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rosenclaws · 3 days ago

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So This Is Love (Cinderella AU) || Logan x Reader

summary: You've spent most of your life being your stepfamilies maid and nothing more. But a chance encounter and an announcement of a royal ball could change everything.

warnings: fem!reader, toxic family, loss, angst, arguments, abusive household, fluffy ending. Typical cinderella story stuff

a/n: Okay so I am so excited for this!! I adore cinderella. Both the 1950 and the 2015 one. I kind of mixed both for this story and then added a few things myself. Also the dress I had in mind was the one from the 2015 movie because it's fucking gorgeous. I hope you all love prince Logan and that I was able to do the classic cinderella story justice. I also tried adding some x-men related names to keep the logan vibes but idk if its weird or not im sorry afasdfghj

Kindness.

Your mother always told you how important that was. To be kind even when the world looked down upon you for it. Treat everyone and everything with a gentle hand a nice smile. That's the way she lived her life. Always with a smile on her face. She just glowed. Your earlier memories of her were filled with joy and laughter. Going to the town market and greeting every one who ran the stalls.

The flower merchant was your favorite. Every time she had the prettiest flowers of all sorts of colors. Your mother always let you pick out one and place it in your hair. You had never felt more beautiful. Your father was just the same. The two of them were in love and everyone could see just how happy the little family was.

Then one day your mother got sick.

She fainted in the yard. You were only a child, your mother wouldn't wake up. You rushed to get your father and the next thing you knew you were sitting outside of her room being told it was time to say goodbye.

The light seemed to dim that day. Your father, he did his best. He loved you and tried to make you smile but things grew tougher and tougher for the two of you. He remarried to a woman who was cold at best. Distant and uncaring towards you with two daughters, Cassandra and Raven, who never gave you the time of day. But your father cared. But sometimes life was just too much.

The day your father died was the day the light truly left your world. Kindness. How could the world be so cruel to a family that only showed the best to everyone around them? Your stepmother grew cold and mean, your step sisters even crueler. You became the maid for the house. You cooked and cleaned and did the laundry.

The attic became your home. But even after it all, you could never forget your mothers words. So even when it was hard, you smiled. For it was all you could do.

The clock tower wakes you up just like it does every morning. The sun shines through the window and you sit up. You sigh as you try and hold on to the wisps of your dreams. It was of your mother this time. You loved those dreams. But there was no time to dilly dally. Getting up you open the window to let the fresh air in. A few little robins land on the window sill.

"Hello little ones, it's a lovely morning isn't it." You reach down into the small sack of bird seed and place a some in front of their feet. You hold out your finger and one of them hops onto it.

"Time to start another day," You hum.

Once they had eaten you watch them fly away, a part of you wishing you could join them. Wondering what it was like to be free. But there was no time to wonder. You did your chores like clockwork. Making the morning tea and breakfast for your step mother and sisters. Gather their laundry, feed the animals, tend to the garden.

"Hello mister, what are you doing here?" As you pulled fresh carrots from the ground you found a little field mouse hiding between the greens.

"Are you hungry?" You don't reach out, not wanting to scare him.

His big eyes looked up at you and his nose twitched. Sometimes you wondered if they could understand you, your animal friends were lovely company. Reaching into your pocket you pull out some left over chicken feed.

"I know it's not much but I hope it will do." The mouse gathers it in his little paws and scurries away. You smile as you bring back the veggies.

"Perhaps we'll do soup for dinner, how does that sound?" You ask Bruno the family dog who was sitting at your feet.

He lets out a low huff and you chuckle. A loud ring echoes through the kitchen. The bell on the wall signals you were needed at the front door. You hurried up the stairs to the door.

"Hello sir, how can I help you?" The man wordlessly hands you a letter and leaves.

You turn the letter over in your hands. You could just tell this was no ordinary letter. The envelope was cream colored with beautiful gold lettering. On the back rested a solid red wax seal with the royal crest pressed into it. At once you hurried to the study where your sisters were practicing music. You weren't supposed to interrupt but this was a letter from the castle. You cautiously open the door and three sets of eyes rest on you.

"Ma'am I'm sorry to-"

"What have I told you about interrupting us? You insolent child." Your step mother berates. You hold out the letter and lower your head.

"I know but a letter from the castle came and-" Once again your cut off as your step mother rips the letter from your hands. Your step sisters squealed so loud you swore the glass would break.

"A ball is to be held for all the the eligible maidens of the Kingdom." Your step mother announces to your step sisters. Cassandra grabs the letter from her mother and continues to read.

"The prince will take a wife!" Raven rips it from her sisters hands.

"The ball is to be held in two weeks! That's not enough time, we need new dresses and make up." The two girls are sent into frenzy at the news.

Meanwhile you were still processing the news. All the eligible maidens, well that meant you too! Oh your mother used to tell stories of going to balls. Dressing up and dancing to the music.

"Go to the village at once! Place an order with the seamstress for three dresses. And get the girls whatever they need." Your step mother commands and hands you the money. Your step sisters were busy writing down all the things they needed.

"Three dresses Ma'am?" She stops and looks at you in confusion.

"Yes three, for me and your sisters obviously."

"But the invitation says all eligible maidens...may...go." Your voice trails off as the three of them stare at you.

A moment of silence passes before all three of them burst out in laughter. You want nothing more than to disappear. Shame creeping up as they laugh like the idea of you going anywhere was just so amusing.

"You? Go to the ball in those rags?" Raven cackles. You smooth down your dress, trying to get rid of the wrinkles.

"What prince would ever want a peasant girl for a wife?" Cassandra adds on.

"Girls please, it's not her fault she's so...imaginative." Your step mother walks up to you. You feel so small under her gaze.

"Look at you, be serious. You are not worthy of a prince my dear." You feel tears pool in your eyes but you refuse to let them fall in front of them.

"I just want to go to the ball, What if I made my own dress?" You ask quietly. Your step mother thinks for a moment before a smirk crosses her face.

"Perhaps if you find your own dress and finish all the chores, you can go." Protests erupt from your step sisters but one look quiets them down. She takes their list and hands it to you.

"Now run along now, only the best for me and my girls." Without another word you turn on your heel and leave.

Your step mothers words replay over and over in your head. Worthy of a prince, you don't care about the prince. All you want is one night away, to enjoy yourself and forget about the hardships. The fabric for a dress would cost a pretty penny that you don't have. Not to mention the chores. But it wasn't impossible.

There's a dress hidden in the attic, it was your mothers. It wasn't anything impressive but it was a dress and it held a lot of special memories. The town was bustling with excitement from the news. The castle hasn't held a ball in years, ever since the Queen had passed unexpectedly one night the King had shut the doors of the castle. No one had even seen the prince. They knew not his face, only a name. James.

"Hello Eden, It's lovely to see you again." You greet the town seamstress with a smile.

"I assume you've gotten a plethora of orders since the announcement." Eden was the best seamstress in a hundred miles of here. She was older but her skills never wavered. She used to patch up your dresses when you came with your mother.

"Yes my dear, thank goodness for my daughters or I'd never finish it all in time."

"I'm afraid I'm here to add to your list. My step mother wishes to order three dresses for the ball." You hand Eden the money and she sighs. Your family was not easy clients. Always nitpicking her work and treating her like dirt.

"Only three?" You smile sadly as she adds the order to her stack.

"It's alright, I have an old dress of my mothers somewhere. It just needs to be fixed up and It's ready to go." Eden smiles softly and places her hands on top of yours.

She was always kind to you since your parents passed. She was like the grandmother you never had. "Here my dear, perhaps you can use some of these." She reaches down beneath the counter and hands you a box filled with scrap fabric and some jewels.

"Oh Eden thank you, this is perfect." You take the items and place them in your satchel.

You leave Eden's and begin on the list of things your step sisters have asked for. You bounced from shop to shop buying all of their strange requests. Your bag grew heavy as the sun moved through the sky.

"Hey! Get back here!" You turn your head to see the baker yelling at a little girl. She was dressed in rags, dirt on her face with a loaf of bread in her hands. He has her by her wrist and she was trying to get free. Without thinking you storm over.

"You little brat! I'll show you what happens to thieves like you!" The baker hisses and before he can do anything else you get between them.

"Stop that! She's a child!"

"She's a thief." His grip tightens on her little wrist and you feel yourself growing angry.

"She's hungry, can't you spare her some kindness." You plead.

While the baker is distracted the little girl bites his hand making him yelp in pain. He lets go of her and she runs away. With the girl gone the baker's anger turns to you.

"You stupid girl! You owe me for that bread and more. I hope that little girl was worth it!" You don't have any money left and the baker was growing more and more upset.

"I don't have the money sir but I can pay you back tomorrow." You tell him but he doesn't like that answer. You gasp as he grabs your arm tightly.

"You aren't leaving until that bread is paid for!" Before you can say anything else a large hand grabs the bakers.

You look to the side and see a man glaring at the baker. You don't recognize him but from the looks of his clothes he was most likely a nobleman visiting.

"Unhand the lady immediately." His voice is stern as the baker does what he says.

"That girl cost me a loaf of bread!" The man steps between the two of you, almost like he's acting as a guard.

"So? Are you that desperate for money that you can't spare a loaf of bread for a needy child?" The man asks.

The baker begins to stutter but the stranger seems to not care at all. The stranger relishing him to a nervous mess. You wonder just who this man was.

"You're embarrassing yourself sir, I would go back to your shop if I were you." The baker does as told, mumbling to himself as he retreats back into his shop. The man suddenly turns to you.

"Are you alright?" He stands so tall as he looks down at your arm. The man before you was unlike anyone you've seen. A handsome face but a stern aura. His clothes were woven with intricate detail and he was well kept.

"Yes, thank you sir." You bow your head to the man in thanks.

"That man was out of line, you were only trying to help." He states. You grew nervous under his intense eyes.

Out of the corner of your eye you see a pair of eyes watching you. It was the little girl, she quickly ducks behind a wall and you follow her. The man following you.

"Hello sweetheart, It's okay I won't hurt you." You say gently as you kneel down. She looks at you and then at the man with cautious eyes. You reach into your bag and pull out a few apples you had bought for a pie.

"Here, take them." She quickly grabs them from your hands and hides them away.

"Thank you." She says quietly.

"What's your name?" The man asks, he kneels down just like you. For some reason she doesn't seem afraid of him.

"Laura."

"That's a pretty name, where do you live?" He offers her a kind smile and she seems to relax a little bit.

"The orphanage." She replies.

Your heart breaks as you watch her small figure devour one of the apples. The orphanage was filled with too many kids and not enough money to help. The kids were often left starving and lonely. She must have snuck out to get food.

"Want to go back." She looks at the two of you and you reach out your hand.

"Come along then." Her tiny hand fits in yours as you walk her back to the orphanage.

The man comes with the two of you, his presence enough to deter any stares or rude comments. When you bring her to the front gates she rushes into the yard, pulling out the bread and breaking it apart to give to the other children. She looks back at the two of you and waves.

"That was a very kind thing you did back there." The man says, watching Laura with a frown.

"I just wanted to help her." You adjust the bag on your shoulder, its heavy weight taking a toll.

"Allow me." Before you can protest the man takes your bag and effortlessly puts it on his own shoulder.

"Oh it's okay sir, the walk back is far and I don't want to burden you." You try and reach for the bag but he doesn't let you.

"I don't mind. I would like to walk you back if that's alright with you. A gesture of kindness for earlier." You want to accept but you're hesitant, you don't even know who this man is. But he seems kind and you could use the help. It's been a long time since a stranger has shown you such kindness.

"Okay, but before you go I must ask your name." He begins to speak but stops himself, his eyebrows furrowing for a moment.

"Logan, my name is Logan."

"Are you from here Logan? Or are you only here for the ball?" "I grew up here." His answers are short but you don't mind. It's nice being able to talk to someone who doesn't stand on four legs.

"Are all these things for the ball, a little excessive don't you think?" He's very straightforward but you appreciate that.

"It's not for me, it's for my step sisters. They wanted all new make up and a new dress and anything they could think of." Logan chuckles and looks fondly at you.

"I don't understand the appeal of a ball to be honest, it seems like a place for obnoxious people to be around other obnoxious people." Logan states plainly.

"Perhaps, but for people like me it's exciting. My mother used to love to dress up and this is my chance to do the same."

"Used to?" Logan asks, his gaze softening as he notices your eyes flicker with sadness.

"She passed some time ago." You say sadly.

"My apologies." He looks at you and then looks forward at the path.

"My mother passed too."

"Oh Logan I'm so sorry." You place your hand on his arm in a moment of comfort.

"It’s okay, that’s just how life goes sometimes.” You wanted the talk to last forever.

But far too soon you reached the edge of town. You didn’t want him to know where you lived, if he walked you all the way back your stepmother might see him. It's better to keep him away from your mess.

“This is good. I can walk the rest of the way.” You tell him. He frowns as you stop dead in your tracks.

“Are you certain?” He asks in a confused tone.

“Yes, thank you so much Logan but I really must be going.” You take the bag and hurry off, leaving him standing alone in the road.

You were scolded for returning so late but you could care less. You had a dress to make. For the next two weeks every spare moment you had was dedicated to fixing your mothers dress. The spare fabric was perfect to patch up holes and add a satin neckline while the jewels made the whole dress shine. You powered through the chores and the lack of sleep for this.

Every now and again your thoughts would drift to Logan. Wondering if you’d see him at the ball, if you could get to dance with the man who came to your rescue. He was a very handsome man that you couldn’t deny. Would he even be interested in dancing with you? Would he care that you were nothing more than a peasant girl? He might take one look at you at home and run for the hills. But a girl can dream can’t she.

The day of the ball you were buzzing with excitement. Your chores were all done and all that’s left was to get ready. You hear the stomping of the horses outside and you hurried down the stairs.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Your step mother asks. Eyeing your dress with a disgusted look. The smile on your face drops.

“I finished my chores and I have a dress…you said I could go if I did all those things.”

“You call that a dress?” Raven scoffs. She circles you like a predator.

“This is nothing but a disaster. Imagine you dancing with the prince. Tripping over your own two feet and then oops,” She grabs a piece of your dress and rips it apart.

“Stop!” You cry as you try and grab the piece in her hand. Cassandra grabs the newly sewn neckline and rips it off.

“See? Nothing but a cheap imitation of real class.” You beg them to stop as they tear apart your dress.

Your mothers dress. All your hard work, your hope was gone. Tears stream down your face as you grab the scraps from their hands.

“Oh dear, it appears you don’t have a dress anymore. What a shame. Come along girls.” You watch through blurry vision as they leave.

Cackling with joy as they board the carriage. You don’t understand. Why do they hate you so much? What did you ever do to you? You’ve tried your whole life to be kind, to make your mother proud but it feels like the world is punishing you for it.

Your mother is gone. Your father is gone. The only family, if you can even call them that, hates you. They treat you like dirt. You race through the house. Running to the backyard and collapsing onto the ground. You sob into the scraps of fabric as you mourn the life you’ve missed. The hurt bubbling to the service.

“I’m sorry mother, I can’t do this anymore. I’m trying to be like you but I just can’t.”

“My dear, please don’t cry.” You scream as an unfamiliar voice speaks into your ear. You scramble back as a man in a red mask and a poofy white dress stands before you.

“W-Who are you?” You ask in disbelief.

“Well I’m Wade, your fairy godmother of course!” He says happily, pulling out a wand and sending sparks into the air. You watch in awe as the color bursts into the air.

“My what?”

“Fairy godmother! Corset and all sweetheart. My organs are all touching.” He whispers that last part to you.

“I don’t understand, You can do magic?”

“Uh, the magic wand here isn’t just for show.” He says while waving it around. A burst of magic shoots from the tip accidently and goes right through the attic window. He makes a noise and looks back at you.

“Whoopsie. Still working out the kinks.” He says while slamming the wand against his hand. You can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“Anyways, It is my job to get you to the ball and to get you to the hot prince who’s waiting for you.” He leans in and nudges your shoulder.

“You’ll have to tell me if he really does have hair, everywhere.” You squeak at the implication and Wade just skips off. He points his wand at the pumpkin patch.

“I’ve always wanted to do this!” He says excitedly. He speaks the magic words and before your very eyes a pumpkin grows and grows until he becomes a carriage. You gasp in amazement. Rushing over admiring the gorgeous white carriage.

“Okay now we need some horses!” Wade looks around the garden and sees a few field mice watching in the grass.

“Okay I haven’t done mice yet but what could go wrong right?” He shoots his magic at the mice and misses, causing a carrot to crawl out of the ground and run away.

“Will you just stay still! The cartoon mice were much more cooperative.” It takes him a few tries but he eventually gets them all.

Four beautiful stallions at the front of your carriage. A goose sitting by the fountain finds himself victim to Wade’s magic. Becoming a footman in an instant.

“Now we need to fix. All of this.” He gestures to your dress.

"Yeesh, would not say yes to this dress.” He mumbles as he starts to wave his wand.

“Oh! Please be gentle with this. It was my mothers.” You ask. You don’t want a full replacement. Just a little touch up.

“Don’t worry. I know what to do!” He cracks his knuckles and neck.

“Okay, maximum effort.” Magic surrounds you as you feel the dress change.

Your jaw drops as the torn rags turn into a beautiful blue ball gown. It was the prettiest dress you had ever seen. The way it swished and sparkled in the moonlight. It was beyond your wildest dreams. You lift your dress only to find crystal glass slippers adorned on your feet.

“I never understood glass slippers. As if heels weren’t hard enough to walk in. Trust me. These are killing me.” He lifts his own dress to show you heels taller than you’ve ever seen.

“It makes my butt look amazing though.” You laugh as you twirl around.

“Oh thank you Wade. How can I ever repay you for this?”

“Aw don’t worry child, You deserve this.” He pats your head and takes your hand, helping you into the carriage.

“First things first, I will hide your identity to your family for plot convenience so they won’t recognize you.” He taps his wand on your cheek and you wince as it pokes your skin.

“Second, to keep things interesting, this only lasts until midnight. Once the clock strikes 12 everything will revert back to the way it was. Except for the glass slippers. For some reason.” You nod, you don’t need this to last forever. This was enough. Just one night was enough.

“Thank you Wade. For everything.” You lean over and kiss his cheek.

“Awe, you really know how to make a guy blush. Now hurry! You don’t have much time. Mush horsies mush!” The horses take off and you watch Wade disappear in the distance.

You can barely contain your joy as you head to the castle. You couldn’t stop touching the dress or the plush seats of the carriage. It was unbelievable. A part of you was afraid if you blinked it would all go away or that this was just a dream and you were still back home. But as you near the castle it feels all too real. As you reach the steps of the castle your footman helps you out onto the ground. You turn and curtsy to the horses and to your footman.

“Thank you all.” Your heels clack on the marble stairs as you race up to the grand hall.

You’re awestruck at the beauty of the castle. Before the ballroom you stop in front of a large portrait of who you assume to be the royal family. The King sits regal as ever with the Queen standing by his side. A kind smile on her face as her hands rest on the Prince’s shoulder. The prince is only a child but you see he had his mothers hazel eyes. You bow to the portrait and then move to the ballroom.

The doors open and suddenly everyone's eyes are on you. A hush falls over the crowd as you walk up to the balcony. You see the King sitting at the front of the room, bowing in respect. You effortlessly glide down the stairs to the main floor. Whispers are shared throughout the guests but you pay them no mind. You were truly here. The music starts up again and the party slowly goes back to normal. You weaved your way through the crowd. Sneaking a chocolate covered strawberry from the dessert table. It was the sweetest thing you had ever tasted.

“That was quite an entrance.” You feel a hand on your shoulder and you turn around, your dress moving with you.

“Logan! You came.” You say with a smile. You weren’t sure you’d ever see him again. He’s dressed in white with accents of blue. His clothes are crisp and fitted perfectly.

“I thought you didn’t care for these.” He shrugs and looks around the room.

“I don’t, but I was hoping to find a familiar face.” Your breath catches in your throat as he reaches up and wipes chocolate from your lips. A half smile on his lips.

“I love chocolate too,” He says with an amused look.

“You know I never caught your name.” He remarks and you smile.

“You never asked.” You reply. Logan raises an eyebrow but chuckles at your response. The music dies down as the song comes to an end.

“Dance with me.” He holds out his hand but you shake your head.

“Oh I don’t dance Logan.”

“You can’t come to a ball and not dance love.” Your heart flutters at the pet name. It just sounds so sweet coming from him.

“The last time I danced I was a little girl standing on my fathers toes.” You admit shyly. Logan hums and tilts your chin up with his hand. The distance between the two of you closing in.

“Just trust me my love, I won’t let you fall.” He takes your hand and you follow him. He glances at the band and subtly nods his head. They start to play a new song as Logan positions your hands.

“Don’t look at anyone else but me.” He whispers in your ear.

You’re horribly nervous as the music starts. Just don’t step on his toes and you’ll be fine. Your feet move clumsily at first but with an encouraging smile from Logan you find your footing. The two of you glide across the ballroom. Capturing the attention of everyone in the room. You barely even noticed as you found yourself getting lost in his hazel eyes.

True to his word he never lets you fall. You don’t know how you’re dancing like this but you don't care. The two of you dance like you’ve been partners for years. Matching each other's movements effortlessly.

“You’re a natural my love.” He says with a grin.

“Only because I have you.” You say with a smile.

Happiness threatens to burst through your heart as the music comes to an end. Applause fills the room but you only pay attention to Logan. More couples join the dance floor as the music starts back up but you and Logan stay still in the middle of the dance floor.

“Prince James!” You hear a voice call. You pay no mind but Logan seems to tense.

“It’s far too crowded here, let's go somewhere quieter.” He takes your hand and guides you through the room. Weaving between people until you’re out of the grand ballroom.

“Logan, are we supposed to be here?” You ask worriedly.

“Don’t worry, trust me.” He says with a wink.

You admire the portraits and paintings on the wall. Logan brings you through the castle until you find yourself outside in the royal gardens. Colorful flowers fill the courtyard along with a marble fountain. You can’t help yourself as you admire every plant and flower.

Logan watched you with a smile on his face. You really are something special. But there's something he needs to confess. He wishes he didn’t have to but he cannot hide it any longer.

“My love, there’s something I need to tell you.” He says cautiously.

“Yes Logan?”

“I haven’t been completely honest with you about my identity. The truth is…” He trails off. Unsure of how to tell you.

“You’re the crowned Prince. Aren’t you?” There’s no anger in your voice. Only amusement. Logan’s jaw falls as he tries to gather his words.

“Did you know the moment we met?” He asks in disbelief. You shake your head, eyes turning back to the roses in the garden.

“I didn’t know until right now. Well a couple minutes ago. You led me through the castle without a second thought, you’re wearing the royal crest, and there are paintings of you and your family in every hall of the castle.” You explain with a giggle. Logan groans, of course you’d notice all of that.

“But most of all, you have your mothers eyes.” You reach up and cup his face, staring into those enchanting hazel eyes.

“Are you not angry with me for lying about my true identity?”

“No my prince, I understand why you did so. It must be so hard sometimes. So lonely.” He sighs and covers your hand with his.

“It can be yes, no siblings and a father who has shut you out since your mother passed.”

Logan’s life wasn't what all his subjects thought it to be. Perhaps when he was a child it was. His father was a cold man. Only caring about ruling his kingdom and nothing more. The only time he would talk to Logan was to berate him or remind him of his future responsibilities. No rough housing, no crying, no coddling. He will be the future king which means he must act like it.

It didn’t matter that he was only a child. His mother was much kinder. She stayed with him when he was sick or when he had a nightmare. She taught him everything he knows. Gardening, cooking, reading, dancing. All his mother. She would tell him stories of brave soldiers who slayed dragons and tales of prince’s meeting their princesses.

When she died, he was only a teenager. His father who was already a cold man grew even colder. His heart was frozen by the loss of his wife. Since then Logan had to become the model King his father wished him to be. Locked in the castle walls with no one. It didn’t take long for him to learn how to sneak out from under his fathers rule. He swore one day he’d leave and never look back. But that day never came.

The day his father got sick. He knows what’s coming. There’s no doctor in the world who can cure what his father has. It’s why his father planned the whole ball. Logan was to become King soon and he needed a wife. But this wasn’t how Logan wanted things to go. He doesn’t want to marry out of obligation. But despite being the prince, he’s utterly helpless.

“I’m so sorry, my prince.”

“Logan, please call me Logan.” He begs, he’s not your prince out here. Not when it’s just the two of you. You nod and he leads you through the gardens.

“Why Logan? We were told the Prince’s name was James.” You ask.

“James is my fathers name. But my mother gave me the name Logan. I prefer it to my given name.” Logan explains, his hand reaching down to pluck a white rose from one of the bushes. He carefully picks the thorns off the stem and holds it out to you.

“A pretty flower for a beautiful woman.” You bite your lip as he gently places the flower into your hair.

“Perfect.” He whispers. The falling vines shield you from the prying eyes of the walkway.

“Logan, aren’t you supposed to find a wife tonight?” You ask and his face hardens.

“My fathers idea. He wants me to be married for the good of the kingdom.” Logan huffs as he rolls his eyes.

“It doesn't matter what I wish for myself.”

“What do you wish for?” He looks at you with a look you can’t quite place. His hands cup your face and he brings himself closer to you.

“I want to marry for love, to find someone who cares for me and not just my title.”

“I see,” You squeak out. Your heart pounds in your chest as Logan edges ever closer. His gloved hands hold your face with such care. His lips just ghosting over yours.

“I believe I’ve found it.” He mumbles. Your eyes flutter closed as Logan closes the gap. You can barely feel his lips when the clock tower chimes through the courtyard. You gasp as you look at the time.

Midnight. You have to leave.

“Logan I, I’m sorry.” You turn and run as fast as you can. Through the garden back into the castle to the front doors.

“Wait, please don’t leave!” Logan calls after you. He’s running after you with all his might.

The carriage is waiting for you at the foot of the steps. You rush carelessly down the stairs. You feel your shoe fly off and you stop to grab it but Logan is close behind you. You can’t risk it. Before you can get into your carriage you hear him call for you again.

“Your name, I never got your name.” You turn back to see him on the steps.

He’s silently begging you not to leave. You almost tell him, almost. But reality has come crashing down on you. He’s the prince. He must marry someone important. Someone who can become queen one day. Someone who isn’t you.

“I’m sorry Logan.” You jump in the carriage and before Logan can do anything you’re off.

Logan bends down and picks up the glass shoe. He kicks himself for never asking your name. From the moment he saw you he felt a connection. You didn’t know who he was but you were so nice. Protecting that little girl without a second thought. Logan is normally a stoic man but you were easy to talk to. He wanted to talk to you.

The doors open as the guests start to file out. He feels a hand grab his arm and drag him back into the castle where his angry father awaits him.

“James! Where on earth did you go?! Do you know what a ruckuss you caused? Dancing with a mystery woman just to disappear for the rest of the night?!” His father yells but Logan could care less.

“She is my future wife. I know it. You wished for me to marry well I found a wife.”

“Well where is she?” His father asks. Logan looks down at the slipper and then back to his father.

“She ran. But I will find her. That’s a promise.” He says but his father just sighs.

“Son. Why can’t you just pick someone else? Princess Jean from the Grey family of the neighboring kingdom is interested and your marriage would be great for both our kingdoms.” His father says like its a matter of fact. Knowing his father Logan wouldn’t be surprised if he had already agreed to the marriage without even speaking to him.

“Because I love her father!” Logan roars. He is sick of being controlled by his father. He will rule the kingdom. He will be king one day and he will do it his way.

“Love doesn’t matter! Look what love got you son. She left you. She’s gone.” His father shouts.

“How could you say that? Did mother mean nothing to you? Did you not love her?!” Logan challenges. His eyes burn with intensity as he marches right up to his father. Logan’s chest heaves as his father sinks into his throne.

“Your mother was the love of my life.” He starts.

“But she died. My love could not heal her and now she’s gone. Please, I am doing this for your own good.” King James pleads. For the first time in the last 20 years Logan saw a hint of vulnerability break through his fathers hard shell.

“I love her. It may end in heartbreak, she may not want me. But all I know is I love her. Give me one week to find her. That’s all I ask. One week and if I fail then I will marry Princess Jean.” Logan drops to his knees.

His one last desperate effort to appeal to his father. His mother would want him to marry for love and he’s found it. He can’t give up on it now.

“Deal. One week James.”

True to what Wade had said, everything turned back to normal. Your dress, the carriage, the horses, and the footman. The gooses waddled by your side as the mice sat inside of your glass shoe as you walked back to your house. That night was something out of your wildest dreams.

Dancing with the prince, with Logan. The smile wouldn’t leave your face. How could it? You hummed the song that was playing as you danced to yourself. It didn’t matter how much your feet hurt, you were happy. The glass slipper sparkled in the moonlight.

You’re glad you have something to remember the night by, to prove it wasn’t just a dream. After letting the mice free you ran back to your room, just as you heard the carriage pull up. Prying the loose floorboard up you place the shoe gently inside, a keepsake you’ll hold dear forever.

The next morning you went back to your old life, being treated like dirt once again but it was okay. For when you had the chance you would daydream of the night before. Your sisters would not stop talking about the ball. Angry that they never got to speak to the prince and that some mystery woman stole him away. They’ll never know that was you. That the prince had chosen you to spend his night with.

No matter how cruel your family was, how much work they gave you, you were still happy. News had traveled quickly that the prince was looking for the mystery girl, a single glass shoe his only way of finding her. Your step mother had alerted your sisters this morning. A week to find his true love, how romantic.

You tried to balance your feelings. Could he really find you all the way out here? Would he even look past the town? He didn’t even know your name. What if he saw the true nature of your life, that you were not the woman he thought you were? What if he thought you were a princess or a noblewoman? That day in the town you had spent a lot of coins. Would he want you as just a peasant maid girl?

”I expect the house to be spotless for the prince’s visit.” Your step mother demands.

Not a single speck of dirt is allowed. You worked tirelessly day and night. Even when your step sisters would spill something on purpose or tip over your water bucket, you managed to get it done. The prince was to travel to the outskirts of the town by mid afternoon. You were absolutely exhausted. You trudged up the stairs to your room. To your shock your step mother was sitting on your bed, your glass slipper dangling from her finger.

“Where did you find that?” Your voice quivering with fear. You hid that away, you only brought it out in the dead of night. How could she have found it?

“Do you think me a fool, my dear?” Her voice is cold, void of any emotion as she swings the slipper back and forth.

“Please don’t!” You reach forward but she pulls it back. Your steps falter, her stare grounding you to the spot you’re standing in.

“It’s fragile.” You whisper.

“You really are dreadful at keeping secrets. Humming a tune, swaying to the imaginary music when you think no one is looking. And this.” She holds out the slipper.

“The mystery girl at the ball had shoes made of crystal, my dear. I wonder just how fragile it really is.”

“Please, I don’t want anything from you. I've done the chores I’ve kept quiet…” Your step mother stands up and marches over to you. She leers down at you in utter discontent.

“Silence! You insolent girl. You have ruined everything! I knew I should have thrown you out the minute your father died. All he cared about was you, I was his wife but he gave you all his attention. Probably because he was still in love with that wretched woman.”

“Don’t talk about my mother like that! You know nothing of who she was. She was kind, strong and loving. Everything you aren’t!” You shout back.

Your step mothers faced into shock and then to anger. But you couldn’t stop, once the gates had been opened it’s all flooding out.

“Why are you so cruel to me? What could I possibly have done to you? I was a child! A child who had lost both her parents and you couldn’t find an ounce of sympathy. Not one.” You fall to your knees, years of built up emotions flooding out of you. You wince as your stepmother grabs your arm, her nails digging into your skin.

“Don’t you dare speak to me like that.” She snarled.

“You are nothing but a worthless little girl and you will never be anything more than that. Do you understand me?” Her eyes are burning with rage. She tightens her grip on the heel of your slipper. Your eyes widen as you realize what she’s going to do.

“No!” You scream as she slams the slipper to the ground.

It shatters into pieces before your eyes. Scattering across your floor. You sob as you grab at the pieces you can still hold. You look up at your step mother with tearful eyes.

For a second, perhaps it is your imagination, you see a flicker of regret. But it disappears just as quickly as it came. The sound of horses comes rumbling in the distance. Your stepmother walks past you. The heel of the slipper is still in her hands.

“Make a sound and you’ll never step foot outside again.” She slams your door shut and you hear the click of the lock.

You cry and cry your heart out. Holding the broken pieces of crystal to your chest. The one happy moment in your heart has been shattered just like everything else. Why couldn’t they just let you be happy for once? You spent your whole life trying to live through kindness and you thought that maybe the world would show you a little too.

But it’s done the worst thing. It gave you a sliver of hope, a sliver of happiness and then it crushed it. Crushed it until there’s nothing left.

