intently. Because he knows that she means more than just laundry. For starters, it means she’s staying. It means she’s letting him try. It means the weight in his chest that’s been suffocating him for weeks finally lifts, replaced by something warm yet fragile, something he doesn’t dare break this time.

He has to swallow past the ache before pressing himself against her, letting her scent wrap around him like the most familiar kind of comfort.

“Yeah?” he finally whispers, like he’s afraid speaking too loudly might shatter whatever weak truce they’ve found between them.

She nods, a real smile appearing on her face, the first one in months, “Yeah,” she parrots, which urges Lando to plant another kiss on her lips, lazier this time. And she welcomes him.

Gradually, his grip consolidates around her, his teeth catching her bottom lip, and suddenly, the slow morning is anything but. Now he’s wired, wide awake, and so fucking hard.

Her hands work fast, pushing at the waistband of his pants with an urgency that makes Lando’s pulse hammer in his throat. He moves enough to help her, and then the fabric is gone, pooling somewhere on the floor, next to her dress and panties.

The feeling of skin on skin has the power to set him on fire, every inch of him hypersensitive as she drags her fingers down his stomach, nails scratching lightly against the ridges of muscle before wrapping around him for just a second, only to say hi. His breath catches, head tipping forward before he forces himself to look down at her.

“You’re a menace,” Lando points out. His voice is thick with desire as he rolls his hips against her once her hands move around his neck, dragging his length along the soft skin of her inner thigh, brushing lightly where she needs him most. He feels her shiver, her nails digging into his back for a fraction of a second before she exhales a breathy laugh.

“I had to adapt,” she says, her voice saccharine, but teasing, fingers biting into his shoulder blades.

“I can see that,” his tone is rough, but there’s something playful underneath it. He continues to move, this time with more intention, the tip of his cock catching against her slick heat.

She bites her lip, her free hand reaching up to pull him down on her and crash their lips together in a messy, open-mouthed kiss, too desperate to be anything but raw. He groans into her mouth, their breaths blending together, and she takes the moment to wrap her legs around his waist, locking him against her completely, the heat ever-growing.

The easiest thing in the world for Lando is to get lost in her warmth, her scent and the way his skin vibrates with every touch of her delicate palm.

The hardest thing in the world for Lando is to stop when every nerve in his body screams for more, just to make sure she wants this as much as he does, even though it risks snapping her back to reason, forcing her to push him away all over again.

“If you don’t—”

She doesn’t even hesitate. “I do.”

With that, his hand is already in motion, dragging down her stomach, pushing between her thighs. He finds her soaked, warm, and slick against his fingertips, and it makes him want to howl, knowing that he still has the same effect on her; if anything, the time spent apart only made her miss his touch more.

“Shit,” he slurs, pressing two fingers against her clit, moving them in torturous circles. “Missed seeing you this needy in the morning.”

She hums, thighs twitching. “Techincally, it’s not morning anymore.”

Lando shakes his head in disbelief, “That smart mouth,” his fingers slip lower, teasing at her entrance but never pushing in, just pressing there, feeling the way she opens up for him.

For a moment, his fingers stay right there to tease her, barely giving what she wants, what she’s silently begging for with the way her hips roll forward. Agonizingly slow, he pushes in, finding her so ready for him and so fucking tight, that Lando swears he could lose his mind just from feeling her in his hands.

The girl huffs out a breath, her frustration evident as she glares up at him, “Lando.”

“Yes, love?” he uses his fingers to press further just a little more, but never enough, feeling her walls hugging him impatiently.

She bites her lip, a flush creeping down her neck, and he knows she hates the way he’s making her ask for it.

Her voice is sharper next time she speaks, “You win. Now stop being a dick.”

Lando smirks, dipping down to press a kiss to her shoulder, dragging his teeth along her skin before pulling back to look at her. “I don’t know,” he says thoughtfully, fingers curling lightly inside her pussy, enough to make her whimper. “I kinda like seeing you like this.”

She narrows her eyes at him, but it’s ruined by the way she starts panting when he finally, finally, glides his fingers in and out, her body agreeing with everything he has to offer. His thumb presses against her clit, rubbing her wetness against it as he watches her fall apart, her hands clinging onto him for support.

“Fuck,” she cries, head tipping back, and Lando swears he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

“Yeah, fuck,” he agrees, leaning in to kiss the corner of her mouth, and then her jaw. Her back arches instantly, a moan spilling from her lips as her nails dig into his arms, while he’s going faster, agonizingly so, dragging his fingers in and out, feeling how her body fights to keep him in. “This what you needed?”

She quickly turns her head from side to side, fingernails scratching along the skin his shoulders. “More,” she whispers, already out of breath. “Wanna feel you.”

Lando pulls his fingers out, watching the way her slick clings to them in the rich color of the afternoon light. He blows out the breath of air he was holding, trapping her thighs in his grasp as he lines himself up, the tip of his cock dragging through the wetness pooling between her legs.

“Well, if that’s what you want, that’s what you get, baby. Wanna see you drip on it,” he muses, pressing just barely inside before pulling back out, coating himself in her slick. “See how much you missed me.”

She whines, hips jerking up.

The grin on Lando’s face widens. “There you go, you beauty.”

She meets his eyes, pupils blown wide, lips swollen from his kisses. Seeing her like that, squirming under him, throws Lando into a spiral. For now, he has no idea where this moment will take them. All he knows is that he wants to make the most of it, to memorize her body lines and the sound of her moans, because once the haze fades and clarity takes its place, anything is possible.

And that terrifies him.

Sinking into her feels like homecoming, and the sweet stretch is making both of them whine in unison, cling onto each other. He swears under his breath as her walls constrict around his length, her mouth falling open in a breathy gasp.

“Holy shit.”

She’s so full of him, just like she wanted, the feeling even better than she remembers.

Lando presses a kiss to her jaw, his hands holding her waist tight enough to leave faint marks behind. “Not letting you go ever again,” he says with his lips glued to her skin like he’s in a trance, voice strained as he fights to keep control of his own body.

She nods, barely able to realize what’s she agreeing on, mind buzzing with thoughts of him, him, only him. “Promise?”

Lando sighs, pulling out slowly, almost all the way before sinking back in. The sound alone — that lazy, wet, messy drag of his cock leaving her, again and again — enough to turn him into a savage man. He watches, entranced, as the evidence of how much she wants him spills down her slit, glistening and painting her inner thighs.

In answer to her plea, Lando links his pinky finger with hers, his hand covering hers entirely. “Promise you, baby. You’re fucking unreal,” he rasps.

Waiting for her was pure torture, but the thought that this can be over before it even properly begins, forces him to still inside her then pull out entirely, his cock, flushed and soaked, resting against her thigh, leaving more of their mess behind. He grips the base, stroking himself once, careful, watching as her empty cunt clenches in his absence, her body desperate to be filled again.

“I’m so glad I got drunk,” says Lando, tracing his fingertips through the wetness between her legs. He presses a long finger back inside her, for his own pleasure, only to feel how impatient she is.

She cries out, thighs snapping shut around his wrist, back arching off the couch. “Yeah, me too,” she blinks up to him, her sincerity spurring Lando on.

He adds another finger as a reward, fucking into her deeper, his other hand stroking his cock in time with her gasps.

“We were always gonna end up here, weren’t we?” asks Lando, his hand working her faster now, watching as she writhes beneath him.

She lets out a choked moan, but can’t answer, too busy rolling her hips against his movements.

“Me, apologizing,” Lando continues, sounding so out of breath, “While you moan my name. Like always, is that right?”

“Lan,” she warns.

“Juuust like that. Look at you,” he chuckles, watching the way her body responds, getting covered in a sweaty layer of goosebumps, and the way her thighs tremble. “As desperate as ever.”

She whimpers, pushing up onto her elbows, dazed and itching to see what he’s doing to her. And the sight makes her pulse race: Lando between her legs, his fingers moving inside her, fucking her with a contrasting gentle force, while his other hand works over his cock, slick and hard, ready to stretch her all over again.

His eyes flick up to hers, dark and hungry, lips parted as he watches her descending into despair, slowly but surely. He drags his fingers out, just to press them back in, firmly, watching her body tense, making her whine louder.

“That’s it, my sweet girl,” he praises, voice subdued and teasing. “Feel it,” his strokes on himself grow lazier, drawing out the moment. “Feel me.”

She nods frantically, her thighs so close to give up from so much shaking. “Not… enough.”

Lando mewls, biting his lip as he watches her squirm, his patience hanging by a thread. “No?” he asks amused, pulling his fingers out and lining himself up again. “Let’s do something about it then. Show you how sorry I am, hm?”

He pushes back inside without any warning in one fluid motion, and the sensation wrecks both of them at the same time. She’s always so fucking tight, but soaked enough that there’s no resistance, just the messy slide of him stretching her open with every inch.

“Shit,” his voice is barely a sound, more like a guttural groan as he bottoms out, his hands finding their way back home, on her hips.

The heat of her, the way she pulses around him, has his heart racing relentlessly, and their sounds fill the living room every time they move together. Lando grits his teeth, withdrawing just halfway before thrusting back in, harder each time.

She gasps, her body craving him, like she can’t get enough. “More.”

He snarls, pace picking up, his hips snapping against hers, skin meeting skin in a rhythm that’s almost punishing. “More?” Lando asks in amazement, “You fucking take everything I give you, and you still want more?”

She nods, dragging her hands down his back, nails leaving marks that burn, but it only spurs him on, thankful she gives him something he could feel for hours after they’re done.

“Always more,” she whimpers, legs wrapping weakly around his waist, pulling him deeper. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she yammers. “Feels so. Good,” she chokes on the last word, lifting her hips in desperation.

Lando is close to sobbing at this point, slamming into her, his control unraveling by the second. “Good girl. Gonna make you come so fucking hard you’ll feel me every time you blink.”

Her whines break into cries as he fucks her harder, each thrust hitting the exact spot inside her where she needs him most. His hand slips between them, fingers finding her clit, rubbing her in messy circles, just to see her fall prey to the pleasure that only he can give her.

“Yes,” she nods, her body keep moving on its own to meet his. “Yes, I’m so close. Don’t stop!”

He is far too hypnotized by the way she loses it under him, demanding more and more with each passing second. Lando’s hands move then to encircle her waist, squeezing gently before sliding higher up her ribs, and finally to her breasts. They don’t rest there for too long, though, as she grabs his wrists and moves them around her neck, pulling his face right above hers. Her legs tighten tighter around him, and her palm cups his ass cheeks, pressing him deeper into her.

