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cheftsunoda · 1 day ago

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heal your heart—cl16

part two (very very long and wordy)

smau + real life

carlos sainz x !sister singer reader

charles leclerc x sainz reader

catalina sainz has it all— she is a successful grammy award winning artist, her brother is a well known formula 1 driver, she has an amazing family and wonderful friends. she was also blessed with a fiance and a beautiful baby boy.. she had everything.. until she didn't. her fiance disappears and takes her son with him. catalina watches as her world crumbles...who will be there to help pick up the pieces?

fc : kali uchis

⚠️ATTENTION : TRIGGER WARNING! MENTIONS OF DEPRESSION AND ABUSE. ⚠️

part one here

—

f1gossipgirls

liked by 475,943 people.

f1gossipgirls : Catalina Sainz has made a paddock appearance shortly after Carlos Sainz announced he would still be driving in the Japanese GP. This is the first time Catalina has been seen since the rumors started circulating that her son was taken by her fiance who has disappeared without a trace. Her son was not seen anywhere near the paddock and Catalina was only seen by press and paps for a few moments before Williams team members swooped her into hospitality. She was later spotted in the paddock cuddled up with Rebecca Donaldson, Carlos' partner, who seemed to be comforting her in this time of need. Carlos seemed to be agitated and quiet with the press. Let us know what you all think about Catalina's appearance.

username2 : her relationship with rebecca has always been so special..idc if y'all don't like rebecca due to her past- she is always there for our girl

liked by author

username5 : the silence, the matching sunglasses, the fact they are not speaking to anyone… something WENT DOWN and they’re coming back in blood pact formation

username7 : okay but imagine your brother is a world-famous driver and you just quietly vanish across international borders and he SHOWS UP TO FIND YOU IN THE MOUNTAINS?? this family is cinematic

username8: If this ends in Carlos winning the GP and dedicating it to her with a whispered “para mi hermana” on the radio, I will lose ALL composure...

username10 : before you all start shitting on her for making a public appearance in this state... she has always been very very supportive of carlos' career and she probably begged him to not fully drop out and she came with so she didn't have to be alone again.

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username20 : and she did not really even make an appearance...you can tell they were trying to sneak her in and the paps and press were just being absolutely RELENTLESS

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username15 : You can tell she didn’t sleep. You can tell he hasn’t smiled in days. You can tell someone’s getting sued.

username17 : Carlos showing up like her personal security, emotional support brother, AND legal representative 😭 I’m in love..

username9 : mother is mothering again...i feel like i haven't seen her flip off paps in like 2 years (it's been 2 months)

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usernameee : not to be dramatic but if this was 1830 he’d have challenged someone to a duel by now

username2 : BYEEE

username0 : Ok but did anyone notice the way she didn’t make eye contact with a single camera?? She’s been media trained for this moment.

—

twitter!

@/williamsracing : Carlos Sainz is present at the Japanese Grand Prix and will be participating in the weekend as scheduled. At this time, he will not be making any personal statements. We kindly ask that media respect his and his family’s privacy.

view comments

username : I saw Carlos' PR officer physically block a tabloid guy from asking about Catalina. She body-checked him. Things are tense.

username0 : what a queen give her a raise

username4 : Carlos racing with THIS on his mind is terrifying. He’s either gonna win by 30 seconds or drive straight into the garage and file for custody mid-race.

username00 : If your brother doesn’t fly across the world mid-race week to rescue you from a life-shattering betrayal, is he even a brother???

username5 : They said no comment. I said no problem, I’ll make up the entire timeline myself.

—

I woke up early, the light just creeping into the room. The soft hum of Carlos pacing in the next room is the only thing that lets me know he’s still here. His presence is steady, a constant. But right now, he’s not just my brother, he’s the man trying to fix everything, trying to be everything for me when I don’t have the energy to pretend anymore. The last few weeks feel like a blur...like I’ve been running on autopilot and suddenly, the ground has dropped from under me. I want to tell him everything, that I’m not okay, that I feel lost, but I can’t. I can’t because I don’t want to break him too. But this morning, the room is still quiet, the soft morning light casting long shadows on the floor. I hear Carlos on the phone, his voice low and urgent, but the words aren’t clear. Lawyers. Calls to his manager. Something about custody arrangements. I can’t listen. I don’t want to listen. But I can’t let him drop everything for me. I can’t be the reason he cancels a race weekend. He’s worked too hard, come too far. I won’t be the reason he fails.

I take a deep breath, pushing myself up from the bed. I’m still wearing the same clothes from yesterday. My head hurts, but I ignore it. I have to. When I walk into the room, Carlos is at the desk, holding his phone in his hand, his eyes glued to the screen. He doesn’t see me at first. His face is a mask of concentration, but underneath, there’s something else. Worry. Fear.

“Carlos…” I whisper, my voice cracking as I say his name. He looks up at me immediately, the relief flooding his face the second he sees me.

“Cat.” He doesn’t even stand up. His eyes, though—they’re softer now, less angry. But still, I see that question in them. That question I don’t know how to answer. "How are you?"

I nod, even though I’m not. “I’m fine.” It’s a lie, but it’s all I’ve got.

Carlos sets the phone down slowly, his fingers brushing against the edge of the desk as if he’s about to grab it again. “I’m not letting you do this alone again, Catalina. I have been on the phone with several lawyers and some officials in Spain. You’re not handling this alone. You can’t handle this alone.”

“I don’t want to,” I say quickly, almost desperately. I can’t stand the idea of him being that worried. “But I don’t want you to cancel your race. I can’t let you do that for me. I watched you build this career piece by piece, Los. I am not going to let you ruin it for me."

His eyes flash with something I can’t quite place. “You’re not in any state to be alone right now, Catalina. You’re not okay, and I can see it. You’re…” His voice cracks, and I hate that I’m the reason for it. “You’re slipping.”

"I can't stand the thought of losing you too." His words hit me like a truck.

“Carlos, I’ll be fine. You can’t cancel your race for me. Please. I’ll be okay,” I plead, but it doesn’t feel real even as the words leave my mouth. I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay again. But he can’t see that.

He’s silent for a moment, his gaze never leaving mine. I feel the weight of his stare, the pressure in the air thickening as he contemplates everything.

“I’m not racing without you,” he finally says, his voice soft but firm. “I’m not going to leave you alone with all of this, not after what happened.” He runs a hand through his hair, frustration flashing in his eyes. “You’re coming with me. You’re going to the race with me. I won’t do this without you.”

“I—” I begin, but I can’t finish the sentence. I don’t have the strength to fight him on this. I don’t want to fight him on this. I need him, too.

“I’ll race, but only if you’re with me,” he adds, his voice quiet but resolute. “You’re coming with me. We’ll go together. I’ll be there with you, every step. I’m not leaving you in this place, Catalina. Not after everything.”

"I can't race if I am worried about you the whole time. I will take care of everything, I will shield you from the press, Rebecca will be there to be with you. Please. Just let me take care of you."

I don’t say anything for a moment. I feel like I’m suffocating, but there’s something about the way he says it that calms me, just a little. Maybe because I know he’s not going to leave me.

Finally, I nod, swallowing back the lump in my throat. “Okay,” I whisper. “Okay. I’ll go with you. But only because you’re sure. I don’t want you to drop everything for me. You need to race. You need to keep going.”

His eyes soften. “We’ll keep going together, Cat. Always.”

I nod again, unable to say anything more, my chest heavy with the weight of his words. With the weight of everything.

—

TW! This section discusses abuse.

The jet hums beneath us as we fly through the thick cloud cover, heading toward the race. The only thing I can hear clearly is the steady rhythm of my own heart, and the thoughts swirling in my mind, too tangled to untangle. I’m here. I’m on my way to a race weekend, but I don’t feel like I’m really here. My body is on the plane, but my mind is somewhere else entirely. Somewhere dark. I should feel relief, maybe even some semblance of peace. I have Carlos with me. He’s here, sitting across from me, his eyes on the window, his jaw tense. But inside, I feel like I’m falling apart. I want to say something. Anything. The truth. But the words are lodged in my throat, thick and suffocating. I don’t want to break in front of him, not again. I’ve already put him through too much. But Carlos isn’t going to let me stay silent. He never does.

“Cariño” his voice is low, but it cuts through the quiet of the cabin like a knife. “I need you to talk to Mama y Papa. They have seen the press and they know where I am. They do not want you feeling alone in this.”

I can’t look at him right now. I keep my gaze trained on the floor, focusing on the way the carpet fibers shift beneath my feet with every slight movement of the jet. His words, though, they hit me like a punch to the gut.

“I can’t,” I whisper, the refusal almost automatic. “I can’t tell them.”

Carlos sighs, his voice softer now, but still filled with that quiet urgency. “Cat, they need to know. They deserve to know what’s happening. You can’t keep hiding this from them. They’ll understand. You don’t have to carry it all on your own.”

I close my eyes and lean my head back against the plush seat, trying to steady myself, but it feels like the world is spinning. Why am I so scared? I’m not scared of telling them...I’m scared of what it means. I’m scared of how they’ll look at me once they know everything. Scared of how they'll feel about me, about what I allowed to happen.

“I’m scared of what they’ll think of me,” I confess, my voice cracking. “I… I’m scared they’ll think I was weak. I let him in again. I let him hurt me. And I should’ve known better.”

Carlos is quiet for a moment. I can feel his gaze on me now, even though I’m not looking at him. The weight of it presses on me, but there’s something gentle in it, something I can’t quite put into words. His next words come slow, deliberate.

“You’re not weak, Catalina. You never were. He made you believe that. He made you believe that you were the problem when you weren’t. He was the problem. What happened to you, what he did to you, none of it is your fault. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

I can feel the walls I’ve spent so long building around myself crack, the cold walls I put up to protect myself from feeling anything. But the cracks don’t stop. They break open, and suddenly, I’m not so sure I’m ready to face the storm that’s going to come.

“Carlos, you don’t understand.” I shake my head, my chest tightening with every word I say. “It wasn’t just… it wasn’t just the controlling stuff. The gaslighting. The manipulation. It was the… the times when I would tell him I didn’t want to do something, and he would ignore me. He would make me feel like I was being unreasonable. And then, when I’d try to leave, when I thought I could leave, he would beg me to stay, and I’d… I’d believe him. Every time. Every damn time.”

My voice falters. “And then it turned physical. I never wanted to say that, but it did. There were times when I’d say no, but he didn’t stop. And I’d... I’d freeze, Carlos. I didn’t know how to say no anymore. I didn’t know how to stop him.”

The words are raw, bleeding from me before I even realize it. The shame burns like fire inside me, but I can’t stop talking now. It feels like I’m finally releasing everything I’ve been holding inside, even though I know I can never take it back.

“I didn’t know how to get out. I thought if I left, he’d destroy me. If I told anyone, they wouldn’t believe me. They’d think I was just being dramatic. And I didn’t want to be the girl who let that happen. I didn’t want anyone to know.”

"I thought he'd take my son from me which clearly that assumption was not far off." I choked out.

Carlos doesn’t interrupt me, doesn’t say anything. But I can feel his hand, reaching for mine. Gently, but with a strength that tells me he’s here. And he’s not going anywhere.

“I finally left him. I did. But I... I let him back in. And I thought it would be different, that things would go back to the way they were. But they didn’t. And I couldn’t leave again. I didn’t have the strength. And I thought I could handle it.” I swallow hard. “I was wrong. I was so wrong, Carlos. And now I’m... I’m just broken. I don’t know how to fix this.”

His hand tightens around mine, his grip firm and comforting, as if he’s holding me together when I can’t. His voice is quieter now, but it’s thick with emotion, more raw than I’ve ever heard it before. He comes over and sits beside me and I lean into him- needing him more than ever.

“You’re not broken. You never were. And you’re not alone, Catalina. I’ll never let you be alone in this.” He whispers as he leaves two kisses on the top of my head and then rests his chin there.

I’m shaking, my tears finally coming as I lean against the seat, squeezing my eyes shut. “I don’t know how to fix this, Carlos,” I whisper again, almost pleading. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You don’t have to fix it all at once. Just take it one step at a time. But you can’t carry this on your own anymore, okay? Let us help you. Let me help you.”

The jet rocks slightly, turbulence lifting us a little before settling. But even as the world outside shifts, I feel something inside me begin to settle too. Carlos is right there, beside me. And for the first time, I feel like maybe—just maybe—I don’t have to carry this alone anymore.

I look up at him, my voice barely a whisper, but my heart full of something I’ve been afraid to feel for so long. “I’ll talk to them. I’ll tell them what happened. I won’t do this alone anymore.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes soften. He’s not angry, not frustrated. Just... there. He’s with me. And for the first time in so long, I feel like maybe I can breathe again.

—

The paddock is a blur of flashing cameras, murmuring press, and engine rumbles. I step off that jet and straight into the chaos with Carlos by my side, his hand firm on my back like a silent promise, I’ve got you. He’s in protective mode—shoulders squared, jaw tight, sunglasses shielding his eyes even in the cloudy morning light. He doesn’t say much as we walk, but he doesn’t need to. I can feel the heat of the stares, the way heads turn as whispers ripple through the crowd. He has a soft but protective grip on my hand. I hear my name. His name. Questions I can’t make out.

"Catalina, are you okay?" "Where have you been?" "Is it true—?"

Carlos steps in front of me, shielding me with his body, and one of the team PR reps steps up to intercept the worst of it. I keep my head down. My hands tremble, stuffed into the pockets of the oversized jacket I borrowed from Carlos on the plane. I’m only here because I didn’t want him to race alone. Because he wouldn’t leave me behind.

"Ignore them," Carlos mutters under his breath. "Just a few steps more. Becs is waiting for you."

And she is—right at the garage entrance, her arms crossed and eyes scanning the crowd like a hawk. The moment she sees me, her whole face softens. She walks toward me, brushing past a reporter with her usual cool grace, and without asking, she wraps me in a hug and presses a light kiss to my cheek. I tense for a second as I'm not used to this kind of softness lately but then I sink into her. Her hold is warm, grounded. She smells like lavender and leather and something clean.

“Hey,” she says softly, brushing my hair back as she pulls away. “You don’t have to say anything. Just breathe. I’ve got you, okay?”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. Rebecca’s not overly emotional, she’s steady, patient, and completely unfazed by the circus around us. I don’t know how she does it, but in this moment, I’m grateful she’s here.

“Come with me,” she says, her hand on my arm. “I’ve set you up with a quiet space in the back of the hospitality suite. No cameras, no questions.”

I glance at Carlos, who’s already being pulled aside by engineers. He gives me a look...a question and a reassurance all at once. I nod. I’ll be okay. Rebecca leads me away, shielding me with her presence like armor. As we step inside the garage area, I spot a familiar mop of curls down the corridor.

“Lando?” I ask as my voice cracks.

He perks up instantly and makes a beeline for me, his face lit up with a mix of worry and relief. “There you are. I came down here to check on you, princess."

Before I can react, he pulls me into a hug...his hugs are always a little too tight, a little too long, but never unwelcome.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he says, his voice muffled by my hair. “Carlos wouldn't speak and I saw all of the bullshit in the press and you didn't answer my calls."

“I’m okay,” I lie, a practiced reflex. But he pulls back, studies me.

“You don’t have to be,” he says gently and rubs a stray tear from my cheek. “You just have to let us be here.”

I feel the tears prick again, unexpected and inconvenient. I blink them back and smile, just barely. “Thanks, Lando.”

"I got you always, bug. Remember that. I got a race to work on but I love you. Stay strong for us, okay?" He says and I nod.

"Love you, Lan. Work your magic out there." I said and he lightly chuckled.

He nods, then glances at Rebecca. “Take care of my girl, yeah?"

Rebecca nods and grabs my hand. "Always."

—

The room Rebecca set me up in smells faintly of fresh linen and citrus. It’s quiet—soundproofed, probably—and the lighting is soft and warm. There’s a cozy armchair in the corner, a tray of snacks and water on the table beside it, and a small diffuser puffing lavender into the air. It’s a strange kind of peace, the sort that feels like it doesn’t belong to me. I haven’t moved much in the past hour. My limbs feel heavy, my chest hollow. Rebecca laid right next to me, our legs intertwined. We had sat in a comfortable silence.

Eventually, I speak. “You don’t have to stay. I’m fine.”

She tilts her head. “You’re not.”

I look down into my tea. “No. I’m not.”

"And I stay because I love you, you are like my sister and I cannot stand seeing you in this kind of pain." She said and I felt my heart ache.

There’s another beat of silence, and then she says gently, “Carlos told me some of it. Not all. Just enough to know you’ve been holding the weight of a lot for a long time.”

The lump rises in my throat again, the one I keep swallowing like it might stay down if I’m disciplined enough. I nod slowly, not trusting myself to speak.

Rebecca leans forward a little. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Did you think you wouldn’t be believed?”

I look up. That question cuts deep, and it’s honest, not cruel. There’s no pity in her eyes—just curiosity, concern. Empathy.

“I didn’t think anyone would believe me,” I say quietly. “He was... polished. So charming. Good with people. He said all the right things in public. And I thought if I told someone what happened behind closed doors, they’d just... think I was being dramatic. Emotional. Jealous. Difficult.”

Rebecca nods slowly. “That’s what they count on, people like that. They build the perfect illusion and then isolate you inside it.”

I blink at her. “You say that like you’ve known someone like him.”

She doesn’t flinch. “I have.”

It’s the first time I see something shift behind her calm, composed exterior. Not pain, exactly—but understanding that’s been lived.

“I’m not going to pretend I know exactly what you went through,” she says, her voice even, “but I do know what it’s like to lose yourself. To have your reality twisted until you can’t tell what’s real anymore. To feel like leaving means you’ll lose everything...even if staying is what is destroying you.”

I feel the tears now. Hot, quiet, just slipping down my cheeks. I nod again, the relief of being seen cracking something open. She held my hand, rubbing circles on my knuckles with her thumb.

“I stayed longer than I should have,” I whisper. “I thought I was protecting my son. But I was just... too scared to see what it was doing to both of us.”

“You were surviving,” Rebecca says, her voice firm now. “You don’t owe anyone an apology for that.”

I breathe out a shaky breath. “It’s like... I don’t know how to come back from this. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Rebecca leans back, sipping her tea. “Then start small. You don’t have to find all the pieces at once. Just... start with the ones in front of you. The ones that feel like yours.”

I look at her for a long moment. “Is it weird that you’re the one comforting me? I mean, you’re dating my brother.”

She laughs softly. “It’s not weird. He’s kind of an emotional hurricane sometimes. I’ve got plenty of practice in disaster management.”

That actually makes me smile, for real this time.

Rebecca looks directly at me with a softness in her eyes. “You’re not alone anymore, Catalina. Not even close. We’re in your corner. All of us.”

I nod, and for the first time in weeks, I believe it.

—

The race is over. The paddock is slowly emptying...journalists clearing out, team members packing down, drivers giving tired, sweaty interviews. I’m tucked in the corner of the Williams Hospitality where I had been since the beginning of FP1, legs curled under me on a quiet sofa. Carlos had actually finished P1, and for a moment, I felt like maybe things were okay. Or at least survivable. But as the adrenaline fades, the weight returns—an ache at the center of my chest that nothing really eases. I hear the door open, soft footsteps. I glance up.

Charles.

His suit is half-unzipped, fireproof top tied at his waist, a towel slung around his neck. His curls are damp with sweat, his jawline sharp, but there’s something new in his eyes. Something unreadable. And focused entirely on me.

“Hey,” he says gently.

“Hey.”

He glances around, then walks toward me, slow and deliberate. “Can I sit?”

I nod, suddenly very aware of how quiet it is.

He doesn’t sit across from me. He sits beside me, not too close—but not far, either. His presence fills the room in that effortless way he has, but it’s softer now.

“I heard what happened,” he says after a moment. His voice is low, steady. “Not everything. Just... enough.”

I flinch, even though I’d known this moment was inevitable. Word spreads fast in this world.

“Carlos didn’t mean to—” I start, but Charles shakes his head.

“He didn’t tell me. I heard pieces from Lando. And... the press and I could tell. Something in your face this weekend. The way Carlos hasn’t left your side.”

I don’t say anything. I don’t trust my voice.

Charles looks down at his hands, then back at me. “I keep thinking about how many times I saw you, these last few years. Smiling. Showing up for everyone. And I never noticed.”

“It wasn’t your job to notice,” I say softly.

“I still should’ve,” he says, voice tightening. “I thought you were just private. Quiet. But now...” He cuts off, jaw clenching. “He took your son. Left you like that. I swear to god, if I ever see him—”

His voice breaks a little, and I blink. I wasn’t expecting this kind of fury. Not from him.

My voice is barely audible. “You’re angry?”

He turns his head toward me, eyes burning now. “I’m furious. For you. For your son. I can’t even imagine what you’re feeling, but I want to. I want to understand. If you’ll let me.”

Something in me crumbles, then steadies. I didn’t come here for this. I didn’t expect him. But here he is—intense, protective, kind. The same Charles I’ve always known, and also... something more. Charles and I have always been extremely close since him and Carlos' time as teammates but I had never seen this side of him...even after a bad race or horrible Ferrari strategy. There was something different behind those eyes...something different brewing from within him.

“Everyone keeps asking if I’m okay,” I say. “But you—you’re the first person who’s just sat beside me and let me be not okay.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, quietly but with unmistakable weight. “And for what it’s worth, I think you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

I look at him. Really look. And for a flicker of a second, I wonder what it would be like to let someone see me like this—not because I’m broken, but because they want to see me whole again.

His hand brushes mine. Not fully holding it—just a quiet, lingering connection. I don’t pull away. Neither does he.

