#so she's first and everyone else is just an echo

[cbeargyu]

how about childhood friends beomgyu to enemies to lovers 🤗

because of you

summary: you and beomgyu were never meant to be more than enemies — or so everyone thought. but one fake relationship, one wedding, and one jealous ex later, everything starts to unravel. somewhere between pretending and falling, the lines blur… and your heart forgets it’s all supposed to be fake.

pairing: beomgyu x fem!reader

genre: childhood friends to enemies to lovers, fake dating, slow burn, romance, fluff, a sprinkle of angst.

warnings: language, emotional vulnerability, mentions of past heartbreak, very soft kissing scenes, a little bit of yearning, friends reacting in shock.

wc: 14,3k

notes: omg i LOVED this request!! i’d been playing with the idea of fake dating with beomgyu for a while, and when this anon slid in with this concept, i instantly knew i had to merge both ideas 😭💕 i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i loved writing it <3

every time I trade my soul because of you, if you wanna be in my way because of me.

you don’t remember the exact moment beomgyu stopped being your best friend.

maybe it was a gradual thing. maybe it was one of those silent transitions, like the seasons changing in slow motion—summer bleeding into fall before you ever notice the chill in the air. or maybe it was a single instant, sharp and cruel, a rupture too quick to process in real time.

what you do remember is this: there was a time when choi beomgyu was your favorite person in the world. he was the loud laughter that echoed down the elementary school hallways, the warm hand that always reached for yours first during class trips, the boy who biked to your house even when it was raining just to drop off the pencil case you left behind. the one who knew your favorite candy, the stories you told yourself to fall asleep, the secrets you never said out loud to anyone else. he knew all of you. and back then, that meant everything.

you were inseparable. like people said it with a laugh, like it was cute how he always waited for you after class, how you saved a seat for him at lunch, how you shared snacks and whispered answers during tests. you didn’t care about what people said. beomgyu was your home. he was loud and goofy and a little chaotic, always pulling you into mischief, but he was yours. and you were his.

until middle school.

until popularity started to matter. until you realized that not everyone thought your closeness was endearing. especially not son hyejoo.

you’d heard the rumors about her before you ever exchanged words. she was the kind of girl who could make or break your social life with a single look. and somehow—of course—beomgyu got hers. she liked him. or maybe it was the idea of him: the boy with the easy smile, the boy people listened to, the boy who had potential. and he liked that she liked him. you watched it happen in real time—how he started sitting with her group, how he stopped waiting for you after class, how he laughed louder when he was with them, as if to prove something.

you didn’t say anything the first time he ignored you in the hallway. you didn’t say anything the second time either. but you started to feel it. the ache. the bitterness.

then came the cafeteria incident.

you can still feel the sickly-sweet stickiness of the juice dripping down your hair, soaking into your clothes, the weight of a thousand eyes on you as the sound of laughter exploded like fireworks.

"oops," hyejoo had said, her voice saccharine, lips curled into a smirk. "maybe watch where you're going next time."

you hadn’t touched her. you knew it. she knew it. everyone knew it. but no one said anything.

and beomgyu—beomgyu was right there. just a few feet away. sitting at the table with lee jeno, yang jeongin, kang yeosang, yoo jimin, shin ryujin, and shim jayoon. they were all laughing. pointing. except him.

he didn’t laugh.

he just watched you. eyes unreadable. lips in a tight line.

and then he turned away.

he... turned away...

that was the moment, you think.

not when he stopped being your friend— but when he proved he didn’t want to be.

you walked out of that cafeteria drenched and humiliated, but you didn’t cry. you didn’t give them that. what you gave them instead was silence.

you stopped acknowledging him. on the street. at school. in every space where your lives used to overlap.

it was almost laughable, how fate seemed to enjoy your misery. you ended up at the same high school, the same class, even seated next to each other on the very first day.

“i’d like to request a seat change,” you said, before the teacher even finished the roll call. your voice was steady. clear. “i don’t want to sit next to him.”

the class went silent. you could feel the way everyone stared, eyes flicking between you and beomgyu like they were waiting for a scandal to erupt.

kim chaewon, ever the peacemaker, raised her hand with a soft smile. “i can switch with her, if that’s okay.”

and just like that, you moved a few seats behind him.

he didn’t say anything.

he didn’t need to.

the coldness in his posture said it all. the tension. the subtle way he avoided your gaze, like your very existence annoyed him. and maybe it did. maybe he hated you now, too.

no one ever asked for details. no one really wanted the truth. they were satisfied with your vague, bitter shrugs and dry mutters of “he’s just a shitty person.”

and maybe he was. but he wasn’t always.

and maybe that’s what hurt the most.

you didn’t hate beomgyu because he was cruel.

you hated him because he used to be kind.

you hated him because he knew you better than anyone else ever had— and still chose to become a stranger.

you hadn’t seen it coming—university.

you didn’t expect that of all the people in the world, of all the schools, dorms, and friend groups, life would throw choi fucking beomgyu back into your orbit like some cruel joke written by a bored god.

you were here to reinvent yourself. to study psychology, bury yourself in theory and case studies, figure out how minds worked—maybe even understand why people hurt others for no reason. why best friends stopped being best friends. and beomgyu... you assumed he’d vanish with the rest of your high school nightmares.

but no. the universe, in all its twisted humor, made sure you ended up not just in the same university, but tangled in overlapping circles.

he majored in music. of course he did. you remembered how his face lit up in elementary school when he talked about melodies and chords, how his fingers clumsily pressed the keys of the tiny keyboard his dad gave him—only ever managing to play twinkle, twinkle, little star on loop, again and again until it was stuck in your head for days. in middle school, before everything went to shit, you’d heard whispers that he was learning guitar.

but after that—after he became someone else—you stopped caring. whether he mastered guitar or became a world-famous composer, it didn’t matter. he was nothing to you. just a shadow in your past. a ghost of someone who didn’t deserve to occupy your thoughts.

still, there he was. loud laughter across the quad. cigarette tucked behind his ear. headphones always hanging from his neck like an accessory. and worst of all, always around.

because the first friends you made in your dorm—soobin and yeonjun—just happened to be close to him. not best friendsclose, but hang-out-every-weekend close. and suddenly, your peaceful, beomgyu-free college fantasy went up in smoke.

you didn’t avoid him. no. that would’ve given him power. instead, you pretended like he didn’t exist. like he was air. stale, annoying air you occasionally had to breathe in. when he entered the room, you didn’t flinch. when he laughed too loud, you rolled your eyes. and when he spoke, you replied with thinly veiled sarcasm, the kind that made soobin squirm and yeonjun whistle through his teeth.

“what’s up with you two?” soobin asked once after beomgyu left a movie night early, mumbling something about a project. you didn’t answer. just shrugged and kept scrolling through your phone.

they didn’t push.

they could feel the tension. everyone could.

until that one night—the fraternity party.

you weren’t even going to go. but yeonjun begged. promised cheap drinks and good music and "no drama, babe, just fun."

liar.

you ended up on the worn-down leather couch in the corner of the frat house, a red solo cup in your hand, with your legs draped lazily over chaewon’s lap, head already buzzing. soobin was next to you, half-listening to a story yeonjun was telling about a disastrous tinder date, as you and the others fell into another round of drunk-university-party conversations.

chaewon—your anchor in the chaos of young adulthood—was laughing at what yeonjun had just said, cheeks flushed from the wine coolers she’d been sipping since you arrived. she nudged your thigh.

“this is kinda fun,” she murmured with a grin, eyes scanning the room. “it’s nice seeing you not buried in your notes or complaining about freud for once.”

“freud’s a menace,” you replied, deadpan. “but yeah, i guess... this is tolerable.”

soobin was perched on the arm of the couch beside yeonjun, who was starting to look glazed over, his hand swirling his drink like it held the answers to life.

and of course, it was only a matter of time before the conversation turned.

“okay, okay, but like...” yeonjun leaned in closer, squinting at you with exaggerated suspicion. “you still haven’t told us why you and beomgyu are always at each other’s throats.”

soobin raised his brows in agreement, shifting a little to face you.

“yeah, it’s like... one second he walks into a room and you’re suddenly the queen of sarcasm and shade. the tension is insane. you used to date or something?”

you groaned, letting your head fall back against the couch. “ugh. no. gross.”

“so what then?” yeonjun pushed, his tone teasing but curious.

chaewon chuckled softly. “i only know bits and pieces,” she added, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “she never really talks about it. anytime i asked in high school, she’d change the subject or pretend she didn’t hear me.”

you glanced at her. she wasn’t judging, just watching you carefully, giving you room if you wanted to take it.

and maybe it was the beer. maybe it was the fact that you were tired of the weird elephant always stomping through every hangout. or maybe it was because you were starting to realize that talking about it didn’t make it any less true.

so you shrugged, sitting up a little straighter, cup resting on your knee.

“we used to be friends,” you said simply. “like... actual friends. elementary school, mostly. did everything together. hung out after school. we’d sneak snacks into each other’s backpacks. he even let me write lyrics for the dumb little songs he made up when he first got that keyboard from his dad.”

chaewon blinked, surprised. soobin leaned in.

you continued, voice steady but colder now.

“but somewhere along the way—middle school, i think—he decided he wanted to be cool. and being cool meant hanging out with the kids who loved making my life miserable. the ones who called me names, who shoved my books off my desk, who made fun of how i dressed or talked or existed. and beomgyu... he laughed with them. he chose them.”

“damn,” yeonjun muttered, the mood shifting.

“he didn’t even look back,” you added, more to yourself than them. “just... left me there.”

the silence after that was a little too long. not uncomfortable, just heavy.

and then, because life is a master of bad timing, the front door creaked open. laughter spilled in along with a gust of cooler air. and there he was.

beomgyu walked in with that same lazy confidence he always had, hair a little messy, hoodie half-zipped, headphones hanging around his neck like an accessory he never actually used. he spotted your group almost instantly and started walking over.

yeonjun, without missing a beat, raised his hand in greeting and then pointed at him.

“you,” he said, loud and sloppy, a grin tugging at his lips. “we were just talking about you, asshole.”

beomgyu raised an eyebrow, amused. “oh yeah? good things, i hope.”

you didn’t even bother hiding your eye-roll.

“soooo,” yeonjun continued, half-laughing, half-serious, “did you really ditch her to be popular? that’s fucked up, man.”

beomgyu paused for a moment. then, slowly, he walked over and lowered himself onto the empty spot beside soobin, arms crossed over his chest, face unreadable.

“yeah,” he said. “i did.”

chaewon’s eyes darted between you and him, tension curling like smoke in the air.

“i mean,” beomgyu went on, voice cool, “we were kids. kids wanna fit in. kids make stupid decisions. i made mine.”

you scoffed. “you think that excuses it?”

he turned to you, his face carefully blank. “no. i’m just saying... people grow up. some faster than others.”

your jaw clenched. the cup in your hand crinkled slightly from the pressure.

“fuck you,” you said quietly, but not softly.

beomgyu laughed—a dry, humorless sound. “there it is. the victim complex. you’ve always had that down.”

“and you’ve always been a coward,” you snapped back. “you didn’t grow up. you just grew spineless. you couldn’t stand beside someone uncool because you were too scared of being uncool too.”

his eyes flashed then, something dark rising behind them, but he didn’t say anything. just stared.

chaewon’s hand found yours on your lap, grounding you with the gentlest squeeze.

soobin stood abruptly. “i need air.”

yeonjun followed a second later, mumbling something about refilling his drink, clearly regretting starting the whole thing.

and now it was just you and beomgyu on the couch. again.

he leaned back, head resting against the cushion, eyes closed.

“you always did know how to make an entrance,” he murmured.

you stared at him, hating how calm he looked.

“and you always knew how to ruin everything.”

you got up before he could answer.

you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of another comeback. not tonight.

the bathroom was the quietest place you could find. the fan buzzed softly overhead, doing little to clear the air of cigarette smoke and cheap cologne, but at least it was a buffer from the party outside. you sat on the closed toilet lid, your fingers clenched into the fabric of your jeans, heart still drumming a low, steady rhythm of frustration.

chaewon was crouched in front of you, her palms resting gently on your knees, her expression unreadable but calm—always calm, even when you couldn’t be.

“i’m sorry,” she said softly. “i didn’t know it was all... that deep.”

you didn’t answer immediately. the words were stuck behind the knot in your throat.

“i don’t talk about it,” you finally muttered. “not because i don’t remember. because i remember too well.”

chaewon’s lips pressed into a thin line. she didn’t try to hug you, didn’t try to distract you with jokes like others might. she just stayed there, solid and present, like she always did when the world spun too fast around you.

“you were kids,” she said after a beat. “but it doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. it’s okay that it still does.”

you looked at her then. her eyes didn’t pity you—they understood you. and maybe that was what broke something open in your chest, just a little.

“i didn’t need him to defend me. i just needed him to not join them,” you whispered. “and he did.”

chaewon nodded slowly. “that kind of betrayal... it sticks.”

you exhaled shakily. she gave you a moment, then stood and offered her hand. “come on. let’s get some fresh air. you need to breathe somewhere that doesn’t smell like weed and heartbreak.”

you laughed, a short, bitter sound, but you took her hand anyway.

meanwhile, across the house, in a quieter corner near the sliding glass doors, beomgyu stood with a drink in one hand, the other stuffed in his hoodie pocket. he was staring out into the backyard like the answer to the past ten years was hiding behind someone’s half-inflated kiddie pool.

yeonjun walked up beside him, no longer smiling, his drunken haze thinning into something a little more sober, a little more serious.

“i didn’t think you’d admit it,” he said without preamble.

beomgyu didn’t look at him. “wasn’t really a secret, was it?”

yeonjun gave a low snort, but it wasn’t amused. “i mean, yeah. but... shit, man.”

beomgyu took a sip from his drink. “i didn’t come here to fight her. but you stirred the pot.”

yeonjun shrugged. “you made the soup.”

they both stood in silence for a beat, the music thumping from the living room like a heartbeat too loud to ignore.

“you know,” yeonjun added, voice quieter now, “i don’t think she hates you because you were a jerk. i think she hates you because you weren’t—not back then. and losing someone good like that fucks you up.”

beomgyu finally turned his head, meeting his friend’s gaze. his eyes were sharper now, less detached.

“i was scared,” he said, almost too low to hear. “those guys... they made my life hell before they liked me. i thought if i laughed with them, they’d leave me alone. and they did. but i had to choose.”

“and you didn’t choose her.”

“no,” he said, and there was no pride in it. “i didn’t.”

just then, soobin appeared beside them, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his expression strained, like he’d been holding his breath since the moment he walked away.

“sorry,” he muttered. “i had to step out. i... i felt like if i stayed, i’d implode or something.”

yeonjun raised an eyebrow. “you okay?”

soobin nodded, but it looked more like a twitch. “not really. i mean, yeah, but no. fuck. you guys didn’t feel that?”

beomgyu looked down at his cup. “every word.”

“she was shaking,” soobin murmured. “not visibly. but i could tell. she looked like she was holding it all together with a thread.”

yeonjun ran a hand through his hair. “she was.”

the three of them stood in a triangle of shame, regret, and something unspoken that clung to the space between them.

soobin’s voice was the one to cut through it again. “so what now? you gonna keep pretending it didn’t happen, gyu?”

beomgyu didn’t answer right away. then he drained the rest of his drink and muttered, “nah. pretending’s never worked for me.”

yeonjun arched a brow. “what does that mean?”

beomgyu looked up, his gaze locked on the doorway where you’d disappeared minutes before with chaewon.

“it means i’m not done with this. not by a long shot.”

i'm gonna be fine, you left alone can i heal the wounds myself?

it happened a few days later, during a gray tuesday that smelled like leftover rain and wet concrete. you’d just finished a psychology lab with chaewon and were walking back toward the dorms alone, hoodie pulled tight over your head, earbuds in, trying to disappear into the low hum of city pop.

but the universe, always cruel and deeply committed to irony, had other plans. he was leaning against the brick wall near the entrance, arms crossed, eyes trained on you like he’d been waiting a while. beomgyu. same mop of dark hair, same posture that screamed too-cool-to-care, but his eyes—those were different. quieter. tired.

you pulled out your earbuds and sighed, already exhausted by the conversation you hadn’t even had yet.

“can we talk?” he asked, voice low, unsure.

you didn’t stop walking. just kept heading toward the entrance, as if your momentum could carry you past him without consequence. but of course, it didn’t. he fell in step beside you.

“just five minutes,” he tried again. “please.”

you stopped so suddenly he almost bumped into you. your eyes burned as they met his, and your voice came out colder than you expected, like winter had rooted itself in your lungs.

“what do you want from me?” you asked. “apologies? closure? a second chance at being a decent human being?”

beomgyu’s mouth opened, but you cut him off before he could try.

“i don’t want anything from you. not an explanation, not regret, not even guilt. nothing.”

he flinched slightly, the movement barely there, but you caught it.

“you don’t get to waltz back into my life just because you finally decided to grow a conscience,” you continued. “i’ve spent years learning how to breathe without you in the air. don’t you dare try to choke me with your presence again.”

you could tell your words hit him, maybe deeper than you meant to. his mouth was a thin, pale line now. he looked like he wanted to say something—maybe to defend himself, maybe to beg—but you didn’t care.

“just disappear,” you said, voice steady, final. “if there’s one thing you can do for me now, it’s that. disappear.”

and for once in his life, beomgyu actually listened.

he never tried again. he avoided places you frequented, never joined mutual hangouts unless you weren’t coming, and your friends—soobin, yeonjun, chaewon—they respected your silence like it was sacred scripture. everyone understood: the wound was too deep, the scar too sensitive. it wasn’t just history. it was trauma.

and then the years passed.

five of them, to be exact.

by the time the fifth one rolled around, you were no longer that angry, betrayed girl from university. you’d graduated with honors, completed your internship at a mental health clinic, even started working with children on the spectrum. you’d fallen in love. truly, profoundly, messily in love—with someone who wasn’t beomgyu.

kang taehyun.

you met him at a post-graduation mixer. marine biology major with a calm voice, shy eyes, and a laugh that made your chest bloom with warmth. he was the kind of guy who brought flowers for no reason, who always remembered your coffee order, who waited outside your night classes with an umbrella when it rained. you didn’t expect it, but somehow, slowly, it became everything.

you met his best friend, huening kai, who instantly adored you, calling you “noona” and sending memes at 3am. your little trio had beach picnics, study sessions, lazy sunday brunches where taehyun would rest his head on your lap and read aloud from whatever animal behavior article he was obsessed with that week. he made promises—so many of them. to stay, to love, to build something that wouldn’t crumble.

you believed him.

and you weren’t naive. you didn’t expect perfection. but you saw a future. you wanted it. late-night talks under blankets turned into quiet conversations about rings and cities you could live in. when he asked you if you’d move to jeju with him someday, you said yes without hesitation.

he said he wanted to marry you. he said he saw kids—two, maybe three, with your eyes and his dimples.

you thought you were safe.

but then came the internship offer. antarctica. nine months. field research. you smiled, encouraged him, kissed him before he left. wrote long emails. sent him care packages full of love letters and seaweed snacks.

when he came back, he was distant.

and when he ended it, it wasn’t dramatic. it was calm. heartbreakingly calm.

“i love you,” he said, hands shaking. “but i don’t want this. not the house. not the wedding. not the life you deserve. i want to travel, i want to work with endangered species, i want to spend months underwater and years away. and i’m not... i’m not willing to bring you with me.”

“i’ll go with you,” you’d said, crying, desperate, broken open. “taehyun, i don’t care where we are. i just want to be with you.”

but he shook his head.

“you’d get tired. eventually, you’d start asking me to stay, and i’d hate you for it. and you’d hate me for choosing fish over forever.”

it was the cruelest kind of love. the one that was real, but not enough.

so he left.

and you didn’t try to stop him again.

don't, don't lose my mind, dream of you again and i look at you as it fell

you were halfway through your second slice of avocado toast, sipping on orange juice and skimming through appointment logs when your phone buzzed against the laminated table. chaewon looked up from her yogurt bowl, raising an eyebrow at your distracted smile.

“who is it?” she asked, voice still wrapped in morning laziness.

you didn’t answer right away. you were too busy rereading the message.

huening kai: noonaaa 🥺 i’m getting married!! can you believe it??? i really hope you can come. it would mean a lot to me. she’s the one, i swear. you’ll love her. the wedding’s in two months — i sent you two tickets, in case you wanna bring someone special 😏 click the link below for your boarding passes & rsvp 💌 i miss you.

you choked.

like, actually choked.

orange juice went down the wrong pipe, and you doubled over in your chair coughing, one hand on your chest, the other waving chaewon off as she jumped to her feet in panic.

“are you okay? oh my god, did you swallow a bee? what’s happening?”

you managed to wheeze, “kai. he’s—he’s getting married.”

“what?” she blinked, stunned. “kai? as in taehyun’s kai?”

you nodded, eyes wide, phone shaking slightly in your grip. she leaned over to read the message and let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “holy shit. that was fast.”

you slumped back in your chair, staring at the screen like it held the secrets of the universe. “i barely met her twice. she was sweet, yeah, but—marriage? already?”

chaewon bit her bottom lip, then took a slow sip of her coffee. “he sent you two tickets. that’s cute. very optimistic of him.”

you didn’t reply. your thoughts had already spiraled ahead, crashing violently into one very obvious, very haunting possibility.

“he’ll be there,” you murmured.

“taehyun,” chaewon confirmed quietly.

you stared at your untouched toast, appetite completely obliterated. the clinic’s soft background music suddenly felt too loud, the sun too bright, the smell of oranges cloying. your stomach twisted, unfamiliar tension knotting in your chest.

it had been almost a year since you last saw taehyun. nearly five since you met him. and still, even now, his name had the power to freeze you mid-breath, to summon ghosts of promises that had once felt like scripture.

“do you think he’ll bring someone?” you asked, trying to sound casual. it came out hollow.

chaewon didn’t answer immediately. instead, she tilted her head and narrowed her eyes in that way she always did when she was about to say something ridiculous but necessary.

“okay,” she said, setting her spoon down with a decisive little clink. “then you’ll just have to make him regret everything.”

you blinked. “what?”

“you heard me. you’re going to go. you’re going to look insanely hot. and you’re going to bring someone who makes taehyun feel like he just let go of the woman of the century.”

“that’s ridiculous,” you scoffed, trying to hide the way your heart suddenly beat faster. “i’m not that petty.”

“you’re not,” she agreed. “but i am. and you deserve this. you deserve to walk into that wedding and remind him that while he was out falling in love with penguins and sea lions, you were healing. and thriving. and looking like a goddamn greek goddess.”

you laughed, but it came out shaky. her words were half a joke, half a battle cry.

“it still hurts,” you admitted, barely a whisper.

“i know,” she said, gently this time, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand. “but you don’t have to go alone. not to this. not ever.”

you looked back down at the message. kai’s digital smile practically beamed from the screen. he was getting married. he was happy. and despite everything—despite the silent weight of memory and heartbreak—you felt a tiny spark of happiness for him.

but taehyun would be there.

and maybe, just maybe, it was time he saw exactly what he’d walked away from.

the stars were shinning to me away, whispering "i want you to know you're my world"

chaewon reminded you that yeonjun's birthday was coming up, so you needed to buy a good gift. but what could it be? even though your mind was still preoccupied with kai's wedding, you decided to accompany her to buy the presents — since you were also planning to get something for him anyway.

yeonjun’s birthday parties were never modest. he had a reputation to uphold—not only as a top model, gracing magazines and runways alike, but as a host who knew how to turn any ordinary night into something cinematic. the kind of night people whispered about in green rooms and studio corners. the kind of night that started with champagne and ended with stolen glances and stories never told.

his penthouse was glowing in warm light, the skyline of the city bleeding gold and indigo through the vast windows. soft jazz played in the background, blending with laughter and the pop of corks, and everything smelled like vanilla and cashmere and something expensive you couldn’t name.

you were there early, with chaewon by your side, both of you dressed to impress—but not to steal the spotlight. that belonged to yeonjun, as always. soobin was already there, hand in hand with his girlfriend, who wore something pastel and silk, glowing with that gentle charm only she could pull off. you greeted them casually, sharing a quick toast before settling in with your drink, your dress hugging you like a second skin.

you hadn’t expected to see him.

beomgyu arrived later, not with fanfare, but quietly. like a ripple in a calm lake. he wasn’t the same boy you remembered, not even close. gone were the oversized hoodies, the ever-present headphones slung around his neck, the cigarette tucked behind his ear like a secret he wasn’t ready to part with. now, he wore tailored grey trousers that fell just right over his shoes, a black button-up rolled to the elbows revealing tan, toned forearms, a silver watch glinting under the soft chandelier lights. a single, delicate chain hung around his neck, subtle but striking. his hair was darker now, styled back with just enough softness to suggest he didn’t try too hard.

he looked expensive.

he smelled like sandalwood and clean linen and a memory you couldn’t quite place.

he greeted everyone with a quiet smile, hugging yeonjun, nodding at soobin, offering chaewon a gentle hello. and then his eyes found yours.

there was no tension in his shoulders. no arrogance in his walk. just... calm. time had smoothed the sharpness out of him. when he stepped closer, you stood tall, chin high. he offered his hand—polite, formal. “it’s been a while,” he said simply.

you shook it. firm grip. warm palm. “yeah,” you replied, meeting his gaze for one single, suspended second.

you looked for a ghost. but found a man.

chaewon nudged your arm the moment he moved on. “okay. wow. what was that?”

you didn’t answer. you just stared into your drink, letting the ice kiss your lips as you tried to quiet the drumbeat that had started in your chest.

“he’s changed,” she murmured, and you could only nod.

“you’re still thinking about the wedding, aren’t you?” chaewon pressed, playfully cruel in the way best friends always are.

“shut up,” you said, but your voice held no real bite.

you were thinking about it. still hadn’t found someone to take. your list of candidates was short, and honestly, pathetic. yeonjun was out of the question. he was your friend, yes, but also a model with a fragile PR image. dragging him to a wedding in another city would spark more rumors than your heart could handle. soobin was obviously unavailable, and most of your other male friends were either married, emotionally unavailable, or both.

and then there was beomgyu.

you looked over again—couldn’t help it. he was seated now, at the bar, sipping something amber and neat. he laughed at something yeonjun’s bartender said, his profile catching the light just enough to make your heart do a tiny, traitorous leap. his jaw was sharper now. his skin clearer. he looked like success disguised as mystery.

you knew his alias now, whispered among industry people like folklore—“GHOSTGYU”, the producer no one could quite pin down. no interviews. no live appearances. just music. always music. his beats had shaped some of the biggest hits of the year, but no one really knew him.

except you.

and even then, you weren’t sure anymore.

a dangerous, fleeting thought slipped past your defenses.

what if i asked him to go with me?

you froze, glass hovering midair.

no. absolutely not. that was ridiculous. crazy.

but the thought didn’t leave. it clung to you like perfume. persistent. seductive. as you watched him roll the glass between his fingers, as he leaned back in his seat with a grace that wasn’t there before, you wondered if asking him would be revenge, redemption, or something far more dangerous.

you didn’t want to care.

and yet, you did.

more with every passing second.

he disappeared for a while, drifting from the bar like smoke in the breeze. you didn’t notice at first—your mind was too busy pretending it wasn’t spinning. but when you turned your head and found the stool next to yours empty, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. you took the opportunity to refill your glass, fingers trembling slightly as you reached for the bottle. the coolness of the liquid was grounding. it kept you still. sane. focused.

you didn’t hear him come back. you just felt the shift in the air, like when a storm changes direction.

he sat beside you again, just as casually as before. no warning. no preamble. just him, leaning slightly over the bar, sipping from his glass like he hadn’t just left a crater in your chest by existing. he didn’t say anything at first. didn’t even look your way. but you could feel him, every inch of him, in your periphery—his scent, his quiet presence, the weight of his stillness.

when you turned your head, a little startled, your eyes met his.

his gaze wasn’t sharp or guarded like it had been years ago. it was calm now, curious maybe, with a hint of something unreadable beneath the surface. something too deep to touch without getting pulled in.

“how have you been?” he asked softly, as if it hadn’t been years. as if it were normal to ask that while sipping whiskey at a birthday party under city lights, after everything that had happened.

you blinked. once. then again. the question sounded simple, but it wasn’t. it cracked something open. and you weren’t sure you liked the feeling.

“i’ve been... good,” you said finally, the word catching a little on your tongue. “working. surviving. you know.”

your tone was neutral, maybe even too polite, but your body was stiff, your spine too straight.

he nodded, a slight tilt of his head. “it’s been a long time.”

you didn’t answer.

“i remember the last time we talked,” he continued, voice just above a whisper. “you told me not to show my face again.”

you inhaled sharply. of course he remembered. you did too. you remembered everything—his voice cracking when he apologized, your tears burning your cheeks, the tremble in your fingers as you pointed to the door and told him to leave. it had been final. absolute. like slamming a book shut in the middle of a chapter.

“yeah,” you said, finally meeting his eyes. “i did.”

his shoulders tensed a little, barely perceptible. but you noticed. “and yet here i am.”

you chuckled, bitter and short. “i guess the universe has a sense of humor.”

there was a silence then. not uncomfortable, but heavy. like it needed to exist for the next words to mean something. you stared into your glass, watching the ice melt slowly, as if the answer you needed was buried at the bottom.

and then, like a dam breaking—your voice was low, deliberate, but steady.

“do you still want me to accept your apology?”

he turned to you fully this time, caught off guard. “what?”

you looked at him. really looked at him. the face that had haunted your dreams and your worst nights. softer now. older. but still him. “you apologized,” you said. “but i didn’t accept it. i wasn’t ready.”

he nodded slowly. “i remember.”

“well,” you began, the fear rising like bile in your throat. “i might be. now.”

his brow furrowed slightly. “what does that mean?”

you hesitated. god, it felt so ridiculous now that it was about to come out of your mouth. but it was the only thing you could think of—the only way to keep the balance of power from tipping, the only way to keep yourself from being too vulnerable. so you wrapped the truth in a dare.

“it means... if you want me to even consider accepting it, you’ll have to do me a favor.”

he blinked. twice. confused, visibly, as his fingers stilled around his glass. “a favor?”

you nodded.

“what kind of favor?”

you stared straight ahead, the words burning their way up from your chest. “i need a date. for a wedding.”

he almost choked on his drink, coughing once as he looked at you incredulously. “a wedding? you want me to go with you to a wedding? me?”

you gave a weak shrug. “yeah. you.”

“but you—i mean, you hate me.”

you sighed, exhaling years of anger and heartbreak in a single breath. “i don’t hate you, beomgyu. not anymore.”

he stared, waiting. you turned to him finally, your voice quieter now. “i wouldn’t say you’re my favorite person in the world. and i wouldn’t say we’re... okay. but this is an emergency. and the list of people i trust enough to not make this weird is... short.”

he didn’t respond right away. he was too stunned, trying to piece together what this meant. if it was a trap. if it was a test. if it was real.

you looked at him again, eyes searching his. “so. will you help me?”

he didn’t answer yet. but you could see the question dancing in his gaze, the one he wouldn’t say out loud—what the hell happened to us?

and maybe, just maybe, this favor wasn’t about forgiveness.

maybe it was the beginning of something else entirely.

he looked away for a moment, lips pressing into a thin line before he bit the bottom one—nervously, like he was holding back words that wanted to escape. he let out a shaky breath, nostrils flaring slightly. and for the first time that night, he looked... scared.

you could see it. not just in his eyes, but in the tension of his shoulders, in the way he kept shifting slightly on the stool. he’s remembering, you thought. and he was.

he was remembering that party.

the one where you’d confronted him, voice trembling with rage and heartbreak. the one where, instead of being the person you needed, he laughed. made light of it. mocked your pain because he was too much of a coward to face the ugliness of what he'd done. he hadn’t apologized back then. not really. he’d smirked and said something like “i was shitty. so what?”like that was enough. like that made it okay.

he felt the weight of it now. years later. he’d felt it the moment your eyes found his tonight and they weren’t warm anymore. they weren’t familiar. they were sharp. cold. distant. and it had torn something open in him, something that had never really healed. he didn’t consider himself a victim—but god, it had hurt to realize he was someone you had to protect yourself from. someone who used to be your safe place, and then became a wound.

he swallowed hard, voice a little hoarse. “why me?”

you didn’t flinch. “i told you. i need someone i can trust to play the part. and despite... everything, i know you won’t make it worse.”

he looked at you for a long moment, expression unreadable. then finally, he nodded, slowly. “okay.”

you blinked, surprised. “okay?”

“yeah.” he exhaled, almost like he couldn’t believe himself. “i’ll do it.”

two days later, you met him at a quiet coffee shop tucked between bookstores and vintage vinyl stores, the kind of place you used to frequent in college. nostalgia clung to the wooden walls and smelled faintly of cinnamon and ink. you sat by the window, fiddling with your phone until the bell above the door rang.

you looked up—and there he was.

beomgyu walked in with sunglasses covering his eyes, messy dark hair falling over his forehead, wearing a white shirt that clung to his chest and jeans that hinted at the fact that maybe, just maybe, he’d been putting in work at the gym. your breath caught slightly. you hated that it did.

“hey,” he said, sliding into the seat across from you.

you nodded. “hey.”

there was a pause before either of you said anything else. then you cleared your throat. “okay, so. the wedding’s in two weeks.”

he leaned back, arms crossed. “whose wedding is it?”

you hesitated. “he’s... a friend. of my ex.”

his head tilted slightly. “ex?”

you gave a little nod. “his name’s taehyun. we were together for two years.”

something flickered across his face—surprise, a shadow of something deeper—but he kept his voice even. “i didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

“you didn’t know a lot of things,” you said, almost too quietly.

he didn’t argue.

“kai is the one getting married. taehyun’s best friend. he gave me two tickets. and it’s a big deal—expensive venue, guest list full of people i used to know. i didn’t want to go alone.”

beomgyu raised an eyebrow. “so... you want me to come with you. to pretend we’re...?”

“a couple,” you finished.

he sat with that for a second, then chuckled bitterly. “so you want to make your ex jealous.”

you froze.

you hadn’t planned on saying it like that. you hadn’t even wanted to admit it, not out loud. but now, with the words dangling between you like a noose, you could only nod. “...yeah.”

he stared at you, then dragged a hand down his face, sighing. “jesus.”

“you can back out,” you said quickly, defensive. “i won’t hold it against you.”

but he didn’t. instead, he tapped his fingers against his thigh, thinking. after a long pause, he met your eyes again. “so i have to pretend to be your boyfriend?”

you nodded, trying to sound casual. “yep.”

he leaned forward slightly. “you do realize that means a lot of skinship, right?”

you blinked. “what?”

“holding hands. arms around waists. maybe even... i don’t know, kisses on the cheek? forehead?” he shrugged, but his voice was tight. careful. “are you comfortable with that?”

you hesitated. you hadn’t thought that far ahead. hadn’t wanted to. you could feel your pulse pick up, the idea of him touching you again sending conflicting signals through your brain—alarm bells and something else. something warmer.

but you forced a shrug. “we don’t have a choice. it has to look real.”

he nodded slowly. “alright.”

and then, you got to work.

“so, when did we start dating?”

you bit your lip. “six months ago?”

he smirked faintly. “sounds reasonable. what do we like doing together?”

“karaoke,” you said immediately, smiling at the memory of those nights when you were still friends. “you always picked the worst songs.”

“hey,” he laughed. “those were bangers.”

you rolled your eyes. “you once sang an anime opening in front of my parents.”

he grinned, and for a moment, it felt... like the past. like before everything burned down.

“okay, so,” he said, pulling out his phone. “we need a list. favorite restaurant. inside jokes. maybe a fake anniversary date.”

as he typed, you watched him. really watched him.

and you wondered—not for the first time—if this elaborate lie was going to lead you straight into the truth.

because maybe... just maybe... it never really ended between you two.

every time i'm crazy is because of you if you're looking right at me is because of love?

you had texted him that morning. short, to the point: “we should rehearse. come over around 6?”

he didn’t reply right away, but when he did, it was a simple “okay.”

you spent most of the afternoon pretending not to be nervous, cleaning surfaces that didn’t need cleaning, lighting a candle you usually reserved for guests. this was just beomgyu. and it wasn’t even real. except it had to feel real. that was the whole point.

when he rang the bell, you didn’t check yourself in the mirror. didn’t fix your hair. but your heart still skipped when you opened the door and found him standing there with a tote bag slung over his shoulder, black hoodie zipped halfway, his hair tousled like he hadn’t thought twice about it. he looked casual. effortless. you hated that it made your stomach turn.

“hey,” he said, eyes flicking down to your socks—mismatched—and then back to your face. “you ready to get fake engaged or whatever this is?”

you snorted. “not engaged. just... convincingly coupled.”

he stepped in, the scent of rain on his jacket mixing with your vanilla candle, and as he walked further into your space, you pulled out your phone with a flutter in your chest.

kai’s message was still open.

“let me know if you’re bringing someone. taehyun’s dying to know lol.”

you stared at it for a second, then typed.

“yes. i’m bringing someone. can’t wait for the wedding 🥂”

sent.

you didn’t overthink it. at least, not more than you already had.

your apartment smelled like vanilla, soft wood, and something citrusy that he couldn’t name but felt deeply you. beomgyu stepped inside slowly, letting the door close behind him as he looked around.

“wow,” he muttered, genuinely impressed. “this is... cozy.”

you raised an eyebrow. “cozy?”

he nodded, turning in place as his eyes landed on the framed photos, the neatly arranged books, the record player with a few vintage vinyls on display. “it’s just... you. like, unmistakably you.”

you smiled, a little embarrassed. “i try to keep it nice.”

he hummed, walking over to a small shelf, fingers grazing the spine of a poetry book. “it’s really nice.”

he turned back to you and for a second, neither of you said anything. then you clapped your hands once. “okay! let’s get into it.”

“right,” he said, shaking his head a little as if to clear it. “we’re fake dating. gotta make it look real.”

you both sat on the couch, knees brushing. you hadn’t meant for that to happen, but neither of you moved.

“so...” you began, “public displays of affection. we should probably practice.”

“yeah.” his voice came out rougher than expected. “makes sense.”

you reached out, hesitating before taking his hand. his fingers curled instinctively around yours. warm. familiar. a spark zipped through you and you knew he felt it too when he looked up, eyes wide and surprised.

“this okay?” you asked quietly.

he nodded once. “yeah. just... warm.”

you both laughed, trying to shake it off. but the air had already shifted.

“okay,” he said, forcing a grin. “let’s try something easier. karaoke.”

you perked up. “you sure?”

“you said we do it all the time as a couple, right? we better sell it.”

you loaded the song. one you both knew, but had never sung together. and yet, the moment the first beat dropped, it was like muscle memory. you both knew the words. the timing. the moves.

he looked at you, stunned. “no way.”

“don’t tell me you know the choreo too,” you teased, already stepping back into position.

he smirked. “you’re on.”

the two of you danced, laughing, off-key and dramatic. he twirled you once, then again. and when the chorus hit, he spun you into his arms, pulling you close. too close.

you were both laughing when it happened.

his arms wrapped around your waist. your hands rested on his chest. his breath hitched as your eyes met.

neither of you moved.

not right away.

his lips parted slightly, like he was about to say something—but nothing came. because this wasn’t rehearsed. this wasn’t fake.

it was just you. and him. flushed. breathless.

“sorry,” he whispered, stepping back.

you cleared your throat, heart pounding. “it’s fine. that’s... what couples do, right?”

“right.” he nodded. “totally normal.”

you both sat down again. this time, farther apart.

your hand brushed his when you reached for the remote and both of you flinched.

he glanced at you, eyes unreadable. “so... more practice?”

you nodded. “yeah. we’re getting good at this.”

but neither of you looked convinced.

in the days leading up to the wedding, your fake relationship had taken on a life of its own.

you went on more “dates” to build chemistry—coffee shops, galleries, night walks pretending to be that kind of couple who couldn't keep their hands to themselves. from the outside, it looked picture-perfect. inside, it was a storm. every casual brush of his fingers against yours, every accidental glance held too long, every laugh that turned into silence too quick—it all felt like a fucking heart attack.

it was only supposed to be a favor. a role. a lie dressed up in borrowed intimacy. but your body didn’t know that. your chest didn’t know that.

and neither did beomgyu’s.

especially not the night you were in your apartment again, this time sitting on the floor of your bedroom, surrounded by shoes, accessories, and two dress bags hanging off your closet door. the scent of fabric softener and his cologne filled the room, cozy but heavy. familiar but charged.

he was holding his tie, trying to decide between navy or burgundy, when he suddenly said, “this feels weird, right?”

you looked up from your heels, confused. “what?”

“us,” he said. “doing this. pretending. acting like none of it ever happened.”

the air stilled.

you didn’t answer immediately. your fingers froze on the strap of your shoe, heart kicking against your ribs.