Maybe this is just the life you’re meant to have, perhaps the happiness wasn’t meant to be. Logan was too good to be true, he’ll find a new wife after this week. He’ll become King and forget all about you. Even when he’ll be all you dream about for the rest of your life.

You gently place the broken pieces on top of a piece of fabric, bundling them up and placing them under your bed. The tears have slowly stopped falling. You rest your arms on the window sill. A light breeze comes through to dry your tears. You stare at the castle in the distance.

Replaying the night over in your head in hopes that it brings you some peace.

“Hello Prince James.” Logan stands at the door of the house. Your stepmother and stepsisters bow in his presence.

“These are my daughters Cassandra and Raven.” Logan nods as the two girls eye him shamelessly.

“Let's get this over with.” Logan mumbles to the guards who were standing beside him.

He’s searched through the whole kingdom. Today marks a week since that night of the ball. Today was his last chance to find you and he’s almost given up hope. The shoe hasn’t fit anyone, he knows if he sees you he won’t even need the shoe but it was a way to make sure in his fathers eyes.

“My aren’t you handsome.” Raven purrs, reaching out to touch his chest. He steps back and lets the guards step in front of him. Holding the shoe out to Raven. Raven sits down and holds out her foot. The guard tries to put the shoe on but it’s too small.

“Must have shrunk since last week.” Raven says with gritted teeth.

“It doesn’t fit Raven, now move over.” Cassandra pulls her sister out of the chair and sits down instead.

Gloating at the way Raven pouts. Once again the shoe is placed on Cassandra’s foot and once again it doesn’t fit. Logan holds back the urge to roll his eyes as Cassandra tries to fit her foot in through force.

“Thank you for your time.” He starts to leave but he’s stopped by your stepmother.

“Wait! My prince, I promise you the shoe belongs to one of my daughters.” She pulls the heel of the slipper out of her pocket. Logan’s eyes widen as he sees the familiar glass slipper.

“Where did you find this?” He demands.

“As I said before, it belongs to one of my daughters.” Logan doesn’t believe her for a second. He knows who he danced with and it wasn’t the two girls standing before him.

“My prince, listen!” One of the guards says. Your stepmother opens her mouth to protest but one look from Logan silences her. His ears strain to hear what the guard was talking about. There’s nothing but silence at first, but then he hears it. A soft hum of a familiar song. He knows that song, that’s the song he danced to at the ball.

“Where is she?” He growls, his polite front dropping in an instant.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. There is no one else here.” Your stepmother tries to argue but Logan pushes past her.

Running up the stairs to the attic. Stopping every now and then to hear you sing. At the very top of the stairs sits an old wooden door. Without thinking he slams his shoulder into it. The wood shakes and creaks under his force.

“Logan?” You ask in disbelief, your voice muffled through the wall.

“Stand back!” Logan says before ramming his shoulder against the door again. It splinters with ease. You stare in shock as Logan stands before you.

“It’s you.” He says breathlessly, uncaring of the dust and grime that now stains his perfect suit.

“You found me.” You whisper.

“I haven't stopped looking for you since the ball.” Logan walks over to you, striding across the room in need. His arms wrapping around your waist pulling you close.

“I have fallen madly in love with you.” He confesses.

You reach up and wrap your hands in his hair, pulling him in for the kiss you didn’t get to have in the gardens. His hands squeeze your waist softly as he groans into the kiss. You’re both desperate and passionate. Trying to speak a thousand words with only your lips.

“Do I finally get to know your name?” He asks with amusement. A smile on his face as he cups your face. You laugh and tell him. He repeats you, your name rolling off his tongue with ease.

“What a perfect name.” He hums, his thumb brushing your cheek softly. Logan takes a step back and drops to one knee, pulling out a gorgeous ring from his pocket.

“Marry me my love.” He holds out the ring and you feel your heart jump.

“Of course I will.” You cry. He places the ring on your finger and spins you around. You laugh with pure joy as he pulls you in for another kiss.

“Your stepmother is an awful woman.” He mumbles, if he could he’d kick them out of his kingdom for treating you like this. Locking you away like a prisoner in your own home.

The two of you hand in hand head back downstairs. All eyes are on you as Logan leads you through your house. The house that was once filled with happy memories of your parents, now tainted by years of abuse and cruelty from your stepmother. Logan stands at your side, blocking their view of you as you walk out the door.

“Wait! Please you can’t just leave us. I won’t allow it!” Your stepmother hisses as she follows you out the door.

The guards step forward but you call them off. Logan looks at you, silently asking if you’re sure and you nod. Reluctantly he lets go of your hand, letting you walk up to your step mother. You hold your head high, a feeling of complete freedom.

“You don’t control me anymore.” You stand tall, watching as your stepmother's face morphs through different emotions. Your whole body is shaking. But she can’t hurt you anymore, she doesn’t get to destroy your life. Logan laces his hand with yours and gently pulls you back to the royal carriage.

“Are you alright?” Logan asks as he sees the tears in your eyes. He reaches up and brushes the stray tears away.

“Yes Logan, I’m perfect.”

In an instant your life changed. Your wedding was a grand affair. The whole town was thrilled to have a new princess and the celebration was amazing. Logan was a model prince, using his power and status to help the town orphanage so that all the children could live happy and comfortable lives. He wasn’t afraid to roll up his sleeves and work to help his kingdom.

After years of being locked away he was discovering what it meant to be free just like you were. The two of you were beloved. Praised for being kind, fair, and happy rulers. You spread kindness through everything the two of you did together. He’s everything to you and you are his whole world.

The view of the kingdom from your bedroom window was nothing short of breathtaking. You place birdseed on the window sill and a few birds fly up to the castle window. They chirp happily and you watch them with a smile on your face.

“What are you thinking about my love?” Logan asks as he wraps his arms around you from behind. His chin resting on your shoulder.

You look back at his handsome face, seeing the man you love with nothing but content on his face. He brought the light back into your life and it shines brighter than ever before. Then you look back at the kingdom, your kingdom. For once your heart does not ache watching from the window. Now you feel only love and peace.

“Nothing my prince, I’m just happy.”

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #logan howlett angst #wolverine x reader #logan howlett fluff

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jensthwa · 2 days ago

Text

mountebank chem pt. four (JYH x reader).

part of the love's an uncharted path universe ★.

SUMMARY:

* 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤: 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐲. The first time you met Yunho, you knew he was going to be part of the biggest tragedy of your life: the loss of your freedom, of your free will. You didn't know why back then but what you did figure out is that you and Jeong Yunho were going to, eventually and very publicly, date each other at some point. Is that reason enough to hate his guts? Well, of course! Now, when the time comes to fulfill the prophecy, how the hell are you going to pull it off? And, most importantly, what do you need to do to not fall in love with him in the process?

PAIRING: rich!yunho x afab!rich!reader.

GENRE: enemies to friends to lovers.

WORD COUNT: 24.1k.

WARNINGS & TAGS: SMUT ☽ (MINORS DNI) attempt !!! at comedy, dual pov (both yunho's and reader's), use of fem pronouns sometimes, angsty angst that angsts in the form a verbal fight, tears, unresolved feelings and denial, tension, a heartfelt conversations with bro and lots of yearning!, a time jump (three months or so), mingi and love being unhelpful but helpful at the same time, yeosang being a cutie pie and a little bit of his story gets mentioned!, the L word, confessions, apologies, mentions of body dysmorphia and body related insecurities, soft!dom yunho (he's a little bossy), switch!reader (oc hates to let him win i guess), reader has breasts and a vagina, mirror play, teasing, light choking, messy kisses and makeouts, masturbation (f), just the tiniest bit of voyeurism, praise kink if you squint oh my god, fingering, multiple orgasms, love making (who else cried), the post-sex convo and more feelings and dreams are discussed.

NOTES: hi everyone! WE MADE IT!!!!! here's part four of this mini series that is PART OF THE LOVE'S AN UNCHARTED PATH. after this, there's an epilogue/little part five to let everyone know sort of what happens after this + to set up the next story in the universe. i also just want to adress that one of you kindly suggested to change up some of the terminology i use in the warnings and for some other things in the fic itself and i thank that person a lot! but i also want to encourage you, if you feel something's missing or if i can do anything to be more inclusive in my stories, to let me know! i hope you all enjoy it part four of mbc, we've come a looong way and i'm happy on how this turned out. 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: february 2nd 2025.

taglist: @kyunlov, @tinyelfperson, @0115degrees, @daniela-f-uwu, @ultrapinkvoidbouquet, @kyeomooniee, @fairylover68, @sushiinmidnight, @qveenbunni, @calmoistorm, @potatomountain, @svintsandghosts, @lemonkait00, @blue5ummer, @fancypeacepersona, @hyukssunflower, @i-love-ateez, @alsomimi, @e3ellie, @st3ft0n3s, @hotteokkay, @xylatox

masterlist - part one - part two. part three.

You dream about him. Every night.

His mouth on yours and his hands handling you with care fill the gray matter of your brain and rots it. It fits you.

A rotten brain for a rotten person.

The scenario repeats in a loop in your head even when you're awake, alone in your house office, accompanied by staff at the main office building. It doesn't really matter what you're doing, who you're with or if the task at hand requires your full attention, Yunho still invades your mind and makes you feel like you're leaping, flying through skies and then falling, falling, falling, before hitting the ground hard.

Because at the end of the memory, it plays what you did.

The way you pulled away, the way you left him there without a proper explanation.

You didn't have dinner with your brother, it was over nine o'clock at night. You needed an escape goat, a plan, an excuse to flee from the happiness you grasped with your sticky, messy, disgusting fingers.

Everything you touch seems to turn to shit.

So you can't touch Jeong Yunho even if you want to.

You shan't, you won’t, even when he’s so close to you it takes a lot for you to hold back. He’s a message away, a meeting away from you. And his messages on your phone kept piling up this week until they didn’t.

And now, as you watch him enter the meeting in a suit and tie, you do your best to pretend nothing happened between you even though it's supposed to. To everyone else's eyes, you’re still a couple.

You’re grateful for that. You don’t sit together, you can’t sit together. Of course you can't, that would be very unprofessional. You can't voice your opinion about any decisions made by his team (or rather, his brother's team) today because that would look like you're doing it to either spite him or to be on your boyfriend's side, it would look like corruption!

God bless the stupid societal and corporate norms. You won't even have to speak to him today, if you're lucky. You know he's shadowing his brother today, learning his way through these meetings you've been attending for years or at least pretending to do so.

There's absolutely no reason to speak to him today.

Yay.

Soohyun sits at your left, at the head of the table, and Yunho sits with his brother at Soohyun’s left. Neither your father or his are here today so everyone’s shoulders are a little less tense and the meeting is a quarterly one, which means people are going to be explaining graphics and reading numbers you have to stay focused on.

There's things you have to write down, there's statements you have to whisper in your brother's ear so he can say them out loud instead of you.

But Yunho looks way too good in his suit and tie and it's a little distracting.

And he's looking right at you, too.

You can hear your co-workers immediately gossiping about it, you can see your brother turn to you, then to him, then to you and you can faintly see how he raises a brow. Faintly, because you're pretending to read over some papers in front of you by the time he bumps your leg to try and catch your attention.

You step on his foot under the table, he mutters an offended ouch and pinches your arm in retaliation, which causes you to stop pretending to eye the documents and turn to him.

“Stop it.”

“You started it,” he says and then Soohyun gives you that look that lets you know he knows something you don't, although it can possibly be like that because he's a clueless little shit. “Did something happen between yo—”

Well, maybe not as clueless. Good thing you wore great heels today, the face he makes as he's trying to pretend that the sharp end of your Louis Vuitton is not stabbing him in the leg feels like a victory.

“Keep quiet, the meeting is starting.”

Oh, how you love winning.

The thing is, you can't even enjoy it now. Yunho’s face pops up on your mind again and it serves as a reminder of just how close he is.

As someone from the sales team starts their presentation, your eyes drift to Yunho in a way that feels oddly familiar.

There, trying to stay upright even though you know he's zoning everything out, there's this memory from your junior year in highschool that never tortured you the way it does now.

Although he's always been very tall, Yunho used to sit near the window, in the second row of the classroom you both shared that year. Not his decision, certainly whoever made that decision was not the sharpest tool on the shed because all he did was look out of the window and close his eyes when the teachers were not paying enough attention to him.

And you used to stare at him just like you're doing now. Through the corner of your eye, with your back straightened and ninety percent of your attention on the topic at hand. He held the other ten percent, tenderly, softly, without realizing what he was doing.

Just like he held you that night.

At the time, you wondered what went on in his head every time he drifted away from the class. New ways of making your life impossible? A new insult to your integrity, maybe? Highschool Yunho was everyone's dream but, for you, he meant nothing but nightmares and headaches.

Nothing has changed much.

But instead of wondering if he's thinking about new ways of pestering you with his presence, now your heart races at the possibility of him thinking about the kisses you two shared last week.

You hope no one notices the sudden shift on the chair or the gulp you make to keep your emotions buried deep down inside of you, where no one can reach them.

Trying to regain focus and ignore Yunho completely, you look at the projected graphics in front of you. The person doing the presentation turns to the next slide as soon as you're beginning to understand what the hell they're talking about. Surprisingly, your brother turns to whisper at you about it.

“The new company sales are lower than expected.”

When you turn fully to him, you can see he's biting his cheek in concerned concentration. You want to roll your eyes.

“I told dad no one would care about this company and you were the one who approved for us to go forward with it.”

“I know.”

“Dumbass,” you whisper, scrunching your nose and turning to the presentation again but your brother nudges you slightly and you have to look at him again.

Only for your eyes to completely bypass him and land in Yunho.

God fucking damnit.

Is this what having a crush is like? Is tortuous and you hate this even more than when you couldn't stand seeing his face out of pure annoyance.

This is why you probably never had a crush on anyone before. But it's strange, because it doesn't feel like something new. Yes, Yunho attending meetings is new but the feeling is familiar and grossly nostalgic of something you feel like you left behind.

And now has come back in full force.

You never had a crush on Yunho, at least not that you know of.

But this feeling is telling you otherwise and it's maddening and disgusting and—

“Something definitely happened, hm?”

Eyes flicking over your brother's sudden concerned expression, you push back on the seat and sink in it a little. This way, when you look up to him, Yunho is nowhere in sight. When you speak again, you make sure only Soohyun hears you.

“We can save it, don't worry about it. I'll write up a proposal of how we can market the concept of the company in a way that it at least piques people's interest.”

Your brother huffs, unsatisfied with your deflection and the way you visibly close up at the mere thought of telling him if something did happen between you and Yunho.

But he says nothing. It stings that you know he's going to leave it at that, the support you're supposed to have slipping through your fingers as you do your best to keep your feelings to yourself. It's not his fault, not really.

He doesn't know any better.

You don't know any better, either.

But your focus on the meeting comes back and you end it with thirteen pages of virtual notes and a list of things you need to do today to keep this shitshow of a company afloat.

There's a split second when you get out of the room that you feel Yunho’s eyes on you. You're afraid he's going to take the opportunity to talk to you, so you look up and around trying to find something, someone you can use as a distraction, as a shield.

But then there's like four pairs of hands dragging him away and you see that annoyed glint in his eye, usually reserved for you, as they turn him around and away from you.

Yes, of course they wouldn't let him speak to you right now. He's shadowing his brother, he has important things to do!

Yay.

You ignore the beating of your heart as you move quickly through the halls. Soohyun and Gunho are already aiming for the elevator so you opt for the stairs, knowing you won't have to speak to anyone at all if you get to your office like this.

Well, Soohyun's office. You have yours on a lower floor, not as unnecessary space-taking as his, but you usually work there because you enjoy the view.

So when you finally close the door behind you and the view is blocked by thirty piled up boxes you start thinking that the universe is upset with you. Is this your karma? Everything and everyone against you just because you walked out of a kiss before making a mistake?

Is not like Yunho cares that much about you anyway!

Huffing, you look around the room until your eyes land on that stupid tree you started painting when Soohyun told you he wanted to redecorate his office. Its branches extend just a little more than what you remember and there’s a part of it that was unfinished the last time you saw it. You can only assume either Seonghwa or your brother had something to do with it.

Which sucks.

Because you’re so painting over the stupid tree one day.

You stare at it while your mind wanders. Head slowly filling up with noise, you finally feel at ease when your thoughts are nothing but work: You need to write up a proposal to that stupid vintage-esque focused company to see if there’s some salvation for it. You need to speak with marketing, get one of them to go along the process with you. You need to sit down with your brother and kindly tell him to never allow something like this to ever happen again.

Making a mental list to organize and prioritize everything you need to do, you barely register footsteps echoing in the long hall. You should’ve, because it’s lunchtime and there’s no one on the floor, but you don’t.

And so when the person you least want to see comes through the door and lets out a heavy sigh, you turn to him like he grew a second nose over the course of the twenty minutes you last saw each other.

“I hate it here, I truly do.”

It almost makes you want to laugh, but you remain stoic as you move through the office. You take a few boxes and you put them down on the floor until there’s some light leaking through the window and illuminating the space enough for it not to give you a headache as you work.

Sitting on your brother's chair, barely sparing him another glance before turning on the desk computer and pulling up an empty document. You click and tap a few meaningless things: You pick the font, you mess with the font size for a second before setting it back to its default. Anything to help you look busy and not like your heart is going a million miles per second.

“Can I help you with anything, Yunho?”

Blurry, in the background, you can see him look around the office, probably taking the mess in. He moves too, walks until his expensive shoes are tip to tip with a literal mannequin resting against the wall.

You stop paying attention as you write the date and the proposal title. Something simple, something that both your father and the CEO of the dumb not-approved-by-you company that has you in this predicament can understand. You hate to say that you assume they’re not very smart if they put out such a dated and non profitable idea for their company.

Still, you try to address Yunho like nothing’s bothering you and like you’re not nervous you two are in a room alone after everything that went down.

“You can ask Seonghwa what that means,” you start, sighing like his friend and your brother are hopeless. Because maybe that’s what they are. “They’re not running any ideas by me even though I’m the one that spends the most time in this office, so.”

“Hm,” he starts and you can hear him walking around, but your focus is now on the first few words of the proposal. You realize there’s really nothing you can start before speaking with marketing and so you open the notes app, to have a list of ideas to run through them at least. “Thought you worked from home.”

“I do. I have an office three floors down, too.” It’s easy sharing information with him now, especially if it means there’s something to talk about that’s not… Well, the kiss. “I hate it, it’s in a corner and people can see into it. It’s easier to work here.”

“And Soohyun hyung doesn’t mind?”

“Considering he’s never here, I doubt it.”

“Cool, cool.”

There’s something in his tone that makes you want to look up, lump in your throat growing in size enough for you to cough it away. You don’t look up, you can’t look up even if you’ve misspelled the word rebrand like four times already.

But then the light you managed to cast onto the space disappears completely. You feel something besides you, the soft material of an expensive suit blazer grazing your arm and cheek. You see veiny, masculine hands secure themselves around the arms of the chair before he’s turning you to face him.

You gulp.

He’s leaning down close, closer than he should be, closer than what he’s allowed to be considering anyone can walk in on you. You’re flushing, you can feel the redness creep up your neck and heating your ears and face before you gather the courage of raising a questioning brow. Yunho stays silent, his eyes scanning your face and briefly landing on your lips before returning your stare.

“Can I help you with anything, Yunho?” You ask him again, quieter this time, voice trembling a little.

“Princess,” he starts, the corner of his lip raising just a little, like it’s funny he has to say what he’s about to say, “are you ghosting me?”

Shit.

“Why would you— Why would I—,” a nervous chuckle abandons you and then you huff, trying to seem offended at his accusation, “W-what do you mean by that?”

Leaning into your space a tiny bit more, he repeats “Are you ghosting me?”

Creasing your brow, you straighten in the chair but do nothing to pull him away “No.”

“Then what about the ten messages I sent you and you left on delivered?”

Faking a surprised gasp, you move to take your phone out of the pocket of your jacket and unlock it to swipe through your messages “You did? Oh, my God, I’ve been soooo busy.”

“You’re shit at lying to me.”

“I’m not lying to you—”

“Are you okay?”

Your eyes snap from the phone to his face, genuine annoyance creasing your eyebrows this time.

“You don’t have to ask me that everytime you see me, Jeong.”

“But are you?” He asks as you finally find his chat and open the messages you dreaded to see the entire time that passed. There’s a few of them practically begging you to speak to him, one apologizing for the kiss and the other ones you don’t even see because Yunho is taking the phone from your hand and placing it on the desk next to you. “I mean, what happened didn’t trigger anyth—”

You hate he’s this considerate with you, even after you clearly walked out of the situation with a poorly formulated excuse.

“What happened was a mistake.”

Yunho physically deflates and lets the chair go, the tension on your shoulders lifting a little now that he’s not as close.

“What?”

“It was a mistake, we shouldn’t have done that. We’re professionally obligated to work together, fake all of this together, so it shouldn’t…” You pause and consider for a bit before doing something you never do: take the blame “I shouldn’t have. I apologize.”

Letting out a breath, you turn the chair and delete the misspelled rebrand to write it the correct way, heart too weak to even look at his reaction. It doesn’t matter anyway, you’re never doing anything like it again.

You hear him shuffle with the boxes at both your feet and, from the corner of your eye, you see him turning away from you and then back, hands on his hips “I don't think it was a mistake.”

“Well, it was.”

“I liked it.”

That brings out a genuine, short lived laugh out of you “Thank you, I’m a great kisser.”

You open your brother’s email and pretend there’s an urgent matter inside the contents of one of them until Yunho’s hand closes over yours, over the mouse.

“Y/N.”

There’s a lot of things about Jeong Yunho you hate: The swoop of his hair when there’s no gel on it, the free aspect to his nature you’re never going to get even if you try to, that one time he called you an ugly giant after wearing platforms for the first time ever.

And the sweetness of his voice when he says your name, the plea you hear on it and the shudder it brings to your spirit. It shakes you, it moves you to look at him again, to actually take his feelings into consideration.

He’s staring at you with so much hurt, it makes your heart sink into an abyss of guilt.

“Hm?”

“I think I like you.”

Oh.

Oh, no.

Your heart drowns deeper, your resentment towards the situation grows branches like the tree on the wall. They hug your pride and your ego, they poke you on your side for reciprocating Yunho’s feelings just a little.

Well, a lot.

“You think?” You ask him and your voice sounds far away. He nods. You stand up from the chair, hand squeezing his before letting drop. “Stop thinking then.”

His eyes closing shut and his jaw tensing is the last thing you see before you busy yourself with the boxes against the window. You pick up two at a time, heavy and the cardboard smelly as you walk to the other side of the office, away from him.

“I’m being serious, Y/N.”

You sigh “So am I, Yunho. You don’t like me, you liked that I kissed you.”

“Oh, I forgot you know exactly what goes through my mind and my heart, thank you for the remainder!”

Looking at him over your shoulder, you drop the boxes against the corner wall “Lower. Your. Voice.”

“No, no. Because that’s not an appropriate response to what I just told you!” He walks towards you and you meet him halfway, heart beating with annoyance at the way he’s speaking to you. He towers over you again, jaw clenched and voice a mere murmur when he speaks again “You have no say in what I feel, how I feel it, when I feel it.”

“I know I don’t, you idiot. I was just providing you with a bit of perspective.”

“Perspective?”

“What do you like about me?” Chin up and nose scrunched in a way it only does when you’re really angry, you insist “Why now? Why do you suddenly care? Is it out of pity? Is it because it’s convenient, because we’re already pretending? Is it because you want to fuck me?!”

“Watch it, Y/N.” His tone is laced with clear offense at what you offered just a second ago.

“You don’t like me,” you start, shaking your head, “you can’t like me.”

“Why not?!”

He’s breathing hard, walking backwards, offering up his palms to the sky and looking around the room like any of that is going to give him an answer to his questions.

“Why not?” He repeats and there’s that hurt in his voice that, for some reason, makes your eyes water. Are you having a panic attack? A heart attack? Everything hurts. Liking Yunho hurts, wanting him hurts. He comes back, his eyes searching yours even though you can’t do anything but cast them down, to your shoes and his shoes and the boxes and the carpet “Why can’t I like you, princess? What’s not to like? What kind of self-deprecating ideas do

you have in your head that makes you think I can’t care about you like that?”

Shaking your head again and closing your eyes, you are barely able to stifle a sob and force your tears back. You want to tell him that that’s not the reason but you would be lying to him if you did.

That’s part of the reason.

Behind the whole letting your mother’s win argument, there’s an undeniable amount of self hatred that can’t let you feel like there’s any truth behind his words.

Why would he like you? Why would he care about you?

Your hands are dirty and sticky and your being is way too clumsy, so everything you love drops and breaks and turns to dust before your eyes. The fact that there’s this whole fake relationship deal in the middle of it and you can place the blame on your mothers is a blessing in disguise.

It’s a weapon you can use.

Even if you don’t want to: His hands are cradling your face, his forehead dropping against yours and drawing a surprised gasp out of you because you didn’t even feel him get him close.

“I like you, I care about you,” there’s certainty in his tone, like he made up his mind, like he’s confirming his feelings to both you and himself, “I… I—” He takes a breath when you open your eyes and beg him to not say what you think he’s about to say. He takes the hint. “Do you not like me back, Y/N? Are you trying to… Is that what’s happening?”

You say nothing, but swallow back your feelings and brace yourself on his forearms, nose budging his as you move a little.

He reads your silence wrong “Y-you do?”

You think it matters if you do or not. Your heart is already breaking by the time the words are on the tip of your tongue.

“We can’t,” you whisper to him, letting your tears wet your cheeks and squeezing his forearms when his thumbs start to move in trying to dry them, shaking your head to signal him to stop. As your eyes catch his, you prepare yourself for the gentleness you’re about to lose, with the care you’re about to push away for his own good. “Because if we do, they win.”

You didn’t know your heart could break this way, as you watch his expression morph from confusion to pain to utter, genuine anger. It’s the same face he made last week, in your living room, as he yelled at his mother for even daring suggesting that you two should be together.

There’s a time when hurting Yunho brought you some sense of vengeance, a time where you considered it payback for being that person literally planned and made for you.

Now, you want to hit your head against the wall for even daring filling his eyes with tears, for being the reason frustration descends and wets his shoes as he looks down.

“Oh.”

He lets you go and you miss it. You immediately want to take your words back, push him closer to you, hug him, kiss him, whatever it may be to keep him next to you.

You start to mourn the loss of the bond you were able to form with him right away.

And it hurts.

He nods again. And it hurts. “Oh, that’s what this is about.”

It fucking hurts. When he laughs, hands on his face as he wipes his tears away, you feel like you’re going to pass out.

“And you don’t care about me enough to tell them to go fuck themselves.” He says, a resentful statement that leaves his lips before a breathy laugh does.

Opening your mouth, you attempt to contradict his words. That’s not true at all, he has to understand, he understands you, he— He raises his hand to stop you from speaking, he shakes his head like he doesn’t want to hear it.

Like your excuses, even if he hasn't listened to them at all, are not worth his time.

“I get it.” No, you don’t. “I understand.” No, you really don’t.

But you say nothing. As he’s slipping through your fingers like sand, at your own doing, you just stare at him with sorrowful eyes and an apology on your teeth.

He looks at you like he’s expecting you to stop him as he reaches the door. You want to, you really do.

You don’t.

“Thanks for letting me know.”

When the door closes behind him and leaves you alone in an office that’s not really yours, feeling like you’re not yourself, you finally allow the reality of what you just did to hit you.

Hand shaking, you cover your mouth and let out a sob as you let yourself cry what you just lost. But, as you do, you remind yourself that you don’t really deserve Yunho’s care.

You don’t really deserve his love.

Hurting him is probably the easiest way out he has of whatever he thinks he’s feeling for you.

Walking slowly to the desk, you wipe your tears away and nod to yourself. Yes, this is exactly what needed to happen. Good. Yes. What were you doing before he came in?

You grab the mouse.

Ah, the proposal. Of course.

The noise comes back, louder this time. Unbearable and ear-piercing, it forces you to close your eyes and listen to the beat of your heart before you push the sound away. You can’t afford to crash right now.

You skim through your tasks in your mind and, as you do, the reminder of a little notification you saw on your calendar this morning, with Yunho’s name on it, is what finally lets the panic break through your senses.

“No.”

And you spend the rest of the afternoon typing your escape plan away.

By the time your brother remembers he has an office, it’s dark outside and the proposal is

printed and in a folder placed neatly in the middle of his desk.

He closes the door, raising an eyebrow at the way you’re resting your shoulder against the window behind his chair, the boxes blocking them all piled up in the corner you initially started moving them to this afternoon.

“You’re still here.” He muses and you turn to him, scoffing at the obvious.

“Well, somebody has to work.”

“I was working,” he sounds a little bit offended, but when he passes in front of you and pulls back his chair to sit on it, you faintly smell whisky and cigarettes. “I was at a meeting in the gentlemen's club with Gunho.”

“That’s hardly working, Soohyun.”

Looking over his shoulder, he’s face to face with your unimpressed expression. Of course he went to the stupid club with Gunho, of course he didn’t do shit today.

“Let me remind you that I am, in fact, older than you.”

“And?”

“I deserve respect and zero questioning.”

You hum, slightly amused this time. You know he’s goofing around, you know he’s hardly mad at the implication that you do all the work he’s supposed to do plus yours but there’s this slight worry in his face that’s unusual.

“Is Gunho oppa okay?”

Your brother frowns “Of course he is.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m— Why are you asking?”

Shrugging, you turn away from him to look at the city through the window again. You can see the river and the buildings that encapsulate it perfectly and it brings you a strange sense of comfort everytime you zone out and just people watch those who feel free enough to walk along the bridge at this hour, with the cold and the rain and the mess that the leaves leave behind as they fall.

“You look distraught.”

“Well, you’ve been crying, of course I am.”

Interesting. You didn’t think he could tell, which means your face is puffy and you look ugly. Great.

“The mess in this office made me tear up when I got in this afternoon,” you say, swerving around the accusation with ease because there’s no way in hell you’re telling your brother what’s up with you. “I’m going to need your help when it comes to explaining that to dad.” And then you use your chin to point to the proposal sitting in front of him.

“You didn’t have to do this today, I know sales are low but-”

“Oh, that’s not it. That one is sitting on your email. This—” you take two steps, tap the front of the folder with your nails, “is a new thing. A thing he won’t understand nor approve unless you understand it and approve it.”

And then you move back to your position by the window, staring at the lights and the buildings one more time without explaining anything else. When you hear the flick of the pages being turned, you know he understands how serious you’re about it. No space for debating, no time for complaining: you need him to get it done now, and so he will.

Because your brother can be a lot of things but he’s not dumb.

And he can read a room like no other except maybe you.

Seconds turn into minutes and then the clock ticks and blends together as you wait, shoulder hurting by the time your brother lets out a heavy sigh.

“No, I won’t approve this.”

Definitely not what you wanted to hear.

“Excuse me?”

“You want to—”

Defensiveness floats you, over-stimulates your senses and makes you see red at the rejection of your proposal “I want to expand our market, our clientele, our opportunities to keep this company on top. Can you relate?”

“Y/N…” He scowls at your attack, at your tone “You’re running.”

“I’m doing something for the company!”

You think your roar is heard all the way to the first floor. Soohyun stares at you wide-eyed, mouth agape for a second before he closes it again. He has to fix his tie, his suit ironed for once as he takes the jacket off and discards it against the chair.

Brat, princess, annoying little sister. You know that’s what he calls you, he has called you that ever since you were a child and in the most endearing way possible. You have yelled at him before, you have stomped your foot and cried and moaned until you got your way, until he agreed to let you do something.

You have never screamed at him like this before, though.

It shows in the way your chest rises and falls quickly, in the way he has to take a calming breath to not yell back at you. Your eyes are full with tears when he looks up and the crease of his brow disappears because, even though you both could be closer and understand each other better, he still is your brother.

Your brother, who loves you and cares about you in his own way.

It proves more difficult to let him see the real you, more difficult than what it felt with Yunho or with anyone else.

So when the tears fall down your cheeks, you wipe them away quickly and pretend they were never there.

“I don’t know what the hell happened,” he starts, calm, taking a step into your direction and raising his hand and you recoil a bit out of habit. He hesitates for a few seconds but then he’s squeezing your shoulder and pulling you into a tight hug that feels unfamiliar, unusual and weird until it doesn’t. You melt into the embrace because you need it, because it allows you to let go of your frustration and cry it out on your brother’s chest, “but you’re going to explain it to me whether you like it or not. And only then, I will consider saying yes to your proposal.”

When you pull away to look at him, it’s with a pout and a scowl that draws a breathy laugh out of him.