He’s quiet for a moment. “You don’t have to talk, but… if you want to. I’m here.”

The offer is so simple. Not pressure. Not pity. Just space.

And maybe it’s the night, or the exhaustion, or the unbearable silence I’ve been carrying around—but this time, I speak.

“It wasn’t always bad,” I begin, my voice hoarse. “He wasn’t always… like that. There were good months. Good memories. That’s the part that makes you stay too long. You start believing the kindness is who he really is—and the cruelty is just a phase.”

Charles doesn’t interrupt. His hand still rests atop mine, his body turned slightly toward me, like he’s giving me all his attention but none of his weight.

“He hated when I worked. When I traveled. He said it made me selfish. That I should want to be home, with our son. That I was choosing my ambition over motherhood.” My throat tightens. “I started to believe him.”

I look down at my hands. “He told me I was nothing without him. That no one would believe me if I left. That I’d be alone. And… I was.”

A pause. I feel the sting in my eyes.

“But Carlos came. I didn’t even ask. He just came. And now I’m here. And I don’t know who I am anymore.”

I expect silence. Or awkwardness. But Charles exhales slowly, then says, Cat, you are so very strong, and brave, and brilliant. You love fiercely, even when it hurts. You’re not broken. You’re healing. That takes time.”

I turn to look at him.

His gaze is steady. And kind. And something else—something undeniable sparking beneath the calm.

“I wish I’d known,” he says. “I would’ve said something. Done something.”

“You couldn’t have fixed it.”

“No,” he agrees. “But I would’ve stood beside you anyway.”

And there’s something in his voice that cuts through me. That sees me.

I nod, slowly. “Thank you. For this. For... not trying to fix me. Just sitting here.”

“I don’t want to fix you,” he says quietly. “I just want you to know you’re not alone anymore.”

And then, silence again. But it’s different now. Not empty. Full of something fragile, and new, and quietly powerful. His hand brushes mine again—and this time, I take his. Just for a moment. But that moment feels like the start of something I might one day be brave enough to hold onto.

—

celebgossiproom

2,468,473 likes.

celebgossiproom : Carlos Sainz just dedicated his win to his sister (Catalina Sainz) and then said “I will find him” before walking off the stage. The air left the paddock. Absolutely wild. Sources say Lando Norris and Charles Leclerc were seen talking quietly with Carlos post-race. Some say the three are planning something… off-track. #F1 #JapaneseGP

username : carlos sainz saying “i will find him” with that dead calm voice after dedicating the race to catalina??? i’m unwell. this is becoming a netflix-level drama.

username0 : everyone at home: yay carlos!! carlos on live international television: threatens a man with god and vengeance this season is unhinged.

username5 : not even joking if i was the ex i would go into witness protection TONIGHT. you don’t mess with a sainz sibling and live to tell the tale

username7 : if you don’t think charles and lando are already behind carlos with ski masks and an unmarked van you don’t know this paddock. #protectcatalina

username14 : not carlos sainz turning into a real life telenovela brother. i need this scripted for tv IMMEDIATELY.

username1 : no bc imagine being THAT man. carlos sainz just threatened your entire bloodline in front of the global motorsport community and FIA can’t even penalize it. art.

username00 : lando: “carlos i don’t think we can actually murder someone” charles, loading a slides presentation : “speak for yourself”

username15 : what’s the FIA gonna do? black flag him for emotional terrorism? he already WON. he already ASCENDED.

username20 : he didn’t say “i will find him” in anger. he said it like a promise. calm. cold. terrifying...oh this man is on a mission.

—

carlos pov

The paddock is still buzzing, even hours after the race. People are celebrating. Reporters are still trying to get quotes. Cameras are still pointed in my direction. But all I hear is the ringing in my ears from those words I said into the mic.

“This one’s for my sister. I will find him.”

I meant it.

I’m still in my race suit, sweat drying uncomfortably against my skin, when my phone buzzes in my hand.

Private Line – Alberto (Legal)

I answer on the first ring. “Tell me something. Good."

Alberto doesn’t waste time. “One of our private investigators traced a withdrawal from a secondary bank account—one Catalina didn’t know existed. The transaction happened two days ago, from a small town outside Geneva.”

My heart kicks into a different rhythm.

“That’s his hideout?”

“Looks like it. There’s more—we got eyes on a vehicle rented under an alias he used in the past. The location matches the bank activity. We're triangulating exact coordinates now.”

I press a hand to my temple. “And Mateo? Was he seen?”

There’s a beat of hesitation. “Not confirmed. But there’s a credible sighting of a child matching his age at a pharmacy nearby. The store’s owner remembered the boy had a small stuffed monkey with him."

I close my eyes. His favorite toy. He takes it everywhere. That’s him. That’s my nephew.

I grip the edge of the table, breathing hard through my nose. “How long until we know for sure?”

“We’ve already got a team flying out. 24 to 36 hours max. If it’s him, we’ll get a court order in place and local authorities involved immediately.”

I open my eyes and stare at my reflection in the dark window. There’s no victory glow. No pride in this win. Just fire in my chest and the dull ache of rage behind my ribs.

“Good,” I say. “Get me on that plane."

“And Carlos…” Alberto lowers his voice. “He’s scared. That’s why he’s moving. He knows what’s coming. He could possibly move again. We are lucky we even got this lead."

“He should be scared,” I murmur. “Because I’m coming.”

I hang up. The celebration around me fades into static. I move through hospitality like a ghost until I reach the back room, where Catalina’s curled up on the couch, half asleep with Charles sat next to her. Eyes locked on her. She looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes.

“Did you find something?” she whispers.

I nod once. “We are close."

She just nods, voice shaking. “Get him back. Get my boy back. Please.”

I kneel in front of her, my hand gripping hers tightly. “I will. I am going to be gone for a few days. Charles and I already discussed you would stay with him. I trust him and I know you trust him."

She nods gently looking to Charles for reassurance and he gives her a light smile and rubs her back.

—

f1gossipgirls

410,493 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Catalina Sainz left the Paddock after the Japan GP hand in hand with Charles Leclerc whilst Carlos Sainz seems to have made a break for his Private Jet and argued with the press. I am not even sure what to think at this point.

username00 : oh so catalina and charles are giving “trauma bond turned slow burn romance” while carlos is giving “i will fly this plane myself if you keep asking questions”

username1 : carlos probably has 0 patience left and 14 lawyers on speed dial. i do not blame him one bit.

username0 : not charles holding her hand while her brother is out here threatening to dismantle the press one by one 😭😭😭 the whiplash

username5 : idc what anyone says. carlos is stressed about his nephew. the press needs to back OFF. and also… charles? take care of our girl

username7 : if we get a soft charles x catalina photo drop and a grainy carlos yelling “NO COMMENT” video in the same week?? i’m never recovering

usernameee : no bc catalina walking out with charles after the week she’s had?? and not just walking. hand in hand?? i’m throwing myself into the sea

username15 : carlos probably hasn’t slept in 3 days, got a lead on the guy who took his nephew, and now some rando asked “if this win was strategic”...i too would swing carlos

username17 : i want whatever love potion charles brewed. bc that soft hand-hold in PUBLIC while the world burns?? that’s ride or die energy.

username20 : the moment carlos turned around, fist ready and said “back the fuck off” to that reporter, i grew wings and ascended. captain. legend. king.

username22 : soft boy charles x shattered girl catalina x feral brother carlos = the holy trinity of paddock energy right now

username11 : i need one (1) blurry pap photo of charles putting her in his passenger seat and carlos speed-walking to his jet like he’s about to raid a compound

—

The silence in the car was gentle, not heavy. He didn’t press. He didn’t ask. His hand just rested, palm up between us, waiting. I held it the entire ride. Now we’re in his hotel room... it is quiet, dim, impossibly still after the noise of the paddock. He shuts the door behind us with a soft click, then pauses like he’s afraid to move too fast. Like he’s afraid I might shatter if he breathes too hard. I’m still holding it together by a thread.

"You know you don't need to watch over me. I won't shatter."

"I know you won't, you are incredibly strong but I want to be here so you don't have to be strong...put some of the hurt...some of the weight on me."

He nods, his eyes dark and warm, full of something I can’t name but feel down to my bones. “You don’t have to be okay with me. You don't have to put up that wall. You just have to be honest.”

I look down at my hands, still shaking slightly. “It’s hard to breathe sometimes. Like my ribs forgot how to move without fear lodged between them.”

He steps forward slowly, close enough that I can smell the faint salt of sweat, the lingering edge of cologne. “Can I hold you?”

The question undoes me.

I nod, and he pulls me into him, not with rush, not with urgency, just… shelter. His arms wrap around my shoulders, one hand cradling the back of my head as I fold into him. I press my forehead against his chest and try not to cry again. He gently lies us both down on the bed.

“He took my baby, Charles. The one thing left that he knew brought me joy. I never knew someone could want to see another person suffer so much.” I murmured into his chest.

“I know, Mon cœur. I know. We will get him back to you. If it’s the last thing I do, I will make sure you have your son.” He said and began to rub my back. I feel myself start to cry harder. There was a long pause of silence.

“You’re safe,” he says softly. “You’re not alone.”

My fingers grip the fabric of his shirt. “I didn’t even realize how bad it had gotten. I kept telling myself it was normal. That I could handle it. That if I was strong enough, I could make him love me again.”

Charles pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes shining, his voice barely audible. “You didn’t fail. He did.”

I exhale a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, my throat tight. “I don’t even know how to start over.”

He leans his forehead against mine, tender and grounding. “One moment at a time. You’re already doing it.”

I feel the tears come again, not from pain this time, but relief. Relief that someone sees me. That someone cares without asking me to shrink, or smile, or explain.

I whisper, “Thank you.”

Charles brushes his thumb against my cheek, catching a tear. “I’ve got you, Catalina. As long as you want me to.”

And I believe him. Every word he said.

—

p2 complete:) thank u all sm for the great response on the first part, im glad you all enjoy it. this chapter was definitely a little heavy for me…as someone who has went through something similar to catalina it was a rough write but also sort of healing in a way. hope you all enjoyed this part. as always requests are welcome and I am always open to suggestions!

my messages are always open if you need someone 💋

tag list : @klauslovemepls @omgsuperstarg @msliz @samanthaofanarchy @mayax2o07 @goldenstrawberryx @hannahmotors10 @alireads27 @1800-love-me @htpssgavi @cmgmikealson @babygirl-4986 , @star73807-blog , @glow-ish , @just-tingz-virgo , @majapapaya4 @lina505 , @hc-dutch , @lost4lyrics , @angelluv16 @dilflover44 @awritingtree @lilith-123321 @widow-cevans

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rafeovermorals · 1 day ago

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YOUR OLD NEIGHBOR JOEL who becomes your personal handyman.. always fixing things around the house for you. something broken? you bring it to him and he’ll take care of it.

he teased you at first. “no boyfriend to do this?” he questioned in his usual nonchalant, grumpy tone.. but when you replied that you were single, you saw his lips tug into a smirk.

after a while you didn’t have to ask anymore. joel came over on his own accord just to find things to repair, it made him feel useful that way.

he warmed up to you over time. “it’s no problem, darlin’. not like i got much else to do these days.” you always offered him a cup of coffee as a thank you, which he accepted.

you would help him too. he was skilled with his hands, but electronics were a different story. when he finally upgraded from his flip phone, he didn’t have a clue in the world on what to do with it. “not my generation.” he grumbled, clearly struggling to figure it out.

he was too embarrassed to ask. “let me do it for you, old man.” you teased with a giggle, snatching the device from him. you got everything ready to go— going the extra mile to downloaded tinder and offering to set up a profile for him.. even though he swore he’d never use it.

you added your number to joel’s contacts. it was the only number, actually. he texted like a dad, responding to your texts with a flat “sure.” or “no.” until you taught him what emojis were, then he sometimes used the thumbs up or a heart.

he gave in one day, deciding to try out the dating apps. his profile was simple— classic joel. nothing really special about it.. except that all of the pictures he had were taken by you.

he scrolled through, pressing ‘x’ on each women that was prompted to him. he was ready to delete it all together.. but a familiar face popped up. you.

your profile was unlike anything he’d seen from the others. you stood out from the rest, of course you did. he swiped back and forth between your pictures.. his cock stirring in his pants at the sight of one with you in a bikini. you were alluring, a seductive smile that was bound to attract endless messages.

he felt dirty for staring too long. it was wrong, yet he couldn’t get himself to look away. why were you on there, anyway? a pretty girl like you had no business searching for love on this app full of perverted, lonely men like himself. even if so.. why would it show your account to him when he’s three times your age? he knew for a fact that the user had choice in what range they were interested in— you told him that.

the thought stuck with him. those flirty remarks, sneaking glances, and lingering touches clicked in his mind. before he could regret it, he pressed the ‘✓’ beside your name with a hold of his breath.

YOU HAVE A MATCH!

quick drabble because this picture posted today sent me into an old handyman!joel spiral. i’ve seen a few neighbor/fixer upper fics, but i want to link inspo to this one as it is one of my favorite reads on here!

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller drabble #joel miller thoughts #joel miller fic #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagine #joel tlou #old!joel miller #joel x reader #joel x you

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plunderbunny · 21 hours ago

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That's... Pretty much explicitly the point, isn't it? I mean, that's how all of the "secret chosen one"-type fantasies always read to me. Enjoyment of it always felt born of a sense of personal unfulfillment on the part of the audience to me, the desperate longing for meaning or purpose such that the idea of dying and waking up in a magical world where you're suddenly beloved and heroic and the things that made you weird and unlikeable are suddenly the things that empower you.

Hell, that always struck me as central to the joke of Truck-kun in reincarnation isekai. It feels to me like passive suicidal ideation for those afraid of nothingness in death, the idea that they don't even have to choose to die for their sad, unfulfilling life to end, but a random twist of fate could kill them and bring them to another world where they enjoy living instead of dread waking up. It HAS to be a random twist of fate that kills you, because planning it ruins the fantasy, getting sick and dying is too long and involves too much pain, and a random truck hitting you feels enough like a symbol of urban modernity that it feels like you're being "rejected" by the modern world that leaves you so unfulfilled, that you never felt a real part of anyway.

The characters that get isekai'd don't mourn the world or life they lost because it would be too alienating to the core audience, the escape fantasy needs to be absolute, the character can't enjoy their life or long for it because the audience needs to be convinced that "I want this to happen to me". It's sad because the perceived audience is sad, the art has always felt to me like it's talking down to its audience.

If I'm gonna be REALLY honest and talk broadly about such things, that's what the whole concept of the hero's journey is, in my eyes. It's born of indulging the assumed audience's fantasy that they don't fit in to this world because they're destined for greater things, they're supposed to do more and be more. That's why the hero's journey ends with them being irrevocably changed by their adventure, not being able to return to their life before... The dirty little secret is that the audience is supposed to reject and rebel against the idea of the "normal" life in favor of wishing themselves special and exciting.

This is why I hate the idea that the hero's journey is so often pushed as being the "ur-narrative", the most fundamental story structure from which am other stories descend. For one, that's just clearly not true. But also, that's just such a profoundly SAD idea, the concept that the ur-narrative embedded in the collective unconscious of human thought is based around being miserably disaffected, such that the only way to find fulfillment is to completely abandon your "normal" life and magically be chosen by something new and exciting. If I'm being REALLY uncharitable, the whole thing is indulgent to the point of being masturbatory.

Isekai just seems like a profoundly sad genre of fantasy by design. Yes you have rad JRPG powers now and you get to hang out with big tiddy elves who love you but do you not have like. Friends that you mourn. Family that you miss. Habits that you can’t practice now without tripping. Familiar sounds and smells you’ll never know again

Either you did and you don’t care in the face of JRPG powers and elf tiddies, or you didn’t, and both options are profoundly sad in their own ways

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bullet-prooflove · 10 hours ago

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Brave Little Boy: Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @flyinglama @yousigned-upforthis @oklahomapeach

Summary: Robby wakes up to the baby kicking and gets a a suprise.

Companion piece to:

Lipstick (NSFW) - It's love at first blow job for Dr Robby.

Crisis - Robby has a bad day.

ASMR For The Soul - Robby doesn't sleep when you're not around.

Bunny - Robby discovers you've been keeping secrets.

Something To Complain About (NSFW) - You ignite the ire of Robby's neighbour with your bedroom noises.

Noise Cancelling - Robby discovers his neighbour keeps a spreadsheet of your antics.

Poolside - When Robby's had a really shitty day he always ends up whereever you are.

The Betting Pool - Robby discovers that his collegues have been taking bets on his relationship.

Fifty Shades of Robby - Robby's collegues see the truth of his relationship when they find your Instagram.

Dumb Bitch - Robby exhibits his protective side when another man steps on his territory.

Stop Compressions, Start Compressions - Robby loses everything in the aftermath of Pittfest.

24 Hours - Robby refuses to leave your side in the aftermath of the shooting.

Saftey Rail - Abbot gets real with Robby when he finds him on the roof.

Baby, It's Gonna Be Alright - Robby wonders if he's fucked things up with you for good.

Exorcism (NSFW) - Robby and you finally find a way to be honest with one another.

Ready - Robby and you discuss starting a family in the aftermath of Pittfest.

The Rose - You give Robby a special gift for your anniversary.

Heartbeat - Robby finds something to help him sleep.

Jinx - Robby discovers a particular superstition of yours.

The Scary One - Robby and you face concerns during your second pregnancy scan.

Pop Tarts - You and Robby decorate the baby's nursery.

Robby wakes up to the baby kicking, sharp little digs that lance into ribs stirring him from sleep. You’re nestled into him, baby bump pressed into his side, your arm thrown over his chest and your face buried into the curve of his throat.

He places his palm on the bump, hoping to sooth his little one but the kicks become more insistent as if he’s trying to connect with his daddy. Robby finds himself smiling despite the fact it’s three am because his son, he’s not letting that hole in his heart get him down, he just keeps getting stronger.

“You are being a very brave little boy.” Robby tells him, his thumb tracing over the space where the baby’s repeatedly jabbing you.

“He’s being a little asshole.” You mumble against Robby’s skin and he chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest as you shift against him. “I’m gonna get up, see if I can’t walk to him sleep.”

The thing about babies, they’re usually more active at night. Throughout the day, the sensation of mom’s movements usually lulls them to sleep. It’s when you lay down to rest that they take it as an invitation to get the party started.

“You want me to come with?” He asks propping his head up on the pillow as you manage to get yourself into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. “We can even put on ER so you can watch Carter as you pace in front of the couch.”

You have a thing for his doppleganger, Robby fucking hates it but you are literally carry his baby right now so the least he can do is stay up and watch the man who looks like a younger version of him’s antics.

“No, you’ve got a shift tomorrow, you try and get some-” You pause and Robby frowns as you look down at the growing stain on your navy blue pyjama bottoms. “Great he danced on my bladder and I just peed myself.”

“No sweetheart, I don’t think you did.” Robby says, throwing back the covers, his heart thundering in his chest. “I think your waters just broke.”

Love Robby? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Before you join the taglist make sure to read the rules here as you otherwise you won’t be added.

Interested in supporting me? Join my Patreon for Bonus Content!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#dr robby #dr robby x reader #the pitt #michael robinavitch #michael robinavitch x reader #michael robby robinavitch #noah wyle #robby #robby x reader #the pitt fanfiction

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hot-patootiee · 1 day ago

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Part 3

part 2 here. I’m writing these like right after my Calc BC exam and I have a killer headache but fuck it we ball. Aka Steve is not the only one to obtain brain damage because of an ex.

Don’t worry about the headache, I’m having a special gummy and chilling.

…

Eddie wakes up to an empty bed. He finds a note on the nightstand.

Had to go to work, see you later

-Steve

An idea forms in his head on what to do to help apologize. Steve’s constant complaints about the big empty house he lived in. How he wished Robin or Eddie could stay forever.

Eddie was still a little unsure. It would be quite an assumption to make. He would probably have to talk to Robin during her break and see if she would also be on board and if she thought it was a good idea.

But, he knew Steve would be ecstatic to have people he cared about close by. Eddie couldn’t help but remember the nights he was woken up from Steve calling to make sure he was alive.

It would suck moving away from Wayne, but Eddie figured that taking the relationship too serious would be better than not taking it serious enough.

Eddie decided that despite just waking up at this unholy hour (11 am), he would go see Robin and brief her on his plan.

When he got to family video, luckily, Steve was working in the back and Robin sat at the desk.

She perked up as soon as she saw him.

“Eddie I messed up.” Robin stumbles out with a groan.

Eddie waits for her to continue.

“I didn’t know that Steve thought you two were dating. He’s been talking about you for weeks and I never noticed.” Robin whines again, head dropping shamefully.

“I have just the thing.” And just like that Robin is up again.

“Really?” Robin exclaimed, jumping on her toes as she leaned against the counter. Eddie personally didn’t think Robin could show this much emotion, but with Steve’s stories, it doesn’t really surprise him.

“Do you think Steve would be on board with us living with him?”

“He’s been asking me to forever, it’s just my parents give me crap for moving in with a single man.” Robin replied plainly, hints of resentment lacing her voice.

“Well you’re 18 and therefore you make your own decisions. Do you want to move in with him?” Eddie probes and Robin smiles at him in return.

She nods hard, making her hair bounce with the stiff jerks of her head.

“I want to do something else too.” Eddie mutters.

Robin seems a little suspicious as she says “Good idea, but why?”

“This is kinda both a burden and a blessing. Steve’s been wanting it for a while, but it ultimately gives him more work to do.” Eddie points ponders slowly. He rolls over potential actions in his mind, seeing how smoothly they work before coming to a conclusion.