“That bad?” he asks her, and all she can do is nod again, speechless. “Come on, then. Wanna feel you drench my—"

Lando can’t even finish his sentence as her moans get louder, a blinding pleasure tearing through her in waves, over and over again, too intense to hold back. She cries out, back arching, body shaking she squirts, soaking both of them.

“Ah, shit. Shit shit shit!” Lando’s voice is wrecked, his hips stuttering as he watches her welcoming the euphoria.

The sight, the feel of her pulsing around him, squeezing him so tight has the power to destroy him. He barely manages a few more thrusts before he breaks, burying himself deep, groaning as he spills inside her, warmth flooding her walls. His body shudders against hers, muscles tensing, pleasure rolling through him in waves just as endless as hers. His hands are holding on to her like she’s the only thing tethering him to the earth. And right now, she is.

For them, the time stops. They just breathe each other in, their bodies locked together, still vibrating. He can feel everything, from the soft rise and fall of her chest to the tiny aftershocks still making her pussy throb around him, pulling him deeper even though he’s already buried to the hilt. It makes Lando gasp softly, dragging his lips lazily over her jaw.

His fingers brush along her side once they manage to catch their breaths. “You okay?” Lando’s voice is low, lightly dipped in concern at her sudden silence.

She nods weakly, eyes snapping open, a satisfied little hum escaping her lips. “Okay,” she breathes out, lovingly tracing her fingers along his spine.

Lando smiles mischievously, “Okay.”

Before she can register what he’s doing, he grabs one of her legs and pulls it up, resting it over his shoulder, changing the angle entirely.

“The fuck?” her inquire is startled, but it quickly turns into something else the moment he starts moving, the new position making everything tighter, deeper. Heaven.

His grin is downright devilish. “Not done,” he informs her matter-of-factlty.

To that, Lando’s hands settle firmly back on her hips, pinning her in place before he draws back and thrusts into her measured at first, the kind of stroke that leaves her breathless.

Somehow, the finish line turns into a brand new start, and all she can do is brace for it.

“Oh, my—Lando!” her stomach twists, fingers grasping at nothing, forced to cling to the cushions because she can’t reach him like this. The position keeps her wide open for him, helpless, unable to do anything but take it.

Lando hums, his grip tightening. “You’re so fucking pretty like this. Spread wider for me,” he instructs. “Can you give me one more?”

She whimpers, barely able to think, let alone answer, as he starts pounding into her, his rhythm relentless. Every thrust knocks the breath from her lungs, her body struggling to keep up with the sheer intensity of it, but somehow excited and so willing to push the limits.

“Please,” it’s both a cry and a plea, but she doesn’t even know what she’s begging for.

“Obsessed with those pretty noises. Just take it, baby,” he breathes, driving into her, pressing a kiss to her temple.

His grip shifts then, spreading her even wider, forcing her open until there’s nowhere for her to run. His pace slows just for a fraction, not out of mercy, but because he wants to feel every inch of her hugging him, wants her to feel how deep he is, how there’s no part of her he isn’t claiming.

And then he sees it.

Right there, in the soft plane of her lower stomach. Every time he pushes in, there’s a faint, tantalizing bulge, proof of just how deep he goes; his brain short-circuits. The sight of it has him helpless, hunger twisting tight in his gut, making his cock twitch inside her.

“Fucking hell,” his voice is nothing but raw, shattered arousal. He can’t help himself, instinctively bringing his wide palm to press down on it, applying the slightest pressure, feeling himself inside her from the outside.

“Fuck’s sake, Lando,” her moans turn high, her body jerking as if there is no such thing as too much pleasure.

“You feel that, baby?” Lando’s eyes are wild, rolling his hips a bit slower now, pushing so far inside her that she swears she can feel him in her throat. “Feel how fucking deep I am?”

She nods, tears beading in the corners of her eyes, her hands clawing harder at the sheets because it’s too much.

His forehead falls forward, resting on hers. “Forgive me.”

A simple — yet not really — plea, wrapped in something devastatingly tender. It makes her stomach flip, makes her heart ache in a way that feels too big for her body. She clenches around him involuntarily, and he groans, his grip on her hips tightening.

Her leg slides down his waist, hands instantly flying around his back, pulling him impossibly closer, her lips brushing against his jaw as she nods. “Please, Lando…”

“I need you,” he says, “Need you by my side when I win. Need you by my side when I fuck up. When I’m flying so high it feels like I’ll never come down.”

The sweat blends with the smell and the desperation behind his confession, and somehow, the moment feels endless, even though both of them know it quickly approaches the end.

“Need you when it gets too loud, when I can’t tell what’s real and what’s just noise. Need you when I wake up, and when I go to sleep. Just… need my pretty girl that knows me better than anyone,” he praises, pressing his palm firmer against her stomach, feeling the way she squeezes him from the inside. “Need to fuck you like this every day, baby. To be the one that drives you mad. Please. Please, forgive me.”

His words send a shockwave through her, a moan ripping from her throat. Lando hisses, thrusting deep again, watching the way his cock bulges against his palm, and the way her body welcomes him with no resistance.

He is right there, balancing on the knife’s edge of pleasure, and it’s almost infuriating. His whole body shakes with the effort of holding back, but he can’t tear his eyes away from where they’re joined. The sight has his stomach tensing, his cock throbbing inside her. The slick glide, the way she clenches around him every time he grinds in deep, and the way her body drags him back in with every pull out it’s fucking unbearable.

“Baby, I can’t—” she drags him deeper into the heat of her release, her weak arms pulling him impossibly closer as if she’ll disintegrate without him.

That does it for Lando, shattering whatever control he has left. His rhythm stutters, his thrusts turning erratic as the pressure in his spine explodes.

“Fuck” he groans as his release bursts inside her, hot and thick, flooding her walls. His hips jerk against her as wave after wave crashes through him, his cock pulsing with every sharp, overwhelming aftershock.

But even as his body shudders with euphoria, even as his breath stutters against her throat, his hips keep moving.

“I’m sorry. So fucking sorry,” he rasps, pressing into her with hard grinds, still spilling inside her, his body demanding more. “Fucking hell, I can’t stop.”

She gasps, over-sensitive but still achingly wet for him, her body responding to every push, every deep roll of his hips.

“I know, I know,” she says, wrapping herself around him.

“Yes? Just a little more,” he begs, “Please, just let me feel you a little longer.”

His movements slow eventually, each thrust turning sluggish, drawn out, until he can’t physically move anymore. The last of his pleasure drains from him, leaving his body heavy, and utterly spent. Finally, he collapses on top of her, his face buried in the crook of her neck, breathing ragged, skin covered in a generous layer of sweat. His natural scent sends her home in an instant, and all she wants right now is for time to freeze in place.

She doesn’t say anything, just exhales softly and presses a kiss to his temple, then another to his cheek, her lips brushing over his damp skin. She moves tenderly, kissing his jaw, his eyelids, the bridge of his nose. He’s still inside her, still holding onto her like she’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

People talk about the quiet before the storm, but the quiet after is much more terrifying. It gives you time to see the destruction it left behind, and there’s nothing you can do but watch. She has always hated feeling powerless, and it’s only when she tilts her head, pressing her lips to his forehead, that she feels it. A warm, wet drop against her collarbone. Then another.

Her fingers still where they were stroking through his curls. “Lando?” she whispers, pulling back just enough to look at him, hoping that her suspicions will not come true. But that’s when she sees the raw emotion in his eyes, the way his brows are furrowed, the silent tears slipping down his cheeks.

He looks almost startled, like he hadn’t even realized he was crying. His chest rises and falls unevenly, his lips parting slightly as if he wants to say something, but nothing comes out.

She cups his face instinctively, her thumb catching a tear before it can fall, just like he did last night. “Lan…” she speaks a bit louder this time, “Look at me.”

He shakes his head in response, his hands gripping her waist like he’s afraid she’ll disappear again, this time for more than two months.

Lando presses his forehead to hers, closing his eyes, feeling more tears running down his cheeks, “Tell me it’s not too late for us,” he pleads, pulling back to finally meet her gaze. “Tell me I haven’t fucked this up beyond repair.”

Beneath the surface, the pain still lingers. But much deeper down, their bond is still knotted tightly, and even though the rope is taut, ready to snap at any small gust of wind, the fact that she’s still in his arms is enough for the rope to become the binder that holds them together. She can’t name the feeling without giving him everything all at once. Instead, she just brushes her nose against his.

“I think we both know the answer to that.”

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[anglbunny]

.ᐟfucked up

.ᐟcw: screaming, angry rin, regret, angst

"𝑆ℎ𝑜𝑤 𝑚𝑒 𝐼'𝑚 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑎𝑓𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑛𝑜𝑤" - 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑘𝑜𝑛 𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑎𝑑𝑟𝑖𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑒 𝑙𝑒𝑛𝑘𝑒𝑟

⸝⸝♡⸝⸝♡

Your boyfriend came back home, pissed. 

He lost a match. You knew he wanted to be alone, but you just wanted to check up on him. You quietly made your way downstairs to the living area. 

You peaked inside to see rin sitting on the couch, arms around a pillow while he watched his game over and over again. 

“Hi.. baby, i know you probably want to be left alone but i’m worried. You haven’t ate anything all day..” you said softly, standing beside him. 

He looked up at you, jaw ticking, before he looked back at the screen. 

“Not hungry” he said, hoping you’d leave. 

“I know, but I cooked your favorite food to cheer you up,” you said softly, looking at the ground.

“Yn. i’m not hungry.” More bite was behind his words this time. 

“But rin-”

“I SAID I’M NOT FUCKING HUNGRY, JUST STOP!” he yelled, throwing the pillow and standing up. Towering over you. His fists clenched. 

You stepped back, eyes wide as you stared at him in shock? Fear? It took him a second to realize what he just did. 

Your lips trembled, staring at the man you thought you knew. Your eyes burned as tears brimmed your waterline. 

“Fuck. baby, i didn’t-”

“It’s fine.” you said quietly, your voice breaking as you walked away from him. It felt like someone was squeezing the life out of your heart; your chest tightened as you ran upstairs, running to the bathroom. You hear footsteps behind you, Rin quickly follows after, knocking on the bathroom. 

“y/n, listen to me. I’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to yell at you. I swear” he said, his voice coming out soft like he didn’t want to scare you.

“Can you just come out, can we talk, please?” You wanted to speak, but no words came out. You covered your mouth with your hand, warm tears dripping down your face, as you silenced your cries. He internally beat himself up. what was he thinking, taking his anger out on you when you did nothing but want to make him feel better?