“Stupid.” He pushes you away a little before pulling you back in for a hug, “Always keeping things to yourself instead of letting me take the weight of it all. Stupid.”

It takes a few minutes, but when the hug doesn’t seem necessary and your usual disgust for physical touch comes back into your system, he allows you to take two steps back and clean your face with the back of your hand.

“Haven’t seen you cry since you were a child,” he whispers and you shrug, ignoring the fact that your heart stings at the comment. “What happened?”

You tell him everything that night.

Yunho hasn’t seen you in three months.

Which, at first, came as relief. He didn’t want to see your face ever again after the things you confirmed to him back in your brother's office. Who needed you, right? He told himself his mother loved enough to understand the sudden change of heart, although she doesn’t exactly know what happened between you in the first place.

Maybe he should’ve been honest when he got the chance, back in your house, the afternoon they told you both about the pr relationship.

He was so close to telling the truth, too, when he walked out of the living room and into the hallway to clear his head and not scream at his mother in front of yours. It was there, at the tip of his tongue, and then his mother appeared in front of him with that spark behind her eye that could only mean one thing: it didn’t matter what the truth was, he was going to do this even if it killed him inside.

Her words the next second confirmed it and he wondered right then if his freedom was worth the suffering:

“Either you do this or I’ll make sure you’re never able to dance again, Jeong Yunho. No more public university, no more friends, no more staying at the dorm, just your father’s company,” and he was about to refuse, yet again, she raised her finger as a warning. “I mean it. Y/N is perfect to clear the company’s image but if we can’t use her then we’ll have to work twice as hard as we do now to clear it.”

And Yunho would rather fake an entire life with you than work for the man who single handedly ruined his life the second he was born. He didn’t hate his father, he thought about him like a concept he would never understand even when he desperately tried to, but he would never become part of his company.

Not in the way his mom suggested, anyway.

He just needed to get through college, pretend to be interested in the family business and then land a freelancer job elsewhere, in a foreign company maybe, one who didn’t seem a threat to his father’s and then move on his own when he had enough money saved.

Independence. He needed independence. Strangely enough, he needed you to gain that independence even though you meant the exact opposite to him, in his head.

So he doesn’t know why he yelled at you that afternoon. To take it all out, maybe? He thought he hated you back then, too.

He had already agreed to it in the hallway, to his mom.

He had already agreed to it the second he was born.

Which is crazy because that’s not a normal experience to have. And if you were born a boy or him a girl, none of this would’ve happened in the first place. You’d be friends, like Gunho and Soohyun, and maybe he’d be forced to be with someone that wasn’t shoved down his throat for so long.

Imagine his surprise when he kissed you back that night in his dorm. No, scratch that, imagine his surprise when he started liking you the second you showed your true colors to him.

You’re not perfect by any means, but neither is he and it only took you allowing him to enter a little bit into your mind, into your heart, into your soul, for him to fall for you hard. Or maybe he always liked you? His mind didn’t allow him to sleep at all when you left, but it didn’t allow him to go and follow you that same night either, so the conundrum continued to torture him until it didn’t.

After the fight in the office, he went home and sat in his childhood bedroom for a while. He had dinner with his brother when he came home to look for some documents in his father’s home office and then he went back to his dorm and stared at the ceiling until Yeosang came back from wherever he’s been disappearing to these days.

He pretended everything was fine under Yeosang’s scrutinizing gaze but his friend and roommate knew him so much it only took less than a week for his sudden mood to reach the ears of the rest of the friend group.

Not so subtle messages started entering his phone. He answered all of them and then used the excuse of being on the app to check your chat in case you sent a message and it didn’t notify him for some reason. He told them everything was okay, that he was feeling a bit under the weather.

And he managed to convince them until he checked his calendar one day (the one he shared with you) and realized all foreseeable events had been cancelled. You had another meeting where you two needed to coexist, a company dinner with both your team and Gunho’s team that he needed to go to as your plus one and, surprisingly enough, a paparazzi session scheduled by your mother that you needed to first prepare to and then do.

All of this was explained to him by his PR assistant. It surprised him to see that many postponed and canceled the app. It angered him to assume you canceled everything just because you didn’t want to see him.

He didn’t want to see you either, but he had to. Weren’t you the one who more than once scolded him for not being professional enough?

Ha!

It was his opportunity to tease you about it. And so, when he was told to go to your brother’s office the next day, he had this whole speech ready to go. He would tell you to stop being so dumb, that a kiss and his feelings is something that can be ignored. That he needed you both to forgive and forget.

Yunho needs to continue his plan, even if his own heart breaks in the process. And as he got down the elevator and walked the hall to reach the office, his heart desperately asked him to reconsider. Because there, while pushing the door handle to enter the space he dreaded to be a week prior, Yunho realized he wanted to ask you to be his again.

When he found nothing but Soohyun on his chair, his conviction deflated and his ego sank to the ground.

“Yunho!” Your brother sprung out of his chair, excitingly rounding his desk until he reached for him. Arm around his shoulders, Yunho raised a brow at the sudden animosity. “Were you expecting someone else?”

“N-no.”

“Right.”

He knew Soohyun could call his bullshit from a mile away. But it didn’t matter, he was already sitting down in front of him in the new couches facing each other. He wanted to point it out, but Soohyun beat him to it.

“Your friend Park Seonghwa has amazing taste.”

“Ah,” he breathed out a laugh, a nervous chuckle that made him gasp for air a second after, “yeah. He, um, was top of his class before he graduated.”

“I can tell,” Soohyun nodded and looked around, scrunching his nose in a way that reminded Yunho of you. “Y/N is not going to be available for the next few months.”

What?

“W-what?”

“I know you came here looking for her and we’ve known each other since you were born, Yunho, I think we can skip the shitty formalities.”

“Hyung…”

Soohyun shaked his head, laughing with a relaxed sincerity that is such a Soohyun thing to do “There’s never not been a moment in my life where my sister doesn’t surprise me. I know you know her and I know you two have grown… Closer since this whole PR thing started but I don’t think you can grasp the full Y/N effect until you live with her, you know?”

He didn’t. Not at all.

“She crafted in four, maybe five hours a project that would’ve taken me at least a month to sit down and write,” he explained and Yunho swallowed thickly, the lump on his throat going down. “And she wanted to get it done as soon as she got the approval from dad. So, I hope you understand that she couldn’t exactly give you a notice before postponing and cancelling your shared schedule.”

Ah. So you didn’t want to speak to him at all. He scoffed, annoyed. “So she asked you to tell me?”

“Nope. In fact, I’m pretty sure she would kill me if she knew I’m meeting with you at all.”

Yunho blinked, confused.

“Oh.”

“But I love you like a brother, Yunho. You’re my family, you’re her family even though she hates it and I realized recently that the four of us need to stick together. If everything else goes to shit, we’ll still have us.”

The four of you. Including him and Gunho.

“And as a family, we owe each other honesty. We owe each other loyalty and forgiveness and understanding. You see where I’m going with this?”

“No,” he admitted, frowning a bit. “What does any of that have to do with me and Y/N? We don’t like each other, I know you and Gunho noticed at some point. It’s the way things are supposed to be.” The words had a bitter taste, but he pushed through them.

He sounded like you.

Soohyun let out a sigh and he got up from his seat to squeeze Yunho’s shoulder “She comes back in three months, Yunho. She’s doing something from the company but she has to come back, right?”

Yunho shrugged, pretending the information didn’t spark something close to hope inside of him.

“Understanding. That’s what we owe each other: Love and understanding… And lunch. Your brother actually owns me lunch, feel free to join us.”

Your brother is the weirdest guy ever. However, he realized that as Soohyun walked out of the office and left him to consider his words, that he was already planning on telling you when you came back.

He missed you already, too.

And yet, he didn’t find the courage to tell you at all. It tormented him, greatly, vastly. It consumed him through his classes, his dance rehearsals, his performances. It tugged on his heart the days he had to go to the office and pretend he cared about the company, and through his hang outs with his friends.

They asked about you all the time. He had to remind them you were on a business trip, he had to make up a story, he had to tell them the details were apparently confidential when he didn’t even know where you were.

He could’ve just called you. He could’ve just asked you.

His finger over your contact on his phone while he sits in Wooyoung's room during a house party, in the dark.

He could just ask you.

He–

“Okay, what the fuck is going on with you?”

He drops his phone, the light of the screen going out as it lands down on the bed.

“Holy shit, Mingi!”

A light turns on and he squints his eyes at the sudden intrusion.

“You scared the shit out of me!”

“I walked in here like five minutes ago,” his best friend deadpans and Yunho pouts like a child. “You know, I’m starting to feel like I don’t mean that much to you anymore.”

That offends him deeply and he scowls before tossing a pillow in his direction “What the hell are you even saying?”

“I’m a patient person, Yunho,” he catches the pillow and tosses it back, “and I’ve been waiting for you to tell me what's been going on for the last month and half but you keep saying everything’s fine.”

“Because everything’s f—”

“No, it’s not!”

Mingi is tired, he can tell. He’s been holding his worries inside since the day he told everyone about his relationship with you and Yunho feels awful. This is that part of his life that’s hard to talk about. He only explained to Mingi about the dreadful desire that his father has of making him work for him around a year ago and he’s known Mingi for so long at this point that it does feel a little like he doesn’t trust him enough.

But it’s hard and he has kept his feelings and desires buried for so long he thinks he might’ve accidentally dragged his feelings for you along with it and now they’re all mixed up and scratching the walls of their enclosure, begging to come out of him.

“I’m not used to push people around to tell them about their feelings but you’re my best friend and—”

“I kissed Y/N.”

Mingi stops mid sentence, blinking a few times before moving to sit beside him on the bed. Yunho hopes, as he faintly hears the music outside of the room getting louder and Wooyoung screaming something that he can’t exactly make up, that Mingi doesn’t think he’s suddenly confessing his afflictions out of pressure.

Instead, the words came out of his mouth like he couldn’t resist telling them in the first place. After keeping it to himself for weeks, nearly three months, it finally feels like breathing a little.

“O… kay.” He says as a response and it’s Yunho’s turn to blink at him in disbelief, Mingi laughs a little. “So you kissed the girl you like. Isn’t that something to be happy about?” Yunho gapes at the insinuation of Mingi knowing he likes you, except, it doesn’t come as a surprise. His friends are very observant, to his absolute horror they can’t be fooled. “Did she reject you? Is that what’s going on?”

“No! I mean, yes. We… She kissed me first!” He defends himself, taking a quick inhale before cursing softly under it. “And then I kissed her. And then we kissed and she left and she ghosted me for a little, actually. And then I saw her in her office, that's not actually her office but her brother’s, and I… I kind of confronted her? And then she rejected me.”

By the time he finishes his rambles, Mingi looks amused and a little worried.

“You have to be in this… Fake relationship with her and that’s tormenting you, then? Because she rejected you?”

“No, that’s not… We’re not— I am, we are still in the fake relationship, it’s just that she’s gone.”

“She died?!”

“What? No! No, she’s,” Yunho closes his eyes, laughing at the assumption because he knows Mingi said it to get that exact response in return, “she’s not dead. She, um, she’s on that business trip.”

“Oh, that’s right! You told us—”

“I lied.”

“What?”

His poor best friend looks confused beyond belief and that guilt of not telling him everything creeps in once more, threatening to shut him up until he reminds himself Mingi is trustworthy and deserves some clarity.

“She is on a business trip, I just don’t know why or how or where she is,” he finishes softly, his lips in a line and revealing just how uneasy that makes him feel. “I don’t know where she is and I think that she left because I— Well, when she rejected me we didn’t end up on the best of terms.”

“So you think it’s your fault.” Mingi finishes with a nod, letting out a sigh a second after. “Well, it’s not.”

“It kind of is, though.”

“Yunho, it’s not. She’s a grown up, if she decides to run away from her feelings instead of facing them she’s kind of a dumbass.”

“Mingi!” Yunho’s pushing him a bit with his hand on his shoulder before he can help it.

“She is!” Laughing, his best friend takes no offense at the push and instead pushes him back, teasingly. “Remember that one party you had at your place, when your parents were gone on that business trip with your brother?”

“Oh, that party?”

“Yeah, that party,” Mingi nods, looking away for a second, something shining in his face Yunho realizes he’s longing for. He wants that to shine on him, too: the security that being with the right person brings you. “Love tried to run away from an argument that night, too. I just didn’t let her.”

“Are you calling your girlfriend a dumbass?”

“Yeah,” and instead of saying it with a grudge, the confirmation comes out of a place filled with, well, love. “She was a dumbass back then, at least.”

“Y/N is not like that at all,” Yunho says after a bit, “she’s not a dumbass for running away from this. Our thing… It’s kind of different. We’ve been put in this situation since we were kids and we hated, like actually hated each other for a while. We treated each other so badly, Mingi, you have no idea the way she gets under my goddamn skin sometimes,” and despite saying it like it’s a bad thing, he can’t help but smile. Mingi notices this, too. “You know I don’t have the best relationship with my parents, right? Well, hers is way worse.”

“Wait, you told us that this relationship was something to clear your company’s image?” Mingi recalls and Yunho feels another pang of guilt against his ribcage.

“It is! It totally is, it’s just… Well, she was born a girl and I was born a boy and our parents have a very, um, old-fashioned concept of love and what it’s supposed to look like. It was decided a long time ago that we were going to end up together.”

There’s a few seconds of silence before Mingi bursts out laughing so hard it drowns the noise from outside the room.

“That’s funny to you?” Yunho asks, light-hearted and smiling at the sound of his best friend's laugh.

“No, no, it’s just… Your parents are forcing you two together for some weird legacy, bloodline reason and you fell for the girl you’re in a fake relationship with and you’re supposed to hate?”

Now that he hears it like that…

“Basically, yeah.”

“Oh, San’s girl is about to have a field trip with this information.”

“Dude!”

“What? It’s dumb! Y/N is a dumbass, you’re dumber for not just calling her and telling her you miss her and you’re both really fucking dumb for not telling your parents to fuck off. You’re grown!”

Yunho sighs, shaking his head. “She doesn’t like me like that, Mingi.”

“Yes, she does!” He laughs again, covering his mouth with his hand once he realizes Yunho is getting annoyed with it. “Yunho… Ugh, is this how you all felt those few months where I was crying over Love?”

“I didn’t feel anything.”

“Because you’re a puppy,” Mingi’s shoulder brushes against his in a not so subtle way of teasing him and his eyes blank in pretend annoyance. “You are. And you’re a pretty great guy, Yunho. If she doesn’t like you back it’s not the end of the world.”

Yunho nods, but he’s suddenly not as convinced as he should be.

“And you’re also one of the strongest people I know, in here.” Mingi’s finger taps over his heart on his chest. “But you don’t have to carry your burdens on your own. This is all… It all seems pretty dumb to me but it must be really hard on you, hm? Especially since you want to live a life separate from your family, right?”

That, Mingi knows. “Mhm.”

“And so does Y/N?”

“No, I’m not so sure about that,” he murmurs back and his heart aches when he thinks about you and the way you’re treated home, in the way your mother has treated you in front of him. “I think she thinks she’s nothing without her family but I also think she was raised to believe that. They… Well, even her brother has a hard time seeing how fucking amazing she is.”

“Is she?” Mingi drops his head to the side, doubt and a little prejudice on his expression. “Is she fucking amazing, Yun?”

“She’s… She’s such a good person. Which is really crazy for me to say, because I thought she was a spoiled brat for a long time. And she is! But she’s also… She cares so deeply and she’s enjoys painting and she’s so great with kids and—”

“And you have it bad,” Mingi laughs again, shoving him against the mattress with a push and standing up from the bed. Yunho laughs, recognizing the amount of pushing as tipsy Mingi behavior and nothing else. “So bad. Were you about to call her?”

He feels called out and a little shy about it. He blushes and all.

“Maybe.”

When his focus goes back to his phone, it’s when he hears it.

And his heart drops to his ass.

A distant curse and the sound of a call ending is enough to send his mind into a new, different spiral.

“Was that…?”

Yunho picks up the phone, checks the last call he made and your name appears next to the nine minutes and a half his conversation with Mingi lasted.

His mouth runs dry, his throat closes as he turns to screen to show it to Mingi.

“Holy fuck.”

“What do I do?”

“That’s insane. San’s girl is going to have the best night of her life.”

“Mingi!” He blocks the phone, tosses it on the bed and gets up to shake his best friend's shoulders. “What. Do. I. Do. Now.”

Your heart still beats like the day you not-so-accidentally listened to a conversion you shouldn’t have.

There’s the distant memory of your phone vibrating under your pillow at the hotel you were staying at for the night. It happened only a few weeks ago, near the three month mark into your trip around the country, looking for businesses worth the investment in little towns. That far into your adventure, you had met at least a dozen small companies worth every penny inside your father’s pocket, more so than the one’s already signed. You had met wonderful people who didn’t exactly know who you were and you had been treated so kindly it made the ache in your chest go away.

At least for a little bit.

So when you sleepily read Yunho’s name on your screen at two am in the morning, the sting of the pain was unfamiliar and the first thing that crossed your mind was that something bad happened to your brother. Or his brother. Or him.

What other reason did he have to call you when he left that office hating you all over again?

“H-hello?”

Nothing. Just silence and maybe a distant melody, the ruffling of the phone against something.

“Yunho? If you called me to piss me off I swear to God—”

“Holy shit, Mingi! You scared the shit out of me!”

Mingi?

There’s a deeper voice you can hear on Yunho’s end and that’s when you realized he didn’t mean to call you in the first place.

And you should've hung up there. But you didn’t and so you listened to their entire conversation and realized one thing:

Mingi was right. You are a dumbass.

And Yunho is even dumber, but that’s something you would have to rub on his face when you gather the courage to see him again. That day is not today, you made sure of it.

You see, you’ve changed just a tiny bit these past three months. It’s not like you went to a spiritual retreat but by crafting that proposal while fleeing your feelings and the mess that you made with just one kiss, you came around something you never experienced before. Not fully, at least:

Freedom.

You spent Christmas and New Years all alone, with no one dear to you around and you saw the fireworks from your hotel window and you felt and suddenly you understood what Yunho sees in in sleeping in that tiny dorm with a roommate and a pile of dirty clothes in a corner, with no pushing their way into the room to pick his messes up and no one making sure he eats at the correct time, the correct meals and the correct porcelain for the day.

No rules, no conditions, just a place where he can be free and himself.

You did all of that while also making sure you didn’t abandon your priorities. You went to sleep late because you wanted to and then you went to bed early the next day because there were no rules, no events you needed to attend to, no photographers asking you to smile.

There was no one to tell you that you looked fat after eating one delicious, non dietetic meal. There was no devil (your mom) whispering in your ear how everyone would notice the carbs, the bloat and the tiny zits.

There was no one there to stop you from cutting your hair. And so you did. What once was kept long and straight in order to keep a traditional, clean look, now rested in waves on your shoulders,

It makes it so much easier to walk out of the shower, in less time too!

And although your heart yearned for Yunho everyday, especially after hearing his conversation with Mingi at two in the morning when you weren’t even supposed to, it was the first time in years you felt happy enough to drop the mask, the pretences, the good posture and even the makeup.

Yup, you went out without makeup three times! That’s some information that would send your mother into cardiac arrest at the very least.

So now, as you try to move fast through a college campus that’s not yours, with a box that contains something you call an apology and it might not even be, your heart is beating with the same amount of strength just at the thought of all this backfiring.

Because you’re not ready to see Yunho, not yet. You want him to come and find you, to come and tell you if he wants to accept you back into his life, under his terms, after you so insistently kicked him out of yours.

You sneakily checked his calendar. You bribed your assistant, who bribed his assistant, so now his schedule for the week is in a screenshot on your phone and you have checked it four times to confirm this is a good time to be here.

He has dinner with his family and yours (who don’t even know you’re back yet) at his house, on the hill, which is forty minutes away from his campus. That’s exactly the window of opportunity you’ve been waiting for since coming back.

And you came back a week ago.

You may or may not have memorized the code for the door from that only time you came to his dorm and so it’s not really a surprise when you quickly enter it and hear a screech behind you when you are busy closing the door.

When you turn around, Yeosang is shirtless and covering his chest with his hands “Y/N!”

“Yeosang.” You say with a small bow, struggling to not laugh and turning your face away, looking at the postered up wall. “So nice to see you here, in your room.”

“W-what are you… I mean how do you… Should I call Yun—”

“No!” When you turn to him again, eyes wide with worry, he has a shirt on and his phone in his hand. “Please don’t… Let me do something real quick and then you can speak to him, okay?”

You start to fumble with the box, placing it at the end of the bed and opening it up fast. You throw the lid on top of Yeosang’s bed and then get to work, pulling everything out.

“Oh, I don’t know. I hate lying to my friends, Y/N.”

“And you’re such a great friend for that but you won’t be lying to him because I’m not asking you to do that.”

“I wouldn’t even if you did ask me to.”

“Well, I don’t know about that…”

Okay, so you changed a little bit. Not a lot.

You sigh, struggling with the placement of your gift/apology because Yunho changed his sheets and so the color scheme it’s not perfect anymore.

“What’s all of this?”

“Yunho enjoys dancing,” you start and you see him nod from the corner of your eye, so you smile. “He told me he did it to have this dorm but I didn’t buy it at all, and so when I was on my trip I… Sort of thought of him a little bit, not a lot.” You clear your throat, a slight heat creeping up your cheeks. “But I didn’t want to wait another day without giving this to him. I just… I can’t exactly be here when he sees it.”

You finish, turning back to Yeosang and you realize you’re out of breath, nervousness creasing your brows.

“Would you please let me know how he reacts to it the next time we see each other?” You ask softly, almost shy and Yeosang visibly relaxes at the tone. It makes you feel understood somehow and so you relax a little bit, too. “If you’re here when he gets here I mean, um, you are all dressed up.”

When you point to his outfit, he seems to remember that he was, in fact, getting ready to go out when you walked in. His hair is wet but styled and all.

“Oh, I was… I was just going to the club.” He points to a camcorder on his beat and you raise a curious brow, but don’t really ask anything. “I’m making a dance documentary for one of my classes. Yunho is in it, too.”

That peaks your interest and he laughs, possibly at the way you light up at the mention of your fake-boyfriend-possible-love-of-your-life name. “He is?”

“Yes, he’s… A big part of it, actually, but I go to this club to get footage and… You should ask him to explain it to you.”

Now, at that, your smile sure turns sour because there’s no actual way of knowing if he wants to see you again or not.

After all, he didn’t attempt to contact you after that phone call.

You don’t know if he noticed that he called you, either.

It’s kind of killing you inside, all the space you need to fill with assumptions instead of facts.

“Sure, um…”

“I can stay until he comes back.”

“Oh, I don’t want to ruin your plans for the night, Yeosang. You should go and—”

“I want to see it. I want to record it,” he explains, looking over your shoulder and into the gift in Yunho’s bed. “He says he’s not sure, but I think he wants to dedicate his life to it, you know?”

“To dancing?”

Yeosang nods.

Your voice sounds very small when you ask him “Do you think he’s going to like it?”

He smiles, softly, endeared almost.

“He’s going to love it,” he assures you, “And your haircut, too.”

You chuckle at that, touching the ends of it that rest on your shoulder “You think?”

“Yeah! It suits you, actually.”

“Thank you, Yeosang.”

This time, and after making small talk with his roommate, you leave Yunho’s dorm with a smile on your face instead of tears running down your cheeks.

There’s exhaustion pouring out of Yunho by the time he reaches his dorm door. He closes his eyes, rests his forehead against the cool wood of it and lets out a sigh to collect himself. He needs to have the energy to take a shower, after all.

It’s not as late as he expected it to be, the digital clock on the wall glows blue and neon and lets him know it’s around nine thirty. Good, that’s great.

He misses you.

And it’s hard not to think of you when he’s surrounded with people who know you, who bring you up when it’s time to talk about positive results for the company, or the time you organized an event for you mother because your brother had no taste to pick the venue or catering or whatever the fuck they were going on about tonight.

It didn’t escape him that Soohyun glanced at him every time your parents brought you up and he wonders if it shows in his face just how much he longs to see you again.

He’s thinking about your face when the room unexpectedly lights up and Yeosang is standing on his own bed, in the corner, smiling like a creep. Yunho almost falls as a curse slips past his lips and he stares at his friend like something is deeply wrong with him.

Because it is.

It’s almost comical how breathless he is as he asks him: “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Hey!”

“—Standing in the corner like a serial killer.”

“Turn around, Yunho.”

“What?”

“Turn,” he repeats, slowly, as he climbs out of the bed, the camera pointed in his direction still. “Around.”

So he does.

And what he sees… Confuses him. Until it doesn’t.

There’s a few things on his bed: There’s some polaroid pictures lined up, different people he doesn’t know in them, all in different traditional attire and Yunho can see there’s inscription in them, the dates all read from early november to two weeks ago.

There’s tickets to a competition that’s supposed to be sold out. He knows, he tried to get a ticket the second they announced it but couldn’t. The top dance teams are going to battle for some bucks but, most importantly, they’re going to battle to keep the dying scene alive.

A book titled Why Dance Matters next to a golden retriever plushie with a suit that makes him giggle out of the pure weirdness of it.

There’s a copy of grease with some signatures in the front. He can make out something that reads as Barry Pearl in it, he thinks. His mind reels at what that means.

A cd in a clear case with a beautiful sunset and a building he recognizes immediately as the orphanage you took him to. Six silhouettes he can only imagine symbolizes him, Jaemi, Hyunjoon, his brother, Soyi and you.

But what confirms it’s something you did, it’s the envelope that sits in the middle of it all. It's waxed and sealed with something that looks regal, elegant and, when he picks it up to see the seal up close, he smells your perfume.

He turns to Yeosang, eyes watery, in request of an explanation.

“Open it! I’ve been dying to read it but I’m a great friend,” Yeosang almost wiggles with excitement and Yunho’s eyes water a little. “Or so she said.”

“She was here?”

“Y/N?” His friend asks in return, weirded out. “Well, yes.”

“When?”

“An… hour and something ago.”

“Where did she go?”

“Are you okay?”

He’s speechless, envelope shaking a bit in his hand as he pushes the need to run to you away. He doesn’t know what this means, he doesn’t know what the letter says either. His heartbeats are thumping on his ears and muffling Yeosang’s words a little bit.

He needs to calm down.

He needs to read the letter. He’s–

“You’re crying,” Yeosang turns off the camcorder, closing the screen and tossing it softly on his bed before taking a few steps in his direction. Concern is written all over his face, a little bit of guilt too. “I shouldn’t have let her in, right? I knew something was off with you but I had no idea that you two had fought or—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Yunho quickly dries off his tears, shaking his head at his friend’s anxious apology. “I just… I missed her so much, Yeo.”

“Oh.”

“So fucking much.”

“Yunho…” He closes his eyes and jumps a little a Yeosang’s sudden embrace, but he’s grateful for it. Envelope trap between his chest and Yeosang’s rib, he takes a bated breath filled with things he can’t quite burden his friend with.

He remembers Mingi’s words loud and clear, but the only thing Yunho wants to do right now is find where you are so he can see you again. Hug you again. Kiss you again.

That night, after he realized he had dialed your number by mistake, he had a full on breakdown in Wooyoung’s room and it took Mingi and Mingi’s girlfriend to talk him out of fleeing the country out of embarrassment, out of guilt. He thought back then he had definitely lost you, because the consensus the three of them came to was a ‘let her reach you if she wants to clear things out’ instead of a ‘call her and explain it yourself before she has the chance to reach out to you first’.

Mingi said you had to at least prove you had any interest in making things right, in fighting to at least keep your friendship with him.

As he opens up the letter, he immediately knows he should’ve just called you.

He even forgets Yeosang is right beside him, looking away to give him some privacy to read your words without actually letting go of the embrace, just in case he needs it. Yunho knows this, he’s thankful, his legs shaking with need to go after wherever you are.

And he’s about to ask again but, as he turns his head to regard his friend and explains the letter a little, he’s one step ahead of him.

“She’s staying in a hotel, not her house.” Yunho opens and closes his mouth, about to ask him the name of the hotel when he shakes his head. “The luxury one in Itaewon. What? Did you think I would let her go without getting the information first?”

Yunho shrugs, Yeosang clicks his tongue in disappointment, letting go of him and putting, at least, ten steps between the both of them.

“She’s very talkative when she’s not with a big crowd, Yun. Now move.”

“I think I—” He starts to say but stops midway, looking down at the letter and then at his friend again.

Yeosang gives him a soft smile, the one he curves on his lips when he’s endeared with something, with someone. Yunho went clubbing with him once, he knows the smile very well.

“I know,” he says in a murmur and then sighs like it’s a task to be around him. “Now, let’s go. We’re going to the same area anyway and I could use the ride. There’s the box.”

In the car (one he ordered from an app, not his family car), his leg moves up and down and his hands tremble with anticipation and, as the imposing structure of the hotel comes into view while he stares at the window, he swears he feels at ease.

For the first time in months, he feels like he’s home.

And it’s all because he’s about to see you again.

Yeosang is not a very discreet person. He’s soft spoken and he looks like he cares about his friend’s a great deal, but he has that clumsiness of a person who’s used to being transparent about things.

He asked you if you just got home with a spark of hopefulness in his eye, like he couldn’t wait to clue in Yunho about it, like he knew what he was going to do when he read your letter and saw your gift.

Yeosang asked you like Yunho had already forgiven you and that had filled you silly head with warmth and hope and expectations you shouldn’t have because, as far as you noticed, Yunho is not the most honest friend to have.

So you asked yourself if Yeosang knew about the fight, if the rest of his friends knew.

And you still told Yeosang where you are staying.

There’s only one lamp helping with lighting up the bedroom, the city outside of it alive and busy like it always is. The amount of lights beyond the river bring you comfort, something familiar spreads on your chest when you take them in and you admit, for the first time in three months plus the week you’ve been staying here, that you love this stupid city even if it makes you feel trapped most of your days.

But here? In this space that you have made yours over the last seven days? You love it.

Your hair is wet and your face is clean of any product. You told yourself to go about your night routine like you weren’t expecting something else to happen. That way, when it doesn’t because you feel that what you did is unforgivable as much as it is cruel, you won’t be as disappointed.

So your face is moisturized and you have your nightgown underneath the silk bath this hotel provides and you’re totally not thinking about Yunho being in the same city as you, you are totally not freaking out over the reaction to your gift, you’re chill.

You’re chilling, you’re cool.

And the way your heart leaps when you hear a knock at the door means nothing, because you ordered room service like thirty minutes ago. It’s fine.

He’s probably not showing up.

So why the hell is he there when you open the door? And where’s your room service when you need it?

“Yunho!”

“Y/N…”

The atmosphere turns weird and tense right away and you grab onto the frame of the door as he stares at you with indecipherable emotion in his eyes. Is he happy to see you? Is he here to curse you out?

Is he mad? He’s totally upset at you. He is, he’s… Skinnier, just a little bit. His hair is lighter, too, like a brownish blond that suits him and his skin tone and he looks so good even if there’s dark circles under his eyes.

You missed him so much.

“Come in! Um…” You say after what feels like hours of silence, of you two just staring at each other with a little disbelief, opening up the room door wider and stepping aside so he can pass right by you.

His cologne makes you a little dizzy, drives you a little crazier but there’s not enough time to focus on that because he has the box you left earlier in his dorm in one hand and your letter in the other.

You close the door, taking in a little calming breath that does nothing to appease the erratic beat of your heart.

The eighty two square meters of this room suddenly feel like ten and when he puts the box down on the coffee table of the immediate tiny living room space of this suite, you feel like it’s over.

He turns around, a hand on his hip and the shade that the lamp casts on him doesn’t allow you to determine if he’s clenching his jaw or not, if he’s upset or not, if he’s—

Yunho raises his hand, the one holding your letter.

“What’s this?”

Oh, he’s so upset. Okay, good, you foresaw this the moment you decided to give him something. It’s okay, you tell yourself as you walk the steps separating you and take the letter from his hand, you can deal with this.

And, although you have changed a little in the months you didn’t see him, there’s a long way to go before your defensiveness stops being the only way you know how to approach a situation targeting you and your ego.

“If you didn’t like it, you could’ve just thrown it away or burned it, Yunho, you didn’t have to come all the way here—”

“Read it to me.”

You look up at him, blinking once and then twice at his request.

“Didn’t you—”

“Princess,” he says, letting out a tiny breath in between his words, “read it to me. Please.”

Now that you’re physically closer to him, you can pick up this gentleness in his features that you know well. It’s the same expression he had back in the orphanage, when Jiwoo took Jaemi in her arms and he was left staring at you with his cheek pressed on his forearm while he rested on the table. You think about that exact moment a lot, late at night, when the only thing overwhelming your thoughts it’s him.

