#texting; holding all your texts like memories
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what breaks them after a break up ăť ěíě´í gn reader + word count 1.5k genre angst hurt no comfort cw not proof-read, kissing â more  đˇď¸


HEESEUNG
it happens a few days after your break up when you send him a text message. itâs the first one in a long time, itâs nothing much just a simple warning that youâll be coming over to pick up your stuff in the next hour or so.Â
he agrees, of course mentioning how heâll pack it up for you (â iâll set them outside for you â) he types back. and you send him a simple ok in response. the box stays empty in front of him, his hand gripping onto a a shirt of yours.Â
his knuckles turn white.Â
he doesnât know what to do. no, heâs lying. he knows exactly what to do but every being in him is telling him not to. your shirt still smells like you, (he smiles to himself) ofcourse it does. but now the thought of you really leaving him seems all too real.Â
heeseung shoves the shirt into the box with care â he refuses to rumple it. so he grabs another one, and folds it before shoving into the bottom of the box. and then again, and again, and again.Â
now losing you feels all too real, everytime he puts another item into the box heeseung loses apart of himself. he hates this. he hates himself even more.Â
eventually he stops, he can't bare to look at your clothes again or anything reminding you for that matter. his head rests against the edge of the bed, the rest of his body leaning into the frame.
thoughts run to his head, of what if's and words falling and being thrown and â he didn't meaning. heeseung didn't mean to say it was over, didn't mean to say all those words but he did. the box stays half empty or half full, he's unsure about everything. he want's to apologise but he knows you made up your mind but he wants to tell you wants to beg in front of you andâ
the doorbell rings. you're here.Â
JAY
it happens when he and his friends go out for dinner, bottles lined up and empty. music roaring in his ears, laughter even louder. he constantly tells himself that he'll only drink a little, that he needs to be sobber enough to get himself home.
but instead he finds himself stumbling to your apartment building, like muscle memory. jay knows he isn't in the right mind -- he knows its not the perfect excuse, that he's drunk and just needs to find a place to stay but he does it anyway, his feet dragging him otherwise.
so he sits on the curb and stays there, swaying back and forth and forth and back and biting his tongue and staring at the ground while he waits. waiting for you to approach him, to speak to him to ask him whats wrong.
and he knows you well and stays hopeful, that he'll catch a glimspe of you before leaving. and you do, ofcourse you do. coat wrapped snuggly around you and a plastic bag in a hand, as you quickly walk up to the man.
("jay?" you crouch down to see his face, his cheek and nose a deep shade of red and tears making everything all too blurry. he begins to doubt that anything is real.)
your voice is soft and comforting that in an instant. he cries. because that's what really breaks him. the fact that youre still concerned, the fact that you still care. the fact that he hurt you and you didn't even slam the door in his face, you didn't hate him enough to do it.
jay wipes the tears spilling down his cheeks, though the choked sobs escaping his lips do little to hide the fact that he got so emotional. jay the prideful, jay the strong is still love sick jay who still craves your warmth
and when you pull him into half a hug, where his head rests comfortably on your chest while he sobs â he wishes, oh how he wishes this'll last a little longer.
JAKE
It happens when he returns home from practice, tired and sweaty and all he can think about is being wrapped in your arms.Â
he shoves the key into its hole and, turning and twisting it until it clicks. his hands holding a bouquet of your favourite flowers.Â
jake is excited, too excited. hes kicking off the shoes from his feet and yanking his coat from his shoulders. he almost yells out, âI'm home!â in his deep accent, dimples on display.Â
but it gets stuck in his throat, your shoes aren't where there supposed to be. they aren't anywhere at all â they aren't at the doorstep and your coat isn't in the closet. your keys aren't hung anywhere and your perfume is gone andâÂ
oh. it comes back to him like a wave. oh. he gives himself a pathetic laugh, a dry half cough half sigh. his lips quivering at a silly promise the two of you made.
that he'd always return to your arms, and into a house that's full and lived and loved , with you in it.
but now its empty and cold and jake doesn't know what to do anymore. he lets out a shaky breath as layla senses his return, but even she doesn't bark with all her excitement anymore. tears cloud his vision as he stumbles onto the ground, resting himself against the cold metal of the door.
the flowers lay flush against the man's chest, arms holding it tight afraid to let go. sobs echo through the room, he won't let go. he can't â the very last of you.
SUNGHOON
sunghoon stares blankly at the trashcan at his feet and, then up at the fridge in front of him. and he doesn't know what to do.
pictures of the two of you together, has him spiralling. the fact that you're still smiling in all of them makes him feel sick.
it happens when he's cleaning up after, trying to get rid of anything and everything that reminds him of you. so he starts in the kitchen, the sticky notes plastered all over the fridge with phrases that tug his heart the wrong way, (soft i love you's and reminders)
the easiest thing to do (ofcourse), would be to throw it out. it happens when he's forced to look back at the past of what you were and think about what you could've been.
he finds himself furiously trying to wipe the tears spilling from his eyes, but to no avail. he grabs a photo, the one at the top left, the one taken at a photobooth. where your hands pull his head closer to your lips til you finally place a soft chaste (mwah!) onto his cheek.
but the photo feels dull. it taunts him. he wants to rip it. he wants to get rid of it, he wants to crumble it and throw it away. but he can't â he can't get himself to.
so the trashcan is still empty at his feet and the fridge still full. sunghoon doesn't know what to do -- he doesn't want to let you go, not yet. it makes everything all too real.
SUNOO
It happens at a convenience store, when hes working late hours and tending to the drunk man that doesn't know how to leave him alone. he practices in his head, more times than he can count â about ways to really give it to you, when he does get the chance. he lazily punches the numbers into the cash register, brows scowling as he rehearsed, again.Â
sunoo has been doing everything and all that he can to keep himself busy, his apartment too large and too empty all of a sudden. jungwon no longer provides him the emotional support that was supposed to be guaranteed within the friendship (a pact â we made a pact)
everything made him feel sick â his shirt was too tight, his vest clung everywhere it wasn't supposed to, the fluorescent light flickering above him, the smile you gave when you told him that you were breaking up with him â sick.Â
sunoo was going to give it to you, he promised himself. he'd tell you how much he hates you and how you're a terrible person, and tell you all the things he could've, would've said if you were together.
he'd ask why and what he did wrong andâÂ
the bell rings and he says his usual welcome in his customer service voice, until he sees who it is. the voice trails off and he sees you. sunoo finally sees you.Â
you seem to be doing great, he notes to himself. your hair is all nicely done, your shoes look brand new and your look.. pretty. he watches you pass throught the aisles, bending and turning to catch a glimpse of you. time seemed to be slowing when you were around.Â
you finally walk up and heâ (âim sorry,â he ends up saying eventually. âIt was really stupid of me to and i didnât mean what iââ you cut him off. âHow much is it.âÂ
he blinks. what. you repeat it again, much firmer this time rummaging through your bag. sunoo opens his mouth to speak â âsorry sir, I really need to go. how much is it?âÂ
sunoo feels the lump in his throat, the sting behind his eyes, his lips quivering into a cry. He swallows the apology. âYour total is twelve dollars fifty three cents, cash or card?â
JUNGWON
he canât hear anything over the roaring of his ears. the sound of his friends laughter filling the air and the bass of the music playing from the karaoke machine thrumming his bones. his drunken frising yet another song, jungwon fixes his position against the corner of the couchÂ
jake had ask him if he could retrieve a photo of him ( ââsureâ, he answers). the phone light illuminates his face, he is quiet for the most part. Scrolling through your messages to retrieve an old message of himself.Â
he tells himself that heâll block you once he finds the photos, that heâll be done with you once he gets those goodman photos back but every message he sees youve sent laced with love only causes a lump in his throatÂ
jungwon is biting back every urge to cry. he doesnât like this â he hates this, but his thumb only seems to scroll slower. he takes in everything, the way you write, the emojis, the pet names, the selfies, the âthis reminds me of youâ â (everything reminds him of you now).Â
tears cloud his eyes, as he scrolls faster to find the images. he seems to completely miss the response to his desperate message for you to comeback.
NIKI
its when his friends ask when you were going to come over and hang out. "she's busy," he lies, the corners of his lips pulling into a thin line. niki smiles, playing with the hem of his shirt.
he has nothing better to do, so he lies. he lies that you're still together, that you still have pizza nights and hangouts. he lies that you're hanging out with friends or busy with work. he lies that you're still in love with him. but they know better, niki's friends know he's lying. they mask their pity with laughs and chortles but they know niki lis lying.
background noises turn to distant humming and niki is left toying the tab of his half empty soda can. he swallows hard, looking down at his phone that illuminated his face and made his features much clearer. niki doesn't want to admit that you guys broke up, that you left him and that he let you go. one hand runs through his hair, trying -- desperately trying to pull up your phone number. a string of silent pleas leaves his chapped lips.
it simply becomes a blur, the break up but he remembers raising his voice and he remembers yours yelling back and he remembers and remembers and the more he does the more he finds himself pulling his hair, lips quivering and etars falling.
he's left to voicemail, a "this phone number isn't available right now." and he finds himself shaking as he tries again and again... and again. he muffles his sobs with his knuckles, teeth sinking into his skin. surprisingly, it hurts less.
it comes to him in heartbeats, he feels his heart sink as he calls again. the ache that becomes a reality, the terrifying realization that you might really really be gone for good.
and that no matter how many times he'd tell everyone "they're busy," you're never coming back. and niki's not ready to accept that.
notebook I hope I wrote them accurately!!!
taglist open âď¸ .....
#â ââ diary entry âś#enhypen#enhypen imagines#enhypen x reader#enhypen fluff#enhypen scenarios#enhypen reactions#enhypen headcanons#enhypen drabbles#enhypen angst#enha imagines#enha drabbles#enha reactions#enha angst#enha headcanons#heeseung angst#jay angst#jongseong angst#jake angst#jaeyun angst#sunghoon angst#sunoo angst#jungwon angst#niki angst#riki angst#heeseung#jay#jake#sunghoon#sunoo
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Hi, Lazy-ahh! Can I ask for main Mark x AMAB reader? In another universe, reader lost his Mark. He somehow travels to main Markâs universe. Out of desperation, reader murders the other version of himself to take his place and have a second chance with his boyfriend. But itâs only a matter of time before Mark finds out.
REPLACEABLE

pairing mark grayson x (alternate dimension) AMAB reader
in another dimension, you lost mark. now, you'll destroy anythingâeven yourselfâto get him back. but when mark starts noticing the blood under your nails, you realize: some ghosts can't be buried. and some loves aren't yours to keep.
taglist @hhoneylemon , @queermaeda , @yujensstuff , @thebatsgreatestfailure , @roryroro

you miss him.
itâs a hollow, gnawing thing, chewing through your ribs like a starving animal, leaving behind nothing but an ache so deep you swear itâs carved into your bones. you miss the way he laughed, loud and unguarded, the way his nose scrunched when he teased you, the way his fingers tangled in yours like he never wanted to let goâlike you were something precious, something worth holding onto.
but your mark is gone.
you donât remember much about how it happened, the memory too traumatic to remember yet too painful to forgetâjust screaming, the metallic tang of blood in the air, the way his body hit the ground too hard, too still, the sickening crack of impact that still echoes in your nightmares. you remember clutching his face, your fingers smearing red across his cheeks, begging him to wake up, to breathe, but his eyes stayed empty, staring past you into nothing.
you werenât fast enough. you werenât strong enough.
and then, somehow, you werenât in your world anymore.
you werenât even given the chance to grieve yet, to mourn, to scream into the void until your voice gave out. one second, you were kneeling in the wreckage of your life, and the next, you were standing on a sidewalk under a sun that felt too bright, too cruel.
this universe is almost the same. the same streets, the same sky, the same stupid posters of omni-man and the guardians of the globe plastered on bus stops, their smug faces grinning down at you like some sick joke. but then you see himâmark, your mark, alive and whole and laughing, his voice ringing through the air like a punch to the chest. your breath stutters, your chest cracks open, and suddenly youâre drowning all over again.
heâs right there.
you watch him for days, a ghost haunting the edges of his life. he goes to class, he texts his friends, he flies off to fight bad guys like nothingâs wrong, like the world hasnât ended. it seems like he had just recently gotten his superpowers, his movements still a little unsteady mid-air, nothing like the effortless grace of your mark. your mark had gained his while he was trying to save you during a villain attack, his body slamming into yours as he shielded you from debris, his eyes wide with panic and determination as his powers finally sparked to life. youâd been walking toward a comic store to buy the latest issue of seance dog, his hand warm in yours, his voice teasing as he argued about which volume was betterâas clichĂŠ and romantic as the scenario was, it was yours. but this mark wasnât your mark. he didnât have the memories you two shared, the inside jokes, the quiet nights pressed together under the glow of his laptop screen. he just lived his life happily and heroically, like he didnât die in your arms. like you didnât lose everything.
and then you see him. noânot him. you.
the other version of you in this dimension. it seemed like you didnât get superpowers, didnât go through the intense training that carved your body into something sharper, something meant to survive. you were... normal. soft in a way you hadnât been in years. this version of you didnât get to go on dates where you and mark just flew through the vast, endless night sky, the air cold and biting as you clung to him, the world below reduced to scattered lights while above you, the cosmos sprawled out in all its gloryâendless stars, streaks of auroras painting the dark in rippling greens and purples, depending on where the two of you decided to go that night. you didnât get to fight side by side, didnât get to know the rush of battle, the way markâs laughter would cut through the chaos as the two of you pulled off some stupid, reckless stunt, the way heâd press his forehead to yours after, breathless and bleeding, whispering, we make a good team.
but this youâthis soft, powerless, ordinary youâwas the one who still got to hold markâs hand. who still got to kiss him goodnight. who still got to exist in a world where he was alive.
itâs not fair.
you donât plan it. at least, you donât think you do. but when you see them togetherâmarkâs arm slung around his shoulders, his smile so bright it hurts, like looking directly into the sunâsomething inside you snaps. something dark and cruel and selfish, something thatâs been festering deep inside you, rotting you from the core, finally consumes you whole.
he was walking home alone. itâs easy. he was normal. you were not.
you remember not even letting him scream. every time the memory comes crashing back, itâs like watching a scene play out from somewhere outside your bodyâlike youâre floating in the back of your own mind, numb and detached, as the darkness in your veins pulls your strings, as your hands move without your permission. you let it happen. you let yourself drown.
you had gracefully landed behind them, silent as a shadow. your reflection in the dim streetlights wouldâve been horrifying if theyâd turned around fast enough to see itâyour eyes sunken, bruised with exhaustion, your lips chapped from biting back screams, your hair a mess from nights spent clawing at your own scalp just to feel something. you looked like a ghost. like something already dead.
you remember the way they turned around, playful and fond, expecting it to be mark, only for their expression to twist into surprise. thenâwonder? awe? you remember feeling perplexed, watching as this other version of you lit up, rambling in passionate excitement about how cool it was to see another version of himself. you had explained, briefly, that you were a superhero in your dimension, that you fought alongside mark, and their face had glowed with admiration, with playful jealousy, with this aching, innocent wantâgod, i wish i could do that. i wish i could be out there with him.
then, you remember telling them, voice hollow, that your mark died. because you were too weak. too slow. too human to save him.
and their expressionâit falls. their smile shatters like glass, their eyes widening in something like grief, like understanding, because they love mark too, and the thought of losing himâ
you watch the exact moment realization creeps in. their breath hitches. their fingers twitch, like they want to reach for you, or maybe run. their lips partâwaitâ
but youâre already moving.
"but... donât worry," you whisper, and your voice doesnât even sound like yours anymore. "youâll be able to fight alongside him too. itâs just... it wouldnât be you." your hand brushes their cheek, almost tender. "but then again, we are the same person anyway, right...?"
their face twists in horror.
you donât let them scream.
(â§ââŚ)ďžâ
mark notices something's off.
not at first. at first, you're perfectâmaybe too perfect. you know all his favorite foods (the way he likes his burgers slightly pink in the middle, how he picks the mushrooms out of his pasta but will eat them if they're chopped small enough). you remember every stupid inside joke, every embarrassing childhood story his mom told you that one thanksgiving. your hands find all the right placesâthe spot behind his ear that makes him shiver, the way his shoulders tense after patrol that requires just the right amount of pressure to melt away. you curl into him on the couch like a dying star collapsing inward, pressing your face into the warm hollow of his neck, breathing him in like he's oxygen and you've been drowning for months.
maybe he is. maybe he's the only thing keeping you from dissolving completely.
"you've been clingy lately," he murmurs one night, fingers tracing idle circles along the knobs of your spine. you've lost weight. his voice is fond but there's something else there nowâa question. "not that i'm complaining."
you tighten your arms around him like he might vanish if you loosen your grip. "just missed you."
he laughs, soft and warm, but it doesn't reach his eyes the way it used to. "i was gone for, like, two hours."
you press closer instead of answering, your fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt.
silence stretches. then his hand stills on your back. "...y/n?"
"mhm?"
"look at me."
you don't want to. but you do.
his brows are furrowed, thumb brushing under your eye where the shadows have grown darker, more permanent. "you look like shit." it's supposed to be a joke but his voice cracks. "when was the last time you slept? actually slept?"
you try to smile. it feels like tearing open a wound. "'m fine."
"bullshit." his hands frame your face, calloused and warm and so painfully familiar it makes your chest ache. "you're shaking. you've beenâi don't know, jumpy? like you're expecting something toâ" he cuts himself off, swallows hard. "talk to me. please."
the concern in his voice is worse than anger would've been. you want to laugh. you want to scream. you want to tell him everythingâhow you wake up choking on his name, how every time he leaves the room you're half-convinced he won't come back, how sometimes you still smell blood when there's none there.
instead, you press your forehead to his and whisper, "bad dreams."
it's not entirely a lie.
mark exhales, long and slow, his breath warm against your lips. "okay," he murmurs, like he doesn't believe you but won't push. not yet. "okay. but you gotta eat something, alright? and sleep. actual sleep. i'll be right here." his arms tighten around you. "not going anywhere."
you close your eyes.
(you don't tell him that's what your mark said too.)
(â§ââŚ)ďžâ
it's the little things that give you away.
the way you flinch when a car backfires two blocks awayâtoo loud, too sudden, too much like that day. how you forget cecil's name during dinner when mark mentions him, even though the other you had known him since freshman year. the way you sometimes stare at mark across the room like he's a miracle, like he's already gone, your fingers twitching with the need to touch him just to prove he's real.
and then there are the nightmares.
you wake up screaming more often than not, sheets tangled around your thrashing limbs, your throat raw like you've been swallowing glass. the images never fadeâblood on your hands, mark's vacant eyes, the way his body had felt so heavy when you cradled him. you scrub your skin raw in the shower until it's pink and stinging, but the phantom stains remain. you see them in the dark, in the flicker of streetlights through the blinds, in the rust-colored water swirling down the drain.
mark always wakes when you do.
his arms are around you before you can choke out another sob, pulling you against his chest where you can feel his heartbeatâsteady, alive, here. "hey," he murmurs into your hair, voice thick with sleep but achingly tender, "it's okay. i've got you." his lips press against your damp temple, your forehead, the corner of your eye where tears still cling. "breathe, baby. just breathe."
you want to sob harder at the pet name. the other you had loved it too.
your fingers clutch at his shirt like a lifeline, nails digging into the fabric as you try to anchor yourself in the present. mark doesn't complain, just holds you tighter, one hand rubbing slow circles between your shoulder blades. "was it the same dream?" he asks softly.
you nod against his collarbone, unable to speak past the guilt lodged in your throat.
"wanna talk about it?"
you shake your head.
he doesn't push. just shifts until he can tuck you under his chin, your ear pressed over his pulse point. "listen to that," he whispers. "i'm right here. not going anywhere." his fingers card through your sweat-damp hair, gentle and sure. "you're stuck with me, y'know?"
a wet laugh escapes you, half-hysterical. if only he knew.
when you finally drift off again, it's to the rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of his hand still tangled in yoursâlike he's afraid you'll disappear if he lets go.
(you wish you could tell him he's holding a ghost.)
(â§ââŚ)ďžâ
he finds out on a thursday.
you don't know how. maybe he followed you when you slipped out before dawn to scrub blood from under your nails in a gas station bathroom. maybe he found the shallow grave you dug behind the abandoned church, the dirt still loose after three weeks of rain. maybe the other you's friends noticed their texts going unanswered, their calls ignored, the way you'd flinch whenever someone said their name.
but when you push open the bedroom doorâstill smiling, still pretending, still holding the takeout bag from mark's favorite burger placeâhe's standing in the middle of the room. the blinds are closed. the lights are too bright. his face is pale as milkglass.