“i know this is a favor,” he said, voice quieter now, “but i don’t want to keep pretending this is just about the wedding. i mean... not in that way, i just—i don’t want to keep dodging everything that’s still between us.”

you blinked, throat dry. “beomgyu—”

“no, listen. please.” he leaned back on his palms, gaze locked on the ceiling like he was too afraid to look at you. “i fucked up back then. i know i did. and it took me a long time to understand it. i was stupid and selfish and cruel. and i acted like it was funny. like it didn’t matter. but it did. and seeing you now... how much you’ve grown, how strong you are—shit, it kills me that i’m not part of your life the way i used to be.”

his voice cracked, just a little.

“i don’t want us to keep pretending this is easy,” he said. “because it’s not. not for me.”

you stared at him. at his jaw clenched tight, the way his chest rose and fell too fast. you weren’t expecting any of this. not tonight. not ever.

and yet, a part of you had waited for it.

“i hated you,” you said softly. “i hated the way you laughed when i cried. the way you dismissed what you did, made it seem like it was just... nothing. i hated the way you looked at me afterwards, like i was the one who’d changed.”

his shoulders slumped.

“but the thing is,” you continued, voice trembling, “i can’t keep living in that hate. i carried it for years and it only made me bitter. i can’t undo the past. and yeah, you hurt me. more than i thought someone like you ever could. but if you’re here now, helping me with this, putting yourself in this mess just because i asked... then maybe you do mean it. maybe you really are sorry.”

you looked at him, finally, and he was already looking back at you—eyes glossy, jaw tight, like he was holding something back.

“i accept your apology,” you said. “not because everything’s okay now. but because i want to stop letting what happened define how i feel. i want to move forward. and if that means... giving you another chance to show me who you are now—then fine.”

he swallowed hard. “thank you.”

“don’t thank me,” you murmured, “just don’t fuck it up.”

that made him smile. a real one. small and crooked, but warm.

you sat there in silence for a while, surrounded by silk and suits and the faint hum of the night through your window. it wasn’t peace exactly. it was something messier. raw. true.

and though you wouldn’t admit it—not yet—something in you shifted. you saw him. not the boy who broke your heart, but the man who was trying to make amends.

maybe it wasn’t love.

but it was something.

and it was terrifying.

to me it's a pretty wonderland, do not make cry again, i need you right now

the day of the wedding arrived cloaked in golden sunlight and nerves. your stomach was a mess of tangled wires—part excitement, part dread, and part something else you didn’t dare to name. standing in front of the mirror in your bedroom, you took a deep breath, hands smoothing down the soft folds of your dress. the fabric hugged your figure like a second skin—champagne satin with a low back and off-the-shoulder sleeves, the kind of dress that whispered luxury without screaming for attention. your earrings were subtle, your makeup warm and glowing. you looked ethereal. untouchable.

and then beomgyu stepped into the room, and your breath hitched in your throat.

he was wearing a tailored suit in a shade of deep, muted green, like pine trees in twilight. his tie matched your dress—a soft, pearlescent champagne—and the pocket square carried the same satin sheen. his hair was swept back effortlessly, a touch of curl still framing his forehead, and when he smiled at you, something inside you twisted painfully.

“you look beautiful,” he murmured, offering his hand. “ready to go make everyone jealous?”

you took his hand, heart hammering in your chest. “as i’ll ever be.”

on the ride to the venue, you kept rehearsing the things you were meant to feel. calm. confident. committed to the lie.

but instead, your hands trembled slightly. your heart wouldn’t slow down.

was it beomgyu? or was it the thought of taehyun?

the venue was breathtaking.

a glass-roofed reception hall nestled between rolling hills, draped in ivory florals and soft hanging lights. the sound of string instruments floated through the air, delicate and romantic. people were milling about in elegant attire, laughter ringing like champagne flutes clinking together. when you and beomgyu stepped inside, you felt all eyes drift in your direction.

you were holding hands.

and it wasn’t just for show—his grip was grounding you, firm and unshakable, like he knew your insides were a storm.

“smile,” he whispered against your ear as you walked. “we’re the couple of the evening.”

you found the newlyweds near the stage, glowing in white and silver, all laughter and tears. kai pulled you into a warm hug, wide grin on his face. “you made it!” he turned to glance between you and beomgyu. “and you brought your plus one, just like you said.”

you handed over their gift, a carefully wrapped box in gold paper. “i wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

they thanked you and guided you to your assigned table. the moment you saw the names, your heart sank. table 5. with taehyun’s old group. fuck.

and there he was.

kang taehyun.

he looked devastating in a black tux that fit like sin, his hair slightly tousled like he hadn’t tried but somehow looked perfect anyway. when he saw you, his expression changed—slowly, subtly, like recognition blooming across his features. your eyes met, and the air between you snapped taut. your breath caught. it’s him. he looked at you like you were the last person he expected and the only one he wanted to see.

he stood up.

and you—traitor of your own heart—you moved toward him.

drawn like a magnet, like gravity had shifted in his direction.

but before your hand could reach his, before you could even form a hi, beomgyu’s hand extended first, sliding into taehyun’s like a blade between ribs.

“hey,” he said smoothly, “i’m choi beomgyu. y/n’s boyfriend.”

it landed like a gunshot.

taehyun blinked. once. twice. his smile wavered, confusion flashing across his face like lightning. “boyfriend?” he echoed, the word like ash in his mouth.

your heart slammed into your ribs.

“it’s been a while, tae,” you said, stepping in quickly. the nickname rolled off your tongue like honey and broken memories. beomgyu’s eyes flicked to you sharply.

taehyun looked at you, still dazed. “yeah... yeah, it has.”

you greeted the others—yuna, wonjin, and a couple more you barely remembered but who definitely remembered you.they exchanged glances. curious. surprised. maybe even suspicious.

“i thought you two would come together,” yuna said, her tone sweet, but her eyes sharp.

taehyun cleared his throat.

“we broke up about a year ago,” you explained simply, sitting down. your hand stayed in beomgyu’s.

“so...” wonjin glanced between you and beomgyu. “who’s this guy?”

beomgyu leaned in, voice casual. “boyfriend,” he repeated, smiling. “been together for a while now.”

the questions came like a tidal wave. how long? where did you meet? how serious was it?

you and beomgyu handled them like pros—laughing, teasing, nudging each other like you were deeply in sync. you could feel taehyun’s eyes on you, every fucking second, and you hated how your body still reacted.

but then he asked.

“how did you two meet?”

and the world froze.

you opened your mouth. no sound came out. nothing. panic gripped you like ice.

that detail, the most basic of all, had somehow slipped through your careful planning.

you looked at beomgyu, your eyes wide, desperate. and he—cool as ever—slid his hand to your shoulder, his thumb stroking softly, soothing.

“we’ve known each other since we were kids,” he said, smile calm. “childhood friends. and you know how it goes... years pass, and those feelings you thought you buried start to grow again. it was almost inevitable, right, sweetheart?”

he looked at you.

and you smiled. because you had to. because you knew that’s what it took to sell this story.

“she rejected me once, though,” he added with a smirk. “but deep down, she knew she loved me.”

taehyun’s expression twisted. “so... you were in love with him when we met?”

his voice wasn’t loud, but it cut deep.

“no,” you said, quickly. “we had... a falling out in college. we didn’t speak for a long time. when i met you, he wasn’t in my life.”

beomgyu nodded. “we reconnected after you two ended things. and the feelings we’d buried came back stronger.”

he wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulled you into his side, his cheek brushing yours. you felt his breath against your skin. his touch was warm. grounding. too intimate.

you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

taehyun looked like he’d swallowed poison.

and you—trapped between past and present, between truth and performance—felt the familiar weight of discomfort slide back into your skin.

kang taehyun had always been your greatest heartbreak.

and sitting beside choi beomgyu, pretending he was your greatest love, was the cruelest irony of all.

the music shifts. the soft thump of the bass, the rhythmic clinking of champagne glasses, the laughter and rustling of silk and tulle—all of it merges into the warm blur of celebration. the lights dim just slightly as couples begin to rise, drawn toward the dance floor like moths to flame.

you’ve just taken another sip of wine, trying to relax after the intense introduction, the invasive questions, and the suffocating presence of your ex seated so dangerously close. but before you can even set your glass down, taehyun rises.

he walks toward you with a practiced calm, hands in his pockets, eyes locked on yours like he’s daring you to look away first. "may i have this dance?" he asks, voice soft enough for only you to hear, but there’s an edge to it—like a test, a provocation.

but before you can speak, beomgyu shifts in his chair beside you. his hand slides over yours, firm, grounding. “no,” he says coolly, voice louder. the table quiets. "how dare you ask someone to dance when she's clearly here with her boyfriend?"

taehyun lets out a breath of laughter, sharp and amused. “what, are you scared? that if she dances with me, she might remember what we had?”

the tension at the table becomes palpable, electric. beomgyu stands now, leveling his gaze at taehyun with a calm so composed it borders on threatening. “you’ve got nerve, i’ll give you that. but no—i’m not scared. i don’t doubt her feelings for me.”

your heart stutters.

taehyun’s smirk falters. “then why don’t we let her decide?” he challenges, turning back to you. “y/n?”

you freeze. the weight of their gazes pins you in place, your spine stiff, mouth dry. you do want to dance with taehyun. Your body remembers the warmth of his hands, the way he used to hold you like you were gravity itself. but then—

beomgyu extends his hand toward you. calm, steady, open.

a choice.

a silent reminder: this is why you're here.

to make him jealous. to make taehyun feel what you felt when he left.

you look up at beomgyu. his eyes flicker with something you can’t name. you take his hand.

“i’m sorry, taehyun,” you say gently, rising from your seat. “but i came to this wedding to enjoy it with my boyfriend.”

the word hits like a drop of ink in water—rippling out, staining the air.

beomgyu stiffens. just for a moment. just enough for you to feel his pulse skip against your fingers.

you don’t look back at taehyun. you let Beomgyu guide you to the dance floor where strings swell into the opening of a love song. the kind that makes people sway closer. the kind that makes you forget you're pretending.

you start to dance, slowly, hands placed properly, bodies at a safe, respectable distance. but then he speaks, voice low and amused by your nervous chuckle.

“looks like the plan’s working,” he murmurs near your ear.

your lips twitch into a half-smile. “maybe too well.”

his fingers trail slightly down the curve of your back. not inappropriate, but… intentional. “you look beautiful tonight,” he adds, tone suddenly more sincere, less teasing.

the compliment catches you off guard. you let out a small, uncertain laugh. “you don’t have to say that.”

“i��m not saying it because i have to.”

you glance up at him. he’s not looking at the other couples. he’s not looking at taehyun. he’s looking at you. and not just your eyes—your mouth, the slope of your neck, the place where your skin meets the lace of your dress. the dress you wore to fit the part. to be his girlfriend. to play the game.

but now you’re not so sure it’s a game.

the music climbs into its chorus. around you, couples draw closer. Some kiss—softly, unselfconsciously. you turn your head, scanning the room for taehyun, and there he is—watching. unmoving. drinking you in like a ghost he didn’t know he still loved.

beomgyu notices.

and then suddenly, his hands are on either side of your face. gentle but sure. you barely have time to inhale before his lips are on yours.

it’s soft. so soft you almost miss it. but then the second beat lands—his mouth molding perfectly to yours, and you gasp through your nose, hands tightening on his arms. your eyes flutter wide, shocked, searching for meaning in the space between reality and performance.

his lips are warm. confident. too confident.

you shouldn’t like this. but you do.

his hands move to your waist as the kiss deepens—just enough. just long enough to make it feel like more than an act.

then he pulls back, just far enough for breath to slip between you, his eyes slightly darker now, but still calm, still playing the role.

“we had to keep up with the others,” he says smoothly, like he didn’t just melt every logical thought out of your brain.

you can’t answer. not yet. you just nod.

because you're still not sure if the kiss was for them, or for you.

since the kiss, you haven’t been able to breathe quite right.

your body moves through the rest of the night, politely laughing at jokes, sipping wine, answering questions with nods and vague hums, but your mind is stuck. not on taehyun. not anymore. his presence at the table has blurred into the background, a faded photograph slowly losing its color.

no—what keeps echoing in your chest like a drum is beomgyu.

how close he’s sitting next to you. the way his thigh presses against yours beneath the tablecloth, warm and constant. how his hand hasn’t left your lower back for more than a minute, always returning like he owns that space now. how his fingers sometimes toy absentmindedly with yours, tracing lines over your knuckles, slow and soft. it should feel comforting, part of the charade. but instead, every brush of skin is a spark, every gentle squeeze is a ripple of heat that settles embarrassingly low in your stomach.

your heart stutters when you glance at him again.

he’s speaking to someone across the table, smiling with that crooked little smirk he wears when he knows he’s charming. and god, is he charming. his laughter is low, the kind that makes your shoulders soften even if you don’t understand the joke. and when he tilts his head to the side, the lights catch the curve of his jaw, the slope of his nose, the way his adam’s apple moves when he swallows between words—it’s so stupid, so dumb, but you can’t look away.

even his eyelashes are pretty. long, thick, casting shadows on his cheekbones. who notices eyelashes? apparently you do, now.

he leans in to murmur something in your ear, and your whole body reacts. you don’t even register what he says. your mind is too busy screaming over the way his breath brushes your neck, the soft weight of his arm resting around your waist like it belongs there, like he’s done this a thousand times.

you feel hot. flushed. overexposed and restless. you try to tell yourself it’s the wine. or the music. or the aftershock of the kiss. but nothing helps.

eventually, you can’t take it anymore. you excuse yourself, murmuring something about needing air, and slip out into the garden. the cool night hits your skin like a blessing. you exhale shakily, hugging your arms around yourself, trying to calm the chaos inside.

you barely get a minute of peace before footsteps follow you.

you turn—and of course, it’s taehyun.

he stands a few feet away, hands in his pockets, looking unsure for the first time tonight. he doesn’t speak right away. instead, he just watches you, like he’s still trying to read you, still trying to understand what changed.

"you look beautiful tonight," he says eventually. his voice is soft now. sincere.

you give him a tight smile. "thanks."

he steps closer. "when i got the invite... the first person i thought of was you."

you look away.

"i hoped maybe..." he trails off, then runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. "fuck. i haven’t stopped thinking about you, y/n. after we broke up, i—i kept telling myself it was for the best. but it never felt right. it still doesn’t."

you freeze. the words hit you like cold rain—sharp and disorienting.

“i thought,” he continues, “that maybe tonight, i could try again. i saw you and i just... remembered everything. and maybe i thought it was fate or some shit. that this was our second chance.”

you inhale, shaky.

"taehyun…" you start, but your voice breaks. you pause. gather yourself. then look him in the eye.

"you hurt me."

he flinches.

"i was ready to give up everything. remember? i was going to follow you. i was ready to leave behind my job, my home, my family—just to see you chase your dreams. but i wasn’t part of those dreams, was i?"

he doesn't answer.

"you made that clear when you left. you made me feel like i was holding you back. like i was just... something temporary. something convenient." your voice quivers, but you don’t stop. “so no. you don’t get to come back now just because you regret it. you don’t get to pick me again now that you're lonely.”

he opens his mouth, but you cut him off.

“i’m happy with beomgyu.”

the words come out fast, maybe too fast. you swallow.

"he’s been... good to me. he listens. he’s patient. when i had that terrible week at work, he showed up with soup and made me watch dumb romcoms until i stopped crying. when i forgot my umbrella, he waited for me at the station with his. when i had the flu, he came over with three bags full of medicine and snacks and even folded my laundry."

your breath hitches. you're listing off things that happened. real things. but were they part of the act? or... were they just him? beomgyu, being soft. being kind.

your chest aches.

“he makes me laugh,” you add quietly. “and i feel safe with him. really safe.”

taehyun says nothing. the silence stretches.

and suddenly, you realize—you don’t know if you’re defending a lie anymore. or if somewhere along the way, the lie became a truth you’re not ready to admit.

you blink back the burn in your eyes.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper. “but you’re too late.”

taehyun nods, once. solemn. he doesn’t argue. doesn’t plead.

he just looks at you with a kind of hollow acceptance. then turns and walks back inside.

you stay in the garden a while longer. heart thudding. pulse unsteady. trying to figure out why it hurts so much. why your thoughts keep drifting back to the warmth of beomgyu’s hands. the taste of his kiss.

and why, even now, all you want… is to see him.

you don’t hear the footsteps this time. not over the thudding in your ears. not over the sound of your own pulse, rapid and rising.

but beomgyu appears beside you like he was pulled by a thread—drawn out into the garden by instinct, or maybe something less rational and more dangerous. you blink at him, startled, but it’s too late. you can tell by the way his eyes narrow slightly, by the way his jaw sets, that he’s heard enough.

his gaze flicks to taehyun, sharp, unreadable. "i think you should leave her alone," he says calmly. too calmly. there's a current under his voice. a warning.

taehyun stiffens. "we're just talking—"

"no," beomgyu cuts in. “you’ve done enough of that.”

you feel the shift in the air. it’s not dramatic, not a sudden snap, but something quieter—more dangerous. beomgyu’s eyes don’t leave taehyun’s face as he steps a little closer. “i’ve already told you. several times. she’s my girlfriend. she’s with me now. and there’s no opportunity here for you, hyung.”

taehyun’s mouth parts, like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t get the chance.

“so unless you’re actively trying to get your face broken,” beomgyu says, voice still steady but lower now, “i suggest you back the fuck off.”

the silence that follows is brutal. taehyun’s expression twists—not quite disbelief, not quite amusement, but something caught between. he raises an eyebrow, like he doesn't buy it. like he doesn't believe beomgyu would ever go that far.

but you do.

you know beomgyu. you’ve seen the softness, yes—the warmth, the silliness, the boy who cuddles stray cats and gets excited over mango smoothies. but there’s a different kind of fire under all of that. you’ve seen flashes of it before. you believe him. and you don’t want this to be the moment he burns someone.

you reach out, curling your fingers gently around his wrist. “gyu,” you say quietly. he doesn’t look at you right away. “you’re not doing that. not here. not for him. okay?”

finally, his gaze flicks down to you. something in his eyes softens just a fraction.

you take a breath. “let’s just go home.”

he watches you for a moment longer. then nods.

taehyun doesn’t say anything else. just steps back, jaw clenched, arms crossed over his chest. you can feel his stare on your back as you walk away with beomgyu, back into the house, past the warm golden lights and the laughter that now feels miles away.

the ride home is quiet.

too quiet.

beomgyu drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on his thigh. his jaw is tight. his lips pressed together in a line. the usual easygoing glow in him has dimmed, replaced by something colder. he hasn’t spoken a word since you got in the car, and the silence is starting to weigh on you, dense and uncomfortable.

you sit beside him, hands fidgeting in your lap. you glance at him from the corner of your eye—he looks beautiful, even like this. even tense and brooding and upset. the streetlights passing over his face only make him seem more carved out of light and shadow, more unreal. your chest aches in that strange way again.

“gyu,” you say, softly.

he doesn’t answer right away. just exhales, long and slow. “did you mean it?” he finally asks, voice low.

you turn toward him. “mean what?”

“everything you told him. about me.” his grip tightens slightly on the wheel. “about how i make you feel. or was that just part of the lie?”

the question shouldn’t catch you off guard—but it does. maybe because you’ve been asking yourself the same thing since you said it. maybe because you don’t know the answer. maybe because you do, and it scares you.

“i don’t know,” you admit. your voice cracks. “i don’t think it was a lie.”

he finally looks at you.

and it’s that look. the one that always makes your breath catch in your throat. the one that’s not teasing or flirty or playful. the one that’s real. too real. it’s him seeing you—really seeing you—and it’s almost too much.

“i meant everything i said,” you add. “i just don’t know what it means yet.”

beomgyu nods slowly. then turns his eyes back to the road.

you ride the rest of the way in silence again, but it’s different now. not cold. not angry. just heavy. like both of you are holding your breaths. like the story you were pretending to tell is suddenly demanding to become the truth.

when he pulls up to your place, he doesn’t kill the engine right away. just sits there.

you don’t move either.

the air between you hums.

“thank you,” you say finally, “for standing up for me.”

his mouth twitches. not quite a smile. “i wasn’t acting.”

you nod. “i know.”

then you open the door and step out, leaving it all suspended in the air between you—the kiss, the lie, the truth, the heat, the tension, the look he gave you that felt like a question you still don’t know how to answer.

but you’re starting to want to.

you close the door behind you, but the silence that follows feels deafening. the apartment suddenly seems too quiet, too still. your heart is still racing from everything that happened — taehyun’s words, beomgyu’s protectiveness, the kiss at the wedding, the car ride home. but beneath all the noise, beneath the confusion, something sharp and clear starts to rise.

a pulse.

his name.

beomgyu.

you press a hand to your chest, breathing deeply, but it doesn’t slow. and then it hits you — not gently, not sweetly, but like a wave knocking you off your feet: it’s him.

you don’t think. you don’t wait.

you spin around, yank the door open and run — barefoot, not even grabbing your coat — down the hall, down the stairs, heart hammering in your chest like it���s trying to chase him before he disappears for good. you reach the stairwell, breath caught in your throat, and then—

he’s there.

at the landing, a few steps below, chest rising and falling like he’s just run a marathon. his eyes find yours immediately, wild and soft all at once, and the relief in them makes your knees go weak.

“i couldn’t leave,” he breathes out, voice cracked and real. “i couldn’t just… leave you like that.”

his hair’s slightly messy, cheeks flushed, and there's this tiny line between his brows like he’s been worrying the whole time. and that’s when it hits you again — he came back. just like you ran after him. you both chose each other.

you don’t say anything. you just move.

arms around his neck, pulling him close, your face burying into the crook of his shoulder. he smells like night air and whatever cologne he wore to the wedding — it’s soft, grounding, familiar. his hands find your waist, then your back, holding you like he’s been waiting to do it forever.

and then you pull back, just enough to look at him.

his eyes flicker to your lips.

and you kiss him.

slow, deep, nothing like the kiss on the dance floor. this isn’t pretending. this is you, trembling fingers on the side of his face, his hand sliding up your back, holding you like you’re precious. his lips move against yours with a softness that borders on reverence, and when he exhales into your mouth, it sounds like he’s been holding his breath for days.

you only part when your lungs ache, foreheads pressed together, your heart loud and unrepentant between you both.

“i was halfway down the street,” he whispers, “and all i could think was, ‘i need to tell her.’”

“tell me what?” you ask, your voice a little breathless, a little cracked.

he leans in again, brushing his nose against yours.

“that i’m not pretending anymore.”

stay next to me push the bad memories aside

you’re in your apartment now. everything feels quieter, but not in that lonely way from before. it’s peaceful. your fingers are laced with beomgyu’s as you both sit on the couch, socks brushing, shoulders touching, hearts still racing from the moment downstairs. there’s a stillness now, but it’s full of possibility. your eyes meet and neither of you look away.

he’s the first to speak.

“so… that kiss,” he says softly, smiling just a little. “i hope you know that wasn’t part of the plan.”

you let out a quiet laugh, eyes flickering down to your intertwined hands. “i figured.”

“i meant it,” he adds, almost in a whisper, as if saying it too loud might shatter the moment. “i meant every second of it.”

your breath hitches, chest tightening in that warm, aching way that only truth brings. you turn your head to him, really look at him — the soft curve of his jaw, the way his lashes brush his cheeks when he blinks, the tenderness in his expression that you hadn’t noticed before but now feels impossible to ignore.

“when did it stop being pretend for you?” you ask, voice quiet, vulnerable.

he hesitates only a moment before answering. “somewhere between your laugh and the way you always fix my tie even when i don’t need you to.”

your heart clenches.

“between that night you texted me good luck before my interview… and the way you talk about the things you love like they’re magic.” he pauses, eyes locked on yours. “it’s always been you. i just didn’t know how badly i wanted it to be real until it already was.”

you don’t even realize you’re crying until he reaches up, brushing a thumb gently under your eye.

“hey,” he says, voice low, “you okay?”

you nod, smiling through the tears. “i just… i think i fell in love with you without meaning to.”

your fingers are tangled in your sleeves, knees pulled close to your chest. neither of you speaks for a while, but the silence is thick with everything left unsaid.

and then, softly—

“you sure about this?”

his voice is low. careful.

you look at him, brows furrowing. “about what?”

“about… us.” he swallows, gaze still down. “after everything.”

your heart tightens. “beomgyu—”

“no, i mean it,” he cuts in, gently but firm. “i’ve been thinking about it since last night. since we kissed. and then again this morning. and again, every second after. and it’s not that i don’t want this. i do. so badly i feel like i can’t breathe sometimes. but—”

he finally looks at you.

and god, it hurts.

“i treated you like shit,” he says, voice cracking. “back then. even if it was joking or flirting or whatever excuse i told myself, i was cruel sometimes. i pushed you, made you feel small just because i didn’t know how to handle what i was feeling. and now you're here—choosing me. like i deserve you.”

you blink, stunned. you hadn’t expected this—this confession bleeding out of him.

he runs a hand through his hair. “you’re good. you’re so good, and i’ve been so fucking scared that one day you’ll remember every time i made you cry, or shut down, or feel like you weren’t enough. because you were always more than enough. i just… i didn’t know how to see it. not then.”

your chest aches. “beomgyu—”

“i don’t want to be that person anymore,” he whispers. “i’ve worked so hard not to be. but i still look at you and think, she deserves someone who didn’t need a second chance to get it right.”

you move slowly, reaching out to cup his face, thumb brushing the corner of his eye where tears threaten.

“you are that someone,” you say softly. “you’re not who you were, beomgyu. you grew. you changed. you loved me, even when you didn’t know it. and now? now you treat me like i’m sacred.”

he leans into your touch, eyes glassy.

“you are sacred,” he breathes.

you smile, trembling. “then stop trying to push me away like i’m not choosing you with my whole heart.”

he exhales shakily. “i’m scared.”

“me too.”

he pulls you in then, arms around your waist, head tucked into the crook of your neck.

“don’t let me fuck this up,” he says against your skin.

“we’ll figure it out together,” you whisper, holding him tighter. “you’re not alone in this.”

he pulls back just enough to kiss your forehead.

“say it again,” he says.

“what?”

“that you choose me.”

you look him in the eyes, no hesitation. “i choose you.”

his lips find yours like a prayer answered. soft. reverent. a little desperate.

and when you part, he presses his forehead to yours, whispering,

“then i’ll spend the rest of forever proving you made the right choice.”

put me in the palm of you all my life time i will be thinking of you

saturday brunch is supposed to be chill.

the kind where chaewon shows up in oversized sunglasses like she’s famous, soobin talks about the latest alien documentary he found, and yeonjun takes a thousand photos of his latte art just to post the worst one with the caption “just vibing.”

but not today.

today, you and beomgyu are sitting side by side in the booth instead of across from each other like usual. your knees are touching. his hand is on your thigh. you're giggling. he whispers something in your ear and you blush.

chaewon is squinting at you both like she’s watching a glitch in the matrix.

soobin is staring at beomgyu like he’s about to conduct a full investigation.

yeonjun drops his phone into his mimosa.

"what the fuck is happening," chaewon says, flat out, fork frozen mid-air.

you smile sweetly, lacing your fingers with beomgyu's. “we’re dating.”

yeonjun gasps like he’s been shot in the chest. soobin literally chokes on his orange juice. chaewon blinks three times, then shakes her head. “no, no, no. you two hate each other. i was there. i’ve seen you call him a crusty medieval squirrel with commitment issues.”

beomgyu grins, smug. “and now i’m her crusty medieval squirrel.”

you nudge him, laughing. “don’t make it worse.”

“this is a prank,” yeonjun says. “you’re filming us for tiktok. where’s the camera. i know it’s here.”

“we’re not pranking you,” you say, cheeks pink. “it just… happened.”

“just happened?” soobin repeats, still dazed. “you two have been fake dating for weeks!”

beomgyu shrugs. “then it got real. sue us.”

chaewon narrows her eyes, studying you. “okay… but are we talking real real or like, ‘we’re trauma bonded and it’s sexy’ real?”

you look at beomgyu.

he looks at you.

you both smile, soft and full of something you didn’t used to know how to name.

“real real,” you say.

yeonjun makes a sound like a dying whale. “i feel gaslit. i’ve spent months mediating your arguments. you once threw a croissant at him in public.”

“he ate it off the floor,” you shoot back.

beomgyu squeezes your hand. “best croissant of my life.”

soobin groans. “i need to lie down. i can’t process this sober.”

“i give it a month,” chaewon announces, sipping her iced coffee with flair. “before you implode.”

you grin. “i’ll take that bet.”

yeonjun finally recovers enough to fish his phone out of his drink. “congrats, i guess. but if you break up, i’m choosing her in the custody battle.”

“damn,” beomgyu says, hand on his heart. “that hurt.”

chaewon smirks. “don’t worry. if she dumps you, i’ll help her write her hot girl summer playlist.”

beomgyu only pulls you closer, arm slung around your shoulders, eyes shining.

“good thing i’m planning on keeping her forever.”

you roll your eyes but can’t fight the smile spreading across your face.

and even through the chaos, the disbelief, and the dramatic reactions… you’ve never felt more sure.

this is real. and it’s only the beginning.

and it's because of you.

[zerosbubble]

Career Day Chaos.

Tim Bradford x Rookie!reader [PLATONIC] — Ongoing series: Like Father, Like Rookie.

POV: When you and Tim get roped into an elementary school’s career day, things quickly go sideways… thanks to a swarm of curious kids who seem to prefer you over him.

A/N: Long time no see! Sorry for the out of the blue hiatus. It was my first break from school in what felt like forever, so I definitely took advantage of that! Hope y’all can forgive me and I also hope all is well on your side of life. :)

You didn’t expect to start your shift surrounded by glitter, graham crackers, and the scent of dry erase markers—but here you were, standing in front of a room full of wide-eyed second graders, badge clipped neatly to your vest, pretending not to feel wildly out of your element.

Next to you, Tim stood like a granite statue—arms crossed, expression unreadable. To the untrained eye, he looked annoyed. You, however, had known him long enough to recognise the signs: he was just deeply, deeply uncomfortable.

“Okay, everyone,” the teacher chirped, practically buzzing with enthusiasm. “Let’s give a big thank you to our guests from the LAPD!”

A chorus of high-pitched thank yous echoed across the room, some enthusiastic, some distracted by the giant cardboard police car cutout in the corner.

One hand shot up before the teacher even finished introducing you.

“Do you get to drive fast all the time?” a boy in a red hoodie blurted, practically bouncing in his seat.

Before you could answer, another voice chimed in. “Have you ever seen a ghost?”

“My mom said you guys should eat the curb!” One of them exclaimed with a grin, who was soon escorted out to have a talk with one of the teachers outside.

“My dad says cops eat donuts,” another kid offered with a grin, clearly proud of that contribution.

“Can you arrest my brother?” someone else asked, very seriously.

You opened your mouth—probably to give a well rounded, age appropriate answer about public safety and teamwork—but then felt a gentle tug on your duty belt.

A small girl with messy pigtails and wide, curious eyes stared up at you like you held all the secrets of the universe.

“Are you his kid?” she asked, pointing directly at Tim.

You blinked. “What? No, I’m not—”

“They’re my rookie,” Tim interjected smoothly, tone flat as a parking ticket. His arms were crossed, expression unchanging as he scanned the room like he was preparing for a tactical op. “Not my kid.”

Another hand shot up near the back. “What’s a rookie?”

You crouched beside the girl who had tugged on your duty belt, careful not to knock over the crayon box balanced on the corner of her desk. It rattled slightly as you settled into a squat, bringing yourself eye-level with her.

“It just means I’m still new,” you said, voice warm and easy, like you were sharing a secret. “I’m learning from him.”

She blinked up at you, her lashes fluttering as she took in your uniform, your badge, your vest—then flicked a look over at Tim, who stood at the front of the classroom, arms crossed like a bouncer at recess. Her head tilted slightly, lips pursing like she was solving a very serious equation.

“Like a dad?” she asked.

You smiled, soft and unguarded, caught somewhere between amused and oddly touched. “Yeah, sorta,” you said, glancing up at Tim. “It is like learning from your dad.”

There was a pause—long enough to notice the faint scratch of crayons against paper, the rustle of Velcro from a kid trying to adjust their shoe, the way the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead.

Tim didn’t say anything. But when you looked up, his gaze was already on you.

He didn’t roll his eyes. Didn’t scowl or scoff like you half expected.

He just held your stare, steady and unreadable—until the corner of his mouth twitched, barely there. Like he was acknowledging it. Like he didn’t hate how you’d said it. Like maybe… he even agreed.

Then he cleared his throat and turned back to the board, muttering something under his breath about kids these days, and in all honesty, you couldn’t tell if he was referring to the small children you were answering to, or you.

But he didn’t correct you.

And that was answer enough.

“You know ‘bad cop, nice cop.’ Are you the nice one?” the girl asked, tilting her head.

You stifled a laugh and glanced sideways at Tim. “I try to be.”

From the back of the room, a boy in a paper police hat stage-whispered to his friend, “They’re cooler.” He nodded his head towards you.

Tim’s jaw twitched. His brows ticked upward just slightly, like the betrayal physically pained him.

“Little traitors,” he muttered under his breath, adjusting the sleeve of his uniform. “I’m the one who brought the sticker badges.”

You leaned toward him, voice playful. “Don’t take it personally. I’ve got better hair.”

He didn’t move, but his eyes narrowed, dry as dust. “I heard that.”

The chaos rolled on. You helped the kids try on your vest (which nearly swallowed one of them whole), and they begged you to let them talk into the radio (you didn’t, but you pretended). Tim stayed close, looming like a grumpy storm cloud while you answered question after question.

At one point, a small boy with a blue marker mustache wrapped his arms around your leg and declared you were his “new favorite grown-up.” Tim just stared at him.

“Kid,” he said, crouching down to meet his eyes “you’ve known them for twenty minutes.”

“They let me try on the cool vest,” the boy shot back.

Tim’s eyes shifted up to you. “Congratulations. You’ve been out ranked by a second grader.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” You beamed, looking down at him.

By the end of it, your uniform had tiny handprints smeared across it, and your back ached from crouching so much—but you were smiling. And despite all his grumbling, Tim hadn’t left your side once.

You were halfway back to the shop when you reached into your pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper—construction paper, thick and soft, with a crude crayon drawing of what was unmistakably you and Tim, both with blue stick-figure badges and beaming smiles. In the corner, written in shaky, bubble letters: “THE COOL COPS.”

You chuckled and held it up.

Tim glanced over, expression unreadable. “They gave you that?”

You offered it to him. “Split custody?”

He rolled his eyes but took it without a word, folded it neatly, and slipped it into the glove compartment. Like it was nothing.

You didn’t mention it. Didn’t have to.

You just smiled to yourself as he pulled back onto the road.

“Don’t let it go to your head, kid.” He said.

“Too late.”

The sun had already dipped below the horizon by the time you and Tim pulled back into the station lot, golden haze giving way to a cool, blue-gray dusk. Your feet ached. Your back wasn’t far behind. But your heart felt… warm. Lighter.

The kids at the elementary school had worn you out in the best way. You still had a sticker badge on your sleeve, slightly crumpled. And a crayon drawing—bright scribbles of you and Tim standing in front of a very boxy police car—was folded in your vest pocket.

You changed out of your gear slowly, letting the silence of the locker room settle around you like a favorite hoodie. The chaos of the day had passed. Just the hum of overhead lights, the distant buzz of dispatch through the hallway speakers.

Jackson stepped out from behind a row of lockers, phone in hand, looking way too smug for someone off shift.

“You’re not gonna believe what I just caught,” he said, screen already up like he couldn’t wait another second to show you.

You raised a brow. “If it’s Lucy making fun of my sticker again, I already know.”

He snorted. “Better.”

He turned the phone around, and there it was—a photo, slightly out of focus, clearly taken through the cracked locker room door. Tim stood at his locker, shoulders relaxed for once. His face was unreadable, but not cold. Focused, almost careful. And in his hands—your drawing. The one with the neon green police cruiser and giant badge-shaped sun in the corner.

You watched as Tim, in the photo, gently smoothed out the edges of the paper before tacking it up inside his locker door. Right next to his medals. Right next to the photo of Metro and Isabel from back in the day.

Your breath hitched a little, unprepared for how much that image settled into your chest.

“Didn’t even hesitate,” Jackson added quietly. “Like it belonged there.”

You smiled, small and stunned.

“Don’t tell him I showed you,” Jackson said with a wink, slipping his phone away. “Guy acts like he’s all tough, but we both know—he’s a total softie.”

You shook your head, a laugh breaking loose. “Yeah. I won’t say a word.”

But later, as you walked out into the night, the breeze cool on your face, you glanced toward Tim’s car. He was already there, sipping from a to-go cup, eyes on the dashboard like nothing had changed.

But you knew better now.

And when you climbed in, settling into the passenger seat like it was always yours, you didn’t say anything either.

You just smiled—and held on to the quiet.

Because that drawing wasn’t just kid stuff.

It was proof you were part of something.

And you weren’t going anywhere.

taglist: @its-ares @nevereclipse @chezze-its @mcckunty @graciereads @gublerstylesobrien1238

[ducktoo]

Sweet

Dreamcatcher's Dami x M!Reader

Note: Hey! Sorry for not updating for like a month-ish, and May will be the worst month yet personally. But appreciate everyone for waiting, and I will be trying to get all the requests here!

Also, happy 800 followers!

For the first time in a while, Dami wakes up to silence. Not the eerie, post-apocalyptic kind, but the kind of silence that has birds chirping somewhere far off, a breeze politely brushing the curtains, and not a single person yelling about makeup calls or dance rehearsals.

12 pm

No alarm. No schedule. No morning manager texts with twenty exclamation marks and a picture of her half-asleep face attached. Just… the countryside.

Dami sits on the edge of the futon, stretching her arms above her head as the sunlight slips through the wooden blinds and kisses her skin like it’s apologizing for yesterday’s heatwave. Her hair’s a little messy, one sock's missing, and her bucket hat is tossed haphazardly on the windowsill like it, too, needed a vacation.

“So,” she says to the room, which contains nothing but a suitcase, a folded map she still doesn’t know how to read, and one very confused-looking butterfly that’s been following her since last night, “what do people even do out here?”

She grabs her phone. Barely any signal. Of course.

And honestly, good.

She didn’t come out here to scroll through news articles or check her tagged posts. She came here because something inside her—something small and sharp—had been aching for quiet. For stillness. For a chance to hear herself think without the echo of someone else’s voice layered on top.

Still, she hadn’t exactly planned anything. One minute she was signing off her final company commitment with a polite bow and a box of donuts, and the next, she was staring out the window of a bus heading toward some random, green-splashed town with more cows than people, with now waking up after an interesting sleep in a small inn.

Her stomach growls. Loudly. Dramatically. Like it also wasn’t expecting to be in the middle of nowhere this morning.

Dami pats her hoodie pocket, pulling out the scrap of a tourist brochure she’d snagged from the bus stop. The ink’s smudged, one corner’s ripped, and the translation is… well. Creative.

She reads aloud.

“‘Try taste our sweet store candy: handmade with love and sugar of honest heart.’”

She blinks. Then reads it again.

“Sweet store,” she murmurs, narrowing her eyes at the fuzzy little photo beside the text. It shows a small, wooden-fronted shop with faded awnings, jars of pastel-coloured candy lined up on the window display, and a blurry figure sweeping the porch like they’re trying not to be in frame.

It’s oddly charming. Like something out of a slice-of-life drama where everyone has a tragic backstory and nothing really happens except people discovering the meaning of life through tea.

Dami pulls on her bucket hat.

“Alright,” she mutters, half to herself, half to the moth still chilling by the curtain, “let’s go and get sugar rush.”

The wooden door creaks when she pushes it open, and a small brass bell tinkles from above—soft, delicate, the kind of sound that makes you instinctively lower your voice even though no one’s around. The place smells like nostalgia and melted sugar, warm and heavy, clinging to the air like a childhood memory that refuses to fade.

Shelves line the small space, some slanted from age, others patched up with duct tape and what she assumes is leftover washi paper. Glass jars filled with brightly coloured sweets gleam under the filtered morning light—barley candies, flower-shaped jellies, dried persimmon gummies, and those ridiculously addictive sesame crisps that break your teeth but heal your soul.

It’s quiet, except for the low whirr of a fan in the corner and the soft crackle of something cooking behind the counter.

And then she hears it.

That very familiar string of muffled curses.

“Motherf—hot—why is everything so sticky—”

She rounds the corner just in time to see you—you, apron on, sleeves rolled up, face flushed from the steam of whatever candy cauldron you’ve got bubbling away. You’ve got your hair slicked back with a fork (an actual one, probably stolen from last night’s takeout), and your fingers are expertly folding a ribbon of molten sugar onto a wooden board with practiced ease.