You swallow the lump on your throat down as you take out the letter from the envelope. It’s a little dark but there’s really no need for you to read the words when you know them by heart. You wrote and rewrote them at least a hundred times before deciding the letter looked good and that it wasn’t too long, too obnoxious, too sweet, too cringy. Just the right amount of emotion in case it came to bite you in the ass, like now.

“S-sure,” you let out a sigh, past caring if he sees you’re a little affected by the situation as a whole. “Yunho, I’m sure you’re reading this after seeing the gift layed out in front of you. Take it as an expression of gratitude for all the times the mere thought of you got me through a day, even in this time when we’re supposed to be upset at each other. I think about you a lot and I think about what I did, too. I’m— This all sounds to stupid and formal,” you criticize your own work without thinking it through, frowning and looking up at him. “This letter is supposed to be an apology and it reads like an email.”

Yunho shakes his head, a tiny smile tugging on his lips. “Go on, please.”

Sniffing because you feel uncomfy and vulnerable, you continue.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why now and not three months ago. Well, it takes a lot for me to defy the expectations people put on my shoulders. As you know, my last name is laced with success I didn’t work on and letting go of things you’re used to is hard, but I did. I went away, I learned, I grew up a little bit and in my journey the only constant was you. Not the fight we had, not the way we have treated each other throughout the many years I’ve known you. I’ve always seen your life from the outside even if I was a part of it, I’ve seen your social media posts and wondered if I wasn’t deserving of the same kindness you display to your friends on them but, as you proved to me that I am deserving of it, I understood that it wasn’t your voice in my head telling me I didn’t, it was mine.

“Not my mother’s voice, not anyone else's, but mine. Accepting that was hard but I did it and I did it on my own but as a result of the impact you had on me the second you turned around and held me with the care I now think I deserve.” Something drops on the paper, wets it and blends the ink of the pen you used together and you realize there’s tears running down your cheeks. “I can’t ask you to forgive me for what I did. But just know that I kissed you because I wanted to, not because you were being kind to me. And I pushed you away because, out of everyone that has come and gone from my life, you’re the only person who has the possibility to break my heart and mend it the times you seem fit…”

You look up and to the side to wipe your tears. You’d pat yourself on the back for how you read this to him, without any stutters or mistakes, but the truth it’s that melancholy swallows you as you reach the end of the letter. It’s more emotional than what you’d remembered, too, now that you’re reading it outloud and in front of the man you love.

There’s no need for you to read what comes next because you want to say it looking at him.

“And I’m sorry. I love you and I don’t love you just because we kissed or because we are forced to be together. I love you because you’re part of me, because you’ve always been. I love you and I can’t stand to lose you. Again, I’m sorry,” you repeat, looking down at the words again before finishing in a whisper: “Yours, Y/N.”

There’s this pregnant silence that follows that makes you fidget on your feet. It takes a second for you to gather yourself together again, wipe your cheeks and look up at Yunho. There’s disbelief in his expression and you wince in preparation for what’s about to follow.

“Like I said,” you start again, extending the letter to him so he can take it, “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I don’t expect you to do anything, really, a-and I understand if this is all too childish or too cringy for you to say something back. I don’t need you to say something back! Really, I don’t,” you laugh amidst the sudden verbal vomit and shrug, not even looking at him anymore. “I j-just wanted you to know. And I mean it: If you don’t want me that way, it’s completely fine, Jeong. I also settle for being your friend, i-if that’s easier for everyone— For you, if that’s easier for you,” you correct yourself, “because I don’t really care what anyone thinks anymore, including my mother, she can go fuck herself and she can win all she wants if that means keeping you in my life and—”

He grabs the letter and in a second he uses the tight hold you have on it to push you closer, tearing the paper in the process.

“Kim Y/N, you big dummy.”

He lets go of the letter and you do too, hands resting on his chest as you stumble forward a little, the paper falling to your feet as his right hand settles on your cheek, the left one on the nape of your neck.

“Excuse me?”

Yunho laughs, breathy and pointed while his eyes scan your face. “You heard me.”

“Are trying to piss me off, Jeong Yun—”

This time, when Yunho kisses you, it doesn’t feel new. It doesn’t feel like defiance, it doesn’t feel like you’re breaking the rules or letting your mom win.

It feels like coming come.

The ache in your soul stops the second his lips move against yours, deliciously slow and firm while he holds you close. His hands shift, they move the satin robe as they descend and find their place on your back, on your hip. Your chest collides with his with a soft nudge forwards and you sigh against his mouth, welcoming the way his hands tighten on you, feeling finally at ease in his embrace.

You thought, when preparing his gift, writing the apology letter and then earlier at his dorm, that your self control was something to be admired. Yeah, you love him deeply and all, but you had the restraint to give him the opportunity to decide what he wanted to do with all the things you told him.

Now you think that there’s nothing in the world that could stop you from kissing his lips raw, from pulling his hair a bit when your fingers tangle in it, from drinking the sound you get in return.

Fuck your self control. You want Yunho like you never wanted anyone or anything before.

That’s why you’re grateful when he pumps the break, lips leaving yours and breath on your lips. When you open your eyes, he’s already staring at you. With the way he’s holding you, you barely have to get on your tippy toes to nuzzle his nose against yours with care and the action reminds you of that day at the office, before you fucked up, but the feeling is way different.

This time, your gut tells you that whatever is about to happen with the two of you is something that’s going to linger, that he’s going to stay one way or another and your heart thumps loudly at the thought of having Yunho in your life forever.

Four months ago, the thought would’ve given you a headache.

Now, it heats up your cheeks as his hands return to your face.

“I’m sorry, I had to kiss you. I also should’ve gone after you that night, in my dorm, I— I’m also sorry, Y/N,” he lets go of you softly, putting a step in between the two of you so he can take your hands in his. “I’m sorry I cornered you in the office and I’m sorry I expected you to just… Drop all of your beliefs and convictions for me. That’s the most delusional thing I’ve ever done.”

“It’s okay—”

“But I love you,” he breathes out and you feel like the air it’s been knocked out of your lungs. “I’m a big pretender, you know? I… I try to be as positive as someone can be, I try to be aloof and I ignore a bunch of things in order to let myself be distracted from what my family expects of me, so I couldn’t understand when you didn’t want to do the same. I do now.

“And I don’t let myself enjoy a bunch of things either, Y/N, but I do allow myself little moments of happiness. When I’m with my friends or when I dance, I tend to have those little moments and then I allowed myself to see you in a new light and I… If I thought those two things brought me some sort of respite from my sorrows, I had no idea you of all people could feel like… Like…”

“Home?” You offer, your voice a sweet whisper full of understanding.

“Like home.”

He swallows tightly, averting his eyes to the floor for a second.

“I’m sorry for not returning that call,” he says, his brows creasing a little bit, “I took advice from drunk people in love, so I thought I was doing the right thing by letting you come to me.”

“I was doing the same,” you whisper back, shrugging his worries away. “Letting you come to me, that is. I couldn’t even— I mean, I should’ve given you all of this in person instead of dropping it off like a scaredy cat.”

“You did hear the conversation though?”

“Yeah. Mingi called me a dumbass and I’m not going to forgive him.”

He laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “He was right, a little bit.”

“He called you dumber,” you return, frowning at his jab even though you know he didn’t intend any ill with it. “So yeah, you could say he was right.”

There’s a few seconds where he just stares: at your hands, twined together with ease and familiarity. At your face, a loving smile lifts the corners of his mouth up before he steps closer again and lets his thumbs trace the curve of your mouth, your cheekbone, your nose.

“I missed you so much, my love.”

Oh.

Fuck.

You warm to the pet name immediately, its significance running through you like a shudder and making you gasp softly, almost imperceptibly. You guess it shows on your expression, the smile on Yunho’s lips widening as his knuckle presses on your cheek gently.

“You liked that I called you that?”

“Shut up.”

“My love,” he repeats, pecking your lips, “I love you. I’ve… I actually don’t know if I’ve loved you this way all this time, but I’m sure I loved you to some degree. I cared— I care about you.”

You tear up again.

That voice that tells you that you don’t deserve him comes back, a distant murmur of it this time, but it’s still there.

For a good reason, too.

“Forgive me for being so horrible to you all these years,” he makes a face, like he can’t believe you’re apologizing for that right now. “I wish I could say I did it because I was a vain, stupid child but it was all very much thought through.”

“I know.”

“And I was horrible. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks now, I—”

His lips press softly against yours again. “Stop it. I was horrible to you too, we were both stupid and childish and we had our reasons.”

“Did we, though?” Your nose scrunches while you truly think about all the times you could’ve been nicer to each other and chose to be mean instead.

His eyes water a little. You frown, fingers tightening around his wrists, you turn to kiss his palm.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just love you a lot,” he sniffs and you catch with your knuckle the tears that roll down his cheeks. He closes his eyes, letting out a breath and untensing his shoulders at the same time. “And it feels so good to be able to say it.”

“When did you figure it out?” Curiosity takes over you for a second, you allow yourself to wonder about it without any guilt now.

He hums, thinking about it with a pout on his lips “Like I said, I think I’ve always loved you to some degree. I just… Didn’t know it. I’ve never loved anyone like this before but I think that when I saw you with Jaemi and my heart felt like it was about to come out of my mouth, I kind of knew.”

“So when I kissed you…”

“I knew,” he nods, “and I should’ve been more insistent when I was trying to talk to you. Go to your house, do something, but I’m… A little inexperienced in this type of stuff.”

“Because you have no bitc—”

You’re already giggling before he interrupts. “And you love me like I am, so now what?”

The smile on your lips is so wide you have to look to the side, focus on the shadow of the chair in the tiny living room space for a second to compose yourself.

It doesn’t really work, because he’s smiling as hard when you turn back to him.

And then, for the first time since he got here, he seems to notice the length of your hair. He brushes it back with his fingers, the strands barely damp now, and gasps when he reaches the tips at your shoulders. “You cut it!”

With a nod, you laugh at his sudden surprise. “I did, I’m about to get disowned.”

“Oh, your mom is going to pass out at the very least.” He agrees right away and you laugh again before he joins, his teeth nipping at his lower lip for a second. “She’ll forgive you, though.”

“You think so?”

“You look too beautiful to stay mad at you for long.”

Oh, your poor heart. You shake your head, diverting the attention from you by brushing the strands of his hair that rest on his forehead back.

“Blond?”

“Kind of, yeah. It’s this… Honey something that my hairdresser suggested.”

Humming, you let your fingernails scratch his scalp gently as they go down, hands resting on his shoulder when you’re done. “They did a great job,” you say before you click your tongue, cocking your head to the side. “Are you sure they weren’t just calling you honey and you misunderstood?”

His brow lifts, the corner of his lips does as well and he’s ducking his head so he can speak in that cocky tone of his you’re so used to. Only this time, there’s an edge to it that sends a shiver down your spine.

“And If they did?”

You know what he’s asking, you know why he’s asking. You find yourself curious about this type of teasing on his behalf, so you allow it to happen.

In your own terms.

“Did it happen?” You return, leaning even closer, hands grasping the lapel of his suit jacket and tugging on it, pretending to smooth it out with your palms afterwards.

“Princess…”

When you look at him, there’s this fiery energy that crosses his expression and it makes your imagination run wild with possibilities.

Now that you both got through the emotional part of your reunion with tears, with overdue confessions and very necessary apologies, what’s left to resolve is this pent up tension that’s always been something more. With the way Yunho behaves sometimes, so proud and tough, you have a vague idea of what it could be like.

And it makes you giddy with anticipation.

You would like to turn your assumptions into facts. So you play dumb, fakely perking up when he calls you, blinking with pretend innocence a few times to sell the act. “Hm?”

Catching the way his jaw ticks at your behavior, you realize that the rush that went through your body every time you got under his skin was not out of the pleasure of winning.

It was because you liked it.

Very much so, that the way his eyes scan over your body like he's deciding what to do with you and your attitude make you let out a tiny puff of air that he drinks right up when he crowds you again, hands on your hips and lips on yours once more.

His mouth doesn't move with any trace of carefulness anymore. Before, you were able to tell he needed to kiss you, longingly, with all the things he couldn't say before on his lips against yours. Now, his tongue makes its way past your teeth and swipes against yours in a way that makes you stumble backwards, almost leaving the tight squeeze of his hands behind.

Yunho catches you, walks with you until you feel the arm of the tiny couch supporting your weight as well.

He leans in a little bit to help you up on it, his body immediately in between your legs, his palms making their way downwards. One is on your lower back, thumb absentmindedly caressing the area, and the other one is pressing right next to your leg on the couch so he can bite your lower lip and give both your lungs a bit of a break before diving into your mouth again. You wrap your arms around his neck and keep him close.

Closer, closer, closer. You need his body pressing against yours as you try to keep up with the intensity of his kisses. You've never been kissed like this before, never with so much love and passion and want and need.

You've been kissed while drunk and touched while high in the past, you've been fucked by people you don't remember the names of and you had dropped the sleeping around once you graduated college.

There's so much of your youth you wish you've done sober. Because now, when his tongue catches a soft moan and his hand moves from your lower back to your leg, under your robe, you don't know why you freak out.

No, you know exactly why.

Breaking the kiss, you take two seconds to look at the plush of Yunho’s lips after being deliciously smothered with yours. You're both breathing hard, chests rising and falling in tandem and gasps for air filling the room.

His hand moves higher, measuring your reaction and you know he's about to ask if it's okay to touch you when you grab his wrist and stop his movements.

“We don't have to—”

“Is not that,” you say right away but you're both speaking over each other.

“I mean, there's a lot we need to talk about. I want you to tell me about your trip and—”

“Sure, we can do that later,” you nod. “Right now, I'm— I mean, let me turn off the light and you can touch me all you want.”

He frowns.

“What?”

Heart picking up for a different reason now, you clear your throat and try to cough the anxiety away. You can talk to him about these things, it's okay. It doesn't really matter how embarrassed you feel once the words come out of your mouth.

“Um, I went up a few pounds while on the trip and— And that's a good thing!” You say when he looks at you like he's about to tell you that it's okay. “I ate whatever I wanted, it was great, really. I just…”

“You did?” He asks in a soft, excited whisper.

“I don't know if you'll, um, i-if you're going to like it.” You finish, blinking the shame away.

Yunho’s expression softens and you take it as an agreement. You've only been touched in the dark, anyways, so you push into his chest a little bit and off his embrace (even if you don't really want to) and start moving towards the only light casting shadows on the room.

Only to be tugged right back by a firm hand on your arm.

With his chest against you and his lips grazing your ear, you can barely help the way you shudder. There's something hard poking your ass and the apparent size of it has you gulping, salivating even.

But you have to turn off the light.

“Come here,” he murmurs and softly moves the both of you to stand in front of the mirror that's next to the entrance.

Even if you tried not to, it's something you've been avoiding the whole time you've stayed here. The mirror is huge, floor to ceiling and its position it's very elegant, very fitting for the purpose of this suit that's supposed to be reserved for people who need different outfits for different events.

You haven't really used it other than quickly checking your clothes earlier today, before leaving to go to the dorm and, even then, it was only a quick ten seconds.

It stings a little that, although you've made progress, your body and the way you perceive it still have such a grip on you. When you add the man your heart desires to the mix? Well, there's little to nothing you can do to let go of your insecurities.

The heat of Yunho's body leaves you for a second and he's turning another light, the one closest to the entrance, adjusting its intensity so the ambiance is not broken by the bright glow of it.

You gulp again when he returns, but melt into his chest when he presses his body against yours again.

How can you feel so comfortable with him but so uncomfortable with yourself? It's weird, it's strangely very you but you can't even tell him that because the intensity of his gaze when you catch it in the mirror shuts you right up.

You know he's telling you to listen to him, to notice how serious he is about this as his chin rests on your shoulder.

“I've called you ugly before, right? I've have actively contributed to your insecurities in a way that I'm not going to forgive myself for, ever,” he starts and the direct approach to it makes you teary eyed all over again. He notices, lips finding your shoulder to comfort you. “The thing is, Y/N, that I never actually meant it. I think I was pissed off because you were— and are so fucking beautiful.”

You close your eyes and let out a pleading sigh “Yunho…”

“No,” he says and you feel how he shakes his head, his chin still on your shoulder. “Someone needs to tell you this. You live in your head way too much.”

He understands.

You love him so much.

“Open your eyes, princess.”

You do.

“Look at yourself.”

You don't. You look at him instead.

He's staring at you through the mirror and he straightens his back to rest his cheek against your temple, the height difference at his advantage because, this way you have to look up at him and it will give away the pure rejection you have for your reflection.

“I don't think I've ever found someone as beautiful as I found you. When I realized that, that was what pissed me off… Well, I think I somehow buried the thought away but you are so breathtakingly pretty, Y/N.” He takes in a breath and you lose yours, his hand resting on your hip going up and tracing the curve of your waist. “But it doesn't really matter what I think, it matters what you think, hm?”

Turning his head, his nose presses against your skin now and he leans in, nuzzling softly, with care, until his lips peck your jaw.

“I can assure you that you can go up a hundred pounds, go down, up again and I wouldn't care. It doesn't matter, I have found you beautiful in every version that you have presented yourself in and I will find you beautiful if you change your whole appearance everyday. I love you,” he reminds you, “and I love everything that you bring along with you. Insecurities, panic attacks and clever insults to my clothing included.”

The chuckle that you let out makes him smile against your cheek and he gives you a little peck before putting some space between your face and his. He looks you up and down in the mirror again and you can see genuine want in the way his pupils dilate. You see it happening in real time but then you also see his self-restraint.

You're at a loss for words, but manage to mumble out “Thank you, Yunho.” And then you turn your head, catching his lips in a soft closed mouth kiss that he returns right away.

“Whenever you're ready to let me prove how beautiful I find you, I'll be here.” He says when you let his mouth move away from yours, your lips softly pecking his jaw instead and getting a sigh in return. “I can wait.”

Then, the worst thing happens: His hands leave your body and he starts to step away.

It's a little embarrassing how quickly your entire being protests and you realize that there's a clinginess to you that you're not so sure where it came from. You reach for him, barely turning, and tug him right where he was.

Looking at him through the mirror again, you enjoy the genuine surprise on his expression and the way it turns into desire when you put his hands on you again: on your stomach, on your hip.

When you turn your head to look at him directly, his eyes stay fixated on the reflection. His hand on your stomach turns, knuckles softly caressing you. You want to ask him what he likes about that but don't, instead, you tell him what goes on inside your head.

“Yunho, I do want you. I want you… But I also want to make sure that you like me.”

He looks at you then, mouth ready to reassure you again but you shake your head to shut him up.

“I heard you,” you confirm, smiling a bit and then closing your eyes at the visage that accompanies the concept of your body in your mind. You know it's far from what it actually looks like but that also means that you don't know exactly what it looks like and that's terrifying. “I know you love me but would you like me?”

“I do,” you hear the frown in his voice and take a deep breath before opening your eyes again. “Princess, do you trust me?”

You nod without a second thought and he leans in, nose almost touching yours.

“Would you let me show you how much I like you?”

It takes a second or two, but you nod again.

“And would you let me know if it's too much?”

“Yes,” you breath out, too intoxicated by the closeness, by the way his lips softly trace yours without actually kissing them to think about the implication of his words.

When he pulls away again, you let out a sound that gives away how much you want him. Yunho’s lips curve and when your eyes finally focus on his again, you can see the quick decision he makes as he looks at the mirror again, resolve and purpose in his expression as he takes off the jacket of his three piece, tossing it on the sofa.

There's something magnetic in the way he rolls his sleeves up, securing them in his forearms and your eyes follow the motions and trace the veins that you're able to see before he turns away from you.

He takes one of the chairs he's able to easily mov, placing it behind you both. You realize you've walked a few steps closer to the mirror, and so your back is pressed against it when his attention returns to you, when he takes your face with his hands and crushes his lips against yours without explaining what he just did.

You brace himself on his forearms, nails pressing on his skin because somehow this kiss feels different. Its pace is not hard to keep up with but it feels like you are, the care he puts in his movements as his palms brush your hair back slowly and then go down, down until they're reaching the knot that keeps your robe closed.

This time, instead of panic, you feel your stomach flutter. Butterflies all over, there's goosebumps on your skin when he tugs the robe open and feels the satin of your pajamas with his fingers. He makes a noise and, at first, you think it's out of protest because you're not already undressed for him.

But then his knuckles trace the hem of the nightgown and he makes the noise again, tongue flicking against yours harder, getting a moan out of you.

Yunho’s lips find your cheek, your jaw, nipping at the skin of your neck and over your pulse when he gets to it and you close your eyes, head falling against the mirror and head moving to the side so he can kiss every inch of skin if he wants.

“You smell so fucking good.”

That makes you smile, a droopy curve to your lips before you bite a sound back “I showered.”

“You always do,” he whispers into your skin, lips finding your ear. “You always have. Do you know how many times I had to control myself around you?”

“Hm,” you muse, pretending to think about it. “Do you know how many times you had to?”

“Oh, trust me princess, I know.”

He pulls back and you open your eyes. You wonder if yours are carrying the same intensity as his when they go down your body, taking your sleepwear in.

It's a simple blue v-neck slip dress with some floral lace at the trim lines. It splits on the sides and falls mid-thigh. Something very basic in your opinion, but you don't miss the way his eyes are glued to the skin of your thigh. You're not wearing a bra and your nipples are painfully hard.

“I didn't actually expect you to come to me tonight,” you lie a little, lips turning up into a shy smile. “So I didn't—”

“Is this what you wear to sleep?” He interrupts and you watch him gulp.

“Mhm.”

“Every night?”

“Something like this,” you tug at the fabric, softly, “yes.”

“Fuck.”

You giggle in return at how affected he seems, but the amusement dies when his eyes return to yours. Holding your hand, he takes a step back and then another and another until he's falling with a thump on the chair he brought close.

He takes you in one more time before letting go of your hand and manspreading on the chair “Come here, princess.”

The tone of his voice makes your entire being shake and you take in a breath before following his command. Which is crazy because you never, ever would've followed an order from him.

But now you can't help yourself.

Standing in between his legs, you can see when he holds the arms of it after attempting to touch you as soon as you get close enough for him to be able to reach you and, when you're about to straddle his lap, he shakes his head and clicks his tongue in response.

You understand what he wants immediately and you turn around, watching your reflection in the mirror as you sit down on his legs that he managed to close again in the three seconds it took you to do so.

You're breathing hard by the time he accommodates you both on the chair, his very clear erection pressing against your ass and lower back and making you dizzy at what you're looking at.

The image on the mirror is clear, it allows you to see both your reaction and his reaction when you fidget without thinking about it on his lap and the friction it causes brings you a whisper of pleasure.

“You're a dream, Y/N,” he says and you can tell it came out of his mouth without really thinking about it. Finally, he moves his hands and his nails press on the skin of your shoulders, goosebumps evident and tremor barely concealable when he drags them down the length of your arm and over your hands that rest on top of your knees.

He covers them with his and you stop following his movements in the mirror to look at his face “Can I?”

You swallow and then nod and he giggles, this hard facade he has on slipping as he presses a reassuring kiss to your shoulder “Can you say it, my love?”

“Yes,” you say quickly, your voice betraying you “Please.”

He closes his eyes, a curse under his breath. “Don't beg me, princess, I got you.”

You can't help but be curious and, although this is something you can find out as the night goes on, you end up wondering out loud either way: “Why? You don't like it?”

He shakes his head, that hardness in his expression returns when he opens his eyes to look at you and the curious glint of your expression through the mirror.

“Do you enjoy it when I beg you, Yunho?”

And then you slightly move on his lap, trying to pass it like an absentminded movement.

He sees right through it and the realization shows on his face.

“Ah,” he laughs, back falling against the chair and head lolling back, “are you going to be a brat, princess?”

Your mouth quirks at the quick and accurate read he gives your attitude.

“Of course you are.”

Again, the bravery your amusement gives you is short lived. He uses his hands over yours to open your legs and his, fast, earning a surprised squeak out of you. Your first instinct is attempting to close them but he huffs and perches your legs on his. You loop your feet around them to avoid falling forward at the lack of things to hold on to.

This way, your panties are on full display as well. They're simple cotton white panties and there's a wet patch in the middle of them that grows a little at the display, at the image you see in the mirror.

Yunho curses under his breath again.

“You're my dream,” he says, a little bit distracted again and then he remembers himself. “I don't like people begging me, I don't give them the time to.”

Raising your eyebrows, you're about to protest because you don't want to hear about his encounters with anyone else, but he won't let you.

“One time, I almost had a fight with a friend over teasing. You know her, Mingi's girlfriend,” he says and you don't know if he's smiling at the memory or at the way you squirm under his touch when his fingernails start dragging over the skin of your inner thighs slowly. “I told her the truth: I'm too impatient to tease. She said it's necessary, I said I never needed to tease anyone to get with them and it went on for almost an hour.”

He reaches the plush that has formed on your inner thighs and you can physically feel your centre growing wetter.

“I never got it,” he insists and, when he pretends that he's going to touch you where you need it the most only for his touch to go back down the expanse of your thighs, you let out dissatisfied huff. “Now I think I do.”

“Yunho…”

“You wanted to beg?” He asks, mouth against your ear and hot breath on your cheek. “I can make you beg.”

You give in almost immediately.

“Please,” tongue wetting your lips, you attempt to move in order to get some sort of relief but he's quicker than you. Strong hands hold your hips steady and you puff out some air again. “Please touch me.”

It's clear the whine on your voice affects him because he pants against your cheek, nudges your face with his nose and then dives with his lips to kiss your neck again.

“Be still, princess.” He commands and you stop trying to wiggle against him, only to rest your back against his chest when he brings his hands down in a caress and holds you fully open for him again. “I got you, but do as I say.”

He takes your nod as an answer this time and his lips travel down your neck, to the skin of your back and then your shoulder. You watch in the mirror as his teeth catch the strap of your nightgown and, when he speaks again, it's a little muffled because of it.

“Can I take this off you?”

You take a breath before replying “Yes.”

And then he slips the strap off your shoulder with his teeth and you swear you're ruined for everyone else entirely.

There's no way anyone is going to make you tremble like he did just now.

He goes ahead and does the same to the other strap, hand quick in catching the gown from falling completely.

“Should I?”

“Yunho… Stop teasing me.”

He chuckles and takes his time to redo what he just undone: he pulls the strap on your left shoulder up again, switches the hand that's holding your second to last piece of clothing up, and does the same to the other strap.

“But you look so pretty in it.”

Your skin heats up harder than ever before.

“You look so pretty like this, all breathless and ready for me to touch you… Do you know how happy it makes me that I can touch you, princess? That you’re in my lap and not in my head?”

You swallow back a whine “Y-you thought about me like this?”

“I dreamed about you like this,” he kisses the nape of your neck and then focuses his attention on the shoulder he neglected before, “for months.”

You hum in acknowledgement at his words, but your mind is elsewhere because his hands return to their ministrations on your inner thighs and it's hard to concentrate on anything else but the pad of his thumbs ghosting over your panties as they move.

He finally concedes and lets his hands wander upwards until they get ahold of the hem of the nightgown and, in one swift movement, you're left in nothing but your underwear in front of him.

Well, in front of the mirror. He's watching the reflection of your body carefully and you can barely spare a look at it, breath caught in your throat at his reaction.

When he sees your naked torso, he fully lets out a moan.

You feel slick rush out of you at the sound but don't turn to yourself to verify what exactly about you made him react that way, made him get even harder against your ass.

“God, look at you.”

Breathing hard, you turn your head slightly so that your nose touches his and you think he's about to drop it, give in and kiss you when you feel his thumb and index pressing against your cheek, turning your head to the reflection again.

“Is this okay?”

You know he's referring to the hold on your face and you mumble out a yes, still looking at him through the mirror.

“I said, look at yourself.”

You do.

Legs open and still perched on top of his, white panties turning a little see through due to your arousement and nipples pebbled in full display, you allow yourself to enjoy the two seconds of clarity before your body starts to shape shift in your head, before your thoughts turn you undesirable and before you fall into your dysmorphia.

Yunho is right there to catch you, though.

“Do you know how lucky I am that you're even allowing me to see you like this, Y/N?”

The hold on your face relaxes and you follow the movement of his hand, down until it settles on your throat, relaxed, not even putting any pressure.

“Still okay?”

You nod.

He puts in slight pressure now and, when you moan, he chuckles but doesn't say anything to acknowledge what makes him laugh. Instead, his hand keeps descending until his fingers rests in between your breasts and then he softly cups one of them, thumb passing over your nipple and making you jump at the sudden contact before letting go.

“So fucking pretty. You see this?” His fingers take hold of the skin of your tummy that connects with the curve of your waist and he pinches slightly, making you squirm and tickling you a bit. “Everything you are, everything you have makes my heart beat,” he kisses your shoulder again, “and my dick hard,” and again, “and makes me want to prove to you that there's no one in this world that can come close to you, not in my eyes, my love.”

Oh, my God.

He says it in a way that makes you want to believe him. And, deep down, you know you do.

Even though it's complicated, even though it takes effort to make years and years of self-loathing disappear, you know you can try.

Because you desperately yearn to see yourself from Yunho's point of view.

This time, when you turn to kiss him, he doesn't put up any restraint. His dominant mask slips off of him for just a second when you grab his face, pliant mouth moving at the rhythm and pace yours is marking, a whine getting muffled with your tongue.

He gives your legs rest, closing his legs (and, in consequence, yours as well) and, when you tug at his hair so you can mark his neck down at the weird position you're in, he groans and you want to smile but he's searching your lips before you can even leave a bruise on his skin.

“I love you, I love the way you think about me, I love what you make me want to think about me,” you assure him when you pull back to look at him. His cheeks are red and his lips are swollen and you love the way they're parted as he recovers his breath.

“Lesson learned?”

“Mhm,” you kiss his lips again and take the hand resting your waist, bringing it down to your clothed sex so he can feel how wet you are “now please, would you touch me?”

“Fuck, you really do love to beg, hm?” He says and it's breathy, like he can't actually believe, and he doesn't give you time to respond because he's already kissing you again. “Let's go to bed.”

“W-wait.”

“Yeah?”

The way you glance at the mirror is a dead giveaway of what you truly want. It makes him take in a sharp breath and grab your face in between his hands, fascination written all over his expression.

“Do you want to watch when I touch you?”

You breathe out a moan in response.

“You want to watch yourself while I make you come?”

A little shy but with resolve, you nod.

He curses.

Next thing you know, your legs are perched over his again and they’re wide open. Your arms fly back to hold onto him, onto anything that helps you not fall on your face but then his perfect, veiny hand presses on your torso and you fall back comfortably into his embrace again.

He wastes no time, lips marking a path from your shoulder to your neck and fingers ghosting your clit over your panties and you whimper, impatience making you move against his crotch and making him grunt at the friction.

“I k-know you just s-said you just discovered the joy of t-teasing but can you please do somet— Fuck!”

His thumb presses on your bundle of nerves over the cotton and you can’t help but shake.

It has been a while since you’ve even touched yourself truly, with want and need behind. It’s been a while since someone else touched you there, period, so the sensation feels new and you kind of feel like an overly inexperienced woman with the way you can’t help the immediate build up when he starts moving his thumb.

It’s electric and you notice that your eyes closed the second he touched you, so you remember yourself. You remember what you asked for, what you actually want to see.

When you open them again and look at Yunho, you find him already looking at you. His parted lips turn into a proud smile when he catches your eye and he nods, kisses trailing up to your ear, teeth nipping at the skin.

“Good girl.”

Fuck.

He stops his movements to let his index, middle and ring finger cup your sex entirely, press into the fabric and let it soak with your arousal. You see in the mirror and you watch, with fascination, how he manages to twist the cotton to the side and expose your pussy for you both to see with the same hand.

“You’re so wet, princess, I bet you taste so good…”

Your brain short circuits and malfunctions when he finally touches you without anything in between his skin and yours. His index reaches out and collects the evidence of how much

you want him, of how much you want him and you moan when the fabric snaps against your pussy when he lets go of it.

“Do you?”

He toys with the stickiness on with his fingers, rubs it in between them and then brings his hand up so you’re able to see it without the mirror’s help.

“Look at me,” you do, obedient, “and open up.”

You open your mouth and allow his fingers to get in and rest against your tongue. You suck out of instinct, eyes never leaving his, and he gulps as he watches you taste yourself until your arousal transfers from his fingers to your tongue.

“Let me taste it now.”

Licking into his mouth, the fingers that were previously on yours settle on your throat, not allowing you to fully lean in and kiss him like you want but, instead, letting him have control of it.

You swear you see stars when he sucks his tongue into his mouth and he hums, pleased with the taste.