"where's y/n?" he asks. his voice is too quiet, too careful, like he's holding back a hurricane.
your stomach drops through the floor. the bag slips from your fingers, greasy fries scattering across the hardwood. "i'm right here."
"no." his hands are shaking now, clenched at his sides like he wants to hit something. or you. "the real y/n. where are they?"
you open your mouth. nothing comes out but a thin, wounded sound.
mark's eyes drag over youâthe too-sharp angles of your face that don't quite match the photos on the fridge, the way your fingers twitch toward your pockets where bloodstained gloves are hidden, the defensive hunch of your shoulders like you're waiting for the world to end. again. his breath hitches. "oh my god." his voice cracks down the middle. "youâyou're not them. what did you do?"
the grief in his voice is a knife between your ribs. you can feel yourself splitting open at the seams.
"i had to," you whisper. your voice sounds shattered, like you've been screaming for years. "i couldn'tâi couldn't lose you again."
"again?" his face twists like he's tasting something rotten. "what the fuck are you talking about?"
"you died." the words pour out of you like pus from an infected wound, thick and putrid with guilt. "in my world, you died in my armsâyour blood soaking through my clothes, your eyes going blank while i begged you to stayâand iâ" your voice fractures, "i wasn't fast enough, i wasn't strong enough, and then i was here and you were alive but you weren't mine and i justâ" your knees hit the floor with a sickening crack, but you don't feel the pain. "i just wanted you back."
mark stumbles back like you've physically struck him, his shoulders hitting the wall with a dull thud. his hands fly up to clutch at his hair, fingers twisting in the dark strands until his knuckles bleach white. "so you killed him?" his voice is barely recognizableâraw and shattered. "you killed yourself just toâto what? replace him? wear his face like some fucked-up mask?!"
"i didn't want to be alone!" you scream so hard your throat tears, the taste of copper flooding your mouth. "you don't understandâyou're alive here, breathing and whole andâ" your voice breaks into a whimper, "and i couldn'tâi couldn't keep waking up to a world where you don't existâ"
mark's crying. really cryingâthe kind of sobs that wrack his entire body, tears streaming down his face in hot, silent rivers. you've never seen him cry before, not even when he broke his arm during a fight, not even when his dad disappointed him for the hundredth time. his breath comes in ragged, wet gasps as he slides down the wall, his legs giving out beneath him.
"you're a monster," he chokes out, the words barely audible but cutting deeper than any blade. his red-rimmed eyes meet yours, and the look in themâhorror, grief, betrayalâmakes your stomach twist violently.
you collapse forward, your forehead pressing against the cold floor as your body convulses with silent sobs. the weight of what you've done crushes you into nothingness, until you're not sure you even exist anymore. the last thing you hear before darkness swallows you whole is mark's broken whisper:
"i loved him."
(â§ââŚ)ďžâ
he doesn't turn you in.
you don't know why. maybe he pities youâsees the hollows under your eyes, the way your hands never stop shaking, and thinks you've suffered enough. maybe he's too horrified to think straight, his mind still reeling from the blood under the floorboards, the missing person posters plastered across town. or maybe, in some terrible, twisted way, he understands. because he's lost people tooânearly lost himself a dozen times overâand that kind of grief does things to a person. makes them desperate. makes them dangerous. especially if that person was the love of your life. your soulmate. your heart. your everything.
but he doesn't look at you the same.
he doesn't touch youâno more casual brushes of fingers, no more sleepy cuddles on the couch, no more pressing kisses to your scars like they're something precious. doesn't smile at your stupid jokes, doesn't light up when you walk into the room. doesn't say your name like it means something, just avoids it entirely, like the syllables burn his tongue.
you broke him.
(and you wonder, with a sick sort of clarity, if this is how your mark felt when you died in your world. if he'd screamed himself raw, if he'd begged some higher power for a second chance, if he'd have done something just as monstrous to get you back. the thought makes you nauseous. you understand now. you wish you didn't.)
you leave before he can.
you don't belong here. you never did.
the last thing you see is mark's faceâangry, grieving, aliveâhis mouth forming words you'll never hear, his hands reaching out like some part of him still wants to catch you. then the portal swallows you whole, and there's nothing but static and the phantom feeling of his fingers slipping through yours.
(you hope, wherever you end up, that there's a version of him who still loves you. but you know, deep down, you don't deserve it.)

3.1k words and I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMOREEEE WHY DO I KEEP DOING THIS TO MYSELFFFFFF AHHHHHHH thank you so much to the lovely anon who requested this! <33 hopefully you didn't cry as hard as i did when you read this...
#lazy-ahh#invincible#mark grayson#amab reader#male reader#invincible x reader#invincible x amab reader#mark grayson x reader#mark grayson x amab reader#like why do i even enjoy angst??#why do i keep making each sentence sadder than the last????#i literally can't anymore#watch me write another angst one-shot the next day-#NEED THAT INVINCIDIH#but i actually need to comfort and console him first#and reader too#cause i would never recover if i lost fine shyt like mark-#are you sure?
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nowhere else i'd rather be
Pedro Pascal x Actress!Reader
comfort, TLOU season 2 spoilers below
materialized after watching the SXSW interview with him and Bella where he started to get a little emotional as he talked
You missed the flight.
Not the one you booked, but the one you needed to be onâthe one that would've gotten you to him in time.
Your day had unraveled like string pulled too tight. A last-minute promo shoot ran over. The car that was supposed to take you to the airport arrived half an hour late, and the traffic was a crawling mess of brake lights and frustration. By the time you got through security, the plane was already taxiing. The only thing you could do was pace at the gate and rebook.
The flight you ended up on was quiet. Too quiet. You spent most of it curled toward the window, earbuds in, the drone of the engines dull against your thoughts. You kept replaying the way Pedro looked last time you FaceTimed from setâbone-deep tired, dust in his hair, that Joel stillness he carried like armor even off-camera. You remembered the way his hands curled into fists when he didnât think you were watching. The long silences that came after night shoots.
You knew today would be brutal. The kind of goodbye that sits behind the ribs for days.
You checked the time obsessively. Watched your texts go unanswered. Imagined him surrounded by applause, shoulders tight, eyes glassy, doing his best to laugh and deflect when someone handed him a final cup of coffee with "Joel" scrawled across the lid.
He didnât know you were coming. That was supposed to be the one good part of the dayâshowing up just in time to pull him into a hug before the weight of it could settle too heavy. But now youâre stepping into a hotel elevator long past sunset, earbuds back in, bag over your shoulder, praying the moment hasnât passed completely.
Your phone buzzes. FaceTime. Pedro.
You answer with a soft smile, masking the fatigue and the guilt pooling in your chest. âHey, you.â
The screen lights up with his face, and the first thing you see is the wreck of him.
Heâs sitting on the edge of a hotel bed, hoodie loose around his neck, hair mussed from running his hands through it one too many times. His eyes are rimmed red, lashes still damp. Thereâs something fragile about the way he looks at you, like heâs not quite sure he can hold it together.
âOh, baby,â you murmur, the term soft with ache.
He tries to laugh, but it crumbles in his throat. âI didnât want to call you like this.â
âLike what?â
He shrugs, wiping quickly under his eye with the sleeve of his hoodie. âLike a guy who cried all the way back to the hotel.â
Your heart folds in on itself.
âWe wrapped.â He swallows. âThat was it. Joelâs done. We all stood around clapping and hugging and pretending we werenât crying until it was Bella's turn to say goodbye. Sheââ His voice cracks. He exhales sharply through his nose. âShe called me her family. Said being on set wouldn't be the same. And when she hugged me, I justââ
You donât say anything. You just listen. Let him talk.
âI didnât think it would hit that hard,â he continues, voice quieter now, like heâs running out of steam. âBut it did. All of it. The last scene. The jacket. The boots. Even the damn coffee cup they gave me with Joelâs name on it.â
You offer him a quiet smile, steadying, and step out of the elevator. Your footsteps are muffled by carpet now as you move down the hallway.
Pedro watches the screen, eyes narrowing slightly. âWait, are you back at your hotel?â
âIâm on my way up to the room now,â you reply easily, shifting the camera just enough to keep the door numbers out of frame. You change the subject gently. âWhat did they give you? You said something about a gift bag?â
He talks, a little less raw now, about the crew and the last-minute gifts, about the director choking up during his speech. At one point he holds up a small wrapped box, trying to describe it while blinking rapidly. His voice keeps catching on certain memories, but you stay with him. Let him lean on you through the screen.
Then youâre standing outside his room. You knock three times, soft but sure.
He looks offscreen. Frowns. âHang on, sorry. Someoneâs at the door.â
âIâll stay right here,â you say, tucking a smile into the corner of your mouth.
Pedro sets the phone down and moves to the door.
When he opens it, he freezes.
Youâre standing there, bag at your feet, hoodie zipped up to your chin, your eyes warm with the kind of affection that comes from knowing someone so well you can see straight through them.
His mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
âSurprise,â you murmur.
He huffs out a soft, shaky laugh, the kind that caught in his throat like a breath half-held, half-sob. He steps forward immediately, arms pulling you into him with a force that says everything he canât quite say aloud yet.
You melt into the hug, burying your face against his neck, pressing a kiss to the stubble on his cheek. âIâm here, amor.â
Another laugh escapes him, trembling and full of disbelief. You feel it in the way he holds you tighter. His hands shake just a little as they cradle your back. He doesnât let go for a long time.
When he finally pulls back, his eyes search your face like he still doesnât believe it. Then he kisses you.
Itâs slow. Unhurried. A kiss that says thank you and I missed you and donât go anywhere, not yet. You kiss him back with the same answer.
When he finally pulls away, he sees your bag. He reaches down, grabs the handle, then takes your hand in his and pulls you gently inside, closing the door behind you.
âThank you for coming,â he says, voice hoarse.
âOf course I came,â you reply, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, your thumb brushing over his knuckles with quiet affection. âThereâs nowhere else Iâd rather be.â
Later, the two of you are curled on the couch, his body wrapped around yours like heâs still afraid you might disappear if he lets go. Your fingers move gently through his hair as he talks, voice low and thoughtful.
âIt was one of the best wraps Iâve ever had,â he murmurs. âBut it was also the hardest. Joel was a lot. He changed me.â
Every time his voice wavers, you press a kiss to his forehead, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. Wherever you can reach.
At one point, he falls quiet. His hand slides up, resting over your heart like heâs grounding himself in the rhythm of your breath. He doesnât speak for a while.
You hold him through it.
No camera. No crew. No need to be anything but this.
And for the first time tonight, he lets himself restânot just beside you, but into the quiet, where nothing has to be said to be understood.
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Charlie, a short story.
I wanted to try something new with this. So if you could give it a read and lemme know what you think it'd be appreciated <3 text is under the read more.
It was raining again today, not that it mattered to you much.
You spent another fruitless day at your desk again. Spending 11 hours to do what you couldâve done in 2. Youâve suspected for a while that you might have something wrong with you, people donât normally struggle this much to concentrate, normal people donât feel that strange lump in your neck that youâve been feeling as of late. Maybe youâve not long for this world you begin to muse.
Thatâs stupid.Â
Youâve had thoughts like these for years now, on and off and on and off. Like the tide of a beach, it comes and goes. The only constant in your life, it seems at least at the moment. Is your living situation. Youâve had this job working from home for what feels like your whole life. It hasnât been but you have a hard time connecting with the you that existed before this. At times it feels like those memories belong to someone else. Anyway, itâs clear you need to make some kind of change in your life because youâre not getting as much done as you used to.Â
This is a thought you find yourself having, a lot.
Glancing at the time you see itâs time to feed Charlie. Charlie is your pet cat. Was, your pet cat. The relationship between you two got uncomfortably nuanced when he started talking. And it got difficult to not think about when he started walking around like a person, wearing clothes and playing with your unorganised knicknacks. All things considered though you adjusted to the situation fairly quickly you muse, as you prepare dinner for the both of you.Â
âDinners ready.â you call. Nothing. Heâs probably distracted again.
Plating up the dinner you walk over to the living room. Through the glass door you see Charlie sitting on the sofa wearing one of your much too large hoodies. Thereâs a bunch of odd little crafts projects strewn about the living room. The creak of the door causes his ears to perk up âOh! Sorry I didnât hear you dad. Did you call?â. You told him not to call you that,whatever, don't linger on it âItâs alright, just wanted to let you know dinners are readyâ. Charlie removes the earbuds he had dangling off his ears and walks over to you smirking, you think heâs smirking his face can be a hard read sometimes.
You both sit at the dinner table. Unseasoned fish n veggies. Again. You were never much of a chef. âSooo, we gonna talk today?â he teases.Â
âAbout what?â you ask.Â
âMe? Like, this whole. situationâ he gestures at himself.Â
âOh, I mean. I could get you some proper clothes soon.â you reply between bites, youâre pretty hungry.Â
He sighs âYou know what I mean, I feel like youâve been ignoring me latelyâ. He wasnât wrong, you had been, for a few months. âLike, do I make you uncomfortable or something?â.Â
You pause on that for a bit, choosing the right words not to offend him.Â
âNo you donât make me uncomfortable. Iâve just been busy lately. Feels like I barely have enough time even for myselfâ youâre half lying, it does feel like you rarely ever have enough time. But, you recognise thatâs your own fault.
 Charlie looks down picking at his food with his paw. He sighs.
 âItâd be nice if you found some time for me tooâ.Â
That stung.
âIâm sorry, Iâll try this weekend. Ok?â itâs all you could come up with. Charlie sighs.
 âOk, you going to âworkâ now then?â heâs not hiding his disappointment.
 âYeah, got some last minute stuff I need to finish up, sorry. You can leave your dishes, Iâll clean em later.â You get up, walking towards the door.
âCan I have a hug at least?â Charlie asks.
 You turn to face him, he looks as tiny as the day you found him. You walk over and hold him in a hug. âI promise Iâll spend more time with you. Alright? Weâll talk more tomorrow morningâ you reassure him. You feel him squeeze you a little and he nods.
Before you know it youâre back at your desk. You see your group chat is already full of messagesâŚÂ
You go to bed late, again.
Waking up your head feels hazy, you check your watch. 5 hours and 47 minutes of sleep. Should be plenty, you think. You brush your teeth, strategically avoiding eye contact with yourself in the mirror, you donât really like what you see. After getting dressed and leaving Charlieâs food out you get straight to work.Â
You think you smell something for a bit before focusing on your computer againâŚ
 âŚWhere you get little work done again, and a headache for your trouble. As you sit at your desk kneading your head you hear a knock at the door startling you.
Itâs Charlie. Wearing your apron. Heâs a bit of a mess.
 âI made ya dinner, since it was getting lateâ. He gestures to the kitchen âIf youâre feeling hungryâ.Â
âOh, thanks. I guess I forgotâ you respond, you werenât hungry. You sit down in the kitchen and start scoffing it down.Â
âHey hey wait I wanna eat along with youâ Charlie exclaims grabbing his plate. As he walks over, his paw snags on the apron. The plate smashes.Â
You just stare for a moment as you begin to get up, another problem. Charlie grabs your wrist. âIâm sorry. I-Iâ he stammers. You pull your hand away, you donât want to say something youâll regret. âIâll clean it laterâ you say walking back to your room.Â
You begin to feel yourself getting sucked back into your work when you hear a knock at the door.
 âYou can come in,â you say drily.
 Charlie opens the door and walks in, you hear him. âIâm sorry about earlier. And I cleaned the kitchen up so you donât need to worry about itâ thereâs clear distress in his voice, you let it just roll over you. âWhatever, it's fine. I just need to work ok?â you rebuke.
 Thereâs a silence in the air for a moment. You feel like he left the door open, he knows you donât like him leaving the door open. You turn to look. Heâs still standing there, the only sound in the room is the low hum of your computer. He breaks the silence.
âDo you, like me still?â
 You sigh âWhat kind of question.-â before you finish your sentence, you look into his eyes, you see tears beginning to well. â-hey, hey buddy ok, ok come hereâ you walk over to him arms open. He tentatively comes in for a hug and you pull him in tight, petting him. His head is hot in your hand, you can tell heâs crying âIâm, sorry. I just wanted to save you time cooking. So we could talk more over dinnerâ his voice is strained.
âItâs, fine I appreciate itâ you respond, a lump forming in your throat breaks your cool tone.Â
âI didnt even thank you for the dinner. Iâm sorry Charlie. It was really sweet of you. Really.â you reassure him.
You hug him tighter. You hear the pings from your chat in your headphones. You turn it off. âI think we need to have a long talk, how does that sound to you?â. You offer. âThat sounds great, â he says, wiping his face.Â
You spend an indeterminate time in the living room talking about your predicament with him. How you felt about your pet becoming a person, how you were less than thrilled when it happened.
 âItâs weird, I used to think of you more like a silent roommate before. Like out of everything in this situation, hearing you call me Dad was the hardest.â you confess.
Charlie shoots a concerned look âOh! I mean if you prefer I can call you something else.âÂ
âEh, just call me by my name,â you say.
 âK , I also wanted to ask somethingâ. He continues âI know things are different now but if itâs not a lot to ask. Is it ok if I stay with you while you work again?âÂ
You recall holding him on your lap almost constantly back when you first brought him. home. It was a rainy day you recall. He was swaddled on your lap. A palm sized little thing.Â
âI donât need to sit on your lap I get it might be a bit uncomfortable now.â he starts, you cut him off
 â You donât need to assume that you make me any less comfortable. Ok?â you reassure him âIf I'm uncomfortable with anyone itâs with myself, that's my problem. Not yours.â
 He gives you a warm smile and leans into you. âAlrightâ you both sit together a while. Itâs nice.
He turns to you, giving you a boop on the nose âYou should go to bed early thoughâ he teases. âI suppose youâre rightâ you reply, your work isnât going anywhere. Right?
You both go to sleep on time that night.
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Hey baby! Can I request something where (sub) james potter and reader are best friends and one day he confesses to her that he wants to know what sex feels like (cause hes a virgin lol) and sheâs like âi can⌠show you?â đđťđđťđŁđŁ imagine him all subby fucked out not being able to handle how her pussy feels so much better than his hands
omg thisssssss!!!!! sub James is literally all I think about. I Hope you like ittt!
James Potter x Fem!Reader
Warnings: SMUT
1.8k words
--------
It's a typical Saturday night. James had texted you earlier asking if he could come over; apparently there was a new movie he wanted to see. Sirius had already seen it and Remus was too much of a movie critic so that left you as James' movie companion tonight.Â
You and Jamesâ friendship was comfortable. Youâd known him since you were kids and you both knew almost everything about each other. Almost. James was a person who thrived on physical touch, so that meant holding hands in public, spooning while taking naps together, and cuddling while watching movies. As you were right now.Â
The movie James had picked was action packed and not typically what youâd put on, but you weren't upset about it. You were just happy to spend time with him. He had gone to visit his parents the week prior, and although you had other friends to hang out with while he was away, nothing compared to the complete comfort and ease you felt with him. You two had a rhythm, you worked around each other seamlessly, you donât even need to think when he's around.Â
As the movie progressed through fight scenes and dramatic love confessions it eventually blurred into messy kisses and a very steamy sex scene that you should probably feel awkward watching while laying on top of your best friendâbut it's never awkward with James.Â
You are busy watching the movie, not worrying about the boy beneath you until you hear a sharp inhalation of breath.
You scrunch your eyebrows and tear your vision away from the screen where the two main characters are going at it on their kitchen counter.
âJames?â you question
All you get is a strained âmhm?â in response
â... are you alright?â
You watch him take a deep breath. You even see a slight blush cover his cheeks. Strange.
âI just-â he stops himself and looks back at the TV for a moment,
âI just wish I knew what sex feels like.â he murmurs quietly
You nearly choke on your own spit. You donât mean to laugh at him, you really really don't. The giggles escape you involuntarily.Â
âJames, what are you talking about?â
He has to be messing with you, it's the only explanation your slightly dumbstruck mind can come up with. There is just no way your hot, muscley, kind, stunning bestfriend is a virgin. There's absolutely no way that's true.Â
But, you think back on all the times you have discussed sex with James. You both tell eachother everything, so why can't you come up with a single memory of him talking about his sex life? You have told him about yours plenty of times. You have told him about the guys that weren't able to make you cum, heâd made fun of them profusely. You told him about the guys that did make you cum, you told him about the hot shower sex you had, about a one night stand that submitted to you so well you swore it was the best sex of your life, you seriously didn't shut up about that lay, and yet throughout all of these stories James just nodded along. He didnât add to your stories, he never added his own input or told a story of his own.