“Maybe just a nice night. Steve gets headaches and weed might help him relax. Or He’s been talking about hosting a game night forever, we could take care of everything and just let him relax.” Eddie shrugs, thinking through different dinner options and possibilities of what Steve would like.

“Ask Steve if there’s anything you can do to make his life easier. He’s selfless by nature so there’s probably something you’ve been doing that he doesn’t like.” Robin replies coolly. She then winces. “I should probably stop putting my feet on his dash.” She murmurs in a guilty tone.

“That’s a good idea.” Eddie nods.

“I gotta pack my shit, I’ll help you pack yours, you help with mine?” Robin inquires. The way she bats her eyes might’ve seemed flirty to anyone else, but it was evidently just effective manipulation. Because Eddie knew unless he was throwing all his shit out the window, she would immediately get bored and ditch him for a German dictionary.

News flash: she did.

…

Steve surprisingly did not get impatient as time trudged on. Eddie searched his face for any mark of displeasure, but failed to find any.

But, apparently Eddie just wasn’t the one seeing it. Something about Steve had changed a little bit, instead of backing down when challenged, he just dug his heels in. It reminded Eddie of the Steve in the upside down.

Allegedly Steve had been driving all the kids down to the new diner. Mike had been skeptical about Steve’s directions and had started loudly declaring that he had gone the wrong way.

“It’s not like you’re the intellectual authority on anything Steve.”

The breaks were hit so fast that all the boys jerked forward with the sudden stop.

According to Dustin Steve then yelled “WELL I AM THE AUTHORITY OF THIS GODDAMN CAR, GET OUT IF YOU HAVE AN ISSUE!”

Steve waited a few beats and when nobody moved, put down the parking break and the engine whined slightly as Steve shifted into first a little too violently and pulled out.

Mike was scared so badly that he just sat there petrified for the rest of the ride.

So, Steve was evidently frustrated.

Eddie went to visit Steve immediately after hearing what happened. When he found him, Steve was grumbling on his bed. Obviously still peeved about earlier, every few seconds he would reflexively rub his temples.

Steve nearly jumped out of his skin when he noticed Eddie.

Eddie didn’t say anything, he just pulled out a joint and handed it to Steve, who took it apprehensively.

“It helps with headaches.” Eddie weakly justifies, but it seems to be enough to convince Steve, who then leans forward and sticks his hand in Eddie’s pocket and extracts a lighter.

He lights the joint with little fanfare, like he was just having his third daily cigarette. He breathes it in easily before expelling the smoke through his pursed lips.

“This is a little different.” Steve comments, slightly more relaxed at the promise of a high that the joint brought.

“I swapped seeds with Argyle, I had sativa, he had indica. What you’re smoking, just indica, apparently argyle is trying to get the hybrid strain.” Eddie says in a blasé tone as he climbs into Steve’s bed.

“What’s the difference?” Steve asked before taking another hit, longer this time.

“It’s supposed to relax you more. Less high, but more relaxing.” Eddie loosely explains.

Steve hogs the joint a little, but Eddie honestly thinks he deserves it. When Steve finally plops his head on Eddie’s lap, he gets an idea.

Eddie sinks his fingers into Steve’s hair and slowly begins to massage his head. Steve immediately melted into it, muscles straining occasionally when Eddie dragged his fingers especially hard at a tender spot.

Conversation became less frequent as Eddie pushed his fingers into Steve’s jaw and massaged the tense muscles there. Steve made the occasional noise, a grunt or a strange trill that he seemed to find incredibly funny.

The tension and brewing migraine seemed to have completely melted off Steve, leaving him tired and happy. He giggled through half lidded eyes and smiled impossibly wide when Eddie left and came back with reheated leftover pizza from Steve’s fridge.

Eddie struggled not to focus on Steve’s face, his gaze traced Steve’s wide smile and the sparkle in his dark eyes.

“Kis’me” the words came from Steve with a slight lisp. An unwavering smile still plastered on his face.

Eddie obliged because honestly how could he not?

The movement caused Eddie’s face to feel like firecrackers were going off on his skin. The tingling sensation danced across his skin, warmth blooming from where Steve and him met.

Eddie couldn’t focus, incredibly overwhelmed by the assault on his senses of different textures and pressures. The plushness of Steve’s lips contrasted with the lean muscle Eddie’s fingers dug into.

Eddie pulled away when his lungs went tingly from lack of air. He giggled as Steve and him stayed close, puffing out breaths of air right next to eachother.

“Wish you could stay all the t’me.” Steve yawned out, stretching his back slightly like a cat and dipping further into Eddie’s personal space.

“I can.” Eddie replies firmly.

“Really?” Steve is smiling again, so wide that Eddie was worried it might hurt from pulling his lips.

“How’d you like that? I move in with you, maybe Robin too.”

Steve trills, making soft stringy vocalizations at Eddie’s proposal. Steve nearly seems to glow at the proposition.

“Youu move ‘n tomorrow?” Steve’s muscles jump erratically in excitement, his knees tapping and jerking like he can’t control it.

“If you still want me to in the morning.” Eddie whispered, stroking Steve’s hair.

…

When morning came, Eddie woke gently, the after effects of the high still cradling him and making him relaxed.

Unfortunately it didn’t last long as he heard a shrill whistle and the telltale thump of something falling and Robin’s witchlike giggles. Eddie reluctantly pulled himself out of bed and found the hallway scattered with boxes. He turned the corner and Will and El were both there, but not to make things easier. El had a little whistle she was happily blowing whenever someone passed her. Will seemed conflicted on whether he found it funny or entirely too disrespectful for him to take part in.

Unfortunately, the first time El did this, it scared Robin so badly that she nearly threw a box of her own clothes down the stairs.

And there Robin was, clothes halfway out of the box and engulfing her upper body. Steve was laughing his socks off which promptly led to a fistful of clothes being thrown in his face.

Eddie quickly decided he wanted nothing to do with this and quietly made his way back to Steve’s room.

Best to act like he didn’t know them for a few more hours.

…

When Eddie finally arose at a normal time (11:30am) he found Robin setting up the room across from Steve with her stuff.

“Heya birdie.”

Robin glared at him.

“I talked it over with Steve, he’s apparently thrilled enough to forgive me only after I cook gnocchi.”

Eddie makes a half confused noise.

“Potato pasta.” Robin paused. “And you’re helping.” Robin asserts, making Eddie grumble.

Eddie leaves without seeing Steve, opting to also grab his shit to move to Steve’s house. Luckily, he and Robin had already boxed up a majority of the room.

It was probably a good thing he’s moving, Wayne’s back couldn’t take the couch springs much longer.

He packed his boxes into the van, the summer sun making his sweat so much he was forced to change into one of his sleeveless tops.

When he arrived back at Steve’s the kitchen had been fully commandeered by Robin who was peeling steaming potatoes with her fingers. Eddie didn’t get more of a glance as he began moving his stuff upstairs, abandoning it in the hallway because he was a little unsure what room Steve would want him in.

During one of his trips back down to his van, Steve finally appeared. He was sitting next to the counter and stealing potato bits from Robin as she worked. He looked at home in his own house for the first time in a while. His eyes traced Robin carefully as she worked as if she’d disappear. When Steve noticed Eddie, his eyes immediately flicked over to him.

“Which room should I move my stuff in?” Eddie asked with false casualness.

“Mine.”

Steve made no move to help, which was honestly something Eddie fully expected. Instead Steve bounced his feet on the floor with a smile and stuffed another crumbling bit of potato into his mouth. Eddie had apparently failed to realize the two little gremlins sitting in Steve’s shadow. Will and Eleven similarly shoving potato bits into their mouths.

Eddie couldn’t help but smile at Steve’s happiness.

…

Later that night, with boxes still artfully scattered around the second floor, a train of children entered the house. Each carried either a food item to contribute or a housewarming present.

Max grumbled as she handed Steve the Apple pie that had evidently been made by the Sinclairs, judging by the streak of flower on the back of Lucas’s shirt.

Eddie was setting up ‘a game of things’ which he knew from experience would always wonderfully devolve into Regan jokes and idiocy.

Steve got to sit and relax as Eddie and Robin hosted the party, letting him play with the kids and receive their guilty apologies. Since they were still kids, Steve forgave them. Heck, he was way more self absorbed and dickish at their age.

When Eddie finished, he dropped behind Steve, putting his hands on Steve’s shoulders and beginning to rub into the tense muscles. Steve twitched occasionally when Eddie hit a knot, but otherwise seemed pretty content.

“Your metal music gives me headaches.” Steve says suddenly. “You play it too loud and it hurts.”

“Then I’ll turn down the music. You’ll never get a headache from it again.” Eddie affirms.

Steve just hums.

“I forgive you.”

Steve paused for a moment.

“But that doesn’t mean you can stop massaging me.” Steve snapped, head lolling back until it met Eddie’s arms.

AN: have a head massage while high, it’s the best thing ever.

Also, I just don’t understand grand gestures of love, they never made me feel good. Like thanks for the stuffed animal and candies, kinda doesn’t make up for you being a dick about my dead dog. How about you instead like make something that takes time and actually shows you give a shit or go out of your way to give me a good night. I don’t understand the fall in love fast thing a lot of people do. I cultivate my love by the light of the hearth, not the light of a firecracker.

Ps. If you want me to do a follow up where Nancy and him talk. Just let me know. It’s just I didn’t really see her as central part of this story. Thought it would be better to highlight the kids, Robin, and Eddie.

Tags @stripey82 @genderfluidbitch @mensch-anthropos-human @c4tharsys @scoops-aboy86 @breealtair @raleighrox @wannabe-edgy-grandpa @flustratedcas @shoujo-wizard @polysdoitforscience @exasperatedsighohmy @piemaker93 @tinyplanet95 @skepticalqueen @sharingisntkaren @scarletyeager @crypticcrytid @midnightskeeper @wheneverfeasible @ancientwormcivilization @fucjinf-whatever-dude @estrellami-1 @queenofshenanigans @grilledcheesehasfeelings <- get out of my walls

@ellietheasexylibrarian @live-laugh-love-dietrich @turinspeachjam @me-ig7 @revevivant @motherofpirates @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @samsoble @legalmenace87 @thehanwen @bigspongey @thedragonsaunt @newagemyth @pentapoctopus @my-hyperfixations-hell-blog @bumbledoubletea @blackbirdflyflyfly @what-if-a-dragon @reddiandbyler4life @i-think-i-thunk @gregre369 @fiddledeedee85 @ladykailitha

You know the drill, rest of the tags in the comments.

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cheapshrimpysheep · 3 days ago

Text

In the Backstage

SUMMARY: He invites you to watch the inter-school Battle of the Bands where the Pop Music Club will represent Night Raven College and compete with other schools, one of them being Royal Sword Academy. But unfortunately, they come in second place. He also gave you a VIP pass to visit him backstage after the competition.

CHARACTERS: Pop Music Club 🎼 (Cater Diamond / Kalim Al-Asim / Lilia Vanrouge)

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Flirting; Kiss; Comfort

WORD COUNT: An average of 1.330 words per character.

COMMENTS: The Pop Music Club was the first club with the cards released and the first one I wrote something about. But nowadays, and compared to what I've written for other clubs, I thought it was worth writing something new and better. Especially for Cater, Kalim and/or Lilia fans.

I hope you enjoy it. 😉

OTHER CLUBS:

But… We Lost… - Basketball Club (Ace / Floyd / Jamil)

Romantic Experiment - Science Club (Trey / Rook)

For a Quarter of a Second - Track and Field Club (Deuce / Jack)

Unlucky Overtime - Spelldrive Club (Leona / Ruggie / Epel)

A Rainy Walk - Mountain Lover Club (Jade) / Gargoyle Studies Club (Malleus)

You are at another Unbirthday Party in Heartslabyul when Cater announces that there will be an interschool battle of the bands. The Pop Music Club will represent Night Raven College and compete with other schools including Royal Sword Academy.

The other Heartslabyul students didn't seem very confident that Cater and the others would win.

“Aww, come on...” Cater says disappointedly. “Why are you guys looking at me like that?”

“Well... some of us have already seen the few concerts you've given...” Trey says with that polite smile. “That and...” He smirks “We also know how much effort you guys really put into your club.”

“Auch, you are such meanies.” Cater says sadly. “Do you really have no hope in us?”

“I wouldn't say we have no hope. I do hope you win.” Trey simply says smiling.

“We all want Night Raven College to win, that's not even in question.” Riddle says. “But Trey is right. The three of you have already let it slip that you spend your meetings eating snacks and talking instead of practicing. And I've also seen one of your concerts.” He says with that disappointed face that looks like he's about to sigh. “If you truly want to win against Royal Sword Academy you will have to put in some real effort!”

“I should have known the conversation would go this way." Cater sighs as he plays with a strand of hair. “But you're right, Housewarden. I promise we'll do our best. Anyway, I wanted to invite you all. Ta-da!”

Cater takes five tickets out of his coat pocket and gives them to Trey, Riddle, Ace, Deuce and finally you. “Front row! The best seats!”

“Hey! What about me?!” Grim complains.

“You both count as one student, so you only need one ticket. Isn't that cool?” Cater explains.

Both Ace and Deuce say they believe in Cater and the others to win. Ace because he's a bootlicker and Deuce because he's just that naive. As Grim begins to focus more on the food than on you, Cater gets closer.

“Hey, (Y/N)-chan~” He whispers to you. “You're going to root for me, aren't you~? I got you a special ticket.” He discreetly passes you another paper that said ‘VIP pass’. “You can meet me backstage after the concert if you want. You will make Cay-kun very happy if you do~” he winks.

Cater was really happy to see you in the audience, in the seat he arranged for you, along with the other Heartslabyul students. During the NRC song he looked at you many times.

To your surprise and that of all the other students who had seen them perform before, this time, they were actually taking it seriously. They were having fun as always, but you could tell they had been practicing and were trying hard to win. Lilia didn't even try to do his scream vocals or throw himself into the audience. Okay, he pretended he was going to do it, but just to startle the people at the front of the stage, he didn't actually do it.

The performance really went well, their best concert so far. But... unfortunately... Royal Sword Academy was better. At least for the jury who gave them first place, while Night Raven College got second... as always.

There was a buffet for the guests after the competition and both Trey and Riddle told you that you could leave Grim with them while you went to check on Cater. They could tell that he had worked hard and might be a little down from losing to RSA. They also agreed that you would be the best person to cheer him up if needed.

Using your VIP pass, you entered backstage and passed Kalim and Lilia in the hallways. Kalim was happy to have made it this far to the point of being ranked second among so many other schools with talented students and so was Lilia. But Lilia whispered to you that perhaps Cater would be more cheer up if you went to see him in their dressing room.

You do so and Lilia and Kalim head outside to meet up with the others. When you arrive in front of the door that Lilia indicated to you, you knock on it and tell Cater it's you. He casually asks you to wait just a second, and only then does he open the door for you.

“Hey, (Y/N)-chan~” Cater greets you with his signature smile. “I'm glad to see you using the VIP pass I gave you. I hope you enjoyed our show.”

You tell him you loved it and how it was the best they've ever done, at least compared to what you've seen.

“Aw, you’re so sweet~. We really tried hard this time. It was difficult to convince Kalim and Lilia to take this a little more seriously, but they did it for the school. Ha ha... It's just a shame we didn't win.”

“But you did won.” You say. “Second place at least.”

“Yeah... Second place... You’re right! We won one of the best places and I'm really happy about that. All our training was worth it!” He says with a big smile. “We should go celebrate with the others.”

But you don't move out of his way so he can go through the open door. You knew that was his happy mask and you wanted to talk to him alone, to try to get him to be honest with you.

“Before that, I liked to see your dressing room. I never saw what one actually looked like in real life.” You tell him.

“Oh, it's a little small for three people, but it's actually pretty cool. Come in, I'll show you.”

You walk in and close the door behind you, which Cater doesn't find strange. He shows you the dressing tables that they used to put on their makeup, the instruments that still needed to be stored in the boxes, the cart where their clothes were, etc.

“Cater...” You say almost interrupting him. He looks at you. “I know you're not doing so well. Lilia knows you're not doing so well. Riddle and Trey knew you might be a little sad after all your effort. You can be honest with me.”

“You're all so sweet to worry about Cay-kun so much. But I'm fine, I promise.” He smiles and winks at you.

“Okay. Then give me a hug.” You say, opening your arms.

He's taken a little aback and says that you're really cute, but that he's actually fine. However, you don't low your arms and say that you want to give him a hug to congratulate him on his performance. He sighs and ends up accepting.

He starts by giving you a hug like he always does. But then, the hug becomes a little tighter and more sincere.

“I’m sorry...” He whispers, close to your ear and with difficulty. “...I did my best...” His words were almost inaudible.

You hug him tighter and tell him that you know, that everyone knows, and that it's okay to be sad about not winning first place. You also tell him he can stay there with you as long as he wants until he feels better. Actually better.

This makes him hug you tighter.

“I don't want to waste your time.” He whispers again, as if at the same time that he wants to say it, he doesn't want you to hear it.

“You're not.” You whisper back to him. “You're never.”

He asks again if you really thought he acted well and you are sincere in saying yes and that he can ask whoever he wants, everyone will say it was their best performance. After some time, he breaks the hug and discreetly wipes away a little tear that you hadn't even realized that he had shed.

“Ha ha. This isn't very cute, is it?” He says.

“You are always very cute.” You reply, cupping his face.

“You too.” He smiles and places his hands over yours that you placed on his face. “Do you know what would really make me feel a lot better?”

You smile, showing that you probably know. You move closer to him and he moves closer to you in response, until you kiss. You feel his smile on your lips and then his hands on your back to bring you closer.

“(Y/N)!!!” You hear Kalim's voice shout, approaching, running behind you.

You were in the hallway, in the break between classes with Grim, Ace and Deuce. You turn around and Kalim stops in front of you, tired but with his huge sunny smile on. As he catches his breath, you see Jamil running towards you with that stressed look on his face. Kalim probably started running all of a sudden when he saw you.

“(Y/N)! There's going to be an interschool battle of the bands!” Kalim tells you. “And we're going to compete. You have to come see us!”

“The Pop Music Club will compete for Night Raven College.” Jamil explains. “And the members can invite any students they want to the front rows of the audience.” He took three tickets out of his hoodie pocket and gives one to Ace, one to Deuce and one to you.

“Hey! What about me?!” Grim complains.

“Since you and (Y/N) are counted as one student, you only need one ticket to be able to go together.” Jamil explains.

“I'm so excited! Especially to see you in the audience.” Kalim tells you. “I’ll do my best to give you the best show ever!”

After all the classes, when you were already in Ramshackle Dorm, you hear someone knocking on the door. When you open it, you see Kalim and Jamil.

“Hey! I wanted to give you something else, but Jamil said it was better to do it when you were alone.” Kalim takes a ticket from his pants pocket, a different color from the others, and gives it to you. “It's a VIP pass. I would love it if you could come see us backstage after the competition.”

“If we had given you this ticket in front of the others,” Jamil says with that annoyed expression. “I can easily see Ace and Grim trying to convince Kalim to give them a VIP pass as well. Even though each member only has one VIP pass each to give to someone”

Kalim was so happy to see you in the front row, in the seat he had arranged for you, that he got distracted before they start playing, waving and smiling at you. Cater was the one who called his attention to come back to the drums.

To your surprise and that of all the other students who had seen them perform before, this time they were actually taking it seriously. They were having fun as always, but you could tell they had been practicing and were trying hard to win. Lilia didn't even try to do his scream vocals or throw himself into the audience. Okay, he pretended he was going to do it, but just to startle the people at the front of the stage, he didn't actually do it.

There was a buffet for the guests after the competition and you took advantage of Grim being busy with the food to use your VIP pass to go see Kalim, Cater and Lilia backstage.

You found them in the hallway. The three of them were smiling and talking excitedly, and when Kalim saw you, his smile grew even bigger and he ran to you.

“(Y/N)! What did you think of our show? Did you enjoy it?”

He was as happy as if he had won first place. You should know by now that winning or not is not what's important to him. As you told them how much you enjoyed their music and how it was probably their best concert yet, Cater noticed something.

“Hey, Kalim, didn't you have a ring on each hand?”

Kalim looks at his right hand, which had a ring on the index finger. Then he looks at his left and sees that there is no ring. Kalim searches through his pockets until he remembers that he had taken off his rings to wash his hands and must have only remembered to put one back on. Cater tells him and you to go back to the bathroom or the dressing room to see if you can find it while he and Lilia go meet the others at the after-party.

On the way to the bathroom, the two of you started talking, about the music, the performance, the competition in general, other things that had nothing to do with anything...

In the bathroom Kalim looks for the ring, but came out saying that he couldn't find it anywhere, so maybe you should look in the dressing room. In the dressing room you look for the ring on the floor, since Kalim said he had sat on the floor packing some things. You find the ring under one of the dressing tables they used to put on makeup, give it to him and he puts it back on his finger. When he does this, you can see his nails better.

“Ooh, you noticed my nails! Yeah, they're gold with a tiger-stripe pattern. Cool, huh? I can help you do your nails like this too. It would be fun if we matched. OH! Speaking of which.”

He walks over to a large cardboard box that was in the corner of the room, opens it, and takes out a white t-shirt.

“Our matching T-shirts are custom-made, you know. We ordered more to sell as merch.” When he unfolds it and shows you the front, it's a t-shirt exactly like his. “Which is how we blew through what little budget we had.”

He walks back to you and hands you the t-shirt. It's a little bigger than the size you normally wear.

“Sorry, we only made one size. I think it was because it was cheaper. He he. It's the same size as ours.”

You thank him and say you're excited to trying it on, so Kalim turns around so you can swap shirts. As soon as you tell him you're ready, he turns around and smiles when he sees you wearing the same t-shirt as him.