“Wow,” she says before she can stop herself, leaning against the counter. “You actually did it.”

You jerk at the voice, almost drop your taffy paddle, and turn with the slow, wide-eyed look of someone who just saw their midterm professor walk into a karaoke bar.

“…Yubin?” Your voice cracks a little on the last syllable.

She grins. “Told you I’d haunt you eventually.”

“You—you’re here?” You look around like you forgot where here is. “In this town? In my shop??”

“Your shop,” she repeats, letting the words roll off her tongue. “Didn’t expect to see you here either. Last I checked, you moved out of our hometown right after middle school. I figured you’d be somewhere in the city by now, overworked, underfed, and buried in a pile of part-time jobs.”

“I was,” you say, still trying to process the fact that Dami, middle school buddy/crush turned K-pop idol, is standing in your candy shop like she just walked in off a sitcom set.

“But then my aunt handed me the keys to this place last year and dipped to Jeju, so now I’m here. Day job: sugar gremlin. Night job: dying over assignments.”

Dami’s laugh is quiet, a little nostalgic. “So we both escaped.”

You blink. “Huh? What do you mean?”

She shrugs, walking slowly around the small shop, fingers skimming along the counter. “Contract ended. No rush to renew anything. Figured I’d disappear for a week. Rest. Breathe. Maybe find myself in a bag of chestnut toffee.”

You smirk. “That one’s on that shelf on the left, right next to the emotional damage gummies.”

Her eyes light up. “Ooh, limited edition?”

“Hand-pulled bitterness,” you say with mock pride. “Best seller. The damn kids kept buying it for challenges.”

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, grinning like it’s still math class and you’re trying not to get caught passing notes behind your textbooks.

“Small world, huh,” she finally says.

“Stupidly small,” you reply.

And just like that, the years between middle school and now feel like they’ve folded into something softer. Like saltwater taffy stretched thin but never snapped. You both left the same town. Took different trains. Ended up back at the same platform anyway.

“Hey,” she says, suddenly sheepish. “You mind if I hang out a bit? I didn’t really have a plan for the day.”

You glance at the clock. Your next batch of plum jellies still needs to set, and your current batch is probably imploding as you speak—but honestly?

“Only if you help wrap these,” you say, nudging the pile of cooling candies toward her.

She raises an eyebrow. “You’re putting the idol to work?”

You toss her a spare apron. “You’re the one who walked into my shop, miss.”

Dami catches it midair, laughter trailing behind her like powdered sugar in the wind, and just like that, your quiet little candy shop becomes something warmer.

-

If there was a camera in the shop right now—just one, even a dusty old CCTV one—you’re pretty sure this moment would go viral. Dami, former girl group cool-icon, multi-talented performer, deadpan queen of stage presence… is currently fighting for her life against a roll of wax paper and losing.

“Why is it curling like this?” she mutters, brow furrowed, as the sheet she’s trying to cut keeps flipping back onto itself like it has a grudge. “The hell is this? Did you curse it?”

You, very professionally, do not laugh.

At least not out loud.

You’re by the counter, refilling the sesame crisp jars, trying to focus on literally anything other than the sight of her trying to measure and fold wax paper with all the grace of a kitten learning to walk on ice. Every few seconds she mutters something to herself—some half-hearted insult aimed at the paper, your shop, or gravity—and it takes every ounce of willpower not to burst into full, wheezing laughter.

“I thought idols were supposed to be good with their dedicate hands,” you say mildly, glancing over just in time to see the tape dispenser get caught in her sleeve. "…and not cursing."

“I was,” she shoots back, trying to wrangle it off with one hand. “This is bullshit. You’re sabotaging me. This is revenge for the time I told everyone in class you had a crush on that substitute teacher.”

Your eyes narrow. “You mean Ms. Park? The one everyone had a crush on?”

“She wore collared shirt and glasses,” she deadpans. “To be fair, it was the look.”

"Still is, you know that." You scoff and toss her the little candy label stickers. “Here. Just put these on the wrappers. It’s harder to mess that up.”

“You say that like it’s hard,” she mutters, peeling one off with exaggerated care.

You both settle into a rhythm—her sitting at the low table, tongue peeking out a little in concentration as she sticks labels onto neat little plastic-wrapped candies, and you at the counter, folding paper boxes while the soft hum of an old fan and the distant chirp of birds fills the air.

It’s oddly peaceful. Domestic, almost. If someone walked in, they’d probably mistake you two for co-owners or an old married couple running a family shop passed down for generations.

“How long have you been here now?” she asks suddenly, her tone gentler this time.

You pause, thinking. “About…nine months? Moved in right before spring. My aunt used to run this place, but her knees started acting up. Gave me the keys, said, ‘It’s your problem now, kiddo,’ and ran off to Jeju with her yoga group.”

Dami huffs a laugh. “Sounds about right. You always said you wanted something quiet.”

“I said I wanted peace,” you correct her, holding up a half-folded candy box like it’s proof. “Didn’t realize peace included burning my hands on hot syrup every week.”

She smiles, but there’s a softness behind it now. “Still… I get it. The quiet. The slowness.”

You glance at her, noticing the way she’s leaning slightly forward now, elbows on her knees, the faintest crease between her brows.

“Was it hard?” you ask, voice lower.

She doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. Doesn’t deflect with a joke this time.

“Maybe a bit,” she admits. “It’s weird. You’re surrounded by people all the time, but… you get so used to performing, it’s like you forget how to just be. No cameras. No pressure. Just… existing.”

You nod, slowly. “Well, you’re existing now. And apparently waging war against packaging.”

"Shut it…" She snorts. “It’s humbling.”

"Well, you're welcome, missy." You throw a jellybean at her. She dodges it with the reflexes of someone who’s been through years of dance practice and too many fan-thrown plushies.

“Ya,” she says, suddenly grinning. “Remember that time we had to do that candy fundraiser in school and you accidentally dropped a whole tray of lollipops down the stairwell in front of everyone?”

You groan. “Please don’t bring that up. I’m still emotionally scarred.”

“I think you cried.”

“I twitched,” you say defensively.

“You sobbed.”

You stare at her. “You’re never helping in this shop again.”

She laughs—really laughs—and the sound fills the little space like something old and familiar, something you didn’t know you missed. You lean back against the counter, watching her with an amused smile and a warmth settling quietly in your chest.

It’s strange.

How someone can be gone for years, grow up into someone bigger, brighter, more distant—and yet still sit here, in your little candy shop, struggling with tape and teasing you like no time passed at all.

Maybe the universe isn’t so bad.

Maybe it brought her back right when you both needed something sweet.

-

By day two, you’ve already made a sign that reads:

“Yubin’s Specials – Limited Edition”

You prop it up right outside the door.

She sees it.

She groans.

“You’re seriously using me as clickbait,” she says, holding a tray of chestnut taffies she just helped wrap.

“Of course I am,” you say proudly. “And you’re doing amazing, Lee Yubin.”

“You didn’t even…fcking…train me.”

You shrug. “Trial by sugar.”

It turns out people really like candy made by a former Dreamcatcher member. Even if her wrappers are a bit lopsided and she keeps messing up the ribbon curls. Tourists stumble in with giddy grins, locals pretend not to fangirl too hard, and somehow even the old grump from the vegetable stand next door stops by for two packs of barley candy and whispers, “Wasn’t she on TV?”

You nod solemnly. “She’s our intern now. We pay her in red bean mochi and my yapping.”

Dami, who’s been quietly tying goody bags in the back, shouts, “I heard that!”

And so, business booms.

Your little shop starts getting lines out the door. A couple from Seoul asks if this is the place that sells Dami’s Panda Honey Drops.

You blink. “That’s not a real thing.”

They pull up a blog post on their phone on Dami's Insta.

...Okay, apparently it is now.

Meanwhile, Dami slips further and further into her “intern” role. You catch her giving free samples to a group of shy high schoolers, writing little notes on wrappers like “Don’t forget to rest” and “Fighting! ”. They leave with red cheeks and stars in their eyes.

“You’re stealing my customers,” you tell her.

She looks too smug. “Your fault for using me as clickbait.”

“You’re fired.”

“You can’t afford to fire me,” she says, stretching with a yawn. “The people love me. I’m your brand now.”

"Tsk." You try to glare, but end up grinning instead.

The rest of the day is a blur of sugar, laughs, and the occasional candy-stick swordfight during slow hours (you lost, tragically). By the time the sun starts setting, the shop’s pretty much wiped clean.

You hang the "Closed" sign and wipe your hands on your apron. “We survived another day, Yubin.”

She stretches again, slower this time, her frame outlined by the golden hour light streaming in through the door. “You’ve got a good thing here,” she murmurs. “It’s cozy.”

“Cozy?” you echo. “That’s your review?”

She shrugs. “Cozy. Honest. Kind of… nice.”

You blink at her. That was a bit more real than expected. But before you can say anything, she’s already slipping past you to hang up her apron.

“Where you going?” you ask.

She turns around with that trademark poker face, then lifts her brows. “Obviously to help you out in the neighbourhood, boss. You said this gig comes with overtime two days ago.”

You snort. “Of course. It’s not a full experience unless you also carry bags of flour for Mrs. Hwang and untangle Mr. Jang’s fairy lights that have no business being up in spring.”

She grins. “Lead the way, boss.”

So you both head out to the warm neighbourhood. A few kids run past with grape lollipops from your shop still clutched in sticky hands. A dog you only kinda know jumps up on Dami and she laughs, crouching down to ruffle its ears.

Mrs. Hwang waves from her porch and hands you a small plate of rice cakes. “For the idol girl. Tell her thank you for helping me bring in my laundry yesterday.”

You smile. “She’s right here, you know.”

Mrs. Hwang squints. “You won’t pass it on?”

“Ma’am, she’s—never mind.”

Mr. Jang yells from two houses down. “I tell you two, those lights are seasonal! They just work better than the porch lamp!”

“They blink like a horror movie!” you shout back.

Dami’s laughing the entire time, shoulders shaking, eyes bright. Not in that polite, polished way for cameras, but in the way you remember from middle school—when she fell off the jungle gym and laughed before she even hit the ground.

And you realize… she fits here.

A little too well.

Like she’s always belonged in the quiet lull between candy jars and nosy neighbours. Like maybe this week off wasn’t a random break, but a breadcrumb trail back to something she forgot she needed.

Later that night, you’re both back at the shop.

She’s lounging at the back table again, sipping warm barley tea, while you log sales for the day. The numbers are ridiculous. You glare at her from behind your laptop.

“You made more money for me in two days than I did in a whole month,” you say flatly.

“I accept my payment in roasted rice crackers and lifelong bragging rights.”

You throw her one from the snack shelf. She catches it easily, smirking.

You watch her for a moment. The way she sits so comfortably in this space, even after years of stages and screaming crowds. The way she hums under her breath without realizing it.

“Hey,” you say softly. “You really okay out here in the middle of nowhere?”

She looks up. Meets your eyes.

“Yeah,” she says after a second. “It's nice.”

And somehow, it would be nice to have her here with you too.

-

The next morning, you woke up to birds chirping way too cheerily for someone who spent all night boiling malt candy until their soul nearly evaporated. You barely cracked your eyes open before tossing a hoodie over your head, grabbing a cooler, and jogging to her place and banging on Dami’s dorm door like the tax collector.

She groaned from the other side. “It’s not even 9 am.”

“Exactly. Prime beach hour. Let’s go.”

You didn’t wait for her to protest.

Half an hour later, you were both trudging across soft sand, you with your cooler slung over your shoulder, and Dami squinting at the ocean like it personally owed her money.

“What are we doing here?” she muttered.

“Shut up and relax,” you said, tossing her a can from the cooler. “That’s an order.”

She looked down at the cold beer in her hand, eyebrow raised. “Is this really allowed?”

“Do you see cops?”

“No—wait, actually, that guy over there—”

“That’s a fisherman, Yubin.”

“Same energy.”

You rolled your eyes and sat down first, your legs stretched out toward the water. The tide was lazy today, dragging the foam in and out like it was breathing. Beside you, Dami plopped down with a sigh so dramatic it could've won an award.

Then she opened the can.

And for the first time in days—maybe weeks, maybe months—she really breathed.

The kind that filled her lungs, her chest, her ribs. Not just the automatic inhales for survival. No, this one was different. Deep. Slow. Like she hadn’t realized how little air she’d been taking in until now.

Her eyes drifted toward the horizon. “God… it’s quiet here.”

You cracked your own beer open with a soft hiss. “That’s why the shop is here.”

She sipped. Then again. “This might be the best thing I’ve tasted all year.”

You nudged her shoulder with yours. “It’s not the beer. It’s peace, Yubin.”

“Cringe.”

You both laughed. But then, slowly, it settled. The silence. The soft rhythm of waves brushing the shore. The clink of aluminium as your cans tapped the ground.

And her voice came quieter this time. Less of a joke. “I’ve been thinking.”

“You think?”

"Shush, you." She ignored you. “What if I didn’t go back?”

You blinked. “To Seoul?”

She nodded, eyes still on the sea. “To that life. Schedules. Spotlights. Deadlines. Everyone watching everything I do… waiting for the next thing to eat me alive.”

You stayed quiet. Let her talk.

“I could stay,” she said softly. “Here. In the countryside. Wake up when I want. Help out. Run a small café maybe. Or just… nothing at all. Isn’t that enough?”

You took a slow sip. “You’re drunk.”

“I’ve had three sips.”

“Exactly. Drunk. Aren't you lightweighted?”

She turned to look at you fully now. “I’m serious.”

So were you. Because you leaned in just a little, reached out, and smacked her on the head.

Harder than you meant to.

She yelped. “What the hell?!”

“You don’t get to say that like it’s simple,” you snapped. “Like you’re just tired of singing and poof—you’re gone. You worked your whole life for this. And now what? You want to throw it away because you got a week off and tasted quiet?”

Her expression shifted. Something between hurt and frustration. “You think it’s that easy for me to let go? You think I haven’t been thinking about it for months? Every single day? When I wake up feeling hollow, go to sleep feeling watched, smile until my jaw hurts because someone says I’m their happiness and I don’t even know how to find mine anymore?!”

You froze.

The beach didn’t.

Waves kept folding into themselves. The wind teased your sleeves. The gulls cried like nothing had happened.

But something had.

“…Yubin.”

She shook her head, looking away. “I’m tired,” she said again. “Really tired. And I know I joke about retiring, but it’s not a joke anymore. I want to stop. And this place… this stupid, quiet, peaceful place… it’s the first time I felt like I could breathe.”

You stared at her. At the way her fingers curled around the can like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. At the sea salt sticking to her lashes. At the familiar slouch of her shoulders—the one you remember from middle school, when the world was too much even then.

And you got it.

Of course you got it.

You just hated that you got it.

“…Then stay,” you said finally. Your voice barely louder than the tide. “But don’t stay just because it’s easier. Stay because it’s right. Stay because this is where you heal, not where you hide.”

She didn’t answer for a while. But she didn’t move either.

The beer grew warm in your hands. A breeze passed, cool and calm. And the sun, despite everything, kept rising.

-

You knew she was leaving the moment she woke up early without you knocking.

The sun wasn’t even up yet, just that soft grey light smudging the edge of the sky. You were already at the shop, brewing tea and boxing up the last batch of barley and chestnut candies from the night before. Dami came in, hair still a little damp from the quick shower you assumed she took to hide the puffiness in her eyes.

You didn’t say anything.

Just slid over the warm cup.

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

You smiled. “So. You’re ditching me.”

She huffed out a laugh. “Like you didn’t say yesterday that I shouldn’t stay just to hide.”

“I meant it. Still doesn’t mean I gotta like it.”

Dami smiled into her cup.

The next hour passed the same way the last few days had—quiet banter, easy rhythm, sugar and wrappers and sweet scents hanging in the air. Except now, the silence had a ticking clock beneath it. You felt it in every glance. Every pause.

When the bell above the door jingled, you looked up mid-wrap and nearly dropped the entire tray.

Because walking into your shop was Dreamcatcher’s Jiu In the flesh. And not just her—soon behind came a few more heads peeking in. Siyeon waved politely. Yoohyeon smiled wide and said, “Ooh! It smells good in here!” like it was a surprise your candy shop did what it said on the tin.

You blinked at them. Then turned to Dami with your most exaggerated fake scowl. “So this is the kind of company you’ve been keeping, huh? Surrounded by literal beauties while I’ve been over here stirring malt syrup and burning my fingers.”

Dami, bless her, turned a shade redder than the strawberry jellies. “Shut up,” she muttered.

You grinned.

“Seriously though,” you leaned back, arms crossed, “you didn’t tell me they are this pretty. Makes me feel like the ugly duckling.”

JiU chuckled as she stepped further in. “You must be the friend she wouldn’t shut up about all week.”

You shrugged. “Guilty.”

There was a calm in Dami’s expression now. The quiet kind of peace that comes after a storm. After words were said and decisions were made. She helped you pack the final tin of candies—her batch, the ones she kept burning the first day until she learned how to mix in rhythm with yours.

You handed it to her.

“This is for the road,” you said softly. “Don’t eat them all in one go. Maybe share with your unnies if they behave.”

Dami took it. Her hands lingered against yours just a second too long.

Then she hugged you.

Not quick. Not awkward. Not half-hearted.

No, she buried herself into your hoodie, arms tight around your middle, like she was trying to memorize the way you felt. Like if she let go too soon, she’d forget how you laughed when she burned her first sugar pull. Or the way you dragged her to the beach and told her to breathe like it mattered.

And it did. It mattered more than she’d ever say aloud.

“…You sure?” you whispered.

Her answer came against your chest, muffled and soft. “Yeah. I think I gotta come back.”

You nodded, even if she couldn’t see it.

Even if some part of you screamed to hold on.

“Just know,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, “if you ever wanna come back—not just for a week, not just for candy—you’ve got a place.”

She looked up at you then, eyes a little glassy but smiling. “You’d take me in like a stray cat?”

“I’d exploit you like an unpaid intern again.”

She smacked your arm. “You’re the worst.”

“You hugged me for a full minute, dummy.”

“Shut up. You're lucky you're cute.”

"Wait huh-" Before you could question, she playfully pushed you back and walked out, ignoring the blushes crept to her cheeks.

The others waved their goodbyes, polite and sweet, as Dami stepped outside. The car door shut with a gentle click, and just like that—she was driving off, a blur of black van and sunlight catching on the windshield.

You stood there for a while.

Letting the silence settle. Ignoring the tears left your eyes.

Letting the wind carry away whatever she left behind.

The candy shop was quieter now. But your fingers still smelled like sugar, and your chest still felt full.

Because sometimes, even goodbyes can taste sweet.

Especially when you know it’s not the last one. Just… not yet. Not today.

Maybe you will actually tell her next time she comes back.

[sadiesdoll]

𝜗𝜚 The Way You Stay. 𝜗𝜚

stripper!reader x loyal costumer!sevika ♡

contains: heavy angst, Sevika is kind of a bitch, pining, slow burn, domestic intimacy, fingering (r!receiving), no aftercare after sex, slight degradation, hickey, dom!sevika, slightly bratty sub!reader, drunk!sevika, emotional unavailability, Sevika is kinda soft towards the end.

Hey guys.. first time posting on here.. kinda nervy...

okay so I'm planning on making this a multi-part series or even just a 2 part. (Which is so crazy cus it's my first official piece of work ahh that's so brave of me omg who's proud) but um. Yes.

WC: 6779

Enjoy ♡

The bass thrums through the walls of the club, low and heavy, and the airs thick with perfume, sweat, and booze. You spin slow on the pole, letting your hands glide down its cool metal surface as you drop into a split. The men around the stage whistle and groan like clockwork, throwing crumpled bills that flutter to your feet like confetti. You ignore them, like you always do.

You’ve danced this stage a hundred times, but tonight the lights feel warmer. Heavier.  Maybe because you already know who’s watching.

Sevika. She’s different from everyone else watching.

She doesn’t gawk. She doesn’t catcall. She sits in the back corner booth, same one every time. Manspreading, one arm slung lazily over the leather seat, watching you with a look that isn’t quite boredom, but definitely isn’t interest either.

You can never tell what she’s thinking, and it drives you crazy.

There’s a half-finished drink on the table, a fresh cigar between her fingers, and eyes that haven’t left you once.

It’s not the first time, and it sure won’t be the last.

She comes once every week. Sometimes even twice. Never brings friends. Never asks for anyone else.

Only you.

And still, everytime you slide into her space, it’s like starting over. And it’s frustrating.

The music ends. Applause erupts. You quickly collect your tips and slip off stage, heading to the back. It’s loud back here too. Music and moans blending from the private rooms, but you find a moment to grab a glass of water, letting the coolness chase the heat off your throat.

You step back out. And sure enough, Sevika’s still there.

You slide into the booth across from her, eyes flicking over the low drink in her glass. 

“Rough day?” You ask, dropping into the seat across from her for once instead of her lap, just to mess with her. Your voice is light, playful. 

She doesn’t look at you right away, just exhales slow and steady, a ribbon of smoke trailing from her pretty lips. Then she finally speaks.

“Is it that obvious?” 

You blink. That… almost sounded like honesty.

“Maybe a little,” you tease, elbow on the table, chin resting in ur hand. “I know you. You only slouch like that when something’s bothering you.” 

That earns a glance. Nothing more. Just a slow drag of her eyes over your face, your neck, your chest, your thighs.

You’re still in your lingerie. You’re always still in your lingerie when she’s around.

“I slouch when I’m bored,” she says finally.

“Bored?” You echo, raising a brow. “Are you saying you’re bored of me?” You tease. Frowning at her. 

She rolls her eyes at you. “Maybe I am.”

“Please, if you were bored you wouldn’t come here every night.” You say playfully. “But no seriously, you’ve been coming here for months. Sitting in the same seat. Watching the same girl.”

That lands. Barely. The corner of her mouth lifts, half a smirk, more smoke than smile.

“Hm, guess I’m a creature of habit.” 

And maybe that should be enough. But it never is. You lean forward just a little, voice dropping just a hair.

“So.. why me?”

She doesn’t blink.

“Does it matter?”

You open your mouth. Then close it. Because yeah, it fucking matters. And it shouldn’t. But it does. 

If she’s going to be so cold.. so guarded… then why keep coming back?

Why always you?

The silence stretches between you, thick with smoke and things unsaid. Your hearts beating faster now.. not from nerves, but from that familiar, confusing ache she always brings with her. Like you’re trying to figure out a puzzle where half the pieces are missing on purpose.

You can’t bring yourself to look away from her. Why does she look so beautiful even when she’s acting like an asshole? You ask yourself in your head. 

She taps the end of her cigar on the ashtray. Glances at your thighs. Then your lips that were drenched with pink gloss.

“Gonna make me wait?” Sevika says finally, voice all gravel and laziness, her gaze burning low on your body. 

You giggle softly, your hand brushing against her thigh like you’ve done a hundred times before. “Impatient tonight, aren’t you?”

She just leans back in the booth, arms draped over the leather like a throne. Her eyes don’t leave yours.

Fuck. Please stop looking at me like that.

You look at her for a few more seconds before you finally snap out of your trance. 

You sigh and roll your eyes, playfully. “Cmon,” you murmur, slipping off your chair and tugging at her wrist.

Her hand brings comfort to you. It’s so warm. Heavy. Familiar. Filled with cuts and bruises you wish you could erase. 

You weave through the thick crowd, drunken laughter, clinking glasses, music humming through the walls, and Sevika follows in your shadow. Towering. Silent. Unshakable.

You don’t look back at her, but you feel her there, like gravity. Always there.

And yet..

She’s not holding your hand back.

Who are you kidding? She never does anyway.

Yet, your fingers squeeze hers once on instinct. Maybe hoping, just for a split second, that this time will be different. That maybe tonight she’ll squeeze back. 

She doesn’t.

You’re about to lead her further down the dark hall, toward the room the two of you basically own now. The one with the ambient lighting, ripped couch, and the creaky bed that’s too familiar by now.

But before you get there, she suddenly grabs your wrist.

“Come here,” she says so softly you barley catch it. She tugs you toward a smaller, darker room tucked away behind an unmarked door.

You blink. “Here? But that’s not our-“

She interrupts you by shutting the door with so much force you could swear she broke it.

Her eyes flick to you, already dark and heavy with that look that you’ve seen too many times to count. “Don’t question it.”

You chuckle. “Eager tonight, aren’t we?” 

She rolls her eyes. “Fuck off.”

“What? Not my fault you’re impatient tonight. Totally out of character for you.” You say while tugging on the hem of her shirt.

She grabs your wrist softly, and you get the hint. Quickly letting go of her shirt and looking up at her again.

“You’ve been such a fucking smartass lately.” She mutters, pulling away to lock the door.

You bite your lip, a teasing glint in your eyes. “Yeah? Think you need to fuck some sense into me?”

She doesn’t say anything. Instead, she turns around to look at you, then steps forward with a cocky look on her face. Her eyes never leaving yours as she closes the distance between you.

“Hm?” You hum one last time, your voice lacing with curiosity, before she shuts you up with a sudden, aggressive press of her lips to your neck.

“Fuck—“ you gasp, completely caught off guard, her fingers dig into your waist with a possessive force, pulling you into her like she can’t get enough of you.

She pulls away just enough to look at you, “Shut the fuck up.” Her voice rough and commanding. “You asked for this, didn’t you? Fucking slut.”

Before you can even think of responding, her lips clash onto your neck. “Sev— are you gonna give me a fucking hickey?”

She doesn’t say anything, but the feel of her tongue sliding against your skin is all the answer you need. 

She grabs the hem of your bra and yanks it off without hesitation. 

She’s fast. Too fast. And suddenly, you’re exposed beneath her. Every inch of you vulnerable to her gaze.

Without any further warning, she moves between your legs, her knee pushing them apart with a firm pressure that makes your pulse race.

“Please.” you whimper.

“Please what?”

“Just fuck me already.”

She chuckles. “Since you asked nicely.”

You’re giggling, a little breathless, when her fingers hook in your waistband. 

“Sev—”

She slides her fingers down in one swift motion. She pauses, and looks at you for a split second, then glances down at your thighs. Her fingertips brushing over your slit.

“Fuck, you’re already this wet?” She murmurs, her voice low and husky.

You bite your lip. Embarrassed, you try to hide your face in the nape of her neck.

“No. Hey, look at me.”

You bury your face deeper into her neck. But then— 

She slides one finger inside you with a suddenness that leaves you breathless. You gasp, then you moan. 

“Fucking look at me.”

You look at her with dazed eyes. 

“Don’t take your eyes off of me. Not until I say so.”

You nod, the words stuck in your throat.

Then she puts in a second finger. 

“Use your fucking words.”

“Oh— Fuck!” You gasp, not processing what she just said.

She picks up the pace, her fingers pumping faster inside of you. Each thrust sending a shockwave of pleasure through your body.

“Tell me how bad you want it,” she commands.

You moan, barely able to get your words out. “I want it so f-fucking bad. Please.”

She grins, satisfaction flickering in her eyes. “Now that’s my girl.” 

You wrap your arms around her neck, moaning loudly in her ear. The obscene wet sounds of your cunt echo through the room.

“Mm.. yeah you like this, huh?” She whispers with a low, amused chuckle, “You like when I fuck the words out of you?”

“Y-yes I do. I really really really do.” You whimper, slurring the words like a dumb little slut too cock-drunk to even think straight. Your voice breaking with every thrust she gives you.

“Yeah? You do?”

“Mhmmmfuck. Harder.”

Sevika laughs under her breath, “Needy little bitch,” she mutters, her pace unrelenting. One of her hands snakes up your body, cupping your left breast.

“Oh my fucking god. Sevika..”

Your voice cracks, desperate and filthy, like a prayer you’ve said too many times. 

She groans low in her throat, the sound vibrating against your skin. “Fuck— keep sayin’ my name like that.” She pinches your nipple with her middle and ring finger.

“Nngghhsevika.. I need you. Ineedyousofuckingbad.” You whine. She pulls out her fingers and starts rubbing quick circles around your puffy clit.

“I know you do. I know you fucking do.”

A weak yell comes out of your throat. Your hips jerk at the sudden shift, her fingers never slowing down.

“Sev—fuck, I’m gonna—“

She rests her forehead against yours, her lips hovering over yours but never kissing you. She’s driving you fucking crazy. 

“Yeah?” She puts her fingers back in your pussy. “You’re gonna cum for me already?” 

You can’t even speak. All you can do is nod, trembling under her touch, your legs are threatening to give out.

“Be a good slut and cum for me.”

You’re shaking. Thighs clenching, breath stuttering, and her big meaty fingers feel so fucking deep inside you.

“Fuckfuckfuck—Sevika, I—“

“Yeahh.. that’s it.” She grunts, her forehead still pressed to yours. Her fingers curl just right, hitting that spot that makes your back arch harder. “Come on, pretty girl. Make a mess on my fingers.” 

And you finally do. Your moans barely audible as you bite down on Sevika’s shoulder, trying to stifle them. Her low groan of approval rumbles through your chest. 

But she doesn’t hold you. She doesn’t say anything.

Instead, she suddenly pulls her fingers out, slick and glistening, and wipes them carelessly against her thigh like you were nothing more than a momentary craving.

You blink up at her with half-lidded eyes, still catching your breath, heart thudding, your cunt pulsating. You’re waiting for something, anything. But all you get is her usual stupid silence, and the stupid unreadable look in her eyes, and the stupid cigar in her mouth.

She steps back, adjusting her belt like nothing happened. 

“Get cleaned up,” she mutters, turning toward the door. 

You thought this time it would be different, you don’t know why, but you did. And you felt stupid for it. Of course she wasn’t gonna change, not for you, atleast. Everyone sees you as just a slutty girl that dances on a pole for a living, what makes you so sure that she doesn’t think the same way as others?

You sit there. Legs trembling. The door clicks shut behind her. 

You stare at it for a long time, hoping she’d come back and give you some sort of.. comfort? You didn’t know what you needed, but it sure as hell wasn’t her just leaving you in this dark room like that. 

Eventually, you pull yourself together, like you always do with her. You fix your clothes, wipe the smudged makeup from under your eyes, and walk out like nothing happened. 

━━━━━━━━ ⊱⋆⊰ ━━━━━━━━

That night, long after the club had emptied, you lay in bed. Phone screen lighting up got tired face.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard. You’ve typed something out. Deleted it. Typed again.

   Hey, are you home? 

Backspace.

   I had fun, you know. Didn’t seem like you did tho. 

Backspace.

    I’m sorry if I did anything wrong.

You hit send before you can stop yourself.

The screen stays empty. No typing dots. No reply.

Not even a “read.”

You toss your phone face down and let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. 

You knew better. You really did.

━━━━━━━━ ⊱⋆⊰ ━━━━━━━━

The next day, you wake up late, the sun already steaming through the cracks in the curtains. Your body aches, a mix of exhaustion and lingering soreness from last nights events. You roll over, checking your phone, you can’t help but glance at Sevika’s contact name, “Sev ♡” at the top of the text conversation. It stings a little, seeing it there, but still no response. 

You sigh, rubbing your face, the guilt from last night settles back in, but so does the frustration. You wish she would just respond. Maybe she was busy. She works with silco after all. Or maybe she was ignoring you on purpose. 

You roll out of bed, stretch, and glance at the clock, “Ugh. Shit.” You groan when you realize that you’re late. But that doesn’t matter. Because your mind keeps drifting to last night, how it felt, how it ended, and how you’re just supposed to move on now. You felt angry. Disgusted. Why is it so hard to let go of her?

You take a deep breath, you get dressed and head out. You prayed to whatever God that was listening to you for her to NOT show up today. 

Even if you try to focus on the present, her absence looms over everything. It’s like she haunts you.

The club is already pulsing with life when you arrive. Music thumping, lights swirling, the scent of cheap cologne and stale liquor clinging to the air. You keep your head down as you pass through the dressing room, forcing on a half-smile when one of the girls calls out a joke you don’t quite register.

You go through your motions. Change. Makeup. Heels. But everything feels like it’s moving through molasses, like your body’s here, but your mind is trapped in a loop, stuck in last night, stuck in her

You’re halfway through your set when your gaze flicks to that one table.

Empty.

Your stomach twists, and you hate the part of yourself that’s relieved. Hate it even more for feeling disappointed right after. You look away quickly, gripping the pole tighter, grounding yourself in the routine. In the sweat. The rhythm. The fake flirtation. Anything but her.

Backstage, you finally let yourself check your phone. 

“Just this once. Just to be sure.” You promised to yourself.

Sev ♡

No new messages.

Your heart sinks in the same familiar way. 

“She really said fuck me and meant it,” you mutter under your breath, bitterly.

You toss the phone aside. Maybe it’s time to stop checking. But even silence feels like something from her.

You change out of your costume slower than usual, taking your time like it’ll somehow delay the emptiness waiting for you outside these walls.

Because if she’s not out there, if you’re not dancing for her, making her watch your every move, making her want, then what’s the fucking point? Why even be here? Why paint on the lashes, step into heels, fake the moans and smiles, if the one person you want to see it won’t even bother showing up?

Someone taps your shoulder. You flinch.

“You good?” One of the girls asks gently. It’s Lena, barely dressed, lashes already lifting at the corners, a lollipop in her mouth like always. “You’ve been zoning out for like… a full song.”

You blink at her, then force a half-smile. “Yeah I’m okay. Just a bit tired tonight.”

She hums while squinting her eyes at you, she’s clearly unconvinced. But she doesn’t press, just gives you a light smack on your ass and walks off with a wink.

You let out a faint giggle. Take a couple deep breaths. Fix your lipstick. And when you look back in the mirror, you repeat to yourself, Just one more set. You can do one more set. 

You slip your heels back on, head out into the low haze of lights and smoke, the bass already rattling in your ribs. Maybe if you move the right way, smile the right way, you’ll forget how empty it feels when you don’t catch her eyes in the crowd.

You twist around the pole, bite your lip, arch your back just right, let your hands trail down your body the way you know they like.

“Damn baby, put me in a coma why don’t you,” a man slurs near the front. His eyes  lingering on your tits, then dipping lower to your ass, shameless. His friends holler in agreement, bills already half out of their fists. “Come over here, give daddy a spin.” 

You flashed a practiced smirk. You don’t even look at him. Not really. Just enough to play the game. Just enough to keep them paying.

Because none of them matter.

You’re not dancing for them.

You never were.

You drag your fingers up the pole, drop low, flip your hair back with a trained kind of grace, but your chest feels hollow. Your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

And somewhere in the crowd, unseen by you, a shadow leans back in her seat. 

She is here.

Sevika watches. Hood pulled low, eyes half-lidded, that usual cigarette between her lips, but it’s not lit. Hasn’t been in a while.

She doesn’t clap. Doesn’t cheer. Doesn’t do a damn thing.

She just watches you. Cold. Detached.

But when you spin, arch your back, and drop into a split, you pop your chest forward with a practiced sway, hair falling on your face. 

Her eyes sharpen. She shifts slightly, jaw clenched, fingers ghosting toward her glass like she needs something to anchor her. Just for a second.

Then it’s gone. Like it never happened.

She knocks back the rest of her drink, doesn’t even taste it, and mutters to herself, barely audible over the bass, 

“Pathetic.”

You? Or herself?

Even she doesn’t know.

And before you even finish your set, she’s gone.

Like she was never there.

━━━━━━━━ ⊱⋆⊰ ━━━━━━━━

The night air slaps your skin the second you step out the back door of the club, still slick with sweat, heels dangling from your fingers, your jacket slung over one shoulder. You’re tired. Worn out. You just wanna go home and wipe your makeup off and sleep for the next 7 days.

You barely get five steps before a hand snatches your wrist and pulls you hard into the shadows. 

You gasp, stumbling into the brick walk, “What the fuck-! Let go of—“

You’re about to let out a blood-curdling scream, but a calloused hand pressed over your mouth, and a voice mutters, low and sharp, “Calm the fuck down.”

Your heart jumps. That voice.

You shove the hand away with a force you didn’t even know you had, eyes wide. “Sevika?!” 

She’s standing there, towering over you. Half-shadowed by the alley light, hood still up, cigarette balanced between her fingers like she doesn’t even want it. “Don’t.”

You scoff. Breath still ragged, heart pounding for all the wrong reasons. “Y-you can’t just grab me like that! What the fuck is wrong with you? And what are you doing here?” 

She shrugs, leans against the wall like she’s got all the time in the world. “Drinks.” She says dryly, like it should be obvious. “Needed to clear my head.”

You narrow your eyes, looking at her with disbelief. “So you just happened to be at my club?”

“You don’t own the damn club.” Her voice is low, flat. Dismissive. 

You scoff, “You know what I mean.”

Then she leans in, slow and deliberate, head tilted like she’s sizing you up.

You can feel the weight of her gaze even from above. Like she’s studying something fragile, something she could break if she wanted to. Her shadow swallows yours.

“I saw your set.”

You freeze. “What?”

She tilts her head, finally lighting the cigarette. The flame flickers just enough to catch a glint in her eyes. “You heard me.”

That makes your breath catch. Something twists in your gut.  “You-“ you blink, realization hitting. “You were fucking watching me?”

A pause. Then a faint smirk.

“Didn’t need a front row seat to see what you were doing up there.”

And now your chest tightens. Because she wasn’t sitting at her usual table. You checked. A countless amount of times. She wasn’t anywhere in sight. 

But she was there. The whole. entire. time.

“Why?” You ask. Voice tight. 

She tilts her head, like she didn’t quite hear. “Hm?”

“Why were you hiding from me?”

“I wasn’t hiding,” she says lazily. “You just weren’t looking hard enough.”

Silence.

You swallow. Something cracks under your ribs.

“I was waiting for you.”

Another beat of silence.

You see it, barely. A shift in her stance. A small twitch in her jaw. Like your words did something, even if she’s fighting not to show it.

She doesn’t speak. Just studies you, a trail of smoke leaving her lips.

“You always dance like that for the ones who leave you in bed?”

“Oh fuck you, Sevika.”

She lets the insult hang in the air, unfazed, and Fuck you hate how unfazed she is.

You turn to leave, but she grabs your wrist.

Not rough, not gentle either. Just enough to stop you.

You whirl back around, not bothering to look her in the eyes. “Let go of me.”

“Or what?” She asks, voice low, unreadable.

You hate how her eyes burn through you. Hate that your pulse kicks up, not from fear, but from how you can see through your peripheral vision the way she’s looking at you like she already knows every inch of your skin. Like she owns the reaction.

“You think you can just disappear and show up like nothing happened?” Your voice breaks before you can stop it. Finally locking eye contact with her. “Like- like you didn’t leave me there wondering what the fuck I did wrong?”

A pause. Long enough to hurt. 

Then, so quiet you almost miss it- 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

It hits like a bruise.

You blink at her. Something clenches in your chest, your fingers curling into fists.

“Then why?” You whisper. Desperate. “Why do you keep pushing me away?”

She doesn’t answer. Just stares. Her mouth twitches, not quite a frown, not quite regret.

And then— like it’s instinct, like it’s the only way she knows how to speak—

She grabs your jaw and kisses you.

Hard.

It’s messy. Angry. Her hand tangles in your hair, the other gripping your waist like she’s trying to memorize the shape of your body. You hate how easy it is to fall into it. To melt.

Your back hits the brick wall. Her mouth still on yours, rough and desperate.

She kissed your lips. She never kisses them.

“Please.” You whimpered against her lips, the way your lips quiver show just how much you crave her. And how badly you want her to crave you.

And then, so faint you almost miss it— she lets out a desperate, low whine against your lips.

It freezes something in you. Not with fear. But something else.

In that small trembling breath of silence between kisses, you let out a soft, broken sound- 

“..yeah?” You say tenderly, while looking straight at her with the most doe eyes ever.

It’s barely a whisper. Half exhale. Like you’re trying to say I’m here without the weight of words.

You looked and sounded desperate, desperate for her to show some kind of vulnerability to you.

Your hands shift, arms wrapping around her neck, gripping her tighter. Not to pull her closer, not out of lust, but like you’re trying to steady her. Like maybe, just maybe, you want to hold her together when she won’t let herself fall apart.

And for a split second, it almost feels like she lets you.

But then- 

She pulls back.

You whine at the sudden break of the kiss. Not again please. Please not again. You think to yourself.

Her breath is shallow, lips still parted, eyes not meeting yours.

Then her jaw tightens. That look returns. The guarded one.

Without a word, she steps back, like the moment never happened at all.

“You should go home.” 

And before you can say anything, ask her to stay, curse her out, something- 

She turns and walks off into the dark.

Like always.

Like nothing happened.

Like she didn’t just almost break in your hands.

━━━━━━━━ ⊱⋆⊰ ━━━━━━━━

It’s the next night.