Your realization must show on your face because James sinks a little further into the couch and his face flushes.
âNo, no, no. No. James, baby it's okay!â you nervously laugh
âGod, I'm so sorry. I really didnât mean to laugh it's just-â you stop yourself and take a deep breath,
âYou're just you. You know?â âI Mean James you're hot, I mean like ridiculously hot, and jacked and I just didn't expect you to be a virgin that's all!âÂ
After you finish your rambling James seems to lighten up a bit,
âYou think I'm hot sweetheart?â he wiggles his brows at you
You roll your eyes at him and push at his chest. Even through his teasing you think back to what he said. I wish I knew what sex feels like. He sounded so vulnerable when he said it and god, you just wanted to give this man whatever he wanted.Â
Your friendship was so open, it wouldnât be weird. You knew each other inside and out. He knows youâd take care of him and you know that heâd take care of you so, why not? Youâd be willing if he was down.
âJamesâ you say with a tone suddenly serious.
You shifted so that your knees were straddling either side of his waist and looked down at him. Suddenly you felt nervous. That feeling was quickly shaken from your mind as James reached out for your hand. He took it in his and laced his fingers with yours.Â
âI-, I canâŚshow you?â What sex is like I mean. If you want to of course! You don't have to-â
James cuts of your rambling with a simple âPleaseâ
When you look back down at him his eyes are glossed over. And fuck. You wanted to give him everything.Â
You lean down and hover your lips just above his,Â
âIs this okay baby?â
âMore than okay, please please please pl-â
You cut off jamesâ begging with a kiss. It's firm, a little sloppy, but so so so good. You experiment by grinding your hips down into his and he whimpers into your mouth.
You can feel his hard cock through his trousers and it makes you go slightly feral. You pull away from the kiss, itâs filthy, and a string of spit connects both of your mouths. You're both panting, James looks undone and you just started.
âLets go to my bed okay? You think you can do that for me?â
He lets out a grunt, but nods nonetheless. You get up off of his lap and he whines at the loss of contact. He throws his legs off the side of the couch and begins to stand as you reach for the remote to turn off the now forgotten movie.Â
You start moving toward the bedroom, James follows. When you arrive you pull James down by the roots of his hair and whisper into his mouth,
âGood boy, Jamesâ
James is surprised he doesnât come on the spot, he lets out a sinful moan just as your lips reconnect.Â
You walk him backwards toward the bed and push him down. He scoots up closer to the headboard and your hands come to his jeans. You start to unbutton them as he pulls his shirt over his head. You ogle him with no shame. After you've pulled his jeans and boxers off of his legs you let your hand roam. They move over his chest, watching as his back arches as you brush against his sensitive nipples, you run them over the ridges of his abs and move down. You narrowly avoid his cock deciding you want to tease his thighs instead.
He whines and squirms on the bed as you run your hands over his thighs, leaning down to bite and nip at them. He begs you for more. You don't think you have ever heard a prettier sound.
Eventually you decide to have mercy. You crawl up his body to give him a kiss. You look into his watery eyes as you coo
âAw James youre looking so fucked out and I havent even touched your pretty cock yetâ You fake a pout
âPlease, please y/n! I need you to touch meâ he pushes his hips up, looking for friction, but you lift up before he can get any.
âOh I know love, I've been a little mean havent I? My good boy deserves to be touched isnât that right Jamie?â
âYes! Yes ill be so good I promise, just touch me!â
You donât even wait for him to finish before wrapping your hand around his cock. Hes big. Again making you question just how in the hell your sweet boy is a virgin.
âSo big Jamie, so prettyâ you whisper as you begin to move your hand up and down in painstakingly slow strokes
He whines in the pillow where he buries his head. His hips lift to meet your hands movement and as you move to rub your thumb over his leaking tip he shouts,
ââM going to cum! Stop! I need to be inside you. I don't want to cum yet please!â
You lift your hand off immediately, and although he asked you to stop, he sobs into his pillow and releases a frustrated moan.Â
âIt's okay Jamie, you're doing so well for me. You want to be inside me?â
âYes!â he sobbed out
You strip off the remainder of your clothes and settle on top of him. He looks up at you with his teary eyes and grabs your waist. You reach behind you and pull his cock to your folds. You run his tip through your wetness, teasing him. He's already moaning and shaking from the minimal stimulation.
âPlease!â
With his request you sink down on him. The sound he makes is utterly indecent. Your sounds mix together as you adjust to his length. You haven't even started to move yet but his eyes are squeezed shut and heâs chanting donât cum dont cum dont cum to himself over and over again. You let out a slightly evil giggle as you rotate your hips and begin to move up and down on his cock.Â
He lets out a strangled moan and gasps.Â
âShit! Fuck fuck fuck.â he lifts his head off the pillow to get a better look at where your bodies meet but had to throw it back against his pillow in a few second.
He is completely overwhelmed and filled by the sensation of your heat wrapped around him. It's better than anything he's ever felt before. His hand could never live up to this and he doesn't know how he'll ever go without this again.
He tries to last, he really really tries, but it's all too much and he barely has the mind to tell you,
âCuming- Iâm cumming fuckâ
âInside meâ You pant out.
And that's all it takes. He cums with a strangled cry. You think he has never looked better. He looks completely and utterly debauched. His hair, usually unruly, is somehow even more of a mess, his face is scrunched up from pleasure, and he's covered in love bites.Â
You slow your hips movements and rub your hands soothingly down his sides.
âHow was that baby? Did it live up to your expectations?â
He looks up at you with a look full of admiration
âLive up to my expectations? Honey, you took my expectations and knocked them out of the park. That was the best thing I've ever felt. Ever.
You let out a giggle and lean down to give him a quick kiss. When you pull away he's frowning
âOh god, what now pretty boy?â
âYou didn't get to cum.â He states,
âI need to make you cum, it's not fair-â
You stop his ramblingsÂ
âHow about we save that for next time, yeah? I'm okay, I'm just happy I got to make you feel good. Lets get cleaned up, okay?
âNext time?â he questions,
âNext time.â
#marauders#the marauders#marauders x reader#james potter smut#jamespotter#James potter#james potter fanfic#james potter fic#james potter fanfiction#james potter x fem!reader#james potter x you#james fleamont potter#james potter imagine#james potter x reader#james potter x reader smut
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HIDDEN pt.2 || Choi Seung-Hyun (T.O.P)




summary: this is part 2 of my original fic HIDDEN. you should read that one first or youâre gonna be very confused!
warnings/this story contains: female reader, age gap (reader is 24 now, seunghyunâs 37) unresolved tension, mutual pining and emotional damage, readerâs life being absolute trash (?), seunghyun and the reader being very anxious people. angst (jealousy, heartbreak, guilt, shame, regret, self loathing, not being able to let go but also not being able to stay. timing never being right and love not being enough like alwayssss, iâm sorry) personal growth, forgiveness, closure, and a tiny little bitty bit of fluff if you squint your eyes very, very hard (lmao).
a/n: i never planned on writing a part two, but here we are! thank you so much for the endless support and for looking forward to this <3 as always, english isnât my first language! seunghyunâs texts are in blue, readerâs texts are in orange. readerâs dialogue is in bold.
songs: champagne coast â blood orange (yes, again, because this is their song. iâm making it canon) ll all i wanted â paramore || lovers â anna of the north || all too well (10 minute version) â taylor swift

itâs been nine months since the breakup, and your life couldnât be more different than it wasâif someone took a polaroid of you now and held it next to the girl who packed her bags for seoul with stars in her eyes, youâre not sure youâd even recognize her. youâre back in brownsville, no longer coordinating payload systems at starbaseâbecause, well, turns out when your year-long secret relationship becomes very suddenly not so secret, someone decided having you around was more trouble than it was worth. after they cut you offâciting professionalism and image and proprietyâyou didnât really have a plan.
you spent a month unemployed, half-heartedly scrolling through job listings you didnât want while lying facedown on the couch, alternating between waves of quiet panic and nausea that came every time you accidentally thought about seunghyun for more than five seconds. it was still raw thenâthe kind of heartbreak that didnât just ache but physically made you feel sick, like your body was rejecting the entire experience. everything reminded you of him, and you hated itâhow you could go from brushing your teeth to fully sobbing in the span of a minute because some memory had snuck in through the cracks, as if your own mind was determined to torture you for ever letting someone get that close.
and eventually, when your savings account started looking like a damn joke, you took the first job you could findâbartending at a small spot downtown. itâs not what you studied for. itâs not even remotely what you imagined doing when you walked across that graduation stage in your too-tight heels and got your aerospace degree handed to you⌠but itâs steady. youâve memorized the orders of the regulars, learned how to hold your tongue when men call you sweetheart like itâs your god-given name or snap their fingers and whistle like youâre a fucking dog, and youâve gotten really good at pretending youâre okayâsmiling through it. your shoes are always sticky by the end of the night, your clothes reek of grease and cheap vodka no matter how many times you wash them, and thereâs a tiny scar on your wrist from a shattered pint glass that slipped mid-shift during a friday rush. but hey⌠at least the tips are decent.
youâve also been⌠seeing someone. the guy your friends had been annoyingly pushing for months (back when you were still secretly dating seunghyun and pretending to consider it just to shut them up). heâs your age, works in construction and is very nice, which sounds like a shitty compliment, but itâs not. youâve been seeing him for about two months nowâhanging out and hooking up. you like him. really, you do⌠a little bit. but every now and then you catch yourself comparing the way he holds your face to the way someone else used to, and you have to blink it away before it sinks too deep. he doesnât know about seunghyun, of course. not the real version of it, anyway. just that there was someone before, someone who hurt you. and you appreciate his patienceâhe gives you space when you need it and doesnât ask too many questions. and, well, he eats your pussy good, so. thereâs that too. sometimes thatâs enough to shut your brain up for a bit, enough to make you forget the ache that still sits in your chest like a bruise that never really healed. even though you know itâs not fair. and you wonder, sometimes, if this guyâs waiting for you to fall in love with him and has no idea that youâre still scraping someone elseâs fingerprints off your skin.
but the most significant thingâthe one that still sits in your stomach like a rock you canât digestâis that you found out. you finally know. it was her. your mother. you didnât even get it from her directly. you found it by accidentâburied in an old email. you werenât snoopingâjust printing a return label for something, waiting for the slow-ass printer to wake upâwhen your eyes caught the subject line: re: media contact â confidential inquiry. and you clicked it. you scrolled through every line with a growing sense of horror. you confronted her that same night. you didnât plan it, didnât rehearse what you were going to sayâyou just walked into the kitchen, heart pounding, and said, âhow long were you planning on hiding the fact that youâre the one who leaked it?â she didnât even deny it. just looked at you, quiet for a second, then said, âi did what i had to do.â âyou had to?!â your voice broke, equal parts disbelief and fury. âyou had to sabotage my entire fucking relationship?!â âhe was taking advantage of you,â she said flatly. âwhat the fuck? what theâwhat the fuck is wrong with you?! you had no right to interfere like that! none!â âyou think i didnât see what he was doing? he was grooming youââ âdonât you dare use that word,â you spat, stepping forward. âdonât you fucking dare put it like that just because you needed a reason to feel better about what you did! i was twenty-two, not sixteen!â âi donât care! heâs thirteen years older than you, and youââ âhe wasnât using me! i knew what i was doingââ âno!â she pointed at you, jabbing the air, furious and breathless, âyou were just following him around like some starstruck idiot, lying to me, running away from your job, from your familyââ âoh my god, shut the fuck up!â you snapped, tears hot in your eyes. âshut the fuck up! i was in love! and you fucking ruined it!â
you donât remember much after thatâjust fragments. you remember your mother shouting something about protection, about how she couldnât stand by and watch you throw your future away over a man who was never going to give you anything real. you remember knocking over a stack of books, slamming a drawer so hard it bounced back open, dragging your suitcase out of the closet with shaking hands and yanking things off hangers without looking. she cried, kept repeating that she didnât mean to hurt you, that she was scared, that she thought she was doing what was best. but you didnât care. you were too angry and too fucking tired of being treated like you didnât know your own mind. you havenât spoken to her since. you donât know if you ever will. because it turns out thereâs heartbreak that comes from losing a lover, and then thereâs heartbreak that comes from realizing the person who raised you is the reason you lost them. and now itâs too late to take any of it back.
youâve been crashing with one of your friends for the past three weeksâsleeping on a futon that creaks every time you turn over and makes your back ache by morning. you didnât really know where else to go. your job barely covers groceriesâforget rent, forget deposits, forget the fantasy of having a space thatâs actually yours. so now youâre here, trying not to be a burden, trying not to cry into your friendâs couch cushions at night because sheâs doing you a favor, and you already feel like a walking pity case. sometimes you lie there and think about how you used to fall asleep in a king-sized bed with high thread count sheets and a man who kissed your shoulders before falling asleep with his hand in yours, and now youâre in someone elseâs place, listening to the hum of a fridge that never stops runningâfeeling lonelier than you ever have in your entire life.
you thought life wouldâve gotten better by now, but you spend the nights crying insteadâstaring at the ceiling like it might offer answers. you cry because nothing feels right, because everything feels too hard, because you lost your job, your relationship, your home, your sense of directionâand even though you keep telling yourself youâre only twenty-four, that thereâs time to figure it out, some nights it just feels like youâre stuck in and endless pain loop. no one warned you adulthood would feel like this.
youâre alone that night. your friendâs covering a night shift, the apartment is quiet, and your body feels like itâs made of wet tissueâfragile and bloated and cursed with every symptom imaginable, because the universe decided you needed your period on top of everything else. the cramps are brutal, your back hurts, your tits ache, and the fucking futon now has a suspicious little stain that you know youâll have to scrub later. youâve been crying (again!) and your throat is raw from it, your eyes puffy, your nose sore from wiping it too hard with paper towels. you feel pathetic. like genuinely, award-winning levels of pathetic. and maybe thatâs what finally does it. you reach for your phone with hands that are slightly shaky, not because youâre nervous, but because youâre just so damn tired. of yourself, mostly. and maybe the universe too. your fingers open his old messages. you used to do this sometimesâtype things you needed to get off your chest. but you never sent them because seeing your words in that annoying green bubble would be worse than anything else. it would remind you that yes, he blocked you. yes, heâs still gone. yes, this is over, and itâs been over. move the fuck on already, girl. so, following your little tradition, you type:
it was my fucking mom this whole time. sheâs the one who leaked everything. i found out like three weeks ago, and i still havenât processed it. i wish you knew. i wish i could make you know so you wouldnât go on living your life thinking i betrayed you or whatever tf you decided to believe instead of trusting me. but anyway. talk about trust issues now, bc honestly, idk how iâm ever supposed to trust anyone again!𼰠love this for meeeee omg!đđ i shouldnât have told her i was moving to seoul. i shouldâve just disappeared from her fucking life and been happy with you and what we had. but no. because life canât be that easy for me, right? no. life has to be a fucking bitch in every possible way. iâm so fucking tired.
your fingers hover over the delete button as you cry profusely after typing that paragraphâeyes blurry, throat tight, the screen glowing too bright in the dark room. and maybe itâs the hormones, or the sleep deprivation, but something inside you hits send. because why the fuck does it matter? heâs not gonna read it, heâs got you blocked. but the second you see the message go blueâyou freeze. your stomach drops and you stare at your phone like itâs just slapped you across the face. he unblocked you. waitâwhat? since when? you shoot up like youâve just been electrocuted, eyes wide as the full horror of what just happened sinks in. âwhat the fuck! what the fuck! shit, shit, shitââ you whisper to no one, pacing the tiny apartment. so much for crying in your period-stained pajamasâturns out all it takes to yank you out of a full-blown breakdown is the absolute fucking horror of realizing you just sent a long-ass vent session straight to the one person on this planet you were least fucking ready to talk to. congrats, girl! you keep outdoing yourself! âoh myâfuck! fuck, fuck, fuck! oh, god. oh my god,â you keep mumbling. when the fuck did he unblock you?! and why the hell didnât you check?! your heart is in your throat, pulse hammering so fast it makes your vision blur for a second. you swipe back to the chat like maybe you hallucinated the whole thing. maybe the app glitched. but no. and before you can delete it, there it isâread. âhuh?!â you stop in your tracks, frozen in the middle of the room. your mouth falls open. your lungs forget how to work. your entire body goes cold and then hot, and then cold again. âno. no no no no no noâfuck!â
you groan into your hands and sink down onto the futon. your palms are damp with sweat and your brainâs screaming. the message is sent. heâs seen it. and no matter how much you want to crawl inside your phone and delete itâthereâs nothing left to do but sit in the aftermath. so you do. you sit, legs curled beneath you, staring at your phone screen. you check the timeâ3:41 a.m. in texas. in seoul, itâs late afternoon. you decide to leave your phone face up on the floor next to you and try to pretend youâre not watching it from the corner of your eye like itâs about to perform a fucking magic trick. every time it lights up, your heart jumpsâonce itâs duolingo, passive-aggressively reminding you for the hundredth time that you havenât finished your korean lessons (well⌠thank you for the reminder, motherfucker!). and another time itâs your period tracker app asking if youâre feeling moody lately. no shit! you lurch forward every time, breath catching in your throat, only to get sucker-punched by disappointment again and again. and still, no reply. you try to sleep, not because you think itâll work, but because itâs the only other option. but lying down just makes it worseâyour thoughts are louder. you flip your pillow, then flip it again. the sheets are damp with sweat, your legs restless, your hands twitching toward your phone like itâs calling to you. you wait for hours⌠he never replies.
and by the time the sun comes up, youâve barely slept at all. your eyes sting, your mouth is dry, and youâve gone full zombie-mode by the time your shift rolls around. you survive your shift at the bar by sheer muscle memory, making drinks, taking orders and smiling through clenched teeth. and when it ends, your body aches like itâs been rolled through the pavement. you go homeâyour friendâs homeâafter midnight, feet aching, back sore, and stomach hollow from skipping dinner because the thought of eating made you feel sick. the place is dark when you walk in. sheâs probably already asleep, and you tiptoe into the kitchen to grab a glass of water before collapsing on the futon. you check your phoneâstill nothing. and thatâs it. thatâs the end of the story. why would it end any other way? of course heâs not going to reply. you shouldâve never sent that fucking text. you shouldâve stuck to your sad little ritual of typing and deleting and pretending you had closure. because this? this is embarrassing.
you toss your phone onto the floor like maybe breaking it will break the shame too, and flop onto your side dramatically⌠and then it buzzes. youâve never gotten up so fastâhands scrambling for the phone. you swipe, thumbs clumsy with nerves because holy shit, thereâs a notification from him. but somehow you manage to open the message.