“Go away..” it was nothing more than a whisper but rin knew he fucked up. 

Taglist: @chaoslibra @samm1e13 @syleepy @samthesimp1 @werfiedeii @sapphireluv @s4turnx1 @nevvynev @cookiesandcreammy @mikemsmm

A/n: no one better say the reader was being dramatic (i cry whenever someone raises their voice at me) I'm still learning how to write angst

ꨄ︎Anglbunny | Do not copy, steal or translate my work and pngs. you'll be blocked.

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[ateezscupid]

─── FEB FILTH FEST: Swim - ROUGH ♡

SUMMARY / Your husband comes home angry, so you let him take it out on you.

warnings ✩ SMUT, DOM/SUB dynamics, established relationship (you're married with kids), hard!dom seonghwa, fem!reader, sub!reader, light masochism & sadism, degradation, daddy kink, choking, hair pulling, unprotected sex, reader is left with bruises, SAFEWORDS!!

word count ✩ 2,64k

tags ✩ @desirehorizon @tangerineastronaut @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starillusion13 @mingitheskzstan @bbdeongi @dawn-iscozy @xh01bri @mallielovssyou @clxssy1997 @soreberry @nopension @kitten4sannie @faeriehwas @kitten4sannie

ATEEZ MASTERLIST / REQUEST / FEB FILTH FEST

The door slammed shut with a bang, the sound echoing through the otherwise quiet house. You paused, your hand hovering over the half-folded laundry. The vibration of the slam traveled through the wooden floorboards and up your spine, setting your nerves on edge. You knew that tone.

"Hwa? Is that you?" you put the laundry into the basket in front of you and carry it out of the bedroom, the scent of fresh fabric softener a stark contrast to the tension in the air.

"Mhm." he answered dryly, slamming his bag on the ground. You could see his shoulders tense from the kitchen doorway. The light from the setting sun cast an orange glow over him, highlighting his furrowed brow and clenched fists.

"Oh," you sit the basket on the ground and push it toward the wall, walking over and running a hand along his chest. "What happened, baby?"

He sighs, his body language speaking volumes. "It was a bad day at work. The boss was on my back, deadlines everywhere. I couldn't catch a break."

"I'm sorry." you caress his cheek, feeling the stubble scrape against your palm. His eyes, usually a soft brown, were now cold and distant. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head. "No, talking about it won't change a thing." His jaw was set in a firm line, his voice laced with frustration. You knew this wasn't just about work. It was about feeling powerless, about the weight of the world pressing down on him. You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his waist, hoping to offer some comfort, but he remained stiff.

"Well," you sigh. "Is there anything else you think could help?"

He turns to face you, his eyes searching your own. For a moment, you hold your breath, waiting for his response. His hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, and his grip tightens. "I just need to let it out," he says, his voice low and gruff. You can see the storm clouds gathering in his gaze, and you know what he means.

You tilt your head. "Yeah?" you pull at the buttons on his shirt. "How do you want to do that?"

His eyes drop to your neck, his gaze intense. "I want to take it out on you."

You bite your lip. This wasn't new, but it still made your heart race. "You can,"

He smirked and gently ran his fingers through your hair, tilting your face up to meet his. "But you have to be a good girl and do exactly as I say, okay?"

You nodded, feeling a mix of fear and excitement. This was the dynamic you'd agreed to, the one that gave him relief and you a sense of purpose. It had started out as a way to ease his stress, but over time, it had grown into something more, a part of your lives you kept hidden from the outside world.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "Take your shirt off." His voice was firm but not harsh, and you obeyed, letting the fabric fall to the floor. His eyes roved over your body, and you felt a shiver run down your spine as his gaze grew hungry. You knew he wasn't seeing you as his wife anymore, but as a canvas for his anger and frustration.

You stepped closer, pressing yourself against him. His hands slid down your back, and his fingers dug into your skin, the pain sending a thrill through your body. You liked this side of him, liked the way he took control when he needed to. You craved it, even though you knew it wasn't healthy.

"Wait-" you squeak out. "The bed. We should go to the bedroom." You didn't want the neighbors to hear, and the last thing you needed was your kids walking in on this scene.

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. You both knew the routine by heart. The living room was off-limits, the bedroom was the only place where this part of your relationship unfolded. He took your hand, leading you down the hallway, his grip tight enough to leave an imprint.

He walked into the bedroom and threw you onto the bed, kicking the door closed behind him. The mattress bounced under your weight, and you landed with a gasp. He towered over you, his eyes dark with the need to dominate. You felt the heat between your legs, the anticipation building. This was what he needed, what you both needed.

Without a word, he started to unbuckle his belt. The sound was like a gun cocking in the quiet room, and your heart hammered in your chest. You lay there, your eyes locked on his, as he slid the leather through the loops. The belt came free with a snap, and he held it up, the metal gleaming in the soft light.

"You remember what I said before?" His voice was a low growl, the kind that made your knees tremble. You nodded, your eyes never leaving the belt. "Then what did I say."

"You said I should do exactly as you tell me." You whispered, your voice shaking slightly.

He nodded, a smirk playing on his lips. "Good girl." He approached the bed, the belt swinging from his hand. "Take off the rest of your clothes."

You complied, your hands shaking as you unzipped your jeans and slid them off, along with your panties. He watched with a mix of anger and desire, his eyes raking over your naked body. The cool air of the room made your skin pebble with goosebumps, but the heat of his gaze kept you warm. You felt exposed and vulnerable, but also incredibly turned on.

He steps closer angrily, his breathing heavy, and you can see the rage in his eyes, but also the arousal. He's looking at you like he wants to devour you whole. You lie there, trembling slightly, your eyes on the belt. You know it's going to sting, but you also know that the pain will bring him the release he craves, and with it, the peace that follows.

He grabs you by the neck and lifts you off the bed, his grip tight but not choking. You stand before him, naked and trembling, as he takes a moment to appreciate the sight of your body. His hand slides down your throat to your chest, squeezing a breast, his thumb circling your hardened nipple. You gasp, your eyes fluttering closed.

"The prettiest little whore," he murmured, his voice a mix of anger and desire. He threw you back onto the bed, the mattress squeaking in protest. You bounced and landed with a gasp, your body ready for his wrath.

"Spread your legs," he commands, and you obey, feeling the coldness of the sheets against your thighs. He climbs onto the bed, straddling you, the belt now lying on the bedside table. His weight pins you down, and you can feel his erection pressing against your stomach. He runs his hand down your body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His touch is rough, but it doesn't scare you. You know he won't go too far.

He reaches between your legs, his fingers sliding through your wetness. You moan, arching your back. His eyes narrow, and he smirks. "So eager," he says, his voice thick with lust. He withdraws his hand and brings it up to his mouth, tasting you. The sight sends a bolt of arousal straight to your core.

"H-Hwa, just-" he immediately pressed his hand against your neck, his other slapping you across the cheek.

"What's my name?" he growled, his hand tightening around your throat. The pressure was just enough to cut off your breath, but not enough to make you pass out. You knew the rules, knew the power dynamics at play. You swallowed hard.

"Daddy," you whispered, your voice hoarse. It was the trigger word, the one that flipped the switch in him from your husband to the dominant figure you both needed in these moments. His eyes darkened further, his hand moving from your neck to squeeze your breast, his thumb pinching the nipple until you gasped.

Suddenly, he flipped you over and grabbed your arms, pinning them to your back. You felt the mattress shift beneath you as he straddled your hips, the weight of him pressing down on you. You could feel your heart racing, the anticipation making you wetter. He brought his hand down in a sharp crack across your ass, and you yelped, your body jolting. The pain was immediate, a searing heat that radiated from the point of impact.

"My bitch," he pushes his boxers down. "Treating you like a fucking cumdump and yet you're soaking wet for it," His coarse words sting but the pain is quickly overshadowed by the thrill of his touch as he enters you, hard and fast, without any preamble. You bite the pillow to muffle your cries, your body adjusting to the sudden intrusion. Each thrust is a punishment for your earlier transgression, each one driving the tension deeper into your soul.

He grabs a handful of your hair and pushes your face into the pillow, keeping your hips raised. His thrusts are punishing, his anger and frustration manifesting in the power behind each stroke. You can feel him taking his anger out on you, using your body as an outlet for the rage that's been festering inside him all day. And despite the pain, you find yourself craving more, needing the release that only comes with his dominance.

His hand connected with your ass once again, the sound echoing in the room. You moaned into the pillow, the sting mixing with the pleasure of his rough penetration. Each slap sent waves of heat through your body, heightening your arousal.

"Fucking bitch," he muttered, his hair sticking to his sweat covered forehead. "God, your pussy feels so good. Fits me just perfectly." His words were a mix of anger and lust, and they only served to make you wetter. You pushed back against him, meeting his punishing strokes with your own desperation.

He reached down and slapped your ass again, the sound ringing through the room. You gasped, the pain a sweet symphony that only served to fuel your desire. His grip tightened in your hair, and he pulled your head back, forcing you to look at him. "You like that, don't you?" His eyes searched yours, looking for the truth. You nodded, unable to form words around the pillow.

"When I ask you something, answer me." he growled. He let go of your hair and grabbed your neck, squeezing just hard enough to make your eyes water. "Do you like it when Daddy punishes you?"

"Y-Yes-!" you gasp, your voice muffled by the pillow. The pressure on your neck sends a fresh wave of arousal through your body, and you push back against him, your ass meeting his thighs with a smack. He grunts in approval, his strokes becoming more erratic, more intense. You can feel him losing control, his movements growing sloppier as his anger turns to passion.

"Yeah, baby. You're such a fucking whore," he chuckles, groaning after. "Letting me take your pretty little pussy like this. Like you're made just for me to use." He slaps your ass again, the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing in the room. You moan louder, your body begging for more.

He slams into you harder, the sound of his hips smacking against your skin filling the space between your cries. The pain is a sweet release for both of you, a dance of dominance and submission that you've both come to crave. You feel his cock stretching you, filling you completely, the friction of each thrust sending sparks of pleasure through your core.

He lifted your head by the neck once again, forcing you to look at him as he thrust into you. "You're going to take all of it, aren't you?" His voice was strained, the veins in his neck standing out as he neared his climax. You nodded, your eyes glazed over with desire. The pain in your ass from the belt and the pressure on your throat melded with the fullness inside you, creating a symphony of sensations that had you on the edge.