“You taste so fucking good.”

Letting you go, you’re breathing hard when he pushes you a bit to put some distance between the both of you.

“Get up and take these off.” He snaps the elastic of your panties and the sting against your skin makes you whine.

You can’t think, can’t speak, can’t do anything but wait for him to lead your actions and the consensual loss of control feels so freeing that it makes you dizzy. So you oblige, getting off his lap and allowing him to turn you around so that your ass faces the mirror. When you look at him, he’s looking at the reflection and not you, so you decide, with a boost of confidence because of the hunger in his eyes, to give him a little show.

You bend over, forehead almost touching his chest and proceed to take off your underwear that way. You open your legs a little, giving him a clear view of it when the fabric falls from your legs and pools at your ankles and, when you twist your head to the side to look at his reaction, his tongue is out and licking his bottom lip like he’s starving for it.

For the first time ever, you feel both sexy and desired at the same time.

He reaches for your ass in a way you’re not so sure it’s calculated and you fall fully into his chest with a soft moan when he opens you up for him even more.

“So hot,” he says, low, under his breath, like he’s not even thinking before he speaks and he lets his fingernails drag on your skin (something you’re learning he enjoys doing and that you also like, a lot) until his hands fall to his knees again. “Fuck.”

He still hasn’t even touched you properly and you already feel drunk on his touch. You feel that way, at least, when you prop your hands against his chest and push yourself up. He turns you around quickly, sits you on his lap with your legs open again and sighs.

“I’m not going to make you beg for it anymore when all I want to do is watch you come, princess.”

Arm around your middle, he presses you flush against his chest and takes your right hand in his. It allows you to let go of the grasp you have on him a little and, when he guides your own fingers to your pussy, you get why.

“Show me how you like it.”

You feel lewd, exposed and dirty in a way you never thought you would enjoy. But here you are, craving

“Yunho…”

“Show me,” he insists, “so I can learn.”

Isn’t it a little bit funny that he sounds like he’s the one begging you when he speaks?

You show him. Starting with collecting a bit of your slick, you drag a finger upwards from your entrance to your clit and then, only when you can see it fully glistening in the mirror, is when you press down and caress it in circular motions that send electricity through you right away.

As you do with everything, this is something that, although you don’t really have time to even think about doing most of the days, you have perfected. There’s a science to it, a method that you’ve discovered via need and lust and that has never been so thoroughly explored than right now.

It’s like you have kept your needs like a nasty little secret inside of your heart, just like you did with your love for Yunho, and you’re letting it all out.

You pick up the pace, alternating from circles to side to side motions and the pleasure quickly becomes overwhelming. Or have you been touching yourself for him for minutes now? Time disappears in every sound you unconsciously let out, it blends with the glint of passion in Yunho’s eyes and it dissolves in an orgasm that quickly takes over you and shakes you forward.

“That’s it,” he mutters with his lips against your temple and his hands holding you steady. “Now’s my turn.”

He replaces his hands with yours, bats your fingers away when you try to prolong your pleasure and takes over at a relentless pace, overstimulating you.

It goes on like that for a minute or so where you shake and you readjust in his lap and you shake again when he bucks your hips and you feel him firm against your ass. You desperately want to help him feel this way, too, but there’s only so much you can do when he teases your entrance with his index and finds you relaxed enough to put it in slowly.

Slowly until it glides in and out smoothly and you hold onto your forearm, and whimper and his name spilling from your lips in bliss when his ring finger joins. You hope you don’t look too delirious, you wish you’re not making a fool of yourself for feeling the heat pool on your lower belly so quickly again.

“Oh, yes, yes, I’m—”

“Don’t look at me or what I’m doing, look at yourself.”

Huh?

“W-what?”

“Watch yourself come,” he reiterates, breathless and, when you disobey and look at him through the reflection, he’s already focused on your face, mouth hanging open and brows furrowed with determination. “I want you to see how beautiful you look coming all over my fingers, Y/N.”

He curves them upwards and the sensation somehow intensifies “Shit.”

“Come, Y/N.”

You’re not sure if you’re able to prove his words to be true. When you come undone, you’re looking at yourself and in the mirror is someone you don’t exactly recognize. Someone you don’t perceive as yourself because, yes, the person staring back at you is beautiful. And that person looks sexy and sensual and is glowing with pleasure written all over their face but they’re not someone you have categorized in your brain as you.

And then you understand. This raw, pure, unfiltered state of you is something you hadn’t reached before. Naturally, you had never seen yourself come. And you hadn’t been handled with so much care through an orgasm before, so you lived it fully and then, only when you stop shaking and your legs fall from his and your feet are on the floor, holding your weight steady, is when you allow yourself to look away from your reflection and turn to the man responsible for the best orgasm of your life.

His lips are quivering, his eyes are closed and his chest rises and falls against your shoulder as he holds you to him.

“You… Jeong Yunho…”

He smiles, probably at the way your voice trembles and gives away just how fucked out you already are, but he doesn’t open his eyes “Yes?”

“My turn.”

When he opens his eyes, you’re already standing up in front of him, his hands shifting on your body, the fingers that just made you see stars leaving a wet trail on your skin before they settle on your stomach.

And, although he seemed tough and dominant just a minute ago, he puts no resistance when you grab his arm and make him stand up as well. You get on your tippy toes to nuzzle his nose with yours and he holds onto you again as you stumble backwards, towards the bedroom.

“You’re too dressed, Jeong.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy me in a dress shirt,” he says, a smug smile in his lips when your back hits a wall and he presses his body to yours, “prepping you to take my coc— F-fuck, princess.”

Your hand teasing his erection over the fabric of his expensive pants is enough to shut him up. Good, you already let him have his fun (and yours, by consequence) and, even if you enjoyed the loss of control, there’s something equal parts rewarding and hot about winning it back with the simple press of your thumb where you believe his leaking tip is.

“You’re too overconfident sometimes, Jeong,” you whisper against his lips and it may be your two amazing orgasms or the way you love to have something over him, a little bit of power at least, that make you overly confident right now as well. He puckers out to kiss you but you don’t budge. “Want to see if you prepped me right?”

It’s a question for consent. You have to make sure he wants you this way, too. That this is fun for him, too. And when he pauses your heart feels like it stops for a second, just like time.

But right after there’s this quiet agreement you both come to and his mouth devours yours as you move in tandem, in coordinated effort to undress him: You loosen his belt and work on the button of his pants while he unbuttons his shirt and both your feet move with synchronized steps until he’s falling on the bed and you’re getting on your knees in front of him.

He, however, stops you with a hand caressing your face softly.

“Later,” he mutters with a soft smile that’s laced with something passionate and lewd you feel you’re about to discover. He leans in, teeth catching your bottom lip and pulling until you’re whining and you taste a little blood on your mouth. “I need to fuck you right now.”

He doesn’t need to tell you twice. You do however make sure to peel his underwear off him while you’re on your knees, the size of him making you wet and ready all over again.

When you stand up, he grabs your tired legs to pull you closer. It feels like a pause in the middle of passionate urgency, but when he takes his time to kiss under your belly button and the expanse of your hips, you feel like it only adds fuel to the fire.

The fact that he’s even taking the time to explore you makes you want to combust.

“Oh.” He bites you right over your hip bone and you take his hair into your fingers, pulling him back. “Y-you said you needed to fuck me?”

“I do,” he laughs against your skin and then leans back, taking him with you and you let him, falling on your side before he pushes you against the mattress, body covering yours and palms touching you all over. “I just enjoy taking my time with you.”

“I can see that, Jeong.”

He’s distracted again within the second, looking down your body and taking you in like it’s the first time he’s seeing you even though he had a clear view of you and your pussy in the mirror five minutes ago.

And there’s this urge that takes over you, you can’t even fight the words that come out your mouth next.

“Make love to me.”

He pauses again and then your words register in his brain, you can see the exact moment they hit him and you think you see him tear up a little before he blinks the deep emotion away to focus on the moment. You have to do the same.

“I will. Every day of my life, if you ask me to, if I’m so lucky to.”

The rest of the night, from the moment he says those words, kisses you and moves you so you’re in the middle of the bed, it all passes in slow motion.

And it all passes really fast, too.

Yunho makes love to you. He enters you while looking into your eyes and whispering how much he loves you against your lips and you say it back. He holds your hand as his hips move and his length drags deliciously inside of you. He marks your chest with his lips and your heart with his love and he closes his hands over yours when his pace picks up and he allows to lose himself in the moment too.

You make love to him as you push him onto his back, his pretty face all flushed, the pink coloring his neck and his chest where you hand rest as you ride him and watch his control slip from him, as you memorize his moans and grunts and as your walls squeeze him in before coming again on his cock and it only takes to firm, hard strides for him to spill himself inside of you as well, the prove of your love making spilling out of you a little when he holds you to his chest and he pulls out of you, both of you sated, both of you in love.

It feels like an hour has passed when someone speaks again, the silence in the room comfortable and accompanied by the beats of both your hearts. In reality, it’s only been around ten minutes where you’ve closed your eyes and breathed the remnants of Yunho’s cologne, cheek pressed against his chest and his fingers drawing random figures on your naked back.

You decide to break the silence when you remember something.

“I think they forgot my room service.”

There’s a pause and then Yunho is laughing loudly and it makes you smile. His chest vibrates and you can see, on your peripheral, how he covers his eyes with his forearm.

“I’m being serious, I ordered like three hours ago.”

“Maybe they knocked and we didn’t hear them,” he mumbles tiredly and you finally look up, chin pressed where your cheek was a second ago. “We were pretty… Busy.”

“That’s worse, Jeong!”

“Why?” He asks, genuinely clueless and then it clicks for him. He brings down his arm and opens his eyes wide with shame. “Oh, my God.”

“Mhm.”

“How are you going to look the receptionist in the eye?”

“She knows me, too. She asked me to take a picture with her when I check out.”

Yunho sighs and says nothing. He looks at you, hand on your back moving until it reaches your face and he lets his knuckles trace your nose in a way that makes you scrunch it.

“I forgot you were famous.”

“We both are,” you w-hisper back, lips forming a thin line as you think. “I mean, if someone leaks that we’re both here, it won’t look weird because we’re supposed to be together.”

“Supposed to?” He frowns.

“Well, yes, to the public at least.”

Yunho pouts.

He pouts and your stomach twists and turns with nerves and butterflies. You’re joking, kind of.

“Are you not my girlfriend, Y/N?”

Oh, he’s adorable. It’s so easy to tease him when you’re both not at each other’s throat.

You wonder if you’ll ever have a fight again, your heart weak for him even when you try to keep the joke going.

“I haven’t been asked to be anyone’s girlfriend…”

The deadpan expression that follows your quip breaks your resolve entirely and you laugh, hiding your face on his chest as he mumbles something you don’t catch.

“What?” You look up at him again.

“I said that you’re annoying and that you are my girlfriend.”

“No, I think you said that you love me.”

There’s something so reassuring in the way the annoyance disappears from his expression and it’s replaced by something sweet and he looks like he can barely fight the words back when he replies with: “Yeah, I do.”

You hum, happy with his response “I thought so.”

Pressing your cheek against his skin again, there’s only two seconds of silence before his hand is on your shoulder and shaking your body.

“Say it back, Y/N.”

“So needy,” you tease and he shakes you again, groaning, so you sigh and pull away from his body to sit up a little. “I love you too.”

He leans into your space, a blissful smile curving his lips before he pecks your mouth in a sweet, short kiss “Good,” he whispers, falling against the pillows and dragging your body with his so that you’re resting against the soft material as well. “When did you come back?”

“A week ago.”

“Hm,” his hands return to your body, fingernails dragging softly up and down your arm, “your family doesn’t know.”

At the mention of them, you close your eyes and squeeze, reality washing over you.

“I’m sure my mother does.”

“She doesn’t,” he assures you, “she would’ve mentioned it by now and she only talks about the project you’re going to lead once you’re back.”

You open your eyes “What project?”

“I’m not sure,” he says softly, “I thought you were already leading one?”

“Something like that,” you nod. “I, um… Was networking in a way, gathering new information on new companies to invest in and help their growth. Small business with original concepts that we can boost or help bring to the city and all of that.”

“Did you have fun on the trip?”

“Yeah,” you answer truthfully, “I did. I met a lot of people, I visited places I never even knew existed, I also learned a lot about myself and about what I want… And I got away from Satan for a while.”

He knows you mean your mom, so he snorts out a laugh and shakes his head at the jab.

“I missed you a lot, though.”

His amusement dies slowly but happiness remains on his face. You’re sure yours is a reflection of his, as well.

“I missed you too,” he answers in a murmur and you nuzzle the hand that reaches your cheek before giving it a kiss. “I’m glad you had fun and it sounds like being away helped but… Never do it again.”

“Oh?” You try to tease but he insists.

“Never leave without telling me again, please,” his whisper sounds like a plea and your heart beats louder. “I’ll miss you too much.”

There’s an impulse, a need that soars through your blood. “I’m not sure when I’ll be able to get away again but, when I do, you can go with me.”

“I will,” he answers right away and at the confirmation that you want him there with you, you see the tension slip away from his features, “my bags are already packed and all.”

“I bet they are,” eyes rolling back in annoyance, you press a palm on his chest and push him a little. “Needy.”

“Shut up.”

There’s a lot of things to talk about. A lot of things you want to tell him, to mention, to bring up and discuss with him. Like what happens after you leave this bubble you’re floating in, if you tell your brother and his right away, if he’s going to tell his friends or wait until you’re a little far along in the friendship to do so.

You have to ask him if he wants to tell your parents like… Ever. You’re not so sure you even want to.

But he shuffles and moves until his naked chest is against yours and his hands are around your body, chin resting on the top of your head as he yawns.

There’s this feeling of calmness that washes over you as you consider that, maybe, this can be the way you fall asleep from now on. No sleeping or sleepless nights, just Yunho’s embrace and his steady breathing above you, the beat of his heart, a lullaby that lulls you until your eyes are closing and tiredness takes over your senses.

This time, you dream about a future together and nothing more.

If you read all the way down here: THANK YOU SO MUCH. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated and please remember the next part it's much shorter and would be the end of this mini series!

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hitlikehammers · 2 days ago

Text

tremolo

…what if instead of learning clarinet or percussion, you could learn to read the music of hearts? 💕

rating: t ♥️ cw: love at first sight, car crash (off-screen), SUCH FLUFF ♥️ tags: ✨magical realism au, musician eddie munson, paramedic steve harrington, kinda soulmates (it makes more sense with the magical realism part), character study, softness

for @steddielovemonth day one: "Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet." —Plato

It was just like learning any instrument, really.

At least what they tried to convince Eddie to believe at the tender age of nine.

But it was all about finding an aptitude, apparently. Developing a talent. Fourth grade rolls around and he fucks up blowing with a reed, manages to give himself a tongue splinter. Nearly passes out on the brass. Ends up with the choir lady looking over horn-rimmed glasses and narrowing her eyes at him less like a teacher and more like a fortune teller or something, scrying what’s to come of him, like she can see through all that he is and will be, before she goes scribbling something on his little slip of paper already marking all the failed kinds of music he’ll never get to make and telling him: go to Room 011.

But no one ever goes to Room 011.

He meets a petite woman with mousy hair and clothes that look like they belong to someone else, somehow. She introduces herself as Miss L. She looks like a Miss L., so he doesn’t think any further on the point.

You will not play much, really, she tells him, and the way she talks is kinda funny, like she learned words but not from people actually saying them out loud. Eddie kinda likes it, though. The playing is only for emergencies, and if you find your True Note.

Eddie doesn’t know what most of that means, except for the fact that the whole point of trying—and failing—at all the instruments was to join the school band with something to play. So if that’s not what he’s going to learn, then what the heck is Eddie meant to be doing down here—is what he wants to ask.

He manages a little politer version of the same, his nan’d be proud. His dad wouldn’t care even if he was around and not behind bars. His uncle might be happy that Eddie’s kept his nose clean just this one time. So he figures he does okay.

But really, he just wants an answer. He was supposed to get to learn music. It was the one thing that was keeping this whole year feeling like he could maybe, maybe survive it.

It also means he doesn’t have to take the art class that’s mostly kindergarten crafts instead of real art, so.

“You will be learning music,” Miss L. answers, more patient than most grownups; “you are here to learn how to read the songs that hearts sing.”

And that is, by far, in all of his whole nine years of living, the most fucking absurd sentence that Eddie has ever heard.

——

He’d kinda thought it was a joke, when he left that first afternoon to get back before Language Arts.

Turned out: nope. It was not.

He’d maybe thrown something slightly less childish than a tantrum, when what he got was a big set of earphones and a box the size of an Easy-Bake Oven, where apparently he’d be playing some kind of recordings to start his lessons.

“Do you not wish to learn?” Miss L. asked so simply, and Eddie…

Eddie reminded himself that no matter how foolish and stupid this was, it couldn’t possibly be worse than making construction paper collages with Elmer’s glue, so.

He put the headphones on and pressed play.

——

His workbooks didn’t look like anyone else’s in band—in fact, Eddie didn’t think he was actually a part of the class band, like, he wasn’t expecting to play at the spring concert with the flutes and the trombones, anymore. When he had sheets of staves to fill out they didn’t have straight lines. He didn’t draw different circles with little flags and bridges connecting them. He…

“When there are no keys, and there is no time signature,” Miss L. had explained, and it took time to make any sense; “you are the rules, and you feel what is a melody,” she’d tapped something that feltbeautiful, like daffodils blooming, though Eddie couldn’t say why; “and what is a warning.”

And then she’d tapped again, and it clenched in Eddie’s chest like a tornado siren, and…yeah.

That was kind of the best explanation he could have asked for.

——

It’s in middle school, when everyone else gets new band directors while Eddie sticks with Miss L., that it starts to…well.

That’s when the fact that Eddie’s alone in his lessons, and no one seems to know quite what he does—and the other kids who get that kind of treatment are usually the ones who can’t add or spell right, who have some kind of problem to work on extra hard—but it’s around then that Eddie starts being called names for it.

It’s not too bad, at first. Eddie’s worked for his two full years of elementary school lessons to get through recognizing the songs, suffers the point where recognizing becomes unbearable, overwhelming—Miss L. never left his side when he held his head in pain for all the noise, all the songs because they were everywhere, in everyone, and how was he supposed to learn what was right and what was good and what was just okay but then what was also everything the opposite when he couldn’t even think—

But she taught him the tools, the ways to sift through the chatter, as she called it. Because not all of it was a warning; not all of it was bad just because it wasn’t beautiful.

Some of the noise just was.

She showed him how to trust his own ear; his own song in his own chest as a guide, because that’s why he was here: he had a gift, an aptitude, built in and in need of development. Liked they’d said in the beginning.

He’s nearly thirteen when she teaches him how to write his own songs, in the not-notes and the no-tempos. In the nameless flow of sound.

It’s when his classmates overhear one of those works-in-progress, the taunting gets worse, starts to hedge toward unbearable.

Until Eddie asks if he can just stop: quit this. It’s not worth it. He doesn’t want to be a freak.

“It is a rite of passage, to ask this,” Miss L. says slowly, no judgement, and weirdly no pity; “but I should tell you first,” and her eyes narrow more than Eddie thinks he’s ever seen them.

“Your skill is already greater than any I have seen, and is only getting sharper, more keen.”

And hell if a teacher’s ever said something niceabout Eddie Munson, let alone something that sounds like flat-out praise.

“They cannot hear the music, this is why they say those things,” she flicks her wrist less like conducting a chorus and more like shooing a gnat, like that’s the appropriate amount of consideration the comments deserve. “Your task has always been to teach them what they do not know, to show them the wonder they are ignoring as they live and breathe.”

And while it really would have been nice to know that before signing up for this…this what, calling? Vocation?

While that would’ve been nice, Eddie…Eddie can at least mostly understand he wouldn’t have understood any of it in the fourth grade.

He barely understands now.

But he can feel it. He understands how to feel the music that fills all those gaps.

“This is common,” Miss L. turns back to him, steeples her fingers while humming something from the radio: not bad, but not beautiful. That’s what she means, he realizes. The radio plays common.

“This,” and she puts a hand over her own chest and keeps time with her fingers on the tabletop as she hums a wholly novel thing out of thin air, and Eddie has never seen someone else recognize the music, has never watched someone compose in the veins where the songs that hearts sing are played, let alone in real time; maybe she never had because he had to lean for himself, first.

But it is kind of exquisite to witness.

“This,” she stops, and raises a brow pointedly in Eddie’s direction; “is human, built in your cells.”

Eddie couldn’t name why, precisely, but he feels…shamed, but also empowered. So different, but they make an almost compelling melody together as they clash.

“They will call you freak before they call you prodigy,” Miss L. says it like a fact, which…kinda sucks to hear, in all honesty.

“They will label you insane, before they recognize you as genius,” and the way she adds that part makes him feel like that was her personal burden to bear, and he aches for her in it.

“They will cry out garbage and nonsense,” and here, these words: these are the ones Eddie knows immediately he’s meant to be hearing, be weaving into notes the strongest, the ones she wants him to keep closest and never lose:

“They will cry out worthless,” she spits out with a venom he’s never heard her use; “before they will sob in the face of your masterworks, and how they will breathe magic in the soul.”

And…Eddie doesn’t know exactly what to do in the face of the conviction she says that last part with. To doubt it, as he instinctively wants to, feels vile; the most egregious disrespect. He can’t bring himself to even try. So, he asks instead, voice rough:

“When will it change?”

Because despite everything: he doesn’t want to be a freak.

“That I cannot say,” she sighs, and she does sound sorry; “and it may never change at all.”

Eddie doesn’t know if he’s built to handle that, the possibility of never.

“But even if you leave, here and now,” Miss L. cuts into his despairing; “even if you stop your learning, the songs will never leave you.”

Oh.

Oh, so did they…did they teach him to hear a endless goddamn curse, and as a fucking kid—

“You would always have come to hear them,” Miss L. must read his mind, or maybe just his face; “just never with any place to funnel the noise,” and he…guesses he should be grateful. He nearly went mad in those early years, before she taught him how to make new melodies, concertos the likes of which even the great masters hadn’t penned, because they played in a different medium. Their notes and structured time were useful, but limited.

And if they never heard otherwise, how would even the most brilliant talents know what they were passing over, leaving behind?

“Do you still wish to leave?”

Eddie turns, almost having forgotten Miss L. was still sitting there, watching him. Almost having forgotten what he’d come to ask, to give up.

There’s no question left, now.

He gets out his notebook, his pen, and starts as he always does.

With the listening.

——

It’s a genuine distraction—the songs get louder with time, but Miss L. tells him that’s a sign of his skill growing, his notice of the equivalents of key signatures and ligature notes in the heartbeats he passes every day—but it costs him passing senior year once, and then again, and almost a third time until by the skin of his teeth, he manages. While every other teacher shames him for it, derides him as incurably stupid, or at the very least unambitious to the point of embarrassment, the extra years mean more time with Miss L., and Eddie…most days, Eddie is nothing but thankful.

More time means Eddie also learns that the songs he hears are as much a public service as they are an art form, as much a defense mechanism as a craft. He knows when bullies are on the prowl, and to make himself scarce for their screeching cacophonies. He knows when he has to be less of a coward and step in when a wild rhythm makes him sick with its fear.

The more he pays attention to the not-quite-beautiful songs—especially when he thinks on them later and stumbles upon nuggets of the exquisite inside every way they weren’t—the more he remembers years ago, out of almost nowhere, but maybe…maybe everywhere, like it’d been written in his heart’s song the day she spoke it:

“My first day,” he enters the same room—not the same-same room but the one in the high school that’s as abandoned as all of them have been, always Room 011—but he enters the room close to the end of the year, the last year, with the question thick on his tongue, and woven the same in his song as he closes the door and feels his heartbeat quicken for no reason and every reason, like he’s long learned these songs always do.

Miss L., for her part, just nods; waits.

“You said,” Eddie rolls his lips together; “emergencies.”

It’s a delay tactic. They both know it.

She’s kind to play along.

“Mmm,” she hums; “the slightest bits, yes, you can shift the rules to change the song, because you made the rules to begin with,” she eyes him carefully, then. “But only by bits, and in only the most dire moments.”

Yeah, yeah, sure. He never thought he could like…write lines to coax a heart to sing itself back from the dead or some shit. He gets the point.

Again, they both know: that’s not the point he’s here for, heart pounding high in his throat.

“But then you also said something else.”

This time, she doesn’t nod at all; just stares. Eddie has to clear his throat twice to make a sound so as to ask:

“What’s a True Note?”

Because Eddie’s had a couple flings here and there. And the idea of anything real with someone else, alongside the weight of this…talent of his, this training that’s defined half his life by now: it’s really nothing more than a stray idea. But Eddie can’t really hide from the fact that, somewhere along the way, he’s suffused that idea with so much promise and potential, but with no legs for it to fucking stand on.

And he’s about to graduate. About to go out into the world and…who the fuck knows what.

He needs to either hold onto this insane, silly notion of some cosmic meant-to-be match waiting for him somewhere, that it’s at least possible, and then hold on to it like burning—or let it go, and get on with the rest of his fucking life.

“Do you know how I said you could sway the rhythm just the littlest bit, in the greatest of need?”

Of course he did. She literally just said it.

“Your True Note will sing like you have never heard before,” she tells him like it’s not something…immense; “and that song will sway your rhythm so much more than the littlest of anything.”

She just fucking says it, like it isn’t already swaying the rhythm his heart sings in. Here and now.

“That heartsong will change your world.”

And all Eddie can even think to ask, to make more plain in it, is just one thing:

“Will I change theirs, too?”

Miss L’s eyes lock to his and hold for enough seconds where it should be uncomfortable, where his chest starts to grow unbearably tight.

“Hmm,” she considers finally; “if it is meant to be that way.”

Eddie wants to scream. It’s not enough.

And still somehow, it will have to be.

——

In the months that follow his freedom, he misses Miss L. Kinda desperately.

But the lack of structure, the openness of knowing he has to find a way to piece together all the snippets of song he’s bombarded with: it is the reason he ever picks up a guitar. It’s the whole learning heartsongs thing that he has to thank for it, a roundabout journey toward the destination he’d wanted from the beginning.

Or else, that he thought he did.

It’s not just guitar, though. He eventually learns the woodwinds without ending up with a splinter in his mouth. Figures out the different harmonies at hand in making sure he tempers the way he breathes for the brass. He loves the piano, and the cello especially, alongside guitar and double bass: he makes a trip back home specifically to see her and ask—Miss L. tells him it’s probably because of their strings, like hearts have, too.

It feels right in a way things haven’t felt in a very long time.

Which is really how he comes to not only understand, but to accept in his bones: no matter if they ever call him prodigy or genius, if he ever plays a concert hall or anywhere but on a street corner with an open case for change, he was made for this; built for this. The woman with the horn-rimmed glasses who sent him to the basement music room saw it in him. Miss L. proved it to him by teaching him to prove it to himself. He doesn’t know if he’d have picked it, but he knows it was never something he could have picked or turned down in the first place at all: it’s who he is.

He is the music. He is the songs that hearts use for singing. And maybe someday he’ll meet someone who sees it in him, and hears his song, and sings ecstatic. Maybe.

He hopes.

But either way: this is his life.

This is his melody.

——

It takes years before they do sob for his masterpieces, for them to be ready for a style and cadence they don’t understand because they will never comprehend the language, that speaks deeper than the logic required for any of those rules. It takes a long fucking time before they start listening with the lens of the first song any of them ever learned. But the time does come, and Eddie is grateful, because he’d genuinely feared the maybe-never he’d been warned about. He’s glad that’s not where he is, now.

But now? Things start to happen almost unbearably fast. Shows here and flights there, guest appearances and interviews, record labels and live recordings, a book deal he can’t even begin to think about. The world tips on its axis and Eddie only really considered that happening to him for one reason: because of a song so beautiful, in a Note so True—this isn’t that.

But everything still feels upside down anyway; totally off-kilter.

He’s crossed ten time-zones this time. He’s exhausted, but he has a performance tonight, just like he did in the tonight of the place he just left. The car he’s in on his way to the next venue is sleek, like they all are now; his team is already there preparing, so it’s just him and some local hires he hasn’t even had a chance to learn the names of yet, which he hates. He hates being privy to their songs and not even knowing their names, let alone their stories.

He jots the notes he gleans from how they sing without their words on the drive across town anyway. Waste not, and all that.

Eddie has the pen in hand, cap between his teeth, when the truck plows straight into them.

What follows would be unsurprising, if Eddie could process it from a bystander’s point of view—as it is, the only thing he knows in the melee is the music.

He is devastated, as he reaches out for the slowing songs around him, knowing in the back of his mind what their slacking tempos mean, and marveling with something like horror at how beautiful each one is as it starts to fade: still unique, still something Eddie could braid into a piece, certainly one to draw tears.

His own song is ebbing, he knows, but it’s less important than the sweet melodies around him, especially—

Oh.

Eddie thinks, with what may be the last thought left to him as pressure and heat and pain tingle at the edges of the music, almost too strong now to be drowned out by the notes that are what Eddie is at his core: but he thinks he may be too far gone already, because what he begins to hear is…

Exultant. It’s…

If Eddie believed in a heaven, this would be what the hosts there sang. When the idea of divinity is bandied about, they can only ever be talking about some cheap imitation of what Eddie hears now. Luminous. Effervescent.

Beautiful in a way that exceeds the word itself so deeply that it barely fits, obliterates the notion on sight.

And what a gift, Eddie muses as everything dims to black, to hear such Notes, such perfect music as the last thing he has to hold onto in the end.

To end on something that’s True.

——

The next tones Eddie hears are mechanical. He winces—not bad but certainly not beautiful—and then winces harder because wincing itself fucking hurts.

He holds himself still, seeks the song he knows in his own veins: yes, and he’d been so sure it was gone, because there’d be an accident, a crash, he’d been thrown, crushed, songs all around him were dying and he’d heard the magnificent symphony of otherworldly perfection so—

“I’m technically not supposed to be here,” a voice interjects, or no: drips in leisurely, like comfort, like honey; “because you’re a patient, and I’m,” and Eddie forces his eyes open to see the voice come out of a man, who is pointing at his chest: a uniform. Medical.

“I’m not dead?”

All signs do point that direction but…Eddie had been kinda fairly sure he was done for.

“God,” the man chokes like he’s pained, like the idea hurts him, and why; “no,” and he says that a little fiercely, protective almost; “though not for lack of an effort.”

He looks tired, as Eddie’s vision starts to clear some more. He looks radiant. Exquisite.

Beautiful.

“You saved me?”

Because Eddie clocks the uniform now: paramedic. The ones who come onto the scenes and try like hell to save who they can. Heroes.

“I helped,” the beautiful man says, like a hero would, of course. But…it still doesn’t make sense. If the man does this for his job, then Eddie isn’t special, so then why is he so vehement, and then what of all the fading songs Eddie remembers, because Eddie had heard—

“What about,” he starts, but there’s a hand over his quickly, soothing.

“Everyone’s here, different wards,” the hero-beauty tells him in lows tones; “we don’t know if they’ll all make it through the night, but,” he nods, like…this is enough.

And it is. Except…

“How?”

And where Eddie is baffled, his hero just quirks a brow.

“Don’t tell me you never covered emergencies?” he asks skeptically. “Most dire moments, greatest of need?”

And it’s with those words that Eddie’s world slows very quickly to a halt. The music swells in a way he’s never known: because it’s always present to hear.

Buts it’s never been so tangible to feel, not like this, and with such…magnificence, no lesser word could touch it. Maybe he truly is closer to death than not, maybe that’s the reason for the fervor in this man he doesn’t know—the choirs of the angels Eddie wasn’t banking on swells and is visceral, and this hero sits before him, speaks the words that have haunted Eddie more days of his life than not, and—

“This was where the music took my life,” the man pulls at his collar, indicative again: the heroism. He…he saves people, because he, he also hears…

“But I couldn’t have done it without you.”

His hand on Eddie’s tightens, like gratitude, and Eddie…gapes like a fucking fish, and then—

“There’s something else.”

“Not just here to check up on the fruits of your medical miracle?” Eddie’s tongue feels heavy, thick in his mouth; he feels sluggish all over, weighted down and like he can barely move because…this man hears the music that hearts make.

Can he hear the ineffable beauty, like Eddie can? He must, that’s how it works, so why is he not in the same amount of awe—

“Not just,” the man smiles small, but real, a little hesitant. A little…shy, maybe, before he straightens, leans a little closer.

“Watch that screen,” and he tracks Eddie’s gaze until Eddie’s fixed upon the ECG, the most disappointing distillation of the songs he’s learned to find so much wonder in.