You’re leaning against the back wall of the club, half-hidden in the alleyway. Your shift ended 20 minutes ago, but you haven’t left. You’re not sure why. Maybe you’re waiting for something. Or someone

You light a cigarette, even though you don’t usually smoke. It burns your throat, but something about the weight of the cigarette keeps your hand from shaking.

The alley door creaks open behind you.

“Hey,” comes a voice- Dez, one of the floor managers, poking her head out. She’s chewing gum like it personally wronged her. 

“Alright, don’t kill me,” she starts, already holding up a hand like she knows you might throw the lighter at her. “But there’s this guy inside. Real big spender. Just rolled in, said he heard things.. about you. And he’s willing to pay four times the usual rate for some alone time in VIP.”

You groan. “Ughh Dez, I literally just finished my shift. Can I not rot in peace for 2 minutes?”

She grins, looking way too pleased for someone who just interrupted your smoke break. “Cmonnn. He’s not a creep, I swear. Just wants your company. One hour, tops. You don’t even have to touch him. He said he likes your vibe or some shit. And he’s hot too! Not even in a pathetic way.”

You scoff, tossing your head back against the wall while rolling your eyes. But you don’t outright say no.

Dez squints at you like she can see the gears turning in your head. Like she knows you’re considering it. 

You let out a long, dramatic sigh and push yourself off the wall, “Okay fine—“

And then—

Footsteps.

Heavy. Familiar

You don’t even have to look. You feel her before you see her.

Sevika.

She steps into the alley like she owns it, like she didn’t vanish into the night the day before. 

She was wobbling a little. Her coats a little crooked. Hair a little messier than usual. And her eyes..

Red. A little glassy.

She’s drunk.

Dez blinks. Her eyes flick between the two of you.

She mouths, “You good?”

You look at her, nodding while giving her a reassuring smile.

And then, with a smirk,

“Alright I don’t know what’s going on with..” - she gestures vaguely between you and sevika - “whatever this is, but I’ll leave you two alone for now. I’ll let the guy know you might be up in five.” 

Dez leaves.

And you’re alone with sevika.

You don’t say anything at first. 

Just stare as she leans against the wall opposite you, half-empty whiskey bottle dangling in her hand. 

“Hey,” she says. Her voice is deeper than usual. 

Her eyes are trailing over you, slow, like she’s trying to figure out if you’re real or just something she made up in her head.

Your breath hitches. Why is she looking at you like that?

“..Hi.” You say, quietly.

The silence stretches. The air feels thick now. Too thick.

She pushes off the wall, crosses the space between you with slow, lazy steps. Stops just a little too close. 

You tilt your head while looking up at her, almost like you’re trying to search for something in her eyes.. but you don’t know what it is.

You can smell the smoke on her clothes. The whiskey on her breath. 

“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” she murmurs, eyes dropping to your lips. “Guess I got lucky.”

You shift, trying to not look affected. 

“You’re drunk.”

She hums. “A little.”

She reached her hand out and brushes your arm. Just a graze. But her touch lingers longer than it should. Touching you so softly like you’re made of glass.

Her finger toy with the hem of your top like she’s thinking about ripping it apart and just fucking you right then and there. 

She wants to start something, and you know it.

“Sevika,” you say so softly, your voice tinged with concern. You’ve never seen her this drunk before. “Don’t.” Your tone shifts, growing firm.

She tilts her head. Smirks. But it wobbles.

“What?” She says, voice rough. “I thought you liked when I touched you.”

Your stomach twists. You break eye contact.

“I do,” you admit. Quiet. Honest. Embarrassed. “I really do.”

You grab her forearm, “But not like this. Not when you’re like this.” 

She doesn’t answer. Just looks at you. And you look back at her. And for a second, she seems sober, just a bit. Her jaw ticks. Something in her eyes cracks open. 

“I didn’t know where else to go.” 

Her voice was shaky. It was subtle. But you heard it.

You blink. The words hang in the air, delicate and heavy all at once.

Your hand is still on her forearm. Her skin is so soft.. so warm under your touch. 

“You came to me.” You say, barely above a whisper. It’s not a question.

She doesn’t nod. Doesn’t move. Just stares at you like she’s afraid if she does, something inside her might spill out.

And then, so quiet it’s almost lost to the sound of the city— 

“Don’t make me regret it.”

You breathe in, slow. Her voice cracked at the last word. She tried to hide it, but you felt it anyway. 

Your fingers trail down, slipping from her arm to her hand. You squeeze it gently, grounding her.

“I won’t.” You say, steady. Honest. Like a promise you haven’t figured out how to keep yet.

She exhales shakily, and for a moment, her forehead drops to yours.

It’s not a kiss.

It’s not even a touch, really.

Just heat. Breath. The closeness of someone who’s afraid they might shatter if you pull away.

And then, quietly— 

“I’m so tired.” She whispers.

You close your eyes. Let the silence stretch. Then- 

“Come on,” you whisper. “Let’s get you somewhere safe, yeah?”

You hook your arm around her waist. She doesn’t resist when you guide her. She leans into you. Like maybe -for the first time in a long time- she trusts someone to hold her up. 

As you guide her through the narrow hallway, past the low thrum of music bleeding from behind closed doors, you catch Dez standing by the bar, still chewing on her gum while counting tips.

She raises a brow the second she sees you two.

“Well look who came crawling back,” she mutters, eyes flicking over Sevika slumped against your side. 

Then she shifts her attention to you.

“You know that guy is still asking,” Dez says. “He literally won’t back down. Said he’ll double up if you head up now.”

“Dez, at this point, just tell him I’m sick. Or dead. I don’t care.”

She raises her brow higher. “Didn’t think you were the type to pass up a paycheck.”

She sighs while looking at you, “You takin’ her upstairs?” She asks, voice flat, suspicious, but not unkind.

“Yeah,” you say, short and clipped. Your shoulder’s under Sevika’s.

Dez blinks at the sight. At Sevika leaning against you like she doesn’t have a single bone left in her body. 

“You sure about that?” She says, quieter this time. “She looks like she’ll knock you out the second you blink.”

You don’t look back.

“She’s not my problem,” you lie. “But I’m not gonna leave her like this.” 

Dez opens her mouth like she wants to argue, then stops. She sees something in your face, something soft and stubborn and not up for discussion. 

“..Alright,” she says finally. “Just.. tell her to not throw up all over the sheets.”

You almost laugh. Almost.

Instead, you nod and keep walking.

━━━━━━━━ ⊱⋆⊰ ━━━━━━━━

You reach the room. Your room. The one you both technically live in by now.

It’s quiet here. The air hums with the faint beat of the bass from the floor below, but otherwise, it’s just you and Sevika. Her arm is heavy around your shoulders. Her steps drag. But she doesn’t complain. Doesn’t speak.

You guide her to the bed, easing her down ever so gently like she’s something fragile, which is funny, really. Sevika, the bruiser. Sevika, the one who breaks bones with a single punch. Fragile.

But she lets you. That’s what gets you.

She lets you.

You kneel to unlace her boots. She’s watching you through half-lidded eyes. Like she can’t believe you’re doing this.

Like she doesn’t think she deserves it.

“You didn’t have to,” she rasps.

You pause. Glancing up at her, eyes soft.

“I know.” You whisper. “That’s why I did.”

The silence lingers, thick with something unspoken.

Sevika inhales, opening her mouth like she’s about to say something- but then quickly clamps it shut, biting back whatever’s on the tip of her tongue.

You catch the shift. “Say it.” You murmur, your voice so low and so gentle, but persistent. 

Her eyebrows furrow, like she’s pretending she doesn’t know exactly what you’re talking about. 

“I know you were gonna say something.”

Sevika’s gaze drops to the floor, her hand brushing against the edge of the couch like she’s trying to ground herself. 

You finish with the boots, your hands resting on her legs for just a moment longer than necessary.

She looks at you, those dark eyes searching, but her voice is quieter now. “Why are you being so gentle to me?” She asks, her tone flat, though there’s an edge of something in there. Something hard to name. 

You swallow, meeting her eyes directly.

“Because I want to be.” You don’t look away. Not even for a second.

Sevika exhales, her breath shaky as she looks at you like she’s trying to figure out if you’re telling the truth.

You sit next to her. She shifts slightly, leaning back against the couch, her fingers grazing the fabric of the cushion before brushing against yours.

“You don’t know me,” she mutters. “We fuck from time to time but that doesn’t mean you owe me shit.”

Your eyes soften.

“I don’t care about that,” you reply, the words coming out like you’ve known them all along. “I don’t need to owe you anything to care.”

For a moment, Sevika goes still.

The silence is almost unbearable. Uncomfortable. But you don’t look away, you study her face and god she’s beautiful.

Her lips press together tightly, like she wants to tell you more, but she doesn’t. 

She throws her head back and massages her temples with her fingers, the tension in her shoulders palpable, like she’s holding herself together with sheer willpower. The room feels colder now, the weight of the silence between you both more pronounced. 

You move a little closer, not enough to invade her space but just enough to let her know you’re there. You reach for her hair, tucking away a few stray strands of hair, your fingers brushing the soft skin of her neck. Your gaze drifting up and down her face, drinking in the way the light catches the curve of her jaw, the depth in her eyes.

“You know I’m not going anywhere right?” You spoke, your voice softer than you meant it to be. 

Sevika stays still for a moment. Her eyes lock onto yours, intense and searching, like she’s weighing every word. The air feels heavy, charged, and just for a heartbeat, it’s like she’s thinking about saying something, something important. But she doesn’t.

You smile softly, “What are you looking at?” You say while letting out a faint giggle.

Sevika looks away quickly, but you catch it. The vulnerability. The uncertainty.

She lets out a shaky breath. But her voice is steady when she speaks. “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.” Her eyes flicker back to you.

You ignore her. “You know.. I thought you’d be different when you’re drunk.”

She raises a brow at you, and you’re just an inch away from losing your mind.. because her eyes. They’re so dazed and pretty. “What do you mean?”

“I just thought you’d let your tough girl act slip away for a bit.” A dry chuckle escapes from your lips. 

“Tough girl act?”

“Mhmmm.” You hummed playfully.

She scoffed, “Suck my dick.”

You give her a teasing look. “I did. Don’t you remember?”

A beat of silence follows, and you can see the nervous look on her face, whether from your words or the alcohol, you can’t tell. Maybe it’s both.

She doesn’t answer right away, just stares at you.

But her gaze doesn’t only stay on your eyes, she’s taking in every inch of you, eyes half-lidded, like you’ve knocked the wind out of her and she’s still figuring out how to function.

“You’re trouble.” She finally mutters. Her voice rough around the edges.

You grin. “You like trouble.”

You don’t know what’s gotten into you in this moment. You’re usually not really this bold with Sevika, but with her like this-looser, softer.. it feels easier to meet her halfway. She matches your energy, just barely. But you’re thankful for whatever you can get out of her.

She doesn’t deny it. Instead, she leans back, letting her head rest against the couch cushions, eyes closed for a second too long. Like the weight of the moment is sinking in. 

That’s when the door creaks open.

“Hey.” Dez’s voice cuts through the quiet, gentle but definite. “We’re closing up.”

You both turn toward her, neither one moving just yet. Sevika blinks slowly, her eyebrows furrowed. Like she’s surfacing from something deeper. 

You glance back at her. “Come on,” you say, soft but certain. “Let’s go to yours.” 

Sevika looks at you like you’ve just told her that you murdered her entire family, “Hell no.”

“Why nottt!” You whine.

Sevika narrows her eyes at you, skeptical. Because,” she mutters. “I don’t just bring people over.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “Why? You think someone’s gonna judge you for a few empty bottles and a pile of laundry?”

“It’s not that,” she mumbles. Running a hand down her face. “It’s…mine.”

You pause. There’s something in the way she says it. Like she’s not just talking about the state of the place, but about letting someone into her space, her world.

Your voice softens. “That’s kinda the whole point.”

She rolls her eyes at you. Then her expression turns into something unreadable for a moment. 

“You’re really not scared of anything, huh?”

You shrug, lips quirking into a faint smile.

"I'm actually scared of lots of things," you say. "Just not you."

That makes her pause. Really pause.

Her eyes stay on yours a little too long, like she's trying to read between the lines of something you haven't said yet. Like maybe she wants to believe you, but she's still deciding if she can afford to.

Then, finally, she exhales through her nose, like she's surrendering to something. To you.

"Fine," she mutters, low and reluctant. "But if you lay a finger on any of my shit, I'm kicking your ass out."

You grin. "Deal."

Omg that was too long. Criticism and ideas are heavily appreciated (˶ˆᗜˆ˵) thank you for reading! ♡

[absdollievu]

Ruin me gently

bully!abby x fem!reader

Warnings: slight nsfw towards the end, public-ish sex

You hated Abby Anderson before you even knew what the word “hate” really meant. It started in kindergarten — she knocked over your juice box and called you a crybaby when you dared to tell the teacher. Her laugh was loud and mean and got under your skin like splinters.

That was the first time you swore vengeance. The first of many.

Every year, like clockwork, Abby made it her goddamn mission to ruin you.

In middle school, she got a growth spurt. You didn’t. Suddenly, she was towering over everyone — all muscle and swagger. She shoved you into lockers just for fun. Flicked your ears in class. You’d be mid-sentence, and she’d interrupt with some loud, stupid joke that made the rest of the room laugh. But it was never funny to you. Not once.

And high school? High school was worse.

You remember the locker room incident with surgical precision — a trauma branded into your teenage brain. You came back from the shower, and your clothes were gone. Completely gone. All that was left were your underwear, dangling from Abby’s stupidly strong fingers as she paraded them around like some kind of trophy.

“Look at this!” she had laughed, loud enough to echo. “The legendary cherished chonies — guarded like the holy grail.”

You wanted to die. No — you wanted her to die. And if you’d been even a little taller, a little stronger, maybe you would’ve launched yourself at her right then and there. But she was always bigger. Always stronger.

So you waited. Bided your time. And whenever the universe handed you a sliver of opportunity — when she tripped, or slipped, or even just dropped her guard — you hit back. Once, you managed to deck her right in the jaw during sparring. Your knuckles throbbed for days, but the memory of her surprise? Worth it.

She laughed then, too — blood in her teeth.

“You’re so fucking feral,” she said, almost impressed.

God, you hated her.

You hated the way she called you “runt” with that smug grin. Hated the way her biceps flexed when she pulled herself up onto fences. Hated that you noticed.

And you especially hated that part of you was obsessed. Not in a like way — fuck no. It was in your bones, how badly you wanted to wipe that smirk off her face. How you dreamed of pinning her, embarrassing her the way she did to you.

But it was impossible.

She was nearly five times your size, and she knew it. Weaponized it.

⸻

You hated Abby Anderson like it was your religion.

And it wasn’t just the shoving or the stolen clothes. It was how she never let up — how even when you were minding your business, she’d just appear. Like a goddamn curse.

“Hey, shortstack,” she’d greet you with a smirk, nudging your shoulder with hers hard enough to knock you off balance. “Grow an inch yet?”

You’d roll your eyes, jaw clenched. “Die mad about it.”

That was the thing: you didn’t run. Not once. Even when she got in your face, even when she pinned you against lockers with that smug, infuriating smile — you never backed down.

You didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.

But then something… shifted.

It started small. Instead of just shoving you, she’d lean in close — close enough that her breath ghosted your ear.

“New shampoo?” she’d ask, mock-sweet. “Smells like strawberries and desperation.”

You grit your teeth and shoved her back, but she didn’t push harder. She just laughed, low in her throat, and walked off like she hadn’t just short-circuited your whole nervous system.

Then came the nicknames. Not just “runt” or “loser,” but new ones. Weirder ones.

“Sweetheart.”

“Bite-size.”

“Princess.”

The worst part? She only used them when no one else was around. Like they were private. Like she was claiming something.

And you—God, you wanted to scream. You didn’t like it. You didn’t like the way your stomach twisted or how heat crept up your neck. You especially didn’t like the way her eyes lingered on your mouth when you talked, like she wasn’t even listening to the words — just waiting for an excuse to say something filthy.

She was toying with you. She had to be.

So you started fighting back — not just with fists or words, but with venom dipped in sugar. Quiet digs, whispered jabs that made her raise a brow.

“Wow,” you’d say, eyes flicking down her arms. “All that muscle and still couldn’t open a pickle jar yesterday. Impressive.”

And she’d grin. Not angry — not even annoyed. Just… entertained. Like you were her favorite little game.

Sometimes you’d find her staring at you across the yard, arms crossed, head tilted. Not menacing. Just watching. Assessing.

The next time she shoved you, she didn’t slam you into anything. She just pressed you up against the wall, one hand flat beside your head, eyes dark and unreadable.

“You’ve got a mouth on you lately,” she said, voice quiet.

You scowled. “Must’ve learned it from you.”

Her smile widened. “That right?”

You didn’t answer. Wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

But when she leaned in — too close, again — you didn’t move. Not an inch.

And that silence between you? That was new. Electric. Heavy with something unsaid.

Something shifting.

And you hated it.

You hated how it made your heart race. You hated how your body stopped recognizing the difference between rage and want.

But most of all?

You hated that you couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d do if you finally shoved her back.

And meant it.

⸻

The locker room’s quiet — steam clinging to the air, the harsh hum of overhead lights the only noise. You towel off your hair, muscles sore, mind already halfway out the door.

You hear the door creak open.

You don’t have to look. You know that sound. Heavy boots, confident stride.

Abby.

You roll your eyes and mutter under your breath, just loud enough for your own satisfaction, “Here comes fun sunshine.”

You think you got away with it — until her voice slices through the stillness, sharp and amused.

“What was that?”

Your hand pauses mid-dry. You don’t look up. Don’t give her the fucking satisfaction. Just keep rubbing the towel through your hair like she’s not there, like her presence doesn’t light every nerve in your body on fire.

Silence.

Then the scuff of her boots moving closer.

You see her shadow shift, her voice lower, soaked in challenge. “Say it again,” she says, tongue poking into the corner of her cheek, eyes locked on you like she’s already got you pinned. “I fucking dare you.”

You finally look up. Her arms are crossed, her body close — too close — heat radiating off her like a furnace. That smirk’s plastered on her face like it was born there.

You raise a brow, unimpressed. “Didn’t think you were hard of hearing.”

That’s all it takes.

She steps into your space, slow and deliberate, backing you up until your spine hits cold metal. Her hand slams against the locker next to your head — not touching you, but caging you in like prey, and making you flinch. Her body crowds yours, chest nearly brushing against your towel-wrapped skin.

You don’t breathe.

Her eyes search yours, flicking down to your mouth for just a second too long.

The smirk never leaves.

“You’ve got a lot of attitude for someone who shakes when I breathe on ‘em,” she murmurs, voice low and full of something that makes your skin prickle.

“I’m not scared of you,” your breath hitched

She leans in, lips inches from yours, the air charged and suffocating.

“No,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not. That’s what makes this fun.”

Your heart is a jackhammer. Your fists clenched so tight your nails dig into your palms. Every instinct screams to push her, hit her, kiss her — and fuck, it’s all blending together now, tangled beyond recognition.

Her hand slides just slightly down the locker, fingertips brushing your side, making your breath hitch.

And then—

The door slams open.

Laughter echoes down the row of lockers. Someone shouting a joke, oblivious. Casual. Normal.

Abby freezes. Her hand drops.

She steps back like nothing happened — like she wasn’t just about to ruin you against cold metal — and flashes you a look over her shoulder. Not regret. Not even apology.

Just that same smug glint.

Her voice is casual, cocky. “Later, sweetheart.”

And then she’s gone.

You’re left standing there, towel slipping a little lower, skin flushed, chest heaving, fists still clenched — pulse roaring like a war drum.

Fuck.

You hate her.

You hate her so fucking much.

⸻

It’s quiet.

The kind of quiet you like — not the silence of tension, but the calm hum of pages turning, low whispers, footsteps muffled by carpet. You’re curled into the corner of a table near the back of the library, thick book in hand, attention fixed. Peace. Finally.

Then the door opens.

And of course it’s her.

You don’t even need to look up. You can feel her — the shift in air pressure, the smug gravitational pull of her presence.

You don’t react. Don’t flinch. Maybe if you ignore her, she’ll go away.

Spoiler: she doesn’t.

Abby stalks straight past all the empty tables in the library and drops into the seat right across from you.

You lift your eyes just enough to glare at her over the rim of your book.

She’s slouched in the chair like she owns it — broad arms crossed, a slight tilt to her head like she’s bored. But her eyes? They’re locked on you, gleaming with trouble.

“Didn’t peg you for the reading type,” she murmurs.

You don’t bite. Just flip the page.

She grins wider. “What’s that about? Another teen fantasy about a sad boy with a tragic past?”

You sigh, slow and deep. “It’s about forensics.”

“Oh, sexy.” She says with her cocky tone that you absolutely fucking hated.

You finally lower the book. “Do you just wander around looking for people to annoy or is this a special service just for me?”

Her grin only deepens, dimples threatening to make her look charming — which is unfair, because nothing about her should be allowed to look soft.

“I only give this much attention to people I like.”

You scoff.

Then she’s up, and for a second, you think she’s leaving — until she rounds the table and drops into the seat next to you, thigh brushing yours.

Too close.

You shift, but there’s nowhere to go. Her heat is right there, all-consuming, and she leans in like she’s reading over your shoulder.

“What’s this part mean?” she asks, pointing at a diagram.

You stare at her. “You seriously care?”

“Nope,” she says, popping the p — and she grins again. “But you do. That’s interesting.”

You freeze.

That… wasn’t a dig. It wasn’t a joke.

You glance at her. She’s watching you — but not in that cocky, cruel way. She’s genuinely looking. Curious. Focused. And worse — close. Her breath brushes your cheek when she exhales.

“You’re smart,” she says quietly. “Kinda hot.”

You blink, pulse stuttering.

Then her hand is on your thigh, casual, like it’s always belonged there. Heavy and warm and intentional. You’re not even sure how it got there, or when you let her get this close.

“I could be nice to you, y’know,” she murmurs, lips dangerously close to your ear. “If you asked.”

You hate the shiver that runs down your spine.

“I’m not asking,” you whisper.

She hums low in her throat — a sound that vibrates through you. “No. You like it better when I take it.” You say with instant regret.

Her hand slides higher, slow, testing the waters. Her fingers graze bare skin above your knee, slipping under your shorts, just a tease. You suck in a breath and she smiles, lazy and full of hunger.

Your hand catches hers, stopping it. But you don’t pull away.

She leans in, voice like honey and heat. “What? Library’s too sacred for you?”

Her thigh presses against yours. Her lips ghost over the shell of your ear.

And fuck it — your restraint breaks.

You grab her shirt, drag her in, and your mouths collide in a kiss that’s messy and angry and needy. Her tongue slides against yours, claiming, demanding, and you meet her just as fiercely, biting her lip hard enough to draw a sound out of her throat that goes straight to your core.

Her hand’s between your thighs now, moving with confident precision, knuckles dragging along the seam of your shorts. You gasp into her mouth, and she swallows it like she’s starving. Starting the fast circles on your clothed cunt.

And then—

Footsteps.

Voices.

She pulls away instantly, lips red, pupils blown, hand retreating.

She exhales, glancing toward the aisle. Then back at you.

“Guess we’ll finish this somewhere else,” she murmurs.

And with one last smirk, she gets up and walks away.

You pause

What the fuck just happened

And most importantly

Why the fuck did you enjoy it.

⸻

a/n: OH MY GOD, kinda cringed halfway through this but I hope you guys enjoyed💕💕 part 2??

[lifeisbutadream444]

The Last Night (Original Version)

Aaron Pierre x Reader

A/N: This is the original version of The Last Night. After working on this for weeks I decided to start from scratch and wrote the version I published yesterday. I decided I might as well finish this version too. Let me know what version you prefer. Enjoy!

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut

Summary: After the series finale wraps, she thinks she’s saying goodbye to four years of tension, restraint, and the co-star she was never supposed to love.

The wrap party was everything it was supposed to be, loud, nostalgic. The kind of celebration where laughter echoes and everyone pretends they aren’t grieving something they’ll never get back.

You stood near the back of the venue, sipping Moet that had long since gone flat, pretending to laugh at a joke someone from production told. You couldn’t even remember what he said, your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes anyway. Not tonight.

Four years. That show had been your entire life for four years. And now, just like that, it was over.

Worse than that? It meant no more long shoot days with Aaron. No more early call times where he brought you coffee and teased you until you smiled. No more inside jokes whispered between takes. No more lingering glances in the makeup trailer when he thought you weren’t looking. No more pretending you didn’t feel what you’ve been trying to swallow down since day one.

It was easier to laugh it all off. To act like you never noticed the subtle touches, the way he always found a reason to sit too close, the way he remembered your Starbucks order better than you did. Easier to pretend you were just friends. Close friends. Best friends. Because if you didn’t, you’d have to face the terrifying truth: Aaron made you feel too much.

And you couldn't afford heartbreak.

Not when this show was your first real acting job. Not when you were finally being offered opportunities to work with actors and directors you've always admired. You couldn’t afford to be messy. Not publicly. Not with someone like him. Your name trending beside his would be career-ending, or worse—life-consuming. You had seen what his fans did to the girls they thought he was dating. You weren’t ready for that kind of bloodbath.

So you kept your distance.

But tonight, distance felt like a knife in your chest.

You glanced across the room, and there he was, laughing with one of the directors, drink in hand, that easy smile stretching across his face. The smile that always found a way to cut through your worst moods.

You hadn't spoken to him tonight. But every time you looked at him, your heart squeezed like it knew the truth before you could admit it to yourself.

You were going to miss him. Every part of him.

“Hey,” Lauren nudged your side, breaking your trance. “You okay?”

You blinked, pulling your gaze away from Aaron. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Lauren looked like she wanted to press further, but thankfully someone called her name and she was pulled away into another conversation.

You took the chance to slip toward the back exit. Maybe if you left quietly, you wouldn’t have to deal with goodbyes. You weren’t sure you could get through one without your voice cracking.

But just as your hand reached for the door, you heard his voice behind you.

“You were really gonna leave without saying goodbye?”

You closed your eyes for a split second, cursed under your breath, and turned.

Aaron stood there, that signature half-smile tugging at the corner of his lips, one brow raised like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. His gaze was steady, but his eyes, those fucking blue-green eyes, held something else tonight. Something softer.

“I figured you were busy,” you replied, trying to keep your tone casual.

“Too busy for you?” He stepped closer. “Come on, don’t do that.”

You forced a smile, even as your chest tightened. “Congratulations, by the way. Everyone’s been talking about how brilliant your last scene was.”

Aaron tilted his head. “You’re really gonna stand there and give me the PR version of goodbye?”

Your smile faltered.

He took another step, closing the space between you. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered for just a moment longer than necessary.

“You gonna miss me?” he asked, low and unassuming, like he didn’t already know the answer.

You looked away, blinked rapidly. Your vision started to blur.

Shit.

Aaron leaned in slightly, his voice a whisper now. “Hey… are you crying?”

You shook your head. “No.”

He exhaled through his nose, like something had just clicked for him. Like maybe—for the first time—he really saw it. That you cared. That you always had.

He didn't press, didn't tease you like he usually did. Instead, he leaned in just a little closer, his breath brushing against your temple.

“You wanna get out of here?” he murmured. “Not like that. Just… come back to mine. For a little while. Don’t go home sad, yeah?”

You hesitated.

You should have said no.

But instead, you nodded once.

“Okay.”

And just like that, something between you shifted.

You didn’t know what it meant yet. Didn’t know if this was the beginning of something or the inevitable unraveling of a years-long friendship.

But you followed him out into the night anyway.

Aaron’s house was quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that made your skin hum with awareness.

You’d been here before. Once. Maybe twice. But never alone. Never with your heart in your throat and your body still trembling from the pool of emotions you’d barely managed to hide at the wrap party. Never with the weight of goodbye thick in the air between you.

The door clicked shut behind you, and you stood there in his entryway, wrapped in the dim gold light spilling from the living room. Everything smelled like him, clean linen, a hint of whatever cologne lingered on his skin. It should’ve been comforting.

It wasn’t.

It was dangerous.

He walked past you to his kitchen, silent, calm, and poured two drinks. You didn’t sit. Couldn’t. Your body was buzzing, pulse erratic. You needed to leave. You should’ve never come here. But you didn’t move when he handed you the glass.

“Relax,” he murmured, taking a sip of his own. “You’re acting like I brought you here to eat you alive.”

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and your throat went dry.

Because the way he was looking at you, eyes smoldering under heavy lashes, a subtle smirk tugging at his lips.

You scoffed, trying to push the heat down. “I’m fine.”

You looked away, sipping your drink to steady yourself. But it did nothing to settle the nerves, or the ache you hated admitting was there.

He wasn’t trying to do anything.

That was the problem.

He didn’t have to.

And he knew it.

“Come get in the pool,” he said, like it was nothing. “It’s warm. You’ll like it.”

You blinked. “I don’t have a bathing suit.”

Aaron turned back toward you, one brow lifted like the answer was obvious.

“I’ll find you something,” he said. “Or you can wear nothing. I’m not picky.”

Your heart flipped. You knew he was joking. Kind of.

But the look he gave you lingered.

Not a dare.

Not a question.

You hated how easily he could undo you with a single look.

Still, you followed.

The water was warm, just like he said. It wrapped around your skin like silk, soothing and overwhelming all at once. But being with him—like this—was anything but soothing.

He was leaning against the edge of the pool, arms spread wide, watching you, like always.

You floated near the center, trying to pretend like you didn’t feel the way his gaze traced every inch of your body. You felt naked under his stare, even with the tank top he had given you to swim in.

“Why were avoiding me tonight?”

Your throat tightened.

You shrugged, eyes fixed on the surface of the water. “I wasn't”

He pushed off the wall, slow and silent, cutting through the water like it parted just for him.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” he said, voice low and dark. “How you avoid being alone with me whenever we’re not working?”

You backed up, your shoulders brushing tile. Nowhere to go.

His hands landed on the wall beside your head, caging you in without touching you.

Your stomach flipped.

He was too close. Too warm. Too much.

You hated that your body betrayed you before your mouth could speak.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you murmured, even though you absolutely did.

He smiled. Slow. Cruel.

“Yes, you do.”

You couldn’t hold his gaze.

Your breath hitched as his fingers dipped below the water, brushing your thigh. Not by accident.

“I’ve let you lie to yourself for years,” he murmured. “I let you keep me at arm’s length because I thought maybe… one day, you’d stop.”

You swallowed hard.

But you said nothing.

Because he wasn’t wrong.

And maybe… tonight… he finally had proof. You’d almost cried earlier. Over him. He saw it. You knew he did.

“Are you scared I’ll fuck it up?” he asked, tone too soft now. “Or are you scared I won’t?”

Your breath caught.

“You must be drunk,” you whispered, even though you knew he wasn’t.

His fingers dragged higher, slow under the water, skating along your thigh, your hipbone, stopping just shy of where you ached.

“I think you want me,” he said, lips brushing your jaw. “And I think you’ve spent four fucking years pretending you don’t.”

Your knees went weak. You thanked God for the lack of gravity in the water.

But still, you stayed quiet.

Because saying it out loud would make it real. And once it was real, it could break you.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his lips grazing your neck now.

You didn’t.

He pulled back slightly, his eyes burning into yours. Waiting. Testing.

And still—you said nothing.

That was all he needed.

Aaron surged forward and kissed you.

Hard.

His mouth crashed against yours like he was punishing you for every moment you made him wait. His hand fisted in your shirt under the water, dragging you flush against his chest, your legs lifting instinctively to wrap around him like muscle memory.

You moaned into him before you could stop it, and he groaned back like it fed him.

It was the kind of kiss that left no room for lies.

You wanted him.

You loved him.

And it terrified you.

You pulled away suddenly, breath ragged. “We can’t.”

Aaron’s brows furrowed. “What?”

You shook your head, already backing away toward the steps. “I should go.”

You grabbed your towel from the chair, wrapping it tightly around yourself like a shield.

You were already halfway across the deck when you heard it—the shift in the water. Then the unmistakable sound of him climbing out after you. Not rushed. Not panicked.

You turned around, pulse hammering. He was still dripping wet, his swim trunks low on his hips, chest rising and falling with every breath.

“You’re really gonna do it, huh?” he asked, voice quiet but tight. “Walk away. Pretend none of this happened.”

He let out a soft laugh, one that held no humor.

“You’re exhausting,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You really are.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“No, really,” he said, stepping closer. “I watched you fall apart in front of me less than an hour ago. You practically cried over the thought of not seeing me again. But now you’re gonna leave and pretend that all of this was nothing.”

You crossed your arms. “I didn’t say it was nothing.”

“Well you’re definitely acting like it,” he snapped.

He stepped closer, water still dripping from his body, his voice rough with restraint.

“Can you let go of your pride for two fucking seconds and admit what’s been obvious since year one?”

You shook your head. “You don’t get it.”

“Then make me get it!” he fired back. “Tell me why you’d rather keep pretending we’re just friends.”

Your silence said more than your words ever could.

Aaron exhaled a bitter breath, then looked at you—really looked. His voice dropped.

“Fine. If that’s what you want,” he said. “Then go. Walk out. We’ll send each other happy birthday texts once a year and make awkward small talk at events.”

You didn’t move.

His eyes narrowed.

You felt your pride clawing at your throat.

But your heart? It was already unraveling.

Your voice cracked. “You don’t understand. If we take it there, and something happens… if I lose you…”

“You already are,” he said, softer now. “You’re losing me right now.”

“I waited,” he said, softer now. “Four fucking years. Do you know what it’s like to want someone that long and still try to play it cool?”

You looked away, eyes stinging.

“I gave you space,” he continued. “I didn’t push. I stayed your friend. I didn’t touch you, didn’t cross the line, because I thought that’s what you needed.”

You swallowed hard, throat aching. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“But you did,” he said, simply. No accusation in his voice. Just fact.

He stepped closer. Slowly. Like he wasn’t trying to intimidate you — just be near you. Like it physically hurt to be that far away.

“I love you.” he said, voice steady now. He reached out, fingers brushing your wrist gently.

Your breath caught.

Aaron’s hand wrapped gently around yours, grounding you.

“I’m not saying it to pressure you,” he added. “I’m saying it because it’s the truth.”

You stared at him, eyes wide, lips parted, as something in your chest cracked open.

“I’ve loved you for a long time,” he continued, voice barely above a whisper. “Even when you ignored it. Even when you gave me every reason to give up on you.”

His thumb rubbed over the back of your hand, slow and patient.

The silence between you swelled — not empty, not awkward.

“I love you too,” you whispered, voice breaking. “And I've spent every day talking myself out of it.”

He didn’t interrupt.

You swallowed. “You know how brutal this industry is. One wrong rumor, one bad headline, and it’s over before it even starts.”

Aaron’s face softened. Just slightly. But his jaw ticked—he didn’t like hearing it.

“I’ve watched what happens to the women you're linked to,” you continued. “The obsession. The speculation. The fucking hate. It’s relentless. You brush it off like it's nothing, but I can't. I don’t want to live under a microscope, constantly defending who I am and why I'm standing next to you.”

You paused, eyes locked with his, not backing down. “I’m not scared of you. I’m scared of what the world does to women who get too close to men like you.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then Aaron stepped in, slow but certain, until your bodies were almost touching. His hands lifted to cradle your face, thumbs brushing along your cheekbones—gentle, but claiming. His voice dropped low.

“You think I don’t see how hard you’ve worked?” he said, gaze unwavering. “You think I’d let some clickbait headline undo that? You think I’d let anyone touch what you’ve built?”

His eyes narrowed, intense now. “Let me be very clear. If anyone tries to come for you—press, fans, blogs, producers—I’ll handle it. You don’t have to fight them alone. You don’t have to carry any of this alone.”

You exhaled, shaky but steadying, and he caught it.

You blinked up at him. “You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s not,” he said. “It’s gonna be messy. There’ll be headlines. There’ll be moments that test both of us.”

He paused, then added, quieter—dead serious:

“But I’m not going anywhere. I’ll take the heat, the questions, the bullshit. I just need you to trust me.”

You didn’t look away.

And maybe that’s why he smiled—just a little. That crooked, cocky half-grin that always drove you insane.

“You're so fucking stubborn,” he murmured.

But his tone wasn’t annoyed. It was amused. Admiring. Like he liked it — like he liked you this way. Unflinching. Complicated. Honest.

Then he stepped in and kissed your cheek.

Not your lips.

Not yet.

“I want you upstairs,” he murmured against your skin. “Now.”

Your legs went weak. The floor tilted.

“Come on.” he whispered, voice low and dark.

He didn’t wait for you to respond. He turned, grabbed your hand, and started leading you down the hall like he already knew you’d follow.

And you did.

Of course you did.

The second the bedroom door shut behind you, everything changed.

The air thickened.

The lights were low, but the tension was high — the kind that buzzed against your skin before he even touched you again.

He stopped in the middle of the room and turned to face you.

You didn’t speak. Neither did he.

Not for a moment.

He looked at you like he was still giving you an out. But there was no judgment in his stare — only confidence. Only heat.

Aaron kissed you like he was starving. Like four years of restraint had finally burned up and he was done pretending.

He walked you back until the backs of your knees hit the mattress. His hands were already on your hips, your waist, your ribs — gripping like he needed to ground himself in you.

“You’ve been driving me crazy for years,” he muttered into your mouth.

You gasped when he slipped his hands under your wet shirt. He didn’t rush. He didn’t ask.

He just lifted it over your head, slow and reverent, watching you the entire time.

His voice dropped to a gravelly whisper. “Get on the bed.”

You obeyed.

And when he climbed over you, when he leaned down and pressed a kiss just under your jaw, then lower — just above your collarbone — your body melted beneath him.

In the next breath, his hand slipped between your thighs — over your panties, not inside. Just pressure. Just enough to make your eyes flutter shut and your hips buck into him.

You groaned. “Aaron.”

You squirmed beneath him, his body caging you in, his mouth at your ear now.

“You ever touch yourself thinking about me, sweetheart?” he murmured, dark and velvet-smooth.

You gasped, the flush rushing to your cheeks so fast it burned.

His lips brushed your ear. “Be honest. Did you?”

“…Yes.”

He groaned, his breath catching just slightly.

Then he pulled back to look at you, his hand still teasing you through your panties, his thumb stroking in slow, maddening circles.

“You gonna let me take care of that tonight?” he asked.

You nodded, wide-eyed, hips rocking into his hand like your body was already answering for you.

“Tell me what you need.” he said, still rubbing your clit through your soaked underwear.

You were too overwhelmed with pleasure to say anything. You were burning — for him, with him — and that hunger was terrifying. The power he had over your body. Over your mind.

His eyes narrowed, his fingers stilled right as you were about to reach your peak. He stared down at you with the kind of heat that made you ache all over again.

Then, suddenly, he was gone. His body left yours completely — the heat of him, the weight, the steady hand between your legs.

You blinked in confusion as he stood at the edge of the bed, running a slow hand through his hair, like he was cooling himself down.

And then he smiled.

That smug, heart-stopping, ruin-you smile.

“You wanna act like you don’t need it that bad?” he said, voice low and calm. “Then I won’t touch you again until you say it.”

Your pulse thundered. “Say what?”

He crossed his arms. “That you want me to make you come.”

Your whole body went still.

His eyes dropped down to your legs, still parted, still waiting.

“You’ve got five seconds,” he said, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Or I’m getting in that bed and going to sleep.”

You stared at him, chest heaving. Your pride flared — for half a second.

Then you exhaled, wrecked and trembling.

“I want you,” you breathed.

He raised a brow. “That’s not what I said to say.”

Your face burned. “Aaron—”

He stepped closer, slowly, grabbing your ankles and dragging you down to the edge of the bed until your hips met the mattress seam and your thighs bracketed his.

“Say it,” he whispered, hand grazing the inside of your knee.

You bit your lip.

“I want you to make me come.”

His growl was soft. Satisfied.

You barely had time to respond before he slipped your panties down in one fluid motion and lowered his mouth to your center.

You gasped — sharp and guttural — as his tongue dragged through your folds with precision, with reverence. His grip on your thighs tightened, holding you in place like you might try to run.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

He licked you again, then again — slow, rhythmic, maddening. Your back arched, your fingers flying to his hair. He let you tug, let you guide — and then he groaned, deep and hungry, like your reaction fed him.

“Fuck,” you breathed, already trembling. “Aaron, please—”

He didn’t stop.

He didn’t let up.

His tongue circled your clit, then flattened against it. His fingers gripped your thighs harder now, keeping you spread, keeping you exposed, like he wanted you to feel completely his.

You moaned his name again, louder this time, and he didn’t speak — just hummed into you in response. The vibration made your legs twitch, made your hips rise — and he pushed them back down with ease.

“Don’t move,” he murmured, voice low and wrecked.