“It looks so good on you!” Kalim looks at his hand which has the ring with a red stone. “Hey, try this too.” He takes off the ring from his index finger, comes closer to you and holds out his hand. “Can I?” he asks with a cute smile.

You place your left hand on his right hand and he instinctively puts the ring on your ring finger.

“Another gift for you. For being my best friend and best fan, Heh heh heh. I tried really hard today because I really wanted to make you proud. We didn't get first place, but second is also really cool, isn't it? I won for the school and for you.”

In the midst of so much joy, you end up hugging him to thank him for the gifts and to say that you agree that second place is incredible too. He hugs you back so happily that he even spins you around, making you lift your feet off the ground.

You knew that even if Kalim really liked you, he wouldn't just give you a kiss out of the blue. So you're the one who does it and kisses him on the cheek. He's surprised for a second, but then he kisses your cheek back.

“Even though this day is already amazing.” He says, still hugging you and his face is so close to yours that your noses are almost touching. “The best part is still celebrating with you.” He ends by saying in a lower, more affectionate tone. His eyes inviting you to kiss him again.

You do it, but this time on his lips. You feel his enthusiasm and love not only by the intensity of his kiss but by the way he hugs you tighter.

You were coming back from Mr. S's Mystery Shop, while Grim had stayed at Ramshackle Dorm out of laziness, when you comment to yourself something about the shopping bags being a little heavy.

“You should not be shy about asking a trusted colleague for assistance then.” Lilia says, suddenly appearing upside down.

You get startled and almost drop one of the two bags you were carrying, but Lilia catches it in time.

“You are carrying all these purchases alone? Allow me to be your cute little helper until arriving at Ramshackle Dorm.”

He puts his feet on the ground and walks with you. You ask him if there was any reason for him to be around.

“Do you mean any other than a simple, pleasant walk? Ku fu fu. Well, yes. I was looking for students to invite to the interschool Battle of the Bands. The Pop Music Club will compete for Night Raven College against other arcana academies. One of our enemies being Royal Sword Academy.” He says with that smug smile. “I have a special ticket for you and Grim in the front row, along with Malleus, Silver, and Sebek.”

Lilia makes a ticket appear in his hand and gives it to you. He also explains that since you and Grim are counted as one student, you only need one ticket to go together.

“However,” Lilia smirks. “I have in my possession another type of ticket, an even more special and exclusive one, that I intend to gift to you and only you. Have I piqued your curiosity?”

Of course you are.

“Khee hee hee, that is the spirit! Here.” He makes another ticket appear, different from the first one he gave you. “It is a VIP pass. You can visit us in the trenches after the battle. Or as they call it, backstage.” His smug smile returns. “It would be a great pleasure to celebrate our victory with you.”

Lilia spotted you first. When you saw him he was already looking at you smiling. But during the performance he gave as much attention to you as he did to his Diasomnia boys. If you want to be Lilia's biggest cheerleader, you'll have to compete with Sebek, or simply join him.

There was a buffet for the guests after the competition and you took advantage of Grim being busy with the food to use your VIP pass to go see Lilia, Kalim and Cater backstage.

You found them in the hallway. They were smiling and chatting excitedly when they saw you. All three of them really wanted to know what you thought of their performance and you said that it was the best show of theirs that you had ever seen.

While the four of you are talking, Lilia has the feeling of having forgotten something. And then he realizes that he was missing one of the necklaces. He must have forgotten it in the dressing room and suggests that Kalim and Cater go meet the others in the after-party while asking you to go with him to help him look for the necklace.

The two of you go to the dressing room that was provided for the three of them and start looking for the necklace. You ask him if he remembers when he took the necklace off his neck, but... he doesn't. You see him making that sulky face. His biggest pet peeve was missing things and then looking for them, and remember this makes you giggle.

“Are you laughing at my misfortune?” Lilia messes with you. “I lose such an important item and the person I trusted to help me makes fun of my memory loss. How mean. You are so cruel. *snif*” He fake whines.

You know he's just messing with you and tell him that you just thought it was funny because you remembered that it was his pet peeve.

“Do you know what kind of necklace I am searching for?” He asks with a smirk. “It is a long chain with a tag, all made of stainless steel. It's called Dog Tag, or more precisely: Military Dog Tag. Nowadays, many young people use it for style, especially cool band members such as yours truly. But its origins date back a few decades, during a battle between humans, as a way to identify soldiers who were wounded or killed on the battlefield. That is why these tags usually have the names, ranks and even the blood type of the respective soldiers engraved on them. Quite interesting, don't you think?” He smiles casually.

You agree, but ask why he decided to tell you that at that moment.

“Fu fu.” He smiles smugly again, the raspberry red of his eyes piercing you. “You are able to understand why this necklace suits me, correct? Should you not be more careful when laughing at me?”

In response, you smile at him relaxedly and tell him that you trust him.

“Khee hee hee, I'm actually glad to hear that.” Lilia smiles sweetly at you and suddenly seems to remember something that made him bursts out laughing.

You ask what he was laughing at. What had he remembered?

“HA HA HA HA! My memory really is not what it used to be. After our song, I accidentally broke my chain. But Kalim said he knew someone who could fix it and make it look like new. I told him ‘I'm actually glad to hear that’ and he put it in his trouser pocket. Ha ha ha ha!”

So you were looking for something that wasn't even there. And neither Lilia, Kalim nor Cater remembered that. You laugh with Lilia.

“Oh well, at least this little mistake served to spend a pleasant time alone with you.” He smiles seductively, abruptly switching the mood. “You know, second place is as noble a position as first place, but...” he makes puppy eyes at you. “I am quite sad to have dishonored our school by losing again Royal Sword Academy. *snif* Oh, if a loving soul could soothe my sorrows.” He closes his eyes sadly, but opens one to look at you with a sly smile at the corner of his lips.

You chuckle and ask if a hug would help. He says yes and hugs you before you can change your mind.

“At least it was fun.” He says close to your ear. “And it was a good sight to see you rooting for me. You are such a cute fan~” He pulled his head away, but didn't break the hug and pressed his nose against yours, looking at you provocatively. “But I wonder what kind of fan you would like to be. Cater told us some... captivating stories. Fu fu~”

Your noses were touching, but he wouldn't move any further than that. He expected you to take the initiative from there. If you do, and kiss him, you will feel his smile on your lips and the type of his hug gradually changing.

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

#Twisted Wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst imagines #twst fluff #Twisted Wonderland Fluff #Cater Diamond #Cater Diamond x Reader #Cater x Reader #Kalim Al-Asim #Kalim Al-Asim x Reader #Kalim x Reader #Lilia Vanrouge #Lilia Vanrouge x Reader #Lilia x Reader

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highlighter-goblin · 3 days ago

Text

Ok then, guess I’ll have to share some whack ass things about me!

- I still own the blood soaked pinkie pie that was the cause for me stabbing my hand

- when I was 4 I tried to bake a cake while the yard was actively flooding

- I have/had special interests by proxy, where I knew a lot about other people I’m close to’s speacial interests, like undertale, miraculous ladybug, starwars, and my hero acedemia

- Highlighters aren’t the only thing I currently collect, I also actively collect Pokémon, sailor moon, and nightmare before Christmas merch, pins, Russian nesting dolls, snow globes, 5¢ coins, and emo(ish) band merch, but I still have a bunch of other collections lying around, to the point where I collect collections

- I have a lot of interests that I can’t do because they have negative sensory inputs like going to the beach, gardening, and basically any and every outdoor activity

- I can’t touch rubbish bins, it makes my skin crawl

- I love bluey, and the season 3 episode ‘dragon’ makes me cry just thinking about it, also muffin is my favourite character

- I nearly burnt my house down by putting a heat pack (sack of dried grain) in the microwave without any water

- I used to eat raw mushrooms as a little kid and nearly poisoned myself and got rushed to the ER and nearly got my stomach pumped

- After getting covid and bronchitis less than a week apart from each-other a few years back my lungs got really weak and they’ve never been the same since, and it has probably given me asthma or something similar

- I know how to count on my fingers in binary, so on just my 10 differs I could count up to 1023 if I wanted to

-despite only being fluent in English I know a decent bit of German, a little bit of Spanish, and am currently learning KWS (key word sign) Auslan (a modified version of Australian sigh language without traditional sentence structure and alterations to prevent signs from covering the mouth)

- I am no longer allowed anywhere that sells stationary unsupervised to prevent me from spending all my money on highlighters

Reblog this post to ask mutuals to tell you their weirdest theory about u

EDIT: Fair warning this post is cursed and predictions are 7/10 times correct, play at own risk

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neeeooon · 1 day ago

Note

i think otoya is the kind of person who is aware that he is capable of changing his ways with girls when he finds the “one”, but he’s never truly believed in that. but when when like a girl transfers it’s quite literally love at first sight and he wants to change for her. you can decide whether she gets with him or not, thanks so muchh !! ^^

aww yes i love this idea tysm!!

love of my dreams

otoya eita x fem!reader. ft. karasu and yukimiya. love at first sight. fluff, crack, otoya is a bit weird at the start, cussing, slight death/kms joke at the end. wc: 810

“fuck.”

otoya just told karasu and yukimiya how much he liked his bachelor life. how he wasn’t ready to change. to settle down.

and then you just had to walk through those damn doors.

“fuck.”

you had a guide at your side, telling otoya you were a transfer student. his eyes were glued on you, and every step you took, unable to tear his gaze away. he wanted to know your name, where you transferred from, and what you were studying. probably something similar to him, as you were being toured through his building.

a sharp jab caused him to curse again, and otoya shot a glare at karasu and the cheap plastic butter knife he’d been stabbed with. “yer staring.”

“of course i’m staring. i’m in love.”

“you don’t do love,” yukimiya chimed with a snicker before shoving a forkful of salad into his mouth. “that’s your whole thing.”

otoya didn’t want it to be his whole thing anymore—not after seeing you.

he continued to think about you through the rest of his lunch, then his classes, his drive home, and even while he was texting yukimiya for answers to their finance homework. he didn't believe in love at first sight, at least he didn't think he did. you changed that so quick, otoya was still reeling six hours later.

otoya: i need her number

otoya: pls be my spies pls pls pls

karasu: i never thought i'd see down bad otoya like for real and not just to get pussy

otoya: is that a yes

karasu: for all we know she has a boyfriend

yukimiya: or a girlfriend

otoya: GODDDD IM GOING INSANE I NEED HER SO BAD

otoya: she's the one for me. i'm done. no more playboy otoya.

yukimiya: if you're serious. REALLY SERIOUS. i'll help

karasu: same ig

otoya: there's a special place in blowjob heaven for you two 🙏

and two days later, with the help of yukimiya and karasu, otoya had intel. they also told him you had a gap in your schedule and ate lunch by yourself in the dining hall.

and when otoya saw you? he was nervous.

your hair was pulled away from your face, the eraser-end of your pencil tapping your lips as you concentrated so hard on your homework that a delicate crease formed between your brows. otoya wanted to smooth it out with his thumb and kiss the spot instead.

shaking his head, his grip tightened around his sandwich as he slowly approached you. when you looked up, otoya felt his face grow hot. "sorry to bother you. is this seat taken?"

you rapidly shook your head and gestured to the chair. "no, no, you can take it! just make sure you put it back—"

"i mean, is it okay if i sit here?" he quickly cut off with a small grin, his chest fluttering when you blushed in embarrassment.

you dropped your pencil to hide your face in your hands. "oh my god, i'm so... yeah, yes, you can sit here." shaking your hands out to release some of the stress, you flashed a bright smile. "i'm y/n."

“otoya,” he greeted casually, as if a flock of butterflies didn’t make a home in his stomach.

you repeated his name quietly to yourself before nodding. “i think i’ve seen you in this building before. what are you majoring in?”

when he told you, your eyes lit up so brightly that otoya swore they glittered. “no way! me too! weird that we don’t have any classes together, though. maybe next semester!”

the rest of the time spent before your next class was filled with the two of you talking. otoya thought he'd fail at the genuine small talk thing since he didn't want to use any of his usual lines on you, but he was surprised at how easy it was. whenever he got quiet, you were right there to pick up where he left off.

"this might be too soon," otoya started as he walked you to your class. "but would you want to hang out again tomorrow?"

your smile faltered slightly, and otoya was ready to jump over the rail and fall to the first floor. it wasn't too far down, so he probably wouldn't die, but if he hobbled in front of a truck right after—

"i don't have this class tomorrow," you explained gently. "but would thursday work instead?"

fireworks exploded behind otoya's eyes, along with the relief of no longer needing to die. he readjusted his grip on his bag strap and flashed you a slow grin. "thursday works. same spot as today?"

you beamed. "yep! oh, and here's my number, in case i'm late or we have to reschedule!"

otoya knew, as you entered your name into his phone with a cute emoji, that he would eventually die a happy man.

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captain-huggy-bear · 2 days ago

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Congrats on 1000 queen!! 🥳 can I request “The kid(s) are out...” with jack 🩷

I hope this is okay? Went silly and sweet with it, but not feeling super confident with it! 1000 Followers Celly Finished Requests are currently closed while I work through current ones <3 Writing Masterlist

You know he's up to only the most delightful mischief when you spot Jack leaning against the doorframe to the living room, cheeky grin tugging at his lips, hair a mess, big t-shirt that the kids' got him last Father's Day hanging off him. The t-shirt Ellen had insisted you get 2 sizes too big because it would be comfy and daddy was always achy after a game. It didn't matter that she was getting older now, she was still a massive daddy's girl and Jack spoiled her rotten.

"The kids are out at Luke's..." Maybe it says a lot about your marriage after two kids and plenty of long roadies that you don't jump to sex, that your first thought isn't that you have the house to yourself to absolutely ravish and maul your husband...instead...

"Sundae station?" The way you perk up on the sofa, wide eyed and eager as you look over at him has Jack laughing before closing the distance, hands reaching to tug you up to standing. Maybe it says a lot that Jack's first thought isn't sex either, but exactly the same as yours.

"Sundae station." You practically squeal and suddenly Jack's looking at the girl he went on that first date with, silly and youthful and sweet. The girl that had spent the last few years acting so mature, so proper because she was a mother now and mum's couldn't have sundae stations without little grubby hands stealing all the ice-cream and then keeping you up all night because sugar. The girl that had turned into his wife, into a woman he loved, but God, sometimes he missed seeing you shed that weight, the mantle of motherhood for a second.

He's already got it laid out for you in the kitchen; bowls of different toppings, a million sauce options to choose from, squirty cream, cherries, even bananas in case you want a banana split.

There's something fulfilling for Jack in the way that he gets to serve you, pretending he's working in an ice-cream shop at each part of the station until you have a massive, perfectly crafted sundae with all the trimmings. It helps that you laugh at the silly valley accent he puts on and that he feels like he can shed the 'dad' skin for a minute. That he can just be the husband, your husband.

You both love being parents, but God, is it nice to just be Jack and Y/N. To be a couple. A duo again for a moment.

He doesn't even ask before the Notebook is put on, you don't need to gesture or ask for him to make room for you on the sofa, curling under his arm as you both eat ice-cream and watch the first movie you'd ever watched together. It feels intimate in that quiet sort of way that being known feels, when someone makes you feel special and important, seen.

"God, it's so nice to eat what we want and not have to share, right? When was the last time we didn't have to share our sundaes?" You don't even wipe at the cream around your mouth or the sauce on your cheek, Jack's fingers reaching out to wipe it clean like he often has to do for Carter.

"Mmm, maybe back in 2029 when you were pregnant for the first time? They're ice-cream thieves, babe...we've raised ice-cream thieves." He spoons the last scoop of his ice-cream into his mouth, leaning forward to put both your empty bowls on the coffee table. You move with him, refusing to not be tucked into his side, comfy and cosy.

"Not even just ice-cream, Carter stole my apple slices yesterday..." You complain, face planting into Jack's neck when he finally settles back down. You'd been really craving those apple slices too, crispy, fresh...perfectly cut...and then Carter had come in from hockey practice and immediately eaten them with a 'thank, mum!'.

"Why didn't you say? That's at least 2 minutes in the penalty box for theft of apple slices!" Jack's gasp is offended on your behalf, even as he jokes about it, fingers sliding into your hair and scratching at your scalp in a way that has you almost purring like a cat.

"I just love them so much, y'know? And he pulls that face of his, the one he got from you, all pouty and big eyed..." Carter might be 13 now, he might be a teenager with those ridiculous mood swings, but he was also your baby and the spit of Jack sometimes.

"You mean this one?" You pull back to see Jack pulling the exact face. Bottom lip pouty and full, big blue eyes wide and sweet, the sort of face you'd never been able to resist when he pulled it, made 10 times worse when your son decided to pull it too. Both boys had you wrapped around their fingers.

"Yeah, I hate it." You huff, hiding your smile into his neck again and Jack just laughs because he knows that's not true...just as much as he knows both of you would willingly share your ice-cream sundaes for the next 50 years so long as you had your two babies.

"You hate it because you love it so much, baby."

#Huggy's 1000 celly #huggy bear writes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes/reader #nhl imagine #nhl x reader

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bizarrelovetriangel · 12 hours ago

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lonely + touch starved mc when they first make their relationship with the boys official? like they're scared to ask for more but desperately need it, since they've been missing it for so long

love your writing btw, thank you for posting it!!! no pressure if this request isn't your thing! :))

sylus

- even before your relationship became official, you and sylus have always been somewhat touchy. hands bumping against each other, fingers ever so slightly grazing, and bodies casually brushing up upon close proximity — it's always been there. his touch, no matter how simple, makes you feel so warm and so special. you haven't felt so wanted, in such a long time, maybe ever. the way he makes you feel is one of a kind, and you can't help but crave for more.

- you decided to be subtle and nonchalant about it, thinking sylus was going to tease you if you ask directly. the 'accidental' touches linger for a little too long, and the amount of times you'd playfully and casually hold him had increased. but maybe you didn't do a good job at keeping it low key.

- sylus pays attention to you more than you think. it didn't take long for him to catch your longing gazes to his lips before looking away, and the way you fiddle with your hands after accidentally touching his.

- "if you want something from me, don't hesistate to claim it. i'm all yours, sweetie." he told you after once again noticing your not-so-subtle-gazes at him. "i'd be happy to give you whatever you ask for. anything at all." that's just what sylus does. he's always encouraging you to be unafraid and boldly go after what you want. do what you want to do without shame.

- and so, with his encouragement, you dared yourself to kiss him. and from the second he kissed back with even more passion, you realized that you have nothing to worry about at all. he wants you just as much as you want him.

- with every day you spend together, you become more and more comfortable in asking for physical affection. just as he said, you don't even really need to ask him — just do it. so, eventually, you've come to a point where, if you want kisses, you just kiss him and he will return with a million times more than you could ever ask for.

caleb

- he's basically a puppy. and puppies are naturally affectionate. even before you were official, physical affection has always been one of his main love languages. headpats, pokes, picking you up, grabbing your waist, ruffling your head, giving you massages, putting an arm around your shoulders, using you as a headrest.... he simply cannot keep his hands off you.

- once you became an official couple, however, while you're grateful that his usual handsiness didn't go away, you started to want more physical affection that are a little more intimate. but you wonder, how could you bring it up without sounding greedy or demanding or awkward? knowing him, he'd tease you and you'd rather not have that right now.

- so you start giving him more longing touches but nothing further. they're like invitations for him to make a move: 'if you want more, then do something' kind of touches. you'd rest your hand on his hands, chest, back, arms and shoulders, hoping that you have some effect on him that will make him want to touch you in return.

- as smart as he is, caleb doesn't catch on right away and fails to fall for your traps, and so eventually you lose patience. "hurry up and kiss me already, dummy" and only then did it click to him that you want more. that you are comfortable to take your relationship a step further in regards to physical affection.

- in truth, he was taking it slow around the time your relationship began because he doesn't want to overwhelm you. he's been in love with you for so long, he'd shoved all his feelings in a box, thinking he'd never be able to act on them. he was afraid of opening that box and overwhelming you with his feelings, so he thought he'd wait for you to get comfortable with his touches as your lover.

- and now that he knows you've been waiting for him, caleb is relieved. at last, he doesn't have to hold back. "if you don't mind, i'd like to be a little more greedy now."

zayne

- your relationship started off slow in general because you're both still testing the waters and learning how to act around each other as a couple. you'd start off with holding hands in private, giving kisses on the cheek, and eventually, kisses on the lips. zayne was quite reserved at the beginning, and so there wasn't as much intimacy as most couples would have at the starting stage.

- although you don't mind the slow pace, you secretly longed for more of his touches that are so gentle and warm, like a sweet embrace. his kisses, despite being brief, are always so passionate and they make you want to melt. his cuddles are even better than your most comfortable blanket. you want to be in his arms forever. but of course, you don't want to seem desperate or scare him away by coming off too strong, so you say nothing.

- little did you know, zayne is just as nervous and touched-starved as you. he wants to feel you and he wants to be held by you, and he wished he was more experienced just so he could be more confident that his actions won't be foolish and wrong. because it's you, he wants to get everything perfect.

- for some time, you two stuck with minimal intimacy. however, both of you have also become impatient rather fast, feeling as if you want more and more of each other every day. you'd wish that those goodnight kisses lasted just a little longer. you'd wished that you'd cuddled more while watching movies. you'd wished that you're next to each other as you fall asleep after talking about how your days went.