But then the man is pressing Eddie’s hand to his own chest, which…is forward, given they don’t even know each other.

Eddie is maybe still on, or at least just-recently-off, death’s door, and either way he’s fucking thrilledwith this development, warm beneath his palm.

“Now count.”

It only takes a moment, to put the gestures together into a statement.

The beat under his touch matches the line across the screen. Exactly.

But this man’s not the one attached to the monitor.

“Got it?”

Eddie nods, and the man doesn’t hesitate, lifts Eddie’s hand and presses it back to Eddie’s own chest.

“Again.”

And that’s…that’s not the same rhythm as the one on the screen; the songs don’t match at all.

But Eddie can still hear the one that does—the beauty. The exaltation.

“Can you,” Eddie asks, lifts his finger that’s got a clip on it, and the man’s a professional, he’ll understand—looks less than conflicted about disconnecting Eddie from wires and leads before clipping his own finger and letting the screen shift to a new cadence.

The same one under Eddie’s hand, in Eddie’s own chest.

“Holy fuck.”

“Yeah,” the man barely breathes, and Eddie notices now how intense his eyes are, focused solely on Eddie, and…Eddie remembers the words that came after the ones about emergencies. About how little he could help, but that he could still do something.

But with only one person, it could be—

“You didn’t just sway my rhythm,” Eddie half-gasps; “you made it your own.”

And oh: Eddie never tied the song of hearts to the song of laughter, but from this man, the huff of incredulous joy that slips from him now—they’re made wholly of the same stuff.

Symphonic. Staggering. Weeping to feel this much, in the soul, to be privy to such a…

Masterpiece.

“Worked both ways, it seems.”

“I heard you,” Eddie blurts out, because it makes sense now; “before I, when I thought I was,” dying, when he thought it was all over; “like I’ve never heard anything before.”

And now: of course this man hears the heavenly movement Eddie thought was a mercy before the end but was instead the arrival of everything he’d ever hoped to one day find, literally coming to rescue him in more ways than one; but that song is somehow commonplace to this unfathomable angel on the earth.

And what this man hears stronger, louder, dearer seems somehow to be Eddie, the song he sings from the chest, in how it’s causing those caramel eyes to glimmer, and to barely blink lest they miss something in just…Eddie.

“You never stopped,” the man says with urgency, with feeling; “your song never stopped,” and then he’s closing his eyes and laying both his hands over his own chest, where Eddie’s heartsong is ringing full and maybe changing his world, because the song in Eddie’s chest sure as hell has already changed his, and—

“It’s extraordinary.”

And Eddie, in years of ridicule, in months of celebration, in all the ups and downs and doubts and hopes this life of songs and hearts and rhythms and beats has left him with, in all of it—

Those two words rewrite his whole fucking being.

“True Note,” Eddie mouths more than speaks before he scoffs; “shit, but that seems like a really fucking inadequate thing to call it,” and his eyes lift to take in the man who he knows, he knows is going to be his magnum opus, or more: is going to write the magnum opus they will be and breathe and share from here to all ends:

“To call you.”

And there’s the clearest sense of a trip in a beat, but who it belongs to isn’t clear, and maybe that’s the reality for them both now: every subtlety of the song is now shared, now theirs.

“You could start with Steve.”

Eddie looks up, breath a little heavy, but the smile on the man’s face is broad and kind of overjoyed, kind of looks like Eddie’s chest feels:

“My name’s Steve.”

And that?

Best damn title for a symphony Eddie’s ever fucking heard.

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bamgyuuuri · 21 hours ago

Note

yk who i am hehe we're working together :3 but when i'll send you reqs, i'll be anon. i'll be ☁️ anon mwehehe

barista beomgyu. please. i beg.

⸝⸝ brewing love ┈ cbg.

⸝⸝ now playing : can't stop - taehyun & hueningkai

pairings and tags. barista!beomgyu x reader . fleeting glances . mutual pining . not-actually unrequited love . cute mutual crush shenanigans . beomgyu is the actual sweetest im crying . slow burn-ish . cheeky clichés . shy yet abrupt confession . tooth-rutting fluff

word count. 8.8k

short note! OOOOH i think i already know who u are mwehehe, hello ☁️ anon !! <3 i made this extra special just for you, i hope u like it :3

barista!beomgyu, who just so happens to begin working at the newly opened café a few buildings down your apartment. you were walking down the street, lost in thought, when something pulls your attention toward the soft hum of a new place. the café stands there, tucked in the corner of the street, windows wide open to let the fresh air in, light spilling onto the sidewalk. you slow down your pace, drawn to the cozy space inside.

beomgyu was behind the counter, his hair a little tousled, falling into his eyes in a way that makes him look effortlessly adorable. his smile was the first thing you notice—bright, welcoming, and easy, like he’s been expecting you all along. it’s a smile that makes you pause, heart fluttering just a little faster, and before you even know what you were doing, your feet were taking you closer to the door, pulling you inside without a second thought.

“hi, welcome in!” beomgyu greets, his voice smooth and warm, with a hint of curiosity that makes you feel like he’s genuinely happy to see you. it’s more than just the usual greeting—there’s something about the way his eyes light up when he looks at you, something that makes you feel a little self-conscious and yet strangely special at the same time.

you hesitate for a moment, not knowing what to say. your usual confidence has fled, leaving behind a slight nervousness that catches in your throat. “uh… just a cappuccino, please,” you manage, your words coming out softer than you intended.

beomgyu doesn’t miss a beat, his smile widening a fraction as he nods. “coming right up.”

as he turns to prepare your drink, you find yourself watching him more than you mean to—his fingers moving smoothly over the espresso machine, his soft hums filling the quiet space, and the way his movements are almost… graceful. the whole scene feels so cozy, and as you stand there waiting for your coffee, you can’t help but catch yourself stealing glances at him. you’re suddenly so aware of how your pulse quickens every time he looks back at you, even just for a second.

when he hands you your cappuccino, the slight brush of his fingers against yours sends a tiny jolt through you, and your breath catches for a moment. it’s only for a heartbeat, but it feels like something more than just a simple touch. his eyes flicker to yours again, and there’s a softness in them that makes your cheeks heat up, though you’re not sure if it’s from the warmth of the coffee or the warmth of his gaze.

“enjoy,” he says, his voice low and sweet, and you feel a sudden longing to stay, to continue this moment, to keep this connection alive just a little longer. but you have to leave, so you turn away, suddenly feeling like the moment has slipped through your fingers too quickly.

the next morning, you’re walking down the same street, and without even thinking about it, your feet lead you straight to the door of the café. the anticipation builds in your chest, a little flutter each step closer, like you’re preparing for something—but you’re not sure what.

“good morning!” beomgyu greets, his voice as smooth as the morning light filtering through the windows. he’s leaning against the counter, his smile easy but warm, like he remembers you, and that makes your stomach flip a little. you try to act casual, but your words stumble out. “morning… uh, just the cappuccino please.”

“of course, i remember,” he chuckles softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that makes your heart soften. he’s so effortlessly kind, and it hits you a little harder than expected, making the air between you feel softer, more familiar.

as he prepares your drink, you can’t help but notice the little things—the way his hands move with purpose, yet they’re gentle, precise. when he hums to himself as he works, you catch yourself listening more intently, savoring the moment. you wonder if he always has this effect on people, or if it’s just you.

when he slides the cappuccino across the counter toward you, there’s that small moment again—his fingers brush against yours, light and almost fleeting, but the feeling lingers, like something unspoken. “here you go, have a great day!” beomgyu says, his eyes meeting yours again, and for a moment, everything feels still.

“thank you,” you murmur, a little shy, a little more self-aware than usual, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. you walk to a table, feeling the heat from your drink and from the gentle attention you’ve been getting from him.

over the next few days, you found yourself in the café more often than you mean to. it starts with little things—a smile, a laugh, the warmth of his presence filling the space whenever you enter. you can’t quite put your finger on it, but each time you see beomgyu, there’s this soft, almost electric feeling in your chest that keeps you coming back. “how’s your day going?” he asks one morning, leaning closer to the counter, his eyes bright with curiosity. you feel the familiar rush of butterflies in your stomach as you answer, and somehow, even the smallest of exchanges makes you feel a little lighter.

“pretty good actually, just the usual,” you respond with a smile, trying to act cool, though your heart is racing a little faster than it should.

beomgyu gives you that knowing smile again, the one that makes your knees feel weak. “i'm glad to hear that! if you need anything else, i’m here,” he adds, and the way he says it feels… different this time, like there’s something more beneath the surface.

over the next few visits, you start noticing small things—the way he remembers your name, the way he greets you like he’s genuinely happy to see you. and it’s not just the coffee anymore; it’s the quiet moments between you, the way you both linger just a little longer each time you speak. you catch yourself smiling to yourself when you’re walking away, your heart swelling a little bit more with each passing day. then, one morning, as you approach the counter, beomgyu slides a pastry next to your drink without you even asking. you blink in surprise, your heart skipping a beat as you stare at the delicate pastry he’s just placed in front of you.

“here,” he says smoothly, his voice warm, almost like it’s a secret shared only between the two of you. “for our most loyal customer.”

you’re caught off guard, unsure whether to laugh or melt into a puddle. your lips curl into a shy smile as you look up at him, surprised by the kindness—and maybe the hint of something else in his voice.

“what?” you laugh softly, raising an eyebrow, “i didn’t order that, though..”

“you didn’t have to,” he replies, his smile soft and knowing, like he’s been paying attention to all the little things about you. “you’ve been coming here every day. thought you deserved a treat.”

there’s something in the way beomgyu says it, something that feels more personal, more thoughtful than just a simple gesture. it makes your heart flutter, and for a second, you’re not sure if it’s the sweetness of the pastry or the sweetness of his words that makes your cheeks heat up.

“why, thank you,” you say, feeling a little shy but undeniably touched. you take a small bite of the pastry, and the sweetness was almost enough to make your heart race, but it’s the way he’s watching you—patient, interested—that truly has your heart fluttering.

“how is it?” he asks, his tone casual, but his eyes never leave you, watching intently as you savor the bite.

you look up at him, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “it’s perfect,” you reply, feeling your chest warm in more ways than one.

beomgyu’s smile grows a little, and he leans against the counter, his presence filling the space between you both. there’s a small, shared moment of silence, and you’re left wondering if he’s feeling the same way—that strange, undeniable pull that’s slowly building between you two.

as you continue to visit the café over the next few days, the pastries continue. each time, he seems to know exactly what to offer, like he’s learned your preferences by heart. one day it’s a soft cinnamon roll that he claims is “extra special today,” and the next it’s a delicate almond cookie that you don’t even know you’d wanted until he suggests it.

it’s not just the pastries that stand out, though. it’s the way he makes sure to slide your coffee over with a smile that’s just a little more genuine each time, the way his hand brushes yours ever so slightly when handing you your order. you can’t help but notice the subtle things—the way his eyes linger just a little longer than they should, the way he seems to always find an excuse to keep talking to you.

one afternoon, you’re sipping your coffee by the window, watching the world outside, when beomgyu leans over the counter, his voice lowering as he speaks to you.

“just made a fresh batch of croissants,” he says, his eyes twinkling with something mischievous. “i think you’ll really like them.”

you raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “oh? you think so?” you tease lightly, glancing up at him. there’s something so endearing about how he’s trying to impress you with something so simple, yet it feels like a small, intimate moment shared between you two.

“oh, i know so,” beomgyu replies, his voice light and playful. he looks at you with a hint of mischief, and you can’t help but feel your heart skip a little faster. it’s not just the words, it’s the way he says them, the way his eyes sparkle with a knowing glint, as if he’s already certain that you’ll like whatever he’s offering.

“well, i’ll take your word for it,” you reply, your smile softening. “thanks.”

beomgyu slides the warm croissant toward you, his fingers brushing the edge of the pastry just lightly before pulling away. you can’t help but notice how he lingers, his gaze fixed on you, almost as if he’s waiting for your reaction. you take the croissant carefully, the golden flaky layers crumbling slightly as you break off a piece. the warm, buttery scent envelops you, and with your first bite, you feel the soft, rich texture melt in your mouth. it was perfect—the sweet, delicate flavor that you didn’t even know you were craving, and as you chew, you can feel the warmth spreading through you. it’s not just the pastry that’s making your heart race, though. you glance up at him, noticing that he’s watching you intently, his eyes a little wider, as if he’s holding his breath, waiting for you to speak. it’s the kind of look that makes your stomach flip, like he’s unsure whether you’ll like it or not, but he wants you to.

“this is…” you pause, savoring another bite, “amazing,” you finally say, your voice quieter this time, a soft smile curving your lips. you’re not just complimenting the pastry anymore, you realize.

“i’m glad you like it,” he says, his voice a little softer now, almost shy. his eyes flicker to yours, and you can feel the weight of his gaze, the way it lingers a fraction longer than usual. there’s something more here, something unspoken that passes between you both in the quiet of the café. too lost in the taste, you don’t even realize there was a delicate crumb on the corner of your lips until beomgyu’s gaze drops, focusing on your mouth. his hand moves before his mind seems to catch up, reaching out gently, his thumb brushing the corner of your lips, swiping away the tiny remnant of pastry. the touch was featherlight, his skin warm against yours, and the unexpected intimacy of it makes your breath hitch. his eyes widen slightly as he realizes what he’s done, his thumb still lingering close to your mouth, the warmth of his touch seeping into your skin.

“s-sorry…! there was…” his voice trails off, and he looks almost as flustered as you feel, a rosy tint coloring his cheeks as he quickly pulls his hand back. “crumb…” he finishes, his gaze darting away, but there’s a small, bashful smile pulling at his lips that makes your heart twist in the sweetest way.

“thanks,” you murmur, your own cheeks warming with a blush you can’t quite hide. the air between you shifts, a new layer of awareness settling in, making the moment stretch longer, deeper. and his sweetness didn't stop there. it started happening more often—small, thoughtful gestures that make your heart stir in ways you’re not quite ready to admit. little things, quiet things, but they settle into your chest like warmth spreading through your fingertips, like the first sip of coffee he made on a chilly morning. one afternoon, you’re hunched over your table, forehead resting against your palm as you stare at the endless pages of study material in front of you. the words blur together, your highlighter poised but unmoving, frustration pressing into your temples. your coffee sits untouched beside you, long forgotten, the steam no longer curling from the rim. with a tired sigh, you rub your temple, your free hand tugging absentmindedly at the edge of your sleeve.

then, out of nowhere, a plate slides onto the table in front of you.

your breath catches, startled by the sudden presence of something new amidst your sea of notes and papers. you blink, momentarily confused, before your gaze lands on a small slice of cake sitting neatly on a ceramic plate. delicate layers of sponge and cream, dusted lightly with powdered sugar, topped with a single, perfectly ripe strawberry. it looks almost too pretty to eat, like something out of a display case rather than a last-minute kindness.

but what truly made your heart stutter was the tiny yellow post-it pressed gently against the edge of the plate.

good luck! i know you can do it!

beneath the words, there was a small, round bear doodle, its arms raised in encouragement, as if cheering you on from the sidelines.

your lips part slightly, caught between surprise and gratitude. you reach for the note with careful fingers, peeling it away like it’s something delicate, something you want to keep. your eyes lift instinctively, searching for him, and sure enough, beomgyu stood behind the counter, absentmindedly wiping down a tray, but his attention was on you.

the moment your gazes meet, he doesn’t look away. he doesn’t smirk, doesn’t tease—he just smiles, small and knowing, like he’s glad you noticed, like he doesn’t expect anything in return.

your chest tightens, a breath catching somewhere between your ribs.

you duck your head, trying to hide the way your lips curve upward as you tuck the post-it safely between the pages of your book. picking up your fork, you take a bite of the cake, and somehow, the taste feels richer, the flavors sinking into your tongue like warmth itself.

but that was just the start. one morning, when you pick up your usual coffee, something immediately catches your eye. the foam wasn't just smooth and swirled like usual, no, nestled right in the center is a tiny, delicate heart, drawn so subtly that it almost disappears the moment you tilt the cup. your fingers tighten around the sleeve, the heat from the drink seeping into your skin. you glance up instinctively, and there he was, standing behind the counter like always, completely occupied with the espresso machine. or at least, pretending to be. beomgyu's head was slightly turned, watching—waiting—for your reaction, though his hands continue their practiced motions, adjusting knobs and pressing buttons with casual ease.

the moment your gaze meets his, he looks away. just a fraction too fast.

the next time, it wasn't just a heart.

you got this!

the words werescrawled across the side of your cup in his familiar, slightly slanted handwriting, the exclamation mark punctuated with a tiny, grinning bear doodle. your fingers hesitate for a moment before grazing over the ink, tracing the shape of the little bear as a small, involuntary smile tugs at your lips.

he’s never written on your cup before.

your eyes lift almost instinctively, seeking him out, and sure enough—beomgyu was already looking at you from behind the counter. he’s pretending to wipe down the counter, but the smug tilt of his lips betrays him.

“cute bear,” you murmur, lifting the cup slightly as you meet his gaze.

his brows lift, feigning confusion. “hmm?”

you nod toward the cup. “the one you drew.”

“huh.” beomgyu leans against the counter, tapping his chin as if deep in thought. “i have no idea what you’re talking about.”

you roll your eyes, though you can’t hide the way your fingers tighten around the cup, like you’re holding onto something fleeting, something precious.

then there’s the day he spells your name wrong.

not in the way baristas usually do—an honest mistake, a simple mishearing. no, this was very much on purpose.

you stare down at your cup, brows furrowing at the ridiculous, utterly incorrect jumble of letters scribbled across the surface.

“really?” you deadpan, lifting an unimpressed gaze toward him.

beomgyu grins, slow and wide, the kind of grin that spells trouble, one eyebrow quirking in amusement. “oops,” he says, resting his chin in his palm, eyes twinkling with mischief.

you narrow your eyes. “oops?”

he nods, unbothered. “must’ve misheard you.”

“you spelled it right yesterday. and the day before that. and the week before that.”

he gasps, hand flying to his chest in exaggerated offense. “are you accusing me of something?”

you take a slow, deliberate sip of your coffee, not breaking eye contact.

his smirk deepens, but then—just as you’re about to turn away—

“… thanks, though,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear.

and he does.

because his smile falters for just a second, something softer, something almost shy flickering across his face before he covers it up with another teasing grin. then on a particularly dreary evening, when the sky split open with rain and the wind howls against the buildings, you push open the café door, the small bell jingling softly above you. droplets cling to your sleeves, your hair damp from the unexpected downpour, and despite your best efforts, your clothes were thoroughly soaked.

beomgyu looks up the moment you step inside. his usual playful greeting dies on his lips, replaced by a flicker of concern. without a word, he disappears into the back, his apron swaying slightly as he moves. you barely have time to register his absence before he returns, something folded neatly in his hands.

a clean, fluffy towel.

he hands it to you like it’s second nature, like this is something he would’ve done regardless of who walked through that door. but you can feel the difference—the softness of the fabric, the way it’s still warm, like he pulled it fresh from somewhere just for you.

“you’ll catch a cold like that,” beomgyu murmurs, propping an elbow against the counter as he watches you pat down your damp sleeves. his voice is gentle, but there was something almost scolding beneath the words, something fond.

you let out a small, sheepish laugh, pushing away your damp hair with the edge of the towel. “i didn’t expect it to rain… and i don't really own umbrellas, so..” you mumble, voice quieter than usual.

beomgyu hums, shaking his head lightly, an amused sort of fondness flickering in his eyes. he doesn’t say anything else, just lets you dry off at your own pace, and when you finally return the towel with a grateful smile, he takes it without hesitation, like it was never an inconvenience in the first place.

the next time you visit, the rain has long since stopped, the streets drying beneath the weak afternoon sun. but when you settle into your usual seat, something unfamiliar catches your eye.

tucked neatly against the chair, as if it had always been there, is a small, folded umbrella. a sticky note rests on the handle.

just in case. :)

there’s no name. no signature. but the handwriting was unmistakable—slightly slanted, the letters round in a way that feels familiar.

and you didn't need to guess who left it. but your sweet routine was soon disrupted though. the morning rush hits like a wave, and you were caught in its current. the alarm blares louder than usual, dragging you out of bed faster than you'd like. the clock blinks a terrifyingly late hour, and you scramble to get dressed, brush your teeth, grab your things—anything to make it out the door on time.

you were running late, leaving you no time for the comforting morning stop at the café. you grab your things in a rush, throwing a jacket over your shoulders, your bag slung messily across your body. as you rush out the door, you can’t help but feel a pang of disappointment in the pit of your stomach. you had been looking forward to seeing beomgyu, the thought of his soft smile and the warmth of your usual drink always adding a little extra brightness to your mornings.

but today, it wasn’t meant to be.

still, as you rush through your classes, his face keeps popping into your thoughts. there were moments when you caught yourself smiling, thinking about his little jokes, the way he always makes sure to ask if your coffee’s to your liking. and then there were the fleeting moments when you'd remember the feeling of his gaze on you, how it lingers a little longer than you expect.

it’s silly, you tell yourself. he’s just being nice, right?

but then, your heart betrays you again, fluttering a little faster as you recall the sound of his voice, the way he’d tease you so effortlessly. it’s hard not to feel the small stirrings of something more, something that you can’t quite place. back at the café, beomgyu finds himself glancing toward the door more often than he cares to admit, a soft frown tugging at his lips each time it doesn’t swing open. his mind wanders, his usual focus slipping as the minutes stretch on, each one feeling longer than the last.

he’d noticed you weren’t there that morning, and it had been bothering him more than he would’ve liked to admit. usually, you’d walk in with that soft smile of yours, maybe a joke or two about the day ahead, but today—nothing. the absence of your usual routine feels strange, like a missing piece he hadn’t realized was so important until it was gone.

his hand moves to adjust the espresso machine, but it feels clumsier than usual, as though his thoughts were tangled with the same energy that swirls in the foam he’s trying to perfect. his fingers slip on the cup, almost knocking it over, and he pauses, taking a breath to steady himself.

it’s just one morning, beomgyu tries to convince himself, but the thought doesn’t settle. there was a quiet, persistent worry gnawing at him. his mind races. he wonders if something happened, if you just had a busy morning. he wonders if he’d done something wrong—if he’d said something that might’ve made you not want to come in. his gaze flickers back to the door, the hope of seeing you there quickly replaced by the sinking feeling that maybe you wouldn’t show up at all.

he sighs, wiping a hand over his face as he leans against the counter.

a few, agonizing hours later, you glance at the clock as your last class finally wraps up, the familiar weight of the day’s exhaustion settling into your bones. but there’s something else tugging at you, a quiet pull that urges you to make your way to the café. you can’t shake the feeling that you need to see him, to catch that last sliver of the day before it slips away.

there’s a fleeting hope in your chest, a hope that maybe, just maybe, he would still be there. you hurry through the campus, your steps quickening as the cold night air nips at your skin. your thoughts are scattered, your mind drifting between assignments, thoughts of the morning, and, of course, beomgyu.

by the time you reached the café, you were almost breathless, your heart beating a little faster than usual. you push open the door, the familiar chime ringing through the quiet space, and you freeze for just a moment.

and there he was

beomgyu was behind the counter as always, wiping down the last of the espresso machine with his back to you. the soft hum of the machine is the only sound in the room as he moves, his motions deliberate, like he’s trying to finish up for the night but something—someone—was keeping him here a little longer.

you hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should interrupt or just slip out quietly, but then he hears the door open, his head turning toward you with that smile that makes your heart leap in your chest.

“you’re here,” he says, his voice softer than usual, like he’s surprised to see you after the day you’ve both had. his gaze holds yours a moment longer than it needs to, his eyes catching on yours in that familiar, lingering way that always seems to make you forget how to breathe.

he looks... relieved.

you feel that same flutter in your chest, your nerves buzzing from the way he’s looking at you, like he’d been waiting for this moment too. without thinking, you find yourself smiling a little wider. “i didn’t want to miss seeing you today,” the moment they’re out, your breath catches in your throat. what did i just say? it feels like the room falls completely still, like everything has paused for just a second. your face burns instantly, a deep, flushed heat spreading across your cheeks, and you can’t stop yourself from mentally cringing. oh no, that came out way too—but then, beomgyu’s face shifts ever so slightly. his eyebrows raise, his eyes widening slightly in surprise. you can almost see the moment he processes your words, like his brain is trying to catch up with what just happened. he stands frozen for a heartbeat, as if unsure of how to respond.

and then, almost without thinking, he steps closer, his voice soft but undeniably sincere. “i…” he trails off, his gaze dropping for a second before meeting yours again. there’s an almost sheepish quality to his smile as he shifts his weight, his fingers nervously tapping against the counter. “i didn’t want to miss seeing you either,” he says, and his voice is quieter now, a little unsure but genuine.

your heart does a little flip, and for a second, the air between you both feels thick with something unexpressed, yet shared. the words were simple, but there’s a vulnerability to them, like you both opened up without meaning to. beomgyu clears his throat, shifting slightly, but you notice the way his fingers were trembling just a little as he adjusts the cloth in his hands. it’s the kind of nervous energy you recognize in yourself too, the same shy warmth you both feel in each other’s presence.

“so… how was your day? uh, i mean, not that you have to tell me. but, you know—did you—did you get up to anything fun? i noticed you weren’t here this morning, and i… uh, just…” he trails off, the words spilling out faster than he can control. “i was, uh, wondering if everything was okay? did something happen? you didn’t—um, you didn’t have time to swing by, or—uh, maybe you just didn’t feel like it? or—”

he stops suddenly, his eyes wide with embarrassment, realizing he’s been rambling. his hand moves to the back of his neck in that familiar gesture, the same bashful movement you’ve come to recognize in him. “sorry… i’m just, uh, rambling. didn’t mean to… go on like that.”

you can’t help but laugh softly, the sound light and warm, and it instantly makes his face turn pink. “no, it’s okay,” you say with a small chuckle, trying to reassure him. “i didn’t come by because i, uh, got caught up with some stuff at uni. i was running late and just… didn’t have time to swing by this morning, that’s all.”

beomgyu nods slowly, relief washing over his face as he lets out a quiet breath. “ah, i see…” he murmurs, and there’s another beat of silence, the tension between you two settling into something quieter, more comfortable. you then break the silence, your voice soft but curious. “so, um, are you closing soon?” he looks up, his eyes lighting up a little as he remembers the time. “ah, right, yeah…” he says, glancing around the almost-empty café. “i was about to start cleaning up, actually…” he looks back at you, a small, unsure smile tugging at his lips. you shift awkwardly, feeling the weight of his gaze on you as you try to offer a smile. “if it’s not too much trouble… i don’t mind waiting. i can, uh, keep you company while you finish up,” you say, your words coming out a bit more hesitant than you intended.

beomgyu’s expression softens even further, a small smile tugging at his lips as he looks at you. “you’d do that?” he asks, his voice quiet but filled with something genuine, something appreciative.

you nod, trying to ease the slight tension you’re both feeling. “yeah, of course. i don’t mind,” you reply, your voice warmer now, a little more confident in the offer. the idea of spending more time with him, even in the quiet space of the café, feels comfortable. natural, almost.

his eyes flickered with surprise, then melted into a small, shy grin. “well, in that case… i’d really like that,” he says softly, and there’s a softness in his tone that makes your heart flutter more than you’d like to admit.

as beomgyu begins wiping down the counter, the sound of the rag against the wood fills the quiet café, but there was something soothing about it. the atmosphere between you two had shifted, the awkwardness melting away, replaced by a mutual understanding.

he casually glances over at you, his eyes soft, and you find yourself easing into the rhythm of the moment. the gentle hum of the espresso machine still lingers in the background, and the quietness of the café feels oddly intimate now. it’s just the two of you, and for the first time in a while, it feels like time has slowed down.

you both start talking about your usuals, banter flowing effortlessly between you. you laugh at his silly jokes, the kind that seem to roll off his tongue without any effort, and he grins at your reactions, eyes sparkling with a joyful glint. the sound of your shared laughter fills the air, light and genuine. there’s no rush, no pressure to say anything in particular—just the soft cadence of two people enjoying the quiet connection between them.

"i saw that movie you mentioned last week," beomgyu says, his tone casual as he dries the cups, but his eyes flicker over to you, awaiting your response. "it was way better than i expected."

you smile, nodding. "i knew you’d like it! i was practically bouncing in my seat the whole time." the memory makes you laugh softly, and beomgyu chuckles along with you, his eyes crinkling at the corners, that familiar warmth present in his expression.

"yeah, i could tell," he teases lightly. "you were so into it, you probably didn’t even notice when the popcorn started spilling."

you laugh again, shaking your head. "hey, that's not true! well... maybe just a little bit... but it was totally worth it."

the comfortable back-and-forth continues, and the more you talk, the more natural it feels. you realize how easy it is to be with him—how effortlessly the conversation flows. beomgyu listens intently, his smile never quite leaving his face. you, in turn, find yourself talking more freely, your words coming quicker now, as if the walls you hadn’t even realized you put up were slowly crumbling.

as the minutes ticked by, you both seemed to settle into the quiet ease of the moment, the kind where you don’t have to worry about saying the right thing. the soft clinking of dishes, the occasional hum of the fridge, and your shared laughter fill the space, making the café feel like your own little world.

as beomgyu wipes down the last of the counters and sets everything back in place, the realization settles in—the night was truly winding down. you watch as he moves with practiced ease, stacking chairs, flipping the sign on the door to closed, and turning off the glowing menu board behind the counter. the once-lively café has now quieted into something more intimate, bathed in the soft glow of the streetlights filtering through the windows.

you linger near the door, the warmth of his presence still wrapped around you even as he finishes tidying up. when he finally steps out from behind the counter, he stretches his arms above his head with a tired but satisfied sigh, his sweater riding up slightly in the process. you look away quickly, swallowing the sudden flustered feeling creeping up your neck.

"all done," he announces, running a hand through his hair, making it fluffier than before. he looks over at you with a small, almost reluctant smile. “guess it’s time to head out.”

you nod, though there’s a quiet hesitation between you both, like neither of you really want to leave just yet. still, you step outside together, the cool night air brushing against your skin as beomgyu locks up the café behind him. the street was quieter now, the usual buzz of the day replaced by the occasional passing car and the distant hum of the city settling in for the night.

you turn to him, shifting slightly on your feet. “well… thanks for letting me keep you company,” you say softly, offering a small smile. “i’ll see you tomorrow?”

beomgyu looks at you for a beat longer than necessary, his lips pressing together before curling into something shy and thoughtful. “yeah… see you tomorrow,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t move, his fingers still loosely holding onto the keys in his hand.

you hesitate too, caught in the strange, quiet space between goodbye and something else. and then, just as you were about to turn, beomgyu shifts on his feet, sucking in a small breath before blurting out, “wait.”

you blink up at him, surprised. "yeah?"

he clears his throat, suddenly looking uncharacteristically shy as he scratches the back of his neck. "uh, are you… walking home?” his voice is casual, but there’s something tentative underneath, something unsure.

you tilt your head slightly, nodding. “i am, why...?”

beomgyu lets out a breath, as if he’d just made up his mind about something. “then—” he pauses, shifting again, fingers fidgeting with the strap of his bag. “let me walk you home.”

your heart stutters in your chest.

you stare at him, caught off guard by the unexpected offer, and beomgyu, ever so slightly, begins to fidget under your gaze. "i mean—" he stammers, rubbing the back of his neck. “only if you want me to! if you’d rather walk alone, that’s totally fine! i just—y’know, it’s late, and you were rushing this morning, so i figured you probably had a long day and—”

he’s rambling again, words tumbling over themselves in his rush to explain, but there’s something endearing about it, something warm about the way he’s trying so hard not to make this feel like a big deal. and maybe it isn’t—to him, maybe it’s just him being considerate. but to you, the offer lingers in the air, heavier than just a simple walk home.

you find yourself smiling, something soft and fond curling in your chest. “i’d like that,” you say quietly, and the way his expression shifts—relief flickering across his face, followed by something almost bashful—makes your heart skip a beat.

“yeah?” he asks, as if he hadn’t expected you to agree so easily.

“yeah.. i really would..” you nod, and beomgyu presses his lips together to hide the growing smile threatening to spread across his face.