You nodded, teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

The pressure built with every flick of his tongue, every pass of his mouth. You were unraveling — slowly, beautifully — on the edge of something that had been denied for far too long.

You gasped again, eyes wide. “Aaron—”

“I know,” he breathed. “Let go.”

And when you did — when the wave broke and you cried out his name, body arched, toes curled — he didn’t stop.

He didn’t pull away.

He held you through it, mouth still working you through every shudder, every pulse, until you collapsed back into the mattress, completely undone.

You were still catching your breath when he kissed the inside of your thigh. Slow. Purposeful. Like he wasn’t done worshiping you yet.

Aaron’s hands were still on your body — one anchoring your hip, the other smoothing up your stomach in slow, calming strokes. You were trembling. Soft. Open.

He climbed up over you, every inch of his body pressed to yours now — bare chest flush against your skin, his forearm beside your head, bracing himself.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, reaching up to touch his face. “More than okay.”

He kissed you then.

It was different this time.

Slower. Deeper. Like he was sealing a promise between your mouths. Like this wasn’t just about lust anymore — it never really was.

You could feel the weight of him against your thigh now. Hard. Hot. Controlled. And when you shifted beneath him, hips brushing instinctively against his, he groaned low in his throat.

He stood at the edge of the bed and undressed without a word — sliding off his swim trunks.

When you saw him — all of him — your mouth went dry. You’d imagined this moment a thousand times, but nothing compared to the real thing.

Aaron crawled back over you, settling between your thighs again, his weight comforting, overwhelming.

“You nervous?” he murmured, brushing your hair back again.

You nodded. “A little.”

He lowered himself just enough so his mouth hovered above yours. “Don’t be.”

Then, slowly, he reached between you — guiding himself, dragging the thick length of him through your slick folds.

You gasped at the contact. At the feel of him so close. So real.

“You sure?” he asked again.

“I’m sure.”

He watched your face the entire time as he pressed in.

Inch by inch.

Stretching you. Filling you.

You let out a soft cry, gripping his forearm as your back arched, your body adjusting, welcoming him in a way that felt both completely new and somehow inevitable.

He didn’t move at first. Just stayed there, buried deep, forehead resting against yours.

His voice was a rasp.

“Fuck...”

Your eyes burned. You didn’t expect that part. The emotion. The weight of being seen — fully, deeply — and still wanted like this.

He started to move.

Slow.

Measured.

Devastating.

Every thrust hit deep, unrelenting, made worse by the way he kept whispering things into your skin — your shoulder, your neck, the corner of your mouth.

“You’ve been mine for a long time.”

���Say my name again.”

“You feel so good wrapped around me, baby.”

Your fingers clawed at his back, anchoring yourself, trying to match his rhythm, but he was stronger. Steadier. Always in control.

You whimpered as he rolled his hips, hitting the perfect spot inside you again and again.

You couldn’t think. Couldn’t speak.

He kissed you hard, catching the sound in your throat before it escaped.

And when your second climax started building — sharp and fast — he felt it before you said a word.

“That’s it,” he whispered, fucking you a little harder now. “Let me feel you.”

You shattered with a cry, clenching around him so tightly his rhythm faltered.

And that’s when he gave in.

Aaron groaned, low and guttural, as he buried himself to the hilt, stilling as he came with your name on his lips.

It was raw. Breathless. Unfiltered.

He collapsed over you, still holding you close, chest heaving against yours.

He didn’t move right away.

He just held you.

Tight. Steady. Like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.

And when he finally lifted his head, when he looked at you like you were something holy, you knew one thing for sure:

This wasn’t the end of something.

It was the beginning.

[pazziiiiiiii]

Hey guys! Sorry this took so long I worked quite hard on this. I’m still gonna keep the angst going despite the ending but yeah I hope you guys enjoy please give me feedback! ily!!

Part 3

Azzi let it go when Paige said, “My dad said something to me. That’s why I’ve been off.”

She didn’t press, even though Paige could tell she wanted to. The look on her face had been clear—quiet, worried, hurt. But Paige had only said enough to stop the questions, not enough to explain. And she wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Some things felt too big to say out loud.

Because what her dad said didn’t just stay in the past.

It followed her.

“Of course you wanna visit Azzi. Why don’t you just go live with her and ask her to be your girlfriend? You better not ask her, or you can stay there forever.”

He meant it. Every word. His voice still echoed in her head, louder than anything else. And the worst part? She had stayed. She chose to be here. With Azzi.

That wasn’t something she could explain—not when she didn’t even fully understand it herself.

⸻

Things got weird after that.

Not openly. Just… in the little ways. She kept her distance. Didn’t laugh as loud. Didn’t sit as close on the couch during movies. Didn’t sleep as soundly.

Azzi noticed. Paige could feel her noticing.

But she didn’t bring it up again. She just adjusted. She always did. And Paige hated how that made her feel. Guilty. Grateful. Something else she didn’t have words for.

So when Azzi said, “There’s a party—just a few people. My mom said it’s fine,” Paige said yes.

Not because she wanted to go.

Because she didn’t want to be the reason Azzi stopped asking her to.

⸻

The music pulsed under Paige’s skin the second they stepped into the basement. It wasn’t packed—maybe ten people total, spaced out, talking over red solo cups and snack bowls. Still, Paige hovered near the edge of it all, already uncomfortable.

Azzi moved through the room like she belonged there. Laughing. Nodding along to the beat. She knew almost everyone and pulled Paige into a couple of small circles at first, introducing her, making it seem normal.

It wasn’t.

Paige couldn’t stop watching her. Not because she wanted to. Because she couldn’t help it.

Especially when that tall dude in the red hoodie showed up. Devon, or Darren, or something like that. Paige didn’t care. She just saw the way he smiled at Azzi like he knew her. Like he’d thought about her before this moment.

And Azzi smiled back.

Paige stood across the room with a cup she hadn’t touched, jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

She told herself to let it go. Azzi could talk to whoever she wanted. Laugh at his jokes. Let him lean in close. It didn’t matter. It wasn’t her business.

But then his hand brushed Azzi’s waist, and Paige was moving.

“Everything good over here?” she asked, sliding into the small circle, voice sharp.

Azzi looked startled. “Yeah. It’s fine.”

Red Hoodie laughed. “We’re just catching up.”

“Didn’t look like just catching up.”

Azzi turned. “Paige.”

“She looked uncomfortable.”

“I didn’t.”

“You sure?”

Azzi blinked like she couldn’t believe this was happening. “Yes.”

The guy took a step back, clearly picking up on the tension. “I’m gonna go grab a drink.”

When he walked away, Azzi rounded on her. “What was that?”

“He was too close.”

Azzi folded her arms. “And?”

“I didn’t like it.”

“That’s not your call.”

“I’m just looking out for you.”

“I don’t need you to.”

Paige didn’t answer.

Azzi stepped in closer, her voice low. “You can’t pick and choose when to care, Paige.”

“I always care.”

“Then why do you act like you don’t half the time?”

Paige looked at her. The room around them faded into noise. Just Azzi. Hurt. Angry. Confused.

“Forget it,” Paige muttered and turned, walking away before she did something worse.

⸻

The gym was dark when she got there. Cold. Empty.

Perfect.

She didn’t bother turning on the lights at first—just picked up a ball and started shooting. Slow at first, then faster. Every missed shot made her push harder. Her body ached, but she kept going.

Drive. Pull-up. Crossover. Three. Again.

Sweat clung to her skin, burning her eyes. She ignored it.

Her phone buzzed in her bag—over and over. She didn’t check it.

Azzi could wait.

Everyone could wait.

This was the only place that felt quiet.

The only place where her dad’s voice didn’t echo. Where Azzi’s face didn’t float in her mind.

Where she didn’t have to feel anything except tired.

Eventually, her legs gave out.

She didn’t remember falling. Just the cold of the floor against her cheek. The silence in her ears. Her chest tightening.

She blinked. Everything swam.

⸻

“Paige.”

It was far away at first. Then closer. Then sharper.

“Paige.”

She squinted. Azzi.

Kneeling next to her, eyes wide, breath quick.

“What the hell are you doing?” Azzi asked, voice shaking.

“I’m fine,” Paige muttered, sitting up slowly.

“You passed out.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“I just needed a break.”

Azzi stared at her like she was crazy. “You haven’t answered your phone in hours. I thought something happened to you.”

“Nothing happened.”

“Bullshit this isn’t nothing.”

Paige looked away.

Azzi grabbed her bag and shoved a water bottle into her hands. “Drink.”

Paige didn’t move.

“Drink it, Paige.”

She did, slowly. Her hands trembled around the plastic.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” Azzi asked, quieter now.

“I told you. I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

Paige looked at her. “I don’t need saving.”

“I’m not trying to save you. I’m trying to be there.”

Paige flinched. “I didn’t ask you to.”

Azzi pulled back like she’d been slapped.

They sat in silence for a long time.

“You can’t keep pushing me away and pretending it doesn’t matter,” Azzi finally said.

Paige stood up slowly. “I’m going back.”

She didn’t wait for Azzi to follow.

⸻

The ride home was silent.

The Fudd’s was asleep when they got in. A single light was on in the kitchen. Azzi didn’t say anything as she grabbed a glass and filled it with water.

She set it outside Paige’s room (the guest room she only started staying in two nights ago that she hates) and knocked once.

The door didn’t open.

⸻

The next morning was tense.

Paige came downstairs late. Her head throbbed. Her limbs felt heavy. Azzi sat at the island, scrolling her phone, barely touching her food.

Katie glanced between them when she walked in. “Y’all good?”

“Yeah,” they said, too fast, too flat.

Katie raised an eyebrow. “Okay.”

She left the room, but her eyes said we’re not done here.

Azzi didn’t look at Paige. Paige didn’t try to talk.

She knew she should. Knew she’d crossed a line—again.

But she also knew the line wasn’t just about Azzi.

It was about her dad.

His voice.

His threat.

The weight of choosing to stay.

Paige finished two bites of toast and left the kitchen.

⸻

She ended up back at the court later that day. Not to train this time. Just to sit. Think.

She didn’t even notice Azzi had followed until she heard footsteps behind her.

“I figured I’d find you here,” Azzi said.

Paige didn’t answer.

Azzi sat down on the bleachers beside her.

“I didn’t tell my mom what happened last night.”

“Thanks.”

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you at the party.”

Paige shook her head. “You were right.”

Azzi studied her face. “You don’t talk to me anymore.”

“I do.”

“Not about what matters.”

Paige swallowed hard.

Azzi waited.

Paige stared at the court. “I told you my dad said something.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t tell you what.”

Azzi didn’t push. She just nodded, waiting again.

Paige kept her eyes forward. “It was about you.”

Azzi didn’t speak.

“He said if I asked you to be my girlfriend, I could just stay here forever.”

Azzi blinked.

“That I might as well live here. With you.”

The words felt like knives in her throat.

“He was yelling,” Paige added, quieter. “Like I’d already done something wrong.”

Azzi’s voice was soft. “And did you?”

Paige shook her head. “No.”

They sat with that for a long moment. The sun was starting to set, long shadows stretching across the gym floor.

“You’re scared,” Azzi said.

Paige didn’t deny it.

Azzi leaned back against the bleachers, voice low. “I wish you’d just let me help.”

“I don’t know how.”

Azzi looked at her, like she wanted to say more. But she didn’t.

They sat there, inches apart, with miles of silence between them.

[i-loveoldermen]

Jason Todd x Reader

MVP: I haven't wrote or done any artwork for ages, and it felt kind of boring knowing my tumbler is dry. So I decided to rejoin, and for another great start, I tried to write a long fiction to make up for the lost time. I hope you enjoyyyy♡♡

The door slide open, bumping against the bells that hung above, ringing loudly inside the tiny shop. The familiar smell of books and old covers hit his nose, causing a small sigh to leave him. His eyes, mixture of blue and green scanning over the slightly worn down shelves, his immediate attention of the books you'd only find in certain location, and this shop, happened to be his heaven. His brown shoes hit the dark planks causing them to creak due to his impressive weight. He stood infront of the bookshelf, his index finger running across the almost broken spine of the once beige book.

Slowly, he picked out the book, his eyes reading the barely notiacble title

*'Crime and Punishment'*

Ah, perfect.

His slightly chapped lips curved into a satisfied smile, a rare sight. His large hands, easily holding the book with one, as his other flipped through the pages, enjoying the heavenly smell, his fingers tracing down the first few words, before slamming the book shut, causing a small thud to echo through the almost empty shop.

He turned around, holding the book in hand and approached the counter.

Finally.

The second reason why he came. *Her.* he still doesn't know why, but perhaps it's the way her eyes sparkled as she rambled on about one of his favorite books, or when she tried to praise his choice of book and almost spoil it before having a light face of embarrassment he had managed inject into memory, or maybe it's the way she listened so intensively to his own ramble about a favorite author he discovered they had in common. A sight and experience he rarely had gotten. Since his hobby was quite different from everyone else around, especially people around his own age. No one really listened, just nodding to get him to stay quiet. But not her, no. She'd listen for hours while he rambled away, the way her lips curved in a gentle smile as she nodded along to indicate she's listening, or the way she added something to keep the conversation going.

He placed the book over the dark oak counter, clearing his throat, his fingerless gloves, leather and black, tied around his hand as he brushed his black, white tip dyed hair back, offering a forced smile. Something he never thought he'd do, he rarely spoke to people, let alone try to interact with full conversations with one.

One so gorgeous too.

"Just this, please"

His voice came out quite hoarse, perhaps due to lack of speaking, but she didn't seem to mind, if anything she offered her friendly smile as she nodded, picking up the book to scan the QR

"Oh, one of my personal favorites, it's the best books out there mister Todd"

Mister Todd

She always memorized her frequent costumers, trying to build a bond. It felt so right, yet so wrong, why couldn't she just call him Jason? Right. They're just mere friends, speaking about common interests. That alone was enough to cause a small ache in his cold heart, but why? Why did she make him feel this way?

He gave a small nod, staring at the way her hands moved to peel off anything related to her shop before sliding it into a plastic bag, tilting her head up and smiled.

"Here you go mister Todd, I hope you enjoy it, as much as I did"

She blinked softly, staring up at the towering man, her smile softening slightly under his unreadable gaze.

"Thanks. I will," he was silent for a moment before adding, "anything else... interesting?"

He'd do anything just to hear her gentle voice

"Oh! Well, we got a few more arrived this morning mister Todd! Just your luck"

She turned around, bending down opening a half opened box, her hands taking out a few stacks of books and let them fall on the counter, her hands brushing away any dust ontop of them, and picked one of them up a smile

"My favorite authors, Edgar Allan Poe"

She showed the first book, The Raven.

Jason stared briefly, his brows frowned as usual as he analyzed the book. Truth was, he knew very well who the author was, it was his personal favorites, but letting her explain it, was listening to your favorite song on repeat.

"Heard of him... what's his best book?"

He turned to look at her, one brow raised, as if his heart isn't pounding to break out of his chest.

"Oh! That'll be The Tell-Tale Heart!"

She looked at the stacks of books before taking the right mentioned book

"Hes famous for his short stories, he was a firm believer that human mind was made up by half evil and half pure. However he chose to write his stories where he focuses solely on the dark side-"

She quickly cleared her throat, noticing her rambling and awkwardly pointing at the books

"This too?"

Jason merely nodded, but God did he wish she went on, tho he'd never admit that. His simply raised, taking the book with a nod of appreciation after she scanned it

"Come again mister Todd!"

Oh he will..

The moment he stepped out, the bright sun hit his face causing his eyes to squint, he huffed silently, now that he was away from her everything annoyed him as it used to. He looked into the bag, making sure he got the right books before walking down the streets towards his little house.

The door slide open, letting the small flickering light of the tiny hallway to shine inside his slightly messy apartment. His eyes darkened at the sight of the leftover pizza boxes, grumbling to himself silently as he walked inside closing the door. He kicked off his shoes and placed the bag on his coffee table as he started to clean up his last night's mess.

With quiet movement, he finished up the messy apartment, making it feel homely again. He started the kettle before walking back towards his slightly worn down couch and tugged the bag closer until it was by the edge and picked out a random book

The Tell-Tale Heart.

He had read this about millions of times, but she had given this. No way in hell he'd pass this off. His eyes softened slightly as he flipped through the first page and begun to read.

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

(Name) locked the doors, making sure the chains were tight enough before stuffing the keys into her jacket pocket, her eyes turning to look at the darkened streets of Gotham, a slight sigh escaping her as she started to walk down, the street lights barely providing light, but enough to see the way.

Her hands were now stuffed inside her pockets, the slight fall air giving a chilly wind, causing her teeth to clash slightly. Her brows frowned slightly at the silent steps of another, she's probably paranoid. She assured herself, yet still kept her guard up. However, as she unconsciously picked up the pace a slight bit, the other individual seemed to repeat the action causing her to take off her hands from her pockets as her pace increased, the figure behind not hesitating to follow in suit. Before she knew it, the silent streets were filled with her panting, and the rushing steps of both of them.

She let out a scream as the hand grabbed onto her hood, yanking her back but she quickly went muffled as the larger figure wrapped an arm around her mouth and nose, yet her eyes grew even larger at the blade now poked against her chest

"Stay quiet and it'll be easy, yeah?"

The gruff voice said lowly causing her to nodd frequently, her eyes building up tears. The man, based on his voice she assumed, slowly dragged her back towards an empty alleyway, her eyes shutting close, tears streaming down freely. The man roughly pushed her down the building walls, pointing the knife threateningly at her making her sit still letting the man have the chance to unbuckle his belt.

Her eyes shut closed, bottom lips quivering as her chest rose and fall rapidly, yet nothing came. Instead the sounds of choking and groggling caused her to flinch and let out a sob quickly covering her face.

After awhile, she found the courage to peak, and right there, she regretted. Above the bleeding man stood an imposing figure, his gloved fists all bloodied as he breathed heavily beneath that red heavy helmet.

She found her eyes falling on the figure before she gasped loudly. The man's neck ripped, blood pouring out profusely, her heart in her throat as she crawled back immediately which seemed to grab his attention and he looked back.

Her voice gone, as she shook her head desperately holding her hands up

"Please..."

She sobbed quietly. Yet the man just approached and stood over her, his large frame towering above her sat down shaking one. Instead of attacking, he knelt down, grabbing her face, forcibly, and turned her face from side to side. She gasped, but frowned realising he was simply looking for... injuries...? His sigh came out as if sign of relief, his covered eyes looked at her face, scanning every part for drastic measures before nodding to himself

"Are you a fool? Walking at such hour"

He huffed out, half amused half annoyed. She almost felt offended, but she couldn't blame him.. who knew what would've happened if he...

She shook her head, not wanting to think that far, just swallowing any signs of tears, forcing out quiet words, worried she'd anger the obvious killing machine.

"My shop closes at this time"

The figure let out a silent sigh again, however this time it seemed annoyed rather than relife

"Close it earlier"

She couldn't even protest, giving a simple nod in reply. The man hesitated before grabbing her wrist, ignoring the way it was half his own as he placed it on his knee, wrapping a watch around it making her frown, confused.

Finally, she lifted her wrist, looking at the watch before looking up again.

"Whats this...?"

She found herself wondering.

"Some kind of alerting device," he stared, yet it was difficult to tell, the helmet covered everything, "everytime you're in trouble, tap the watch thrice and I'll be right there"

(Name) stared for awhile, doubfouned before shaking her head, swallowing thickly, before finding the courage to speak

"Who are you...?"

The towering figure stood up taking a step back getting ready to leave.

"Red... call me Red Hood"

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

The shop should've felt the same, right? But why was she nervous fidgeting with her new watch, growing interested in what this Red Hood was or who perhaps. But at the moment she was too busy trying to learn what else this watch could possible do. It was like a regular smart watch, the time, phone app, calculator all of it. Yet she was fighting back the urge to tap thrice, to see if he was being truthful or this was rather just a reassurance. Either way, she decided against it and instead focused on her usual costumers that were often elder ladies and men which she had grown quite fond of. They were actually sweet if they weren't bothered. The only young man, who seemed around her own age was the handsome man she had found herself looking forward to seeing. The only man she had so much in common with. Maybe it's also due to the fact that she found him quite attractive. His black hair, the tips of the front white, framing his strong jawed face so well, crooked nose that she found herself staring a bit too much than intended, the unforgettable mixture of blue and green perfectly colored in his almost cold eyes, scars adoring most of his face that did nothing to scare her. Instead drawing her in. But she kept quiet, keeping everything professional.

After a bit, she glanced at the grandfather clock, it was getting close to three. She gave a small shrug and decided to read one of the books instead.

She walked past the shelves, before pulling out one of Shakespeare's books. The Hamlet.

A small satisfied smile formed before she walked back behind the counter and opened to the first came, beginning to read.

Everything was silent, quite relaxing. But damn she thought too soon as the big sudden sound of glass breaking caused her to almost stumble backwards as she stared wide eyed at the sight infront of herself. Her big windows now nowhere in sight, all the shattered shards laying around the shelves. She picked up her gaze from the glass towards the two panting men, holding to big heavy bags each.

The men caught her eyes and the taller man gestured towards her with his head for his friend which quickly nodded and hurried to her side holding a gun up.

God damn, what's all these crimes lately!?

(Name) swallowed, letting go off her book, holding her hands up as she stepped back

The man raised a finger, pressing it against his lips, shushing her threateningly.

Her breathing increased as she nodded quickly, eyes grown wide before her eyes slowly glanced at her watch. She made sure the man who held the gun was distracted by watching outside before quickly tapping her watch thrice. And before she could even count to five, the taller man was tackled to the ground with a rough grunt, his friend almost dropping the gun but quickly held it towards the large figure that slammed his friend's head on the ground, hard enough to cause him to lose consciousness. The man shot without hesitation, but he felt his heart sink as the bullet bounced out his hemlet almost as if it was a stress ball.

The intimidating figure slowly, and terrifyingly turned his face towards the man. He stood up taking slow steps towards the shaking man that was probably 5'3, if not less. He stood there almost tauntingily, tilting his head, his white filled eyes seemed to have squinted somehow. After a bit of horrifying silence, he rose his hand, grabbing the gun in the man's hand, and *crushed it* with simple force and let it fall down, useless bullets rolling around.

(Name) stood behind the counter her chest raising and falling. Did he just crush that gun with a small clenched fist!?

She internally panicked, but refused to let it to show as she watched to see what he'd do now. Red Hood grabbed the head of the short man, and slammed it on the counter causing her to gasp and pressed her back against the wall, her breathing increased in speed if even possible by now.

The short man fell down unconscious, the same fate as his friend, small blood pooling underneath his head.

(Name) stared with wide eyes before looking up again, mouth slightly agape

"You killed him-!" "Oh relax, it's a mere concoction" Red Hood cut her off with a wave of his hand kneeling down picking up the man with mere strength and threw him on his friend before turning towards her.

"Your life always in chaos?"

Red Hood snorted crossing his large arms over his thick chest tilting his head slightly.

"No... I'm just as surprised as you are"

She frowned looking down at the unconscious men.

"Might want to close the shop for awhile in my opinion"

The man scoffed at the laying men before turning back to her.

"I can't do that, I have rent to pay" She frowned looking back at the tall man

"Besids, there's this costumer that always comes on Mondays and Wednesdays, and tomorrow is Wednesday, I'm not closing the shop"

She said with a small determined look, causing the man to groan quietly, before turning back

"Who's this special costumer anyway?"

"Jason Todd," She said without hesitation, looking up at him, "Can't close it, he loves classical literature and my shop is filled with them, and his favorite author's book just arrived this morning"

Red Hood ignored the way his heart skipped a beat almost.

"You sure know alot about this guy, you fancy him?"

This alone caused her face to feel hot as she avoided his eyes

"What? N..no! That's not what I meant-" "spare me the lies sweetheart, you're not a good liar" he cut her off, staring back at her, trying to ignore how his own face heated up underneath the helmet, almost felt too difficult to breathe.

"So, yes or no?" "....yes..."

*perfect*

That's all he needed to know, before picking up the two men, putting them on either side his shoulders

"Might want to fix up the windows too"

He said before dragging them away and disappeared.

(Name) let out a sigh, trying to calm down her heart before she frowned

Wait...

Did he just call her sweetheart?

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

The next following day went smoothly, her windows had been fixed, the tapes holding them up until the glues dried, which would've been a bit difficult due to the fall wind. (Name) focused on her book, that she had failed to read in peace yesterday, her eyes staring at the pages, finally feeling calm.

The door opened, the bells swinging making her lift her head, looking at the man that entered, a smile forming at the familiar face. Before she could speak, her eyes fell down at the bouquet in his hands, causing her eyes to grow wide.

Jason quickly stuffed his free hand into his pocket, trying to ignore the way he felt nervous. His grip tightening around the bouquet as he cleared his throat stepping forward, extending the flowers

"Got these for you.."

He said gruffly, pretending to not be effected by the way her eyes sparkled, smile widening.

She took the flowers, her eyes softening

"Oh mister Todd... these are quite beautiful..-" "Jason" he cut her off making her frown

"What?" She asked

"Jason, call me Jason"

(Name) hesitated before repeating his name to test how it rolled down her tongue.

"Jason... thank you"

She looked up at him, oh how he just wanted to climb over this damn counter and smash his lips against hers. But he held back, resisting is one of his best skills after all.

He cleared his throat, ignoring the way his heart melted with the way she said his name with that damn smoothing voice of hers.

"Nothing much"

He stuffed his second hand into his pocket giving a shurg.

(Name) smiled placing the bouquet down on the counter, leaving to the storage room before coming back with a dusty vintage vase. She blew on it, dusting the rest with her hand before placing it on the counter. All awhile Jason watched with curious gaze. She moved back, taking one of her water bottles and filled half the vase with it before eventually placing the roses inside. Yet something that made her heart flutter was the fact there were no sharp edges, and spikes. He had taken the time to cut it nicely to be comfortable to the grasp.

She let the roses fall into the vase before staring up at Jason again

"I appreciate them, thank you"

She stared, her eyes squinting due to the wide smile she held

"Again, nothing big"

He said gruffly, shrugging one again, his fingers drumming in his pockets, his eyes watching her as she tended the flowers gently, eyes filled with admiration.

With a clear if his throat, he found the courage to speak up.

"I was wondering if... you wanted to..."

Jason let out a silent huff, shrugging

"Go out with me?"

(Name) froze, her eyes growing wide again, before slowly turning her head towards him

"As in a date...?" She asked, trying to be sure.

"As a date" he confirmed almost firmly, a habit he guessed, "you don't have to accpet-"

"I'll come" She quickly cut him off, her eyes sparkling

"I'll go out on a date with you, Jason..."

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

The moonlight shun lightly down at Jason, his black hair looking shinier and angel like. His blue-green eyes glancing at his watch, a small curse leaving him, before lowering his hand again, glancing back at the fancy restaurant they agreed on.

It's been fifteen minutes, where is she? Is she okay? Is she sick? Did she forget?

Did he get stood up?

The thoughts consumed his mind, almost distracting him from the desperate footsteps that approached him, if it weren't for his years of training as past Robin, he would've missed them.

He felt his shoulders stiffen, breath hitching in his throat as he stared.

God, damn

She stood there, her chest raising and falling rapidly as she looked up, her face evident of guilt, but he was focused just on *her*

Red sure suited her, not because it's *his* color, or that it kind of matching his tie. It was the way it hugged her just right, the lower part flowy almost like a half cut gown, goodness...

Reminder to get her a red wedding dress-

He quickly shut down that thought, instead staring at her, his eyes looking up to her pretty jewelry adorning her skin, and to her hair, so nicely done fitting her perfect face.

She smiled nervously, but no doubt, taking in him aswell, feeling fascinated by the way his suit adored his body, his usually messy hair now slicked back perfectly, not that she minded how it was messy.

"You... look stunning"

He couldn't even stop the words from flying out as he stared, not regretting them tho.

(Name) smiled bashfully, gripping her red sparkly purse

"Thank you... you look handsome yourself"

She found herself replying back, tilting her head up, yet Jason was too stunned to speak

"Sorry about being late.. my taxi crashed-"

"What!? Are you okay?"

He seemed quite alarmed quickly approaching her, and without thinking grabbing her face, turning her face from side to side.

Something about this felt familiar, but she couldn't figure it out.

He wasn't even thinking straight, looking for any signs of injury

"I'm fine... just a small bump, it just took awhile to order another ride"

She smiled coyly, averting her eyes from his so colorful ones.

Jason finally seemed to snap back as he slowly let go off her face, neither could deny the fact they missed the contact, but both hid it perfectly well.

"Sorry, habit"

He cleared his throat standing straight again before extending his arm

"Shall we?" He smiled, it felt weird, he'd forgotten how it felt to smile *genuinely*

(Name) smiled back, crossing her arm with his.

"We shall"

With that, the two walked inside, Jason approached the front desk

"I made a reservation under the name Jason Todd"

Jason looked at the man, who flipped through the pages of the clipboard before smiling poiletly standing up

"Ah, mister Todd, please, this way"

He gestured inside the quite crowded restaurant with his arm before walking inside, Jason and (Name) arm to arm as they followed the man

The man kindly showed them to their table handing each a menu

"Call me whenever you are ready"

He smiled before leaving the two

(Name) opened the menu, letting out a low whistle. She's seen expensive, but dang.

"Everything alright sweetheart?"

Jason glanced over with a frown

Why did that simple word cause so much butterflies, but at the same time leaving an itching feeling she had heard that before. Well, it's not important now

"Yes, I just... didn't expect everything to be so..."

"Expensive? Grow used to it, for our second date I'm planing an art gallery visit"

Jason said, eyes turning back to the menu. Her eyes grew wide, her lips parting in fascination.

Woah, is this man some kind of unknown millionaire?

"Don't give me that" he chuckled "you'll grow used to it" I'll make sure

(Name) couldn't help but crack a smile, his words leaving her impressed

"Well... let's hope this will be a success, yeah?"

Oh, I'll make sure it will

But he only smiled back, his darkening for a brief moment, which (Name) had managed to miss.

The waiter approached the moment he was called, and ready to note down

"I'll have the.. Ayam Cemani and cold lemonade"

Jason said placing the menu down before looking towards (Name) waiting for her to order

"I'll have... what he has"

(Name) smiled nervously, unsure what anything else was, and she wouldn't risk ordering something gross or something that she didn't like.

The waiter soon noted it down and left, leaving the two in an awkward silence for a moment. Everything was meant to be perfect, yet here Jason was, unsure what to say or do. Never in his vigilant years has he been this nervous.

"I'm glad you agreed to go out with me"

Jason found the courage to speak out, breaking the silence. (Name) smiled softly, relaxing finally.

"I'd be stupid not to"

This was enough to cause a warm flutter inside Jason, not even the night he became boy wonder made him feel such thrill nor excitement.

"I'm glad you feel that way"

Jason hummed, trying to hide his obvious satisfaction of her words, trying to ignore the way he wants to keep staring into her beautiful eyes, trying to ignore the fact he imagined their future together-

Jason shook his head, hoping it wasn't obvious before clearing his throat as the table went into silence again. Yet this time, it was calm and relaxing, not awkward as the one before.

(Name) blinked, hesitating. She was actually quite curious as how on earth he managed to afford all of this, and what he meant by how she has to get used to it. All of this leaving endless question flowing around her mind. Maybe also due to the heat.

Yet the calming silence was quickly broken off and her question were cut off by the sounds of endless scream and panic that set through the establishment.

Jason quickly sat up as so did (Name) both in full alert as they looked around and Jason internally cursed.

Of all days, of all times, of all crimes. Black Mask's stupid henchmen had to ruin this. Jason clenched his fists, curses rapidly leaving under his breath. The restaurant owner seemed to have been in debt with him if his men attacked so violently.

Jason quickly stood up but stopped the moment he heard her voice call out.

"Jason! Wait, I know someone!"

(Name) sat up, lifting her wrist to reveal her watch causing Jason's eyes to widened immediately.

"Wait no-!"

Yet before his words could go through, she tapped her watch thrice causing a vibration to curse through his pocket.

The two quickly making eye contact in a moment of what felt like a frozen time.

It was then, that after so many years, Jason felt his heart drop to the bottom, his breath hitching, while (Name) stared widely, mouth opening as if her mind was starting to process.

"Jason...?"

[sirxaibs]

Can I ask for Sale Fisher x fem!reader that's popular? And could you PLS PLS PLS don't make her mean? Like, I want her to be popular becouse she's one of those poeple that just sthraight up go talk to anyone.

And maybe Sal's friend group thought that shes propably a bitch, but like.

'She sat at our table?.....and didn't make fun of us?.....in fact she gives compliments that don't feel backhandead?......wtf?'

⬆️just an example, you can do whatever with this.

Sorry for possibile grammer errors or speeling mistakes, english isn't my first lenguage. Thank you and I hope you'll have a nice day ♥️

Hey! I THOUGHT THIS COULD BE SO CUTE!! so Ive seen many fics on this and i wanted to take a different approach. I hope you enjoy it. I love Sal and I hope this isn’t too crazy. I wrote a version yesterday and made everyone a little too mean and I don’t believe any of them would be assholes. So! Hopefully this satiates y’all.

masterlist

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Your legs ache from practice, the soles of your sneakers sticking a little to the hallway tile with each step. You smell faintly of sweat and cherry body spray, the cheer uniform still clinging to your skin like it’s part of you now tight pleats, school colors, and all. You could’ve changed, sure, but exhaustion said no. So here you are, hair in a high ponytail, shoes untied, carrying a stack of junk mail and a single envelope that doesn’t belong to you.

You look at it again under the flickering hallway light, flipping it over in your fingers like it’ll magically reroute to the correct mailbox on its own.

SAL FISHER

UNIT 402

You know the name. Everyone at school does. The kid with the face cover. You’ve never spoken to him he doesn’t really hang around the same kind of people you do but he’s always there. At lunch, in the halls, sometimes sitting out near the tree line when no one else is around. You didn’t peg him as the chatty type.

You stare at the letter like it might bite you. Then sigh. “Why not be a good neighbor,” you mutter, dragging your legs toward the elevator.

The ride to the fourth floor feels longer than it should. It shudders a little on the way up. You keep your eyes on the numbers. Three… four. The doors open with a ding that sounds half hearted.

You’ve never actually been up here.

The fourth floor feels… worse. Everything smells faintly of dust and something like mothballs and metal. You don’t know why, but the lights here feel dimmer. You walk slower, steps echoing.

You find the unit: 402. You raise your hand to knock. There was a pause for a few seconds.

A man stands in front of you, tall, a little disheveled, and definitely not Sal. His presence is immediate, like he fills the space just by being in it. You blink.

“Oh hi! Sorry,” you start, holding the envelope out, “I was just dropping this off”

“He’s in his room,” the man says before you finish.

You freeze. “Oh, no, I wasn’t trying to bother him, I just thought I’d–”

“Just go on in. Down the hall, last door on the left.”

You blink again. You’re not even sure he’s looking at you. Just staring somewhere past your head, like he’s already decided this conversation is over.

“I mean, I could just leave it here”

“Last door on the left.”

He steps aside, just enough for you to enter. You do, but not on purpose. Your legs just move. You step into the apartment, and it’s… weird. Not gonna lie, being in any strangers apartment never really felt cool. You walk toward the hallway, clutching the letter, mind screaming at you to stop being so polite.

“Damn old people,” you think, jaw tightening. “I just wanted to drop something off, not go all this way”

The hallway feels longer than it is. The floor creaks behind you, or maybe above you. You don’t look back. You keep walking. Last door on the left.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ You knock lightly once, twice then pull your hand back like the door might burn you. A pause. Then the knob turns. The door creaks open slowly, revealing a familiar figure just behind it. Blue pigtails. The mask.

Sal Fisher.

He stares at you. You stare back. Neither of you says a word. And because silence is somehow gnawing at your neck, you blurt, “Hi! Um, I think our mail got mixed up I swear I didn’t just barge in.”

You thrust the letter forward like it’s a peace offering. “This was in my mailbox. For you. I thought I’d, y’know, be neighborly and return it. I didn’t open it or toss it or anything. Your dad sent me over this way”

He takes the envelope slowly, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment. His gaze flicks down to it.

“Thanks,” he says. His voice is quieter than you expected. Almost gentle.

You nod. Then freeze. Then nod again. You’re still standing there, very much in his doorway, very much uninvited. His room is in full view behind him. Posters of metal bands you’ve only heard mentioned in passing. Skulls, red and black ink themes. A guitar in the corner. Tiny, vaguely creepy figurines lined up on a shelf.

“Your room’s so cool,” you say before your brain can stop you. You lean forward just a little, peering past him. “Seriously. This is like… Sid and Nancy level. How do you even find posters like that anymore? Oh my god is that an actual cassette player? That’s so sick.”

You wince as the words leave your mouth. “God, sorry, I’m not trying to be weird. I mean that in a good way. Promise.”

Your voice is speeding up. You’re spiraling. And you know it.

Sal just keeps watching you like he’s trying to figure out if this is real or a very strange dream. A cheerleader. In his doorway. Talking about cassette players. You finally cringe so hard your whole body folds in on itself.

“I’m gonna go,” you say, backing toward the hallway. “Sorry for the whole… I don’t know what that was. I was just trying to be a good neighbor and it turned into, like, a monologue of whatever the fuck.”

You turn halfway around to leave when you hear

“You wanna take a look around?”

You glance over your shoulder.

Sal is still standing there, holding the envelope like it might vanish. His posture is stiff, like he’s surprised the words came out of his mouth, too.

You blink. “I mean… sure?”

He nods. “If you’re into the posters, Do you dig that kind of music?.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Well I wouldn’t say it’s exactly my style but I’m a all things can be redeemable if you give it a try”

He jerks his head toward the room. “why not give it a try then”

You’re already stepping inside before he finishes, smiling wide. “You had me at ‘cool’ and sealed the deal with ‘band.’ Show me.”

The second you cross the threshold, it’s like entering another world. The bland apartment hallway behind you disappears into a mess of amps, guitars, wires, dark posters, and the faint scent of incense and old vinyl.

Sal gestures toward a small desk setup with beat up speakers and a laptop. He grabs a pair of headphones well worn, slightly cracked along the band and offers them to you.

“You don’t have to pretend it’s good,” he mutters. “Honest opinion’s fine.”

You shoot him a thumbs up and take the headphones like they might unlock the secrets of the universe.

He clicks play.

The drums hit first loud, fast. Then comes the guitar: raw, rich, angry. A distorted voice cuts through the noise melodic under the layers of whatever was happening, but clawing to be heard. Your eyes go wide. You start bobbing your head slowly. Then more. A grin creeps up your face, shoulders bouncing slightly as the music crashes through your ears. You grip the headphones tighter, fully in it like you’ve been dropped into a private punk rock concert in a dream.

When the song fades, you pull the headphones off with a breathless laugh. “That was… so good,” you say, eyes lit up. “Like, very loud but in the best way. I felt like I could punch God in the face. I loved it.”

Sal’s ears what little you can see of them turn just slightly pink. He shifts, crossing his arms. “Yeah?”

You grin. “What, because I’m in a cheer uniform, you think cheerleaders don’t have rage?”

He laughs softly. It’s warm. Unexpected.

You glance at the clock and groan. “Ugh. I should probably head back and pretend I’m responsible or whatever. Homework calls.”

You hand the headphones back, your fingers lingering a second before letting go.

“Thanks for showing me that,” you say. “Seriously. its super sick.”

Sal shrugs, casual, but he still won’t quite meet your eyes. In his head, he’s screaming. Because what the hell. A cheerleader just walked into his room, complimented his taste in music, vibed to Sanity Falls, and then thanked him like he did her a favor.

Respectfully and he does mean that. you’re hot. this whole thing feels like a glitch in the matrix. Like someone else’s life. He clears his throat. “Yeah. Uh. Anytime.”

You flash one last smile before turning to leave. Sal Fisher stands frozen in his room, A pretty girl was in his room.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ the clatter of trays, bursts of laughter, the shriek of a chair scraping too hard against the linoleum. Sal sat across from Larry, Ash, and Todd, picking at the edges of his sandwich more than actually eating it. His thoughts weren’t really on food. Not when they kept drifting back to the night before.

Cheerleader. In his room. Pretty girl. She liked his music.

“Hey,” he said finally, pushing his tray forward and folding his arms on the table. “Do you guys know that new girl who lives on the third floor now?”

Larry paused mid bite, sandwich halfway to his mouth. “Third floor?”

Ash glanced between them, already suspicious. “Wait. Are we talking about that new girl? Y/N something?”

“Yeah,” Sal said, tone casual like he wasn’t rehearsing the question all morning. “she dropped something off last night. Just wondering if you knew her.”

Larry barked a laugh. “The cheerleader? Yeah, she’s definitely one of those girls.”

Sal blinked. “Those?”