- with time, you two have gotten out of your comfort zones together and soon enough, neither of you would get nervous about wanting a kiss, and sleeping next to each other wasn't so terrifying anymore. it's all about timing and getting comfortable with each other. eventually, both of you grew confident with physical affection and intimacy, up to a point where you won't be any need to ask. if you want kisses, you just do it. after all, you're his, and he's yours.

rafayel

- rafayel is so pretty he makes you nervous sometimes. in the beginning of the relationship, you'd find yourself in disbelief that that man is your lover, and that he is in love with you, out of everyone in the deepspace. every time he holds your hand, gives you a kiss, and hugs you, you feel like you're not worthy of such warmth.

- and yet still, you need more. more kisses, more hand holding, more cuddling, even just sitting closely together. you just love that tingling, comfortable, warm feeling that he shelters you with. he makes you feel so loved and appreciated. you feel greedy and clingy at the thought of demanding more of his affection, so you kept it all inside and just took what he gave you.

-but rafayel is someone that made you comfortable so easily. he's often playful and lively, and he tends to move around, a lot. there's a lot of playful touches involved — him locking his arms around yours, holding your shoulders, bumping your hands, and various other little casual physical contact, which greatly helped with intimacy.

- eventually, your nervousness went away and you learned to take initiative, knowing that rafayel will never mind all the physical affection as long as it's with you.

- although, if anything, rafayel might just be a little more touch-starved than you, because he'd been waiting for you for so, so long, and every time you hold him, he's met with a sense of belonging — like everything is going to be okay, and that this life is good, after all. and so, don't be afraid to approach him first because he will always welcome and appreciate your touch, and he will absolutely return it all by a tenfold.

xavier

- he'd be the one to take initiative. you won't even have to ask for more because he wants you even more than you could possibly want him. he can be greedy when it comes to you. even in the beginning, he'd find excuses to be around you and touch you, so you won't ever feel lonely.

- but of course, there comes the times when you're feeling needy for more of him. with xavier, the best thing to do is to be direct and upfront, no matter how scary it seems. you found that the best time is when he's sleepy. he is so cuddly. all you need to do is lie down next to him and he'll gradually get closer and closer into cuddling with you until eventually you're spooning. he'd usually make the first move and ask, "is this okay?" or sometimes he'd just do it and read your expressions. if you like it, he'll do it more. if you don't, he'll stop right away.

- if you want to make the first move, he's always been open and inviting with you. he'll always make sure you're comfortable. he's very approachable, so it doesn't take long for you to become confident with what you want from him.

- but mostly, xavier will always want to give than take more, so you won't ever have to worry. with him, you'll always know that you are loved.

#i'm sorry i wrote it in headcanon format! it's easier and faster for me to write this way when it comes to ideas like these!#i hope you don't mind!#also sorry xavier's was short!#love and deepspace #sylus x reader #zayne x reader #caleb x reader #rafayel x reader #xavier x reader #lynnsfics #lynnsposts #replies #anon #sylus #caleb #rafayel #xavier #zayne #lads

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xylatox · 23 hours ago

Text

One In A Million || csb

The first spin-off of The Slow Surrender is here :’) After I was left literally going through it (I cried so hard and my heart broke multiple times), I am so glad to be back in this universe and even more ecstatic to read Soobin’s romance especially as the brother of the mc from TSS. Excited to see where exactly his story is interlaced with the original story or if it happens after the main events! A special congrats to Raya for reaching 800 followers as I’m reading this, so glad people are recognising and loving your work <3 Anyways, unto my thoughts!!

Before I even begin, I am always a sucker for flowers, their language, practically anything to do with them. The way you’re able to silently convey feelings through something as simple as a flower really just warms my heart.

You cherish the minuscule things, not out of whimsy but out of habit, because you grew up knowing that gratitude was not just a virtue but a necessity. You learned to say thank you for everything placed into your hands, whether it was something you longed for or simply something to fill the space on your plate. Even at nine years old, a meal was never just a meal... it was a gift.

Is it too early to say I already love everything about her? Just from the way she thinks to her past, I cherish every bit of her. My heart breaks just seeing everything she’s been through (thankfully my tear reserves are dried up for now [we hope] so no crying today [again only a distant dream knowing myself]). It is heartwarming that despite everything at least she has her grandmother with her, I feel like that’s a relationship like no other.

And you do. More than anything. Even if one day, she forgets. Even if, someday, she doesn’t remember you at all.

Raya, I will always wish to see how you think.To me your mind is literally such a beautiful place, the way you seem to just flawlessly write the words down, its something I admire greatly.

And we find out where their romance begins :( I’m taken back to that moment with the MC from TSS and God, the pain was unimaginable, familiar and heartbreaking.

His eyes catch yours, and the words die between your parted lips, caught somewhere too deep to reach. Slowly, he stands from his chair, his hand slipping away from the pouch. You watch him smooth out the front of his coat, before stepping toward the center of the table. His fingers reach for the rose in front of you. The stem just one thorn away from being trimmed. The same thorn that had cut you earlier. “I’ll take this too, then,” he says. “Is that alright with you?”

Something about this moment just gets to me, maybe its the hidden tension, maybe its something else, whatever it make be, it speaks to me. The way MC (rightfully) assumed it was Soobin’s wife that suffered a loss and then the way he still comes a year later, my god. Man, the moment she asked him out I smiled and giggled like an idiot, shes so cute, they feel like puppies who’re scared of going into the water right now and its so endearing.

I felt so bad when Soobin was late oh my god 😭😭 I had no clue what was going to happen but I’m so glad he eventually came (his reaction to her still being there was also so cute)

His brows lifted slightly, softening — not in mockery, but in surprise. “Stop acting so cute, will you?” he murmured, and his words only deepened the flush on your cheeks. “You’re making it harder for me.”

Soobin, god. The way this line alone actually sent me insane. I do love that despite the initial awkwardness/tension from Soobin being late, they have a kind of flirtatious banter going on; they eased into conversation so nicely. I love them :)

“You’re beautiful,” he says, voice steady, unflinching. “Every time I come to see you… you’re even more beautiful. And you take my breath away.” That ache—the one you’d fought to swallow down minutes ago—surges back with a quiet ferocity. Your bottom lip parts, breath hitching in surprise.

I feel sick oh my god, oh to be viewed like this.

Man. The vulnerability, The kiss. The kiss. The kiss. (yes 3 times was very necessary). The moment was just so soft?? It took me by surprise.

"You taste divine," he breathed against your neck, the words threaded with awe and desire.

Raya, youre going to make me pass out.

“I’ll be gentle with you then,” he promises, voice so gentle it nearly breaks you apart. His forehead rests against yours as his thumb brushes the corner of your mouth, his touch light as silk. “You don’t have to fear anything with me. We’ll go slow. You just tell me everything you want… everything you don’t.”

The instant reassurance?!?!? Goodbye.

“Just think of it as my way to say sorry… for making the prettiest girl wait so long.”

MAN. (I was trying so hard to have my thoughts match the vibe of the fic; very cute, very calm but I fear I’m losing it.) CHOI SOOBIN THE MAN YOU ARE.

Before you could even set down the last plate, his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest with a soft exhale of relief. His lips found your hairline in a series of slow, affectionate kisses, "You didn’t have to make breakfast, baby. I could’ve called someone."

RAYA. I literally went like “Oh, fuck” out loud because I could not handle it, Jesus. On another note though, the sleeping pills have me sad :((( and also slightly anxious. Man, the way mc single-handedly made him not think about it oh my god. Hes so downbad.

“All my life,” he murmured, gaze dropping to the untouched food on his plate, “I watched my sister become trapped in a marriage. Watching her lose herself made me believe I shouldn’t chase anyone… or anything. But then, I saw you.”

I love this Soobin so bad. He’s literally so in love with her oh my god.

Her eyes sweep over you unblinking, as though weighing you against some invisible scale. “Are you the woman seeing my son?” A chill skips down your spine.

Did I forget about their mother who I absolutely dislike? Yes. I immediately remembered her from the beginning of TSS, and the distaste I feel is ever present

Her head tilts, something sharp glinting behind her expression. “Why did you stutter?” The question is too sharp for someone who doesn't know you. Before you can even try to answer, she lifts her hand in a small, dismissive gesture. “Go on. Change your clothes. Make it fast. I don’t like waiting.”

I fear this just made my dislike her so much more, the MC is so sweet please dont speak to her like that, she doesnt deserve it, no one does.

The young woman settles beside her mother, her gaze drifting to you with a kindness that wraps around you like a soft blanket. No scrutiny, no sharp edges, it's curiosity. “I’m Soobin’s sister,” she says her name gently, her lips pulling into a smile that reaches her eyes. “You look even more beautiful than what he says.”

AND SHES HERE MY BABY :(((( My precious star, I missed her.

The air felt thinner now. You could feel your pulse in your throat, in your wrists, in the trembling tips of your fingers that curled tighter under the table. “Then how would you run a family if you don’t even have one?”

No. Raya you didn’t

“Don’t cry,” she whispers finally, pulling back, her palms warm against your damp cheeks. Her eyes search yours. Slowly, she slides a handkerchief from her pocket and presses it into your hand, her thumb brushing over your knuckles as she lets go. “My mother… she’s always been like this. I won’t tell you not to feel hurt, you should feel hurt. She doesn’t know how to soften her words, even when she should.”

I really do love the MC from TSS so bad, shes such a darling. Her and Soobin and such lovely examples of not feeding into the behaviour of the household that raised you (just focussing on the mother). Wait omg ::::::((((((( TSS’s MC is pregnant against oh my god :::((((((

Beomgyu stays still, waiting. His jaw flexes slightly, not out of impatience, but out of habit, you can tell. He doesn’t move, not until she disappears inside the building safely, not until the glass doors close behind her and she’s no longer in sight.

I just know he’s worried :((((((((

She took a step closer, “I’m Aera,” she said smoothly, not a trace of hesitation. “Soon to be Soobin’s fiancée.”

Oh god. Oh my god. I feel so bad for her what. I feel sick for her/

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” he murmurs, “You’ve been asleep so long, I’m starting to miss you.”

Oh this is a cute line 😭😭I didnt expect such cute words

By the time you found a clean sheet of paper and sat at the dining table, your whole body trembled with the weight of it. The pen felt too heavy in your hand. Your tears hit the page before your words did.

You slowly, wrote your goodbye.

Nooooooooooo. Raya ::::((((( RAYA NOOOOOO YOU MADE HER MOVE TOO ;-;-;-;-;-;-; RAYA.

“Why are you here?” You asked, each word flung like stones across the space between you. Your jaw clenched. “Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I tell you I don’t want you anymore?”

Your voice cut clean but your hands betrayed you. They shook at your sides, fingers twitching like they weren’t sure whether to reach for him or push him away. The ache in your throat frayed the edge of every word. And Soobin saw it. He saw all of it.

Oh my god.

"Marry me." It’s his last attempt to keep you from walking away. “Marry me, and I’ll do anything you want. Anything. Just don’t—” His throat closed up, and for a second, it sounded like he forgot how to breathe. “Don’t walk away again.”

Noooo the dried up tear reserve is filling up :(((

“I don’t want the world.” His eyes locked on yours, fierce and aching. “I never wanted any of that. Not once. I just… I just want you.”

My heart clenched oh my god. Oh, To be loved like this.

The odds of this… of you… out of all the people, all the cities, all the winding chances and missed timings, was one in a million.

I giggled. Its always a Raya fic when the title is referenced in the end. It’s literally such a trademark of yours now and I always get to giddy reading it :). This was a remarkable first spin-off to the TSS series Raya. As always, I truly love your work, there are no amount of words that exist in this world to correctly describe how your works make me feel. Thank you for existing and thank you always for writing.

‎₊ ˚ ⊹ ིྀ 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐀 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝗉𝖺𝗂𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀: 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝖾𝖻𝗈𝗅 𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗂 𝗌𝗈𝗈𝖻𝗂𝗇 𝗑 𝗆𝗂𝖽𝖽𝗅𝖾-𝖼𝗅𝖺𝗌𝗌 𝖿𝗅𝗈𝗋𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

He stares at you, the glisten in his eyes that you've come to know whispers his truth. His shaking hands hold your wrists. Droplets slide from his hair, tracing the sharp angles of his face, mixing with the storm clinging to his skin as he stares at your face. You feel it before you hear it. You see it before he speaks. "Marry me." It's his last attempt to keep you from walking away.

𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: chaebol au, strangers to lovers, angst, family issues, toxic societal norms, yearning, longing.

𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍-𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌: MDNI, multiple-smut scene, heavy make-out, body-worship, nipple-play, fingering, oral!fem receiving.

𝗐𝖼: 17.5k — playlist.

𝗇𝗈𝗍𝖾𝗌: hi hello!! to clear things up, this is a spin-off of the main story but each txt male lead gets their own reader! (aka you, heh). other female leads might show up for the plot, but they’ll stay nameless.

(definitely read the first part if you haven’t — but you can read this as a standalone!) see the event 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.

If there is one truth that time cannot taint in your life, it is your love for flowers. They bloom unburdened, much like the love you cradle for things that ask for nothing in return.

Perhaps you were a flower in your previous life — maybe that’s why people have always likened you to one. A flower is something delicate, something beautiful, something that marks in memory with its scent and colour. Yet if you were to tell the real reason why they call you that, it wouldn’t be for any of those things. It wouldn’t be because you were particularly graceful or charming.

It would be because you see the world through the eyes of a dreamer, a romantic, someone who clings to the smallest joys as if they were... lifelines.

You don’t blame your parents for leaving. People say you should be grateful — they gave you life, after all. And they did. But not even a year into your existence, they chose their own paths, carving out futures that no longer had room for you. And you never resented them for it, not really.

It doesn’t mean it wasn’t lonely.

No matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, it’s hard so, so hard to grow up in a house that never truly felt like home. Hard to wake up each morning knowing there’s no mother to greet you, no father’s voice to remind you you’re safe. Hard to fall asleep at night, knowing that if a nightmare came, there would be no one there to hold you.

No one at all.

They're happy, somewhere out there. Twin sisters from your father’s side, three brothers from your mother’s. And you were happy for them, truly. They had their lives, their homes, their own worlds to tend to. They checked in when they could — once, maybe twice a month, just enough to remind you they were still out there. Just enough to keep you from forgetting... while you stayed with your grandmother.

And that was enough. Or at least, it had to be.

“Nana,” you sigh, “You just watched that yesterday. Are you sure you want to go again?”

“Yes. Mom.”

You continued to scrub the plate she ate from, forcing a smile. She’s called you Mom again. It happens often now. Some days, you’re her daughter. Other days, her niece, a friend. But most days, you’re her mother.

And that’s fine. It has to be fine. As long as there are still days when she calls you anything at all. Because the worst days, the ones that keep you up at night, are the ones when she just looks at you with empty eyes, searching your face like you’re a stranger.

You swallow hard and turn back to her. “Did you take your meds, Nana?”

"Yes."

You wipe your hands on the kitchen towel, glancing toward the small pillbox on the counter. Walking over, you flip open the lid, scanning the compartments. She took them. A quiet breath of relief escapes you.

“Thank you,” you murmur, closing the box. “After this, we’ll head to bed, okay?”

“Okay.”

You sink onto the couch beside her, adjusting the hem of your floral home dress—the one you tailored yourself, stitching distractions into the fabric on nights when the weight of it all felt unbearable.

Mama Mia plays on the screen, the familiar melodies filling the small space between you. It’s always been her favourite movie. Even after the diagnosis, even as the world around her blurred at the edges, she kept coming back to it.

As if, somehow, it was something she could still hold onto.

You glance at her, watching the way her lips move with the lyrics, her hands tapping against the armrest in time with the music. She remembers this.

“Can I hold your hand while we watch?” you ask softly.

Your grandmother turns to you with a soft smile, her eyes whispering at the corners. She’s seventy-five now, her hair thinner, her hands frail, but to you, she’s still the same. Still beautiful. Still her.

People told you to put her in a nursing home. Said it would be easier, that it was the practical choice. But how could you? How could you leave the one person who never left you? The person who held your hand through every scraped knee, every heartbreak. The only real family you have.

Her frail fingers squeeze yours gently. Then, just as you turn back to the movie, you hear it.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Your breath halts. You tear your gaze from the screen, eyes wide, heart pounding. It’s been months — months of her calling you by the wrong names, or worse, not calling you anything at all. But now, she’s looking right at you, remembering you. A lump sits in your throat as tears sting your eyes. You grip her hand tighter.

“I love you too, Nana,” you whisper, voice shaking.

And you do. More than anything. Even if one day, she forgets. Even if, someday, she doesn’t remember you at all.

You slide the key into the lock, your right shoulder weighed down by the new pots you picked up earlier. As the door swings open, the soft chime of the bell echoes through the quiet shop. Stepping inside, you nudge the door shut behind you and flip the sign to OPEN with a satisfied smile.

It’s 10 a.m., and the morning light spills in through the windows, casting a warm glow over the flowers on display. Running your fingers gently over delicate petals, you inhale their fresh scent, the fragrance mixing with the faint traces of paint lingering on the walls — your own handiwork, soft strokes of color bringing the shop to life.

You set your bag down behind the counter and power on the computer, scrolling through the day’s orders. Five minutes pass in a comfortable rhythm before the familiar chime rings again. The door swings open.

Someone’s here.

"Good morning!" You greet with a warm smile, but your voice falters just slightly as you take him in. He’s not the usual type to wander into a flower shop. Dressed in a sharp, black tailored suit, he carries himself with an air of quiet confidence. The glasses perched on the bridge of his nose add to his composed demeanor, but it’s his presence — towering in the doorway, making the shop feel smaller somehow, catches you off guard.

Still, you keep your smile, smoothing the surprise on your chest. "Are you looking for any particular flowers?"

He glances at you and gives a small nod — a quick acknowledgment that he’s heard you. It’s familiar. You’ve dealt with customers like this before, the ones who prefer to browse in silence before saying what they need.

You nod back slightly, a polite gesture, then shift your gaze back to your computer, trying to shake off the strange unease prickling at you. He hasn’t even spoken yet, and still, something about him makes your pulse tick faster.

Why?

“I'm looking to have a funeral arrangement made.” he says suddenly, making you blink and look up.

His eyes meet yours.

You cleared your throat, "I'm sorry for your loss." You try to follow the routine speech that you have. "Let me get my book and I'll assist you. Please, take a seat."

You point towards the table, a round wooden structure with three matching chairs, a small white vase holding a fresh boquet decorated the center. He quickly followed your instructions, pulling the chair as it scraped on along the wooden floorboards before they sit with a sigh.

You took a quick glance at him again, watching as he fishes out his phone, one of the brands that is you think the latest release, and you see a unique looking rolex in his wrists. You avert your eyes as soon as you did, and your eyes catch the black car parked in front of your store.

Your store.

Your small humble store that is stark comparison compared to everything this man have.

You cleared your thoughts as to why he chose this place to buy flowers. You turned around to gather your book filled with arrangements.

"Do you run this place by yourself?" As you reach for the leather spine of the book, you glance over your shoulder, meeting his eyes already on yours.

He didn’t respond, even as you took a seat across from him. Still, you could feel his gaze following you. You pushed the roses aside, their petals bruised from restless handling, and replaced them with the open book. Its pages, worn thin, exhaled the faint, bitter-sweet scent of aged paper — a comfort you almost resented tonight.

He stayed silent, his arms draped over the table, eyes steady. His presence bled into the air, heavy and warm, as though the room itself bent around him. You swore you could see it — something low and smoldering radiating off of him, a slow burn that clawed past the polished edges he wore so well.

You tore your gaze away before it could swallow you whole.

You tighten your grip on the pen. “May I have the full name of the deceased?” Your hand drifts across the top of the page, hovering over the empty space waiting to be filled, just as you wait for his answer.

When it comes, it lands harder than you expect.

“It… doesn’t have a full name,” he says quietly. Your eyes lift to meet his. “But we call him Moon.”

Your breath catches. There’s only one meaning behind words like that. A child. Your mind pulls back into dim memories; the parents who’d come to your shop before, searching for flowers with little else to offer but love for someone whose life never had the chance to unfold. Your lips part, but no sound comes. You drop your gaze, forcing it back down to the blank page. You’ve done this before — too many times — but it still finds a way to shake you.

Pushing through the heaviness in your chest, you press the pen to paper and write the name.

Moon.

“And what are you looking for in this arrangement?” The words burn as they leave you, bitter and dry, clinging to the back of your throat. You wait, feeling the seconds stretch thin between you.

“What do you think?”

You should know. This is what you do — what you’ve poured years into. Flowers have been your language longer than words ever have. But it’s always this question that unravels you. It pulls at the seams of whatever certainty you pretend to hold. Of course you have ideas. They come in flashes,but what are they worth?

What if it’s wrong? What if it’s not enough?

The thoughts spiral fast, like they always do. Familiar and merciless, burrowing deep where you can’t shake them loose. They weigh heavy in your chest, anchoring themselves into the cracks of a confidence too fragile to stand against them. You sit there, hollowed out and grasping for something to offer this man, something that won’t disappoint him, or worse, dishonor what he’s lost.

A baby. A mother greiving. And now this man, carrying his own mourning, offering no guidance to make the task easier. Your fingers twitch, restless and unsure. You have to give him something. Anything.

“Well, for funerals, people usually gravitate toward chrysanthemums,” you say, lifting your free hand toward the cluster of blooms sitting in their vases to the right. His gaze follows where you gesture. “Lilies are another favorite,” you add, motioning to the soft petals hanging to the left. “And people often ask for—”

“But what do you think?” His voice cuts through yours, making your words falter. Slowly, your eyes meet his, and he holds your gaze across the table. “What do you gravitate toward?”

“White roses,” you murmur, your gaze flicking away from him and toward the blooms resting quietly in the front window of the shop. “They symbolize… eternal love, and remembrance.” Your voice softens. “If it were me… someday… I think it would make me happiest to be remembered that way. To be loved like that, even after.”