“okay,” he breathes out, glancing ahead before turning back to you. “then… let’s go.”

and so, the two of you fall into step, walking side by side under the glow of the streetlights. the air between you was lighter now, tinged with something warm and comfortable, and though neither of you said it out loud, there was an unspoken understanding lingering in the quiet spaces between your footsteps.

the night air feels softer than usual, the quiet hum of the city settling around you like a warm embrace. each step you took beside beomgyu feels slower, more deliberate—the way your arms sway just slightly too close, the way the sound of your footsteps seems to sync up in a steady rhythm, the way neither of you seem to be in any real rush to get anywhere. his presence beside you was warm, almost grounding, and yet, there was something just barely there; a tension that isn’t quite awkward, but isn’t entirely absent either. it lingers in the spaces between words, in the pauses that stretch just a little too long, in the way you catch him glancing at you before quickly looking away.

beomgyu clears his throat after a moment, the sound small but noticeable in the hush of the evening. “so… do you live close?” he asks, his voice carrying that usual casual lilt, yet it also held just the tiniest bit of hesitance. you glance at him, catching the way his head tilts slightly, his eyes soft in the dim light. he’s watching you, waiting—not impatiently, not expectantly, just curiously, like he genuinely wants to know, like he’s trying to hold onto the conversation for as long as he can.

“yeah,” you answer, voice light but honest. “not too far, actually. just a few more blocks.” beomgyu hums in acknowledgment, nodding slightly as his gaze flickers to the sidewalk ahead. he shifts a little, stuffing his hands deeper into the pockets of his hoodie, and for a moment, it feels like that should be the end of it. just a casual exchange, a small piece of information shared and then left behind. but you find yourself glancing at him again, feeling the question lingering on your tongue before you even fully process the thought. “what about you?”

he lets out a quiet, almost amused breath, as if he wasn’t expecting you to ask. then, with a small shake of his head, he admits, “kind of far, honestly... i usually take the bus home.” you frown slightly, your steps slowing just a little. “then… won’t you miss the last bus?”

beomgyu pauses for half a second before waving a dismissive hand. “no worries, i’ll be fine. there’s a late-night one that still runs. besides…” he sneaks a glance at you, his voice quieter now, “this is the longest i’ve ever spent time with you, anyway.” your breath catches, just for a second, and suddenly, the night air feels heavier, thicker, charged with something neither of you fully acknowledge but both undeniably feel.

beomgyu doesn’t look at you after saying it, doesn’t give any indication that he’s aware of how deeply his words just affected you. but you see it—the way his fingers twitch slightly where they’re tucked into his hoodie, the way the tips of his ears, barely visible beneath his hair, grow a faint shade darker under the streetlights. he’s nervous, you realize, and the thought makes something warm bloom in your chest.

neither of you spoke immediately after that, letting the moment stretch between you, the silence thick but not uncomfortable. the city continues on around you, distant sounds of traffic somewhere far away, but here, in this quiet little bubble of time, it feels like it was just the two of you.

and then, after a beat, beomgyu clears his throat, breaking the silence with a soft but distinct exhale. “so, um… i was actually kinda worried when you didn’t show up today.”

you blink, surprised by the sudden vulnerability in his voice, and turn to him fully. his words catch you off guard, like a quiet breeze that brushes past unexpectedly. “worried?” you ask, your voice soft, the question almost coming out as a whisper. beomgyu nods, a slight blush coloring his cheeks as he scratches the back of his neck, his eyes flickering to the ground for a moment before meeting yours again. “yeah,” he admits, his voice quieter now, “i mean… i know you don’t have to come in every morning or anything, but…” he trails off for a moment, as if trying to find the right way to phrase it. “it just felt weird not seeing you,” he finally says, and the simplicity of it hits you, but it’s also layered with something more—something soft and real that you didn’t expect. beomgyu suddenly exhales, dragging a hand through his hair in a familiar gesture, almost as if he’s trying to smooth over the awkwardness that’s starting to creep in. “god, listen to me,” he chuckles, looking down at his shoes like they’re the most fascinating thing in the world. “i sound so—i dunno. i really thought maybe something happened. or—or maybe you got tired of the coffee.” you smile, feeling a warmth bubble up in your chest at the thought of him being concerned, at the idea that he missed your presence even a little. it felt good, almost comforting. shaking your head, you meet his gaze and reassure him softly, “definitely not tired of the coffee.”

beomgyu gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest in mock offense, and for a moment, the tension between you two lightens. his expression shifts into something playful, teasing. “so just tired of me, then? great,” he quips, his lips curling into a grin, his eyes sparkling with the same mischievous energy he always has.

you roll your eyes, nudging him lightly with your shoulder. “i told you, i overslept, dummy.” you tease back, a small laugh escaping you at the way his face contorts in exaggerated surprise. “right...” beomgyu mutters, his voice lighter now. his eyes flicker over to you for a brief moment, a small but genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips. then, after a beat, he groans, dragging a hand down his face in frustration, his fingers tugging at his hair as if he’s mortified by himself. “god, i rambled again, didn’t i?” he mutters, his voice sounding a little defeated, but there’s a humorous edge to it, like he’s simultaneously amused and embarrassed by how he’s acting. you grin wider, not able to help yourself as you watch him. it’s almost endearing, seeing him so flustered and out of his element. “you kinda did, yeah.” you tease, your tone light but affectionate, knowing exactly what he’s feeling. beomgyu groans even louder this time, as if the embarrassment was too much for him to bear, dramatically tossing his head back with a sigh. “honestly.. why do i keep doing this around you?” his words were laced with a humor that was so raw and real, but there was an underlying vulnerability to it too. and that's when it happens—before you even have time to think, before you can stop yourself, the words slip from your lips as if they’ve always been there, just waiting for the right moment. “maybe it’s because you like me.” the moment the words leave your mouth, time seemed to have stopped. oh god, no. you freeze, a wave of panic crashing over you as you realize what you just said, your heart practically thundering in your chest. beomgyu’s reaction was almost instantaneous—he freezes too, his breath catching in his throat, his steps faltering, and when you glance up at him, his wide eyes meet yours. he looks stunned, like his brain needs a moment to catch up, his mouth opening slightly like he’s about to say something—but then nothing comes out. you can’t look away from him, your breath stuck in your throat as you process what just happened. oh my god, i just said that, you think, panicking. your heart races, your chest tightens, and before you can think of anything to say to backtrack, he just stands there, blinking at you as if he’s trying to understand the weight of your words. but then, out of nowhere, beomgyu speaks, his words tumbling out before he could think. “do you wanna go on a date with me?” now it was your turn to freeze. what? the words were almost absurd in their suddenness, completely unexpected, and you can feel the ground beneath you shift as if the world itself just stopped turning. it takes a second for your brain to even process what he just said. there’s a full moment of stunned silence before your heart stops completely, and in that moment, all you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears and the soft thrum of your pulse. beomgyu, bless him, doesn’t seem to realize what he just did. he’s standing there, red as a tomato, his hands fumbling with his hoodie as he tries to make himself smaller, as if he could physically hide from the mess he’s just made of himself. his eyes were wide, the embarrassment practically radiating off him, but still—still, he doesn’t backtrack.

then, out of nowhere, he speaks. beomgyu’s words tumble out like he's trying to catch up with himself, his voice shaky. “w-wait, no, i—i didn’t mean it like that,” he stammers, his hands nervously twitching at his sides, unsure of whether to shove them in his pockets or rub them together. “i mean... like... uh... that sounded so much less—i mean... you know what i mean, right? it wasn’t supposed to sound like... like that—i wasn’t—i mean, i do like you but like—oh god—” the way his words crash into each other, barely making sense but all spilling out in one chaotic rush, only makes you smile. it was impossible not to. the sight of him, so flustered, trying to explain himself while stumbling over every word, was so endearing that you couldn’t help but laugh softly. the moment was so... him—so sweetly awkward, it made your heart flutter even more. beomgyu swallows hard, and you can practically see the nerves radiating off him. he grips the hem of his hoodie again, as if it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. his eyes were fixed on you, waiting for something, anything—his words a breathless jumble. “maybe you already knew that, or—or maybe i just embarrassed myself completely, but if you feel the same way... uh... y’know... would you wanna, like, you know, go on a date with me?” every single word beomgyu said was wrapped up in vulnerability, but there was still something undeniably hopeful in his eyes, something that made the tension in the air grow even thicker, as if the world was holding its breath with you.

and before either of you could take another breath, you just do it. without thinking, without hesitation, you lean in—fast—and pressed a soft, quick kiss to his cheek, right there in the middle of the street, in the quiet of the night. it was light, quick, and maybe a little impulsive—but it was enough. it was everything.

beomgyu stills, eyes wide, his entire body stiffening for a moment, before his hands slowly creep up to his cheek where your lips just were, as if he’s trying to figure out if it really happened. his face was so red, you think it might burst, and the awkwardness that settles in the moment was palpable, but it was also beautiful.

“there,” you say, your voice a little softer than before, your smile warm and genuine. “that’s your answer.”

beomgyu doesn’t say anything at first. his mind clearly short-circuiting as his fingers hover over his cheek, still in disbelief that you actually did that. it takes him a full moment to process what just happened before he lets out a strangled, breathless laugh, eyes still wide.

“wait, does this mean—is that a yes…?” he asks meekly, his voice a little more unsure this time, the words tumbling out in a rush as he tries to piece it all together.

you can’t help but laugh softly at how sweetly flustered beomgyu was, the corners of your lips curving into a gentle smile. “mhm,” you answer, your voice soft and teasing, like you’re savoring the moment. you try your best to hide the warmth that rushes to your cheeks, but it was impossible when he looked at you like that, with such a mix of relief, hope, and something else—something that made your chest tighten with a quiet excitement.

“i would love to go on a date with you, gyu,” you add, and the words come so naturally now, like they’ve been waiting to slip out for ages. there was no hesitation, just the soft certainty of it all.

beomgyu’s eyes widen, and his smile, though shy, spreads across his face like sunlight breaking through clouds. it was slow at first, but then it deepens, his entire face lighting up with a happiness so pure, it almost makes you forget how to breathe. he then lets out a breath after a moment, a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, something light and nervous. “so… uh, when do we… uh… go on this date, then?” he asks, his voice soft but uncertain.

you couldn't help but smile, feeling the warmth of the moment settle in your chest. without thinking, you suggest, “how about tomorrow?” beomgyu falters for just a second as he processes your words. his eyebrows knit together slightly, his lips parting as if he’s about to say something, but nothing comes out at first. he blinks a few times, clearly taken aback by the quickness of your offer.

“wait—tomorrow?” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper, and for a moment, he looks almost stunned by the suddenness of it all. there was something undeniably adorable about the way he’s trying to catch up with the pace of your words.

you bite your lip, feeling the nerves creep up your spine, but you don’t back down. “yeah,” you say with a playful shrug, trying to sound casual, like suggesting tomorrow as a date wasn't the most nerve-wracking thing you’ve ever done. “why wait when we could just… go ahead and do it, right?” beomgyu looks at you for a long moment, his mouth opening and closing as if he’s trying to process what just happened. then, slowly, as if the weight of your suggestion has finally registered, his lips curl up into a shy, crooked smile. “that is true, yeah,” he says, his voice shaky but filled with that same eagerness that makes your heart skip a beat. “tomorrow sounds.. perfect. yeah. let’s do that.” you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, the excitement swirling in your chest. “it’s a date, then,” you say, your grin spreading wider, the words feeling so right as they leave your mouth.

beomgyu’s face was still flushed, and you can see his hands twitching at his sides, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. he laughs nervously, the sound filling the quiet street around you. “yeah, tomorrow,” he repeats, as if saying it out loud helps solidify the reality of it all.

then, without a word, he reaches his hand toward you. it was a simple gesture, but in that moment, it felt like everything you could ask for and more. you looked at his hand for just a second, a tiny flutter of nervousness in your chest, before you reach out, your fingers brushing against his.

beomgyu’s hand closes around yours, the warmth of his skin sending a quiet thrill through you. there’s a sense of quiet satisfaction, of happiness shared in the simplest touch, and you both fall into step side by side, fingers intertwined. the world feels a little quieter, a little softer, as you walk together into the night, the promise of tomorrow’s date lingering between you.

꒰🧸꒱ @pagelets @jettithink @killa-1009 @j-ji-jia @frankghgr @dawngyu @usuallyunlikelyfox @sxmmerberries @napipope-ta @bamgeutori @xylatox @hyunj00 <3 (click here if you want to be added !! ^^)

#꒰☁️꒱ anon .ᐟ #choi beomgyu #beomgyu #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu fanfic #beomgyu imagines #txt x reader #txt fluff #txt fanfic #txt soft hours #beomgyu soft hours

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mrsnancywheeler · 2 days ago

Text

ivy // finnick odair x f. reader

masterlist

5.3k words

summary: you've loved finnick as long as you can remember, and he's loved you too, but he doesn't want the capitol to know that.

warnings: angst w/ a happy ending, friends to lovers, a slow burn to get together but not to catch feelings, underage drinking, some emotional cheating not on reader or finnick, teenagers being teenagers, finnick kind of being mean to some people, reader runs out of a wedding (her wedding), allusions to the hunger games and trafficking, no use of y/n, unedited

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The smell of the salty ocean air had always brought you comfort, happiness, anything you could have wished for. It made everything feel so worth it. Long days working, early mornings, a few hours in school, late nights trying to fill in with any freedom you could find, and the few hours of sleep crammed in. All of it was worth it to feel the breeze on your face once again.

“What are you doing out here alone?” A voice interrupted your solace, but it was a voice that you instantly recognized.

“Finnick, you’re back!” You turned to smile at him and his own smile only made you want to smile wider. He’d always had this inherent brightness to him, he was like the sun, always had been. Shining so brightly, providing so much inherent warmth.

“Yeah, you miss me?” Finnick lifted an eyebrow cockily before sitting rather unceremoniously in the sand beside you.

“In your dreams.” You give an all too playful, all too exaggerated eye roll, leaning back on your elbows.

“Oh you know it, honey.” He’s winking and you can’t help but actually roll your eyes this time. It’s been this way between the two of you as long as you can remember, the lighthearted flirting, the playful banter. It just felt so natural whenever you were with him. Finnick kept sitting up and you didn’t prop yourself up until he was putting a bottle in his mouth.

“Oh my god, is that-”

He chuckled, “You know it, snagged some extra bottles off the train when I was getting back a few days ago.” Finnick handed the bottle out and you eagerly took it. He always took a few days to himself when he got back from the Capitol, locked in that big, haunting house of his. Everyone knew better than to ask him about it, you always just counted it as part of his stay at the Capitol. So him “coming back,” was really whenever he reemerged in the streets of District 4.

This alcohol was always so much more pleasant then whatever concoctions people would make at parties, it burned, but not in a way that tasted like pure chemicals. No, this was much more enjoyable, and much more rare. “How rebellious of you, tsk tsk tsk.” You shook your head, tongue clicking as you handed the bottle back to him.

“Anything for you.” He flashed that winning smile that had everyone swooning, a smile you’d forced yourself to be immune to.

“Mmmm, I’m flattered for your crimes to be completely about me, and not you wanting to get shit faced on the beach.”

Finnick put the bottle in the sand between you two, “Of course not, I put wanting to see your shit faced on the beach way above my own needs.

“And what a gentleman you are!” You laughed, picking up the bottle and tilting it towards him before you took another drink of the bubbles.

You weren’t sure long the two of you had spent laughing about every stupid thing you could think of, but the bottle was almost gone, the sun setting. Finnick was picking up handfuls of sand and letting it sift through his fingers, you were letting the last few ways of sunlight warm your face.

“You know who I heard is desperately in love with you?” Your eyes are closed, smiling at the sun as it slowly fades away.

“You? Because I’ve known about that one for years.”

“No, asshole!” You sit up enough to shove him playfully and he’s laughing, which makes you laugh too, he’s so infectious. “Moira!”

Finnick takes what is probably the final sip from the bottle, “Who’s that?”

“You are such a dick, Finnick!” The smile hasn’t left your face though, in fact you’ve been feeling kind of floaty for a while now.

“What? I honestly don’t know, I swear! Should I?”

“Yes! You were flirting with her the other week, her parents run the, god, what do they run?”

“Don’t look at me!”

“Fuck, um, oysters! They do oysters, and you were talking to her at the market, flirting with her.”

“I was not flirting!”

“You were!” You copy his facial expressions, his defensive eyes, trying to suppress every giggle that wants to force its way out.

“That’s how I talk to everyone.”

“Well, I know that, but she doesn’t. Anyways, um…” You’re taking a second to rub your face, trying to regain your train of thought in your fuzzy brain.

“Somebody is shitfaced on the beach!” Finnick is poking at your nose.

“I am not! Oh my god, I’m not. I’m not!”

“Whatever you say, gorgeous. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Oh, fuck off! As I was saying, Moira, thinks that the two of you are meant to be or something, that you’re gonna get married someday, I think she’s already planning out the wedding. So, I do need to know what I should be bringing, like what wedding gifts are you-”

“You think you are so funny.” Finnick rolls his eyes.

“You’re the one who’s laughing.”

“No, I am not!” He says, too defensively, and the two of you stare at each other in silence until you’re both cackling. By the time you’ve both stopped the sun is almost all the way down. A comfortable silence has settled between the two of you, “I’m never going to fall in love with anyone.” Finnick breaks the silence, throwing a pebble he found into the water. Your initial instinct is to say something snarky, but with one glance you can tell he’s being serious, the alcohol must have tricked him into being vulnerable. “I’m not going to let them hurt me through that.”

You don’t ask who ‘they’ are, you don’t really need him to say, you’d figured out for yourself what the odd cryptic things he’d mumble really meant. He didn’t need to open up like that if he didn’t want to, you could read him far too easily. “Never?” Your knees move up so you can lay your arms across them and prop up your head.

“Nope, never.” His gaze was trained steadily on the ocean before you both, but yours was on every small expression that could cross his face. You’d memorized every expression he could make.

You didn’t mention that he was only 16, an age that seemed far too young to claim to never love again when he would probably live 70 more years, a sad life to force himself into. He had his reasons though, even if he wouldn’t tell them to you, so you’d respect them. That’s what best friends are for. “Well, you better tell Moira the wedding is off, I feel like she might’ve already bought a dress though, so-”

There it is. He’s smiling again, and you’re successful. You have to make a pact to yourself too though, you can never love him anymore than you do right now, because you already love him far too much.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“Don’t you dare!” You’re screaming through giggles, running away from the two boys trying to throw you into the ocean. They’re about to catch you when a very recognizable, honey-dripped voice is interrupting them.

“Don’t! It’s her birthday, Caspian just brought in a crate of white liquor.” Finnick says and the boys are off running to drink as much as they can before it runs out. As soon as they’ve moved though, Finnick is sweeping you up in his arms.

“Finnick!” You’re screeching instantly.

“What? You thought I was here to save you? Absolutely not, just wanted to do the honorary birthday girl splash myself!” He throws in some unnecessary spinning on his way to the water and you’re laughing, but not even trying to fight your way out of his arms, before being tossed into the shallow water.

You’re absolutely drenched when you sit up, and he’s trying to stifle his laughter. “You are evil, Finnick Odair! Absolutely evil.” It’s freezing, but in the best of ways, you love nights spent in the water. You brush your hands across your face, getting the water out of your eyes.

“You should’ve known better than to trust me.” His smirk is so unbelievably smug and you hate him for it, hate that you love it.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. At least help me up.” You reach out your arm and he sighs, taking it, so you quickly pull him down with you. It was far too easy, and you know he let you do it, but you laugh at him anyways. “What happened to knowing better? Takes to one to know one, I guess.” Before you can get another snarky remark in though he’s digging his fingers into your side, tickling you until you’re gasping for air, sides aching from laughter. “Fin, stop, stop it!” Splashing water at him to try and make him stop, but it does nothing.

He finally halts his actions when a rather annoyed voice is calling out to him, “Finnick!” You both look up to see Moira with her arms crossed, “You said you were only gonna be a minute!”

“Right, sorry.” He runs a hand through his hair, pointing at you with his free hand, “Found her!”

“Yeah, I can see that.” The way she says it is so icy it makes you want to shiver. “Come on, we should get inside, do cake and all that.”

“Yeah.” Finnick stands up, grabbing your hand to pull you up with him, and there’s a second where there’s a pause. Hand still in his as he looks at you, shining so angelic under the moonlight, he has to scold himself for it as he pulls his hand away. You scold yourself as well for even sensing a spark of something, he doesn’t want to fall in love, he won’t. So you need to be okay with that.

The walk back up to his house is quiet besides the sounds of seagulls, or the ocean waves crashing up and down the shore. You hate that you resent Moira, especially when you know she’s going to be let down just as you’ve been. Yet you are, he’s still your best friend, every moment you can have with him is so immensely precious. You don’t need anyone else hogging it up.

You’re shivering by the time you get inside of the house, still completely drenched, and the breeze hadn’t helped a bit. Finnick is quick to get you a towel the moment he looks at you, “Here you go, honey. Can’t have you getting hypothermic on me, especially on your birthday.” His hands rub up and down your arms, over the towel, trying to heat you up faster.

“Well whose fault would that be?” You jab back, but your voice is soft.

“Oh, I’ll make it up to you.” He clicks his tongue, moving a hand to softly move some of the wet hair that’s stuck to your face. His skin is somehow so warm even though he’d gotten just as soaked as you had. His thumb brushing across your face, looking into your eyes as he does it. Part of you hates him for this, he has to know what he’s doing, but you won’t tear yourself away. He’s addicting like that. His hand has just stayed still, holding the side of your face, and it’s as if neither of you can hear the rest of the party going on around you. It’s as if he’s forgotten himself to stare at you.

“Finnick, cake!” God, it’s so hard not to hate Moira nowadays. Her voice pries him away from you, out of the warmth and comfort of his touch.

“I’ve got it.” He still maintains enough eye contact though to show you the eye roll that’s pointed at her. Before he’s disappeared into the kitchen to grab said cake.

You’re sitting on the couch not long after that, fork pushing around your slice, as your eyes try not to bore into Moria’s head. Finnick is surrounded by a small group of people, leaning on the frame of a doorway, being his usual magnetic, sunshine self, and there she is. Draped all over him, laughing just a little too loudly at everything she says. It’s infuriating. You know you shouldn’t be jealous, you have no power over who does or doesn’t let that close to him, and you know he doesn’t love her. It’s still a bubbling anger though, one you try so hard to suppress, that forces itself forward, despite your own wishes. In fact, you beg it not to, but it persists. Why should she get to do that and think she’s so deserving of his love? You love him miles deeper than anybody else even knowing he’ll never love you the same. Someone is trying to talk to you, but you can’t hear a word they’re saying. Eventually you push yourself off the couch, leaving the plate, and are grabbing the last bottle of white liquor to go sit on the porch.

You’ve drunk at least half of the bottle of burning liquor when you hear the door opening behind you, “What’s wrong, honey?” Finnick is sitting right beside you, body heat already exerting off of him.

“Just needed some air.” You lie through your teeth and keep your eyes focused forward as you take another drink.

There’s a pause, he always knows when you’re lying, but he also knows how to read you the same way you’ve learned to read him. He knows better than to bring up why you’d choose to not be honest right now. “They’re looking for you to do gifts.”

You exhale, trying to breath out the negative emotions shrouding you. “I don’t need anything.” You say, finally looking at him.

“Sound the alarms, she’s 17 and too cool for the rest of us now.” He jokes, taking the bottle out of your hand to have a drink himself, shaking his head after gulping it down. “Remind me next time to smuggle more than I usually do, this is disgusting.”

You snort the smallest bit as you look down to the wooden porch, picking at it, when the door is opening again, and it’s that last voice you want to hear. “Finnick, what are you doing?” You are involuntarily grimacing at the sound of her voice, and you really know you shouldn’t, but jealousy isn’t a demon you fight off well.

“Moira?” Finnick isn’t even turning behind him.

“What?” She tries to sound somewhat sweet through the exasperated tone, honestly you’d be annoyed too if you were her, but you’re not.

“Fuck off, bother someone who cares.” He takes another drink from the bottle, and you know how much that probably hurt her, but you’re so glad she’s gone, so glad it was him who said something. Plus, isn’t this what being a teenager is supposed to be like?

“You’re such an asshole.” You say once the door has shut again, but you can’t stop yourself from smiling.

“You were jealous.” Finnick shrugs, taking yet another sip before trying to pass the bottle back to you, but you’re too stunned to speak, let alone grab it back. “What?” He chuckles, giving a cheeky smile.

“I was not!” You argue back when you’ve finally been able to regain some speech, feeling your cheeks burning up. Grabbing the bottle from his hand to chug some of the liquor down.

“I know you were, you don’t have to lie about it, it’s fine. She’s gone now.” He’s drunk, that much is abundantly clear. This is the sort of stuff that’s always remained unsaid between the two of you.

“You don’t need to do that for me.” You finally let yourself react, stop being defensive. There’s no point in hiding from a truth that you both know. It’s so mean of him though, to know you love him yet carry on playing with you as he does. Is it worse for you to let him?

“Not like her and I were going anywhere, anyways.” He cocks his head to the side.

“You knew what she wanted, Finnick, don’t be cruel.” You finish the rest of the bottle and stare into the dark night before you.

“Do you think I’m cruel?” Finnick’s voice feels so vulnerable, letting a small piece of that side of him break through.

You sigh, and you do want to reassure him, but when he’s being like this it feels more harmful to lie to him, so you divert, “Don’t think twice, it’s alright.” He might not be cruel, but that doesn’t mean that’s not how you feel deep down. He looks down at the ground, nodding, frowning a little, “Fin-” You instantly want to take it back, you’re not trying to hurt him.

“I don’t want to hurt you, I’m sorry.” He turns his head to look at you, and you avert your gaze forward again before standing suddenly.

“We should go inside, she’s right, we’re keeping everyone waiting.” You go to turn towards the door.

“Honey.” He’s grabbing your arm and you turn around to look at him, trying to ignore the way his touch tingles up the rest of your arm. You look at him expectantly and suddenly his lips are pressed to yours. He tastes like you’d imagined he would, like honey and saltwater. This only furthers the proof that he can’t help but be somewhat cruel, you know this will change nothing, and yet you can’t pull away. So you kiss him back, it’s really so brief, and you can taste the alcohol on both of your breaths as well, but this is the only time this can ever happen so you let it. When he finally pulls away he just rests his forehead against yours and you notice that he’s crying. So you don’t say a thing, just let him. He presses another kiss to your forehead when he’s finally been able to force the tears away, and it’s time to head back inside. With the silent acceptance that neither of you will talk about this ever again, and you keep to that promise.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

“I hate him.” Finnick remarks, throwing a random rock he found into the waves.

“Well, it’s a good thing you're not the one dating him then, isn’t it?” You stretch your arms out to let the wind fully engulf your body.

Finnick glowers at you, “I should have some say, you’re my best friend, I’m just looking out for you.”

“I don’t need you looking out for me, Finnick!” You say it too harshly and your laugh is much too incredulous for either of your tastes. “Sorry. Finn, I know you mean well.”

“Then just listen to me, not him, okay? Anyone, but him.” He’s turning to you, pleading, grabbing your hands in the warmth of his.

“Finnick, you said the same thing about Irving-” He’s about to cut you off with some excuse, but you don’t let him, “And Malik, you can’t do it to Lir too!”

“Don’t we have veto power? Like, with Moira!”

“I didn’t ask you to do that, Finnick, and it was two years ago! We’ve grown up and I have let you veto and veto, but Finnick, I- I don’t want to be alone forever!” You knew eventually this conversation would have to be had, especially now, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

“You’re not alone, you’re never going to be alone.” Finnick is letting go of one of your hands to cradle your head and you don’t know why you let him when you should try to pull away.

“You know what I mean.” He does, you both do, and the waves crash as the words settle into the recesses of each of your brains. Finally he’s letting go of you completely, rubbing his face, trying to hide his emotions somehow. “Finnick, listen…” He looks up at you expectantly, raising an eyebrow in a way that feels somewhat scathing, but you have to brave it. Despite the fact that you can feel your heart beating out of your chest and that you are completely sick to your stomach, “Lir and I, we’re, we’re, um, fuck, Finnick, Lir and I are getting married.”

Whatever he expected you to say it most certainly wasn’t that and his reaction makes it seem like you’ve just shot him in the chest. You so desperately want to take it back, but you know that you can’t. You have to move on, you can’t let your life be dedicated to wishing for a love that he’ll never commit to giving you. Then you’re shocked because he’s laughing, sliding himself back into his cocky persona.

“Honey, you’re 19. This is a life commitment, don’t act out like this.” The idea that you’re ‘acting out’ makes you angrier than you’ve ever been with him in your life.

“Finnick, you know better than anyone that someone’s life can be gone like that.” You snap your fingers, “I want to live my life!”

He nods, angrily, swallowing, “So, you love him?”

“He loves me.”

This time Finnick’s laugh is cold, biting, “And that’s fair to him, how? Wow, I’d expect more from you, honey-”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” The way you say it makes him still, he’s never seen you like this before, never heard your voice be so rigid. “I never said it was fair, do you think I feel like I’m doing the right thing? Because I don’t. Fuck, it keeps me up at night, I know, he deserves better, I fucking know that. And it’s so selfish, but what about me?” The tears have started slipping down your face before you can stop them, it’s like you’re trying to choke on them. “I want to be loved, really, truly loved. And maybe it will haunt me for the rest of my days, but it’s the only thing I have ever really wanted.” You take a second to let yourself breath, to wipe some of the tears away, “Finnick, I have never pushed you, or asked you, I have done exactly what you wanted because I respect your decision. You don’t even have to tell me why, you never do, but if I can’t be with the person who I love, why can’t you let me have this?”

You’ve finally calmed down your tears and your breathing has become steady once again, and Finnick is nodding slowly. “You’re right, I’m sorry. You’re not selfish for that.” He finally says.

“Thank you.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The soft fabric of the dress is so comforting on your skin, not itchy like you’d expect a wedding dress to be. No, it’s flowy and the wind is sure to make it billow around you. One of your bridesmaids, Nerissa, is weaving flowers into your hair with the seashells that had been so carefully attached to the little pins. As always, the sound of the ocean waves through the open window relaxes any nerves that tried to approach.

“You look beautiful.” Finnick’s voice startles you and you smile at him in the mirror.

“Finnick! What are you doing here?” You ask and Nerissa tries to stick in one final pin.

“I know technically I shouldn’t sneak in before it starts, but I have something for you.” He’s got a twinkle in his eye as he approaches, and you can’t not smile back at him. Nerissa moves and suddenly he’s standing beside you, carefully moving your hair out of the way. Finnick adjusts a necklace onto your neck, glistening pearls, you notice they’re blue, the rarest color.

“Oh, Finn.” Your fingers trace across them as he clasps the necklace together/

“I got them for you last time I was in the Capitol, made me think of you.” His face is then right next to yours, warm cheek pressed to yours, “Something new and something blue.” He’s got that award-winning, cheeky smile, but there’s something sad in his eyes that makes you sad too.

“Thank you.” You turn to actually face him and say the words so softly, even though you know you shouldn’t, like you’re trying to let him know that you do still love him. Finnick looks at you, smirk turning into a soft smile.

“Of course, honey.” A nickname he definitely shouldn’t be using, but you don’t care, and he raises his hand to brush a stray hair behind your ear. His burning touch is so comforting, and yet it unearths all the anxiety about what you’re doing, all the anxiety you’ve been trying to push down. Suddenly he seems to realize what he’s doing and pulls his hand away, which you accidentally chase after. “You really do make the most beautiful bride.” Finnick straightens himself and stands up, about to walk out, “Oh, and I got you another gift, out on the table, a proper gift. And, I snuck some good bottles of champagne out onto the table.” He smiles and you can’t resist smiling and chuckling back at him.

“Thank you.” You watch him go so fondly, and then have to shake yourself off a bit. You need to remember what you’re about to do, why, you can’t get distracted. You want him so bad, but he can’t be the one you need, it’s not him.

That’s the mantra you repeat to yourself when you’re finally about to walk down the aisle. You’re so thankful that it’s on the beach, desperately wishing for the sound of the waves, the smell of the ocean, the feeling of its misty breeze to give you the same comfort it always does, but it refuses. The churning of your stomach refuses to subside as you clutch onto the arm of your father to try and not fall, as your feet are starting to feel resistant. This happens to every bride though, right? Nerves are common, so is the feeling of cold feet, but you can do this. You have to do this. It’s the closest thing you’re ever going to have to the life you really want, to who you really want.

You feel almost like you’re out of your body as you walk down the seemingly infinite aisle. Lir is smiling so sweetly, he is so sweet, with his bright blue eyes, the curl of his brown hair, but you can’t stop your brain from filling all those attributes in for a sea green pigment instead, or waves of blonde. You’re scared your bouquet might break from how tight your fingernails are crushing into it. Everything feels heavy, you can’t even hear the waves anymore, just the rapid beat of your heart. You wonder if you look as terrified as you feel, that’s the last thing you need. Maybe it does just look like nerves though, if you’re really lucky.