"You're going to come with me, baby, okay?" His voice was a mix of a question and a command. You nodded again, your eyes pleading. He reached around and began to rub your clit, the pressure building. You could feel his orgasm approaching, his grip on your neck tightening.

With a final slap to your ass, he releases your throat. You gulp in air, the oxygen rushing to your head. "Now," he grunts, his hand moving faster. You can feel yourself climbing towards the edge, your muscles tensing. He slaps your ass once more, the sting pushing you over. You scream into the pillow, your body convulsing as your orgasm rips through you.

"Yeah, let it out, bitch." His voice was a harsh whisper, his breath hot and ragged against your ear. His hand on your neck tightened, his other hand still rubbing your clit in a relentless rhythm. You felt his cock swell inside you, the head of it hitting your g-spot with each punishing thrust. The pressure grew unbearable, your orgasm building like a volcano ready to erupt.

"D-Daddy, I'm-" You gasped out, your body tightening around him.

"Come for Daddy," he growled, his hips slamming into yours. "Come now."

You felt your orgasm crest, your pussy clenching around his thick cock. A scream tore from your throat, muffled by the pillow. Your body arched off the bed, your toes curling as waves of pleasure washed over you. His hand squeezed your neck, and you felt his cock pulse inside you, hot cum filling you up. He grunted, his muscles tensing as he emptied himself into you, the warmth of his release mixing with the sticky wetness of your own climax.

"Yeah…" he panted, grabbing a handful of your hair with his other hand still rubbing small circles over your clit.

"V-Vanilla…" you whispered your safe word, the word that signaled the end of the scene. It was the only time you ever used it, when it was all too much, when the pain overwhelmed the pleasure. His movements stopped abruptly, his body tensing for a moment before he rolled off of you, his eyes searching your face for any sign of distress.

"It's okay, you're okay." he pushes your hair out of your face, his eyes softening from their earlier ferocity. You take deep breaths, feeling your body slowly come down from the intense high. The sting in your neck and ass starts to fade, leaving behind a warm glow of satisfaction. You roll over onto your side, curling up into a ball.

"Jesus, I bruised you." he mumbled. You glanced at the bruises on your skin and giggle slightly. It's part of the deal. You liked the marks, the evidence of his power over you. "You okay?" he asks, his voice filled with concern.

You nod, still panting. "Yeah. That was… intense," you murmur, your voice still shaky. You felt a mix of relief and exhaustion wash over you. The anger that had been brewing inside him was now gone, replaced by a gentle tenderness as he brushed your hair out of your face and kissed your forehead.

"I'll start your bath," he said softly, getting off the bed and walking towards the en suite bathroom. You watched his naked form as he disappeared into the steam, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floorboards. The sound of running water filled the room, the scent of your favorite lavender bath salts soon mingling with the sweat and sex in the air.

[hadersversion]

I. i can fix him (no really i can)

“he had a halo of the highest grade, he just hadn’t met me yet.”

pairing: rafe cameron x innocent pogue! reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: 18+ minors dni!! language, soft rafe cameron because my boy just needs some love, slow burn!!

mood board!

“hey,” i said, nudging him with my foot. “hey, rafe, i think it’s time for you to get up.”

i look down at the boy who was passed out on the ground of the beach. his shaved head covered in sand as beer bottles surrounded him. his eyes fluttered open at me, staring at me. “w-where the hell am i?” he said, slowly sitting up.

“the beach, it’s 6:30 in the morning.” i sigh, looking at my watch. “i assume you were at a party here last night and got ditched on the beach by your friends.”

i watched as he looked around the empty beach and groaned, covering his face with his hands and yawning. “fuck.” he mumbled to himself. he ran his hands down once before looking back at me. “thanks, for uh-….”

i laugh to myself. “making sure you were alive? don’t mention it.”

he nods with a smirk. “yeah, that.” we stay there in silence. “i’m sorry, w-what’s your name again? i recognize you from your friends i just…”

“y/n y/l/n.” i nod at him.

“y/n y/l/n.” he repeats back at me, not once breaking eye contact with me.

i feel my face heat up, not knowing what i’m feeling in this exact moment. this is rafe fucking cameron, kook prince and sworn enemy to my friends. he’s not a good person. i know who he is and i should hate him, but when his eyes pierce through me like that…like he knows all my secrets….that’s when i start to question reality. “well, i should get going.” i say, pointing awkwardly to the beach.

“it’s 6:30 in the morning, where could you possibly be going?” he asks, pushing his knees up and resting his arms on them.

i sigh and look around, feeling like i’m in the hot seat. “uh…it’s uh…it’s dumb, you wouldn’t wanna know.” i try to dismiss him.

“no, i wanna know, tell me.” he says, sternly.

i bite my lip and sigh. “towatchthedolphins.” i say in a fast whisper.

“what was that?” he asks with a cocky smile, making me blush. “i couldn’t hear ya, could ya speak up?”

“i’m watching the dolphins!” i say more clearer, looking down at him. “i’ve been waking up early and watching the dolphins. this is like their prime time, so i like to sit and watch them while i have my breakfast.” i admit to him.

i wait there, expecting him to laugh or do something heinous that rafe cameron would do to a pogue. but he doesn’t. he just nods. “cool, i didn’t know that was like a thing.”

did i take one of kie’s edibles this morning by accident? did i actually never wake up to my alarm and i’m still tucked away in bed? or did rafe cameron just have a super normal reaction to something i said to him?

“yeah, right now is the best season for it.” i inform him with a shy smile on my face.

he continues to stare at me with those fucking perfect blue eyes. he rakes over my body once and stands up. did he just check me out? “well, y/n, enjoy those dolphins. i should probably get home before my dad has a bitch fit. thanks again.” he waves goodbye to me before staggering away towards the exit of the beach. my body lets out a breathe that i didn’t even know i was holding and i start to feel tingly inside.

what the fuck just happened?

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

after that, i seem to find rafe cameron everywhere. as i ride my bike to work, go to the beach, hang out with the pogues. he’s clouded up my brain and i have no idea what to do. it’s not like i can tell anyone, i’d be marked with a scarlet T for traitor. but my thoughts can’t stop themself from being infiltrated by him.

“yo, y/n, everything cool?” jj asks me, sipping from his beer.

he snaps me from my rafe cameron brain rot, taking me by surprise. “yeah, everything’s alright. sorry, just a little tired.”

a whole group of us hang out by the beach at the boneyard, the usual pogues, some kooks who we invited in to fuck with, and the vacationers. everything was going alright, until i saw him.

“ain’t no fuckin way.” i hear jj spit.

rafe and his friends stroll up to the party, with a few girls scattered around them. i feel my face goes hot as my friends spit their remarks about him.

“what makes this douchebag think it’s okay to just show up here?” i hear kiara say.

“i don’t know but i don’t like it.” john b adds in.

my eyes can’t seem to leave his figure. he looks just as handsome as i remember from the beach. i know i am staring but i just cannot seem to care. but my brain short wires when he looks up, meeting my gaze with a cocky smirk. shit.

i feel my face get darker as i quickly avert my gaze down to my feet. "uh, i'm gonna get a beer. anyone want one?" but before my friends can even answer my question, i quickly make my way over to the coolers. once i know i am out of their sight, i take a well needed deep breathe and try to ground myself. my brain feels fuzzy with thoughts of rafe cameron but i have to push them down.

i bend over to grab a beer from the cooler when i hear a familiar voice behind me. "mind if i grab one?" i quickly turn my head to see rafe, staring into his blue eyes like they were the goddamn eighth wonder of the world.

he's so close yet so far away, i can smell the expensive cologne he has on. my brain gets off of autopilot and screams at me to put space between us, which i attempt to do. but before i can think, i'm tripping over my own feet, almost falling back. but i feel rafe's large hand quickly land on my lower back, saving me from the tumble.

"woah, there, did you already have that much to drink?" he jokes.

i stare at him, my face probably matching the color of a budweiser can. "i...uh...i..um..." i feel myself babbling on, unable to form a single thought as he has his hands on my body. "s-sorry about that. but i...i've only had one beer, i'm just a total klutz sometimes i swear."

he keeps his hand on my back, i can feel him slightly rubbing it, sending goosebumps all over my body. he keeps looking into my eyes, which seems to be his favorite hobby at this point. "well, i'm glad i caught ya." we stand there in silence for what feels like an eternity, until i remember where i am. who i am here with.

my friends.

i frantically look around, making sure they aren't looking at me dying under rafe’s touch. i pull away from him quickly.

"don't worry they aren't looking." he reassures, grabbing my beer and opening it for me. "i assume it's your friends you are looking for." he hands me back the cold beverage, our fingers brushing against each other.

i quickly snap my hand back and look up at him, he has a small smile on his face as he looks down at me. "sorry, but, i mean...you understand, right? my friends don't like you, you don't like them. if they see me talking over here with you...it'll be a whole thing."

"i didn't peg you as someone who cares about what other people thought about them. i don't know, i mean you did admit to me very easily your love for dolphin watching." he smirks as he grabs a can of beer and opens it. "just saying."

i want to hide away forever. "p-please don't mention that to anyone else. please." i beg with an awkward smile.

"i won't, i won't. don't get so freaked out." he takes a long sip of beer. "it's kinda cute." he says so nonchalantly.

did he just call me cute?

this is a prank, this is merely a big joke to him. it has to be.

i can tell i took too long to process what he just said because he nudges me lightly with his elbow. "did i lose you there?"

i shake my head and laugh. "sorry, i'm all good." we stand there, sipping our beers in silence. "why are you here?" i ask with no hesitation, which earns me a wide-eye reaction from rafe. "that was rude but...like for real, why? you never come to pogue parties. i thought we were too beneath you to ever join us."

"i mean, you have a point." he looks down at me with a smirk, which makes me flip him off. he chuckles at me and sips his beer. "honesty?"

"please." i say.

he sighs and looks around. "i'm here to see you."

i choke on the sip of beer i'm taking, too shocked at what he just told me. i watch as he steps forward in concern and tries to put his hand on my back, but i move away quickly. i cough agressively before turning to him. "i-i'm sorry, what?" i almost laugh in his face.

"i'm pretty sure you heard me, y/n. i'm here for you." he admits.

i stare at him, waiting for him to laugh, admit that it was a joke, or even a ploy to mess with the pogues like some kind of goddamn trojan horse. "you're serious?"

"i think you would know if i'm lying." he shrugs.

i stand there, unable to wrap my head around what he just said to me. "you're so full of shit." i blurt out.

he just laughs. "am i now?"