Can I call you?
you stare at the screen. your pulse is pounding loud in your ears, and for a second youâre genuinely not sure if youâre going to throw up or pass out. your entire body is shaking and your blood has drained out of your face. you can feel it. youâre cold and clammy all over, heart thudding like itâs trying to punch its way out of your chest. you try to breatheâin through your nose, out through your mouthâbefore typing:
yeah, okay
your phone starts ringing a second laterâlike heâd been waiting. and the sound of it, his name lighting up your screen again after all these months, knocks something loose in your chest. the apartment is quietâjust the creak of the floor beneath your feet as you cross over to the sliding door that leads to the balcony. you slide it open as quietly as you can, since you donât want to wake your friend, and step outside. itâs darker than you expected, the only light coming from the streetlamps below and the faint orange glow of someoneâs window across the way. the balcony chair creaks under your weight as you sink into it, the metal cold against your bare thighs. your breathingâs all uneven nowâshort little gasps like you just finished running, though you havenât moved more than ten feetâand you canât stop staring at the screen. you swipe to answer. for a few seconds, thereâs nothing. only silence. then, finally, a voice. âhi.â you grip the phone tighter, trying to stop your hands from shaking. âhi,â you say back. and then silence again. you canât tell if itâs awkward or loaded or both.
you shift in the chair, curling one leg up underneath you. âhow are you?â he asks. oh lord. he was literally fucking you raw less than a year ago⌠and now heâs making small talk. stop this madness. âiâiâm good,â you say, lying through your teeth, obviously. you clear your throat. âyou?â âfine,â he says after a beat, but he sounds anything butâtired, like something in his chestâs been weighing him down. and then another pause, before he finally says, âi read your message.â âyeah⌠i know. i meanâi saw.â you chew the inside of your cheek, fingers picking at the hem of your sleeve. âwas it really her?â you nod before realizing he canât see you. âyeah. it was.â he doesnât say anything, so you keep going, just to fill the space. âi saw⌠an email she sent. and weâwe fought. bad. i left the same day and i⌠i havenât been back since.â âyouâwhere are you staying?â he asks, and you hear something in his voice, concern. âfriendâs house.â you try to make it sound casual. he goes quiet again, and for a second, all you can hear is the low static hum of the call. you bite your bottom lip before blurting, âi didnât know youâd unblocked me.â âyeah. i did like a month ago, i think.â you hum. you want to ask why, but you donât. because the call already feels like a glass balancing on the edge of a table, and you donât want to make it more awkward than it already is. and besides, you know you wouldnât get the answer you want. if he wanted to talk, he wouldâve. if he missed you, if he regretted it, if any part of him wanted to reach out⌠he wouldâve. and he didnât. so you swallow that sharp little ache, ignore the part of you that still wants to believe in something softer, and you say, âiâm sorry for sending that, by the way. i was⌠i donât know. not in a great headspace yesterday.â âdonât apologize,â he says. âiâm glad you told me.â âyou deserved to know.â âmmh.â the silence stretches for another second before he says, âthank you.â
the quiet that follows is soft, almost gentle. for a second you think thatâs itâyou can almost feel one of you hovering over the red button, and you know you should probably let it happen, let it end on something simple and clean. but you donât want to hang up yet. so, instead, you do what you always do when your nerves start to buzzâyou talk. âiâve typed stuff before. likeâmessages. to you.â oh my god⌠shut up! shut up! why the fuck are you saying this? you want to swallow the words back down immediately but nopeâyour mouth keeps going. âi never sent them but⌠i donât know. i wasnât even supposed to send you that one last nightâi donât know why i did.â you press a hand to your forehead, silently screaming. âanyway iâyeah. sorry. i should just⌠shut up.â thereâs a pause on the other end, heavy enough to make your fingers twitch against your leg. you expect him to change the subject or maybe just hang up altogether, and for a second you even brace yourself for the sound of the line going dead. but then he says, âwhat kind of stuff?â you blink, eyes still fixed on the quiet street below, unsure you heard him right. âwhat?â âthe messages,â he answers, and his voice is a little quieter now, like heâs not sure if he should be asking. âwhat were they about?â you��re caught so off guard that you let out this small, breathless laugh that doesnât hold any humor at all. âseriously?â you ask, more to yourself than to him. you rub a hand over your face. âi donât know, just⌠random things about my life. like my day, what i was doing⌠sometimes just things i wish i could say to you but knew i couldnât. i donât know.â you trail off, embarrassed, already regretting every word spilling out of your mouth. âyou can tell me now,â he says. you blink, heart stumbling a little in your chest, because you donât know what you were expecting him to sayâbut it definitely wasnât that. your fingers tighten around the phone again. âyou⌠want me to tell you?â âi do.â you hesitate. not because you donât have things to sayâgod, youâve got too manyâbut because you donât know what version of your life heâs expecting. probably not the one youâre living. âi didnât think youâd care,â you admit quietly. âi careâof course i care.â oh⌠you close your eyes, press your palm to your chest and you can feel how fast your heart is beating. you force yourself to swallow the lump in your throat before you speak. âiâm bartending now.â you immediately want to cringe, because wow, what an opener. âthey fired me from starbase. so⌠yeah. but itâs okay, this job isnât so bad⌠i meanâitâs not good either, but it pays.â he hums, a soft sound of acknowledgement, like heâs listening. âand, like i told you, iâm living with a friend. afterâafter everything that happened with my mom⌠i couldnât stay. so, yeah.â
something about saying all of that out loudânarrating your life to someone who once knew it better than anyone elseâmakes your bottom lip tremble before you can stop it. this tiny traitorous movement that you feel more than see, like the last thread of control slipping quietly from your hands. you swallow hard. try to hold it together and sound normal. âbut iâm, um⌠iâm looking for a place,â you add, voice higher now, too fast. âsomething small for myself.â you donât mention that your bank account laughs at you every time you open the app, or that you fall asleep on a futon in the corner of your friendâs tiny apartment, feeling like a burden. you donât say any of that, because itâs pathetic. but the tears come anyway, completely against your will. not just because of your mom or your job or your life crumbling in pieces so small you canât even name themâbut because youâre talking to him. and everything about this feels so impossibly far from what you used to be. the way you speak to each other now, like strangers, itâs breaking you open in places you didnât know were still sore. you try to sniff it away, wipe your face with the sleeve of your sweatshirt, but itâs useless. âare youâŚâ his voice cuts through the line. âare you crying?â âno.â you suck in a breath. âi meanâyes. yes, i am. itâs justâi donât know.â the tears are falling faster now, and your throat is thick with everything youâve been trying so hard not to feel for the last nine months. you sniff, drag the sleeve of your sweatshirt across your nose, and bite out, âwhyâd you even call me, seunghyun? seriously. what was the point?â âi wanted to apologize.â he pauses. âiâiâm sorry. i shouldâve trusted you, i shouldâve listened. i was just⌠angry. and scared.â you exhale through your nose, trying to steady the shaking in your chest. âitâs okay,â you say quietly, even though part of you wants to tell him itâs not.
he doesnât reply right away, and for a second you think the call might be really ending this timeâthat this was all he needed to say, a final stitch to close the wound and move on. but thenââi missed your voice.â your breath catches, and you donât know what to say to that. because it hurts. it hurts so fucking much to hear it. âyou hurt me, seunghyun,â you whisper. âi know,â he says, voice breaking. âi know i did, babyâshit. sorry. fuck, iâiâm so sorry. i didnât mean to call you that.â you squeeze your eyes shut, pressing your knuckles to your lips like itâll stop the sting. âdonât. donât do that.â âi didnât mean toââ âno, you donât get to do that,â you cut in, sharper this time, words tumbling out fast. âthis isnât fair,â you say, and now your voice really starts to shake. âyouâre notâyouâre not being fair, seunghyun.â âlistenââ âno, i donât wanna fucking listen!â you raise your voice, frustration spilling out faster than you can rein it in. âsorry,â you say quietly. âsorry. iâi didnât mean to speak to you like that.â âi know,â he whispers. âbut i understand. i deserve it.â âno, youâi just⌠itâs a lot. and hearing your voice like this againâfuck, i donât know.â he doesnât say anything, and youâre not even sure if thatâs a good or bad thing, so you keep going before you lose your nerve. âyou shouldnât have unblocked me. you shouldâve just left it the way it was,â you continue, sobbing between words. âwhatââ âi was doing okay,â you lie, even though you both know you werenât. âor at least, i was trying. and then youâyou do this, and now i feel likeâi feel like iâm right back where i started.â heâs silent again, and it drives you fucking insaneâhow he always does this, lets the silence do the work for him, like itâs your job to fill in the blanks. âyou canât just show up in my life when you feel like it. thatâs not how this works. you donât get to block me, forget about me, go on with your life, and then crawl back into mine just because youâre curious or lonely or whatever the fuck this is.â your breath is shallow now, chest rising and falling fast. âi canât do this, seunghyun. i canâtââ you cry. âso do it again. block me. because if you donât⌠i will.â
you wait a secondâtwo, maybe threeâbefore you hang up. you stare at the screen for a beat too long after the line goes dead, your own reflection faint in the glass. your limbs feel shaky as you drag yourself up from the chair with the kind of stiffness that makes you wonder if heartbreak settles in your bones like lead. the apartment is quiet when you slip back inside. you donât even bother changing. and when you fall onto the futon, you collapse. your chest hurts, in the literal, physical wayâlike thereâs something pressing down on it, making it harder to breathe with every passing second. youâre still crying, face crumpling into the crook of your elbow. and even though you try to keep it quiet because your friend is asleep in the next room, your body has other plans. the sobs come in waves, ugly and loud and gasping, and thereâs no one to stop them, no one to shush you or hold you or say itâs going to be okay. you press your face into the pillow and scream once, like it might help get it out, but it doesnât. you cry until youâre too tired to cry anymore, until your body feels wrung out and empty. until your eyelids are heavy, your head pounds and the ache in your chest starts to dullâbecause, yes, even pain has its limits. and when sleep finally takes you, it feels like relief.
you donât even hear her come in. it takes a few tries before your friend gets through to you, nudging your foot, then your shoulder, then finally your name, said a little too loudly for how early it is. âhey! youâve gotta get up. donât you have work?â you jolt upright like youâre coming up for air, groggy and disoriented, face crusted with dried tears. you mutter something like âshit, what time is it?â before fumbling for your phone. and thatâs when you see it. seunghyun texted you while you were asleep.
Hi. I just booked a flight to Texas.
Iâll be in Brownsville for a few days, and I really, really want to see you.
Iâll understand if you donât want to see me.
But if you do, Iâll be here next Sunday at 4 P.M.
he had sent a location.
We have a lot to talk about.
I didnât want our call to end like that.
You donât have to reply, just know Iâll be there, waiting.
And if you donât show up, thatâs okay too.
I hope you have a good day. đŤ°đź
your first thought is no. not even a soft, hesitant kind of noâjust a loud, stubborn one that echoes straight through your head. NO. you donât want to see him. you donât want to talk. you donât want to sit across from him pretending like the last nine months havenât been eating you alive. you lock your phone, toss it somewhere near the futon, and move through your morning like youâre not actively dissociatingâgetting dressed and slapping on mascara with a shaky hand. you go to work, surprisingly making it on time. and when your shift ends, you go home. you eat leftovers straight from the container, ignore the ache behind your eyes, and tell yourself youâve made a decision. youâre not going. simple as that.
but as the days creep forward and that sunday inches closer, your initial noâthe one that came so fast and full of conviction it practically shouted over your entire bodyâstarts to feel less like a boundary and more like a bluff youâre trying to convince yourself to believe. you find yourself rereading his texts on the bus ride home, or glancing at the clock and thinking about time zones again, something you swore youâd broken the habit of months ago. itâs not that you want to see him (girl⌠you do, you arenât fooling anyone) itâs just that youâre curious. and a little bit stupid, apparently. and then, like your brain didnât already have enough to chew on, instagram decides to kick you while youâre down. you get the notification late at night: TOP ěľěšíđ posted for the first time in a while. you stare at the alert, blinking. no way. how fucking convenient. you open the app before you can stop yourself, and there it isâproof that he unblocked you on your private insta, because youâre staring right at his profile. oh my⌠youâre a slut in mourning. itâs a selfie. heâs staring straight at the camera, head tilted slightly to the side to flex that stupid jawline, jesus christ... heâs wearing a black hoodieâthe same one you used to borrow when you were together. more specifically, the one you were wearing the first time you let him fuck you raw. is he doing it on purpose? is this his way of getting your attention? trying to say he misses you? that heâs thinking about you too? or maybe youâre just being delusional and heâs literally just wearing his fucking hoodie like any normal person would⌠not everything is about you. right? you zoom in without shame, you stare, you squint and you hate yourself a little. you flip your phone face down and mutter, âfuck off,â like thatâs going to do anythingâlike youâre not already replaying every time you tugged his hair while he was between your thighs, fucking you with his fingers while his tongue circled your clit.
sunday. 3 p.m. comes and youâre still telling yourself no, still convincing yourself with weak half-arguments and imaginary moral high ground, still walking around the room like youâre above it, like youâve evolved past the the version of yourself who would show up for him no matter what. youâre not going. youâve already made that decisionâmade it days ago. in fact, youâve been repeating it like a fucking mantra: iâm not going, iâm not going, iâm not going. itâs the one thing youâve been stubbornly sure of. and yet, by 3:07, youâre in front the drawer your friend let you use. youâre not sure when you stood up or how you ended up yanking it open, but suddenly youâre staring at your clothes like any of them will know what the fuck youâre doing. and you tell yourself: what harm could there be in just⌠seeing? just showing up, looking hot, and reminding him what he lost? right? what could go wrong? you drag yourself into the shower, rinse off the sweat and anxiety, and talk yourself out of having a panic attack while shaving your legs. you towel off, throw on something decent and slap on a bit of makeup as you wonder why the fuck are you wasting your free day on this, when you couldâve been watching reruns of some trashy dating show or doom-scrolling in peace. and before you can rethink your decision again, youâre on the bus, heart pounding harder with every stop.
you show up an hour lateâcloser to five-thirty than fourâbut you donât feel bad about it. if anything, it makes you feel a little less like youâre crawling back and a little more like youâre arriving on your own terms. the place he chose to meet you is a rooftop wine bar in downtown brownsville with thick wooden beams stretched overhead to break the light. string lights hang loosely between them and the tables are spaced out, some close to the railing with a quiet view of the city below. heâs already there, of course, seated near the far edge of the terrace, next to the railing, with a half-finished glass of wine in front of him. you spot him instantly. heâs in a long-sleeved maroon sweater, and you donât know why the fuck heâs wearing sleeves in this heat. his trousers are loose and slouchy, and his bootsâyes, boots, in thirty-degree texas weatherâare polished to hell, the soles thick and clunky. his cap sits on the table beside his wineglass, and heâs wearing his glassesâthe ones that make him look so gentle. you used to love it when he wore them around you. he doesnât see you right awayâheâs looking out over the terrace, lips pursed like heâs deep in thoughtâbut your stomach still drops like itâs the first time all over again.
you take a slow breath, then start walking. the heels of your shoes click against the tile, and the closer you get, the more surreal it feelsâseeing him again. and then he looks up. you donât know what you expected, but the way his whole face shifts when his eyes land on you catches you off guard. his brows lift just a little, like heâs not sure heâs seeing you right, and then thereâs this soft pull at the corners of his mouth, the kind of expression people only ever give to people theyâve missed. he moves quickly after that, chair scraping back as he stands up too fast, brushing his palms down the sides of his pants like heâs suddenly unsure of himself. your heart thuds a little too hard as you close the last few steps between you, nerves spiking even though thereâs no reason to be this tenseâyouâve seen him like this before, touched him, kissed him, loved him. but now it feels like starting from scratch. âhey,â you say first, because someone has to break the tension. your voice comes out quiet, breathier than you meant. he clears his throat, shifting his weight. âhi.â
he stands there, hovering beside the table, and for a second itâs like neither of you knows how to moveâdo you shake hands? do you hug? his gaze flickers down to your hands, like heâs expecting you to offer one to shake, and then back up to your face. itâs clear he doesnât know what to do, and god, neither do you. a hug feels too intimate, but standing here in this weird, polite standoff feels worse. so you do itâyou step forward, close the space, and wrap your arms around him quickly, not giving yourself enough time to regret it. heâs surprised, you can tell by the way his arms come around you just a second too late. you pull away before it can get weird, and he lets you, hands immediately dropping to his sides like heâs scared to overstep. you glance at the wine glass, then back at him. âsorry iâm late.â seunghyun shakes his head, quick. âno, itâs fine. iââ he exhales. âi didnât think you were coming.â you nod, slow and awkward, arms crossed tight over your chest for a second before you remember how that looks and force yourself to let them fall to your sides. âyeah. me neither.â he huffs a tiny laugh, almost embarrassed, and gestures toward the seat across from his. âdo you wanna sit?â you nod, murmuring a soft âyeah,â as you move toward the chair. you sit, legs crossed, back too straight, and he mirrors you, settling across from you. the table feels huge between you. ridiculous, reallyâafter everything youâve done together, everything youâve been to each other, now youâre playing pretend like two people on a first date who forgot how to talk.
he reaches for his wine glass, turns it slowly between his fingers without drinking. âyou look good,â he says, eventually. âi mean⌠really good.â you meet his eyes, and then, because you canât help it, âso do you.â he smiles at that, soft, almost sheepish, and then glances down at the wine list sitting neatly on the table between you. âyou want anything?â he asks, tapping the edge of the menu lightly. âtheyâve got a good selection.â you shake your head, giving a small, polite smile. âjust waterâs fine.â âwater, then,â he says, and signals to the server passing by to order you a glass. thereâs a beat of silence after the server leaves, just the soft clink of his glass when he shifts it on the table. he doesnât look at youâjust studies the red swirl of wine for a second like itâs got the right words floating in it somewhereâthen finally says, âiâm glad you came.â you nod once, unsure what to say to that, fingers twitching in your lap. âand⌠iâm sorry,â he adds quietly. âabout the phone call. the way it ended⌠that wasnât how i wanted it to go.â âi know.â âi didnât mean to make you feel bad,â he says. âor backed into a corner. i justâmy head was a mess, and i handled it wrong. iâm sorry.â âitâs fine. thank youâthanks for the apology.â and you mean it. he leans back slightly in his chair, exhales through his nose. his fingers trace the rim of his wine glass like heâs trying to occupy them. âi didnât know if youâd ever want to see me again. after everything.â âi didnât know either. up until like⌠three oâclock.â his mouth twitches into something thatâs almost a smile. âlast-minute decision?â âvery,â you say. âbad one, maybe. not sure yet.â âi get it. i wouldnât have blamed you if you hadnât shown up.â âi almost didnât,â you admit. âbut then i thoughtâi donât know. if i didnât come, iâd just keep wondering what you wanted to say.â he nods, finally meeting your eyes again. âi wanted to say a lot of things.â âlike what?â he hesitates, jaw tightening slightly, like the words are caught somewhere behind his teeth. he exhales, slow and heavy, and leans forward, forearms resting on the edge of the table. âi wanted to apologize,â he says. âfor how things ended. forâfor what i said. for not listening.â âseunghyunââ you start, but he shakes his head. âi didnât believe you,â he goes on. âand i should have. i shouldâve known betterâi did know better. but it was easier to be angry than to be scared, and i was so, so fucking scared. scared of being exposed again, of people dragging my name through the mud all over, of losing everything iâd tried to build back upââ âi know. i know, hyun. i understand you. itâs⌠itâs okay.â it isnât, though. âand instead of trusting you,â he says, like he didnât hear you at all, âi panicked. i pushed you away. and i hate myself for it.â you shift in your seat, hands gripping the sides of the chair, aching with the weight of all the things you wish could make this easier. âhyun,â you murmur again, softer now, like saying his name might take the edge off his pain or yours. âyou donât have toââ âi do,â he says. âi havenât stopped thinking about it⌠about how fast i let it all go. how fast i let you go. and the worst part isâŚâ he stops, biting down on the inside of his cheek. âthe worst part is that i made you think you didnât matter to me. like it was easy for me toâto cut you off. and it wasnât. itâs never been easy. it still fucking haunts me.â he pauses. âi just needed you to know that. i neededâi needed to say it to your face.â he exhales shakily, like just getting the words out took something out of him. his eyes stay fixed somewhere past your shoulder, like heâs afraid that meeting yours will make it harder. âand i missed you,â he says quietly. âfuck, i missed you so much.â
the words land somewhere low in your gut, like theyâve been thrown instead of spoken. and for a second, it stings in a sweet way, that traitorous part of your chest aching at the sound of his voice wrapped around something soft again, something that once made you feel safe. but the sweetness evaporates almost instantly, replaced by a sharp kind of heat under your skin, the kind that flares when something touches a bruise you thought had already faded. because you donât get to miss someone and do nothing about it. not when youâre the one who made it clear, so fucking clear, that it was over. your jaw tightens. because no. no, he doesnât get to say that. your eyes start to sting, the burn rising fast and sudden behind your lashes. and then, without warning, a single tear slips down your cheek. you wipe it away quickly with the back of your hand. âwhy didnât you reach out, then?â he blinks, startled, like he hadnât expected the question. you sniff once, wipe at your cheek again even though the tearâs already gone. âi waited, you know. for so fucking long. every day, i thought maybe today youâd say something.â you scoff. âbut you didnât. not a wordânot until i told you the one thing that finally cleared me.â his lips part like he wants to speak, but you donât let him. âand now youâre here,â you go on, voice shaking. âsaying all the things i used to fantasize about hearing. and donât get me wrongâitâs nice. itâsâitâs really fucking nice, i needed to hear it. but if i hadnât sent that message, if i hadnât broken down and hit send for once instead of just typing and deleting like i always did⌠would we even be here right now?â youâre not sure what answer youâre hoping for. but you needed to let him know how much it sucked to feel like the only one who kept looking back.