When you finish, your eyes drift back to his, uncertain, before you quickly lower them to the blank page in front of you. “Sorry,” you whisper, flinching at your own rambling.

“No.” His voice is firmer this time, “Don’t be sorry. Tell me more.”

You swallow hard. Your heartbeat stirs faster in your chest, a throb blooming from the tender cut on your fingertip. You breathe through it.

“Forget-me-nots,” you say. “I suppose… I’d start with a base of hyacinths, then layer in forget-me-nots and foliage as filler. And maybe top it off with white roses.”

“Think you can have it ready in two days?” he asks, his gaze shifting toward the rosebuds waiting to be trimmed on the table. “That’s when the memorial service will be.”

You nod before the words even catch up to you. “Yes, yes. That’s no problem.” You lower your head and start to write, sketching out the arrangement you’d described, even as your hand strains to keep steady against the shake running deep in your chest.

“Here.” He sets a small black bag on the table. You don’t have to open it to know — from the weight, the way it sits — it’s easily a week’s worth of your shop’s earnings.

“That’s too much. It’ll only be —”

“It’s the least I can do,”His voice is gentle but leaves no room to argue.“I doubt many would have come up with something as thoughtful as yours.”

“Please… I can’t let you overpay.” Your hand rests on the bag, fingers curling around the edge as you begin to slide it back toward him but his hand meets yours, halting you. His fingertips graze against your skin.

The nervousness clawing at your chest tightens, cinching your breath and locking the words in your throat. It burns — sharp and hot, like a brand searing them shut. You can only nod, managing the smallest smile before your eyes drop, trailing back down to the thorn that had drawn your blood.

You reach for your shears and rise from your chair, stepping toward him.

“I’d just started working on this one when you came in,” you murmur, lifting the sharp edge to the base of the stem. His fingers shift aside, careful and slow, as you steady the blades around the thorn. His eyes stay on you, not on the flower, not on your hands, but on the furrow of your brow as you focus.

You sense the moment he holds his breath.

With one clean motion, you clip the thorn away. “Thank you,” you say, your voice soft and thinner than you meant it to be.

“Thank you,” he echoes. His tone mirrors yours, but heavier somehow. “I look forward to seeing what you create.” He turns toward the door, tall frame gliding in that unhurried way of his, but he doesn’t touch the handle yet. His body shifts just enough to glance back. “By the way… I should get your name.”

“Y/N,” you answer. The name comes easy, but your breath feels uneven behind it. “And yours?”

You’ve never been like this before. Never so openly invested in someone you’d barely exchanged a few scattered words with. Never so quick to give away your curiosity. But here you stand; unmoving, staring, studying him more openly than you’d dare with anyone else.

He smiles. Barely. So faint you might have missed it entirely… if you weren’t so completely, foolishly locked on him. Enough of a curve to tug at the corner of his mouth. And there, a small hollow moves in his cheek. Does it get deeper when he really smiles? Does his smile reach his eyes?

Your throat tightens at the thought, inexplicable.

“Soobin,”

He came back two days later. Right when he said he would. When you handed him the arrangement, his eyes lingered on it longer than you expected. His face didn’t shift much, but you caught it, a flicker of surprise, as though he hadn’t entirely expected it to look the way it did. As though he hadn’t expected you to remember it so well.

“Thank you,” he said, voice low, steady. And before you could step back or fold the moment away, he spoke again. Another request. The same one. For next week.

And that’s how it started.

It became a pattern before you realized you’d memorized it. Every week, almost the same day, he returned. Always asking for the same thing. And it took so little, for you to start waiting for him. You didn’t need to admit you were. It was clear enough in the way your hands moved faster on the mornings you thought he might show up. The way you found yourself glancing at the clock more often. The way your breath shifted, when the bell over the door chimed and you hoped it would be him.

The weeks folded into months before you realized how quickly the time had passed.

“Your wife must be having a hard time,” you say quietly, watching him from behind the counter as his fingers brush along the edges of the newest arrangement vases you’d set out last week. Your voice tries to sound casual, light enough not to pry. “But she’s lucky to have you.”

It’s the only explanation that ever made sense. The one you’d quietly settled on back when he first asked for those mourning flowers. That was how you’d made sense of it. How you’d made peace with why the arrangements always felt so heavy.

He stops. “Wife?” His brow lifts, faint confusion softening the lines around his eyes.

Your throat pulls tight. “Uh… yeah,” you fumble, heat creeping up the back of your neck. “… How is she recovering?”

There’s a pause. His stare doesn’t waver. His jaw sets, just enough that you can tell he’s measuring something inside before letting the words go.

“It’s for my sister.”

Sister. All this time, you thought you understood. The flowers, the endless varieties he carefully chose week after week — they were for his sister. That’s what you told yourself. It made sense. She must be the one who lost a child. A grief so cavernous that even the brightest blooms could barely soften its edges. You could understand it. the tenderness of a brother trying to tether her to something gentle. The quiet, steady ritual of bringing beauty to someone drowning.

But one year have passed. One year, and still, he comes.

You watch Soobin now, and something inside you twists sharp and deep. Your throat pulls tight, a burn clawing up the back of your eyes, your heart thrashing in your chest like it’s frantic to be let loose. His fingers move across the petals with reverence, the kind of touch meant for something breakable, sacred. As though each flower is an apology too heavy to speak aloud. A brother so devoted, so relentless in his quiet offerings — and surely he has a life beyond this. A job. Responsibilities. People waiting for him. And yet here he is. Always here. Always returning, as though caught in some private penance only he can feel, rooted in your little shop like he doesn’t know where else to go. Every week, standing in the hush of your little shop like a man trying to repent for a sin he never committed.

The flowers… you’ve always loved them. They’re stitched with meanings you’ve memorized like scripture; hope, solace, rebirth. They ask for nothing in return, and still, they give so much. The burn behind your eyes sharpens as you watch him, your mind comparing him to one, your chest aching in places you thought you’d long since sealed shut.

You wrap the arrangement slowly, careful with each fold and knot. Your heart thuds against your ribs like it’s trying to outrun the thoughts crowding your chest. The ones you don’t say out loud. The thought unsettles you more than it should. It coils tight in your gut, sharp and sickening. Because part of you already knows — one day, the door won’t open. One day, he won’t come anymore. You hear his footsteps before you see him. He’s seen that you’re nearly done ,the bouquet he asked for, the one you’ve handled like it’s something sacred. You feel his presence before you meet his eyes.

You don’t know why. You can’t name it, not exactly. Maybe it’s the dread that coils in your stomach that there will be a day you wake on a day he’s supposed to come, only to find the hours slipping by, the bell above the door never ringing. And before you can stop yourself, before your good sense can catch up to your mouth, the words tumble out. “Would you want to go out sometime?”

You instantly regret it, the way your voice cracked, the way you can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. “I’m sorry,” you say quickly, fumbling. “That was, I didn’t mean to put you in an awkward position. If it’s invasive or —”

“Yes.” You blink. His expression is steady, unshaken. “Yes,” he says again, softer this time. “I was going to ask you, too.”

Your breath stumbles in your chest. You nod, unsure of what to say, heart hammering loud enough to drown out everything else, but he goes on, “Next week. Same day, same time. Let’s do that.”

You nod again, this time slower. Something settles in your chest, light but anchoring. “And,” he adds, as he picks up the bouquet, “make another arrangement.” You glance at him, brows lifting in question. “Anything you want,” he says. “Doesn’t matter what it costs. Just… make something for me.”

You swallow the rush in your throat, the spark behind your ribs. You can already feel the stems in your hands, the petals under your fingers. You don’t know what you’ll make yet but you know it will say everything you can’t.

“Okay.”

You stare at the bouquet as it slumps at the edge of the table. The one you arranged so carefully, over and over again for days.

Dawn had already cracked the sky.

Now, the gloss on your lips is gone, long since faded like the sun. The coat you pressed at sunrise feels stiff, resentful, like it's been waiting just as long. Your spine aches from sitting too straight for too many hours, and your breath trembles in your throat, thin and cold.

He said he’d be here before lunch. He said he’d take you out.

He never came.

Maybe he got held up. Maybe it slipped his mind. Maybe something urgent came up. You tell yourself these things because it’s easier than the alternative. Still, the silence wraps around you too tightly. It hums in your ears, thick and heavy, until the only thing left is the dull thud of your heartbeat, knocking against your ribs like it’s looking for a way out.

Your eyes sting. Are you even allowed to cry over this?

“Well,” you murmur, voice thinner than you’d like, “let’s get you to a vase.” Carefully, you gather the arrangement, fingertips grazing the petals. You breathe in — soft, floral, faintly sweet — and hold it there.

Your movements felt slow. Deliberate, almost. Strange, when these steps had always come easy to you, and yet, you lingered. As if dragging out every motion might somehow buy him time to show. Your gaze settles on the bouquet now resting in the vase. You exhale, slow and shallow, but no words rise to meet the breath. There’s nothing left to say. Nothing worth breaking the quiet for. Turning to the door, your steps this time are steady, unhesitant. No more stalling. You did what you could. You waited. You hoped.

And now, it’s clear; he’s not coming.

You were just about to lower the blinds when a familiar car slid to a stop out front. Your breath caught, frozen tight in your chest. You didn’t move, didn’t blink, as the driver’s door flung open before the engine had even settled into idle. There he was, the tall figure who’d haunted your thoughts for months, carved into every restless night. Disheveled, frantic, a deep frown cutting across his face.

When his eyes found yours, he ran.

The air slammed back into your lungs so fast it almost hurt. The fog, the static that had smothered you for hours, gone. Blown clean away in one look on his face.

He's here.

“Why did you wait for me?” The words tumbled out the moment he pushed the door open, his gaze locking onto yours. His face, guilt etched into every line. “You waited for me,” he said again, quieter this time. The guilt cracked, crumbled at the edges, and in its place came something softer. His eyes didn’t waver. It was awe, unmistakable and unguarded.

It was as if he couldn’t believe you were real.

The car ride was quiet. His coat rested over your shoulders, warm and grounding, as the streetlights blurred past. Since it was already late, Soobin had offered his place. You didn’t argue.

“We’re here,” he murmured, unbuckling his seatbelt. You’d somehow already undone yours without realizing it, stepping out into the cool air just as he rounded the front of the car to meet you. His hand hovered near the door, but you’d beaten him to it. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, offering a small smile. Your eyes drifted past him, brows pinching slightly as you took in the skyline ahead —towering buildings stretching into the night. Your confusion flickered across your face before you could hide it. “You said your apartment, right?”

He hummed, his lips twitching into the faintest smile. He nodded toward the buildings ahead. “Come on.”

You walked, still puzzled, trailing a step behind him. Your eyes wandered, curious and cautious, as you neared the towering building. Inside, staff seemed to scatter and straighten the moment they caught sight of Soobin. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. Postures snapped upright. The door swung open before either of you reached it.

“Late evening, Mr. Choi,” the security guard greeted, bowing deeply. The others followed suit, dipping their heads in swift, practiced motions. It felt surreal. Like you’d stumbled into the middle of a K-drama you used to watch. Like you were seeing something you weren’t meant to. Soobin didn’t slow. He didn’t pause at the front desk like everyone else did. He just kept walking, glancing back once to make sure you were still with him. When he reached the elevator, he pressed the button without hesitation. The panel lit up, and you caught the word just above it; Penthouse.

Your breath caught, but you masked it quickly, dropping your gaze. That’s when you noticed his hands, resting at his sides, relaxed. The silence wrapped around you again. You shifted your hand, hesitant, pinky inching toward his. You just wanted to hold it — just once. Who knew if you’d get another chance like this? Maybe tomorrow he’d decide you weren’t someone he wanted to see anymore. Maybe you’d bore him. Maybe he’d drift away like people sometimes do.

So just once. Just to know what it felt like.

Your fingers moved closer, careful, unhurried. Barely an inch away — Ding. The elevator chimed, breaking your focus. Your hand froze mid-reach. Soobin turned, catching you dead-on. His gaze flicked down, just fast enough to see the way you yanked your hand back, swatting it away like you’d touched something too hot. “Uh—” you blurted.

Before you could even piece together what he meant, his hand reached out. His fingers found yours, threading between them with an ease that made your breath catch. The touch was warm, grounding, and when he gently tugged, you startled just a little. He didn’t say anything about it. He only pulled you softly toward him and guided you into the elevator. The elevator closes, but everything feels distant.

And all the while, his fingers stay laced with yours, anchoring you gently as the world rose around.

“Do you drink?” he asks, his voice low as he approaches the couch where you sit. The bottle in his hands glints under the warm lights, dark glass wrapped in crinkled gold foil, the wine inside a deep, velvet red that swirls languidly as he moves. One glance, and you already know: it’s expensive.

His penthouse is sprawling, though you suppose all penthouses are. “On special occasions,” you admit, watching as he reaches for two crystal glasses.

“Would you call this a special occasion?” He sinks into the couch beside you, his back meeting the cushions.

“I’d say so.” Your answer draws a small smile from him as he leans closer. Carefully, he cradles a glass in each hand and offers one to you. You accept it, fingertips brushing the cool surface as you balance the bowl of the glass in your palm, the slender stem threading between your knuckles. You lift it gently, only needing the faintest tilt toward your nose to catch the aroma. Your intuition was right, this would be the finest drink you’ve ever touched.

You take a sip. The wine blooms sharp on your tongue, threading warmth down your throat.

“Tell me,” he says, lifting the glass to his lips. His bangs fall loose over his eyes, soft and unbothered, and you fight the quiet urge to reach over and sweep them aside. “How did you start your business?”

“Like most things in this world,” you reply, taking another small sip, the pungent taste stinging your palate. “A bit of luck and a bit of misfortune.”

Soobin shifts, turning more fully toward you. One arm drapes along the back of the couch, as though he’s subconsciously reaching closer. His glass rests loosely against his thigh, “What was your luck?”

“I received money. Enough to build the business.”

“And the misfortune?”

Your throat tightens slightly. You swallow. “It was because my grandmother… wouldn’t be able to take care of it anymore.” Your voice softens. “Or herself anymore.”

The quiet smile at the corner of his lips falters, folding into something more solemn. A flat line. His eyes don’t leave you, they track every flicker of your expression: the slight furrow of your brow, the quick blinks you can’t quite suppress, the faint, compulsive bite to the inside of your cheek. But he doesn’t press.

“Why flowers?”

You know the answer. It unfurls easily in your mind, sprawling and layered. But a flicker of doubt tugs at you. If I ramble, will he grow tired of me?

“I liked their meanings,” you say instead, choosing your words slowly. “How each plant holds its own importance, just by existing. It’s fulfilling. And it’s a beautiful thing… seeing the way even simple arrangements can affect people.” You glance down, your thumb brushing the base of your glass. The words settle in the air between you.

He doesn’t fill the silence or shift in his seat. His eyes stay fixed on you. The glass in his hand remains perfectly still. His gaze lingers like he’s reading something delicate between your lines, like you’re a puzzle he’s in no rush to solve. He watches without pressing, without judgment. You feel the heat creep into your cheeks despite yourself, and you lower your gaze, hoping it hides the way your pulse trips over itself.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a pause, his voice lower, gentler. “I feel like I’m bombarding you with all these questions. Would you like to ask me something instead?”

A dozen questions flicker through your mind, each vying for space. Yet one floats to the surface, steady and clear, eclipsing the rest. “Why did you ask me to make you that bouquet?” The words leave you smoother than you expected.

For a breath longer, he says nothing. And then — a soft, breathy laugh escapes him. His eyes crinkle at the corners, something warm spilling over his features, and you swear you feel your heart tighten in your chest.

It’s the first time you’ve seen him laugh. It’s the first time you’ve seen the hollows of his cheeks deepen, the dimples ghost into view.

“Well,” he says, clearing his throat gently, He leans forward slightly, setting his glass on the table with a clink. “I do have an answer. But it’s a long one… if you’ll bear with me.” You nod, something soft and weightless settling in your chest.

Soobin’s voice dips, even softer now, like he’s confessing something he’s carried for far too long. “I asked you to make me that bouquet because I knew you’d pour yourself into it. You’d try your best to make it perfect for me. And when I saw it… I knew you’d done exactly that.” He pauses, gaze never wavering from you. “I never planned to take it with me. That bouquet—it was always meant for you.”

He shifts closer, just a few inches, slow and unintrusive. You don’t look at him; your eyes drop away, blurred with the tears threatening to spill over. You hold them back with every ounce of restraint, blinking fast against the shimmer at your waterline.

“I could’ve gone to any florist,” he continues, his voice barely above a murmur, “bought flowers and handed them to you. But I didn’t want that. I wanted you to make them… for yourself.”

Your chest pulls tight, your breath shallow and quick.

“I wanted you to create something as beautiful as you are. That’s why I asked for the bouquet.” His words land soft, final. “Because you’re beautiful.”

You try to fight it. Your head lifts slightly, your gaze tipping upward as if looking higher might will the tears back in. But the moment you blink, they slip free, tracing a slow, unbidden path down the curve of your cheek. There’s no hiding it. Not from him. Soobin’s eyes track the tear’s descent, his expression open and unreadable.

“I…” You falter, biting down gently on your tongue as your throat burns, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says immediately, “Tell me.”

Your breath shudders out, thin and shaky. “It’s just… earlier, I thought you wouldn’t come back.” The fracture in your voice is clear, woven into every syllable. Soobin hears it as easily as if you’d shouted it. His focus sharpens, tender and intent, even as another tear slips down your cheek.

Without a word, he lifts his hand. His touch is featherlight, the side of his index finger brushes just beneath your eye, catching the tear before it can fall farther. The contact startles you; your breath catches, your eyes widening at the gentle weight of his skin on yours. Though he’d caught your tear, his hand lingers on your cheek. His skin is cooler than yours, a contrast that sends a ripple down your spine. Then his finger glides down the curve of your face, tracing a path to your chin. His touch is careful, as if he’s afraid you might shatter under anything less. His fingers cradle your chin gently, coaxing, as he tilts your face toward him. Your breath catches as your gaze is guided back to his.

He’s looking at you.

Your nerves spark like a live wire under your skin, a delicate ache blooming in your chest. You swear you’ll come apart if you move too quickly, if you breathe too hard. Your heartbeat drums mercilessly in your ears loud enough, to fill the silence between you.

He leans closer. Slowly, gingerly, he edges forward like he’s stepping through every invisible barrier you’d built, slipping past every wall you thought you’d carefully kept intact. You watch as his eyes trace the line of your lips. Is he feeling the same tremor, the same breathless ache threatening to consume you whole?

Your eyes mirror his, drifting down until they rest on his lips. You feel his breath first, warm and shallow against your mouth. Your eyes flutter shut, anticipation blooming low in your belly — an ache, a flutter, a trembling promise. The thought alone sends shivers down your spine.

His lips meet yours. It's soft.

You don’t dare move. His fingers remain at your chinr. And for the first time, you let yourself surrender completely, allowing someone else full, irrevocable control. You let him lead. You let yourself fall. Then, subtly, Soobin shifts. His lips part just slightly against yours, enough to press a second kiss, lighter than air, softer than thought. The faintest sound of it rings in your ears, delicate and clear, as if it’s the only sound left in the world. There is no one else. Nothing else. Only you and him.

When he pulls away, it’s slow. He creates space between you, his gaze dropping—gentle, searching. “I apologize,” he says softly, his voice drawing your eyes open again. His pupils are dark, downcast, uncertainty clouding their depths as his fingers slip away from your skin. “If I made you uncomfortable… if I overstepped — I’m sorry.”

Without a word, with your tears now stilled, you reach for him. Your fingers wrap gently around his wrist, the same hand that had so carefully traced your skin. You hold him. With a pull, you guide his hand back to your face. When his fingertips meet your skin again, a wordless relief unfurls in your chest.

He’s watching you. His eyes are locked to yours, dark and unwavering, tracking every small shift in your expression as if deciphering the meaning behind your touch. Your hand stays clasped at his wrist as you draw your lips inward, wetting them with a soft sweep of your tongue, a silent permission offered without a single breath of speech.

You see it instantly, the way his brow knits downward, a soft furrow of longing. His lips part slightly, a breath escaping that he doesn’t bother to rein in. The expression across his face is raw, unguarded, needy in a way that makes your stomach swoop, a sweet ache pulling low in your core. His gaze flickers downward, fixated on the subtle shift of your mouth.

Before you even can take your next breath, his lips are on yours again. His mouth meets yours with more urgency, yet still achingly soft. His free hand ghosts up your jaw, fingers threading into the hinge of your neck, You’re taken aback, quite literally as his mouth parts against yours, deepening the kiss in a way that makes your breath falter. Your head tips backward instinctively, but before you can drift too far, his hand is there to catch. His fingers tangle into the soft strands at the nape of your neck, cradling you.

You clutch tighter to his wrist, as if that alone could tether you. The moment dissolves into something weightless, and the sensation of Soobin’s kiss begins to eclipse everything else — until the world narrows to nothing but his lips, his breath, his touch.

Your lungs tighten. Your head spins just as you feel the graze of his tongue against your lower lip. With a soft gasp, you break away.

Cool air rushes between your lips as you pull back, your breath coming quick and shallow. Your fingers, once gripping tight at his wrist loosen, falling limp against his skin. His hand slides gently from the back of your head, fingertips gliding down the column of your neck before settling against the delicate curve of your throat. His thumb traces there idly, barely a whisper of contact.

His voice, when it comes, is hushed. “Are you alright?”