"you're here to see me? the girl whose name you couldn't even remember a few days ago?" i cock my eyebrow at him.

"is it so horrible to believe?" he questions. i look at him, trying to tell if this is real or fake. he waves his hand in front of my face. "i lost you there again."

"i'm sorry, it's just...i'm me...and you're you. we exist on totally different planets...universes." i tell him.

"yet here we are, right next to each other on planet earth." he says.

he got me there.

"y/n!?" i hear kiara yell.

rafe turns his head to the voice calling my name and then back to me. "that's your cue to leave, i think."

i cannot turn away from him, too dumbfounded about the past 5-minute conversation we just had. "you're not slick." i say, starting to walk away backwards so i'm facing him.

"i didn't think i was being slick!" he says, with his hands up in his defence.

"i see through you and your lies, rafe cameron! i really do!" i yell at him as i get further away.

"yeah, i'd like to see you try, y/n y/l/n!" he shouts back, smiling at me.

i crack a smile back to him and flip him off before walking into the crowd, looking for kiara.

she comes up and puts her shoulder around me. "you all good? was he bothering you?" she asks, looking back to where rafe and i were.

i follow her gaze and see rafe still standing there with that same look on his face. "no, he wasn't. i'm all good, i swear." i say honestly. "just having a small talk."

"with the kook prince? no one ever just has a 'small talk' with rafe cameron, y/n." she says, squeezing me tighter.

"well i guess i'm the first person to ever do so." i shrug and continue to walk back towards the boys, trying to hide the stupid smile rafe cameron put on my face.

[jisungiesvzz]

Hiii can you please write a fsnfic where your jeongin gf and skz walk in the dorm while hr both being intimate pleaseee❤️💓💗💖luv ur writing btw xoxo

Ahhhh I'm glad you like my writing tysm <3

Just One Kiss...

Jeongin x female!reader

Warnings: kissing (that's it?), fluff at the end

Word Count: 1k

Author's Note: I hope this fits the request well haha. Please let me know if there's any missed warnings or mistakes.

—

"Come on, please," Jeongin pleaded.

"Innie, no, it's too risky," you sighed for the nth time. The other members had left to go the convenience store about a half hour ago and Jeongin had suddenly become needy. He'd been asking you for 'a quick kiss' for the past ten minutes but you knew him too well. It was never 'just a kiss' with him, it'd turn heated if it lasted even a second too long.

"Pleaseee," his pout grew stronger and your resolve began to crumble. You cleared your throat, shifting in your position on the couch when you noticed him leaning closer, his warm breath on your neck sending goosebumps across your skin.

"Jeongin. T-They'll be back soon, we could get caught—"

"Caught doing what? I was just asking for a kiss." Though you refused to look at him, you could tell he had a cocky smirk plastered across his face. You felt him shift next to you, his hands slowly slithering their way to your thighs. "Come on, love. Get your head out of the gutter."

"I— but you were…" Your breath caught in your throat when he cupped your cheek, his lips inches from yours, taunting you as he ran his thumb along your bottom lip.

"Just one kiss."

Just like that, you gave in. He closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a slow but determined kiss. Hand still on your thigh, he leaned forward so you were lying on your back, his other arm resting by your head to hold himself up. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, sliding his tongue along your bottom lip as a soft whimper fell from your mouth when he squeezed your thigh. He pushed his tongue into your mouth, leaving no room to fight back as his tongue dominantly roamed every inch of your mouth. Soft gasps and moans filled the air when his hands began massaging your inner thighs, his fingers teasingly close to where you needed him the most.

Breaking from the kiss, you leaned your forehead against his, softly panting, "It's never one kiss with you…"

A wide, knowing smirk plastered across his face before he leaned back in to capture your lips in a kiss more heated and intense than before. His hands worked at the string of your sweatpants, occasionally slipping his fingertips past the waistband of your underwear. His lips trailed down your neck, finding your sweet spot just below your ear, effortlessly. You whined at his teasing; his hands caressing your hips and thighs, his mouth sucking and nipping at your neck, leaving what you could only assume to be dark marks.

You could feel his smirk grow wider at your neediness. Just seconds ago you were denying him and now you were completely at his mercy.

"Patience, love. I always finish what I start."

A shaky whimper fell from your lips at the implication, your head falling back when he lifted your shirt to plant wet and heat kisses to your stomach. His hands worked their way back down to your sweatpants, teasingly squeezing your waist and hips as he slid his tongue along your hip bone, eliciting a shaky moan from you.

Just when he was about to slide your sweatpants off, the front door swung open, the other members filing into the dorm with bags in hand, their conversations overlapping each other.

Jeongin instantly pulled your shirt back down, hurriedly separating from you. Heat rose in your cheeks when you saw Minho stare at you a second too long, a knowing smirk spreading across his face but saying nothing.

Kicking their shoes offs and hanging up their coats, they made their way back to the couch, seemingly not noticing anything as they were too caught up in whatever they were discussing.

Your heart was pounding through your chest and you did your best to seem 'normal' but when you looked at Jeongin he looked just as flustered as you were. It's quite ridiculous because he initiated everything.

The hairs on the back of your neck rose when Minho sat directly next to you, his arm resting on the head rest just next to your head, a wide smirk splayed across his face.

"Y/n, you're looking a little pale there. Something happen while we were gone?"

Oh how you wanted to smack that ridiculous smirk off of his face.

The other members were now looking at you, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to find the words. Before you could say anything, Felix chimed in, "Yeah, your cheeks are a little red."

"Uh y-yeah, I'm fine. Just a little… warm."

Seungmin squinted his eyes at you, then to Jeongin, then back to you, his eyes widening when it clicked in his brain. He raised his eyebrows at Minho who only stifled a laugh which earned him a smack on the back of his head from you. Jeongin threw a pillow at Seungmin which he dodged by catching it then leaning backwards to use it as a pillow. Jeongin rolled his eyes, throwing his head back on the couch.

"Here, I'll get you some water." Chan said — doing his best to ignore whatever exchange just happened between the four of you — before standing up from his spot on the floor. You were about to protest when Jeongin placed his hand on top of yours, giving a look that said 'just play along'. You slumped back onto the couch, side eyeing Minho.

When Chan came back with a cup of water, you accepted it, taking small sips of it. Everyone fell back into their usual chatter, seemingly forgetting any suspicions they had.

You thought that you were in the clear, but god were you wrong. Just when you were about to relax, you felt someone move a stray piece of hair from one side of your head to the other. You turned to see Minho holding back a laugh, “I wonder what got your hair going astray.”

At those words, Chan’s head popped up, eyes wide like something just clicked in his brain.

God, this was going to be a long night.

Author’s Note: this ending is so bad, i’m so sorry lol. i rlly didn’t know how to end it.

[whytheylosttheirminds]

Don't Call Me Kid - Chapter 9 (part two)

(Rafe Cameron x reader series, 5.5k words)

series summary: You'd had a crush on Rafe Cameron since you were six years old, but he friend zoned you at every turn. Once shy and insecure, you found new confidence and self-love after high school. When your high school friends go on a reunion beach trip, Rafe finally sees what he lost, but he isn't going to give you up without a fight.

tropes: unrequited crush, glow up, she fell first/he fell harder

series content: some angst, eventual fluff, slow burn, tomfoolery and shenanigans, drinking, fem!reader has occasional insecurity and body image issues

⇢ series masterlist

additional chapter content warning: description of a panic attack, descriptions of reckless drinking and driving a golf cart while drunk (don't do this!)

“Rafe? Rafe are you okay? Rafe!!” 

It grows like a tidal wave, slowly at first, seemingly harmless, just another wave swallowing the horizon before it inevitably bows to the shore. He couldn’t see its power, the enormity of it, its impending destruction, until it was too late. He ran, like he could beat it if his feet moved fast enough. At least he could get out of the house before it hit him, away from any bystanders who could get caught in the riptide. Away from the embarrassment and awkward stares.

But he’d forgotten about Cassie and Sabrina, still out on the beach, close enough to see his powerful body fold and crumple into the hot sand, close enough to hear his unsuccessful gasps for air as the panic attack took over.

It wasn’t until he heard her voice that he realized he was crying. The tears were hot on his cheeks, falling quickly and swirling together with the salty sweat that no longer had anything to do with exercise. His breaths were still coming, but in painful, heaving gulps, getting lost somewhere in his scratchy throat before they could get to his chest. His heart was pounding so hard he thought it might break a rib.

As waves crashed on the shore ahead of him, strobing, painful thoughts slammed into him at the same unrelenting pace. His hand clutched helplessly at the hot sand, trying to fight his way through the flashes of memory that broke over him with each swell of the tide.

A rusty school bus, pigtails. Small, shy. Hi. Charts and tubes, fluttering eyelids, heavy hand on his shoulder. Rafe, it’s time now, son. No, don’t go, please don’t go. A county fair, clowns and cotton candy. Bright eyes in the ferris wheel lights. A falling ball he can’t get to, a thunk in the grass. Dark dorm room, only the light of a laptop for sight. We’ve decided to pass, maybe next year. Books on the basement floor, fuzzy socks grazing his left thigh. Sunrise, soft skin, sighing into his mouth. Hands together, then not. Pizza box, pulling away. I hate you.

Even the broken breaths stopped coming, it was all too much, too too much. Someone was next to him in the sand, saying his name, but he couldn't, he didn’t, there wasn’t…nothing was working. A hand grazed the back of his neck, guiding his head between his knees. Voice again, one, two, three, count with me Rafe. And like it belonged to someone else, he heard his own voice - four, five, six…

Seagulls squawked above him like there was absolutely nothing of interest happening on the beach besides a recently spilled bag of trail mix. He could taste the sea on his tongue as he inhaled, oxygen fighting its way in between his parted lips, finding a way, despite it all, finding a way.

The splotches and stars behind his slammed shut eyes started to dissipate, his hands releasing the hot sand slowly but surely. She was still counting, he was trying, it was finally passing. It always passes eventually, a familiar, comforting voice in the back of his mind reminds him.

“What do you need? Can I do anything?” Cassie asks when he finally lifted his head, eyes still closed, but breath returned to something near a normal pace.

“Yeah, actually… Can you call my sister?”

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The ride to the country club was painfully quiet. Jack’s family business sent a 15-passenger van to shuttle you all. The awkward silence could probably be attributed to the fact that you’d either brutally insulted or made out with all of your fellow travelers in the past twenty-four hours. Every time someone said anything to you, they hesitated as though you were holding your sharpened tongue to their neck while they spoke. You’d managed to go from being Carter’s awkward little sister to someone they all feared in just one morning. 