he exhales slowly, eyes falling from yours to the table, like he canât bear the weight of them. because what youâre saying isnât just true, but something heâs thought about too, something heâs afraid to admit out loud. âyouâre right,â he says, voice low and tight. âyouâre right. but iâi wanted to. so many times. but when i thought about saying something, iâd convince myself it would only make it worse. that you didnât want to hear from me. that you were happier without me.â you stare at him. âyou thought i was happy?â âi hoped. because the alternative fucking hurt.â âbut you still let me think it was my fault,â you say, voice sharp with disbelief. âyou let me sit in that, seunghyun. for months. do you even understand what that did to me?â he doesnât speak right awayâjust drags a hand over his mouth like heâs trying to rub the shame off his face. âi know. i know i fucked up.â âyou didnât just fuck up,â you snap. âyou abandoned me. youâyou went on with your life while i⌠i lost everything. and all because you couldnât bring yourself to believe me.â âi wanted to believe you,â he says, a little too desperate now. âi swear to god, i did.â âthen why didnât you?â he looks at you like that question physically hurts him. âyou already know. i told youâi told you about han seohee. iâve been betrayed before, and i justâit felt safer to assume the worst than risk getting hurt again.â âyeah?â you say, and your voice comes out rough, almost trembling with the weight of everything youâve been trying to swallow. âwell guess what, seunghyunâi wasnât han fucking seohee. i wasnât anyone but me. your⌠your girlfriend. and you didnât even give me the benefit of the doubt. not even for a fucking second.â his jaw tenses, lips pressing into a thin line like he wants to say something but doesnât trust himself to speak. âi didnât ask you to be perfect,â you continue, voice softer now. âi never did. all i wanted was for you to believe meâand you couldnât do that.â he shakes his head, pained. âit wasnât about you,â he mutters. âit was about me. my past. my shit. it twisted everything.â you shake your head, the frustration rising even though you donât want it to. âyeah! and you let it win!â you lean back in your chair, exhaling slowly through your nose, trying to collect yourself.
this wasnât what you intended when you showed up. you really donât want to raise your voice at himâshit, you werenât even supposed to get this upset. the last thing you want to do is hurt him. âi moved across the world for you, seunghyun,â you continue, calmer. âi put everything on the line. and the second things got hard, you chose to believe the version of me that fit your fears.â his face falls. âi know,â he whispers. âi know. i thought i was protecting myselfâbut i shouldâve protected you too. i shouldâve protected us. all i ever wanted was to keep this thingâwhat we hadâsafe.â he sighs. âiâm really, really sorry. for everything.â the interruption comes at just the right timeâthe server appears, setting down the glass of water with a soft clink. you thank him with a small smile that doesnât quite reach your eyes, and seunghyun gives a nod before the server leaves, the space around you settling into silence again.
you take a sip, the cold water almost jarring against the heat crawling up your throat. the moment stretches, and you know thereâs more to say. the conversation isnât finishedânot even closeâbut your chest already feels too full. itâs too much all at once, and you feel the weight of it pressing down behind your eyes. so, you set the glass back down and glance up at him, forcing your voice to steady and offering the smallest smile you can manage. âi watched squid game,â you say. âyou were amazing in it.â his face softens and he lets out a breathy laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. âyeah?â you nod. âyeah. like⌠really good. i wanted to text you when it dropped but⌠you know.â yeah, he knows⌠he had you fucking blocked. seunghyun nods once. âi appreciate that,â he says, voice a little quieter now, like heâs not sure what to do with the softness in your tone. âwasnât expecting it to do that well, to be honest.â you hum, tracing the rim of your glass with the pad of your finger. âwell, people love a villain. especially when heâs funny⌠and hot.â that pulls a small, surprised laugh out of him, and his cheeks turn red. âwell, thank you.â you smile, gaze softening. âi read the interview you made back in january too, by the way.â âoh. did you?â you nod. âyeah.â âyou know, i kept wondering what youâd think if you read it. part of me hoped you wouldnât. the other part hoped you would.â âi did. twice, actually.â you smile faintly. âonce when it came out, and again when i was mad at you. to remind myself you were still in there somewhere.â that seems to knock the wind out of him a little. you continue, âi think⌠i didnât expect you to be that honest.â âi wasnât planning to do it, you know,â he says after a pause. âthe interview. for years, i thought if i just stayed silent, eventually everyone would forget. but i didnât forget. i couldnât.â you study him. âit read like someone whoâs been carrying a lot. for a long time.â and you know that better than anyoneâbecause you were there, in the thick of it, helping him through his worst days. his mouth curves, but it isnât a smile. âyeah.â you let the silence sit for a beat before speaking. âi thought⌠i thought it was brave. i actuallyâi felt proud,â you confess. and there it is. the thing youâve been meaning to tell him ever since everything ended, but couldnât bring yourself to say until now. âiâm proud of you, hyun.â he feels itâthat familiar, overwhelming tightness in his throat. he swallows hard, eyes watering slightly. he nods once. then, he opens his mouth, tries to speak, to say thank you, but his lower lip trembles before the words can form⌠so he closes it again. and hopes the nod is enough.
his family never said that to him. at least not after his mistakes were exposed. so thisâthis thing you just gave him, so casually and so fucking sincerelyâit hits like a punch to the ribs. and it comes from you. you, who heâd hurt more than anyone else. it comes from someone who knows. someone who was there when he was a shell of himself, someone who saw the worst parts of him and stayed, until he made it impossible for you to do so. his eyes hurt and his throat burns and thereâs a tremble in his jaw he canât quite stop, and still he says nothing, because thereâs nothing that would be enough to meet the weight of what you just gave him. âthat part you said about the group,â you murmur after a moment, voice a little hesitant now, âhow seeing them felt like looking at a photo of a family youâd been separated fromâŚâ âthatâs exactly what it feels like.â âi know,â you nod, gently. âiâm sure they miss you too. i donât know if youâve been in touch with them orââ âi havenât.â he cuts in quickly, and thereâs a finality to it. you donât push, but you notice the way his shoulders stiffen, the way his jaw tenses. thereâs even a bead of sweat slipping down the side of his face. âsorry. i didnât mean to bring up something thatâi mean, i wasnât trying to pry. i just thought⌠maybe after everything, after all these months, it mightâve felt possible. or⌠i donât know.â you trail off, suddenly unsure of what youâre even trying to say. maybe part of you just wanted to believe he wasnât as alone as he used to be. he hums. then, after a moment: âyou were the one thing that made that time bearable. everything else was a mess, but with you, it wasââ he stops himself, mouth twitching, like the rest of the sentence is too fragile to say out loud. âyou didnât fix it. but you made it hurt less. and iâve neverâiâve never thanked you for that.â âyou didnât need to. i knew you were thankful.â you pause. âand⌠iâm not saying the article fixed anything, but it made sense. why you pulled away. i get it more now.â âthat doesnât make it okay.â âno,â you agree, âit doesnât. but it helps.â
after that, things start to loosenâthe conversation shifts slowly, and the air between you starts to feel less dense, less charged with the tension that had been building since the moment you sat down. the heaviness doesnât vanish, itâs still there but easier to ignore when youâre focused on something else, like the way seunghyun starts tapping his fingers against his glass, or how your knee keeps bouncing under the table because your body hasnât quite figured out what to do with the weird, awkward comfort of being near him again. itâs not like either of you suddenly forget the months of silence, or the way things ended, or all the shit that never really got said⌠but eventually, the edge softens, and your mouths start moving for other reasonsâcomments that arenât weighed down by anger or guilt, memories that arenât necessarily painful, and a rhythm that, while still tentative, starts to resemble the way things used to be between you, back before everything got ruined. because at first, youâre both carefulâtesting the boundaries of whatâs okay to say, whatâs still too raw to touchâbut as time passes and the conversation wanders into safer ground, you find yourself laughing. which then makes him start laughing too, and it feels bizarre and comforting all at onceâlike your body forgot how easy it used to be to laugh with him, how that sound had once been a constant part of your days. and when he leans back in his chair, a little more at ease, you realize itâs been a long time since youâve seen seunghyun look like that. itâs still weird. youâd be lying if you said it wasnât. itâs weird to be sitting across from him, in real life, hearing his voice without a screen in between, seeing the way he moves and talks and exists like a real fucking person again. there are still moments where it catches you off guardâhow familiar this all is, and also how far away it feels from who you were the last time you looked at him like this.
and when he asks, âdo you want to go for a walk? brownsvilleâs botanical garden isnât far from here. and itâs still open for another hour and a half,â you donât even pretend to think about it. you just nod, and the look on his face, that flicker of relief, tells you he didnât expect a yes. his driverâs already waiting outside, like always, and neither of you says much on the way. the ride is short, ten minutes, maybe fifteen. you watch the town pass through the tinted window, and beside you, heâs silent, but not in the closed-off way he used to be when things were bad. itâs a softer kind of silence now, where heâs letting himself be here, in this moment, with you. the botanical garden is smaller than you remember, and itâs mostly empty by the time you get there. as you walk, side by side but not too closeâunder a pink sky thatâs starting to fade into something darkerâthereâs still a nervous flutter in your stomach, still that ridiculous awareness of where his hand is, of how close it would be if you reached out, but you donât. because you rememberâyou remember how fucking much it hurt to lose him, how badly it ended and how long you waited for an apology that never came, until today. and as you both slow near a bench surrounded by wildflowers and a few trees that creak lazily in the warm breeze, he gestures toward it with a quiet nod, and you both sink down into the wooden slats. thereâs a few inches between you, enough space to feel the gap and remind you both that no matter how easy the conversationâs been, thereâs still a line neither of you has crossed yet. for a moment, you both just sit there, watching the wind tug lazily at the branches, listening to the low hum of cicadas starting up somewhere in the distance. and then, very casually, he asks, âso⌠is there someone in your life these days?â godâhe hates how obvious it probably sounded the second it left his mouth. he doesnât look at you when he asks, just keeps his gaze forward, like heâs talking to the horizon instead of you, like the question is just curiosity and not the thing heâs been thinking about since the second he saw you again. you glance at him. âyeah,â you say softly, honest because thereâs no point in pretending. âiâve been seeing someone.â oh⌠it hits him harder than he wants it to. not because he thought youâd been waiting around for him. of course not. he knows better than that. knows he doesnât have that right. but something about hearing it out loud, from your mouth, in that voice he used to fall asleep toâit makes his stomach twist. you can see it in the way his jaw tightens slightly, and in the way his hands suddenly find his lap, like his body doesnât quite believe the version of calm heâs trying to sell.
a long silence settles in, and he tells himself not to ask the next question, the one thatâs pushing at his throat, but it slips out anyway, âdoes he know youâre here?â you shake your head. âno.â he turns slightly toward you, brows pulling in just a little. âi never told him,â you add. âabout us.â and that fucking stings. âi just said there was someone once. but not who. i wanted to respect your choice, you know⌠you didnât want it out there, you wanted to keep it private. and i⌠i guess i got used to it, too. so⌠i kept that, even after it ended.â he swallows hard, but doesnât speak. because what is there to say, really? he sits there, listening to your words settle into the space between you, feeling it againâthe shame. seunghyun stares out into the garden with a tight jaw, wondering when exactly he stopped deserving that kind of grace from youâand why youâre still giving it anyway. he stays quiet longer than he should, but he doesnât trust his voice not to crack under the weight of everything he isnât saying. and maybe he should let it goâbut he canât. âis he good to you?â he asks. he hates how much he wants to know. hates how pathetic it makes him feel to sit here, asking about a man who has what he used to. what he walked away from. âyeah,â you reply, and your voice is careful. âheâs⌠heâs kind. he works in construction with his dadâthey run their own small company, mostly residential stuff. but we donât see each other a lot⌠heâs the kind of guy whoâs in bed by ten and up by five, and my scheduleâs kind of all over the place too, so⌠yeah. but it works. things with him areâtheyâre simple⌠easy.â you donât mean it as an insult, but fuck, it lands like one. âthatâs good,â he says, and the words feel like gravel in his mouth. he forces them out anyway, and forces himself to nod, like that makes it more believable. âyou deserve that.â
seunghyun wonders if this guy knows how you like your coffee, if he knows how you get when youâre overwhelmedâhow you play with the hem of your shirt, how your voice gets sharp when youâre scared and how underneath that, youâre just trying not to break into a million pieces. he wonders if this new guy has ever seen you cry, and if he did, whether he knew what the fuck to do with it. if he sat with you in it, or tried to fix it, or made it worse by telling you everything would be okay when he didnât know shit about what was actually going on inside your head. he wonders if this guy knows how you ramble when youâre tired. if heâs heard the stories you only tell when youâve had one glass of wine too many, the ones that make you laugh even as you wipe your eyes. if he knows the things youâre afraid of. he wonders if this guyâs ever traced the line of your spine with his fingers just to feel you shiver under him, if he knows how your breath catches before you ever make a sound, how your thighs tense when youâre trying not to beg. does he know how to touch you the way you like? and fuckâdoes he get to hear you like that? whispering his name, nails in his back, legs shaking, voice breaking around the kind of moan that used to make seunghyun lose his goddamn mind? and then, in the middle of all that wondering, he hates himself a littleâfor being so fucking jealous.
you must feel the shift in the air too, the way his silence has gone from thoughtful to tense, like heâs holding something back. so you add, âweâre not⌠dating.â his head turns a little at that, eyes flicking over to you for the first time in minutes. âno?â you shake your head. âiâm not ready for that. not again. itâs beenâiâve been figuring shit out. still am.â he nods slowly. you glance at him, like maybe youâre trying to gauge his reaction, but he gives you nothing. âwhat about you?â you ask after a moment. âyou seeing anyone?â âno.â it comes out fast and flat, like the idea pisses him off. you wait, maybe expecting him to explain, but he doesnât. so you press, ânot even casually?â seunghyun lets out a short, humorless laugh. âwhat would be the point?â your brows pull together, but you donât answer. âiâm not exactly great company,â he adds, almost bitter. âand iâm not trying to let anyone close just so they can realize it for themselves.â âyou are great company, hyun. donât say that.â he just scoffs under his breath and shifts on the bench like heâs trying to crawl out of his own skin. âyeah, well,â he mutters, âguess thatâs not enough anymore.â you turn to look at him. âwhat?â ânothing.â ânoâsay it.â youâre watching him now, fully turned toward him, and he can feel itâthe weight of your stare, the tension in your voice. he shakes his head. âyouâre here, telling me youâve got someone, andâi donât know, itâs just⌠i donât know.â âyou asked, seunghyun.â âi know. i justâi wasnât expecting that answer.â you blink at him. âso what? you ask me if iâm seeing someone, and now youâre pissed that i answered you honestly?â âiâm not pissed,â he lies, and you both know it. âdonât lie to me. i know you better than anyoneââ âdo you love him?â he asks, and the question comes out so suddenly, so bluntly, it knocks the air out of your lungs. âno,â you say, after a beat. âi donât love him. if i did, i wouldnât be here.â he nods, like thatâs what he wanted to hear, but the tightness in his mouth doesnât ease. âokay.â âwhat do you want me to say, seunghyun?â you ask, keeping your voice even, though itâs getting harder. âthat i waited around? that i havenât touched anyone since you left? is that what you were hoping for?â âi wasnât hoping for anything,â he snaps. you raise an eyebrow. âsure.â
he exhales, a short, frustrated breath, and leans forward, elbows on his knees, staring down at the dirt path between his shoes. because the truth isâhe was hoping for that. he was hoping youâd tell him that, even after all this time, you were still a little bit his. and hearing otherwiseâhe doesnât know what to do with that. doesnât know how to sit across from you like it doesnât matter when it feels like itâs fucking tearing him apartâsitting here, stewing in his own mess, wanting things he let go of, wishing youâd stayed stuck when all you ever did was survive the damage he left behind. every twisted part of him that wants you to be okay, also wants you to still need him. heâs so, so fucking selfish. and youâre right, of course. every word. his hands curl into fists. his vision blurs. he doesnât mean to start crying, but it happens anyway. fuck. he takes his glasses off and drags a hand over his face, hoping you wonât say anything, hoping maybe youâll look away long enough for him to get it under control. but he canât. âiâm sorry,â he chokes out. âiâm sorry iâm acting like this. i justâi didnât think it would feel like this. seeing you. i thought i could handle it, and i canât.â his throat aches. he wipes at his face again, furious at himself for crying, for falling apart in front of you, for being nine months too late. âseunghyunââ
his name barely leaves your mouth before heâs crumbling again, shoulders shaking. you slide across the bench, closing the space between you, and wrap your arms around him, firmly. he tenses at first, like he doesnât know what to do with the comfort, and then he just folds into you. his face buries into the crook of your neck, warm and damp with tears, breath shuddering against your skin, and your hand comes up to cradle the back of his head instinctively. âiâm sorry,â he whispers, over and over again. âfuck, iâm so sorry. i fucked everything up.â you close your eyes, heart aching with the weight of it. âi ruined it,â he says again, voice cracking. âi ruined us.â âitâs not your fault.â âit is.â ânoâyou were just scared. my momâs the one who put us in this situation. and yeah, you hurt me but iâi forgive you, hyun. youâre forgiven, okay?â you hold him tighter, your chin resting lightly on his shoulder, breathing slow and steady because maybe if you stay calm, heâll remember how to do the same. and for a while, he just cries. you havenât seen him like this in a long timeâhavenât seen him break this hard, this openly, not since the first time he told you he didnât know how to live with himself. or the nights heâd curl into you, silent and shaking, too proud to sob until his body gave him no other choice.
when the worst of it passesâwhen the sobs begin to slow and his breathing evens outâhe leans back and sniffles, avoiding your eyes as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small black clothâone of those soft ones he always carried for his glasses, or for sweat when he was anxious. he dabs at his face, wiping away the tears first, then pressing it against his temples and the back of his neck. heâs sweating like hell, his hair damp, the collar of his sweater sticking slightly to his skin. âfuck,â he mutters under his breath, voice hoarse. âiâm a mess.â you reach for the cloth gently, fingers brushing his as you take it from him, and he doesnât resist. âlet me.â you wipe the tears from under his eyes first, careful and slow, then run the cloth lightly across his forehead, down to his cheeks, around the curve of his jaw. your other hand rests on his shoulder, grounding him. âyouâre okay,â you murmur. âjust breathe.â he nods, throat moving as he swallows hard. and then, after a long pause, with a voice thatâs barely there he says, âi⌠i still love you.â you freeze, the cloth limp in your hand, your breath catching mid-air. did you hear that right? and then, quieter, he adds, âi donât think iâve ever loved someone as much.â yeah, you heard that right. your heart stumbles in your chest and you sit there, watching him. he wonât meet your eyes now, like saying it took the last of whatever strength he had left. his shoulders are hunched, jaw tight like heâs bracing for rejection even before it comes. he looks younger like this, and older too, worn down by months of pretending he was okay, of convincing himself he didnât still ache for you every fucking day. and you love him. oh, you love this man so fucking much⌠you wish you didnât sometimes, wish it didnât still hurt. you place the cloth down carefully in your lap and reach out without thinking, your hand brushing the side of his face, fingers sliding into his hair like muscle memory. and he leans into it. you let your hand fall to his jaw, thumb gently swiping along the damp edge of it. âi love you too, hyun,â you say. âi never stopped.â
his shoulders shake, and you can tell heâs holding back again, trying not to fall apart a second time. you take his hand in yours. âyou said⌠you said that you missed me. earlier. and the truth is⌠i missed you too,â you whisper, voice low and breaking now. âi missed everythingâus. i tried to forget all of it and i couldnât. i didnât want to.â his fingers twitch under yours and he grips your hand tighter. you can feel how warm his skin is, how clammy his palmâs gone from the crying and the heat and all the fucking emotion, but you donât let go. you just hold on, because this is the first time in months youâve both said the truth out loud, and if itâs going to hurt, youâd rather it hurt with him right there beside you. his eyes are glassy, and you can tell heâs struggling to find the words. âi used to wake up in the middle of the night thinking you were still next to me,â he says. âand every single time it hit me that you werenât, it feltââ he stops himself, rubbing a hand over his chest to stop it from aching. âi missed you so much it made me sick sometimes.â and you believe him. because you know that feeling. you remember what it felt like to lie awake with your back to the wall, trying to sleep in a bed that felt too big and too cold, your hand unconsciously reaching for a body that wasnât there anymore. you remember the mornings youâd open your eyes and forget, just for a second, that he was goneâand how that second was always worse than the rest of the day combined. but sitting here now, his hand still trembling slightly in yours, all you can think is: we canât go back. âi love you,â you say. âand i want to be with you, seunghyun. i wantâhell, iâd spend the rest of my life with you.â your voice cracks on the last word, and your chest pulls tight as the tears finally spill over. âand i mean it. but⌠what would change?â
heâs silent. not because he doesnât know what to sayâbut because he knows exactly what heâd like to say, and none of it would be true. âi canât go back to hiding,â you continue before he can speak. âi canâtâi donât want to be that girl again.â he closes his eyes for a second, then nods. âi know.â âbut i also knowâŚâ you exhale, voice shaking, âi know thatâs all you can offer me right now.â he shifts slightly, like he wants to argue. âthatâs notââ âthereâs no point in lying, seunghyun.â he runs a hand over his mouth, pained. âi couldâmaybe, in a few months, if things calm downââ âyou and i both know thatâs not how it works,â you say, cutting him off gently. âa few months wonât change the industry. or the people watching you. it wonât suddenly make us easy. and you know, seunghyun⌠you know a few months is unrealistic. and i donât wannaâi donât wanna wait in the shadows anymore. i wonât do it. i promised that to myself.â he sighs, long and defeated. âyeah. i knowâiâm sorry. i just⌠i didnât think iâd be getting this much attention again. after everything. the interviews, the show⌠itâs all been more than i expected. and it could get to you too, for the wrong reasonsââ âi know,â you nod. âi know. and i get it, i really do. iâve already deleted half my socials because of the harassment i got when it was just a rumor, and that wasnât even real to them.â his face falls, shame coloring every line of it. âiâm sorry about that, too.â âyeah,â you murmur. âitâs fine. orâitâs not, but⌠it happened. those months were awful. but theyâre behind me now.â he watches you for a long second, then says, âif weâd been closer in age, maybe it wouldnât have been so complicated.â you smile, even though your lower lip is trembling slightly. âyeah. maybe it wouldâve been easier.â the world outside wonât stop pressing in, and the timing keeps pulling you apart before you even get the chance to hold each other properly. âi hate this,â he whispers. âi hate that we finally said everything and it still isnât enough.â âme too,â you say, sniffing. âbut love isnât the problem. it never was.â he nods slowly, and you know heâs holding back more tears.