“You know,” Ash chimed in, leaning her chin on her hand. “Perfect hair. Always smells like a mall. Probably part of one of those fake bestie cliques that post about how much they loveee each other but secretly hate one another’s guts.”

Larry nodded, already back into his food. “Plastic. The kind that calls everyone ‘babe’ but doesn’t know your actual name.”

Todd, sipping from a thermos, finally looked up. “You guys don’t even know her.”

Ash raised an eyebrow. “And you do?”

“I’ve had class with her. She’s… quiet,” Todd said thoughtfully. “Pays attention. Says thank you when someone passes her a worksheet. She helped a freshman with their locker on the second day.”

“That’s your bar for decency?” Larry said, skeptical.

“I’m just saying, you’re judging her and like Sal was new too once,” Todd said. “You don’t know anything real about her.”

Ash groaned. “You don’t need to know someone to know someone, Todd. Some people just radiate mean girl energy. Trust me.”

Todd narrowed his eyes. “That’s a shallow assumption and you know it.”

Ash muttered something about “cheerleaders being a plague” under her breath, and Larry snorted.

Sal, who had gone unusually quiet, finally spoke again. “She’s not like that.”

All three of them turned to look at him.

Larry’s mouth slowly curved into a smirk. “Wait. Hold up. Why are you asking about her, dude?”

Sal looked down, then up, tone clipped. “I told you. She dropped off mail. That’s it.”

Ash crossed her arms. “why did she just come all the way up to your place to give you a letter?”

Sal shrugged. “Her mailbox got mine by accident. then stayed for a bit”

Larry leaned forward, grinning. “What, did she get lost on the way out?”

Sal blinked. “She liked my music.”

Ash scoffed. “What, like out loud?”

Sal nodded. “Yeah. She tried my headphones. Even headbanged a little.”

Todd smiled slightly. “That’s kind of cool.”

Larry shook his head like he was witnessing a miracle. “Okay, wait a minute. A cheerleader, listened to screamo music, and didn’t run screaming for the suburbs?”

Sal shrugged again. “She said it made her want to punch God.”

Ash froze, lips parting in a mix of confusion and, for the first time, mild interest. “Okay… that’s actually kind of hardcore.”

“She said my room was cool,” Sal mumbled, mostly to his tray.

Larry threw his hands up. “Okay, what the hell, Sal. Are you telling me you Sal ‘I sit by myself and listen to death metal’ Fisher just casually had a cheerleader in your bedroom?”

Sal didn’t reply, but his fingers drummed on the table a little too fast to be casual. Larry leaned in. “Dude. You got a cheerleader in your room. Are you sure this wasn’t a dream? Like a fever dream after one too many gas station burritos?”

Todd tilted his head. “Or maybe… maybe she’s just a person. Like the rest of us. Who happens to like punk and be good at flips.”

Ash scowled. “God, Todd, you sound like a teacher.”

He shrugged. “Just saying.”

Larry still wasn’t over it. “Next thing you know she’s gonna show up in all black with eyeliner and join a band.”

Sal didn’t say it out loud, but a flicker of a smile played under the edge of his mask at the idea. He kinda liked that you were so different. the juxtaposition of your looks and what you seemed interested was very cool to look at.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ You strolled through the crowd with your cheer squad flanking both sides laughing, gossiping, spinning their hair around fingers like it was a competitive sport. You listened absently as one of them launched into a dramatic retelling of how her ex “accidentally” liked her finsta post at 2 a.m.

You weren’t really paying attention. Not because you didn’t care, though the first time she talked about it had you engaged. but because your eyes had already locked onto something else across the cafeteria. A short blue haired guy sitting at a table near the back with a group of kids you’d only ever heard about through whispered rumors and cruel nicknames.

There he was. Sal Fisher. without really thinking without asking yourself anything at all you broke away from your group mid laugh. Just veered straight toward him like your legs had made the decision before your brain did.

“Wait, where are you going?” one of your friends asked behind you.

“BRB,” you called over your shoulder. “I want to bother someone.”

Across the cafeteria, at a table meant for the misfits, Sal was in the middle of pushing peas around his tray when a sudden blur of cheer uniform and bounce came into view. He looked up.

You stopped right beside him and sat down immediately grabbing his arm, breathless and grinning. “Okay, so, I’ve been thinking about that song you showed me all night. Like, literally, I couldn’t sleep. I need more. You got a playlist? A mixtape? A USB drive from hell? Gimme.”

For one perfect, cinematic second, the entire table was silent. Larry dropped his fork. Ash’s eyes nearly bugged out of her skull. Todd blinked like you had just walked through a wall.

Sal just stared. “You… what?”

You nodded eagerly, lowering your voice like it was sacred. “You ruined all my playlists. I need more of that noise in my life.”

He blinked again. “You sure?”

“You say that like you thought I wouldn’t.”

“I–” Sal started, then stopped, looking absolutely stunned.

You turned to the rest of the table, realizing they were still staring at you like you’d just sprouted devil horns and declared yourself prom queen of hell. You raised a hand sheepishly. “Hi. Sorry for interrupting. I’m Y/N. just moved this year.”

Ash looked like she was physically holding herself back from combusting. Larry was still open mouthed, and Todd was watching with the kind of intrigue usually reserved for alien encounters.

“If you’re anything like Sal,” you added, offering them a genuine smile, “then I’m sure you’re all cool as hell.”

Larry looked to Sal, eyes wide. “Yeah, he’s crazy cool. Though he did learn from the best” Larry awkwardly replied while pointing himself

Ash leaned toward Todd. “I think i’m on drugs, what’s happening” Todd just smiled quietly.

You turned back to Sal, who was very much glitching out in real time. “I’ll give you my number later,” you said with a wink. “Text me a playlist. Or this time I’m breaking into your room.”

Sal opened his mouth. Closed it. Nodded once like he was in shock. “Okay.” And then you were gone, skipping back to your friends, who were whispering furiously and shooting glances like you’d just fraternized with the enemy.

“what was that?” one of them hissed.

You smiled, tugging your ponytail higher.“you’re the one who told me to make friends here, thats all i’m doing.”

Back at the table, Sal stared down at his tray like it might give him answers.

Larry leaned in, whispering, “Bro. Are you a witch? Did you hex a cheerleader?”

Sal just shook his head.

“I think,” he said slowly, still stunned, “i think its jover for me.”

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ You weren’t quite sure how it happened. One second you were joking in the hallway with Sal about your shared hatred for lukewarm cafeteria pizza, and the next you were in his room, cross legged, spinning slowly on his desk chair while he nervously adjusted the volume on his old stereo system.

The room was quiet, save for the soft murmur of some obscure post punk band playing from the corner. You didn’t recognize the lyrics, but it felt like something you wanted to memorize.

“You know,” you said, glancing around, “I kinda expected more skulls. Or like… weird taxidermy?”

Sal laughed soft and surprised. “Yeah, you’re not the first to say that. I think Larry was disappointed when he first came over and didn’t find a Ouija board or something.”

You gave him a playful squint. “Wait, you don’t have one?”

Sal grinned slightly behind the mask. “Okay, I do. But it’s under my bed and mostly for decoration. Larry gets carried away.”

You hopped off the chair and crouched, peeking under the bed like you were on a mission. “You’re telling me there’s a haunted board game down here and you’re not showing me?”

“It’s not haunted,” he replied, clearly amused. “It’s just from a yard sale. Probably cursed with suburban angst at most.”

You laughed, brushing your fingers over a dusty shoebox. “Still cool. You’ve got good taste. I mean, look at this stuff.”

Posters of bands you’d never heard of were plastered across the walls, scribbled notebook pages taped in between like patchwork wallpaper. An old lava lamp flickered halfheartedly in the corner. There were stacks of CDs, cassette tapes, and one particularly weird clay sculpture that looked like it might’ve been made in a sleep deprived art class.

You plopped onto his bed and tilted your head. “This one’s my favorite,” you said, pointing at a crooked drawing of a girl with hollow eyes and messy hair. “She beautiful.”

Sal stepped closer, shoving his hands in his hoodie pocket. “That was… something I did when I was like, thirteen. Supposed to be a ghost from this dream I had. I kept seeing her for weeks after.”

You looked at him, expression soft. “You see ghosts a lot?”

He hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Sometimes. Not all the time. But yeah.”

“Damn. That’s metal.”

Sal let out another laugh, more comfortable now. “That’s what I told my therapist.”

You leaned back on your elbows, smiling at him from his own bed like you’d done it a hundred times. “So, what else are you hiding in here? Secret dungeon? Portal to hell?”

“Uh,” Sal said, eyes glinting with something playful. “Larry stole all the portals to hell. I’m more of a secret music archive guy.”

You shot up. “Prove it.”

He smirked and crossed the room to a cabinet by his desk, pulling open a drawer to reveal a mess of burned CDs, USBs, old MP3 players, and one tiny cassette player with a sticker that said “Play if you hate the world.”

You gasped like he’d opened the Holy Grail. “Sal. This is the coolest shit I’ve ever seen. You better send me everything.”

He knelt beside you, pulling out a CD with careful fingers. “This one’s the first mix I ever made. It’s super rough.”

You took it from him reverently. “I love rough.”

Sal’s ears went pink. “I, uh, that came out weird.”

“Yeah,” you teased. “but cant a girl say how she feels.”

You glanced at him, and he was already watching you, like he couldn’t believe you actually said that. Like you’d disappear if he blinked too long.

“Hey,” you said, quieter now. “You’re kinda talkative tonight.”

He shrugged, brushing some hair from his face. “You’re easy to talk to.”

That made something flicker warm in your chest.

“Same,” you murmured. Then you nudged him with your shoulder. “Do you like me here?”

Sal tilted his head, mock serious. “People probably that I’ve summoned a demon cheerleader to possess me.”

You grinned. “Yeah? Hope they’re right.”

And he laughed again. You liked that sound. You wanted to hear it more.

You and Sal stayed like that for a while, just talking. The kind of conversation that meandered and curved around strange facts and half finished thoughts. He told you about a ghost that used to knock on his closet door when he was little. You told him about the time you accidentally summoned a raccoon with a ritual you found on Tumblr. Somewhere between laughter and another CD recommendation, you spotted a small, beat up notebook tucked between the mattress and wall. It looked old, like something with secrets.

“Ooooh, what’s that?” you asked, already reclining across the bed to reach it.

Sal looked up, immediately alert. “Wait no, that’s!”

Too late. You stretched out, reaching over him as he sat back against the headboard. Your fingers brushed the edge of the notebook only for your balance to shift, the mattress dipping under your weight.

Thump.

You landed right on top of him. For a moment, neither of you moved. You were nose to nose, your chest pressed against his, hands awkwardly splayed on either side of his shoulders. His mask had tilted slightly, and you could see just a glimpse of the scar beneath it before he quickly adjusted it. His breath hitched so did yours.

Your eyes met.

Sal’s eyes were wide, pupils flicking between yours like he was scanning for some kind of signal. You suddenly became very aware of the warmth radiating off him. Of the way your knee was pressing slightly between his legs. The room, the music, the whole world had gone still.

“Uh,” he said softly, like he was trying not to spook you.

You blinked. “Sorry. Um. .”

“it’s okay,” he said, voice an octave higher than usual. “Totally. You’re all good trust. Yeah.”

You were about to say something maybe a joke, maybe not when the door slammed open with the force of someone who had never knocked in his entire life.

“Yo, Sal HOLY SHIT”

You scrambled off like you’d been hit with a taser, rolling off to the side and nearly falling off the bed. Sal sat bolt upright, stiff as a corpse.

Larry stood in the doorway, a soda can in one hand and a box of cookies in the other, blinking like he was trying to make sure what he was seeing wasn’t a hallucination.

“Dude,” he said, utterly stunned. “Did I interrupt something?”

Sal buried his face in both hands with a groan. “Larry.”

“No, because this is like… well im not going to say. You’re on the bed, she’s on top of you, the music’s playing do you guys want me to turn the lights down? Light a candle or something?”

You threw a pillow at him.

Larry dodged it “I can come back later. Like, waaay later.”

“You weren’t even supposed to come now,” Sal hissed, his voice muffled behind his hands.

Larry grinned. “I felt a disturbance in the force.”

You sat up and crossed your legs, trying to fix your hair and your dignity. “Hey Larry, how’s it going?.”

Larry raised his brows and backed toward the hallway with exaggerated steps. “I meet you once and you’re already over my man right here”

And then he was gone, disappearing down the hall with the sound of crinkling cookie packaging trailing behind him. Sal finally peeked up at you, his face still a little flushed. “…Im sorry about that.”

You smiled, brushing your hair back. “Im not too worried, He seems like a nice guy.”

Sal blinked, then laughed “I think I like having you around,” he murmured, almost too quiet to catch.

You grinned, nudging his knee with yours. “Then send me that damn playlist before I tackle you again.”

“…Not the worst threat I’ve heard,” he replied.

And the music played on.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆You sat criss cross on the grass with your cheerleader friends, your lunch mostly forgotten as you braided strands of your best friend’s hair while another girl animatedly recounted some drama from first period.

“…and then he said, ‘It’s not cheating if we were on a break!’” she shrieked, clutching her phone like it was sacred.

Everyone groaned, gasped, or fake fainted in synchronized horror.

You laughed, tossing a piece of grass in her direction. “He used the Friends defense? God, we need to start handing out red flags on flashcards.”

You were comfortable here. It was loud, messy, dramatic but it was yours. And they loved you because you weren’t just part of the cheer squad, or the new girl, but because you talked to the theater kids, the band nerds, the weird guy in the dinosaur hoodie. You didn’t care about cliques. You liked people. People were weird and interesting.

Eventually the bell rang and everyone stood, gathering their things in a flurry of hair and perfume.

“I’ll see you after school!” someone called. You waved, backing away toward the building with your backpack swinging behind you.

And that’s when you heard it. “Pick it up, you little freak. Or do you need your mommy to do it for you?”

You rounded the corner and froze. A smaller kid, maybe a freshman, was scrambling to pick up their books, hands shaking as a taller guy stood over him. Shaggy hair,, fists clenched like he wanted someone to look. A few papers blew past your feet. You didn’t step in. You knew better. You weren’t built like that couldn’t throw a punch or bark louder than a threat. And you knew the look of someone who’d use that.

But still… once the kid grabbed his stuff and scurried off like a spooked rabbit, you found your voice.

“Hey.”

The guy turned to you, annoyance etched into every line of his face. “What?”

You took a slow breath and tilted your head. “What’s your problem?”

He blinked, like you’d just asked him the square root of an existential crisis. “You wanna go?” he said, stepping toward you with all the bravado of someone who’d been fighting shadows his whole life.

You didn’t flinch. Just crossed your arms and stared. “You seriously pick fights with kids who can’t fight back? What, did your cereal bully you this morning?”

That got him. Just a flicker but it was there. A crack in the tough guy mask. He scoffed. “Don’t act like you know me.”

“I don’t,” you said honestly. “But I know whatever that was back there? Thats fucked, stop being a dick and maybe your mommy would do something about it.” His jaw flexed like he was holding back a hundred things he didn’t know how to say. “I’m not scared of you,” you added softly. “But you being a dick is pointless.”

He stared at you for a long time. Long enough that it should’ve felt uncomfortable. But instead, it felt… tense. Not dangerous. Just tight. Like something holding its breath.

Then, just before turning, he muttered, “Tch. Whatever.”

You watched him go, the anger in his steps still there but dulled, somehow. Like your words had wedged into the gears of whatever rage machine he operated on. You found out later from someone in gym class that his name was Travis. Just Travis. No one knew his last name, just that he was trouble, had a rep, and probably didn’t have many people who called him anything else.

Ash had seen it.

She’d been leaning against the side of the vending machines, chewing on the straw of her empty smoothie cup, eyes darting around the quad like they always did. She wasn’t looking for drama, not really, but if it stumbled into her path, she sure as hell wasn’t going to ignore it.

She watched the whole thing Travis towering, spitting venom, and you standing there, not brave enough to throw hands, but bold enough to ask why. Not backing down. Not even flinching.

When he walked off, still pissed but quieter somehow, she tossed her smoothie into the bin and strolled over like she wasn’t deliberately inserting herself.

“What was that?” she asked, casually, like she’d just seen you pet a lion.

You turned, slinging your backpack higher on your shoulder. “What was what?”

Ash raised a brow. “With Travis. You said something. He didn’t hit you. That’s basically a miracle.”

You shrugged, still feeling the adrenaline buzz in your ribs. “I don’t know. Just… couldn’t walk past it.”

Ash snorted. “People walk past him all the time. He’s an ass. A racist, sexist, homophobic caveman with fists for brains. Trust me, most people are glad to stay out of his way.”

You chewed your lip. “Yeah. I guess. I just. I don’t know. People who are assholes need someone to speak up.”

She tilted her head, considering that for a beat. “You ever get into fights?”

“God, no,” you said quickly. “I’d die.”

Ash smirked. “That checks out. Still, you didn’t run. Didn’t go fake sweet or start crying to a teacher. You just… confronted him. That was kind of bold of you new girl.”

“Thanks?” you offered, unsure.

She walked with you now, matching your steps as you made your way down the hall. It was quiet, the rush between lunch and next period tapering off.

Ash glanced sideways at you. “Y’know, I pegged you as another one of them.”

You didn’t need to ask who them was. You’d seen the way she looked at your cheer friends. Glitter and high ponies didn’t mix with combat boots and smudged eyeliner.

You smiled softly, still looking ahead. “Yeah. I get that a lot.”

She didn’t say anything for a second. Then: “Turns out you’ve got more bite than you let on.”

You turned to her, surprised. “You saying that like it’s a good thing.”

Ash shrugged. “Might be.”

That was it. No over explanation. No emotional dive into friendship territory. Just the Ashley Campbell version of a peace offering. She didn’t invite you to hang out or trade numbers. She didn’t ask personal questions or gush. But the next time she saw you in the hall, she nodded at you instead of looking through you.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ The bell had just rung, and the hallways were alive people yelling across rows of lockers, someone dropping a textbook with a dramatic slam, and the smell of cafeteria pizza already creeping in. You scanned the crowd like a bloodhound on a mission.

Sal Fisher. Quietly standing near the usual corner with Larry, Todd, and Ash. He had his hands in his pockets, head tilted as Todd went off about some new theory, probably ghosts or government tech. Ash was chewing on a straw and nodding vaguely, while Larry interrupted every other word with “Nah, but listen what if?”

You didn’t even think twice.

“Hey!” you called, bounding over like a cartoon character with too much energy and absolutely no sense of personal space. “There you are, Blue.”

Sal looked up right as you reached him. “Blue?”

“You’re wearing blue,” you said, pointing at him. “And your hair’s blue. You’re very committed to the aesthetic.”

He tilted his head. “I wear black more than anything.”

“Technicalities,” you said, grabbing his sleeve. “Come on. We’re doing something.”

Larry raised a brow. “Is this a kidnapping?”

“Definitely,” Ash answered flatly.

“Wait, what are we doing?” Sal asked, laughing under his breath as you pulled him gently away from the group. “Do I get a say in this?”

“You get to walk or be dragged, your call.”

“That doesn’t feel like much of a choice,” he muttered, but he let you lead him anyway.

“Where are you taking him this time?” Todd called out with actual concern.

“To the moon,” you replied without turning around. “Or maybe just the vending machines. We’ll see.”

Ash cupped her hands around her mouth. “Bring him back in one piece!”

Larry shouted after, “AND IF HE COMES BACK MARRIED IM ATTACKING YOU FOR NOT LETTING ME BE BEST MAN!”

You groaned and shot them a look over your shoulder. “Y’all are so dramatic.”

“We’re dramatic?” Ash asked, gesturing wildly. “You swooped in like a caffeinated falcon and stole our boy mid convo!”

Sal laughed beside you, his eyes squinting just slightly with amusement behind the mask. “You kinda did.”

“Okay, but be honest,” you said, bumping your shoulder into his. “You weren’t even really paying attention to Larry’s alien rant.”

“…It was about space cats this time.”

“See? I’m rescuing you.”

He chuckled again, a little softer this time. “Then thanks, I guess. You know, I’ve started looking forward to these.”

You slowed your pace, peeking at him from the side. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, a bit bashful now. “You’re crazy and I am definitely living for it.”

Your smile tugged wider, warmth blooming in your chest. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“You need better friends,” he teased.

“I have you,” you shot back.

And that quiet moment hung between you both for just a second comfortable, kind of sweet, a little electric.

Back at the hallway corner, the trio watched you both disappear down the hall. Ash crossed her arms, a curious look on her face. “Im glad to have found out she’s not just some glitter clone.”

“Nope,” Larry agreed. “She’s cool. Like, actually so cool.”

Todd smiled faintly. “And Sal likes her. That much is obvious.”

Ash gave a small nod, the corner of her mouth twitching up. “Yeah. He really does.” for once, none of them said anything snarky.

[matts-girlfriend]

It’s You I Welcome Death With- Chris Sturniolo

TattooArtist!Chris and MakeupArtist!Reader

chapter 5

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

warning this series will contain, substance abuse, angst, arguing,tension,swearing, mentions of absent family, blood, abuse (not from chris). smut, oral, this is a warning for all chapters

The text came in while Y/N was elbow-deep in books and essays.

Nick S:

hey need a favor if you’re not booked—photoshoot thing for the shop, you in?

She didn’t hesitate.

Y/N:

i’m in. send details.

⸻

It was kind of weird how easily she clicked with Nick. He was the least chaotic of the brothers—organized, sharp-tongued, stylish in a way that made her trust his skincare routine more than most dermatologists. His tattoos were minimal, well-placed. And most importantly: he gave zero fucks about flirting with her.

God bless gay men.

The shoot wasn’t anything major, just some new promo shots for the tattoo studio’s Instagram. She was blending foundation into some guy’s jawline when Nick perched on a stool beside her, sipping an iced coffee with three shots of espresso and at least two existential crises.

“You’re good at this,” he said, watching her work.

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

He smirked. “Not surprised. Just impressed. That’s different.”

Y/N raised a brow but didn’t argue. The compliment felt genuine—like everything else about Nick.

When the last flash of the camera went off and everyone started packing up, Nick nudged her gently with his elbow.

“Hey. We’re throwing a party Saturday night. Kind of a big thing—grand opening slash shop launch slash excuse to get drunk and show off our new house.”

She wiped her hands on a towel. “You inviting me as the artist or the entertainment?”

“As the hot girl who made our models not look like sleep-deprived zombies,” he deadpanned. “Come on. It’ll be chill. Just a bunch of gays, tattoo guys, and questionable influencers. You’ll fit in.”

Y/N hesitated. Crowds weren’t her thing lately. Neither was pretending everything in her life wasn’t on fire.

But Nick looked so hopeful. And truthfully, she hadn’t been invited to anything in a while that didn’t involve cleaning up someone else’s mess.

She sighed. “Fine. But if someone plays Taylor Swift unironically, I’m leaving.”

⸻

Later that night, she sat cross-legged on her bed, tossing M&M’s into her mouth while Ava scrolled TikTok beside her.

“There’s a party,” Y/N said casually.

“Are you going?” Ava asked, not looking up.

“I think so.”

A pause. Then:

“Who’s throwing it?”

Y/N didn’t answer fast enough.

Ava narrowed her eyes. “Who’s throwing it?”

She sighed. “Nick. Chris’s brother.”

Ava dropped her phone. “CHRIS’S brother? Tattoo boy Chris? 2AM-blunt-sharing, sad-eyes, fine-as-fuck Chris?”

Y/N groaned. “Stop talking.”

“Oh my god.” Ava was fully sitting up now. “You’re going to his house. That’s basically Wattpad endgame.”

“I’m not even sure if he’ll be there.”

“But if he is, what are you gonna wear? Should I do your eyeliner? Do you want slutty or mysterious?”

“I hate you.”

“You love me,” Ava sing-songed, already grabbing her makeup bag.

⸻

She got to the party late.

The backyard was lit up with string lights and half-empty bottles. Music thumped from inside the house, not quite loud enough to be obnoxious. People were scattered in small groups, drinks in hand, laughter echoing off the walls.

Nick spotted her first, weaving through a crowd of guys who looked like they could hear colors and girls who looked like they were on the verge of throwing up.

“You made it!” he grinned, pulling her into a quick side-hug. “You look hot. I’m telling everyone you’re here to scout models.”

She snorted. “Please don’t.”

Matt appeared behind him, a drink in each hand. “You’re the makeup girl, right?”

“Y/N,” she said.

Matt gave her a once-over that wasn’t flirty—more curious than anything. “Cool. Heard about you.”

“Hopefully good things.”

Matt just smiled like he knew something she didn’t.

Chris was nowhere to be seen, and honestly? That was fine. She made polite conversation, complimented someone’s earrings, pretended not to notice three different girls making out on the porch swing. It was all good.

Until she stepped onto the upstairs balcony and saw him.

Backlit by moonlight, blunt tucked between his lips.

Black hoodie. Rings catching the light.

No girl beside him.

Of course.

Chris turned just enough to catch her watching.

“You always stare like that?” he asked, voice low.

“Only at people who look like they’re about to drop the biggest breakup song of the year.”

He grinned, holding out the blunt. “Come judge me closer.”

She walked over. Took it. Smoked in silence for a second before speaking.

“You really always smoke at parties?”

Chris shrugged. “Better than being outside. Less noise.”

“Mm.”

Another hit.

Then he asked, “Why are you like that with guys?”

“Like what?”

He gave her a look. “Mean. Distant. Untouchable.”

She didn’t answer right away. She usually wouldn't've but the weed in her system made it all the more easy to open up.

“I haven’t trusted a guy since I was thirteen and got left to raise my little sister alone.”

Chris didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

But something behind his eyes changed.

He said nothing. Just passed her the blunt again.

She took it slowly, then asked, “What about you? Why all the girls?”

Chris leaned back on the railing. “Sex is just sex. It’s easy. No one expects anything. No one gets close. But kissing? Kissing’s different.”

Y/N arched a brow. “You don’t kiss?”

“Not unless I mean it.”

She laughed, breathless. “That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.”

“You think?”

“I think the opposite makes more sense,” she said. “I kiss all the time. But I never let anyone get further. Kissing’s just kissing. Intimacy’s letting someone in. Sex is the closest you can be with someone.”

They stared at each other then. Long and quiet. Something buzzing in the space between them.

Chris tilted his head, His tongue swiping by his cheek before he spoke. “So what you’re saying is… you wouldn’t fuck me.”

“Nope.”

“But you’d let me kiss you?”

“Depends where.”

He smirked. Stepped closer.

And instead of going for her lips, he dipped his head to the curve of her neck, warm breath ghosting her skin before his lips pressed right against her pulse.

Soft. Lingering. Petty as hell.

Y/N’s breath hitched. She didn’t stop him.

Didn’t want to.

But then—her phone rang.

Ava.

Her stomach dropped.

She stepped away fast, swiping to answer. “Ava?”

All she heard was sobbing.

“Ava. Talk to me. What happened?”

“Y/N,” her sister cried. “I’m sorry—I—I went to get food and he woke up and he was so mad—he threw a bottle—”

Y/N was already running.

⸻

She didn’t even remember getting in the car.

Just the red light blur of the streets.

Just the fear.

When she threw open the front door, her stepdad was half-passed out on the couch, a new bottle of beer in his hand.

On the floor—glass.

A shard streaked in blood.

Y/N bolted up the stairs two at a time.

Ava was in her bed, crying, her hoodie stained at the shoulder where blood had soaked through. Y/N pulled the fabric back and saw it—a gash just above her temple, still bleeding.

“Shit, baby. Come here,” she whispered, grabbing the first aid kit. “It’s okay. I got you.”

“He didn’t mean to,” Ava sobbed. “I just—I dropped a plate and he freaked—”

Y/N held her tighter. Pressed a clean towel to the wound and kept her voice steady even though she wanted to scream.

“I’m gonna fix this, okay?” she whispered. “You’re safe now. I’m here.”

She kissed her sister’s forehead and bandaged the cut, tucking them both under the blanket like she could shield her from the whole damn world.

And once Ava was asleep, Y/N stared at the ceiling with tears in her eyes and just one thought looping in her head:

We need to get out. Now.

a/n: seriously debating on writting the stepdad falling into a ditch.

taglist: @courta13 @m4gz-png @lezleeferguson-120

@h3arts4nat @izzylovesmatt @sturnioliolo @hsemeria @sturniqloo

@venusbabysblog @chrisslut04 @crazy4weeed @chriscokewhore @chrisswaffles @urfavvvnyasee @sturnzluv @freshluvr @mattthemunchh @poolover123 @pleasantdelusionbear @carpentersturns @emosexyvirgin @emillionaireee @shamelessmilkshakefest @xoxochrissgf @sturniolodollx @joyfulheartwhispers @cutseylady @oopsiedaisydeer @steph1106

@laylaluvsu2000 @lvrsturniolo @chloe444 @yamommmasman @55sturn @whenlovesaround @luvs-booksss @vampyyluv @moth-feeet @cass-sturn

(dividers by @bernardsbendystraws)

[holyblonded]

can we have some azulita admitting to doing some wild things in la? like maybe her saying how her and her friends used to like graffiti and things. i also imagine her vaping haha so would love a fic if olga finds out.

— azul has absolutely said “oh yeah i used to tag that overpass” while everyone else was admiring the LA skyline and suddenly everyone’s like. huh. okay.

— she says it so casually too. like someone will mention street art and she’s like “yeah me and my crew had our own spot in Echo Park. mine was the little blue crown? if it’s still there that’s mine.” and everyone’s like. why are you not in jail.

— once while walking through a neighborhood in barcelona she pointed at a building and went “this would’ve been a great tag wall” and everyone got nervous. like azulita please this is a residential area

— she 100% used to carry a little vape in her hoodie pocket and nobody ever noticed because she’s so fidgety anyway. then one day she hit it in the back of the bus and salma screamed “AZUL YOU SMOKE???” like it was a murder charge

— alexia confiscated it the first time she caught her. azul was like “okay fine” and then pulled another one out of her sock.

— alexia was like “are you kidding me”

— vicky tried to defend her but azul was already laughing

— she calls it “her therapy stick” and insists it’s “not that deep.” olga hates it but understands it’s better to talk than argue so she just sighs and says “outside. now.”

— azulita once told a story at dinner about how she used to sneak into abandoned buildings with her old friends just to “vibe and draw” and when jana asked if it was safe, azulita blinked and said “no.”

— she’s not like recklesss now, but sometimes her instincts slip out. she’ll spot an open alleyway and get this nostalgic look like she’s about to start something illegal again

— when she and syd are alone, azulita sometimes pulls out old videos on her phone, graffiti, late night rooftop sessions, streetball with music blasting, and says “this was my world before everything changed.”

— she’s not proud of everything she did, but she never lies about it. she owns it with that little shrug that says i made it out, didn’t i?

— and yeah, she still vapes. and still gets caught. but she always smiles like, “what’re you gonna do? ground me?” and olga’s like “i will. try me.”

[luvsupa]

“WHATT? NEVER SEEN A GHOSTT..”

summary: next time be respectful for gojo’s memorial. . .

tags: ghost!gojo x fem!reader, smut, threesome (ig ..?), use of clone techniques, jjk spoilers, mean gojo, ōral sex (f!recieving), size difference,belly bulging, full nelson, degrading, dumbification, etc, mdni.

w.c: 4k . . .

a/n: GUYSSS WE GOIN UPPP ☝🏽 TYY FOR 1,7K MWAAAAA

+ sorry for the errors

kinktober masterlist

the halloween theme park buzzes with screams from rollercoasters and actors in horror costumes that look almost too real. you walk arm in arm with your friends, all of you decked out in matching monster high costumes. at first, you weren’t into it, but after enough pestering, you caved and ordered clawdeen’s full outfit.

the crowd can’t stop complimenting the four of you. from the boots to the hair, everything is spot-on. but gosh these platform boots are killing you. you can already feel tomorrow’s regret setting in.

“ooo, let’s try this ride before we leave,” one of your friends says through the fake fangs she’s wearing as draculaura. you all turn your heads to see what she’s pointing at. a sign reads infinity maze, with eerie, glowing blue eyes blinking on and off. it’s famous, mostly because the guy who designed it—gojo satoru—died a few years ago, turning it into some kind of attraction with ghost stories attached.

you scoff. people are suchwimps.

as you approach, you’re grateful for your speed passes because the line is insane. “okay, how about we make a bet?” your cleo-dressed friend suggests. “slowest time pays for dinner.”

you grin at the challenge, nodding along with everyone else.

as you wait, something catches your eye—a giant memorial statue of gojo satoru, standing tall near the maze entrance. his cocky grin is frozen in stone, and beneath it, the descriptiom reads,

in loving memory of satoru gojo. forever lovable and the strongest.

you roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. “who gives a fuck about him?” you say, loud enough for your friends to hear. they giggle, and you continue, “seriously, they’re doing the most with this memorial. it’s not that deep.”

one of your friends shakes her head, trying not to laugh too hard. “it’s haunted, remember?” she says mockingly, to which you just snicker.

“haunted, my ass.”

your first friend goes into the maze, and you start timing her on your phone. almost three minutes later, she comes out breathless, claiming the only scary part was a worker grabbing her ankle at the end.

next up are the others, who all manage to escape in under two minutes. the pressure’s on now, but you refuse to be the one paying for dinner. with a quick glance at your friends, you flash your speed pass to the coordinator, ready to sprint through this lame maze and leave them all in the dust.

your platform boots thud heavily against the creaking wooden floor, each step echoing in the suffocating silence. the door slams shut behind you with a sharp clack, sealing you inside. a deep breath fills your lungs, but the air feels heavy, thick. the faint glow of flickering lights ahead barely cuts through the darkness, revealing the first room—a classroom?

it’s an old, japanese-style classroom, but something feels off. chairs are scattered across the floor like a struggle took place, and bloody handprints—too real for comfort—smear the walls. your heart races as a sudden crack of thunder rips through the air, making the weak lights above you flicker wildly. it feels like you’ve been transported, as if this isn’t a theme park anymore... like you’re somewhere else, somewhere you shouldn’t be.

you inch forward, boots sinking into the floorboards with each loud creakk. you can’t shake the feeling that the room is watching you. the chalkboard looms at the front, with jagged, uneven writing smeared across it

look behind you

your stomach twists. your mind fights to stay rational—it’s just part of the maze, it’s not real. but your hands are trembling as you slowly turn. nothing. just scattered desks and the harsh, stuttering light overhead. thunder crashes again, timed too perfectly. 

your heart rate slows a bit, but you mutter under your breath, stupid maze, trying to shake off the unease as you head toward the next door. the sign above it reads, hall of mirrors,

the knob feels cold in your hand as you twist it, stepping into the next room. pitch-black darkness swallows you whole, except for the mirrors that tower from floor to ceiling. hundreds of them, endless reflections stretching out in every direction. your eyes adjust to the faint, flickering light—just enough to see yourself, but not much else.

“fuck,” you whisper, hating mirror mazes with a passion. you move cautiously, knowing you’ll bump into a dead end at some point. your reflection multiplies with every turn, making it feel like you’re being watched from all angles. you stop in front of one mirror, catching your breath, and take a moment to adjust your costume.

you smooth down the sheer purple mini skirt, making sure your wolf ears are straight on your head. you shift slightly, checking out your ass in the reflection, appreciating how well the outfit hugs your body. you’re about to laugh at yourself when your eyes catch something—a shadow

a figure. behind you. 

your breath stops cold. your friends hadn’t mentioned anyone being in here with you. you freeze, heart pounding as you stare into the reflection, too terrified to turn around.

“o-oh um, did I come in the room too early?” you stammer, your voice barely steady, assuming he’s the worker who grabbed your friend’s foot earlier. you swallow hard, trying to make sense of the tension creeping up your spine. the lights flicker again, casting shadows that stretch too long. your eyes twitch as you stare into the mirror—he’s still there, standing so still it sends a chill down your spine.

the lights flicker again, plunging the room into darkness. your pulse races. you can feel his presence behind you, closer now, even though you haven’t turned around. every hair on your body stands on end, anticipation mingling with fear. when the lights finally come back, your breath catches in your throat.

gojo satoru.

he stands right behind you, towering over your smaller frame, his eyes glowing like cold fire through the mirror. his presence is overwhelming, suffocating, andelectrifying. his ocean-blue gaze locks onto yours through the reflection, freezing you in place. you can’t move, can’t breathe, as his lips curl into a slow, dark smile.

“nahhh, you came at a good time,” he drags out, voice low, rough, as it echoes through the room. the sound of it, mixed with the flickering lights, makes your knees weak. he steps closer, his icy fingers brushing the hem of your skirt, sending a shiver down your spine. your breath hitches as you feel his touch, subtle yet possessive.

“and who are you supposed to be?” his voice is condescending, almost mocking, as his hand continues to toy with the fabric, lifting it just slightly. the way he says it makes your heart race faster, your skin prickling with a mixture of fear and something else—something darker.

you glance up, meeting his gaze in the mirror, tears forming in your eyes. this can’t be real. his white hair falls messily around his face, his long lashes shadowing those dangerously beautiful eyes.

“h-how? y-you’re dead,” you blurt out, ignoring his question as panic takes over. but his chuckle—low, dark—vibrates against the back of your neck, making you shudder. you’re trapped between the mirror and him, his breath warm and taunting against your skin.

“that i am,” he murmurs, his lips so close to your ear, “but you know what they say… energy never dies. you brought me here.” his words wrap around you, suffocating, intoxicating. your mind spins, trying to comprehend. you brought him here? how could you possibly—?

“h-how?” your voice is barely a whisper, trembling as you try to make sense of his words. it feels like the room is shrinking, like the walls are closing in, the air too thick to breathe.

“don’t play dumb now,” he chides, his hand sliding higher up your thigh. the heat of his palm sends sparks through your body. you shouldn’t want this, but the way his fingers tease your skin, the slow drag of his hand, has you clenching your thighs together.

suddenly, it hits you. images of you mocking his memorial, laughing at his statue, flashing through your mind. his low chuckle tells you he knows exactly what you’re remembering.

“i-i didn’t mean-”

“didn’t mean it? nahh, pretty, you fuckin’ meant it.” his plush lips press against your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that make your knees weak. fuck, you shouldn’t be getting turned on by this, by a ghost. yet, your body betrays you, burning up under his touch.

he leans into you, his teeth grazing your exposed skin, making you flinch. fangs? you tremble as he brushes his fingers under your chin, lifting your face so your wide, glossy eyes meet his through the mirror.

“all that nasty energy you have within you… mmm, that’s why.” his voice drops as he nibbles on your earlobe, tugging lightly on your hoop earrings, making you wince.

“‘m sorry, j-just don’t hurt me, I’ll do anything,” you stammer, your voice shaky as his grip on your chin tightens. his movements still, and the way he smirks behind you makes your heart sink. you’ve never felt so exposed, so vulnerable—like you just handed him your dignity on a silver platter.

without a word, he pushes your back down, forcing you to brace yourself against the mirror, your fingertips smudging the glass as you struggle to keep steady. glancing to another mirror, you see him crouching down, eyeing your clothed cunt with dangerous curiosity.

“anything, she says”, gojo quietly says, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as you arch your back just right for him. his eyes darken when he notices how soaked your panties are, the fabric clinging to your folds, sucked in by the wet heat between your thighs. of course, the lights choose now not to flicker—how fucking embarrassing.

with a quick, rough tug, gojo hooks his finger into your panties, pulling them side to side, watching how your chubby folds swallow the fabric before yanking them aside, fully exposing your dripping cunt. you clench hard at the sudden cool breeze against your exposed skin, and he pauses, mesmerized.

“you like this, huh? getting off to a dead man… ohh, you’re disgusting,” he mocks, his voice low and sinister.

“‘m going to make sure you live your dirty fantasies,” he growls, his tone laced with intent.

and he really is.

gojo has been diving into your cunt for what felt like hours, his impossibly slimy tongue lapping up your juices as your gummy walls snugly embrace him. your hands grip the sides of the mirror for dear life, feeling him reach the deepest parts of you. you’re moaning like a bitch in heat, your desperation rising as his spare hand mercilessly toys with your clit, not in cute circles, but pinching and pulling on your sensitive nub with no mercy whatsoever.

your thighs begin to shake uncontrollably as he pushes you to your third orgasm, broken moans escaping your glossed lips. your pussy slowly feels numb, overwhelmed by how hungrily he’s eating you out. do they not feed him in his world?

“ngh—‘toru, it’s too m-much,” you hiccup, and he growls behind you, the sound vibrating through your body. at this point, you’ve completely forgotten about your friends, about the stupid bet—you’re lost in the most toe-curling head of your life.

your stomach churns unexpectedly as you cum again, your brain so fuzzy that you can’t even comprehend it. he loudly slurps up your mess, not wasting a single drop as he licks you clean, your cunt twitching around his tongue. when he pulls his tongue from your gaping hole, your swollen folds throb in response as he grins at your state.