Everyone except Rafe, that is. He wasn’t casting sidelong glances in your direction when you so much as coughed like everyone else, in fact, his eyes weren’t even open most of the drive there. He rode with his head tipped back on the seat, chest rising and falling in slow, even movements under his t-shirt, his apparent calm after the chaotic interaction you’d had earlier put you on edge.

After a long, eventful week, your crew walked into the marble floored foyer of the fancy club looking a bit ragged. Almost immediately after the doorman closed the massive oak doors behind you, the crisp uniform-ed attendant hurried over from his spot behind the large front desk, clearly flustered by your noisy arrival.

“Welcome to the Robinson Country Club of Miami,” he began his spiel nervously. “I’m so sorry, but we do have a dress code for our club and golf course. We don’t allow non-collared shirts, denim or sandals. We do have many suitable options available for purchase in our pro-shop, however.”

You looked down at your outfit - a t-shirt, jean shorts, and flip flops. Three strikes.

The rest of the group was split between the appropriately dressed girls (the other girls had raided Maddie's many suitcases for tennis skirts and polos), and the boys who were just as underdressed as you - basketball shorts where you were sure the young man lecturing you was hoping for khakis.

“It’s okay man, I’m uh, Jack,” Jack leaned forward for the next part, “Jack Robinson. My family owns this club.”

Fighting back a cringe at the disgustingly pompous tone he’d used, you scanned the lobby for evidence of the aforementioned pro-shop.

“Mr. Robinson, hello,” the young man replied, straightening his posture a bit. “We are so thrilled to have you and your guests. Unfortunately, I’m afraid I must insist on proper attire, it’s club policy.”

Jack opened his mouth to rebut, but you held up a hand to cut him off, not sure you could handle another arrogant remark aimed at this guy who was just trying to do his job.

“It’s cool,” you waved him off, turning toward the desk attendant. “Where’s the pro-shop?”

“The women’s is just to my right down the hall, and the men’s is toward the back leading out to the patio.”

“Great, thanks,” you nodded, noting his sheer relief not to have to scold his boss’ son any further. Turning to Carter and the girls you added, “I’ll just grab something and meet y’all out there.”

Grateful for a reason to separate yourself from the group you weren’t sure you wanted to be a part of anymore, you browsed the neatly sorted shelves of the women’s pro-shop. Mostly shoes and golf accessories, your options for a total outfit makeover were severely limited. The attendant, a girl who couldn’t have been much older than you, smiled politely as you browsed, clearly eager for some human interaction in the empty storefront.

“Anything I can help you with? We just got in the new line of skorts from Lulu if you’d like me to pull something in your size,” she offered, her smile wide and blindingly white.

As much as you wanted to be left alone, you actually did need her help, for reasons you weren’t psyched to divulge to a total stranger.

“Actually…this is weird but uh, do you have anything that’ll cover my neck?” You motioned to the area just barely covered by your t-shirt collar. “I have, uh…a rash.”

You’d always been a terrible liar, and you could tell by the way her lips twisted into a conspiratorial smile that she saw right through your request.

“Girl, I’ve been there,” she whispered, her voice suddenly dropping a few octaves and losing its honey glazed customer service squeak. “I’ll find something that’ll cover your, uh, rash.”

With a cheeky wink you didn’t care for at all, she left your side and walked around the small shop, returning quickly to hold up a short white dress with a high mock-neck. Not something you’d wear in the real world in a million years, you could only imagine the looks your friends at school would give you over the frilly little skirt and pleated lines.

“Looks like this is the only high-necked item we have,” She handed you the dress, which you took with a polite smile. “Scoop necks are really in this season, you know?”

“I didn’t, but this’ll work, thanks.”

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The rain from earlier in the week left a humid haze hanging in the air, the country club’s golf course blindingly green under the blistering Florida sun. You were cranky the second you stepped outside the cool women’s locker room, the sneakers you were forced to buy from the pro-shop too-tight and the overall chip on your shoulder freshly sharpened. 

Then there was the dress. It was shorter and tighter than it had looked on the hanger, the tips of your fingers alternating between pulling the hem down fruitlessly and tugging at the tight material on your stomach, unsuccessfully trying to create some give.

Maddie and Sabrina didn’t even try to hide their wide eyes, while Cassie gave you the most condescending looks of sympathy you’d ever received. You weren’t sure which you hated more.

“Bitch, you look hot as fuck,” Carter playfully swatted your butt, which was practically hanging out of the mini skirt. She tugged at the high collar of the dress, “you should show off a little cleavage though, let those girls breathe.” 

Panicked she’d see the secret the tight fabric was concealing, you swatted her hand away a little harder than you’d intended.

“Sorry, but just like, stop,” you said under your breath, hoping the other girls wouldn’t hear you snap at your sister, something you almost never did.

“Geez, okay,” she threw her hands up. “I’m just teasing. You’re a little tense today.”

“And your a little annoying today,” you’d meant it to be playful, you really had, but there was an edge of truth to it that took Carter aback, stepping away from you with hurt in her eyes that you instantly felt guilty for.

Across the patio, the boys stepped out of the men’s locker room, rented club bags slung over their shoulders and ridiculously bright pastel polos glowing against the vivid green backdrop of the crisp, manicured grass on the course.

You eyed Rafe in his bright blue polo and skinny khaki pants, he and pink-polo-clad Topper standing next to each other looking like the tacky decorations at a gender reveal party. Kelce, Tom, and Jack stood close by, adorned in similar outfits, theirs in the ugliest shades of purple, orange, and yellow you’d ever seen.

“Not bad, right?” Topper asked once the whole group had gathered outside the locker room doors, holding his arms out to display his pink Tidal polo and matching hat. “We basically bought out the whole pro shop. How do we look?”

“Like the power puff girls,” you snorted, hand raised to block your squinting eyes from the punishing sun.

You meant it to insult all of them, but you kept your eyes fixed on Rafe as you said it, hoping it stung him most of all. But he just smirked, the jerk. The perfect, impossibly handsome jerk.

“Believe it or not, you’re not the first person who’s called us that,” he chuckled, swinging the heavy bag of rented golf clubs up over his shoulder like it weighed nothing.

The interaction, your first words to each other since the fight in your bedroom, left you feeling oddly dissatisfied. It wasn’t fair to tell him it was over and then secretly hope he’d at least look a little flustered by the way this dress was hugging your body, but your typical rationality and clear-headedness had apparently flown out the window somewhere on the drive to Miami. 

The group dispersed, pairing off as they headed toward the first tee. Rafe followed after Jack, passing you as you scanned the busy course for the golf cart rental area.

“Have a good game,” he offered politely, as though you were just casual acquaintances who didn’t know what each other’s lips felt like.

“Yeah, you too, Bubbles,” you threw over your shoulder, leaving him delightfully confused as you sauntered toward the golf carts with a petty smirk.

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“Hey, wanna share?” 

Carter appeared at your side, her voice an octave higher than usual as she intercepted your beeline for the golf cart stand. If you were gonna be forced to play a game you weren’t really good at in an outfit you hated on the hottest Memorial Day weekend in recent history, you damn sure weren’t about to walk all eighteen holes.

She was trying hard to get on your good side after your prickly interaction a few minutes ago, her anxious hovering and forced cheeriness driving you even crazier than you felt before.

“I’m fine with walking.” 

You kicked yourself mentally, the thought of walking all eighteen holes in this unforgiving heat made you die a little inside, but you were already growing tired of dropping passive aggressive hints that you wanted her to leave you alone, and the afternoon had barely begun.

Part of you wished you and Carter were the kind of sisters that just got into knock-down drag-out fights and then got over it, instead of this uneasy, passive aggressive tug-of-war you were currently in. You’d both run from confrontation since your parents had made your childhood so fraught with their own fighting, but as she continued to push at the wall you were putting up with her, you wondered if maybe they had it right - maybe you should just yell at each other and get it over with.

Before she could try any more tactics to get you to talk to her, Sabrina appeared with Cassie, and two barely-eighteen-year-old boys with moony eyes and country club uniforms a size too big.

“We got caddies,” Sabrina said, slipping the taller of the two a ten dollar bill. “This is Ryder and Chad, they just graduated high school and they’re both going to Princeton in the Fall.”

You rolled your eyes, every word out of her mouth making you cringe, even when she wasn’t actually doing anything wrong. Both sets of the boy’s eyes drifted from her, to your great surprise and immense discomfort, to you. As they eyed you up and down shamelessly, clearly standing straighter and flexing a bit, the tall one leaned down to murmur something in the ear of his buddy, both failing miserably to hide their smirks.

“I’ll carry my own clubs,” you rolled your eyes, turning from the group and grabbing a rented bag, dragging it up the hill toward the first tee.

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Carter watched you struggle your way up the hill with her arms crossed over her chest, lips twisted and brow crumpled like she could will you back down with her mind.

“Careful, or your face is gonna get stuck like that.”

Topper approached slowly, stepping in her eyeline to pull her thoughts from you. With a sweet grin he added, “which would be bad for me, because I like your face a lot.”

“Do you?” Carter played along, though her voice was a bit faded, thoughts still far from him.

He craned his neck to follow her gaze, seeing you for just a second before you slipped out of view over the hill with your clubs.

“Everything okay?” He questioned, nodding his head toward the place you’d just disappeared from.

“I don’t know,” she frowned again, “She’s sworn to me three times today that nothing, y’know happened between her and Rafe, but I just feel like she’s hiding something from me.”

“Well,” he proceeded with caution, handing the caddy at the cart stand his credit card, “is it the worst thing in the world if they did hook up? I mean they’re both adults, and,” his voice lowered as he trailed his fingers down her arm, landing low to lightly pinch at the hem of her skirt, “it’s not like they’re the only ones who’ve gotten together on this trip.”

Carter gave into his flirting for just a second, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips as they both silently thought about the intimate afternoon they’d shared after the jet ski fiasco. But before she could reach out and touch him back, the caddy returned with a cart, and Carter stepped back fast, brushing Topper’s hand away, more forceful than she’d intended, leaving a sting behind where she’d smacked it.

Hurt flashed across his eyes, momentarily taking his hat off to run his hand through his hair in frustration.

“Seriously?” He scoffed.

Carter was immediately sorry.