you look at himâhis swollen eyes, the slight tremble in his mouth that mirrors your ownâand for a moment, you wish you could be selfish. you wish you could say fuck it, go back with him, crawl into the warmth of what couldâve been, and pretend that love alone is enough. but you canât. âmaybe you were right,â you say, trying to laugh through the tears, your voice catching halfway through. âmaybe breaking up was the right thing to do. for both of us.â oh⌠the way his heart drops when he hears thatâhow much he wishes he could take those words back. how much he regrets ever saying them in the first place. how much heâs begged time, in every quiet moment since, to let him go back and rewrite your story. but itâs useless. it didnât feel right then, and it sure as hell doesnât now. youâre all he ever wanted. youâre all he wants. and deep down, he knowsâyou always will be. and it fucking kills him. it kills him to know that loving you isnât the questionâhe does. with everything. the question is what to do with that love, now that it canât go anywhere. because if you tried again⌠if you gave in to the ache and the want and the desperationânothing would really change. youâd end up right back here. except next time, youâd be even more broken. âif i were braver,â he starts, âif i was differentââ âdonât,â you cut in. âdonât do that. you donât need to be a different person, hyun,â you say softly. âyou just need a different life. and you donât have that right nowâand maybe you never will. but itâs okay.â âhow can it be?â he says, and thereâs a crack in his voice that makes your chest tighten. âhow the fuck is it okay to want something this badly and still have to let it go?â you let out a shaky breath and look down at your lap. âwe canât change it. this. itâs⌠itâs not okayâfuck, i know itâs not. but itâs what we have.â
he goes quiet again, wiping under his nose with the back of his hand, tears still hanging in his lashes. you both sit in it. the sadness. the weight of every missed chance, every wrong timing, every choice that brought you to this bench. âif thereâs another life,â you murmur, âmaybe we find our way back to each other there.â he nods. âmaybe,â he says, and you know heâs picturing it too. the could-have-beens. the should-haves. the soft life you never got to live. but not this one. heâs quiet for a while after that, like heâs still standing in that other life you just painted with your wordsâstill walking through it in his mind, holding your hand in a version of the world where things were easier. and then his voice cuts through the silence, âbut i donât want to lose you in this life, either.â and before you can say anything, he adds, âdo you think we could⌠i donât knowâbe friends?â you turn to look at him, and heâs watching you carefully, not with expectation but with something closer to fear. heâs afraid youâll say no, afraid youâll cut the thread that still tethers you to him, even if itâs frayed and worn and barely holding. but you smile a little. itâs small and sad, but a smile after all. âyeah. i think we could.â he exhales like heâs been holding his breath. âmaybe not right now,â you add gently. âmaybe we give it some time. let it stop hurting so much. but yeah⌠eventually, iâd like that.â he nods again, eyes flicking toward you like heâs trying to memorize your face in this exact light, with this exact expressionâstill full of love. âi just donât want to lose you completely.â âyou wonât,â you say. and itâs the one thing you can promise. âyouâre too much a part of me now, hyun, you always will be. weâll figure it out.â
the gravel crunches quietly under your shoes. the path back through the garden is dim now, the sun completely dipped behind the horizon, leaving the sky painted in that deep, rich blue, settling into dusk. every now and then, you glance at seunghyun in your peripheryâhis hands in his pockets, head slightly bowed, like heâs trying to hold on to every last moment of this without showing it. you walk without touching, without speaking, but everything between you is loud. and then, just before the path curves toward the iron gate that separates the quiet of this place from the rest of the world, you stop. âseunghyun,â you say, his name barely above a whisper. he turns to you slowly, like he already knows whatâs coming, like heâs been waiting for it without letting himself hope. you reach up with both hands and cradle his faceâthumbs brushing over the curve of his cheekbones, your fingers slipping into the soft, familiar edges of his hair. his breath catches, his eyes flicker, and then they fall shut just as your mouth finds his. his hands are on you within secondsâyour waist, your back, the side of your neck, fucking everywhere. he kisses you back hard, full of need and every word he didnât know how to say earlier. you make a soft sound against his mouth, one he swallows greedily, pulling you closer, gripping the fabric at your back like he doesnât trust the world not to rip you away. your fingers slide into his hair, tugging just enough to make him moan, and when he groans against your mouth, his tongue slips past your lips, deepening the kiss. he kisses you hungrily. because he knows this is the last moment heâll get to remember what it feels like to be wanted by you. his hands slide up your sides, and then one of them cups your face, the pad of his thumb brushing just beneath your eye, catching a tear you didnât even realize had fallen. your heart stutters in your chest at how tender it isâhow fucking unfair it is that someone can love you this gently and still not be yours. you kiss him deeper, your tongue meeting his, your mouth opening wider like maybe if you just give enough of yourself, itâll keep him for a little longer. but eventually, it has to stop. your hands loosen in his hair, and his grip on you falters. you pull away first, even though it feels like tearing something out of your own chest. youâre both panting, and your lips are swollen. âsorry,â you whisper. âi just⌠i needed to do that one last time.â you close your eyes and let your hand rest over his chest, right where his heart is pounding beneath your palmâfast and uneven, like yours. âi needed it too,â he says quietly. you both feel it settle deep in your bonesâthat quiet, devastating truth: the kiss was goodbye. to everything you were and everything youâll never be again.
by the time you make it back to your friendâs apartment, the sky has already folded into itself, navy and thick. you step inside, the house dim and quiet, the hallway lit only by the warm spill of light coming from the kitchen where your friendâs probably left a candle burning. you move through the space like youâre not really there. your shoes come off, your jacket lands somewhere near a chair you donât look at, and youâre halfway down the hall toward the living room with that hollow, buzzing emptiness ringing in your earsâwhen your phone vibrates once. and you think, for a stupid second, that maybe itâs him. but no. instead, itâs your banking app, and there on your screen, as casual as if someone had just venmoed you for last weekâs pizza, is a depositâan absurd amount of money, like⌠frankly ridiculous amountâand next to it, the name. choi seunghyun. you stare at it for a second, not really processing it, your brain taking its sweet time catching up, and when it finally does, you quickly message him.
seunghyun
WHAT THE FUCK
what
why
wtf
what the actual fuck
You told me you were staying with your friend while looking for a place.
I thought it might help.
are you crazy?
wtf
this is insane, hyun
Itâs nothingđ
itâs NOT nothing wtf
you wired me enough to pay rent for a year
maybe more
no, no, definitely more
way more
what part of that feels normal to you
this is so much money, what were you thinking
I was thinking you deserved it.
i donât need you to take care of me like that
iâm not your responsibility
Youâre not.
But that doesnât mean I donât want to help you however I can.
itâs too much, hyun
So is everything I feel for you.
i donât know if i can accept it
Please do.
Friends help each other, donât they?
iâm being so frl rn old man
Me too, princess.
are u trying to make me cry?đ be honest
Weâve cried enough today.
I want you to be happy, so please let me do this for you.
thank you seunhyun, really
Of courseđŤ°đź
i love you
I love you too.
Take careâ¤ď¸
you too :)
you press the phone to your chest, close your eyes, and sigh. and maybe itâs dramatic to cry over a money transfer, but here you are. not because you need the money, but because you know, this is the only way he knows how to take care of you nowâby giving you something tangible and useful in his absence. and that hurts.
itâs been two years since that last conversation with seunghyunâtwo whole years since that kiss in the garden, since the deposit, since his last message sat in your phone. life didnât stop after him. it moved forward the way time always doesâslow. and eventually, you did too. you moved out of your friendâs place not long after meeting seunghyunâgave yourself permission to look at listings just slightly outside your price range, to stop filtering by âcheapest first,â to imagine something more. and when you found itâa corner apartment on the top floor of a building, all warm wood and tall windows and soft morning lightâyou said yes. itâs not huge, but itâs beautiful. clean lines, a little balcony that overlooks the street, a kitchen that makes you want to cook even when all you know how to make is pasta⌠itâs the first place youâve ever lived that feels like it was meant for you. and yeah, sometimes you think about seunghyunâyou think about how he gave this to you. but mostly, you think about how you made it into something your own.
you also dropped the guy youâd been seeing back then and focused on yourself. let yourself learn how to be alone. you got a new job tooâsomething better, something steadier. it pays well, and you donât come home every night feeling like youâve been scraped raw, which is more than you used to ask for. things with your mom are better now, or at least better than they used to be. she calls every week, asks about work (because thatâs her favorite topic), sometimes even about your mood, and itâs clear sheâs trying. but the thing that still sticks in your throat, the thing you canât seem to move past, is that sheâs never actually said she was sorry. she speaks like it was a necessary evil, like leaking your relationship to the press was some calculated decision made for your protection, not a betrayal that burned through your entire life. and maybe if she showed even a flicker of regretâreal regretâyouâd be able to meet her halfway. but without that, thereâs only so far you can go.
youâre not healed. but youâre okay. you wake up most mornings without feeling like youâre drowning, you go to work, make dinner, fold laundry while music plays in the background. you laugh with friends and sleep through the night more often than not. and your screen time is down 12% this weekâso, progress. that has to count for something. but some nights, when itâs quiet in your apartment and the city hums softly outside your window, you think of seunghyun. you wonder where he is, if heâs okay, if he ever sees something and thinks of you. you wonder if heâs happy, if heâs sleeping well, if his hands still tremble when heâs anxious or if someone else has learned how to hold them steady. and sometimes, you stare at the ceiling too long, or catch yourself holding your breath when a memory slips throughâand it still surprises you, how much he lives in the smallest, stupidest things. because no matter how much distance time gives you, there are people who never really leave. and seunghyun, no matter how far away he is nowâheâs one of them.
so when his name lights up your phone one random thursday evening two years laterâyou almost fall off your bed.
Hi.
Sorry if this is weird.
I was looking through my gallery and I found this.
itâs a photo taken from aboveâhis arm stretched out enough to fit both of you into the frame, the angle slightly off-center. youâre completely out, fast asleep on top of him, arms loosely wrapped around his waist like you were trying to merge with him in your sleep. your cheek is smushed against the ridiculous pajama topâthe one he bought for himself first, then ordered a second one for you when he realized how cute youâd look matching. yes, the infamous pajama set that everyone and their mother saw after your mom leaked everything. his hair is a mess, sticking up in every direction, but his face is softâeyes shining even in the low light of the room, a sleepy grin on his face.
Turns out, the picture those fans took of us wasnât the only one we had.
I hope lifeâs treating you nicelyđŤ°đź
and something about itâabout him still having that photo, still thinking of you enough to send itâmakes you smile. you write back faster than you thought you would.
omg seunhyun!!! hii!!
when did you take that photo? and why didnât u tell me about it?đ
I took it when you came to Seoul for my birthday.
I forgot I took it.
You woke up right after hahahđ´đ
itâs sooo sooo cuteđĽš
It isđ
How are you?
iâm good :)) but a bit tired because iâve been helping my friend paint her house and itâs been a lot of work
my arms are so soređ
what about you?
you doing okay?
Yes! Iâm good.
I missed talking to you.
me too :)) and iâm glad to know youâre doing well!
I also wanted to know if youâd like to go for a coffee next week?
I wanted to fly to Texas to see you.
We could catch up.
If you want to, of courseđ
yesss ofc, iâd love to :)đЎ
iâm really happy you reached out
been thinking about you a lot, honestly
You have?
more than iâd like to admit hahah
i was wondering how you were doing :)
Iâve thought about you too.
And Iâm really looking forward to seeing youđ
me toođââď¸
Iâll send you the details once everythingâs booked, is that okay?
yeah, sure, that sounds perfect :)
See you soonđŤ°đź
when the day finally comes, thereâs a quiet nervousness in your chestânot the kind that makes your hands shake, but the kind that hums beneath your skin. you donât know what to expect. itâs been two years. whole seasons, whole versions of yourself have passed since you last stood in front of him. youâve changed. youâve grown. but some things stay. heâs waiting outside the cafĂŠ when you arriveâhands in his coat pockets, hair a little longer. and the second your eyes meet, he smiles. and you smile back, like no time has passed at all. the conversation flows without effort. you donât even notice your coffee going coldâyouâre too busy talking and laughing like it hasnât been two years. and you donât try to stop the feeling that rushes in, that warm, aching knowing in your chest that says, yeah. itâs still him. even after everything. itâs still seunghyun. you donât know whatâs going to happen next, and for once, that doesnât scare you. you just let the moment be what it is, suspended in something that feels a lot like peace. because maybe this is it. maybe you donât need another life to find your way back to each otherâyou already do in this one.

i hope this lived up to your expectations for part 2 :) i genuinely did the best i could. iâve spent so much time on this fic and gotten so attached to everything about it that it doesnât even feel like something i made up anymore?? like someone out there is living through it and suffering bc of seunghyun fr⌠my brain fully believes it atpđ
thank you so much for all the support youâve shown to this fic, and for all the kind messages iâve been getting because of itâi seriously wasnât expecting it at all đĽšđ
regular taglist: @breakmeoff @sherrayyyyy @infinetlyforgotten @bettelaboure @scream-queen-25 @flwerangii
hidden pt.2 taglist: @ulquiorraswife @rubyylovestoread @youlikeex @liv2cool
#choi seunghyun#t.o.p bigbang#seunghyun x reader#hidden#t.o.p fanfic#bigbang x reader#top bigbang#bigbang#big bang#top x reader#t.o.p x you#t.o.p x reader#t.o.p#squid game#part 2
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Runway Walk

"Let me see your runway walk, make your heels click, make the runway talk, c'mon."
A/N: The way... I got carried away with this word count. Can ya'll tell I've been holding back when it comes to Dick Grayson? Thanks to a fellow creator here for helping my creative flow with scrumptious fan art. You know who you are.
Warnings: Door-Knocking Time Pressure Smutâ˘, Canon Violence Mentioned, Porn WITH a Plot, Fingering, Clothing Kink (Suit & Costume Removal), Desk Sex, Switchy Energy, Slight Powerplay, Emotional Tension, Dick Grayson Being Hot, Reader Being Sarcastic, Past History, Smut, Etc.
Synopsis: With twenty minutes to curtain call, a locked dressing room door, and a desk sturdy enough to ruin, you're about to discover there's nothing more dangerous than a man in a suit⌠especially when you designed it to come off.
Dick Grayson x Fem!Stylist!Reader
WC: 2.7k
The auction was hidden beneath the illusion of extravagance. Above ground, it was a high-profile Gotham fashion event, glittering with elite influencers, foreign investors, and too many champagne flutes balanced on too-thin fingers.
But below the stage â behind mirrored walls and beneath silken drapes â was the truth: a rotating selection of stolen tech, rare weapons, smuggled magic, and âexclusive clienteleâ too powerful to touch. And right in the middle of it all?
You and Dick Grayson.
And the walk that would undo everything. The first time you saw Dick Grayson again â after months of silence â he was ten minutes late, annoyingly calm, and wearing the wrong pants.
"Let me guess," you said, not even glancing up from the rack of hand-stitched blazers. "You stopped to rescue a cat from a burning building. Or flirt with a barista. Or maybe both?"
He laughed. That low, familiar sound that used to rattle your self-control. âYou forgot âstop a black-market weapons deal in the Diamond District,ââ he said, easing into the dressing area with the kind of grace that shouldâve been illegal. âBut yeah, the cat was cuter.â
You finally turned to look at him. Mistake number one.
His shirt was half-unbuttoned, probably on purpose, and his smile had that particular tilt to it: a mix of charm and apology. And those eyes. Ocean-blue and too damn knowing. They flicked to your hands, your mouth, your outfit â absorbing everything like he always did.
âWhat?â you snapped, folding your arms. âForget what I look like when Iâm not yelling at you?â
âNo,â he said, stepping closer. âThatâs actually my favorite version.â You held his stare for two seconds longer than you meant to. Then you turned back to the rack. âYouâre here to play runway model, not walk memory lane. Get your ass into the fitted pants before I change my mind.â
He whistled low. âStill mad I ghosted, huh?â
âIâm not mad,â you said sweetly. âI just find it fascinating how a grown man can leap across rooftops, dodge bullets, and still somehow be deathly allergic to returning a text.â He winced â slightly. Not enough to satisfy you, but enough to keep the fire burning.
"Look, I didnât want to drag you into the mess," he said, softer now. "There were things I couldnât explain, and I figured it was saferâ" You cut him off with a wave. âDonât care. Donât want to hear it. You walked away, remember? Just like you always do.â
His smile faltered, then faded entirely.
ââŚYou always watch me leave,â he said, almost under his breath.
You hated that it hit you. Right where he knew it would.
And then he smirked again â pivoting, as always, from vulnerability back to charm. âSo what do you think?â he asked, striking a pose in his current pants â the wrong pants, mind you. âDo I pull these off?â
âNot even a little,â you said flatly, snatching the correct pair from the hanger. âPut these on. And try not to break Gothamâs collective brain when you hit that runway.â He took the pants, brushed your fingers on purpose, and leaned just a little closer.
âIf I do,â he murmured, âyouâll take the credit, right? Since youâre the one dressing me to kill.â
You pretended not to shiver.
Twenty minutes later,
You stood at the edge of the bustling prep area, clipboard in hand, headset buzzing with last-minute changes. But none of it mattered. Because when Dick Grayson stepped onto that runway â tailored midnight-blue suit hugging every line, eyes cutting through the crowd like headlights â the world paused.
He moved like he owned the moment. Like the spotlight was just another streetlight to dance under.Nothing in your training prepared you for the sight of him. Every step, fluid and lethal and smooth as silk. He wasnât a model. He was a weapon. And he was wearing your design.
You swallowed hard. Goddamn him..
It a slow burn of motion and magnetism, his body sculpted by shadow and spotlight. The suit â your suit â fits like sin itself. Dark navy with obsidian threading, subtle enough for the naked eye but glimmering under flash. Cut low at the chest, hugging the lines of his torso, a whisper of rebellion against traditional formality.
And heâs looking at you.
Not the crowd. Not the buyers. Not the high rollers holding hidden paddles for illegal bids.
You.
As he walks â no, prowls â down the runway, his gaze never strays. A slow, deliberate tether between you and him. Every step a conversation: Do you see me now? Did you miss this? Are you still pretending you donât want it?
Your breath catches. Your heart races. The world blurs around the edges. And then â chaos. Just as he reaches the end of the walk, the lights flicker once. A coded signal. You know it immediately. The auction is beginning.
âYou didnât tell me they were selling an energy core designed by WayneTech,â you hiss, dragging him into a side hallway behind a curtain of velvet. His back hits the wall. Youâre close â too close â but you donât back off.
He exhales, lips twitching. âWas gonna tell you after the encore.â
âDick.â
âHey,â he says, voice lowering. âItâs not like I planned for them to use a fashion show as a front. But now that Iâm here⌠we improvise.â You glare. He doesnât flinch. His eyes flick to your lips. âI saw you watching me,â he says softly. You scoff, but your voice wavers. âYou were strutting like a damn peacock.â
âAnd you liked it.â
ââŚShut up.â
His smile turns devilish. âYou always get like this when youâre turned on and mad at me.â You shove his chest, not hard, but enough to let him know you're not playing. Except your hands donât leave his suit. And his donât leave your waist. For a moment, everything stills. Then he leans in, mouth brushing your ear.