All your life, you had been pursued. Suitors with bright eyes and polished words circled like moths, eager to capture your hand, to fasten their futures to yours. They came with promises that echoed hollow against your ribs. They smiled too easily, spoke too sweetly and though you tried, how you tried to meet them halfway, something inside you always stayed untouched.

You had forced smiles you didn’t mean. Laughed at jokes that never reached your eyes. You wrapped yourself in false emotions like gossamer, hoping the weight of them would feel like belonging. But after every encounter, you only felt emptier. You never understood why.

Until now.

With Soobin’s kiss still lingering on your lips, with his hand resting against the tender line of your throat as though you were something precious, and easily breakable. The truth settles in you, your heart had never been wandering.

It had been waiting. Waiting for him.

It wasn’t that no one wanted you. It was that your soul had already made its choice long before your body could catch up. And after all the quiet, lonely years of not knowing what you were longing for, he had finally found you.

You are home.

"I…" Your voice is thin, threadbare with wonder. You search for words, but none seem big enough to hold what you’re feeling. "I’ve never… been kissed like that before."

He smile slowly, a laugh tumbles from him and the thumb resting against your neck drifts upward, grazing the curve of your cheek with such careful reverence it makes your breath catch. You don’t have time to react. He leans in before you can even think, brushing a kiss against your lips, so brief it’s almost weightless. Too fleeting, too quick, and when he pulls away, you instinctively lean forward, chasing the fading warmth.

"Is that better?" he murmurs, mischief softening the edges of his gaze.

You swallow thickly, your pulse fluttering wildly beneath his touch. "I didn’t…" Your voice falters, a smile tugging unbidden at the corner of your lips. "…say that I didn’t like it."

It was as if your words had unspooled something inside him, like you'd spoken a secret incantation only he could hear. The moment your words left your lips, he was on you — his mouth capturing yours with a hunger. His hands slid down at your waist, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, warm palms pressing against your skin as if he needed to feel every inch of you. His lips broke from yours only to travel lower, grazing the delicate line of your jaw before finding the curve of your neck. The first brush of his mouth there drew a sound from you, a soft moan. You felt him smile against your skin, a low, pleased hum from his throat as if your every sigh was a gift.

Without thinking, your arms wrapped tighter around him. You shifted, lifting your legs to curl around his waist, pulling him flush against you. The soft, unrestrained groan that escaped him at the motion sent a spark racing straight through you.

You had never felt so wanted as hands slid down, tracing the shape of your thigh before they dipped to the bend of your knee. You had never felt so treasured as he slowly, began to gather the fabric of your skirt, dragging it higher along your leg with unhurried care, revealing skin he touched as though memorizing you with each pass.

"You taste divine," he breathed against your neck, the words threaded with awe and desire. His lips trailed open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your throat, grazing you with teeth soft enough to make you shiver, as if he wanted to consume you completely yet worship every part of you. Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging gently as you guided him back to your lips. He met you eagerly, melting into the kiss as though he’d waited lifetimes for it.

“If you want me to stop… tell me,” he whispered against your mouth, voice rough and tender all at once.

You nodded unafraid, and in that quiet, unspoken agreement, you watched something flicker in his eyes. As if he was vowing to worship you fully but never without your permission. His hands moved, deft and gentle, helping you ease out of the thin barrier of fabric that separated you, his gaze never leaving yours as if even in this unraveling, your comfort was his compass.

His smile curves against the delicate line of your neck, breath fanning across your skin as his words slip through, velvet-soft and low, “You’re already so wet for me.” His tone is laced with adoration. “I didn’t know you’d be such a good girl for me.”

The world dissolves.

It shrinks and softens until all that’s left is him — Soobin and the press of his body against yours, Soobin and the way his voice drips honey and reverence into your ear, Soobin and the hands that worship every part of you like he’s learning a language spoken only through touch.

Every piece of clothing that falls away is marked by his mouth, kisses dragged slow across your lips, your jaw, the hollow of your throat, the slope of your collarbones. His lips move like he’s tracing constellations on your skin, as though, somehow, you hold the entire night sky within you.

His hands, large and steady, move over you with a duality that makes you ache. Greedy and gentle. Certain but tender. He touches you as though he’s starved for you, but terrified you might slip away if he’s too careless. His fingers map your curves, glide down your sides, ghost along the backs of your thighs, curling possessively.

The room is thick with something heavier than air. It’s breath; yours and his, tangled in rhythm. It’s the soft rustle of fabric sliding over skin, the quiet catch of a moan swallowed between kisses, the faint sighs that spill when his hands find somewhere new to caress. Everything slows because he slows it. He takes his time, like he refuses to let any detail slip by unnoticed.

It doesn’t feel like he’s simply undressing you.

It feels like he’s unveiling something sacred. Like every inch of you laid bare is a gift he’s longed for, and now that he has it, he won’t squander a second. His gaze drinks you in between every kiss, full of a softness that cradles the sharp edge of desire. His pupils blown wide, his lips pink and kiss-bitten, his breath shaky though he tries to steady it.

You’re cherished.

“Soobin,” you gasp, breath hitching as he pulls you effortlessly into his lap. His lips find the swell of your breast, as his hands caress you with tender precision — teasing. The soft drag of his tongue against your nipples pulls a shiver from deep within you.

“I’ll take you to bed, sweetheart,” — “Yes, please,”

His mouth meets yours again, slow and consuming, while his arms curl around you. Without breaking the kiss, he rises, lifting you as though you weigh nothing, as though carrying you is the most natural thing in the world. You don’t open your eyes. You don’t need to. Your hands stay laced behind his neck, your fingers threading through the soft hair at his nape. You surrender wholly, letting yourself be cradled in his care. His footsteps echo and then you feel it, the plush give of the mattress beneath you as he lowers you gently into the center of the bed. The sheets are cool against your back, but his gaze is molten, grounding you in a warmth no fabric could match.

“Soobin…” Your voice trembles, “I haven’t done this before.”

For a moment, his expression stills. Something softens even further in his eyes. His lips tilt into the faintest, sweetest smile before he leans down, planting a slow kiss on your lips.

You gave him a smile, you reached up and kissed him. A simple peck. His eyes is open mid-kiss, like he couldn’t bear to miss a second of it. As though the feeling of your lips wasn’t enough, he wanted to see it too. “I trust you,” you whispered against his lips, “I do.”

You had never been blinded because of a smile before.

His lips press against your sternum, inching his way with slow pecks towards the plump skin of your breasts. And the second he finds your nipple, a sharp gasp leaves your throat as you feel his warm tongue caress the sensitive flesh. His hand moves to your navel, his palm lying flush to your abdomen as he holds you down to the mattress; continuing to glide his tongue over you. As Soobin lifts his lips from you momentarily, the chill of his saliva lingers on your breast, makes you softly squirm in his grasp.

He move to the other side of your body, slowly slowly repeating the process as he suckle at your hardened bud ever so gently. But this time, he use his teeth to bite the softest mark onto your nipple; the careful sting pulls your back into an arch. You whimper at the roughness, though it only lasts for a second, and as you process their actions, Soobin begins to trail down from your breasts, moving to the other one. His hands work, reaching down to caress your core which pulse between your thighs.

You try to control yourself as he went lower, to control your body, control the moans begging for release but the moment he place a kiss to your clit, the little control you have begins to slip. He starts gently, a kiss, a soft lick up your entrance, and gets back to give the most careful suckle at your clit. His gentle licks turn into passionate laps as he palce his tongue flat to your clit and allow the pressure of his muscle alone to spark up your spine.

You gasp at the feeling, your hands grip desperately onto the sheets by your sides.

With his hand still placed on your lower belly, Soobin outstretches his fingers towards his mouth latched onto your cunt. His thumb finds its place just above the hood of your clit, as he begin to add to the simulation causing your teeth to sink into your bottom lip. He swirl the wet skin, sucking, intervals of tender kisses in between as he feel you between his lips; as the squelching of his tongue against your soaked entracne takes over the silence of the night.

"You're being such a good girl for me," Soobin kisses the words onto you, "So fucking good." He use his freehand to pull your leg up and over his shoulder, your body willingly at his control. He lift his mouth from you only to place his lips inside of your thight, his fingers still simulating you even with the pause.

You can feel it brewing. The band threathening to snap at any moment. Your pleasure pleading for release as he return to lap at your cunt.

"S-Soobin," you gasp, "Wait, I-" your please turn into tight cries of desperation as they retrieve a smile from Soobin, who listens intently to you moaning his name.

"I know baby," he kisses your clit, his thumb giving you an experimental amount of pressure, "I know baby, you can cum on my tongue. I don't mind."

If it weren't for your orgasm now unleashing inside of you, you possibly would have laughed, but the only thing that comes out of you, among the essence leaking into Soobin's mouth, is the lewd noises breaching the shores of your pleasure. Your hips instinctively push into his mouth as it explodes.

Your legs twitch, faint tremors echoing long after the euphoria crests and slowly ebbs away. Your breath is uneven, your chest rising and falling in shallow pulls as your mind tries to fix itself again. The world feels distant, softened at the edges, but you feel him. You feel Soobin everywhere. You hardly register the trail of his lips scaling their way back up your body, delicate kisses pressed along your stomach, the hollow between your ribs, the curve of your collarbone; until his face hovers just above yours. His breath fans against your lips, warm and even, as though he’s been composed the entire time, despite the flush that paints the high of his cheekbones. And when you meet his eyes —

Adoration. That’s all there is. As though you hung the stars in his sky.

Your fingers, still faintly trembling, reach down to the waistband of his pants, a silent plea building in your chest to return the worship he’s lavished on you. But before you can so much as graze the fabric, his hand wraps gently around your wrist, and moves it away.

“Tonight is about you,” Soobin murmurs, voice low, coaxing you back into ease. A smile, soft and disarming, tugs at the corners of his lips as he dips forward to nuzzle the tip of his nose against yours. “Just think of it as my way to say sorry… for making the prettiest girl wait so long.” His fingers, those long, graceful ones you’ve become so attuned to, sweep gently through your hair, combing it back from your damp forehead as though you were something priceless. His thumb brushes the line of your temple before trailing down the curve of your jaw, feather-light.

You stare back at him, your gaze tender and unwavering, the reflection of your own adoration open across your features. Whatever he sees in your eyes makes something in his expression soften even further.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, his voice dropping as he nestles closer to your side. Instinctively, you open your arms for him, and he slides into the space as though it were carved just for him, his head resting gently against your chest.

“Nothing,” you whisper truthfully, your fingers threading into his soft hair as you tilt your head to study him. Wonder flickers within you like the soft flicker of candlelight, igniting gently as you take in the way the dim glow plays in his irises — deep brown kissed with honey, shadows and softness blending as if the universe itself tried to paint the richest portrait inside his gaze. “You’re beautiful,”

The smile that spreads across his face is breathtaking. His lips curve in that boyish, gentle way that squeezes your heart painfully tight, and then he laughs. Your own smile spills out in response, and soon both your laughs mingle, weaving together in the space between you like spun gold, before your lips find each other’s once more.

You woke with the sunlight brushing gently across your skin, the warmth pooling on the sheets.

His breath is steady against the back of your neck, his chest rising and falling. His arm is still draped over your waist, fingers laced together just under your ribs as if even in sleep, he’s afraid to let go. Every time you shift, even slightly, his hold tightens; subconscious, instinctive. As though his body has decided on its own that you belong nowhere but here. You feel the ghost of his lips at the back of your head again, a soft, unthinking kiss pressed into your hair. And then that murmur that drifted from him throughout the night, something wordless and sweet, as though he was dreaming of you and couldn’t help but let it slip into the waking world.

You are exactly where you’re meant to be.

You blink slowly, everything is softened by the white sheets. Warmth surrounds you, not just from the sun filtering through the windows, but from the comforting weight draped over your back. You shift slowly, turning in his embrace until you’re met with the sight that makes your heart swell.

Choi Soobin.

Your fingertips ghost along the curve of his cheek, feather-light, afraid you might wake him if you touched him too boldly. His skin is soft beneath your hand, still asleep. His lashes rest delicately against his cheekbones, his lips parted slightly, breath deep and even.

“Sleepy Soobin,” you whisper, your thumb brushes along the slope of his cheekbone and, instinctively, he leans into your palm, nuzzling against your touch. The simple action sends a tender ache spiraling through your chest. Your mind drifts back, to the way his hands gripped you with both hunger and patience. To the way his lips worshiped every inch of you. To the way he had cradled you afterward, not letting a single shiver escape him unnoticed, whispering soft words against your skin.

Your eyes drink him in, the soft rise and fall of his chest, the tousled strands of dark hair falling across his forehead. You lean forward, pressing the lightest of kisses on the corner of his mouth. You linger there, breathing him in, letting your lips stay against him like a silent thank-you whispered straight from your heart.

“I don’t think,” you murmur softly against his skin, your lips curving in a smile, “I’ve ever been this happy before.” And as if he heard you even in sleep, his arm around your waist tightens, pulling you closer.

Your phone buzzes. You move quickly, fingers curling around the device as you move yourself out of Soobin’s arms. You sit on the edge of the bed, the cool air brushing against your skin. His shirt hangs loosely off your frame, the fabric soft and saturated with the faint scent of him. You tuck a hand into the hem absentmindedly as you answer. “Hello?” Your voice is hushed.

“Oh, hi. I just wanted to check in about your grandmother. She took her meds.” Hana’s voice comes softly from the other end, the caregiver you’d called last minute yesterday when you weren’t sure you’d make it home in time.

Relief unfurls gently in your chest. “Thank you, Hana,” you murmur, a small smile touching your lips. “I’ll be back in the afternoon.”

There’s a few more exchanged words, small reassurances and thank-yous, before you end the call. The screen dims in your hand, but you don’t move just yet. You glance over your shoulder. He hasn’t stirred, not really, but his brows are slightly furrowed now, as if he noticed the loss of you in his sleep. The sheets dip where you’d been moments ago, and one hand rests, palm open, where your body had once been.

A soft smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. You want to crawl back to him already. But you know you can't.

Setting the phone down, your gaze drifted toward the bedside table. You remembered Soobin opening the drawer last night, tucking away both of your things. You needed your ponytail. You pulled the drawer open.

Your fingers falter for the the first thing you see. You hadn’t meant to intrude. Two large bottles, their labels slightly worn, tucked neatly in the corner of the drawer as if he’d kept them close, yet out of sight.

Sleeping pills.

Your lips press into a thin line as thoughts flicker behind your eyes — how gentle he’d been with you, how steady and warm his gaze had felt, how easily sleep had taken him last night in your arms. And yet… these. Did he take them every day? Your hand brushes over the edge, and finally, you spot your ponytail nestled beside his wristwatch.

You swallow gently, pushing the drawer close.

You hummed softly as you slid the fried eggs onto a white plate, the gentle sizzle fading as you set them down. This place is a wide, unfamiliar kitchen, but somehow your hands had found their routine effortlessly. Turning, you arranged the plate beside the crisp bacon and the golden slices of toasted, buttered bread.

Out of the corner of your eye, the bedroom door creaked open. "Good morning," you called, your voice laced with a smile that turned fully when you saw Soobin, no confusion in his sleepy gaze, no hesitation in his steps. He made a beeline straight to you.

"I didn’t mind it," you replied, breathless with laughter as you tried halfheartedly to nudge him away. But he only shook his head, clutching you tighter, "Come on," you coaxed gently, tilting your head to meet his soft gaze. "Let’s eat."

At just those simple words, he loosened his hold, his hand sliding down to lace his fingers with yours.

“What is it?” Soobin asks softly, voice in curiosity as he chews his food. His eyes catching the question behind your gaze. “I did tell you… you can ask me anything, remember?”

You nod, your fork slowly tracing circles on the edge of your plate. “Yes…” You swallow, “I don’t mean to pry, I really don’t. I just… I just wanted to ask if you take those pills every day?”

He nods slowly. “I do,” he admits. “I’ve always had trouble sleeping.” Your lips part to speak, but before you can, he sets his fork down and leans in, elbows resting on the table as his hand slides gently over yours. His thumb brushes over your knuckles. “But last night…” A faint smile curls the corner of his lips,“Last night, I didn’t even think about them. I didn’t need them.” His voice drops, “You were here.”

Sitting at that table, sharing breakfast, you felt like you were learning him in layers, like pages of a book gently unfolding for you. You already had your suspicions the moment you first met Soobin. The cut of his clothes, the sleek car he drove; they all whispered of a life far from ordinary. But hearing it from his lips, hearing him confess that he was set to inherit and run an entire empire, sent a quiet shiver up your spine. A chaebol. How had someone like you managed to cross paths, let alone hearts, with someone like him?

He spoke openly, though gently, about the burden he had carried since he was just a teenager. How sleep had long been a stranger to him. How those pills had been his quiet crutch in the endless swirl of expectations, decisions, and responsibilities that clouded his nights. You tried your best to absorb every word. Soobin told you how he had found you captivating from the very first moment he saw you — how, despite that, he never had the courage to approach you.

It was unclear why he trusted you so deeply, why he felt safe enough to share such memories about his sister’s pain and the misplaced guilt he carried on his shoulders. But he did. He let you in. The shadows in his expression melted the moment you leaned in, your lips pressing a soft, reassuring kiss to his and your arms curling gently around him. Maybe that was why. Maybe you were his perfect match. You were the one brave enough to ask him out first; unknowing then, but somehow sensing what held him back.

You learned more little things about him that morning too. How he often misplaced his watch because he’d take it off absentmindedly and forget where he’d set it. How he liked his coffee with an extra spoon of sugar and a generous pour of creamer, because despite everything, Soobin had a sweet tooth.

And somehow, every one of these small pieces only made you fall for him more.

“I can’t wait to get back and see you,” his voice comes gently through the phone, smooth and warm like a whisper against your ear. “Just three more days, and I’ll be back. Okay?”.

“Okay,” you breathe, your voice softer than you intend. “Just make sure you’re eating well, alright?” You swallow gently, a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “I’ll see you soon.”

His laugh drifts back to you, honey-sweet and effortless. You miss him already. “Okay, baby.”

And just like that, the line clicks silent.

You move quietly around your shop, fingers trailing along the shelves, straightening small displays here and there. You smile to yourself, a small, private thing, as memories of the past few days float to the surface. His touch. His laugh. Everything lately had felt… right. Almost effortlessly so.

The soft chime of the doorbell rings out, pulling you back to the present.

“Welcome,” you call, your gaze lifts and locks instantly with a pair of sharp, assessing eyes. A woman stands there, immaculately dressed, her age maybe in her fifties, though the confidence she wears makes her seem ageless somehow.

Her eyes sweep over you unblinking, as though weighing you against some invisible scale. “Are you the woman seeing my son?” A chill skips down your spine.

“Pack your things up,” she says crisply, her gaze drifting coolly over the small, carefully curated space of your shop. Her lips twitch, close enough to make your stomach twist. “Come have lunch with me.”

You blink, thrown off balance, your heartbeat picking up beneath your ribs. This… wasn’t what you’d expected today. “Uh—yes, ma’am,” you say, trying to gather yourself.

Your fingers twitch on your lap as you lower your gaze, lashes casting shadows over your cheeks. The seat beneath you feels too plush, too stiff all at once, as if you don’t quite belong in it. You’re somewhere deep inside this towering glass building — a restaurant so vast and pristine it feels like even your breath is too loud for the space. You try to inhale quietly, chest tight, as Soobin’s mother sits across from you, commanding the room with a presence that doesn’t falter.

You watched, silent, as she spoke crisply to the waiter. Her tone left no room for correction, no cracks for uncertainty to slip through. She didn’t ask what you’d like. She didn’t ask if salad was to your taste. She simply ordered it for you without sparing you a glance — as though she already knew what you should eat, or perhaps decided it didn’t matter.

The clink of glassware is sharp, and you jump slightly when she clears her throat. Slowly, reluctantly, you lift your eyes to meet hers. Her gaze is steady, dark and searching, the sort that makes you feel like you’re being turned inside out with just a look.

“What do you want—”

"Mother," a new voice drifts into the space; light, melodic. You turn instinctively, and there she stands: a woman so strikingly beautiful it’s impossible to mistake the relation. The soft curve of her jaw, the familiar gentle slope of her nose, she carries pieces of Soobin effortlessly in her features.

She moves toward the table with a grace that makes the heavy atmosphere ease, as though her very presence carries warmth where there was only frost before. Soobin’s mother’s stern face softens, her posture loosening subtly for the first time since you sat down and it’s clear this new woman holds sway over her in ways no one else has managed thus far.

The sincerity in her voice disarms you. It feels like exhaling after holding your breath for too long, like finding a familiar light in a room full of shadows. Warm. Genuine.

“Th-thank you,” you murmur, voice small as your gaze drops shyly to your lap. The elegance she carries so effortlessly makes you acutely aware of every inch of yourself; of your softness, your simplicity. You steal a glance upward as she turns away, leaning toward her mother, her voice soft and fluid as she starts to recount her day.

Their hair, not a strand out of place, styled with a polish that speaks of salons you’ve never stepped foot in. The fine lines of their blouses, their tailored cuts, fabrics that drape as if stitched to their skin. Even their nails is perfectly shaped, coated in shades that gleam soft and subtle, unchipped. Their handbags resting beside them glint of understated luxury, the kind of leather that never creases, the kind of detail you notice only when you’ve never had it.

Your gaze falls to your skirt — the one you had sewn with patient hands from fabric you bargained for at the market’s edge. You’d chosen the material carefully, pieced it together with love, made it yours. But here… it feels smaller somehow. Less. You smooth your palms over your knees.

How long will you have to sit in moments like this? How long will you have to feel the weight of difference settle like a stone in your chest? The gap between their world and yours feels so wide it burns.

You don’t belong here.