“Topper, I’m sorry, you just-“

“Me? What’d I do this time, Carter? Loved you a little too much? Been too nice to you? Made you smile in public?” He took the keys from the caddy with an appreciative nod. “What do I ever do but wait for you, cook for you, compliment you, and go along with whatever you want? And all you do is jerk me around and pretend it annoys you. You know what? I hope Rafe did finally make a move, at least one couple should end this trip together.”

He got in the cart and turned it on, driving away from her before she was able to get in the passenger seat.

“Topper, wait, I’m sorry!” she called after him, but he was already gone.

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Your very first swing landed you in the sand traps.

It was a welcome excuse to separate yourself from the group and were you ever hooked up to a lie detector, saying you didn’t do it on purpose might not pass. You gave up on wheeling your worn down rented golf bag through the course, pretty much just dragging it behind you at this point. The other golfers were probably laughing at you, a sad sight as you trudged past them, already sweating and oh-so-over this whole excursion.

Approaching the sand trap, you heard a comically weak horn honk from behind you, turning to see Topper approaching in his golf cart, Carter noticeably missing from the seat next to him.

“Hey li-“

You cut off his carrying voice before it could even reach you.

“If the next words out of your mouth are ‘little Carter’ I will run you over with your own golf cart.”

He pivoted, the syllables he almost said still hanging on the tip of his tongue.

“Lil…shawty. Is what I was going to say,” the doubting look you gave him only made him double down. “Hey lil’ shawty, what’s good?”

You didn’t think it was possible for someone to make you laugh on this god awful day, but you cracked a smile at that, making Topper beam with pride.

“Ride with me,” he offered, not leaving room for you to turn down as he climbed from the cart and threw your clubs in the back.

“On one condition,” you said.

“What’s that?” He raised his eyebrows.

“You don’t make me dig my ball out of that sand trap.”

Without missing a beat, he pulled something from his pocket, leaning down as though he’d just discovered it on the ground.

“Wow, so crazy that I found your ball right here!” He tossed it to you with a wink and you gave him a grateful grin.

You slipped into the seat, your too-short skirt making your sweaty legs slide on the vinyl seat. Those caddies could eyefuck you all they wanted, nothing about this outfit made you feel sexy.

“Worn out already?” He nodded toward your hand which was rubbing soothing circles into your calf muscle, sore from the walking already. “Bad news ‘cause we’ve got seventeen holes to go.”

“Good thing I have a strapping young chauffeur to cart me around then,” you patted his arm and he started up the cart.

“I got you sis.”

It was a nickname he’d called you in high school, always joking that he and Carter would get married, which she’d of course pretend to be annoyed by, smiling to herself in secret when she thought you couldn’t see. Now when he said it, a sadness singed the edges of the word. You gave him a frown, but he looked away, clearly wanting to avoid addressing the sadness you saw in his eyes.

You rode in silence for a few minutes as he caught up with the rest of your group at the second tee. When he pulled up, neither of you got out, sitting silently by each other, watching the rest of the group crowd around the tee. 

Carter and Maddie were taking a selfie, holding up their clubs for the camera as Sabrina and Cassie compared outfits next to them. Behind them, Rafe lined up his shot, the other guys standing off to the side in polite reverence, taking the game entirely too seriously.

Topper watched Carter while you watched Rafe. The silence between you was palpable. Rafe finally took his swing, strong arms coming down hard as his broad torso twisted, leaving you no choice to think about how it had felt below you in the car, and how it looked towering over you in your bedroom earlier today. 

Somewhere in Topper’s mind, you were sure he was having similar unwelcome flashbacks as Carter stretched her arms over her head, twisting her hips as she prepared for her turn at the tee. Truthfully, the two of you could not have picked more beautiful people to break your hearts. 

As though your thoughts were connected, Topper finally broke the silence, noting sarcastically “well we’re just a two man party over here aren’t we?”

You huffed a laugh, looking down at your fidgeting hands in your lap as an excuse to pull your eyes away from Rafe.

“Did you, um,” he struggled with the words, your narrowed eyes shooting up to him as you waited for the end of his question curiously. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

Topper cleared his throat, “what you said earlier in your bedroom? Do you really think I’m so used to being rejected that I wouldn’t be able to handle it if she finally admitted she loved me?”

You winced at the sound of your own cruel words being replayed back to you. You’d pulled no punches when Topper was just attempting to cheer you up, justifying your pettiness by blaming Rafe for your shitty mood. To his credit, Topper didn’t just lay down and take it, he put up his best fight.

“I don’t know. Did you really mean it when you said I can’t let him love me because I don’t actually love myself?” There was no malice in your tone, but a gentle reminder that he’d dished it out just as good as he got served.

His fallen face and avoidance of your eyes told you he regretted it just as much as you did, and your lean across the seat to bump his shoulder playfully told him all was forgiven. Siblings fight, after all.

As your gazes scanned back over Rafe and Carter, another cart came rolling past, stopping a few yards from where the two of you sat. A refreshment cart.

“Wanna get like, stupid, sloppy drunk with me?” You suggested bluntly.

He was already turning the wheel in the direction of the drink cart, “you read my mind, lil’ shawty, you read my mind.”

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In the least surprising turn of events in human history, Topper Thornton didn’t handle his liquor well. Just a couple of Mai Tai’s and he was a menace on the green, heckling swings and laughing so loudly at his own jokes, groups of golfers all around the course were turning to look at you with disapproving glares.

You, however, were in the golden glow of the first few drinks, when your body starts to buzz with ease and you wonder why everyone isn’t always a little drunk all the time. Your swings came easy, they weren’t great, but you could at least still see straight enough to keep the ball on the fareway, unlike Topper, who made so many divots you wondered if he’d get a bill in the mail from Jack’s family.

Topper drove from tee to tee, his driving becoming increasingly sloppier with each drink he threw back. You smiled in amusement from the passenger side as a tipsy Topper attempted to wax poetic about his love for Carter and steer the cart straight at the same time. You were at least pacing yourself, something he wasn’t even attempting, still sipping on his straw even as he drove. He’d gone straight to rum, while you started slow with a hard seltzer. 

“She’s just so different when we’re alone, y’know?” Topper shouted to you, about fifty decibels louder than was necessary for you to hear him. “It’s just like.. Okay it’s like… you know what it’s like?”

You just laughed, trying not to let your drink slosh onto your new tennis dress as he swerved around a sand trap, Topper slurring through some kind of declaration next to you that you couldn’t understand if you wanted to.

“It’s like, we’re mates,” he finally landed on.

“Ew! I’m gonna need to drink like ten more of these before I can stand hearing about you and my sister mating,” you grimaced.

“No! No, you’re not, ugh,” he grabbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers after throwing the cart in a jerky park. “You don’t get it.”

You climbed out of the cart, finally catching up to the rest of the group at the fourth tee after taking a long detour to collect your balls from the edge of the lake.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m trying,” you tried to assure him. “But dude, you're wasted already.”

Topper took a deep breath, as if that would sober him up, climbing from the cart with some difficulty. 

“I’m not wasted, I’m just having fun,” he shook your shoulders, his strength making your whole body stumble around, “we both deserve to have some fun! Are you having fun yet?”

You laughed loudly, thoroughly enjoying the fun you were indeed having with him, but your smile dropped fast when Carter broke from the group and approached the two of you.

“What’s going on over here?” She said in forced friendliness, trying to jump in on the revelry. 

“Oh nothing,” you sipped your drink to avoid her eye contact.

“Sounds like something’s funny,” she pushed. God, why was she pushing? And why was her presence, usually the most welcome thing to you, suddenly so bothersome? 

“Topper was just telling me how you two are mates,” you informed her with a teasing grin.

“Dude!” Topper turned to you with a look of pure betrayal in his glassy eyes. “I told you that in confidence!”

“It’s okay,” Carter laughed, genuinely trying to reassure him with a hand on his arm. “I don’t take anything you say when you’re drunk seriously.”

Her attempt to make him feel better backfired, he pulled his arm from her, shocking her with the aggressive movement. 

“That’s the problem! You don’t take me seriously!” He slurred at her.

“Okay, calm down Top, I’m just kidding, it’s not that deep,” she shushed him.

As they broke into a classic Topper/Carter argument, you rolled your eyes, sipping your drink and accepting ruefully that your fun hang with Topper had come to an end - once they started fighting like this, the rest of the world might as well be dead to them.

While the sweet grapefruit flavor of your drink slipped between your lips, your eyes found Rafe. He was standing back from the tee, watching Jack’s swing analytically, leaning on his own club with one leg crossed over the other, toe in the grass and his free hand casually tucked in his pocket. 

With Carter and Topper distracted by the sound of their own voices, and your brain humming with the delightful effects of alcohol, you indulged yourself in the sight of him. Letting your eyes rake over his frame shamelessly, you bit your lip as you noted the vein running along his tan forearm, leading up to the dip of a toned bicep, just a little too defined for the tight sleeve of his polo. When he reached up to adjust his cap, the sleeve rode up, revealing more of his toned arm to you. The muscle was just firm enough that he had to tug at the sleeve to get it to slide back over it, and you nearly fell over with lust.

“I’m gonna need something stronger,” you mumbled to no one in particular, leaving your can of White Claw in the cart as you searched the course for the cart girl.

Switching to a double vodka cran, light on the cran, you sipped your drink as you followed the rest of the group down the green. In their argument, Carter had confiscated Topper’s cart keys, declaring him officially too drunk to drive, a comment that only sparked another round of arguments you were ignoring.

But your eyes stayed on Rafe. It wasn’t just his body you were watching (though when he squatted low to line up his putt, you may have muttered something obscene under your breath) but his whole affect, his easy confidence, the way he carried himself, the little mannerisms you’d memorized and could never forget no many how many drinks you had. 

He’d cross his arms as he chatted with Kelce and Jack about the challenges of the course, the lines in his forehead deep as it appeared for a moment he might be taking the game just a tad too seriously, before breaking into a cheeky grin, mumbling something you couldn’t hear that still somehow made you smile and the group break into charmed laughter. He’d pat one of them on the shoulder with a big, firm hand before taking his place by the ball, lining up a shot and using the power of his athletic body with ease, landing the ball exactly where he wanted it.

It was all enchanting, every little thing that he did, and you were mesmerized by him. You sipped your drink, which had become mostly melted ice at this point, and kept your eyes trained on him. Your increasingly blurry vision swirled and twirled around him as all the anger and sadness you’d arrived at the club with slowly sank to the bottom of the glass.

The world narrowed down to him, and with the help of a second vodka cranberry, a pleasant numbness settled over you and quieted down all distractions that could tear your thoughts away from him.