âI only have a few minutes before I have to intercept a buyer in the west wing,â he murmurs. âBut if you donât want to wait anymoreâŚâ
You inhale sharply. "Don't tease me," you whisper. "Not unless you mean it." His voice drops. The flirty edge disappears â and what replaces it? Longing. Raw, unfiltered heat. âIâve always meant it,â he says. âYou just never let me prove it.â
His hands slide around your waist, slow, reverent, until your back hits the wall too. Thereâs no air between you now. Only breath. Only heat. Only months of missed calls and words unspoken. You want to kiss him. You want to take his damn suit off piece by piece â you designed it, after all.
He leans in again, mouth brushing yours, and stops.
âSay the word,â he murmurs. âAnd Iâll forget the mission for one night. Just one.â
Your hands fist in his lapels. You hate him. You need him.
And thenâ
BZZZZZT.
His earpiece crackles. Oracleâs voice, cutting in sharp. âNightwing, buyerâs on the move. You have sixty seconds.â His forehead drops to yours. Frustrated. Desperate. âDamn it,â he breathes.
You close your eyes. Try to calm the fire in your blood. ââŚGo,â you whisper. âBut you better come back.â His fingers skim your cheek. âAlways,â he promises. And just like always â he walks away. But this time? You follow him with your eyes. And when he turns back, just before vanishing into the dark⌠Heâs still watching you. There are exactly twenty minutes until you're supposed to walk onstage and take your bow as the head designer. Which makes this â him â the worst idea. But when Dick Grayson slams the dressing room door behind him and shoves his earpiece deep into his jacket pocket, you know the decision's already been made.
Heâs out of breath. Cheeks flushed. Hair tousled. âThatâs it,â he pants. âIâm done pretending I can focus on anything else tonight.â
âYou intercepted the buyer?â you ask, stepping back. Just slightly. Heart thudding.
âYeah,â he nods. âSwapped the intel. Knocked out two guards. Didnât get shot. High score.â
âAnd your reward is barging into my dressing room?â
His smirk goes crooked. âNo. My reward is you looking at me like youâre two seconds from tearing this suit off with your teeth.â You blink. Then scoff. âYouâre delusional.â He closes the space between you in three long strides. âThen make me hallucinate harder.â
Its fast. Hands in hair. Mouths crashing together. The heat between you like fabric and friction and fire. His suit jacket â your suit jacket â rustles under your fingers, the tailored lines warping as you grab him and pull. âYou're wrinkling my masterpiece,â you mutter against his mouth. âGood,â he growls. âMaybe you'll have to make me another one.â
His hands are everywhere. Gliding under your shirt, gripping your waist, then up to your throat, not choking, just holding â possessive, reverent, lost. When he backs you into the mirror, you gasp, and he drinks in the sound like oxygen. But the moment he reaches behind his neck and tugs hard at something hidden under the collar, you pull back.
And immediately burst into laughter. Because under the elegant suit? The Nightwing suit⌠Still on. âTactical layering?â you snort, breathless. âSeriously?â He groans. âI didnât have time to take it off.â
âYou never have time, Dick. Not to call, not to stay, and apparently not to remove your ridiculous birdsuit.â
âHey,â he says, mock-offended, breath still shallow. âThis is iconic.â
âItâs clingy.â
âSo are you.â
âOh shut up.â
You hook your fingers under the utility belt and drag it down, peeling the skintight suit from underneath the runway outfit â an awkward, tangled mess of kevlar, spandex, and silk lining. âGod, there are too many zippers,â you mutter, shoving one sleeve down.
âBet you say that to all the vigilantes.â
âOnly the hot ones.â
He huffs a laugh and then you're both quiet, staring at each other, the tension thick with want and everything unspoken. His voice drops. âYou donât have to pretend this is just a quickie, y'know.â
âThen stop acting like it has to be.â
He kisses you again â slower, this time. Deeper. His fingers trail up your sides, under your shirt, sliding fabric away from skin. âI want all of you,â he whispers against your jaw. âNot just this. Not just tonight.â
âThen prove it,â you breathe, undoing his suit pants. âRight now. Before they call my name.â He pauses â just a flicker â and then grins. âOh. So this is what it's like to date a designer.â
âIâm not dating you.â
âYouâre definitely about to fuck me.â
âSemantics.â
The next five minutes are a blur of kisses too hot to be gentle, fingers fumbling with fabric, and you swearing every time a perfectly placed seam rips. His mouth is everywhere â throat, collarbone, behind your ear, whispering things that should not be this tender when he's pressed between your thighs like a man possessed.
You pull his shirt off â the silk one you picked â and for a second, it hits you: âI knew this suit was dangerous,â you pant, rolling your hips against him.
âYou designed a weapon,â he groans, breath catching. âIâm just⌠following instructions.â
The desk creaks. A light flickers. Your hair is a mess. His gloves are somewhere on the floor. And through it all, the two of you move together like this has been coming for years. Because it has. This isnât just release. Itâs reclaiming. It's: You left. It's: I still waited. It's: This isnât over when the zipper comes up. The desk beneath you is shaking.
"How fast can you come?" he mutters, breath hot against your collarbone, as he hikes your leg up onto his hip. You arch toward him. âYou offering to set a record?â He grins â sharp, teasing â but thereâs heat in his eyes. Real heat. Not just lust, but aching. And you realize â suddenly, startlingly â that this isnât just about sex for him.
Itâs about this.
His hands slide over your thighs, palms rough from training but gentle now. Your panties are pushed aside, and he exhales sharply as his fingers stroke over your puffy, slick folds â slow, reverent, almost shocked. âFuck,â he mutters. âYouâre soaked.â
"You're late," you hiss. He kisses you â hard. Teeth click. Tongues tangle. He slides two fingers inside you without warning, and your breath stutters against his mouth. You can feel the desperation in his touch, the urgency in his movements. His fingers slide inside you, curling to hit that spot deep within that makes you see stars. You moan, your hips bucking against his hand. His hand almost going numb as it basked in the silken warmth of your cunt. Sweet nectar dripping from your sex and drizzling into his palm.
"You gonna let me fuck you on this desk?" he says, voice thick. "Or should I put you on your knees first?" You bite his lower lip. âIâll decide,â you whisper, pulling him in by the lapels.
Heâs thick and hot in your hand when you reach for him â his cock heavy, flushed, already leaking at the tip. He groans low when you stroke him, your thumb circling his head, dragging down the length. His hips twitch against your touch.He chuckles, almost instinctively as his nerves short circuit, his eyes twitching. âBossy,â he murmurs. âAlways had a thing for your hands.â
âYou're not exactly subtle yourself,â you smirk, squeezing a little harder. He sucks in a breath. His hand tightens around your thigh. His thumb circles your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you in a rhythm thatâs driving you wild. You can feel the orgasm building, the pressure coiling tight in your belly. Shivers scale your spine, head slamming back against the mirror as hushed, yet pornographic moans crawl from your lips. Heâs almost infatuated, hung on every sound.
"You gonna sit up here and look pretty, then?" he rasps, stepping between your legs, lining himself up against your entrance. The head of his cock teases at your slick, not yet pushing in â just pressing, waiting. You glance at the clock. Seven minutes âtil curtain. âBetter fuck me before they call my name,â you breathe.
His eyes blaze.
âYou donât tell me twice.â
He thrusts into you with one slow, claiming push â thick and deep, stretching you full. You both groan at once. Your hands scramble for purchase â the edge of the desk, the lapels of his suit jacket â and he buries himself to the hilt. Makeup products clutter loudly to the floor, yet fall silent between the labored gasps you share. The fullness knocks the air from your lungs.
âOh my godââ you gasp. He stills, cock pulsing inside you. âToo much?â he murmurs, voice hoarse, lips brushing your cheek. âNo,â you breathe, digging your nails into his back. âMove.â He obeys. The pace starts rough â frantic, almost, the kind of thrusts born from months of unresolved tension. The desk rattles beneath you, your back arching with each push. His hands grip your hips, then your waist, then one rises to cradle the back of your head as he leans in to kiss you through it.
âYou feel so fucking good,â he growls against your mouth. You moan, dragging your nails down his spine. âBet you say that to all your stylists.â
âOnly the ones who fuck me like they own me.â You clench around him â hard â and he gasps. âShit. Donât do that or Iâllââ
âAlready close?â you tease, sweat beading at your temples. âGrayson, I expected better.â
He pulls out almost completely, then slams back in, hard enough to jolt a moan from your throat. âKeep talking,â he pants, âand Iâll bend you over the chair next.â His thrusts slow. Deepen. Suddenly, itâs not just fast and filthy. Itâs hungry. His lips find your throat. Your pulse. Your chest. One hand cups your breast, mouth latching to a nipple as he rolls his hips against you, every movement precise, built to ruin. You whimper, clinging to one another. âSay it,â he whispers. âTell me you still want me.â
âFuck, Dickââ
âSay it.â
You kiss him instead â all teeth and tongue and breathless confession. âI wanted this every night you left.â
His forehead drops to yours. âNever again.â Youâre so close. He knows it â can feel it, the way you tighten, the way your body arches into him like instinct. The way your velvety ridges contract around his cock. The way your pussy kisses every vein, caressing him like he never left. His jaw tightened, truly trying his best to remain quiet. He wanted to be vocal, to tease, to show you just how good you made him feel. His efforts were cut short, a hushed and sing-songy groan sighing from his chest.
And then, just as your orgasm builds, burns â he reaches between you, rubbing your clit in tight, expert circles. âCome for me,â he breathes. âI want to feel you lose it. Right here. Right now.â His tone almost pleading, but still commanding enough to lock your legs.
You snap. Heat floods through you, sharp and unstoppable. Your cry muffled by his shoulder as you cling to him, pulsing around his cock. He follows with a broken sound â thrusts stuttering, hips jerking as he spills into you, thick and deep. One last kiss, messy and gasping, seals it.
Now, its just silence. Just breathe. Sweat. Eyes boring deeply into one another. You slide your fingers through his hair, still trying to come down. ââŚYou ruined my underwear,â you whisper. He smiles against your skin. âYou ruined me.â
A knock. âDesigner to stage in three minutes!â
You groan. He groans. Dick's head drops against your shoulder, and you bite back a laugh. âI have to go,â you whisper. He pulls back just far enough to meet your eyes. âCan I see you after?â
âNot this time.â He presses one more kiss â softer than all the rest â to the corner of your mouth. âBreak a leg,â he murmurs.
You adjust your shirt. He zips up. You toss him his wrinkled suit jacket. He catches it midair, grinning. And then he helps you fix your clothes â surprisingly gentle â pressing soft kisses to your jaw as he zips you up and tucks himself back into the damn suit.
You both look wrecked. Perfect. And as he slips out the back door, one last look over his shoulder, he says: âYou're still the best thing Iâve ever worn.â You smile, smitten, before calling out to him. "I know you'll be watching, and you better stay close. Because next time? I'm on top."
A/N: Feel free to leave comments and suggestions! This is my first DC related post.... woooo Dick Grayson the man you are.
MasterList ཟŕźââşâď¸ââşâ.Ë
#fanfic#writers on tumblr#x reader#dom/sub#fem reader#dick grayson#switch reader#nightwing#dick grayson x reader#dick grayson x female!reader#dick grayson x you#dick grayson smut#nightwing x reader#nightwing x you#nightwing smut#reader insert#dick grayson imagine#richard grayson#dc comics#dc comics x reader#nightwing/reader#nightwing x fem!reader#Switch Dick Grayson#richard grayson x reader#nightwing x y/n#dick grayson x y/n#FREAK SHIT
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Blame Morpheus for your sins - 04

đžđ đđ˝đžđ¸đ˝... you and jungkook had been attached by the hip since you were little toddlers learning how to live in your own bodies, which led you two to spend most (if not all) of your life together. one weird dream makes your whole view about your best friend change. how will you live with that?
đ¸đđđđśđžđđ... [mini-series!] friends to lovers, college au, jungkook is whipped for reader but she's oblivious to it all, descriptions of wet dreams, second-hand embarrassment, learning how to deal with new found feelings, sex and all the good stuff, HEA.
đđśđđđžđđ... angst, mentions of sex, mentions of cheating, a whole lot of crying, JK and reader will definitely piss you off (they're both dense), Jimin is moments away to a mid-life crisis
⸠đđˇđ°đľđ˛đźđą đ˛đź đˇđ¸đ˝ đśđ đŻđ˛đťđźđ˝ đľđŞđˇđ°đžđŞđ°đŽ
⸠đ.đŹ. : đ´
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Some time ago your bad habit of doomscrolling through your social media brought to your attention a post. It was a citation of who knows who, and it stated that life is like a roller coaster: once you reach the peak youâre doomed to fall back down at full speed, but no matter what, the train will always bring you back on top, and then the cycle would repeat until the ride stops completely.Â
You didnât think much of it at that time, agreeing that the author was right yet without really stopping to feel, to understand what message they were trying to convey.
But now? Oh, now life pushed you inside the train with no warnings at all, no sweet talk, no coaxing. Just deemed correct that you tasted the taste of failure. Of disappointment. Of empty nights and empty days, of a closed stomach and constricted throat. Of days slipping from your fingers with no intent of being meaningful, or sticking by your side. Each hour, minute, each second dripping like the clocks from DalĂâs Persistence of Memory and pooling at your feet, mocking you for wasting them, for letting them dissolve into thin air instead of doing something.Â
Doing anything, really.
But the more you tried to act, the more life pushed you down. Eventually, even getting up from your bed became an exhausting chore. If you managed to do it most morning, itâs only thanks to Jimin. The poor boy took it upon himself to throw you off your bed each morning, push you in the shower, throw you an apple then drag you to class every single time. More than a friend, he was a saviour for both your mental health and your grades.
One week.
Thatâs when you last spoke to Jungkook before he had hung up. One whole week ago.
And oh, it was eating you from the inside, clawing at your stomach, your throat, bruising and burning until you were left sobbing. No breakup you had gone through prior had hurt as much as Jungkookâs radio silence was hurting you now.Â
âI donât get why he has gone fucking MIA. And I asked some of my friends that go to class with him, Taehyung and Yoongi. Do you remember them? Anyway, apparently he hasnât been showing up to class either.âÂ
You sniffed lightly, wiping the tears streaking your cheeks with your sleeve. Jimin sighed, sitting down in front of you. With gentle hands he cupped your jaw, bringing your eyes high. âHey,â he whispered softly, carefully fixing stray wet hairs that stuck to your face. âItâs alright. Things will be fixed soon, Iâm sure of it. Just hold tight a little longer, okay? You can do it, I know you do.â
A choked sob escaped your lips, a new fit of tears coming up and out of you. Jiminâs hand traveled to the back of your head, guiding you to his shoulder, holding you lovingly. You clung to his shirt, desperate to anchor yourself to something before you spiraled into complete madness, drowning in destructive thoughts that had a name and surname: Jeon Jungkook.
áśť đ đ°
Jimin was right when he said that Jungkook had gone MIA.
No amount of calls, texts, emails or missed classes could bring him outside of his dorm. Heck, his neighbors werenât even sure anymore if he was still there.
Except, he was still inside.Â
He stood in front of his desk, watching his phone ringing nonstop from your desperate calls, each one being sent to voicemail.
âKookââ a broken sob echoed in the small dorm room, and the boy sat back down on his bed as the rest of the registered voicemail played. âPlease pick up, Iâm soâ Iâm sorry, please.â
His heart tugged a little in his chest at your voice break at the end of the note, yet he couldnât bring himself to do what you were asking - no, pleading - him to do. Not because he wanted to torture you, or because he was angry. Actually, scratch that, he was still angry at you, but that wasnât the real and complete reason for his absence.
The reason for his disappearance was a soft, elegant and reserved girl with a big love and understanding for classics and a crazy amount of hatred for the contemporaries, the type of girl that looks like she could break under the weight of life, from his Contemporary Literature class. He had noticed her the first day of class as she hurriedly ran past a group of students hogging the door, sitting down at the back with all her things. Head always low, as he would then learn that she only raised it when something really sparked her attention.Â
Later on, Taehyung had found out that she was half French and half Korean, born and raised in South Korea until the age of ten, then moved to France until her early adulthood. She had won a scholarship thanks to her high GPA, and thatâs how she found herself at their college. Her name was Nari, but a lot of her friends, mostly international students, also called her by her French name, AmĂŠlie.Â
Anyways, it was soon clear that the girl had developed a certain liking towards Jungkook, never making it too obvious, yet evident enough to grasp on it quickly if you were observant. And Jungkookâs eye was built to catch every single detail, whether it was something physical or a change in demeanor.Â
The poor girl had no idea, obviously, she thought that no one had ever noticed her cheeks flushing pink whenever the man talked in class, or when they would accidentally make eye contact. She was quick to divert her gaze each time, almost too quickly to pass just as embarrassment.Â
She was so pure, so naive.Â
So infatuated with a man who was destined to be someone elseâs entirely.
She didnât know that, though.
So she decided to shoot her shot, after being thoroughly coaxed by her friends to act before it was too late.Â
The plan was simple, really. Nothing extraordinary, no face to face confrontation needed, not too intricate like kids do. She had written down on a piece of paper her number, signed with her initials, hoping that Jungkook would immediately guess who it was (he did), then slipped it inside his book when everyone left to go grab a snack before the second half of class started. When he returned he didnât suspect a thing, and the day proceeded as usual.
This was approximately two weeks and a half ago. She hadnât heard from him though, and even in class he didnât act differently. She was almost on the verge of giving up truthfully.Â
But then, a week ago things changed.
The rain pattered heavily on the city, big drops of water splashing on the ground and wetting the hem of AmĂŠlieâs jeans. She tried to squeeze under the roof of the overpacked bus stop, brimming with college students like her trying to get home without too much damage. Rain kept falling on them, and a few drops ran down her cheek and arm as she wasnât completely protected. She huffed annoyed, wiping away the single rain drop from her face, silently praying that the bus would arrive soon.Â
Somewhere, a group of students sighed in relief at the sight of a blue and white bus coming from the end of the street. And she almost joined them, if it wasnât for her phone suddenly ringing with a new notification.
[Unknown number] (2 new messages)
⤡ hey, is this nari? from contemporary lit. class?
⤡ itâs jungkook
She gasped at the messages, clutching the phone in her hands as she read the words over and over again. She rubbed her eyes, making sure that they were not deceiving her. J-U-N-G-K-O-O-K. Yeah, no, they were definitely not deceiving her. So not only he had found the note, but he also guessed whose number it was.Â
Shit.Â
She didnât think she would have made it until this point.
Now what?
Anyway, in the midst of her internal turmoil she hadnât noticed that the bus stop had emptied drastically, and now the vehicle was driving away, without her.
All because of Jeon fucking Jungkook.
Great.
áśť đ đ°
Generally speaking, AmĂŠlie would not describe herself as someone who takes part of hookup culture. Growing up around friends who did, she saw the aftermath: countless calls lasting hours and hours on end, friends sobbing in her shoulder cause they realised that not even sex would bring them their desired person, a dark cloud walking around with them until somehow, someway, they pulled themselves out of this depressive state.
It seemed miserable, to be honest, definitely not worth for a fuck every once in a while. Thatâs why she had decided to wait until she got a boyfriend, which would not save her from a heartbreak but at least it would spare her from crying about a relationship that was built on nonexistent foundations to begin with.
Which is exactly why she had no idea how she ended up in Jungkookâs bed, her naked body lying spent on top of the bedsheets, chest heaving as she recovered. Jungkook rolled off her with a groan, muttering something as he got up to throw away the used condom, then sitting back down on the bed with a huff.
This wasnât the first time it had happened, but for some reason, something felt off this time around. She could sense that there was something up in Jungkookâs mind, yet she knew better than to force him to talk.
In a way, without knowing, she was preserving her sanity. Sometimes, being clueless is the best cure to an illness you do not know to have.
She turned to lay on her side, watching quietly as Jungkook slipped inside a clean pair of sweatpants, running his hand through his hair to revive them. His shoulders were tense, and there was an eerie silence inside the room. AmĂŠlieâs brows furrowed, a little voice at the back of her head nagging about a bad vibe it had caught on.Â
She let her eyes travel from the boy sat at the edge of the bed to the door, a glimpse of something pink catching her attention. Sitting by the door was a sort of open closet, with all sorts of jackets and shirts hanging on their hangers. Under them, there was a long drawer filled with god knows what, but the pink glimpse she had caught on was stored inside a basket on top of said drawer. She squinted her eyes, trying to focus on the object she was looking at.