When you finally reach the end, you’re trying not to visibly hyperventilate, and as your father lets go of you to sit down you try to look at him, to ask for some sort of help, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Are you okay?” Lir asks you quietly, brow furrowed. You don’t know why you nod, you do, because you need this, but you know you shouldn’t. You’ve never felt more trapped even if it’s a cage of your own making. “You look stunning.” He whispers before looking back at the officiant who is going on about something. You try to smile, but your eyes dart around the audience, looking for someone they most definitely shouldn’t be looking for. “I’ve never seen that necklace before-” Lir says something else, but you don’t hear it, your fingers trace up to it, feeling each bump.

Every movement, even your breathing suddenly freezes, “I’m so sorry.” You quickly blurt out, staring at Lir, and you really do feel bad, but that guilt isn’t nearly as terrible as the way you feel like you might suffocate. Everything has stopped, even the drone of the officiant, and you are so aware of everyone’s confused eyes being on you, so you make a run for it. Dropping the bouquet and suddenly you feel freer than a bird.

The ocean air is whipping around you and you are getting as far as you can away from all of it. Ripping off your sandals as you go, just letting your feet feel the coarse sand of the beach. Your cheeks feel frozen from the mist hitting them so harshly, but it makes you feel so alive. Most of the flowers and pins of seashells have probably been flung around the ground, the path of you. You keep running until you can’t breathe anymore, until your sides are burning and aching in the best of ways, a fire that burns so perfectly. Letting yourself stop in the water, it wades up to your knees, and you like the dress better that way too. This is what is real.

“Fuck!” You exclaim to no one but yourself as you stare at the sky, spinning in the water. Feeling the sun beat down on you, laughing at yourself, at everything, at nothing in particular.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Suddenly Finnick’s grabbing your arms, steadying you, his cheeks are bright red and you can tell he was running after you. “If it’s just nerves, he’ll understand, everyone will, you can go back, honey.” You’re smiling as you shake your head and he’s furrowing his brow in confusion. “Isn’t this what you want?”

“Oh my god, no! I thought I did, but no.” You press a hand to your forehead, and then to his chest, “And don’t think this is me trying to make you do something that you don’t want, Finn. It’s not, I respect you too much for that, I just, I thought that I needed that, that I needed someone to love me, but I can’t do that to someone. I can’t just hope to love him eventually because that’s just not going to happen, I can’t give up the only thing that might let me.”

Finnick still looks confused as you maintain your smile, your breathing finally allowing itself to go back to normal, “Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes, oh my god, yes! I’ll be an old maid by the sea, I don’t care, I can’t do it!”

Finnick takes a deep breath and something about the way he does it just tells you exactly what he’s going to say, “Honey, I-”

“I know, Fin, I’ve always known, but I also know you have your reasons for what you do. It’s enough for me to just know.”

He looks at you, like he’s thinking just for a second, “No it’s not.”

“What?”

“That’s not enough. It’s not enough for you, and it’s definitely not enough for me. They can’t have all of me! Maybe it’s selfish, but I want this one thing for myself.”

“You don’t have to say it just because I-”

“I’m not! I almost let you marry another man and I realized, it wasn’t worth it. If you want this, and I want this, let’s just do it. I’ll figure everything else out, just, you should marry me. Please.”

The shock almost stops you from doing anything at all, but the excitement far overcomes that. You pull him in, kiss him, and his hands find your face. Melting into his touch, and never had life felt so right. Wind billowing around, sun shining down, and come what may, at least you have each other.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

As always, thank you so much for reading. Likes, comments, reblogs, and asks are always much appreciated. I love you all, and I hope you enjoyed this, I really enjoyed writing it, and I cried while I did 💋

#wanda 💋#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #finnick fanfic #finnick odair #finnick odair angst #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair x reader angst #finnick x reader #finnick x you #thg x reader

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maretinelli · 18 hours ago

Text

A NON-SEPARATION²

DadLewis Hamilton X Mom!fem!reader

Summary: When Lewis and the girls return from their trip, and things with Y/n start to improve. And then, he confesses something that was on his mind during the days they were apart.

Words: 5.8K+

Warnings: Mentions of the past fight, Lewis being a loving husband, Pietra being very funny, Marie's cuteness and a happy ending.

Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any spelling, grammar and slang mistakes that may be in the story. You can request stories on my profile, in questions. By the way, I loved writing for these four, if you want, I can make a parallel world and write more stories about this family!!!!! (Comment if you want, so I know)

Part 1

MASTERLIST

The weekend passed more quickly than Y/n expected. With Anne in town, she had a chance to take her mind off things, even though the silence in the house still bothered her. They went out to lunch, watched movies, and talked about everything but Lewis—at least until the last day, when Y/n finally admitted that she missed him. Anne wasn’t surprised, but she didn’t press her either.

Meanwhile, Lewis and the girls had an emotional weekend. The race was intense, and the girls cheered in the Ferrari garage alongside grandma Carmen, cheering for their father.

Pietra, always spontaneous, made a point of shouting "Go, daddy!" right in the middle of the post-race interview, making the journalists laugh. Marie, more reserved, just covered her face with her hands, pretending she didn't know her sister.

Now it was Tuesday, and Y/n had already returned to her routine—or at least she tried to. She was on vacation from the office, Anne had already left, and the big house was silent again. Too silent.

She had never spent so much time away from her daughters, and every corner of the house felt empty without them. Roscoe was her only company, but not even the dog could fill the void left by Marie and Pietra. And, of course, by Lewis.

Y/n sighed, sitting on the couch, fiddling with her phone without really paying attention. But suddenly, a loud horn echoed through the condominium, and she practically jumped off the couch, running to the door. Roscoe ran after her, knowing exactly who had arrived.

Opening the door, Y/n saw the two girls getting out of the car, their faces lit up with huge smiles.

Marie wore the denim jacket she had asked her mother to pack, paired with her black pants and white sneakers. Always stylish and authentic. Pietra, on the other hand, well, she looked different. Very different.

The sparkly dress was expected. But braids in her hair?

Yes. The same braids Lewis wore.

Y/n's eyes widened, holding back a laugh as Pietra and Marie ran to hug her. She bent down, wrapping her arms around her daughters, feeling their familiar scent.

"I missed you guys so much" She murmured, closing her eyes.

"We miss you too, Mommy!" Marie replied, squeezing her tighter.

In the middle of the hug, Y/n looked up and found Lewis. He was leaning against the car, watching the scene with a smile. And God, how handsome he was. How handsome he IS.

His eyes lit up when he saw his wife looking at him like that, and he smiled even wider when she whispered a brief "Hi."

Lewis returned the greeting with a loving look, but then Y/n looked at Pietra's braids again. She arched an eyebrow and pointed at her youngest daughter's hair, exchanging an amused look with Lewis.

He just laughed and gestured with his hand, signaling that he would explain later.

Marie pulled out of the hug and looked at her sister. "Grandma took Pietra to the salon and she wanted to do the same as daddy."

"Exactly the same!" Pietra said excitedly, bending down to pet Roscoe.

Y/n smiled, running her fingers through Marie's straight hair. "And you, my love? You look beautiful in that jacket." Marie smiled shyly and pulled her mother into another hug.

Y/n melted. Since the girls were born, it was like this: Marie was her shadow, and Pietra was her father's copy. Even though physically the two had inherited more of Lewis's features, their personalities balanced everything out.

Suddenly, Pietra looked up at her mother, excited. "Daddy bought you flowers, Mommy!"

Lewis rolled his eyes near the car, while Yin looked at her daughter and then at him, holding back a laugh.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes! And they're red flowers and they have a pretty bow and..."

"PIETRA!" Marie and Lewis said together. The girl's tone was one of authority, her father's was one of amusement.

Lewis chuckled, shaking his head. "That little girl needs to learn how to keep secrets."

Y/n laughed, standing up, but still keeping one hand in Marie's hair. Pietra, oblivious to the small chaos she caused, ran with Roscoe into the house.

Marie looked up at her mother. "I'll go in too."

Y/n kissed the top of her head. "It's okay, love."

As Marie entered, Y/n looked at her eldest daughter and then, Lewis finally approached. He was holding a beautiful bouquet of red roses. Y/n's favorites.

He handed it to her, his gaze soft. "I know a bouquet can't fix everything...but I want you to remember that I still love you very much."

Y/n's heart sank. She held the flowers tenderly, inhaling their scent and blinking back a few tears. "Thank you, Lew. They're beautiful." There was a brief silence between the two, just the soft wind blowing through the garden. "Do you want to come in and talk about it?"

He hesitated for a moment, as if choosing the right words. His gaze softened, and the way he held his car keys indicated he was more nervous than he wanted to show.

"I don't want to talk about this here, with the girls around," he said, his voice filled with genuine regret. "I want to do this right, without rushing, without distractions. I want to take you out to dinner, like before. So we can have some time alone."

There was something vulnerable in his expression, a mixture of guilt and a sincere desire to make amends for whatever harm he had caused. As much as they had both said hurtful words, he clearly carried the weight of it in a deeper way.

Y/n felt her chest warm, gripping the bouquet tighter. Lewis had never been good with words when it came to deep feelings, but she knew that when he tried like that, it was because it really meant something.

He didn't just want to settle the fight. He wanted to reaffirm that, despite everything, the love between them was still unshakable.

Y/n took a deep breath and nodded, her voice as soft as his. "I'd also rather we not talk about this in front of the girls."

Lewis nodded silently, and Y/n stepped aside, making room in the doorway for him to enter.

But he smiled and shook his head. "Actually, I just came to drop off the girls and the bags. My dad is in town with Linda, we planned to meet up."

Y/n smiled slightly, knowing that Lewis didn't see his father that often and that those moments were important.

However, he sighed and ran his hand over the back of his neck, suddenly looking uneasy. "But I promised that nothing would be more important than you. That I would pay more attention to you and the girls." He began to stumble over his words nervously. "If you want, I'll cancel. It's no problem, really. I-"

Y/n's eyes widened, smiling at his sudden rambling. She gently reached up and touched Lewis's face, calming him down. "Lew, it's okay," She said, looking deep into his eyes. "Your father and Linda are your family too. They deserve priority sometimes."

Lewis blinked, absorbing her words, before letting out a small sigh of relief. A grateful smile appeared on his face.

"Thank you, love."

The nickname came out so natural and full of affection that Y/n felt her heart beat faster.

It was as if he were truly giving himself over, breaking the distance that had formed between them over the past few days. The way he called her, with the softness and vulnerability that touched her so much, made her feel reconnected to him, as if everything that had happened up until that moment was something temporary, a storm that would soon pass.

Before they could say anything else, Pietra shouted something inside, making them both laugh.

Y/n laughed and shook her head, calling out, "Marie, help your sister with whatever she's asking for, please!"

Lewis smiled and went to the car to get the girls' bags, placing them in the entrance hall. When he returned, he approached his wife and placed a light kiss on her cheek.

“You’re free tomorrow night” He said, a twinkle in his eye. “I already have some restaurant ideas for us.”

Y/n smiled. "I'll stay."

Lewis gave one last smile before leaving, and Y/n closed the door, now surrounded by the sound of her daughters' cute laughter echoing through the house. But even so, she felt like something was still missing. And she knew exactly what it was.

Holding the bouquet, she walked to the kitchen to put the flowers in water. The girls followed her, excited.

She smiled at the two of them, leaning slightly over the counter. "Now, girls... tell us all the cool things you did on your trip!"

••••••••••••••••••••••••

The day dawned softly, with the first rays of sunlight crossing the bedroom curtains. The house, previously silent, was filled with lively laughter and small, hurried footsteps down the hallway.

Marie and Pietra, full of energy, ran to their mother's room and, without hesitation, jumped on the bed. Roscoe, excited by the excitement, climbed right behind, wagging his tail and settling down next to Y/n.

The daughters' laughter mixed with the dog's low, happy barks, while Y/n, still sleepy, received the girls' excited hugs. She felt the warmth and love in the contact, enjoying that moment of purity before finally promising to get up.

At the mention of breakfast, the girls rushed down the hallway, eagerly leaving the room in an instant. As Y/n turned to get out of bed, her gaze fell on the empty side of the mattress. Still empty.

She knew what she wanted. And no matter what conversation they would have later, one thing was certain: she wanted Lewis back there. With her. With her daughters.

And before she could get out of bed, her cell phone beeped and a message from her husband appeared.

'Linda and my dad are excited to see the girls. They want to hang out with them tonight, and that's a good thing because we have plans later too. I'll pick you up at 7pm. Love you, babe!'

Night fell quickly and the house was silent, except for the distant sound of water running in the girls' bathroom. In the bedroom, Y/n looked at the clothing options spread out on the armchair: an elegant long dress and a more casual combination consisting of a black satin shirt, jeans and heels.

She ran her fingers through the fabric of his shirt, a soft smile playing on her lips. She felt as if she were preparing for a first date. Her heart was pounding with anticipation, something she hadn’t felt in a while. She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering the first time she had gone out with Lewis, all those years ago. She remembered the way he had looked at her that night, as if she were the most precious thing in the world.

The sound of footsteps interrupted her thoughts. Before she could react, a voice came from behind her. “Satin shirt and heels, Mommy.”

Y/n turned around and found Marie standing in the doorway, wrapped in a fluffy robe, with a towel too big for her head. The sight made Y/n laugh softly. Marie looked so small in the midst of so much fabric.

The girl shrugged, a shy smile on her lips. "You look beautiful in both, but I like it better when you wear a shirt. It makes you look... powerful."

Y/n let out a laugh and walked over to Marie, placing a loving hand on her shoulder. Her chest hurt a little from seeing her first baby girl grow up so fast.

"Thank you for the compliment, little one. Then I'll choose that one." She led her daughter out of the room and toward the girls' room. "Now it's your turn, Marie. Choose something just as powerful." Marie laughed and nodded, following her mother.

In the girls' room, Pietra was already wearing her going out clothes and Y/n just needed to help her put on her shoes, since she had her braids done.

As she tied her shoelaces, Y/n couldn't help but smile. The braids were still flawless, and she made a mental note to ask Lewis whose idea it had been in the first place.

She always made sure to respect her daughters’ personalities, helping them get ready with care and patience. As she adjusted Pietra’s clothes and fixed Marie’s hair, she felt grateful for those simple but loving moments.

Suddenly, the sound of a horn echoed outside. Marie and Pietra looked at each other and then looked at their mother.

"Daddy can't come yet!" Pietra exclaimed, starting to leave the room. "Mommy hasn't gotten ready yet!"

Y/n and Marie exchanged an amused look before laughing together. "It's Grandpa and Grandma Linda," Y/n said loudly, so that Pietra could hear her.

Marie smiled and left the room with her mother, she went downstairs excitedly too, happy to see Grandpa and Grandma Linda. When Y/n got to the door, Pietra was already anxious, jumping up and down.

"Open up, Mommy! Open up, Mommy!"

On the other side of the door, she heard the familiar laughter, they probably heard P's excited screams. As soon as she opened it, Pietra let out an excited little scream and threw herself into her grandfather and grandmother's arms.

Linda and Anthony laughed, hugging the little girl.

"You were really excited to see us, huh?" Linda joked.

Y/n laughs. "When Lew said you guys were coming to get them she wouldn't stop talking about you guys!"

Anthony and Linda give Y/n a warm smile as they hug their youngest granddaughter.

Marie soon joined in the group hug. "Miss you, Grandpa and Grandma Linda!"

"I miss you too, little one." Linda hugs her eldest and Anthony strokes his eldest granddaughter's straight hair.

Y/n smiled as she saw the scene.

Linda stepped back a little, studying Pietra and smiling. "I love the braids."

The little girl smiled proudly. "Right? Just like daddy's!" Everyone laughed.

Anthony then bent down and asked, "So, are you guys excited to go out?" The girls smiled and nodded excitedly.

Y/n bent down to their level, fixing Marie's hair and caressing Pietra's cheek, while giving some instructions to her daughters. "Behave yourselves and have fun, okay?"

Linda smiled. "They always behave, don't they, girls?"

They both nodded with shy smiles.

Anthony smiled and they walked towards the car, while Y/n watched the scene with a sweet smile on her face. Linda helps Marie and Pietra put on their seatbelts. Lewis's father waves to Y/n as he starts the car.

Y/n smiles friendly and when they leave the condominium, she closes the door behind her and runs to the stairs, climbing quickly, as now it was her turn to get ready.

When he arrived at his room, he stopped for a moment, looking at the clothes he had laid out earlier. The long dress was still there, but her eyes returned to the black satin shirt and jeans, already deciding what to wear. Marie was right—there was something powerful about that combination, something that made her feel confident and beautiful.

Calmly, Y/n took off the comfortable clothes she was wearing and put on the shirt, feeling the soft fabric slide over her skin. She continued to change her clothes and think about what awaited her tonight.

Y/n went to the large vanity she had and began to put on some light makeup, but something that matched the night and the outfit she was wearing.

As she finished applying mascara to her eyes, her cell phone beeped next to the products on the table, when she picked up the device and smiled when she saw Lewis's name on the screen, along with a message.

'Honey, coming in 10 minutes. Can't wait to see you.'

Her heart warmed, and the smile on her lips became even bigger, feeling a good shiver at the thought that, in a few minutes, she would be with her husband.

And exactly ten minutes later, when she finished arranging her hair in loose waves, a horn echoed outside her house. Y/n smiles and stands up, grabbing her bag and walking down the stairs excitedly, because Lewis had arrived.

When she opened it, she found Lewis standing a few feet from the door and a smile from someone who knew exactly the effect he was having on her. He wore an elegant formal outfit, but what caught her attention most were his loose braids, giving him a charming and relaxed look.

Y/n raised an eyebrow and smiled, tilting her head slightly. "Look at you... You look handsome, huh? Are you going out with someone special today?" She closed the door behind her and approached her husband.

Lewis chuckled softly, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. "Only with the love of my life and mother of our children." The touch was brief, but full of affection. "You look beautiful in that outfit!" He grabbed his wife's hand and twirled around. Making Y/n laugh and her heels make a satisfying click as she twirled around.

"Your eldest daughter chose the outfit" He said, shaking the shirt slightly, with an amused look.

Lewis smiled even wider, his eyes shining. "Marie has good taste." He leaned close to her ear. "But honestly? You'd look beautiful in anything. Even without."

Y/n laughed, feeling completely melted and hit by Lewis's teasing comment. He noticed and smiled. Satisfied that he had that effect on her for so many years.

Arriving near the car, Lewis opens the passenger door for Y/n and she gets in, smiling in gratitude and resting her bag on her lap, as she watches her husband walk around the Ferrari they had and get in on the driver's side.

Automatically placing one hand on Y/n's thigh, while with the other he put on his seatbelt and started the car.

The night was calm and illuminated by the silver lights of the streetlights and the luxurious facades of the buildings. The city glowed with a sophisticated charm, reflecting in the city's lakes.

Y/n, leaning comfortably on the bench, looked away at her husband and smiled. "Okay, now tell me... Whose idea was it for P's braids?"

Lewis laughed, shaking his head as he remembered the scene in the paddock. "Oh, that's a good story! I don't know if the girls told you," he began, still laughing. "While I was in the pit, Charles came out of nowhere saying that I had a "mini-me" walking around the paddock with my mother. I didn't understand until I looked to the side and saw Pietra with a Ferrari cap, sunglasses and her hair tied back, with defined curls." Y/n laughed out loud, already imagining the scene. "And it doesn't stop there! Pietra looked at me and said: "Daddy, I need to have braids like yours! So everyone knows that I'm your real daughter!"

Y/n covered her mouth, trying to contain her laughter. "Oh my God, Pietra!"

"And of course my mother was thrilled and the next day took her to get her braids done. You should have seen her happiness when she came back to the paddock showing off her hair."

"And what was Marie's reaction?" Y/n asked, amused. As she looked at her husband, with the tattoos of the girls' names tattooed on his neck, made on the day they were born.

"Ah, Marie rolled her eyes and said, "You don't need to have braids to look like Daddy, everyone already knows you look just like him!" Lewis imitated his eldest daughter's intonation, drawing more laughter from Y/n.

"Our daughter has an old soul, Lew!"

He chuckled, nodding. "I know, she talks like she's had 40 years of life experience." Lewis looks at his wife with amusement.

As the laughter faded, Y/n leaned over to fiddle with the car's dashboard, putting on some low music that matched the lightness of the moment.

Her eyes wandered around the brightly lit city, and suddenly she recognized the road. Her lips parted in surprise, and she turned her gaze to Lewis, who was driving with a smirk on the corner of her eye, clearly expecting this reaction.

"Lew..." Y/n began, suspicious. He just kept driving, keeping the suspense.

When they finally approached the restaurant, Y/n's eyes widened and she turned completely to him. "The restaurant where we first met!"

Lewis parked and looked at her with a warm glow in his eyes. "If you're going to work things out, let's go back a little bit." The comforting answer made Y/n's heart warm.

Lewis gently cupped her face and placed a kiss on her cheek before getting out of the car and walking around to open the door for his wife.

"Always the gentleman, Sir Hamilton." Y/n joked as she left.

"For you? Always."

He handed the keys to the valet and took Y/n's hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. The feeling of home, of belonging, of everything returning to its rightful place, took over Y/n.

As soon as they entered, Lewis approached the front desk. "I have a reservation for tonight. In the name of Lewis Hamilton and Y/n Hamilton."

The receptionist checked the list and smiled, nodding. "Of course, Mr. Hamilton. This way, please."

They followed the man through the restaurant, which had a welcoming yet elegant ambiance. The space combined warm wood tones with modern touches of glass and soft lighting. The tables were arranged to provide couples with some privacy, without losing the vibrant atmosphere of the place.

The receptionist led them to an outdoor area, a secluded balcony, where a few tables were set up. The lighting was perfect: fairy lights entwined in the trees around the large lake, which reflected the soft glow of the city. The setting was magical and captivating.

"I hope you enjoy the atmosphere. The waiter will be here to serve you soon." The receptionist said politely before walking away.

Lewis pulled out a chair for Y/n, who sat across from him. Seconds later, the waiter arrived with menus and a bottle of wine, serving them both before leaving.

"Thank you!" Lewis smiles gently.

When they were alone, a comfortable silence hung in the air, until, at the same time, they both opened their mouths to speak.

"I'm sorry!" They stopped and looked at each other, surprised that they had spoken at the same time, and then laughed.

"I guess that means we feel the same way." Y/n smiled, holding the wine glass.

"I guess so." Lewis agreed, leaning his elbows on the table and looking at her fondly.

Y/n lightly swirled the wine glass between her fingers, watching the red liquid move. She took a deep breath before looking up at Lewis.

"I'm... I'm so sorry it got to this point. Spending days apart and putting the girls through it too." Her voice was soft, but full of sincerity. "I hate fighting with you, I hate when things get like this between us." Lewis didn't answer right away, just watched her, allowing her to continue. "I didn't mean to turn our conversation into an argument. I just... I was just tired and frustrated, work was taking its toll on me and I ended up taking it out on you. It wasn't fair."

Lewis sighed, running his hand over his face before finally answering.

"I'm sorry too, love." Her voice sounded full of regret. "When you asked me to leave home... that was a shock. But thinking back now, I understand." Y/n he fell silent, allowing him to continue. “You were right.” He let out a weak, humorless laugh. “I was spending too much time in Maranello. I was so focused on work, on the team, on training… that I didn’t even realize what I was leaving behind.”

He looked away for a moment, staring at the reflection of the light on the wine glasses on the table.

"Three weeks away from you made me realize how much I was wrong. How much I was missing. I only really realized this when Pietra called me crying because I wasn't home to tell her the story before bed."

Y/n felt her chest tighten. She remembered that night. Pietra had clung to her, sobbing softly and asking if Daddy still liked them.

"Lewis..."

He shook his head, his eyes shining with restrained emotion.

"It destroyed me. Knowing that my daughter thought I didn't like her because I wasn't there. And it wasn't just her... Marie too. I realized how distant I was, how much I was letting you carry everything on your own."

Y/n took a deep breath, squeezing the glass a little between her fingers. "But you were also right..." She admitted, her voice lower. "I also buried myself in work. I was frustrated because I felt like you were distant, but the truth is, sometimes I was too."

Lewis reached across the table, waiting for her to take it. "I don't want this anymore, Y/n. I don't want to fight with you anymore, or put our daughters through this. I want to be a present father, I want to be a better husband."

Y/n's eyes filled with tears, but she smiled, holding his hand tightly. "I want to be a better mother and wife too."

Lewis squeezed her fingers between his, as if afraid that if he let go, everything would fall apart again. "Shall we fix this together?"

Y/n nodded, her heart pounding. "Sure. Of course." She smiled.

Lewis smiled, bringing her hand to his lips and placing a soft kiss on her fingers.

"I love you, Y/n."

"I love you, Lewis"

In that moment, they knew they were on the right path to finding each other again, to rebuilding what they had almost lost. Because, at the end of the day, they were still a team. They always had been.

"Now, let's enjoy our evening." Lewis smiled and looked at the menu. "So, do you want the same order as the first time?"

Y/n laughs at the memory and shakes her head. "No! You know, I didn't know you were allergic to shrimp and you had to spend two days with me in the hospital. And we were only on our first date, how embarrassing." She puts her hand over her face.

Lewis laughs out loud. "But that was a reminder, wasn't it? That no matter what, I'd be by your side."

Y/n smiles lovingly. "It was, and I love it."

Dinner was lighthearted, the weight of the argument that had kept them apart for weeks seemed to have been lifted, giving way to smiles and natural conversations. They talked about past moments, laughed at old stories and shared knowing glances, as if they had rediscovered the comfort of each other's company.

Between a glass of wine and another, they also discussed ways to better balance their routine so that the family could spend more time together. It was a sincere dialogue, without demands, just with the mutual desire to do better.

As they left the restaurant, Lewis linked his fingers with Y/n's, walking with her to where the car was parked. The valet handed over the keys, and Lewis nodded in thanks before opening the car door for his wife.

"I had an idea on how we can spend more time together, especially with the girls." He says as he walks in too.

Y/n turned her face to him, curious. "Oh yeah? What did you think?"

"Well... I realized that I need to organize my schedule better so that I don't spend so much time away from home. So, I want to reduce the number of days in Maranello and make up for that time by being here more. Also, I thought about taking Pietra and Marie to see the Ferrari factory. They always ask what it's like there, and I think it would be an incredible experience for them."

"They'll love it. They'll want to touch everything and ask every detail about the cars." Y/n smiled at the idea. "Marie especially, she loves taking part in the races"

Lewis laughed.

"Yes, I'm already preparing to answer a thousand questions about engines and front wings. He starts driving around the city.

Y/n leaned her head back against the bench, thoughtful. "I can also adjust my office routine better so I can spend more time at home. We can arrange a few days to do something just the four of us."

Lewis nodded, satisfied. "That sounds perfect."

They talked a little more about the details of the plan, and when the topic came to an end, Lewis asked, "Do you want to go anywhere else before we go home?"

Y/n smiled and shook her head. "No, we're too old to stay out all night."

Lewis laughed, shaking his head. "Speak for yourself. I could hold out for a few more hours."

"Oh, sure, Lew. As if. Another half hour and you'd be asleep in the middle of the conversation."

He laughed and, without arguing, turned around and headed home.

The journey was peaceful and surrounded by a pleasant atmosphere, the feeling between them was light, filled with genuine joy, as if the storm of the last few weeks had finally dissipated.

When they arrived home, Lewis parked the car in the garage and got out, accompanying Y/n to the door. Even on the short journey, he kept one of his hands on her waist, a natural and instinctive gesture.

"Anne brought some great wine back from France when she traveled. I saved it for us to open together. Would you like to try it?"

"Sure" Lewis replied, following his wife into the kitchen.

Before they could do anything, Roscoe came running up to Lewis, barking and wagging his tail excitedly.

"Hey, buddy" Lewis smiled, bending down to pet the dog, who soon settled down next to him.

"He missed you too, you know? You're the oldest son in the house, Roscoe."

"Good to know at least he wasn't mad at me." Lewis laughed.

As Y/n opened the wine, Lewis approached from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his head on her shoulder. She smiled, enjoying that affection, and handed him a glass before turning around, facing her husband.

It was then that she realized he was deep in thought. His expression changed subtly, his eyebrows slightly furrowed.

"What it was?"

"There's something I've been thinking about since our fight..." Y/n waited, curious, until he finally revealed: "I want to retire from racing."

Y/n's world seemed to stop for a second. "WHAT?!" She exclaimed, looking at him in surprise. And almost dropping the glass she was holding.

Lewis remained calm and repeated: "I want to retire."

Y/n blinked, processing that, and stepped back a little, starting to pace around the kitchen. "Lewis, you can't do this!" Her voice came out fast, almost nervous. "You're only in your second season with Ferrari! You can still win so many titles! And, my God, I never wanted you to give up on your dream because of a silly fight we had. We've worked this out! You can't give up on your dreams!"

Her words came out in a rush, her mind wandering, and she felt her eyes fill with tears.

Lewis smiled and walked closer to her, cupping her face gently. "Y/n, I'm not letting go of a dream," he said softly. "Because everything I've ever dreamed of is right here, right in front of me."

Her eyes filled even more, and a tear fell silently.

"But..." She whispered, not knowing exactly what to say. Without the strength to argue any further, she let herself be wrapped in Lewis's arms, resting her head on his shoulder. "You've always dreamed of this..." Her voice was muffled against his chest.

Lewis stroked her hair and smiled against the side of her head. "My dream has always been to have a family. To have you guys. Racing has been a big part of my life, but it's not my whole life. I want to be here for every moment of the girls, for every phase of our life together. That...that's what really matters to me."

Y/n closed her eyes, absorbing those words, feeling herself overcome by an intense wave of emotion.

"Do you really want this?"

"I do. With all my heart." She pulled back a little, looking into his eyes, and Lewis smiled, touching her face tenderly. "I love you" he said softly.

Y/n smiled, still with tears in her eyes, and shook her head. "I love you too, Lewis."

Lewis slid his fingers down Y/n's face before finally sealing his lips on hers. The kiss was slow, full of feelings, as if it sealed everything they had just said. Their lips moved in perfect sync, and a small smile formed in the middle of the kiss, as if they were celebrating that moment. It was a kiss of love, of understanding, of silent promises.

Suddenly, a horn honked loudly from outside, breaking the moment. Y/n smiled against Lewis's lips and pulled away, chuckling softly.

"The girls are here" she said, giving him one last peck before walking away completely. "I'll go get them."

Lewis smiled, watching her rush towards the door. As soon as she opened it, the girls practically threw themselves into her arms, laughing and hugging their mother tightly.

"Mommy!" Pietra exclaimed excitedly, while Marie held tightly onto Y/n's waist.

Y/n laughed and bent down, planting kisses on them before saying in a mysterious voice, "I think there's something waiting for you in the kitchen."

Pietra's eyes widened, always the most excited, and suddenly screamed: "OH MY GOD, IS THERE STRAWBERRY ICE CREAM?"

She ran into the house with her sister, running towards the kitchen without even confirming if what she said was true. Linda, Anthony and Y/n burst out laughing, infected by the girl's naive excitement.

"Thank you for keeping them" Y/n said, smiling at them.

"Imagine, dear" Linda replied. "We are the ones who appreciate you spending time with our granddaughters."

Y/n smiles. "We can arrange dinner here tomorrow. Are you up for it?"

"Sure!" Linda says smiling.

"We'd love it!"

"Great then" Y/n smiles. With that, they say their goodbyes, exchanging hugs before Linda and Anthony leave.

Y/n closed the door and began walking to the kitchen, hearing the mix of her daughters' and Lewis' voices echoing through the room. The sound filled her chest with a cozy warmth, and an involuntary smile appeared on her face.

When he entered the kitchen, he saw a scene that made his heart warm even more: Marie was on Lewis' lap, along with Pietra, while the two laughed and chatted excitedly.

Suddenly, Marie turned to Y/n with a bright smile and asked, "Did Daddy come home?"

Y/n looked at Lewis, who was already watching her with a tender smile. Her heart clenched with love.

"Yes, my dear. Daddy's back!" She said softly.

The girls squealed excitedly and wrapped their father in a tight hug, making Lewis laugh. He then looked at Y/n and extended one of his arms to her.

"Come here, love"

Y/n smiled and walked over to them, joining the family's embrace. Between laughter, kisses and hugs, she knew, in that moment, that they were exactly where they were supposed to be.

Author: So, my initial idea was to have the ending with Y/n saying she was pregnant with her third child, but I didn't know if you guys would like it, so I changed it to the idea of Lewis retiring. I don't know, which one would you like more? (By the way, whoever read the introduction above, could you answer the question I left? About continuing with a parallel universe of this family?)

#fanfiction #y/n #romance #imagines #one shot #marriage #formula 1 #formula one #fem reader #female reader #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x y/n #dad and daughter #mom and dad

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