“heh, look at you—just a slut for a ghost!” he taunts, now standing behind you, grinding his achy bulge against your exposed cunt. his eyes never leave your face in the mirror.

“let’s see how much dick she can take,” he mutters to himself, cupping your pussy, clearly addressing her rather than you. as you catch onto his words, a wave of confusion and excitement hits you. how much? there’s more than one?

before you can process anything, you blink once and find yourself in the most insane position you’ve ever been in—full nelson. gojo has you completely at his mercy, holding your legs high above your head with a firm grip, locking you in place like a ragdoll. your tall platform boots dangle helplessly in the air, the sensation thrilling and humiliating as you stare at your reflection in the endless mirrors surrounding you. your stomach twists at the sheer size difference between your body and his, your eyes widening as you see your slick, swollen cunt clenching around nothing, desperate for him.

your miniskirt is now so short that it’s bunched up around your waist, exposing more skin than you’d ever intended. your eyes drop lower, and you gulp as you take in the sight of his cock, standing proudly upright. the base is a tan colour, thick and powerful, with mean veins decorating the sides that pulse with each heartbeat. the bulbous tip is a deep pink, glistening with droplets of cum that catch the dim light.

with one hand firmly securing your legs, gojo uses his other to tease you, rubbing the tip of his cock along your folds, the sensation sending electric jolts through your body. you bite your lip at the girth of his shaft, feeling a mix of excitement and horror. he’s definitely bigger than all your previous exes, and with every second you spend in this position, he brings undeniable shame onto them.

“can you handle it, baby?” he taunts, his voice dripping with condescension as he revels in your predicament.

“yes, I can-”

without lettint you finish, he thrusts into you, burying himself deep within your slick warmth. the suddenness takes your breath away, and you let out a gasp as he fills you completely. his girth stretches you in a way you’ve never experienced before, almost burning as your gummy walls clench around him, trying to accommodate his size. each thrust sends waves of pleasure crashing over you, a delicious blend of pain and ecstasy as you realize you can only take it.

gojo holds you firmly in place, using this ruthless position to keep you utterly at his mercy, revelling in your helplessness. with each powerful thrust, he drives deeper, hitting spots inside you that make your vision blur and your legs tremble. you can’t escape, all you can do is take what he gives you, your body completely surrendered to the pleasure.

“look at you, taking it so well,” he growls, a wicked grin stretching across his face as he watches your reflection in the mirror. your moans fill the room, echoing off the glass, mixing with the sound of skin slapping against skin. the sweat glistens on his body, making his white hair stick to his forehead, adding to the rawness of the moment. “you’re nothing but a greedy little slut, aren’t you?”

you can only whimper in response, your head spinning as his relentless rhythm pushes you closer to the edge. your thighs shake uncontrollably as he hits that sweet spot, the coil in your stomach tightening with every thrust. you’ve completely forgotten everything but the way he stretches you out, your body fitting around him perfectly as if you were made for him.

as gojo thrusts into you relentlessly, your collar jingles with every powerful movement, a stark reminder of your current position. each chime echoes in the room, amplifying your vulnerability as he drinks in the sight of your pretty, disheveled form. he watches how your eyes flutter in bliss, how your lips part with each thrust, and how your reflection reflects the pure ecstasy etched across your face.

“what happened to all that toughness?” he sneers, his breath hot against your ear as he quickens his pace. “wanna tell me how stupid this is?” his laughter reverberates through the air, as he reminds you of your sly comment.

the humiliation of his words ignites a flame deep within you, and despite the embarrassment, your body craves more. your jewelry clinks and jingles as he pounds up into you, each sound mingling with the echoes of your moans. the sensation is overwhelming, and you find yourself teetering on the edge of submission, your mind hazy as pleasure clouds your thoughts.

as you struggle to keep your eyes open, the world around you blurs and spins. you can’t tell if it’s the overwhelming pleasure or the way he’s wrecking you, but you swear you see multiple gojos swarming around the two of you in the mirrors. they grin wickedly, each one reflecting the same smug confidence, but you’re too lost in ecstasy to process it completely.

am I seeing things? you wonder,

your mind foggy from the pleasure coursing through your body. each thrust sends you spiral deeper into submission, heat pooling in your core, ready to explode.

then, without warning, you feel another hand, another gojo, playing with your pussy. your eyes shoot open, panic flooding your senses as you choke back a gasp.

he can clone himself!

your body responds eagerly to the dual sensations, the original gojo still jack hammerinh relentlessly inside you while his clone teasingly rubs your clit, heightening your pleasure to unimaginable heights. as if sensing your need, the clone moves closer, rubbing his chubby tip along your widened folds. you scream internally, panic flashing through your mind as he presses against you, the overwhelming stretch igniting both fear and pleasure.

there’s no fucking way.

the clone pushes in slowly, stretching you beyond your limits, sending shockwaves through your body. you cry out, your voice a mix of pleasure and pain, tears brimming in your eyes. he’s moulding himself deep within your walls as you feel every inch of your velvety walls being re-designed for him.

the original gojo leans down, his breath hot against your ear. “c’mon, big baaaad wolf, can you handle both of us?” he taunts the nickname referring to your costume, as his thrusts becoming more forceful as the clone fills you. “i thought you were a big girl.”

you can only moan in response, the sound mingling with the jingle of your jewelry as they continue to drive you wild. the mirrors reflect your state—multiple gojos swarming around you, each one more enticing than the last. their mocking smiles deepen your humiliation, but the pleasure they bring you makes it impossible to care. both their cock heads rushing as if it were a race to reach your cervix as you squeak at the brutal thrusts.

“look at you, a pathetic mess,” the original gojo mocks, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as you squirm between them. your gaze lazily drifts to the your tummy where a large bulge forming beneath your costume, moans escaping your lips at the sight. “you love being filled up like this, don’t you? who’s the stupid one now?”

your body betrays you, your pussy clenching around both of them as they thrust in sync, stretching you to your limits. the lewd squelches and sloshes of your dripping cunt fill the air, drowning out all coherent thoughts. each thrust pushes you closer to the edge, the overwhelming sensations causing your mind to spiral into oblivion.

the clone suddenly flicks your head, thr pain forcing you to look at him, and you feel a rush of clarity amidst the haze. “stay with us, pretty,” he demands, his tone both condescending and sultry. 

“we- hgnn -want to see that face you make when you fall apart.” you shudder at the sound of his voice, the way it sends waves of heat coursing through your body.

“mmf—i can’t. . . ’s too much,” you babble, your voice rising higher as the clone continues to push into you, the overwhelming sensation of fullness sending shockwaves through your body. pleasure and pain blur together, and you find yourself lost in a whirlwind of ecstasy.

“ohhh, but you can,” the original gojo growls, thrusting harder, your body shaking as you sob loudly, the sounds echoing off the mirrors as your achy walls clenching around his thick shafts.

every angle captures your struggle—your skin glistening with sweat, your costume soaked and clinging to your curves, and the way you’re trapped between two versions of the man you crave. the reflections amplify the chaos, a never-ending loop of desire and degradation as you’re thrust deeper into submission.

“what about your friends?” the clone taunts, a wicked smirk plastered across his face. “what will they think when they find you like this?” the thought sends a wave of humiliation crashing over you, but the pleasure is relentless, drowning out any semblance of reality.

“anddd what about that bet you had?” the original gojo continues from behind, his voice dripping with mockery. “i bet they wouldn’t believe how much you enjoy being filled up by us.” you nod at his words, sniffles escaping your nostrils as fat globs of tears streak down your cheeks, your makeup a ruined mess.

they’re so deep inside you that it feels like they’re going to split you in half. each thrust stretches you to your limits, their relentless rhythm pushing you closer to the brink.

you swear you feel him in your chest.

“please… i need to—” you gasp, your body trembling as the clone toys with your clit, electric jolts of pleasure coursing through you. your senses blur, and all you can feel is the overwhelming fullness and the pleasure spirall out of control.

“let go, pretty,” the clone whispers, fingers dancing over your sensitive bud. “show us how much you want it.”

with one final thrust from the original gojo, the heat builds to an explosive climax. you feel your body tighten around them, walls pulsing as a tidal wave of pleasure crashes over you.

“fuckk!” you scream, body convulsing as you squirt, release gushing out of you and mixing with his cum. gojo’s thick cum shoots deep inside as he paints your gummy walls a pretty milky white, creating an intense mess that ends up coats your inner thighs. the overwhelming sensation sends you spiraling into a realm of ecstasy, every nerve ending igniting as you succumb to the bliss.

“what a sight,” the original gojo grunts, breath heavy with satisfaction. you’re lost in the aftermath, body shaking as you ride the waves of pleasure, mind fogged with overwhelming satisfaction and disbelief at the chaos that has consumed you.

as you try to come back from your intense orgasm, the clone pulls back and disappears. when gojo finally slides out of your cunt, a waterfall of cum oozes from you, thick globs spilling forth—it’s utterly inhumane. gojo carefully places your wobbly legs, which had been in the air for what felt like hours, back on the ground as you collapse, the numbness too much to bear.

the mess cascades down your gaping hole, sticky and warm, creating a thick pool beneath you. you can’t help but feel utterly exposed, the evidence of their domination staining your costume and making you acutely aware of how thoroughly you’ve been filled.

the sight is almost too much to bear, the way your body quakes with the remnants of pleasure while the glistening fluid slowly drips, accentuating the chaos you’ve just experienced. you feel humiliated yet impossibly aroused, the reflections in the mirrors surrounding you amplifying your vulnerability as he stands, watching you tremble.

“c’mon, baby, your friends have been waiting,” he coos, picking you up bridal style as you mumble nonsense, your brain so fucked that you can barely string a thought together. he strides through the mirror maze and into the last room, steadying you onto the ground for you to exit on your own.

he fixes your hair and outfit, quickly pecking your lips before opening the door and giving you a final push. you stumble out, the cool breeze hitting you like a splash of cold water, bringing you back to reality.

“girl, what the hell took you so long?” your friends shout as you try to steady your wobbly legs. one of them shoves her phone in your face, and your jaw drops.

50 fucking minutes.

“t-the worker was—”

“t-the worker- shut up. now you’re buying us food.” one of them mocks, handing you your belongings while they stare you up and down, taking in how badly you’re shaking and your frizzy hair.

“jeez did a demon fuck you? you look like you got meannn dick in there,” she jokes, and everyone bursts into laughter, including you. they have no idea what you’ve just been through, but you can’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all.

[jensthwa]

show & tell (SMG x reader).

part of the love's an uncharted path universe ★.

SUMMARY:

You have known Mingi since you both were fourteen. You’ve been by his side through thick and thin and you would do anything for him, really, considering he’s your other half. When he has an unfortunate bed experience and asks for your help and you say yes, he starts considering that, maybe, you’re just the best friend a guy like him can have.

PAIRING: best friend!mingi x afab reader.

GENRE: childhood best friends to ?

WORD COUNT: 8k.

WARNINGS: SMUT ☽ (MINORS DNI) attempt !!! at comedy, wooyoung being a little shit, hwa being the voice of reason, sex talk, pet names (love and also dude and bro but in a sweet way), mingi scaring the sense out of you, descriptions of female anatomy, kissing, dirty talk (sort of), teasing, a little bit of voyeurism, fingering, squirting, almost getting caught, unresolved feelings.

NOTES: had to do a lot of research for this one, so i figured nothing better to post as my first fic here! this is 100% self indulgent, as all fics should be, and i think i've re-read it so many times that if you find a typo or something that just doesn't make sense, you can blame it on english not being my first language i guess lmao. i hope you enjoy it and if you do feel free to send to my askbox/reblog/type in any feedback or thoughts! <3

POSTED: july 18th 2024.

masterlist. / part two.

“Delete her number right now!” 

“She's such a bitch for saying that to you…” 

“And over text too? Wow.” 

“Yeah, no, I didn't like her from the start.” 

Wooyoung’s living room comes to life once again that morning, voices echoing and insults flying out, all towards the girl Mingi’s seeing. 

Was seeing. You're sure she's out of his usual rotation with the lovely shit show she just caused. 

You stay silent, your eyes fixed on your best friend's expression, on his red cheeks and apologetic eyes because everyone told him that girl was bad news. 

He should've listened to you when you told him you liked her friend better. She was a sweet girl, clearly had a thing for Mingi. 

Unfortunately, Mingi has a type. And that type always ends up breaking his spirit one way or another. 

But you stay silent, letting your friends have their little rants about how much of a bitch she is for hurting Mingi's ego like that, until he covers up his face with his hands and lets out a frustrated whine. 

“That's enough, everyone. I think he got it.” You smile a little and everyone turns to you, Yunho’s chest heaving and everything but Seonghwa (who also kept his mouth shut all this time) interferes before anyone else has the chance to start again.

“You know you shouldn't feel ashamed for that, right?” he asks Mingi, who slowly lowers his hands to his lap and looks at you for a brief second. You nod, confirming what Hwa says “No one is born knowing everything and she shouldn't expect you to know how to make a girl squirt.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Mingi whines again, closing his eyes “Don't say it like that.” 

“How else should I say it?” Seonghwa is confused but he laughs a little bit and turns to you. 

Being the only girl in the room, you think everyone it's expecting you to pick your friend up and join them in their insults but you can't (for Mingi’s sake). Instead, you let out a sigh “I mean, it's hard to even make it happen on your own without any help, Mingi. I don't know what the fuck she's on but…” shrugging, you extend your arm to pat him in the shoulder two times “Hwa’s right.” 

“So you do know?” 

“Woo—” Hongjoong reprimands right away and you turn to Wooyoung, confused.

“Huh?” 

“You said that it's hard making it happen,” he explains, smiling because he just found a new target for the next few days “So you must know.” 

Talking about sex with them was never difficult, it didn't make you uncomfortable whatsoever but you know what Woo is doing. 

You look down at Mingi before answering though and his eyes are glued to the carpet, begging for the topic of his unfortunate encounter with that bitch to die on everyone's tongue. 

So you take mercy on him. 

“Oh. I mean… Yeah.” You shrug once again, leaning back against the cushions on the couch while Wooyoung claps like he just heard the most hilarious joke ever. 

“You truly are amazing.” 

Rolling your eyes, you get up from your comfy seat “Sure. But it took a lot of practice and the whole ordeal was frustrating for me, so, again, I don't know what the fuck she was on,” you say again, smiling down at Mingi before taking a few steps towards the door “It's noon already, by the way.” 

“Shit.” Woo gets up quickly from his spot on the floor and everyone else follows suit. 

“Alright, everyone out! We have a midterm to cheat on.” San calls out and everyone takes it as their sign to actually leave (not just hang around the apartment) and continue with their days. 

This reunion was a little impromptu, just because Wooyoung texted everyone begging to come over and hang out with him and San before their online philosophy midterm. 

“And by that he means that you need to stay,” Wooyoung hugs Seonghwa hard, almost begging him with his eyes “We didn't study… Don't look at me like that! Please?” 

“I'm not doing your fucking midterm for you!”

You chuckle, leaning on the door and waiting for your ride home to get his shoes on. When you look down at him again, Mingi mouths a thank you and you blow him a kiss. 

When you get downstairs, you swear you still hear Wooyoung begging his senior to take the test for him. 

Everyone is quiet in the car. You can tell they're tired from exams and life in general, so you don't press them with questions and just let the music play in the background while you look out the passenger window and, eventually, at Mingi. 

His grip on the steering wheel lets you know he's a little more affected than he let on back there. But, again, you say nothing. 

You know better than to pressure him into telling you his feelings. 

Mingi and you have been friends forever. He lived a few houses down from yours, becoming your first friend when you moved to the city. You both were fourteen when it happened, so you've known him long enough to know what happens when he gets his heart broken. 

Not that Mingi loved that girl or anything, but he never really took embarrassment well. He didn't when the first girl he liked rejected him in front of the whole ninth grade class and he didn't when his pants ripped in the middle of the stage while performing a routine with his dance team on senior year. 

You stood by his side every single time and every single time he waited to sit down and let everything out, collect his feelings and talk to you through his frustrations. You really loved that about him, because he never said anything he regretted just because he was upset at the moment. 

Maybe that's why you two have been friends for so long. Opposites attract, or whatever your mother told you one time. 

In reality, you think it's because you two complement each other well. 

He knows when to speak his mind and you're kind of impulsive, heart on your sleeve and sharp tongue ready to defend your and your loved ones honor if needed. 

That's why it takes a lot of strength for you to not pull up that girl's number from his phone and give her a piece of your mind. 

One by one, you drop your friends off in different parts of the city and when it's time to go into your own house, you circle the car and Mingi rolls his window down.

He reads the look you give him a little too well, so he opens his mouth to stop you but you shake your head. 

“Call me, come over or just let me know if you need anything,” you start before he says anything “If you need me to beat her up, I can do that too.” 

He huffs out a laugh “You don't even know how to fight, love.”

You sigh at the nickname, he's been using it since the time you told him you had a crush on his friend, way back in highschool, and that you were positive you were going to get together and he would call you love because that's what good boyfriend's do. 

Turns out, you weren't exactly his friend's type. Neither were the other girls in your school. 

“I don't give a shit, I'll do it,” You two smile to each other fondly for a few seconds and then you tap the top of the car “Thanks for the ride, dude.” 

“You’re welcome, bro.” He rolls his eyes, annoyed because he hates when you call him that, but waits for you to get inside either way. 

And in the solitude of your room, you wait. 

You distract yourself with papers that are due in a few days, you start studying for your finals even though they're months away and you even go downstairs to say goodbye to your parents when they leave for a fancy dinner with their colleagues before you hear your phone ring. 

Mingi's FaceTime comes right on time, because you were getting really anxious from the radio silence on his end. 

“I have a small query for you.” He puts on an accent that makes you grimace immediately and he laughs at you. 

“Ew. Never do that ever again,” you beg, going back upstairs to your room “Go ahead.” 

“How do you do it?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“How the fuck do you make yourself squirt, love?” 

Oh. 

Definitely not the conversation you were hoping to have with him. 

It catches you off guard and you stammer your response “Um… You— I mean, it's not really a thing I can explain.” 

“You have such a way with words, though.” 

You stare at him through the screen, annoyed, and he just laughs again “Don't make me come over and beat you up.” 

“Alright, alright,” his giggling dies out and you distract yourself from the heat you feel creeping over your cheeks while putting away your statistics prep for the quiz you have next week. There's a bit of silence and then you hear him sigh “I do really want to know, though.” 

“If you're asking me this to then go over to her house and prove her wrong, I'm not telling you shit.” 

“No! No, that's not it at all,” he defends himself quickly when you turn your head to the camera, scowl in your face “When she asked me to do it, I really did try to make her, you know…” 

“You said squirt so freely a minute ago, Mingi,” you tease, smiling, but at his expression, you give in “What exactly did you do?” 

“I tried to, you know, do it like they do it in the movies,” he demonstrates his point with his free hand, his middle and ring finger down on his sheets, pressing and moving side to side “And she was enjoying it and she came, but nothing really… came out.” 

“Wow, first of all: you make her come and she has the nerve to give you shit over text? I hate her,” you shake your head, disappointment written all over your face “and second of all, that was a terrible mistake.” 

“What? Going like this?” He does it again and you roll your eyes, laughing a second later. 

“No, dude, trying to porno your way into making her squirt.” 

“Oh.” His movements on the sheets slow down and you grimace again. 

“Please stop doing that,” you beg and he snaps out of his thoughts to look at you through the screen. You take your phone and move to the bed, resting your head against the pillows with a huff. 

You ponder for a moment. You're sure telling him what he wants to hear it's not really a threat to your friendship, but it's also something that's very personal and intimate. You can talk about sex with Mingi and the other guys, sure, what doesn't mean you tell them about your sex life. 

Maybe that's why Wooyoung was so excited earlier today, because you spilled something that involves you directly and not something vague and general like you usually do. 

“Would it give you peace of mind if I explained it to you?” You ask, your voice barely a whisper as you sit straight on the bed. 

Your best friend takes what feels like a lifetime to respond and, when does, it's in a hushed tone as well “Please.” 

You groan and you comply either way, trying to find the right words to even start “Okay, I'm going to be very technical about this.” 

“I wouldn't expect anything else from you.” 

His teasing tone makes you glare at him for a few seconds before dismissing it with a click of your tongue “The very first thing you need to make sure happens, is that you wash your hands—” 

“Yes, Y/N, I'm not a virgin,” he huffs this time, annoyed “I know all of that, just skip to the part where I make her squirt.” 

“Jesus, fine! I also want to clarify that this works on me and I'm not really sure if it'll work on anyone else, alright?” he nods and you look away from the screen because you're not sure how to look him in the eyes “The first thing that I do— The first thing that you need to do,” you correct yourself quickly “Is make sure she's comfortable. And I mean, the space. Towels, water bottles… She needs to hydrate a lot.” 

“Hydrate… a… lot…” You turn your head to the screen and your jaw goes slack at what you see. 

“Are you writing this down?!” 

“I’m making sure I don't forget anything!” 

“You're unbelievable…” You let out under your breath and take a deep one before resuming the, apparently, class “Squirting can be confused as peeing and—” 

“Shit, hold on.” He interrupts and you hear his mom’s voice at the door, asking him something you can't really catch through the shitty airpod audio “It's just Y/N… I'm not really saying anything so I don't understand how I'm being too loud for— Yes ma'am.” 

You try not to laugh because he's literally being scolded right in front of you. 

Old habits die hard, and Mingi's mom loves to put him on the spot. 

Your laugh dies hard as well, because the next words, for some reason, make your heart drop to your ass. 

“She's telling me to either cut it out or go to your house, so… I'm coming over.” 

“Oh, I— Hello?” Your lockscreen mocks you because the call literally ended before you could tell him to go and fuck himself “Shit.” 

You don't know why you panic, but you do. You tidy up the room, you change your pajamas into something more presentable and you try to remember what you were telling him before he pulls open your bedroom door. 

“Mingi! Fuck, you scared the shit out of me “ you're panting, hand over your chest. 

He’s also panting, like he runned to get to your house, but he looks dumbfounded by your reaction “Your mom literally gave me the spare keys in your presence.”  

When he steps closer, you notice he's wearing cologne and that his hair it's a little wet, still, so you figure he took a shower before calling you tonight. 

Which means he probably wanted to sleep everything off, like he usually does, but whatever this is made him call you. 

“Yeah! But I thought you— Nevermind.” He shrugs and gives your hair a kiss before he moves to sit at your desk, the same way he usually does when he steals your laptop and notes to complete his assignments for the few classes you share. 

God. Somehow, you wish he was doing just that so it brings back some sense of normalcy. Maybe then, your heart can calm down enough for you to understand why this specific situation has your senses going insane. 

You sit back down on your bed and try to get your heart back to its place in the meantime. 

“They're not home, right? I didn't see your dad’s car.” 

“Company dinner.” 

“Ah.” He nods and you both fall in uncomfortable silence. It shouldn't be awkward, but it kind of is, even if you laugh when he pulls out the notebook he was writing on from underneath his oversized shirt and steals a pen from your pencil case, it's still a little weird. 

You gulp. 

“So, squirting can be confused as peeing.” He recalls the last thing you said with a smile and then he turns to look at you for a second “Go on.” 

You're grateful he's taking notes all of the sudden. He's turned to you, so you have a clear view of his back and you can freely take a grounding breath before continuing “It can make you feel very uncomfortable if you think you're going to pee yourself and that's really why most women don't squirt in the first place.” 

“You sound like you're reading a textbook.” He confesses with a laugh. 

“I told you, I'm being very technical about this— Besides, I did my research when I was trying to…” you gulp again “You know.” 

“You said squirt so freely a minute ago.” Mingi teases you the same way you teased him earlier and you squint your eyes in return. 

“Very funny. Anyways… Yeah, when you feel that, you usually tense up. You need to relax before even making it happen,” he nods, writing it down quickly “I also read that, depending on the person, you can confuse the liquid with, like, usual… arousal? Yeah, arousal” you sound more confident the second time you say it, unsure on how to call it because you never really explained anything related to your vagina to anyone else. 

He turns to you, confused “So… If she doesn't squirt a lot, how can I tell if she did it?” 

“I guess you'll notice it in her reaction?” You shrug and then cough a little to try and get rid of the sudden lump on your throat “I mean, it's not my case, so I wouldn't… I wouldn't know that.” 

Mingi, because -you guess- hates you, just raises a brow and looks you over one time before turning back to his notes. 

“A-anyways,” you cough again “It's all in her g-spot. It happens because it gets stimulated and that g-spot it's like…” you, once again, try to find the ideal words to explain “It's like the upper wall of the vagina? No, no, that's not right,” you see him draw a line over what he clearly wrote down on the paper and you laugh, apologetic “It's more like the, uh… Like the front wall of it.” 

“Front wall?” 

“Y-yeah?” you offer, nervous and unsure “I mean… Ugh, let me explain again. Something that you need to take into account is that you can only find it if she's really, really turned on.” 

“O… kay.” 

“Sort of like when you get hard we, uh, also get hard. Just differently,” you notice he's no longer taking notes when you turn to him again and the room is suddenly very hot. 

The AC’s on, right? 

Fuck. 

“And apparently it only really shows up when you're really aroused. The g-spot, I mean,” Quickly, you're up from your bed and walking around it, fetching your water bottle and taking a big gulp of it with your eyes closed. 

Mingi clears his throat a second later. 

“So it feels hard to the touch or…” 

“Not really, um… It kinda feels like a berry.” 

He laughs “What?” 

“Yeah, it's kind of soft but it has a texture to it too. And we, uh… have this gland that fills up with the liquid— Kind of like a prostate gland! Yeah, that's what that article said,” putting even more distance within Mingi and you, you sit back on the bed, just on the other side “If you try to do it before it fills up, you end up with nothing. That's what frustrated me the whole time I was learning how to do it.” 

“You didn't drink enough water?” 

“No, no— It fills up when you get really turned on. And when I was trying, I was trying way too hard and didn't, uh… I didn't do a lot of foreplay before trying, s-so.” You nod, finishing the explanation in a softer voice. 

Your cheeks feel hot and you swear your upper lip is sweating a bit. Why would you even say that? 

“Y-you didn't touch yourself enough or…?” 

“Exactly, I didn't, I just… Tried t-to stimulate it. Wasn't even wet enough so I used, uh, lube.” 

“Oh… Lube. Sure, okay.” He nods again, and then moves his hand over his face, looking away for a second “And then?” 

“I'm not really sure how to… Give me a second.”

What were you even telling him before exposing yourself like that? Before the tension in the room skyrocketed in a suffocating way? You're not sure. 

Oh, foreplay. Okay, what's next? 

“Fingering,” you say out loud when you remember and at the sudden word Mingi turns to you, eyes wide and you stumble over your words yet again “Y-you need to finger her to stimulate the g-spot, duh.” 

“Don't duh me, Y/N, I'm learning!” 

“Sorry!” 

“Okay! Now what do I do when… fingering.” 

That makes you frown. You're not really sure what to tell him next. So you look straight ahead and, unintentionally, move your ring and middle finger the way you do when you're touching yourself. 

In the silence of the room, you audibly hear Mingi’s breath hitching and that draws you back to reality. 

When you look at him, his eyes are solely focused on your fingers. 

“I don't really know how to explain this next part.” You sound apologetic, your lips tensing into a straight line. 

A bit passes. 

And then another one and another one where Mingi looks at you with a weird, foreign expression on his face. 

So you open your mouth to apologize to him, but he beats you to it. 

“Then show me.” 

You swear you never even heard him sound like that before. Or maybe you have, the tone of voice similar to when he just wakes up, low, grouchy, as if his throat might be dry. 

It just never affected you this way. 

“W-what?” you blink hard, a few times, trying to focus on whatever the hell is going on. 

“Show me how you do it… I-if you want to.” 

“Mingi!” 

“I just— Look, you don't have to,” he says right away “If you don't want to, you can forget I ever asked but I'm so… curious”, he says, getting up from your desk chair and planting his knee into the bed “And I'm also really butthurt over what happened. I want to learn but I don't really have anyone else to ask.” 

“What about, uh… Minseo! Yeah, what about her?” you offer quickly, also getting up. 

“San's ex?!” 

“I don't know any other woman that you also know, Mingi!” 

He gulps and breathes heavily, gathering his words, his thoughts, just like he always does and you remember: This is Mingi. Your Mingi. The Mingi you've known for years and care about more than anything. 

“I'm asking you because I trust you,” he says, looking you over once again “And because if I fail, you're not… going to make fun of me for it.”

There it is. 

You soften at that and he seems to relax at your reaction. His demeanor lets you know he's not just saying that because he wants to see you touch yourself, he's being honest. 

So you decide to be honest, as well. In a whisper, because your voice will tremble and give away how strongly you feel about his request. 

“I've never done it in front of anyone before.” 

“So no one has ever make you—” 

“No,” you confirm before he even gets it out and you sigh “I never ask for it and I haven't really… I've only slept with—” 

“Hangyeol.” He nods and scrunches his nose in disgust at the memory of your highschool boyfriend. They never really got along and it was a shame, because Han was a great guy, he just wasn't the one for you. 

“Mingi,” you walk over to him and he straightens up his spine “This could really… I mean, there's no getting rid of me in this lifetime, buddy,” reminding him makes him smile and you do as well, nervous, your body on high alert “But this could mess us up.” You finish in a whisper. 

“I'm not letting that happen.” He says back, eyes scanning your face before zeroing on your eyes “There's no getting rid of me either, love.” 

That nickname is going to be the death of you, you're sure. It makes you suck in air you very much need at this moment. 

Fuck it. 

“I'll… get the towels, then.” You smile a little even though your cheeks are burning and you feel a little dizzy while holding his gaze, but you don't back down. 

Before you move, though, he stops you with his hand holding your waist “I know where they are. Stay here.” 

You could literally melt right now. And you know it's a short trip to the downstairs hallway closet from your room, so you make sure you strip your duvet before things get messy. 

You should go to the bathroom, too, to clean yourself up a bit before Mingi finds out what you find out when you sit on your bed. 

You're so wet. 

And it's so fucking embarrassing, because you're not supposed to feel this way for him, for this.

Because, if anything, this is clearly just an educational experience.

And if Mingi’s excited look when he re-enters your bedroom tells you otherwise, you're choosing to ignore it for the clearly educational experience’s sake. 

“These will do?” 

You take the two mismatched towels and place them on the bed right away, not even looking at him. 

“Yep.” 

You think he nods but you're not sure, you just caught a glimpse of him moving towards your desk while you pretend to fix the towels in the bed to perfection. 

“Okay, so… You need to, uh, be comfy and shit. Drink water, you just did that a few minutes ago…” when you turn to him, he's reading his notes like he's actually about to conduct an experiment and you chuckle before shaking your head “The… The foreplay part should be next, right?” 

“Right…” you drag out, biting the inside of your cheek before he looks back at you. 

“You look really tense, Y/N,” he deadpans, looking down at his notes again “You need to relax so it can happen, right?” 

“You're about to see me touch myself and you think I can relax?” 

“Oh,” he frowns, immediately and then blinks a few times to refocus, you think “I'm not the one doing it?” 

“Uh… Yes? Later? I thought you wanted to see me first, y-you… You asked me to show you…” 

You can feel him think, the gears on his brain twisting and you think he's going to backpedal at any second because he's not really saying anything. Then you see it, the moment the image crosses his mind. 

And the next second you have him in front of you, towering over your form and then he's not.

Getting on his knees, he tentatively places a hand on your knee and parts your legs so you can make room for him to touch the end of the mattress with his chest and raise his chin just enough to make you think he's asking you to kiss him.

Oh God, you want to kiss him. 

His voice is a sweet murmur when he speaks again “Show me how to get you there, love,” he sounds like he's pleading, like he's begging you to instruct him and your breath catches when he moves his hand up your thigh “What do you like?” 

Your mouth moves before you can even think “Kiss me.” 

You don't even notice you're leaning forward until his breath fans against your chin and he tilts his head even more so that your noses touch. 

“How do you like being kissed?” 

You breathe out a laugh, a little annoyed by his constant questioning “Figure it out, Mingi.” And then the last thing you see is his smirk before his mouth presses against yours. 

It's not what you expect. If anything, you expected him to take the lead. Han used to do so, all the guys you've ever kissed did it as well. You don't really know why his patience surprises you, but it does and if your heart could race even more, it would. 

Because he waits for your guidance, waits for you to grab his shirt and jank him closer, waits for you to sigh against him and then returns the gesture when he feels your fingers move upwards and tangle in his dark hair. 

His mouth is complying to yours, his tongue is exploring it and wetting your lips in the process and you've never felt this good with anyone before. 

That's something you'll need to unpack later, but your brain disconnects when your best friend lets out a noise the second his hands touch your waist under your shirt and you forget, for a split second, that the point of this is to have you on your back pleasing yourself for him to learn. 

Because you want nothing more than to hear him make that noise again. 

The kisses grow needy and so do you when he trails a path with his wet lips from your chin to your neck and the next thing you know is that your back is against the towels you laid down before and his mouth is kissing the valley of your breasts over the cotton of your shirt. 

You look down and it takes a second for him to feel you staring before he looks up at you “Should we take this off?” 

Your voice gives away how gone you are when you reply a simple yes and your shirt is on the floor the next instant. 

Now, you're sure this is not the first time Mingi has seen you in your underwear. You both have gone swimming before and he has walked into your room a million times while you're getting ready. You're even sure he's seen you walk out from your bathroom in this specific bra before… But he's staring at you like it's the first time he's been able to trace the way your breasts spill a little bit over the fabric of this old bra you decided to wear today, like it's the first time he's allowed himself to enjoy it. 

Like it's the first time he's allowing himself to feel any sort of attraction for you. 

“Fuck,” you whisper, shallow breath hitting his cheek when he returns his mouth to your jaw “Let me… Come here.” 

You scoot up until your head rests against your pillows and he follows, resting his body weight on his side and chasing your mouth when you turn your face to him. 

You should speed this up. There's no way you're not going to feel like shit if tomorrow you wake up and remember you're letting yourself enjoy this more than you should. 

There’s no reason for you to lose your breath when his fingertips trace softly the skin under your breasts or for your legs to grant him access so quickly when they reach your belly and bypass every other part of your body before going straight in between them. 

And he notices it too. 

“I don't know why I asked you so many questions before,” he starts, turning his hand so that he back of it and his nails start caressing the inside of your thighs through your sweatpants “I know what you like. I pay attention to you whenever we're talking about sex with the guys.” 

You frown, about to remind him that you never speak directly about your own experiences but he continues his ministrations, giving your other thigh attention “I usually watch you closely in case any of it makes you uncomfortable, but I notice your reactions when they speak about something that you like.” 

Oh. Heart on your sleeve, your biggest flaw. 

“Like that one time Woo was going on and on about marking and you couldn't stop fidgeting on your seat…” his nose traces your jaw softly before his teeth take the skin underneath it and you gasp just enough to prove him right “Or that time Yunho said he hated teasing because he's an impatient little shit” he chuckles, his index finding the spot next to your mound and going down slowly until his knuckle graces the crevice where your leg and your hip connect “and you defended it until we had to stop you guys from yelling each other over it…” 

Your breath shakes and your eyes close at the sensation “Mingi…” 

“Am I wrong?” 

You shake your head no and you can all but hear him smile when he speaks again. 

“Of course I'm not.” 

You open your eyes and expect him to look at you the way he does when you're unable to defend yourself against his quips, but he's not. His eyes are following his own actions and his bottom lip is pulled by his teeth when he takes the fabric of your sweatpants and pulls it up, enough to give you some friction where you need it the most. 

“Can I take this off?” 

“Fuck, y-yes.” 

Joining your shirt on the ground, you're left only in your underwear while Mingi is fully clothed and it bothers you out of nowhere. 

“You're so wet already…” he observes and you blush, puffing some air and covering your eyes with your hand. He just laughs “That's a good thing, it means that I'm doing okay.” 

He's doing more than okay. Damn all the experience he has and the way he reads you so well. 

But his sweet tone gives you some clarity and you support your weight on your hand to fix your position on the bed. 

“Alright, let's… resume the lesson before my parents get home.” 

“They probably won't for now. The company dinners last until like… two in the morning, usually, right?” 

���That's when they decide to go out for drinks.” 

“Your mom always wants to go out for drinks.” 

“Let's not talk about my mom right now!” you beg and he laughs again, making you chuckle alongside him and you're glad he's talking all of this -the kissing, the teasing, the sweet-talk and the wet patch on your underwear- so well. 

The awkwardness from before dissipated the moment he got on his knees in front of you and all that followed was this lovely tension you're dying to keep between the two of you forever even though you shouldn't. 

“Show me, love,” he pleads and you sigh, his mouth finding your cheek for a quick second, encouraging you “And then you can show me how to make you feel good, too.” 

You stare at him for a few seconds “Damn, you're good,” he shakes his head and you smile, getting rid of your underwear and pushing the quick moment of embarrassment being bare with him in the room gives you “Remember that this is what works for me, okay?” 

He nods and then props himself up so he can see it better. 

You take a second before your fingers dive into your wet folds and, when you do, you gasp at the feeling. 

You've never been more wet just for kissing and teasing before. What the fuck. 

You do what you usually do when you're alone for a while and try to contain yourself from moaning because Mingi's eyes keep moving from your fingers to your face. Then, you remember you should be talking him through it, as well. 

“You see how I'm building it up?” you start, chest heaving and he hums as his reply “I'm not trying to make myself come but I'm kinda just… edging myself a little bit.” 

“Edging,” he repeats and then hisses when he sees your thumb pressing into your clit just how you like it, making you sigh heavily “I know all about that, that's good.” 

“Y-you do?” 

“You'll be surprised,” he smiles, proud of himself. 

“Okay,” you continue, taking a deep breath “Then you know about prepping, too,” he nods “So, a finger first…” you say, swallowing hard when your middle finger makes its way into your cavity without much effort. 

Dragging back and forth for a minute or so, you're incapable of containing yourself any longer. Air leaves your mouth in pants and your eyes close when you drag the pad of your finger upwards, locating your g-spot with ease because you're used to it.

“And then, two fingers.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Look at the position of my hand. I read that these two fingers work the best because they're longer than the rest, although…” you look at Mingi's hand over your belly. You didn't even notice before this that he was touching you, but he is and his thumb is tracing a pattern that both relaxes you and sends shivers down your spine “I'm sure that it won't be a problem for you, huh?” 

He sends a cocky smirk your way and you would've smacked him if you weren't so… preoccupied. 

Pressing your precious spot and then dragging back and forward, you stop the movements altogether. It felt too good, way more than good and it's a different sensation of what you're used to. 

And it's all because of him. 

You look at his side profile, his eager eyes commiting to memory what you're doing to yourself, probably taking mental notes now that his notebook is long forgotten over at your desk and… 

He deserves this. He deserves to be the one to have this, just tonight. 

You hate to leave what feels like it's about to be your best orgasm in the hands of someone who's just learning, yet alone a man.

But Mingi is not just any man. 

“Mingi,” you call and his curious eyes leave your heat a second later “your turn.” 

“Did you… Did it happen? I didn't see anythi—” 

“No,” you interrupt him, your fingers leaving you and you turn to him, your clean hand finding his face “show me what you learned.” 

His mouth parts, but you have a newfound confidence and a glint in your eyes that is new, so nothing comes out. 

“Prove that bitch wrong.” 

That seems to do it. 

His eyes go from being confused to spark with determination and want and electricity runs through you again because he seems so relieved he gets to touch you sooner than expected. 

Shyness and nervousness buried six feet under, you both smile to each other before you feel him. 

His fingers gathering your wetness, his thumb finding your clit with ease and expertise. 

“Wettest pussy I've ever touched.” You can tell he's a little lost in the heat of the moment but it's okay. So are you. 

Fuck. 

It's been way too long since someone else touched you this way, so you all but melt at the circles he draws on your clit. He paid close attention before, because he's touching you just the way you like it. 

“That feels so good…” 

“Yeah?” he asks, dark eyes finding yours before a particular stroke forces you to close them. And then he gathers enough slick to insert his ring finger inside and you can't help the moan that slips past your lips. 

You lift your hand to cover your mouth, but Mingi clicks his tongue in feign disappointment “I want to hear if I'm making you feel good, love. Don't hold back on me just because this is unconventional.” 

The worries die altogether with that. 

And now that you have free reign to stop containing yourself, you don't know how to stop. 

It's not long before his middle joins his other finger but he doesn't go for it right away. He fucks you slowly, allowing you to get used to the unfamiliar stretch of his way longer, way thicker digits until they slide in and out with little effort. 

His pace picks up after what feels like ages and your hand fists his shirt for the second time tonight, nodding and moaning in encouragement. 

“Deeper,” you instruct “curl them upwards and go deeper, you'll feel it then.” 