You hadn’t even managed to lift your fork, “How old are you?” Soobin’s mother asked.

“Twenty-three,” you murmured, your tongue thick in your mouth. The number sounded too small as soon as it left you.

Her lips tugged downward. “Five years younger than him. Too young.” A pause, heavy. “Education status? What of your family?”

You swallowed hard. “I’m living with my grandmother.”

Her brow arched, unimpressed. “Since when?” — “Since I was a child.”

The sting behind your eyes burned fast. You blinked hard, but it did nothing to wash it away. You felt small, smaller than you ever thought you could shrink.

“Mother,” Soobin’s sister snapped, her voice tight with disbelief. You lifted your gaze to her, grateful and ashamed all at once. Her expression was shocked that her mother had gone that far.

But then the next blow landed. “Do you even know there’s a girl who’s supposed to marry him?” Her tone dropped, dripping with disdain as if she wanted to watch you crumble beneath it.

“Mom, stop it. Now.” Soobin’s sister, again. Firmer this time.

Your lips parted to answer — to say something, anything — but all that came out was fragile and thin. “We… we haven’t talked about it.” It was all you could manage. Your voice cracked just enough to make the shame crawl higher up your throat. Your chair scraped against the floor softly as you rose, every inch of your body stiff and burning. You forced a tight smile that felt more like a grimace. “Excuse me… I’ll just take the bathroom.”

Your legs carried you away before the first tear slipped free.

You gripped the sink’s edge so hard your knuckles ached, head bowed as silent sobs racked through your chest. You couldn’t catch your breath. Couldn’t hold it together long enough to even pretend you belonged here. Your reflection in the mirror blurred behind the sheen of tears; eyes glassy, cheeks flushed, lips trembling. Small. Out of place. A girl trying to fit in.

Of course she was right. You’d always known it, hadn’t you? You were someone born from absence. A child left behind by two people who couldn’t even stay for you, much less for each other. You’d spent so long tucking that truth away, convincing yourself. His mother didn’t have to scream to shatter you.

You wiped at your face uselessly, but the tears kept slipping, warm and bitter down your jaw. You didn’t want to ruin what Soobin had left with his mother, thin and cracked as it might be. You’d seen the strain in his eyes before when he spoke of her. You’d heard the weight when he talked about duty, legacy, responsibility; but you wouldn’t be the reason he chose sides. Maybe everything really had just been a dream. And maybe now…maybe it was time to wake up.

The door creaks open, and you flinch too late to hide the tears streaking your cheeks.

Soobin’s sister.

Her expression crumbles the second she sees you. “Oh, honey.” Her voice is soft, almost breaking, and before you can turn away or gather yourself, she’s already crossing the room. You shake your head, a weak protest caught in your throat, but it falls apart the second her arms wrap around you. You don’t mean to collapse, but you do. Your body folds into hers, trembling, your fingers clutching at the fabric of her coat.

“I’m so sorry,” she breathes against your temple, her voice rawer now, as if she can feel even a fraction of what’s tearing through you.

Your chest hurts. You can’t speak. You don’t trust your own voice not to shatter the second you try. So you just stand there, breathing uneven, tears soaking the front of her blouse.

“I came here because I heard she’d come after you the moment Soobin flew out for his trip,” she continues, “And about that woman… or whatever arrangement that was, Soobin never met her. Not even once. That was all our mother’s doing. If you want the truth, it’s best you hear it straight from him, hm?” Your fingers curl tighter around the handkerchief.

“I… I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice frayed at the edges, the apology slipping out even though you aren’t sure what you’re apologizing for— being here, being too small for this world, for falling for someone you were never supposed to have?

“Don’t be,” she says softly, her lips tugging into a smile. "You’ve done nothing wrong."

She reaches to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “You can go home. I’ll handle her,” she promises. “I’ll make sure she doesn’t come near you again, not until Soobin gets back and sorts all of this out himself.”

Your throat tightens again, “Why?” The word falls out of you in a whisper. “Why are you doing all of this?”

“Soobin deserves to be happy,” she says, there's a glisten in her eyes. “And you… you make him happy.”

You sit still, hands folded tightly in your lap, nails pressing crescents into your skin as the hum of the engine vibrates beneath you. Through the window’s glass, blurred by your uneven breaths, you see them, Soobin’s sister and her husband.

Choi Beomgyu.

Even from here, even without sound, it’s clear. The way his eyes search hers, soft and intent. The way his hand brushes her cheek, tender and unhurried. And then, his palm drifts lower, resting on the curve of her stomach.

Your breath catches, an involuntary gasp escaping from your lips. You hadn’t noticed it before, maybe because you’d been too wrapped in your own thoughts, but there it is now; the small, rounded swell of her belly beneath her dress.

She’s pregnant.

Your eyes dart away. It sinks in heavier than you expect—the contrast of it. The weight of what you felt in that restaurant still gnawing at your ribs. You swallow hard, blinking fast. You shouldn’t be jealous. Not of them, not of their certainty, not of the way they fit together. You curl your fingers tighter.

Beomgyu slides into the driver’s seat, his eyes flicker to you in the rearview mirror, not invasive. “You okay?” His voice is gentle, low.

You swallow past the knot tightening in your throat. “Yes.”

He doesn’t press. He just nods once, slow, and leans back in his seat. His hands rest on the wheel but he doesn’t start the car. Instead, his eyes shift toward the building. You follow his line of sight and see her— his wife, walking toward the entrance.

Only then does he release a small breath and turn the key in the ignition. The car starts.

You've never seen a love so whole.

You’d finally made peace with it all, to speak to Soobin when he returned. His sister’s promise had held true; his mother hadn’t darkened your doorstep again. For once, the silence felt like safety.

Only one more day. Just one, and he’d be back.

The sharp chime of the door snapped through the quiet. You turned instinctively, forcing a smile onto your lips out of habit.

Standing there was a woman. “Good morning,” you greeted softly, stepping behind the counter, trying to keep your hands steady.

“You’re Y/N, right?” Your stomach flipped, hands instantly cold. What is it this time?

“Yes,” you answered carefully, guarded. “How can I help you?”

She took a step closer, “I’m Aera,” she said smoothly, not a trace of hesitation. “Soon to be Soobin’s fiancée.”

Your breath stuttered. The smile fell clean from your lips. “I’m sorry… what—”

“His mother told me about you.” The words barely registered before the woman dropped to her knees in front of you. The motion was so sudden, so desperate, your breath caught in your throat and your eyes went wide.

“Please…” her voice cracked as she folded her hands together, her head bowed low in a way that looked almost unnatural for someone like her; pristine, polished, composed. But here she was. Crumbling. “Please tell him to accept the proposal.”

Your chest constricted painfully. “No, no, stand up, you don’t have to,”

But she shook her head sharply, her shoulders trembling. Tears clung to her lashes, heavy and raw. “I’ll let you have everything you want. You can still be with him .I don’t care. I’ll just marry him in name. I’ll stay in a different room. A different house, even. I won’t touch him. Our family… we need his. Please, I’m begging you.” Her voice broke entirely on that last word.

Even she knew. Even she understood what his mother refused to admit; his heart was already in your hands.

You walk to the building, each step echoing in your chest. The elevator hums softly as you press the button, your reflection in the mirrored doors a stranger to you. When it finally dings open, you step out into the hallway.

Your hand hovers over the doorbell of his home. You take a breath and press the button. And then you wait.

You run over the speeches you carved into your heart all day, I’m sorry, but we need to break up. I’m sorry, I can’t do this anymore. But the moment the door opens, it all disintegrates.

He stands there, and for a split second, it’s as if everything stills. His eyes meet yours, rimmed with exhaustion so deep it settles into the lines of his face. “I’ve been waiting for you, sweetheart.” His voice is soft. Almost fragile.

And before you can think, before you can remember the careful goodbye you rehearsed a thousand times, he reaches for you.His fingers curl around your arms, and he pulls you into him. Into the chest that has always felt like home.

The door clicks shut behind you.

“Soobin, I—” Your voice barely breaks through the air before it’s swallowed by the heat of him; his lips finding the curve of your neck, hot and hurried, like a man starved. His body crowds yours effortlessly, the breadth of him making you feel small. His hands, large, trembling with restraint digs firmly on your waist.

“I fucking missed your voice,” he breathes against your skin, “I fucking missed you… I couldn’t even sleep.”

Your throat tightens, a lump clawing higher and higher as your heart caves in on itself. Coward. That’s what it feels like. Your heart, shrinking, curling away from what you came here to say. Because how could you speak of endings when he’s here, clinging to you like this? When he holds you like you were his last hope?

“I need you, baby,” he murmurs, his fingers slide to your blouse, undoing the buttons one by one, slower than his breath, slower than the pounding of your pulse against your ribs. His knuckles brush against your skin, “Did you miss me?”

You open your mouth. The truth swells painfully, desperate to tear out. I did. I missed you more than you’ll ever know. But all you manage is a breathless, broken, “I—”

His hot mouth sucks your nipple. “…Yes.”

It’s all a blur — his hands, his mouth, the way he whispered your name. You don’t remember how the clothes came off, how the sheets tangled beneath your bodies. You only remember the weight of him, the heat of his skin, and the soft drag of his lips along your body that made your breath catch.

The sharp stretch, the slow push of him sinking into you. Tears spill before you even realize they’re falling. It isn’t the pain that makes you cry. It’s the ache in your chest, the way your heart splits in two at the sight of him — Soobin, tired and unraveling, still so gentle. You were too scared to say no. Not because you didn’t want him, but because you did. Too much. You craved to erase the exhaustion from his eyes, even if it was only for one night.

Maybe you were fooling yourself into thinking you were giving something to him, when really, you were trying to steal one last piece of him for yourself.

His brow furrows as he stills inside you, the concern written all over his face. His thumbs swipe at your damp cheeks, his lips brushing against your skin in soft, frantic kisses. “Did that hurt? What’s wrong?”

You force a breath through the tightness in your throat, eyes locking on his, “No,” you manage to choke out, your voice cracking. Your hand comes up to cradle his cheek, thumb brushing the soft curve of his under-eye, tracing the shadows you wish you could take away. You swallow the sob clawing at your chest, and say it. You have to say it. Even if it’s the last time.

“I— I just love you.” His lips part slightly at your confession. His breath stutters, and something raw flickers behind his gaze; wonder, disbelief. His whole body goes still as if those words rooted him to the earth. “I love you, Soobin.”

"I love you. I fucking love you."

Warm hands find your waist, circling you with a gentle pull, long fingers tracing slow, reverent patterns across your bare skin. A soft squeeze follows, then warm, featherlight kisses trail from your neck to your ear, each one taking time to settle on your skin. Your name slips from his lips, barely more than a breath, before he tucks himself closer, body melting into yours.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” he murmurs, “You’ve been asleep so long, I’m starting to miss you.”

You exhale a soft huff, but there’s no real protest in it. Just the lazy stretch of your arm as you roll toward him, pressing your face into the curve of his neck where he smells like him. Your voice comes out muffled. “Let’s stay like this for five more minutes.”

A smile ghosts against your temple. His hand slides to your lower back, pulling you impossibly closer. “Okay,”

You finally peeled yourself from the bed, soft sheets still warm with sleep and the weight of him. He trailed after you, tall and shadowing your every move around the kitchen as the morning light spilled in. You couldn’t help it, your fingers found his constantly. On his wrist as he buttered toast, laced with his as you poured coffee, curled around his as you sat across from him at the table. And for the first time, you saw it clearly: the way Soobin’s cheeks flushed pink under the weight of your affection, his gaze flickering down, shy and boyish, every time you touched him like you couldn’t stop.

Now, he stands by the mirror, freshly showered, crisp shirt hugging broad shoulders, hair damp and curling just a little at the edges. You’re sitting on the edge of his bed, watching him. He wanted you to stay here, in his penthouse. Wanted you here waiting when he came home.

You rise when you see him fumble with his tie, long fingers struggling with the knot. “Let me,” you say softly. Your fingertips brush against his as you take over, feeling the steady thrum of his pulse beneath his skin. He watches you, head tilted down, eyes steady and soft, drinking in every precise movement as you fold and tug the silk into place.

His hand comes up to cradle your cheek, “Thank you, baby,” he murmurs. He leans in, scattering kisses across your face — your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, your lips — each one light and full of that unshakable, boyish smile of his.

You walk him to the elevator, bare feet padding softly on the cool floor. He steps inside, glances back at you, and lifts his hand in a wave; a grin stretching wide, something childlike and unguarded lighting up his whole face.

All while everything was breaking your heart.

You moved quietly through his home. The morning hush wrapped around you like something delicate and suffocating all at once. You folded his clothes with shaking hands, smoothing out every crease, tucking each piece into its rightful place as if order could somehow soften what you were about to break.

His watch. You found it lying carelessly on the counter where he always forgot it. You fixed it gently onto the shelf beside his cufflinks and rings, aligning everything just so, because you knew he liked it neat, even if he never said it out loud. It was small, but you wanted to leave it perfect for him.

The kitchen was next. Your movements felt numb now, mechanical. You prepared everything the way he loved it: coffee beans ground just right, the sugar jar filled, the creamer where it belonged. You wrote it all down on a small scrap of paper; the exact way you made it for him, step by step and pressed the note beside the kettle. Your handwriting blurred through your tears, but you forced yourself to keep writing.

You slowly, wrote your goodbye.

"Nana, this is your new room, okay?" Your voice is soft, careful not to crack as you push the door open, guiding her slowly inside. "It’s a little different, but we’ll figure it out. I’ll make sure we’re alright."

You smile, or something close to it, when she nods faintly, her eyes drifting over the unfamiliar space. The pale walls, the narrow window, the worn bed frame. None of it felt like home yet, but it had to be. You’d make it be.

Her fingers brushed against the edge of the dresser as she turned to you. "Why did we move so suddenly?"

You swallowed around the lump in your throat. "Oh," you answered lightly, "because we had to."

Your chest tightened when her gaze lingered on you a beat longer, as if peeling back layers you didn’t want exposed. And then, almost absently, she asked, "How about your man?"

You froze. The air seemed thinner, sharper. You weren’t even sure she remembered him clearly — just a distant echo of the day Soobin had shown up with that gentle smile, introducing himself with careful politeness.

"I… I broke up with him," you whispered. She didn’t react at first. Just nodded quietly, turning to sit on the edge of her bed. Her small frame curved gently as she smoothed the blanket beneath her hands, her movements slow and methodical.

You took a step back toward the doorway, trying to breathe steady. Trying not to crumble in front of her. But then, just as she rose again to cross the room, her voice drifted back to you. "Love will not fail," she murmured. "If it fails… it’s not love."

It was as if you’d just torn your own heart out with your bare hands.

Love will not fail. If it fails, it’s not love.

It had been days since you moved.

And still, no matter how many boxes you unpacked, no matter how carefully you folded your grandmother’s cardigans into drawers or wiped down every surface, this place didn’t breathe like the home you left behind.

The sky hadn't lightened once since you arrived. It hung heavy and bruised from dawn to dusk, a slate-colored weight pressing down on everything. You couldn’t remember the last time you saw sunlight crack through.

And then, the rain came.

You noticed it first in the shift of the wind. A few drops scattered across the concrete, and then it broke open all at once. Panic seized you as your mind jumped to the laundry. The sheets you’d washed them early this morning and hung them in the front of your lawn, hoping they'd dry before nightfall.

You bolted outside, breath shallow, feet slipping slightly against the wet pavement. Cold droplets clung to your hair, running down the line of your neck, soaking through your shoulders. Your fingers fumbled over the clothesline as you yanked the white sheets down frantically, heart racing as you tried to save what little you had.

And then — Your body stilled. Your hands slackened on the fabric as your gaze caught on a figure standing just past the fence.

For a moment, the rain softened around you, every sound falling away except the ragged beat of your own heart breaking all over again.

Choi Soobin’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles pale under the dim wash of the dashboard lights. His eyes flicked from one worn street sign to the next, cataloguing every turn, every corner, like a man tracing the edges of an old wound. Every so often, he let the car slow to a crawl. Stared a little too long at places that meant nothing to him, but might have meant everything to you.

It’s the town, the one his investigator pointed him to. The small, quiet town where the woman who tore through his world had disappeared into without a trace but with every piece of him still in her hands.

He’d already gone over everything twice. No. Three times. He couldn’t remember anymore. His chest felt tight, like something was sitting on it and daring him to breathe around the weight. He wondered if he should start all over tomorrow. Sweep the streets again. Retrace the steps he didn’t even know you'd taken.

Without meaning to, Soobin’s hands turned the wheel, guiding him down a road he’d circled too many times to count. Muscle memory, maybe. He didn’t know why he kept coming back.

The first drops of rain tapped against the windshield, soft and uncertain, like the sky hadn’t made up its mind yet. He let out a breath and dragged a hand down his face. He glanced right, thinking to turn back, to call it for the night. But then he saw it.

A figure cutting through the field, darting between rows of white laundry sheets billowing in the wind like ghosts.

He didn’t think. His door was open before he could catch the impulse, the car engine still on behind him as he bolted forward. He didn’t even shut the door. His feet hit the wet grass hard, slipping a little, but he kept running. Fast. Desperate. Like if he blinked, even for a heartbeat, you might vanish.

The way you vanished from his life when he turned his back.

If he’d stayed that day. If he’d ignored the meeting, called in sick, shut the world out, would you still be here now?

He saw you stumble back. Your shoulders tensed, then you turned to escape. And just like that, the breath punched out of his lungs. His heart cracked against his ribs, like thunder rolling too close to the ground. Panic clawed at his throat. His feet wouldn’t move fast enough. So he did the only thing left.

He called your name. Louder than he meant to. He shouted it. Frantic. You didn’t move at first. Just stared at him across the field, rain threading through your hair, clinging to your skin. When you spoke, your voice was sharp.

“Why are you here?” You asked, each word flung like stones across the space between you. Your jaw clenched. “Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I tell you I don’t want you anymore?”

Choi Soobin stares at you, the glisten in his eyes that you've come to know whispers his truth. He's now infront of you, eyes sweeping your face.

The storm isn’t just around him; it’s inside him, bleeding into the tremble of his hands as he reach and clutch your wrists, desperate. Rain seeps through his clothes, slides down his skin, but he doesn’t flinch. He just looks at you.

Because you're the only thing keeping him standing.

“I said—”

“Don’t lie to me!” The words snapped harder than he wanted, frustration cracking wide open in his chest. His hands curled into fists at his sides, not in anger but in helplessness. “Don’t make me feel crazy. Don’t make me feel stupid. My sister told me everything, Y/N. I know. I know everything.”

Your lips parted, but nothing came out. Your shoulders caved, the last of your defenses buckling under the weight of it all.

“I’m not fit for your world,” you choked, voice splintering as tears blurred your vision. Your hands fell limp at your sides, fingers tangled in the thin fabric of the laundry you’d long forgotten.

“I don’t have anything. I hardly even have myself,” you whispered, your face crumpling like it hurt to say the truth out loud. “And you — you deserve the world. You deserve more than someone who can’t even keep her life straight.”

Soobin’s chest hollowed at the sight of you crumbling in front of him. He didn’t care about the rain, or the mud soaking through his shoes, or the ache in his lungs. There was only one thing left he wanted to do. Fall to his knees if he had to. Beg, if that’s what it took. Beg for you. Beg for everything.

“I don’t want the world.” His eyes locked on yours, fierce and aching. “I never wanted any of that. Not once. I just… I just want you.”

His breath shuddered out, shaky, as if saying it hurt and healed him all at once. “I want to live with you. To grow old with you. To have your children. To wake up next to you for the rest of my life.” His words stumbled, his throat thick with the burn of unshed tears, but he didn’t stop.

Before you could slip farther away, Soobin reached for you, his arms wrapped tight around you, pulling you into his chest. His hand cradled the back of your head, fingers threading into your damp hair with a gentleness that almost broke you on the spot. His heartbeat thundered against your cheek.

“Don’t leave me,” he whispered, voice cracking on the plea. “Please, baby. Not when I finally found you. Not when all I want… is to spend the rest of my life with you.”

He felt you shift in his hold, felt your hands press against his chest like you were about to push him away. His stomach dropped but he didn’t let go. He couldn’t.

“I love you.” The words came out hoarse, frayed at the edges. Honest in a way that stripped him bare. He felt you still. The tension in your shoulders faltered. Slowly, slowly, you softened against him, all the walls you’d been gripping so tightly started to crumble in his arms.

You stopped pulling away this time.

“I love you,” he breathed again. His lips brushed against your temple, “I’ll fix everything for us. I swear it. You just have to trust me, baby. Please. Just trust me.”

He felt your arms loosen, the fight in them dissolving. Softening, giving your surrender — just as the rain itself began to ease, falling gentler, as though the sky had finally tired too. A breath punched out of his chest, relief so fierce it almost dropped him to his knees. His arms closed tighter around you, cradling you against him like he could tuck you safely inside his ribs, where nothing could ever reach you again.

When would he ever get a moment like this again?

A chance like this? To meet his soulmate. To meet the one person who could read the shadows behind his smile before he even noticed they were there. Who knew him better than he had ever dared to know himself.

What were the odds? If he hadn’t driven down that street that day. If he hadn’t wandered into your little flower shop with its peeling paint and sunlight pooling across wooden counters. If he hadn’t looked up and seen you and not known, right then, that he’d nearly lived his life without finding his missing half. And what were the chances you would’ve seen him?

He shuddered, blinking hard against the burn behind his eyes. His throat tightened as he breathed you in, the faint trace of wildflowers still clinging to your skin like memory. His heart clenched.

The odds of this… of you… out of all the people, all the cities, all the winding chances and missed timings, was one in a million.

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