Even when Sabrina’s new besties Chad and Ryder had appeared at your side, offering to carry your clubs since you’d lost the convenience of Topper’s golf cart. Topper and Carter walked a little bit ahead of you, oscillating between cold silence and fighting, while Chad and Ryder chatted with you, though your mind was so far from the conversation you could barely register the small talk they were making. You politely answered questions about school and living in the Outer Banks, thankful they were carrying your clubs so you could focus on the cold glass in your hand and your constant surveillance of Rafe in the distance.

Somewhere between the sixth and seventh hole, the course’s walking path brought you to a beautiful, crisp blue lake. You stood at the threshold of the wooden bridge, letting the rest of the group get a little ahead of you as they crossed it. You’d sent Chad and Ryder off to refill your drink, an opportunity they’d jumped at eagerly.

Halfway across the bridge sat an open container of seeds and kernels, and a cutesy, hand painted sign that read “please, feed the ducks!”

Passing by, Rafe scooped up a handful, lazily scattering it in the rippling blue water as he crossed the rest of the bridge toward the next tee. You walked slowly to where he’d dropped the handful of seeds, looking down in the water to find a gaggle of ducklings had gathered, chirping happily as they snacked on his gift. You looked down at them with a smile, a cool breeze brushing across your face. But as you were enjoying watching their gleeful lunch, the world around you started to sway just a little, blurring at the peripheral of your vision.

Hands finding tight purchase on the railing of the bridge, two sudden realizations hit you with complete clarity, a stark contrast to the fuzziness of the rest of your thoughts.

The first thought - that you were officially drunk. A fact you were mostly ambivalent about, knowing full well you were still gonna go back to that cart girl, who you’d begun to think of as your new best friend, one way or another.

The second, more disorienting and stomach churning than any amount of liquor you could possibly consume - that you were undeniably, entirely, and irrevocably in love with Rafe Cameron. 

(Chapter 9 part three)

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a/n: oh, hi there! miss me? part three of this chap following close behind! xoxo

please note the new tallest for this series is now closed. to get updates when I post please follow @whytheylosttheirminds-works and turn on notifs <3

[mayanneaa]

hits different - ᴊᴊ ᴍᴀʏʙᴀɴᴋ.

PAIRING : jj maybank x ex!reader

SUMMARY : jj broke up with you two months ago, but this one party makes him truly realize what he’s done.

WARNING(S) : swearing, jealous and super drunk jj, a little angst, fluff, minimal use of y/n (like once), might have some grammar errors, english is not my first language

A/N : first fic on here heheh obv inspired by 'hits different' by taylor swift. i recommend listening to it while reading :) dividers by @roseraris !! not proofread dont kill me

WC : 1.7k

masterlist.

After a fourth beer, the party got too loud and the lights too bright. Normally, in a moment like this, he would run to you, wrap his arms around you, and inhale your sweet, calming scent. Just as he’s about to do it, the realization hits him like one of the waves nearby.

You aren’t together anymore.

He sharply inhales and looks around. His vision is softly spinning, but it’s no problem for him. JJ spots you in a second. With another boy.

You two are just talking. You don’t even know this guy, he came up to you to ask about something so random it got lost in your chat long ago. You give him one of those kind smiles, and JJ feels his fists clench. “Fuck.”

The music changes. As if he wasn’t already miserable, the speakers let out the first notes of your song. The one he first kissed you to. The one you two always played, alone at the chateau dancing on the back porch.

The memories flood his mind, and he can’t take it anymore. Jj feels his heartbeat loud in his ears, and he wants to leave. To go to any of the pogues, or, even better, drive away in the Twinkie. But his eyes cannot move from your face, and his legs just don’t work.

It baffles him. Not once in his life, he couldn’t move on. But this time, with you, it's different. It hits different.

You finally catch him. The guy is still talking to you, but your attention is on the other side of the beach. Before you can interrupt, you see John B. coming up to JJ. He tells him something, grabs his arm, and leads his best friend somewhere. You feel your heart sink. “Are you okay?” you hear the guy ask, making you turn your head.

“I’m so sorry, I have to go,” you quickly say, leaving him alone. You have to find JJ.

“Dude, stop this shit right now,” John B.’s holding the steering wheel, making his way to the Chateau. JJ's taken the passenger seat, shoulders slumped, and he runs his hand through the blonde strands.

"Yeah, easy for you to talk." he snarls, "You and Sarah are all happy together, you don't know how it's like-"

"I don't know because I don't just randomly break up with my girl over a bad day I had." John B. cuts him off and lets out a deep sigh. "JJ, you should talk to her. Everyone's done. You are constantly miserable."

JJ doesn't say anything. The words hit him like a slap, unnecessarily hurtful. Outside the window he sees the familiar place - they are at the Chateau.

"Get some rest, okay?" John B opens the door and helps JJ get in the house. "Call me in case something happens."

The blonde nods his head and plops on the couch, legs stretched out. Minutes pass, and he finds himself whispering your name, over and over again, as if he's scared he'll forget it.

His mind still replays that cold May night.

You two agreed to meet at the dock. The wind softly overflowed your face as you were waiting for him. When he finally came, you felt something was wrong. His usual smile was gone, and he didn't even look at you. You hugged yourself in your hoodie, "JJ? Is everything alright?"

He let out a shaky breath, leaning over the railings. "I think we should break up."

You blinked in surprise, your heart feeling heavy. "What?"

Your voice sounded smaller than you intended. You reached out for his hand, your own shaking.

"It will be better for both of us." JJ dismissively said, swallowing hard. A shiver ran down his body, and his throat tightened, but he brushed it off.

You felt so much hitting you. Tears burned under your eyelids, and anger started to bubble up. Did you do something? Or maybe he just decided you weren't good enough for him anymore?

"No," you whispered at first, but your voice was growing louder, "You don't get to just... just decide on my behalf!"

The moonlight fell on his face, and you tried to find any answers in his eyes. He stiffened, shaking his head before he repeated, "It will be better if we end it now."

You opened your mouth, but not a word came out. The tears threatening to fall finally flooded your face, a quiet scoff escaping your lips. "I can't believe this. This is how much it meant for you?"

You were met with silence. The atmosphere on the dock could be cut with a knife, and you couldn't just stand here. Before you registered it, your legs led you down, far from your boy- well... ex-boyfriend. JJ's eyes followed your every step. He wanted to run after you, to wrap you in his arms and never let you go. But he didn't.

It wasn't just a one-day whim he had. It stuck with him ever since you two decided to make it official. It grew with every late night you spent not on something you like, but on cleaning him up after another fight. You didn’t say anything—but he knew. He knew that sooner or later, it will be too much. He will be too much to handle.

The sweetest girl walking on the earth, a literal angel and him. A failure, a Pogue whose fate it was to end up just like his father—always drunk, always angry.

His heart ached at this thought. You had so many opportunities, and if you decided to let it go because of him, he would never forgive himself.

Breaking up before he got even more attached was for the better. It had to be. Right?

JJ doesn’t know how long he’s been lying like this. His breathing is now steady and slow, and he has to remind himself to breath in again.

He closes his eyes, but can’t escape you. The memories come fast—not giving him much time for defense.

Your face. Always in the sun, glowing as if you were a goddess. The lips glossed from the cherries you’ve been eating. Your eyes, the creases forming in the corners almost constantly from smiling.

Your touch. All these quick brushes, the way you traced your soft fingertips over his forearm every time you sat nearby. The long, tight hugs during which JJ’s hands wrapped your waist, him hungrily inhaling your perfume.

His breath hitches. Is it truly the best this way?

Before he can answer, the quiet crack of a key opens the door. He darts up and immediately regrets it, as the whole room starts spinning.

“JJ?” he hears a soft whisper, and his heart skips a beat.

The warm lights of the Chateau reveal your face. He feels the heat rising to his cheeks, “What are you doing here?”

His voice is quiet, almost as if he’s scared you’ll disappear. You step closer, with a cautiousness that kills something inside him. He avoids your gaze, staring at the suddenly interesting floor.

“You’re not doing great, huh?” you say, but there’s no mockery or anger in your voice. There’s just… worry.

JJ turns around on his heels and sits down on couch, fearing that if he stands for a minute longer, he might just fall. He runs a hand through his hair, a habit that intensified over the two months.

“Stop it, Y/N.” he finally replies looking at you for the first time. The light reflects of his watery eyes, and his voice breaks when he continues, “Go back to the party and your new stupid little boyfriend.”

Your eyes widen. “Are you fussing over me talking to a guy after you broke up with me?”

JJ shakes his head, looking at the floor again, “Doesn’t matter. Not anymore, I guess. You really should go—”

“Why did you end this?”

The question feels like an arrow through his heart. You’re standing with your hands crossed, not planning on going anywhere. “Why, J? We were happy. Did I do something…?”

“It wasn’t you.” In the response, he hears a snort.

Your gaze is heavy, with your eyebrows arched up. “Classic. Then what was it, JJ?” The tone of your voice is pushing, and you don’t even try to control it, “What happened that you decided to just leave me?”

“I was scared!” he snaps before he can think of anything better to say. “How do you imagine it? You… you can’t suffer with me forever. It’ll break you one day and—”

“JJ.”

The way you say his name pulls him out of the spiral. It slips off your tongue smoothly, just like it used to. You grip his arm, and JJ forgets what he was even talking about.

“You don’t get to make this decision without talking to me. Did you ever asked me how I feel about this?”

A blush creeps up on his cheeks, and whether you want it or not, the corners of your lips rise.

He tries to make any sense, the tears dangerously close to falling. “I mean— You deserve someone better. Someone who will keep you safe and… I’m not that person. And I don’t think I’ll ever be.”

You sigh. “Maybe. But I don’t want anyone better, baby. I want you. That’s my decision.”

With these words, with what you called him, his walls crash. You pull him closer, your bodies touching and he can’t take it anymore. JJ lets out a muffled sob into the crook of your neck, gripping you like he’s never letting you go.

Your fingers find their way up to his hair, running through the golden strands as he’s shaking.

“I’m sorry.” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “I’m so sorry. So sorry—”

“Shhh,” You draw small circles on his back, and his breath slows down after some time. “We will talk about it tomorrow, ’kay? You’re super drunk right now.”

“Promise you won’t leave.” JJ sniffles, the tip of his nose pink. You giggle, but he pulls away to look at you, a serious expression on his face. “I’m not joking! Promise me you’ll still be here in the morning. Please.”

You gently squeeze his shaking hand and can’t help but smile. “I promise.”