He obeys immediately, his chest heaving and his mouth parting in delight when he finds it. The pad of his finger presses down on it tentatively and your grasp on his shirt hardens.

“Is that it?” you nod and he does it again, which earns another moan “What do I do now?” 

Before you completely get lost in the feeling, you decide to drop the step by step bullshit aside and give him the full instruction in hopes that he'll remember it all without fucking up: “What works for me is pressing… Fuck, yeah, just like that a-and then…” you take deep breath “Just a little harder… Yeah, then rub it in a circular motion while maintaining that same pressure… Fuck, Mingi!” 

He's a little too good at following instructions, because he touches you like he's been doing this forever and soon you feel the familiar swell, the usual buildup of it all and he's taking you over the age like it's nothing. 

You forget how to speak, you forget how to tell him what he needs to do next and so, when you finally explode, you take his wrist and place his two fingers over your clit. 

When you move them side by side, he lets out a fascinated giggle but knows exactly what to do. 

A second later, your release is coating your thighs and the towels underneath you and you don't register anything else because your ears are ringing. 

Did you lose consciousness for a second? It feels like you did. 

That was the best fucking orgasm you've ever felt in your entire life. 

And when you come back down, you only register the sound of your breathing and plump lips kissing your face, his fingers stopping their pace once he realizes you're done with it. 

Opening your eyes, you stare at your popcorn ceiling for a second. Then, you look at Mingi who's already staring at you with a what the fuck just happened expression. 

It makes you laugh. Softly at the beginning, post-orgasm bliss takes over but then Mingi laughs too and your whole chest swells with inexplicable pride. 

You don't think twice before kissing him again. When you realize you did it, you pull back and blink at him like he didn't make you see stars three seconds ago. 

“That was…” his eyes do the thing he usually does. You never notice it until now, but he scans your face so frequently you've grown used to it, but now… It feels different. His teeth nip his bottom lip and he shakes his head before speaking “Come here, love.” 

And then he's kissing you again, slow, intimate, beyond the stupid lesson you just taught him. 

But you don't mind it one bit. 

You sit up, getting on your knees on the bed and basically forcing him to do the same. Ignoring the gross sensation of the wet towel underneath you, you pull him further into you until his chest presses against yours, until his hands roam your body and settle on your waist, securing the embrace. 

This time, when you pull away, there's this whole unspoken new thing between you. 

“That was…?” you press, smiling a bit, pulling both you and him back to reality. 

Right now, with you half naked and his hard-on pressing on your belly, it's not the time to discuss your feelings. 

“Possibly the coolest thing I've seen,” he starts, giggling when you roll your eyes “and the hottest thing I've seen, too,” you shrug, dismissing his stare because it's making you feel hot all over your body, again “and I'm really, really grateful you said yes, love.” 

The soft tone he uses to say the last bit relaxes you and you nod, deciding it's not the time to tell him you never even came like that on your own. 

Instead, you decide to grasp this intimate moment and extend it as much as you can. You can see Mingi is not expecting it when you reach his sweatpants and let your shaky thumb trace the outline of his cock. 

Closing his eyes, he lets out a pleased sigh before he grabs you by the back of your neck and rests his forehead against yours. 

“This is supposed to be purely educational, Y/N” 

“Is that what you want it to be?” you softly ask, pulling your hand away but then his hips buck and chase after your touch, making you smile despite the emotions swelling in your chest “Let me help you… Please…” 

“Fuck, don't beg me, love.” 

“Don't make me beg, then.” 

What the fuck are you even doing? 

“Y/N, I—” he stops suddenly and you're too lost in the moment to notice why. 

But then the sound of keys and a door closing downstairs scares the fuck out of you and you push Mingi away without thinking it through. 

He lands with a thud on your bedroom floor, next to your discarded clothes. 

“What the fuck, Y/N?” he whispers-shouts, both shocked and offended, but you're getting off your bed and picking up your clothes and the soaked towels so you don't really care about his feelings right now. 

“Bathroom. Now.” 

You're so blessed for having your bedroom right next to the upstairs bathroom. And so blessed that it is your bathroom and you don't have to share it. You’ll get on your knees and thank your gods afterwards, but right now you can only think one thing.

Don't get caught. 

Lord knows you'll never hear the end of it if Mingi walks out of here with a hard-on. Your dad will kill him, your mom will cheer because she loves the idea of you and Mingi together and you'll probably pack your bags and move away if it happens. 

When you lock the door behind you and make a quick show of putting your underwear and pants back on, you hear Mingi chuckle. 

“We can always tell them we're having a sleepover, Y/N, you didn't have to karate kick me off the damn bed!” 

“Hush!” But he just keeps giggling at your very obvious flustered state.

You're about to rip him a new one when he takes two strides, backs you against the bathroom sink, and catches your lips in a quick, sweet kiss and all your worries dissolve just like that. 

“Guess they didn't go for drinks after all..” 

“You think?” cocking your head to the side, the smile on your lips can't be fought at this point. 

He returns it and leans in for another kiss, longer this time and you sigh against his mouth before pulling away because you really, really shouldn't be doing this right now. 

You hear your mother calling your name and then footsteps up the stairs. A murmured she must be sleeping and a hum from your father before they pass the bathroom door. You truly only relax when you hear their door closing at the end of the hallway. 

“Okay, we're safe now.” 

“When were we ever not safe?” 

“When I was half naked on my bed, Mingi!” 

He shakes his head with a smile and takes a step back. 

You clear your throat. 

“I really did want to help you out but—” 

“Raincheck?” he asks and at your hesitation to say yes, he continues “If you want to. If you don't, it's okay. We… We'll figure it out, okay?” 

“Okay.” 

He smiles again “Good, uh…” 

Mingi seems unsure on what to do next. Feeling the same, you decide the best thing to do is to get him out of here. 

Opening the bathroom door, you carefully peek into the hallway, taking his hand in yours and beckoning him to follow you down the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible. 

“Shit, your shoes…” you whisper. 

“I don't think they noticed if they didn't barge into the bedroom to check on us like they usually do, love.” He returns, in the same tone. 

That does nothing to ease your mind, but he makes sure to put them on quickly and then grabs your shoulders, shaking you in a teasing manner. 

“Quit worrying, Y/N. I can feel you thinking.” 

Of course he does. There's no one, in this world, that knows you better than him. 

It makes your heart flutter and it shouldn't. But you're getting on your tippy toes and stealing a parting kiss before you think about it too much. 

It's irresponsible for you to do so, but Mingi grabs your waist and extends the duration of the kiss and suddenly you don't give a fuck about your parents or anyone else finding out about this… shift in your dynamic. 

“See you tomorrow?” he asks against your lips and you nod. 

“See you tomorrow.” 

And with that, he leaves. 

You lock the door and practically run to your room after. 

What the fuck have you done?

If you read all the way down here: THANK YOU SO MUCH. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated and since it’s an open ending (sort of), let me know if you want a second part! 

© jensthwa, 2024.

[thelostmagicians]

Two Teas and a Coffee | Spencer Reid

Summary: Spencer’s changed, but JJ hasn’t realized it or the aftermath of JJ’s confession and how it should’ve gone [3.3k]

Warnings: Fluff, Spencer being in love with you, angst

♡

JJ never saw it coming.  

Not at first.  

She had seen every version of Spencer Reid—the awkward genius, the baby profiler, the grieving man who had lost so much. She had seen him at his highest and his lowest, and through it all, she had always thought she knew him better than anyone else. 

So when you entered the picture, she didn’t think much of it.  

You were fresh meat, eager to prove yourself, and naturally, you gravitated toward Spencer. Everyone did, at first. His mind was a magnet for curiosity. He was brilliant, fascinating, full of facts that would bore most people into the ground  

But you weren’t most people.  

JJ noticed that much early on—how you never seemed annoyed by Spencer’s ramblings, how you never cut him off or rolled your eyes the way some of them did when he rambled on for too long. You actually listened. You asked questions. You encouraged him.  

At the time, JJ thought you were just kind. She appreciated it, really. Spencer had been lonely since Morgan left, and he needed someone. She assumed that was all you were—someone filling a space, a way to keep him from retreating back inside himself the way he had after Maeve.  

She didn’t realize it was anything more.  

Not when Spencer began seeing more of you outside work.

Not when you were the first person he asked for after a case. 

Not even when he hugged you a little too tightly after a tough day.  

—

She convinced herself it was just a close friendship. 

And then prison happened.  

JJ had cried in response to the verdict, but you were broken.  

She found you in the hall after they carried Spencer away. You were propping yourself against the wall, eyes on the floor, hands trembling at your sides. When she called your name, you didn’t look up at first. 

"You okay?" JJ asked, echoing her question to Spencer from the night before.

You let out a short, humorless laugh. "No." “He didn’t deserve this,” you croaked, voice heavy with emotion.

“I know,” she said.  

“He—” You took a deep, shuddering breath. “He’s not going to be okay in there.”  

She stood beside you. "He’s strong. He’ll get through this."

You shook your head. "You don’t get it, JJ." Your voice cracked. "I can’t lose him."

JJ didn’t understand. Not then. She had always been protective of Spencer, but the way you said it was different. It wasn’t just concern—it was something deeper, something raw. And for the first time, she wondered just how much Spencer meant to you.

—

Then he got out.  

And the first person he hugged was you.

JJ had been right there, had reached for him instinctively, but before she could even take a step, Spencer had gone straight to you.  

He buried his face in your shoulder, arms wrapped tightly around you, like he needed to feel you to believe this was real. And you—God, the way you held him, whispering reassurances, grounding him—JJ had never seen anything like it.  

That should have been her first clue.  

But it wasn’t.  

Not until she told him she loved him.  

The moment the words escaped her lips, she saw the way his whole body froze. He didn’t look at her the way she had hoped, the way people do in movies when they realize they’ve been in love all along.  

He looked shocked.

And maybe—just maybe— a little disappointed. 

After they were rescued, after the chaos, after everything settled. He had gone straight to you. He didn’t come to her. Not to ask how she was doing. Not to talk about the confession. Not to do anything.

That, more than anything, sent a burning, ugly rage surging through her.  

Then, not long after, she saw him kiss you.

Before she could look away, his hands were on your face, and he was kissing you like he had been waiting his whole life to do it.  

JJ felt something crack inside her.  

It wasn’t just the kiss. It was the way he kissed you—the certainty, the desperation, like he couldn’t bear to go another second without showing you how he felt.  

She had never seen Spencer like that before.  

Not with Maeve.  

Not with anyone.  

—

So when Spencer finally came to find her, she was already bracing for a fight.  

"You shouldn’t have told me, it wasn’t fair" he told her the second he walked into the BAU’s empty break room, his voice strained with tension.  

JJ blinked, caught off guard by the directness. "What?”  

"You shouldn’t have told me you loved me," he said again, firmer this time. "It was selfish, JJ."  

She scoffed, crossing her arms. "Oh, so now it’s selfish to tell someone how you feel?"  

"Yes!" Spencer snapped, stepping closer, his eyes dark with something she couldn’t quite name. "Because I didn’t need to know that. You didn’t need to say it. What did you think was going to happen? That I’d just—what? Drop everything? That I’d throw myself at you?"  

JJ flinched. "Spence—"  

"You don’t get to do that," he cut her off, a sharp edge to his voice. "I’m not your backup plan, JJ."  

"That’s not what this is about!" she shot back, feeling the heat rise in her chest.  

"Then what is it about?" Spencer demanded. "Because as far as I can tell, you dropped this confession on me after years of nothing, when I finally found someone who makes me happy. And now—now what? I’m supposed to apologize? I’m supposed to feel guilty?"  

JJ exhaled sharply, her fingernails digging into her arms. "I didn’t know I was going to say it, Spencer. I didn’t plan for this, I didn’t—”. "I don’t know what I expected!” She yelled, tears of frustration stinging her eyes. "But I didn’t expect you to just—just disregard my feelings like this! I didn’t expect you to move on so fast!”  

"Fast?" Spencer laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Fast? JJ, I have spent years thinking I wasn’t good enough for anyone. I have spent years being alone, thinking no one could ever love me the way I wanted to be loved. And now, when I finally have someone who does, you think I should just—what? Erase that? Drop everything? Forget that you have a husband and a family? To wait for you?"

JJ swallowed hard, the words hitting her like a blow.  

"You never even gave me a chance to begin with," Spencer said, his voice soft, but still fierce. "And maybe, maybe there was a time where I would have jumped at this—where I would have given anything to hear you say you loved me." He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "But that time has passed, JJ. And you—you need to be happy for me. The way I’m happy for you and Will."  

JJ felt something in her snap.  

"You’re choosing her over me," she accused, her voice breaking.  

Spencer’s face twisted with something like disappointment. "JJ—"  

"You are!” she insisted. "I’ve known you longer than she has, Spencer! I’ve been there for you! I’ve seen you at your worst—"  

"And yet you never saw me at all."  

The words stopped her cold.  

"You may have known me longer," Spencer said, his voice quiet, more raw. "But you never really knew me. You never cared to understand me."  

JJ opened her mouth, but nothing came out.  

Because she knew, in that moment, that he was right.  

—

JJ didn’t go straight home after the argument.

She sat in her car for a while, gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white, Spencer’s words repeating over and over in her mind.

"You may have known me longer, but you never really knew me. You never cared to understand me."

She had never seen him that angry before.

JJ wasn’t even sure what she had been expecting when she confessed to him, but it wasn’t that. Not the sharp edge in his voice, the sheer finality in the way he spoke. Like whatever bridge that had once existed between them was now burned to ash.

Eventually, she made herself drive home, even though she didn’t feel ready to face her family.

But the moment she stepped inside, Henry sprinted into her arms, and Michael wasn’t far behind, chattering excitedly about something he had done that day.

JJ swallowed the lump in her throat and crouched down, hugging them both tightly.

Will was in the kitchen, finishing up dinner, glancing over his shoulder with that easy smile of his. "Hey, babe. I heard from Emily, Are you okay? Did you get checked out?"

JJ hesitated. Then she nodded. "Yeah, just feel like shit."

Will didn’t press. He just wiped his hands and walked over, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Go sit, I got everything."

She watched him as he moved through the kitchen, effortlessly balancing cooking and keeping an eye on the boys. He had always been like that—steady, reliable, taking care of things before she even needed to ask.

She had never doubted Will’s love for her. That he would always put her and their family first.

And she had always wanted that for Spencer, too. She wanted him to be happy, to find someone who would love him the way he deserved.

On the drive home she tried to convince herself that’s all this was. That she was just watching out for him. Making sure he didn’t get hurt again.

But now, standing in her warm, bustling home, with Will taking care of dinner and the boys playing at her feet, she felt something ugly crawl up her spine.

Because Spencer finally had a chance at happiness- happiness with someone else, someone that wasn’t her.

And she was jealous.

She thought about how Spencer had gone straight to you after his release. The way he held you. The way he kissed you. The way he chose you.

Did he take care of you the way Will took care of her?

When you had a bad day, did Spencer know exactly how to comfort you? Did he cook for you? Hold you? Brush your hair out of your face, without a second thought, the way Will did for her?

If she and Spencer had gotten together—if she had realized her feelings sooner—what would they be doing right now? Would Spencer be standing in the kitchen, making dinner, smiling at her like she was his whole world?

JJ clenched her fists.

She had no right to feel this way.

She had a family. A husband who loved her. She had made her choices, and she had never regretted them.

So why did it feel like she lost something?

Why was there an ache inside her she couldn’t quite name?

Maybe because, for the first time, she was coming to terms with the fact that she and Spencer were never going to happen.

And it was her fault.

—

JJ tried not to let it get to her.

She and Spencer had years of friendship between them. A bond that couldn’t be broken so easily.

One night—one argument—didn’t change that.

And yet, things between them hadn’t been the same since.

There was an awkwardness now, something heavy that settled between them in the quiet moments. It wasn’t that Spencer was avoiding her—if anything, he was trying. She could see it in the way he made an effort to talk to her, the way he still offered her those random tidbits of information he knew she’d find interesting, the way he searched for cracks in the wall she had built.

But JJ wasn’t sure if she wanted to let him back in.

Because every time she looked at him, she remembered the fight. His words, sharp and unforgiving. The way he had looked at her—not like a friend, not like someone he trusted, but like someone who had failed him.

She knew Spencer well enough to know he wasn’t trying to hurt her. But that didn’t change the fact that she still felt angry. 

At him.

At you.

You, who knew nothing of the past—who had no idea about her history with Spencer or the complicated web of feelings she had buried so long ago that she convinced herself they didn’t matter.

And yet, she couldn’t escape you.

You were everywhere.

Weeks had passed since that night. Since Spencer’s words cut deeper than she cared to admit.

The way Spencer gravitated toward you in the bullpen, how he always seemed to position himself near you, even when there was plenty of space elsewhere. The way he looked at you—soft and unguarded, as if you were something precious and rare.

She realized, with a strange sort of ache, that she had never seen him look at anyone like that before.

And it wasn’t just him.

You never seemed exasperated when Spencer launched into one of his long-winded rants, the kind that had even the most patient members of the team zoning out. Instead, you listened intently, nodding along, asking questions, actually absorbing the information.

JJ had spent years learning how to keep up with Spencer, but you? You made it look effortless.

Then there were the subtler things, the things that spoke volumes even in the silence.

Spencer had always been fidgety, his mind moving a mile a minute, his body following suit—bouncing his knee, tapping his fingers, shifting from foot to foot. But she noticed now that whenever his leg started bouncing under the table, all it took was the briefest touch from you—a gentle hand on his arm, a slight brush of your fingers—and he immediately stilled, his entire body relaxing.

JJ wasn’t sure if you even realized you did it.

But Spencer did.

And he let you.

He wasn’t a huge fan of pda, at least not in front of the team. But lately, it seemed like the distance between you two had disappeared. She wasn’t sure when it had happened, but he seemed to be doing little things—things she would have never imagined him doing with anyone else.

She noticed it now: the way his fingers casually brushed against yours when you passed him a file, the way he gave you a soft smile when you caught his eye, the way he kept looking at you like you were the only person in the room.

And the others had noticed, too.

Luke had raised an eyebrow when Spencer absentmindedly reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Emily had smirked when Spencer leaned down to whisper something in your ear and you laughed, nudging him with your elbow. Even Rossi had made a passing remark about how Spencer seemed different lately, more at ease.

But what struck JJ the most was the way you and Spencer seemed to exist in your own little world, oblivious to how obvious it all was.

It was frustrating, the way she kept catching herself looking for something—some proof that she still knew Spencer better than anyone else. That he wasn’t really different, that you weren’t the only one who saw him.

She wasn’t sure what she was looking for. Maybe she was just trying to remind herself that she still knew Spencer, that there was still some part of him that was hers—even if it wasn’t in the way she had once imagined, but in the way that came from years of friendship, of understanding each other in ways no one else did.

But it was getting harder to fool herself of that.

Because the way Spencer was with you… it was different.

JJ had spent years convincing herself that she and Spencer had a connection that no one else could touch. But now, she was starting to wonder if maybe, just maybe, she had been wrong.

And the worst part?

She wasn’t sure what to do about it.

—

The three of you were stationed at a table, going through case files late into the evening. JJ had barely said a word to Spencer that didn’t pertain to the case, and she knew he noticed.

“Do you want something to drink?” Spencer asked after a while, his voice tentative, another olive branch extended her way. “Coffee? Water?”

JJ glanced up at him, her expression unreadable. He was trying, she knew that. But it still didn’t sit right with her—the way he was acting like things were fine, like they could just slot back into place without addressing the damage that had been done.

Before she could answer, you spoke up.

“I’ll get it, Spence,” you said, shaking your head lightly as you stood. “I need to stretch my legs anyway. Both of you relax for once and stop thinking about the case, at least until I’m back.”

Spencer hesitated, but at the slight nudge of your hand against his arm, he gave in, slumping back into his chair.

JJ watched the exchange in silence.

It was so easy for you, the way you just knew what he needed before he even did.

The awkwardness was palpable, even as you walked back into the room, three cups in hand. The atmosphere between her and Spencer had been tense, but now, it was like everything had shifted.

You placed a cup of coffee in front of JJ, a cup of tea in front of yourself, and a cup of tea in front of Spencer, your movements careful, but sluggish from the lack of sleep.

“Two teas and a coffee,” you said lightly, your back to them as you made your way over to the board, eyes scanning the case notes.

JJ blinked, her gaze drifting from Spencer to you, then to Spencer again.

“You don’t drink coffee anymore?” she asked, trying to sound neutral.

Spencer shifted in his seat, his posture suddenly stiff. “Not really.”

JJ swallowed. “Since when?”

Spencer didn’t look at her immediately. Instead, his gaze was on you, the familiar soft smile that had been reserved for so few people now spreading across his face. His gaze lingered on you for a moment before he shrugged, a subtle but unmistakable affection in his posture.

“I don’t know. A while, I guess,” he answered simply, his voice low and easy.

JJ’s stomach twisted in a way she couldn’t quite explain. She’d seen it—the way Spencer looked at you, the way he sounded when he spoke to you. He was different now, and the realization hit JJ hard.

She hadn’t been paying attention. She hadn’t been listening, hadn’t truly seen what had been right in front of her.

And suddenly, it felt like the weight of her frustration—the anger that had been building for weeks—was slipping away. Maybe, just maybe, she had been looking at the situation all wrong.

JJ looked at Spencer for a long moment, realizing just how wrong she’d been. She had let her own bitterness and hurt cloud her judgment, had let the past define their friendship, when what really mattered was the present. And she wanted to fix that.

With a deep breath, she smiled at Spencer, the tension in her shoulders easing.

She stood up, walking over to where you were standing at the board. You looked up briefly as she approached, and JJ could see the soft warmth in your eyes.

“I was thinking about the timeline,” JJ began, standing beside you now, glancing at the board, eager to refocus on the task at hand.

You nodded. “Yeah, the key thing is we need to tie everything together—look for patterns in the victim’s movements.”

As JJ stood there, side by side with you, she knew now that Spencer was right. And as she watched you both—watched you understand him, steady him, love him—she realized something painful. There had never been a chance for her. Not really. Not since you walked into his life. Maybe, if you had never entered the picture, there would have been a future for her and Spencer. But that’s all he was to her now.

Her biggest what if.

And you?

You were his always.

[rafey-baby]

rafe has always been close with his sister…  

c/w: incest, dubcon, oral (m receiving), rafe being a perv about his (adopted) sister & her being inexperienced, 18+ mdni!

wc: 1.7k

part two & moodboard

if this is something u don’t like, scroll & read something else xx   

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

Her big brother has always been rather overbearing, which is something she’s tried to shrug off as him merely being protective, but as far as her understanding of siblings goes— they aren’t supposed to act the way Rafe does.  

Ever since they were little, Rafe has been weird about everyone in their strange family, but sometimes it makes her feel gross when he barges into her room while she’s changing— not even bothering to cover his eyes as he sits down on her mattress and starts ranting about something completely irrelevant.

It makes her feel disgusting when she notices the subtle smirk tugging at his mouth as his gaze narrows down onto whatever bare sliver of skin she’s hurriedly trying to hide from his borderline hungry eyes.   

And she doesn’t particularly enjoy when he gets wasted or high off of whatever he’s snorted at some stupid party and insists that he just has to sleep next to her because he’s not feeling good. And despite her drowsy complaints, he’s always snuggling too close for comfort with his hands all over her; pulling her flush against him and letting the cushion of his lips graze the skin of her neck.

He keeps telling her that it’s nothing out of the ordinary when he gives her details about the girls he’s slept with and what his favorite positions are, even if she’s told him multiple times that she doesn’t want to know. And whenever they’re home alone, he even goes as far as bringing girls to his room— making sure their loud moans echo right into her bedroom when he knows she’s trying to study.   

And whenever he’s tagging along during her little shopping trips (he doesn’t let her go alone because what if something happens?), he always demands on joining her in the fitting rooms— even squeezing himself into the crammed space when she’s trying on lingerie, claiming that she absolutely needs his opinion.   

“Rafe, that’s weird,” she tries to get him to wait outside but of course he merely rolls his eyes.  

“S’not weird, know how indecisive you can be, jus’ wanna help,” he says, seemingly genuine while he’s already fiddling with the clip of her bra.   

And she feels her cheeks burning when the cashier mentions how sweet it is that her boyfriend is paying for her clothes— to which Rafe merely chuckles while she can’t find the words to correct the poor woman because she’d probably faint if she learned the truth about their relationship.

More often than not, he tends to be borderline territorial. One time, she’s simply talking to a guy at some party, when all of a sudden, she feels an all too familiar presence behind her.

“Who’s this, hm?” he slurs, slinging a heavy arm over her shoulder.   

“Oh, it’s…um, no one,” she peeps out because she knows how he is. However, her attempts at calming him down prove to be fruitless because he’s already approaching the guy with a scoff.   

“You, uh, you do know that this is m’sister, right? Mine. So, why don’t you, uh, go ‘n try to impress some other bitch, yeah?” he offers him a sickly-sweet smile, voice harsh before telling her they’re leaving— strong hands on her waist already dragging her towards his truck.

“I was having fun,” she complains when he’s putting the seatbelt on her— his breath smelling of beer when he drawls out a reply. “You can have all the fun you want with me when we get home, yeah?”   

“But I wanted to spend time with my friends,” she pouts.   

“That’s just too bad then, isn’t it?” he murmurs while starting the engine— resting a warm palm on her thigh soon after, ignoring her efforts of shrugging it off.  

- - - - - - - - - - -

When he learns that she hasn’t had her first kiss yet (because why would anyone even think about touching her when they know Rafe is a complete psycho), he mocks her to the point of her eyes growing glossy as she tries to blink away the soggy droplets.

“S’okay, you wanna get it over with, hm? I’ll help you,” he so kindly offers with faux concern glimmering in the moonstones of his eyes.   

“Rafe, that’s gross,” she frowns, to which he merely furrows his brows before scoffing— as if she’s the one being weird.   

“So, uh, so you tellin’ me you want some…some stranger at a party who only wants to get in your pants to do it instead?” he narrows his eyes as if that’s the only alternative.  

“N— no,” her answer is hesitant.  

“Listen, m’just…m’just, tryna be a good brother ‘n help my little sister out, but if you don’t want m’help then don’t come cryin’ to me when you embarrass yourself cause you don’t even know how to kiss,” he lifts his hands up in surrender before shrugging, suggesting that he’d merely be doing her a favor.   

And before her brain has the time to process what’s happening, he’s already dragging her into his lap. And it feels wrong when their mouths are suddenly slotting together— when he’s letting out a shallow groan and slipping his tongue past her teeth without so much as a warning.

“Rafe! You didn’t tell me you were gonna do that,” she squeaks out, pulling away with her face all crumpled up, feeling disconcerted.   

“Shut up, you’re gonna wake up everyone, thought you wanted to learn?” he mutters out before he’s smearing his mouth on hers once more— this time with a tight grip on her jaw that forces her to stay put as the the kiss turns into something sloppy; wet.

And afterwards, he makes her promise that she won’t tell anyone because ‘you don’t want dad to get mad at you, do you?’ and even if she feels guilt eat away at her, she keeps it to herself because the last thing she wants is to upset anyone. 

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

“Rafe guess what? I have a date tomorrow,” she gives him a giddy smile while stepping into his room a few weeks later.  

“With who?” he eyes her while slouching on his bed, seemingly in the midst of texting someone.

“This guy I met on the beach today,” she sits down on the edge of the mattress when he places his phone on his nightstand.

“Yeah? What’s his name?” he asks, shifting closer.  

“Um, Ethan.” 

“Last name?”  

“I— I don’t know, didn’t ask…why does it matter? Was just wondering if you could drive me there?” she says, surprised by his sudden interest. 

“Where?” his tone sounds almost exasperated now, as if she’s done something bad.

“Um, we’re just gonna hang out at his house,” she chews on her bottom lip, suddenly nervous.

“You havin’ a date at his house? You finally gonna lose that virginity, huh?” he asks as patronizing laughter bubbles from his chest.

“What? No! S’not like that,” she mumbles, her skin already boiling. 

“No? You do know when guys say they wanna hang out, it means they wanna fuck, right? You’re not that stupid, are you?” his gaze is borderline condescending when he raises his brows.

“Well, he’s not like that, he seems nice,” she tries to defend herself, feeling small all of a sudden.

“Sweetheart, every guy’s like that, especially the ones that seem nice, you’re so fuckin’ naive,” he scoffs while running a hand through his hair.

“You know what? Forget about it, I’ll just walk there,” she huffs out, standing up to leave, however, she doesn’t get far before he’s grabbing at her arm.

“Listen, m’just tryna look out for you, okay? Don’t feel like dealin’ with your shit ‘bout how he broke your heart. I mean, if you’re not gonna let him hit, he’s gonna be expectin’ somethin’ else, you know that, right?”

She swallows.

“I— are you sure? But…but I don’t even know how to—” 

“Poor baby, what would you do without your big brother, hm? Don’t worry, I’ll teach you, yeah?” he coos before pinky promising he’ll be gentle.

And that’s how she ends up on her knees in front of him. 

“Ray, this doesn’t feel…right,” she mumbles out, eyes focused on the ruddy tip he’s thumbing over while he stares at her.

“Shh, can be our little secret, yeah? Jus’ wanna make sure my little sister doesn’t embarrass herself,” he lets out a grunt when she blinks up at him with uncertain eyes.

“Open your mouth, tongue out,” he instructs while moving closer to her tentative form, biting his lip when she gingerly does what he tells her to. Then, he’s thudding the drippy head on the flat of her tongue— one, two, three times, which makes her let out a noise; something that only seems to spur him on.

He tastes salty and it makes it all the more real, all the more wrong because she doesn’t necessarily mind the taste, which makes her feel entirely too gross about the situation altogether— the words ‘I don’t wanna do this anymore’ turning into a tangled muddle when he’s already pushing past her lips, making her gag around the sudden intrusion.

“Shit, tha’s good, jus’ take it, yeah?” he rumbles out; a big hand holding the back of her head as he stuffs himself deeper down her throat— cock twitching in response to her whines and attempts at drawing away for air.

It overwhelms her to no end when he’s so rough, abrasive, but despite his broken promise, she’s unable to prevent her thighs from pressing together when throaty moans keep escaping him; his respiration turning labored by each lazy rut of his hips while her head begins to spin.

Only when his sticky cum gushes onto her tongue— the white substance dribbling past the seam of her lips and covering her chin in the process, does he grant her a moment to catch her breath.

“Guys like it when you swallow,” his voice is like gravel when he pushes at her jaw, heady gaze glued to the way her throat bobs when she does just that, the aftertaste of what they’ve done making her feel stained; dirty.

“You know, s’cute you thought I’d let some, some shithead fuck my sister,” he sounds almost humored as he pats at the flushed skin of her cheek— making her eyes turn watery when he swipes a thumb under her wobbly bottom lip to clean up the remaining mess.

She feels something in her guts churn when he tucks it back into her mouth with a sick smile.

[yanderestarangel]

♡˚₊‧⁺˖ headcanons arcane — sevika x reader

— tw: soft!dom sevika, fluff, wife sevika, soft sex, praise kink, biting kink, hexstrap, fingering, dirty talk, marriage, mommykink, oral fixation, afab reader, eat out, dp, vibrators, breedkink, smut, anal, sub!reader, no pronouns used.

♡⁠┊Sevika is a caring companion, and even though her behavior is different when she is Silco's henchwoman, she has a soft spot for you and the life you two have built together. It wasn’t easy for her to accept her feelings for you. In the beginning, you two were just friends with benefits, and Sevika only enjoyed the sex you had. She would get bored and think. "At least I don't have to pay for someone else at the brothel." She knew it was a horrible thought and was ashamed of having such a selfish mentality. This would be a secret she would keep forever and take to the grave—she would never hurt you by admitting what she thought before developing feelings.

♡⁠┊ As time went on, she gave in to the feelings that persistently warmed her heart and soul. Your smile was the first thing to make her blush—and she hadn’t even thought that was possible. She had always been so controlled and objective that it genuinely shocked her to feel the overwhelming need to have you by her side 24/7. Soon, the word "passion" echoed through her mind like a haunting melody. She found you more addictive than the nicotine that coursed through the cigarettes she smoked.

♡⁠┊Before long, what started as "friends with benefits" naturally evolved into "lovers."

♡⁠┊There was a Sevika before you and a Sevika after you. She had never been the kind of woman who worried about getting home or keeping track of dates. Her life revolved around late nights in the casino’s accounting department, playing poker, grabbing meals from nearby vendors, and caring little about commitments that didn’t involve Silco.

♡⁠┊But after you came into her life, she started making an effort to be an acceptable girlfriend. At first, the change in routine felt strange to her. The loud music she once thrived on was replaced by soft conversations with you about each other's day, accompanied by chaste smiles. She even found herself helping you in the kitchen—passing ingredients and stealing glances at you, looking so adorably domestic to her. Adorable as hell, she’d think, trying to hide the silly smile that crept onto her lips as you continued chatting about your day while she was at work.

♡⁠┊Everyone noticed how much the "big mama" had changed. She was still the tough, no-nonsense woman everyone knew, but there was a new spark to her—a contentment, as if she were finally 100% happy with herself. She began taking better care of herself, and though she wouldn’t admit it outright, she loved when you noticed the little changes she made. A new hairstyle, a fresh haircut, a different lipstick or gloss, or even a change in the eyeshadow she wore—your compliments made her day. "Do you like it? Thank you... I decided to look prettier for you, baby." she’d say with a soft smile, handing you a bouquet of your favorite roses before pulling you into a tight hug. She’d carry you inside, ready to spend hours talking with you, only for the evening to melt into passionate kisses on the couch.

♡⁠┊Sevika expresses her love through acts of service and heartfelt compliments. She’ll do anything to make you comfortable. Though she never imagined sharing her home with anyone, she started taking better care of the space for your sake. When you can’t handle the household chores, she steps in without hesitation—bringing you breakfast in bed and lingering for a moment to make sure you’re okay—"Let me know if you need anything; I’ll come running." she says protective, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead and giving you one last look before leaving the house. Her presence is felt throughout the streets in her actions and reputation, but no matter where she goes, her mind always drifts back to you.

♡⁠┊The marriage proposal came naturally to Sevika. You two had been living together for a while, and she knew without a doubt that you were her great love. At forty, she had no patience for games anymore—it was all or nothing. You were lying in bed when the moment came. "We've been together for a while, right? How about we make things official? Me, you, a nice wedding..." she began, her words a little hesitant as she reached into the drawer with her mechanical arm, pulling out a beautiful red velvet box. She opened it quickly, revealing two rose gold rings. She had carefully chosen a design that suited both of you, seeking help to find the perfect pair. In the end, the cost didn’t matter—it was worth every penny. "You know I love you more than anything. Will you marry me, angel face?" Sevika finally asked, her voice filled with sincerity as she held the ring engraved with her name and gently slipped it onto your finger. It was a simple proposal, shared in the intimacy of your bedroom on an ordinary weekday. Yet, for Sevika, it became an extraordinary moment—a day that would forever hold a sweet place in her heart, the day you said yes and accepted her as your wife.

♡⁠┊Your wedding was simple, just as Sevika had suggested. Money was tight, so she proposed a civil ceremony at the registry office, followed by a quiet picnic in the park where you could spend the day together. She wore a black suit, sharp yet understated, and happily let you make flower crowns for both of you to wear. Lying with her head resting on your thighs, she spoke softly about your future plans, weaving dreams of the life you’d build together. She promised that once your financial situation improved, she’d throw you a grand ceremony—regardless of whether you told her it wasn’t necessary.

♡⁠┊ "Don’t talk nonsense, sweetie. Just wait until I have some good money, okay? Mama's here will give you everything you deserve. Those weddings for rich people are really expensive." she’d say with determination, her voice firm yet tender. As you played with her hair, she smoked leisurely, her gaze alternating between the sky and you. "Just wait for the money to come in, okay? I promise things will get better for us, one day..." she murmured, exhaling smoke through her nose. Sevika didn’t know exactly when things would change for the better, but she held tightly to hope and faith. Until then, she gave you all the love and support she had, pure and unwavering. For her, it wasn’t about the money—it was about showing you, in every way she could, just how much you meant to her.

♡⁠┊And this romanticism transforms into touches of heat on your honeymoon. Sevika adores you as if you were a deity, laying you down on the bed and kissing every inch of your skin. She gently removes the clothes you wore at the wedding, whispering sweet words that send shivers through both of you: "I've waited so long for this, honey... I love you so much it hurts." She kisses your belly, trailing down to your intimacy, leaving soft kisses over your still-clothed pussy. Pushing aside the already damp fabric, she presses her nose against your clit.

♡⁠┊"I will always adore you. You are my world, my most precious thing in this life..." Her green eyes shine as they meet yours, and she carefully removes your panties, returning to kiss the inside of your thighs. Finally, her full lips meet your cunt, a hoarse grunt escaping her as she closes her eyes, savoring your taste. It doesn’t take long for her to lose herself in you, a comfortable heat blooming within her as you pull her hair and rub your hips against her face. Both of her hands hold you firmly in place while the older woman pushes her tongue into your hole, fucking you slowly and savoring every moment of your essence.

♡⁠┊She would slide two fingers inside you, making you feel every inch as they filled and caressed your spongy walls, drawing you tighter around her touch. "Do you want a third finger, darling? Are you that needy, huh? You're making me so proud... Taking me so well." she whispers with a teasing grin. When she adds a third finger, the sensation is overwhelming—you've never felt so full in your entire life. Her tongue lavishes attention on every inch of your bundle of nerves, her lips and tongue working in harmony to send waves of pleasure coursing through your body. Your wife becomes utterly pussy drunk, grunting in excitement as she urges you to give her more of your juices, moaning for you like it’s her greatest pleasure. She doesn’t stop until she makes you squirt, her relentless mouth and fingers ensuring her face is soaked. "Fuck... Holy hell, my angel. You should see your face right now, you know?" she murmurs with satisfaction, wiping some of your wetness from her face with the back of her hand. Her fingers drip with your essence, the sight so erotic it leaves her wet and desperate to make you cum over and over, determined to keep you crying out for her all night long.

♡⁠┊She quickly searches for the strap-on she bought especially for that night—one designed with two attachments for double penetration. The second dildo was crafted for anal play, a vibrating device made of the same material as her mechanical arm. Sevika chose this because she didn’t want to use her arm directly on you, knowing its hard, metallic structure might hurt you. Instead, she always finds creative ways to surprise you, just like tonight.

Carefully, she prepares your body. Her skilled fingers, warm tongue, and plenty of lubricant ensure that both your holes are ready for her. Once you’re comfortable, she lines up the dual-function strap-on, slowly impaling you with precision and care. Her hips move in tandem with the vibrations from the anal dildo, creating an overwhelming wave of pleasure you’ve never felt before.

"Shit, baby, look at this—wet as fuck... You're so greedy, always asking for more. My fuck toy holes are never satisfied, huh?" she teases, her voice low and dripping with desire. She slides two fingers into your mouth, coaxing you to suck on them while she fucks you slowly, savoring every moment. Sevika holds back her own orgasm, her pussy aching and dripping between her muscular thighs as she watches you, beautifully open and writhing for her. Her restraint only heightens her desire, every movement and sound you make driving her wild as she focuses on bringing you to heights of unimaginable ecstasy.

♡⁠┊Sevika activated the function to release a hot liquid from the strap-on, similar to semen. It was a type of hot, translucent lubricant designed to stimulate you and feed her fantasies of shaping your body. "That's it... love, I want to get pregnant so much, you know? You're going to look so beautiful full of my cock. Moan for mommy, moan loudly." she moaned hoarsely, biting your shoulder and making you bite hers too. It was a fair exchange; you would mark her, and she would do the same. She slapped you hard on the ass, moving her hips back and forth quickly while holding your neck and joining your lips in a kiss that mixed your moans. Her breasts pressed against yours, making both your nipples hard as she went harder, finally making you squeeze the silicone cock as the hot artificial liquid rewarded you, leaking from your holes and leaving you dizzy with the specially made substance. "I love you so much... you are mine forever..." Sevika gasped, resting her head on your breasts, kissing the soft flesh and biting gently as she pulled out of you.

♡⁠┊After the mess, she will clean you up and give you a bath, along with herself, not letting you fall due to your legs being weak from the orgasm. She dresses you in one of her loose blouses and puts clean sheets on the bed, placing you to lie in her strong arms, giving you a kiss on the forehead, sighing, also tired, but satisfied. "Go to sleep, so when you wake up, I'll still be here to enjoy our honeymoon." Sevika promises, calming you down as she waits for you to fall asleep so she can rest peacefully. It was a small new beginning among so many others, but she swore to herself to always make you happy, and the moon was the witness to that, bathing the two of you in silver on that night of peace and love—everything you needed, everything she needed, and now, there was you."

★ ! yanderestarangel©