She gasped, quick, soft, reflexes fast enough to silence herself before he noticed. Her heart jumped up in her throat, and her skin broke in goosebumps all over.
A pink hair straightener. Inside Jungkookâs basket. A quick glance at the mass of hair that was now bent forward â focused on his phone â gave her the confirmation of something she already knew: those werenât hair that are straightened. Heck, he probably didnât even brush them.
She swallowed hard, mouth going dry as her eyes scanned the room for more.
Why didnât she think of it before?
Her breath picked up as more and more signs of a woman being present in Jungkookâs life were presented to her unbelieving eyes: a hair tie hanging from one of his pens, another charger discarded on the kitchen table, a black mascara and a lipgloss sitting side by side on his desk, right by the keyboard.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck, fuck!
She got up abruptly as panic started to settle in, grabbing her underwear and shirt before running for the bathroom, not even acknowledging Jungkookâs confused âwhatâs going on?â
She let her body collapse against the door, clutching her clothes to her chest desperately like it would change anything, letting the cold feeling of both the door and the fabric cool her burning skin and bring her back to the moment. Slowly, the realization began to settle heavy on her stomach.
Was she⌠the other woman?Â
Her eyes ran frantically all over the place, noticing only now things she hadnât paid attention to before: two toothbrushes, two different brands of toothpaste and a hairbrush that looked like a womanâs one, all close together by the sink. Bottles of perfume that read âeau de parfum â for herâ at the front. Tears pricked at her eyes, her throat burning with the need to scream and cry all her frustrations, all her anger and disappointment. They werenât together and he had made it clear from the beginning, but using her to cheat on another woman? How vile can a man be to act this way?
Quickly she slipped her clothes on, twisting the bathroom door knob open, ready to scream at the man sitting on the bed how disgusting he was, how angry she was at him, when suddenly the door to the dorm room bursted open.
áśť đ đ°
Lifeâs a bitch and you knew it. Your parents never forgot to remind you that, and you never did. Or at least, so you thought, cause while standing frozen at Jungkookâs doorway with him in only his sweatpants and a girl dressed in a shirt and panties, one thought crossed your mind: you didnât forget, but you took it for granted.
And now itâs time that you remember that you revise your parentsâ lessons, since you clearly need them.
The human body has a weird way to react to unexpected situations: time seems to stop and dilate even though you know that it's only a weird illusion, your body freezes, standing there stone-cold, your heart rate suddenly spikes.
What you weren't ready to feel, though, was the sudden pang of... what was it? Uneasiness? Hurt? Either way, whatever it was was twisting your heart in its grasp, squeezing and pulling until you felt like it was moments away from jumping out of your ribcage.
Your eyes jumped from side to side of the room, taking in the absurdity of the scene: from Jungkook, rising from the bed still half naked, to the girl you did not know, trying her best to cover her bottom half with the hem of her shirt. You couldn't help but notice the tears streaking down her cheeks, and the way she looked at you suggested that she knew something you did not know of. Whatever it was it didn't matter, cause without speaking a word you turned on your heels and headed back outside, ignoring Jungkook's urgent tone as he called you back in.
"Wait! Y/N! It's not what it looks like!" he yelled from his doorway, cursing under his breath as he saw you get far away from him. He snatched his shirt from the ground, putting it on hurriedly before bolting out of the door.
A soft voice from inside stopped him in his tracks. "What is it, then?"
Jungkook turned around, watching with a stoic face as AmĂŠlie's eyes drowned in tears.
"I didn't know you had a girlfriend," she whispered, trying her best to appear as put together as possible.
Jungkook sighed, shaking his head side to side. He leaned against the doorframe, running a hand through his hair before admitting in an almost tired voice. "She's not my girlfriend. It's... more complicated than this."
He paused. He looked at her, and he saw that there was no trace anymore of the naive, innocent girl he had met the first day. In a way, his touch had corrupted her, stained her with an sin that she did not deserve.
"You should leave," he concluded, turning around and closing the door behind him, letting silence take over the room.
áśť đ đ°
You should have listened to Jimin. You really, really should have.
He told you it wouldn't be a good idea, told you it would probably end up in chaos right now.
He didn't tell you that there was the chance that your bestfriend had disappeared cause he was busy getting his dick wet, ignoring you for a week straight for some other girl you had never met before.
Truthfully, Jungkook having sex wasn't exactly the reason for his absence none of you expected. Mostly because... it didn't make any sense.
Who the fuck disappears cause they've got a girlfriend?
Jeon Jungkook, apparently.
You huffed, running a hand over your chest. Jeez, why did it feel like you've been stabbed over and over again?
"Y/N!" you turned around, looking around the dorm lobby until you found Jimin waving at you from the other side. Close to him were Taehyung and Yoongi, the three of them having just entered the building.
"How... oh no."
"Oh no what?"
"You look like shit."
"Thanks, Jimin."
"Hey, not my fault! I suppose you two had a fight?"
"Oh," you chuckled nervously, going around in circles like an encased tiger. "We didn't even make it to that point. Mr. no-where-to-be-found was busy getting laid. Can you believe that? I cried for days on end because he wouldn't reply and he was just... having fun. Crazy, right?"
"Y/Nâ"
"I'm the stupid one, though. I could have done the same, instead of bothering you and feeling like shit all this time. I could have said, oh that's how life is, and moved on. But no, I had to cry myself to sleep every night first, then fucking explode and burst his door open just to find him with someone else."
"Y/N, shutâ"
"And you know what's worse? That I feel like shit, too! It's like someone's fucking squeezing my heart and torturing me to seeâ"
"Petal."
Š voitier 2025
a.n: it's finally here! I'm sorry I have edged you all for so long, truly had a rough time lately. I've read all the messages under the last post where I've explained what's going on and I appreciate each one of them! truly cannot thank you all enoughđ¤
I hope this chapter was worth the wait, let me know what you think of it! love you all so so much <3
taglist: @mia7732 @tastykookoonut @koooobi @hoseokteardrop @bhonbhon @rpwprpwprpwprw @jeeykey @junecat18 @annyeongbitch7 @lilacstellar @stutixmaru @blueberriesm @134340-kr @schniti-is-in-the-house @diamondjeon
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Tech Tuesday: Ransom Drysdale

Summary: Ransom has a lot of explaining to do.
A/N: Reader is female. No other physical descriptors used.
Word Count: ~1.6k
Warnings: Angst, Memories of emotional abuse, Self-esteem issues, Talk of smoking. Please let me know if I missed any.
Previous
Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Following your lead, Ransom clocks out early to go home and think. He's not going to try talking to you just yet. Something he learned from you is to give a person time and space before trying to explain or rationalize anything. Part of him misses the days when he was so unfeeling he wouldn't worry about you. When he could just throw your gifts in the trash and cut his losses. But he could never go back to that life. And it really is all because of you.
He'd been struggling for so long. Struggling to break his old habits, to break the yoke of his family's influence. But then you showed up and gave him the help he didn't know he needed. Things he didn't even know how to ask about. And now he's hurt you, pushed you away.
Should he come clean? Tell you about the salacious dreams he's been having about you? Should he lie? Should he tell partial truth? That he was trying to get back into dating and didn't want to worry you about it?
"Fuck!" he shouts out to his apartment. He can't think straight. He needs to talk this out but he can't talk to you, the person who helps him the most! Looking around the apartment he grabs the Sweater Pusheen and holds it out at arms length. "This is probably stupid, but I need to talk out loud and I need someone, something to talk to. And right now that's you."
Ransom sets the Pusheen on the couch as he gets up and starts pacing the living room.
"The first thing to do is apologize, right? I know what I did was wrong, knew it as I was doing it. So definitely start with an apology, right?"
He looks to the Pusheen, unsure if he's expecting some kind of reaction from the plushie.
"Right. Maybe the first thing would actually be to admit I'm an idiot," he muses. "No, no. Apologize first. Because if I start with explanations, even 'I'm an idiot' it's going to sound like I'm just trying to justify hurting her and that'll upset her more."
He stops pacing and starts gently chewing on his sweater sleeve, a habit he'd never been able to fully break from, much to his parents' chagrin. They'd sent him to a specialist who said the problem was stress to which his parents rolled their eyes.
"How can a 5 year old be stressed?" Linda griped. "No responsibilities, no cares, tons of free time." "Clearly he just needs to either grow up, so he knows what real stress is, or face the fact that he's creating his own stress," Richard concurred.
Ransom shudders from the memory of getting bopped every time he'd go to chew on his clothes. He started stealing Linda's cigarettes when he was 12 because clearly smoking was an okay stress response. He got caught when he was 15 and got a harsh lesson on not stealing from his parents and a whole lecture about "rules for thee, not for me." He sometimes still had a craving for a cigarette, all these years later.
"Fuck," he grouses. Looking back at the Pusheen he asks, "why do the memories always show up when I don't want them?"
He knows the answer. It's one you told him. Because when you're stressed your brain tries to revert back to what it needed to do for survival. That includes reminding you what you survived before so you can remember the lessons learned.
He drops onto the couch, his head in his hands as he tries to do the panic breathing he'd learned. He can't afford a panic attack right now. He needs to think. He grabs the plushie and squeezes it as he continues the breathing exercises.
When his head feels clearer he sets Pusheen back on the couch and starts pacing again.
"Okay, so definitely apology first. But do I apologize in person? Over text? Via proxy?"
Pusheen remains passive, offering nothing.
"Maybe I should talk to someone else first," he grumbles.
Pulling out his phone, Ransom considers his options. You're the one he wants to call but doesn't dare try that right now. But the more he delays, the more hurt you might feel. But too soon and you might hate him more. Looking at the Pusheen he asks, "why are emotions so difficult?"
Looking for a distraction, Ransom looks at the gift you were going to give him before you learned the truth. You could have taken it with you but instead you gave it to Jake. You didn't withhold the gift even though he doesn't deserve it, whatever it is.
Unwrapping the small box reveals a toy BMW. A replica of the car whose photograph still adorned his work desk. A reminder of what he sacrificed to get out.
Without thinking, he texts you, "I'm sorry," before curling up onto the couch and crying.

Laying in bed, squeezing the pink pony plushie Ransom had gotten you for Christmas, your phone dings. It's the notification sound you have for Ransom and it makes you flinch. You're sure he's got good reason to lie to you, he's never been anything but honest before. But you're still hurt. You want explanations but you need to let yourself finish crying first.

It's been over an hour and Ransom still hasn't heard back from you. He's devastated, almost catatonic from despair. He's aware enough to know he needs help so he finds his phone and messages Jake a simple "I need help".
Jake's response is almost immediate. "Do you need me to stop by? Just chat? A phone call? Or do you want to come over?"
Ransom looks around at his apartment, decorated with your touch. It hurts to be here right now. "I can come over? Sunshine won't mind?"
"She's good about it, especially for emergencies like you and Bubbles are going through right now."
"I can't stay in my apartment right now."
"Okay. Come on over."

When he gets to the apartment, Ransom is greeted by the now familiar sounds of the twins at play. He's been here often enough for D&D that he knows the drill. He knocks, the twins get picked up by Jake to keep them from running out the door, and Sunshine lets him in. The familiarity almost makes him smile.
He gets inside and sits on the couch, his usual spot before and after D&D sessions. Luke immediately comes over to him, smiling big. But as he gets closer, Luke's smile drops and he looks concerned. He runs to grab Leia and says something in their toddler twin language no one else knows. Leia gets serious and both twins run over to their stuffed animal collections and bring Ransom as many of them as their little arms can carry.
Ransom tears up at their kindness. "Even they can tell I'm in rough shape."
"They're good kids," Sunshine comments softly. "So what's been going on? Jake told me as much as he knows."
Ransom accepts the proffered plushies and starts to explain, being careful of his wording in front of the little ones. Jake and Sunshine listen and even the twins gently offer reassurances in the form of patting his legs.
Ransom feels a pang of sadness for upsetting such a good, happy, contented family with his troubles but he needs the help. And who better than the people who are so giving of the kind of love he's always wanted?
"And she still hasn't messaged back?" Jake asks.
When Ransom nods, Sunshine adds, "she likely needs time. But you said you sent the apology text already?"
"I sent an apology text," Ransom explains.
"Okay, then that's a good start," Sunshine nods. "You're going to stay here with us tonight so we can be here for you, okay?"
"That's too much!" Ransom tries to argue.
Jake intervenes, "no it isn't. You're not the kind of person to reach out for help, right?" Ransom gives a small nod of confirmation. "Yet you still asked for it from us. That tells us you're in a lot of pain right now. You're seriously hurt. It's like when your character is hit by a couple levels of exhaustion, the rest of the team is there to take up the slack. We're here for you."
"Besides, I'm currently baking a cheesecake with biscoff cookie crust that I want you to try out," Sunshine adds.
"You what?"
She shrugs. "I've been wanting to make it for a while so when Jake told me what was going on, I figured it'd be a nice time to try it out. I got it in the oven just as you got here. And since you likely haven't eaten much today, I'll be cooking a bit extra for dinner so you can join us."
Ransom lets the tears drop, the kindness is overwhelming. He covers his eyes and the twins hug his legs while Jake and Sunshine sit next to him and hug him.

Next
Tech Tuesdays Masterlist
Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @ozwriterchick; @ronearoundblindly; @lokislady82; @thiquefunlover63
#tech tuesday#tech tuesday: ransom drysdale#ransom drysdale x reader#ransom drysdale x female!reader#it!ransom drysdale x office worker!reader#ransom drysdale x you
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Gp reader and taylor are in a relationship. Taylor decides to surprise reader by wearing the lover bodysuit for sex.
WARNING: THIS IS FILTHY!!!
Title: DO YOU FEEL BETTER NOW?
Word Count: 2553
Pairing: Taylor Swift x G!P Reader
Rating: Explicit
The door shuts behind you with a thud that echoes too loudly in the silence. You peel off your coat and kick your shoes into the corner, your body moving like itâs done this a thousand times. The muscles between your shoulders throb from standing too long under artificial lights, smiling through conversations you barely registered.
Personal shopping was supposed to be a stepping stone. Something temporary. You never imagined it would become the entirety of your days. Now itâs all tight smiles and people too rich to speak in complete sentences, all of them clutching desires they donât understand and expecting you to make sense of them. Itâs not fashion. Itâs customer service with better lighting. And today had been a particularly difficult day.
Taylor called earlier. Her voice helped, soft and certain, familiar in a way that made your throat tighten. You tried to sound okay. She didnât buy it. Of course she didnât. You know she heard it in your voice, the cracks you couldnât disguise.
You end up on your living room floor, staring up at nothing. The version of you that used to thrive under pressure, who could improvise a runway fix with a single safety pin and a borrowed belt, feels distant. You donât hate who youâve become. But you donât recognize her, either.
You donât hear the door open at first. The sound is too soft, swallowed by the noise in your head. But then it clicks shut, and your body jolts upright.
You werenât expecting anyone.
Your heart kicks like a warning. You scramble to your feet, still groggy from lying on the floor too long, the fabric of your clothes wrinkled and sticking in places they shouldnât. You turn the corner, every nerve braced.
Taylor is standing in your doorway.
No warning. No text. Just her, glowing like something conjured from a memory that never quite left you alone.
Your mouth falls open. You blink, but she doesnât disappear. She smiles; real, quiet, impossibly present.
Your breath leaves you in a stutter.
âOh my God.â
She takes a single step forward, and your body moves without thinking. You close the space between you in seconds, but when youâre inches from her, you stop, suddenly unsure if touching her will break whatever spell this is.
âYouâre really here,â you whisper, voice barely holding together.
âIâm here,â she answers softly, her hands sliding up your arms. âCouldnât stand it anymore.â
You shake your head, eyes stinging.
âYou didnât have toââ
âI did,â her tone cuts through whatever protest you thought you had. âI had to.â
She leans in and kisses you and itâs not tentative, not soft. A firm press, lips parted just enough, mouth warm and familiar. Your hands find her waist, and she sinks into your touch, her body flush against yours for the first time in far too long.
You donât realize your hands are shaking until she pulls back and takes one in hers, lacing her fingers through yours, grounding you.
âI missed you,â you murmur, voice rough with restraint.
She nods. Her thumb brushes the inside of your wrist.
âI know, my baby, I know,â she tilts her head softly. âMe too. You have no idea how much.â
Your body wants to drag her to the floor and stay there for hours. But she has other plans; you can see it in her eyes, the flicker of something controlled, simmering just beneath the surface.
She leans in again, presses a kiss to your jaw, then your neck. Her voice drops.
âHow long do we have?â you ask. She only has a small bag in her hand so you know she wonât be staying long.
âAbout two hours,â she mumbles sadly then sighs.
âYou flew in just forââ
âFor you,â she strokes your cheek with the back of her fingers. âGod, youâre trembling.â
You feel yourself blush. She steps back, just enough to scan your face, her gaze slipping down your body and then back up. A look passes through herâsomething like decision. The mood shifts. She straightens.
âI have something I want you to see,â she says, voice suddenly low, more commanding. You raise your eyebrows. She presses a kiss to your temple. âGo to your bedroom, please.â
âUh, why?â you ask, half-laughing, dazed.
She tilts her head, eyes heavy-lidded and unreadable.
âYouâll see.â
You look at her for another beat, trying to read her, but her expression is cool, composed. You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat, and back toward the bedroom, feeling the anticipation thick and electric, humming just beneath your skin.
You sit at the edge of the bed, hands between your knees, your pulse spiking in strange rhythms. Youâre expecting food. Maybe a gift. Something small. Something comforting.
Youâre wrong.
When she enters the room, sheâs stripped down to one of her tour costumesâthe pink and blue one that you love so much. Her legs look impossibly long, her skin glowing in the dim light.
You swallow hard.
She moves slowly, eyes never leaving yours, then kneels between your legs, her hands spreading your knees apart with gentle pressure. Her palms rest on your thighs. Her gaze drops to the bulge already forming beneath your jeans.
âI wear this one all the time âcause of you, you know?â she says, voice almost teasing, her hands moving to unbutton your fly.
You donât respond. You canât. The moment she drags the zipper down, your cock is nearly fully hard. She slides your jeans and briefs down enough to free you.
âLook at you,â she whispers. âKept thinking of you on the flight here. Kept thinking of having you inside me.â
Her fingers wrap around your shaft and squeeze gently, base to tip. You suck in a breath as she strokes once, twice, then leans in and presses her tongue to the head, lapping at the precum like itâs nothing. Her eyes stay on yours as her lips part and she takes you into her mouth, wet heat wrapping around you inch by inch.
âFuck,â you gasp, your hand finding her hair. âTaylorâŚâ
She hums around your length, and the vibration makes your knees twitch. Her tongue swirls, tracing the underside, then she sinks lower, her lips sliding down until you feel the back of her throat constrict around you. Your hips jerk, and she lets it happen. She pulls back, her mouth wet, her lips shiny with spit.
âYou donât have to hold back,â she murmurs. âI can take it.â
You groan, breath stuttering as she dives down again. You thrust up, slowly at first, then harder. She relaxes her throat, takes you deep, her hands gripping your thighs for balance. You can feel the mess on her chin, your cock thick and slick from her mouth.
Just before you come, she pulls back again, breathing hard, saliva connecting her bottom lip to your shaft.
âNo,â she says, voice ragged. âNot yet. I need it inside me.â
âTayââ
She stands and peels off the bodysuit in one motion. Nothing underneath. Her breasts bounce free, nipples pink and stiff, her stomach taut, her thighs gorgeous. You donât even have time to react before she climbs into your lap.
âIâm sorry if Iâm like a dog in heat,â she murmurs, pressing her slick cunt against your cock, grinding slow. âIâm losing my mind. Iâve been thinking about this for so long.â
A half-laugh escapes you, breathless.
âI donât see any cons about that.â
Then she lowers herself, slowly, letting your length press between her folds. She rubs against you in long, teasing drags, her slickness coating every inch. The head of your cock catches at her entrance over and over, but she doesnât let you in yet. Her breasts sway with each movement, her mouth falling open, eyes glazed.
On the fifth stroke (or maybe the sixth, you lose count) she lines you up, takes a breath, and sinks down.
You both moan. Her heat engulfs you inch by inch. She moves slowly, until sheâs seated fully in your lap. You feel everything, the squeeze, the twitch, the pulse. You grip her waist hard enough to leave marks.
âSo tight,â you groan into her neck.
She whimpers, her hands braced on your shoulders as she begins to move. Her hips roll in circles, building rhythm from nothing, finding the pace that makes you grunt low and helpless beneath her. She throws her head back, her back arching in a fluid curve, riding you in deep, gliding thrusts.
âYou feel⌠so⌠fucking⌠good,â she pants, each word syncing with a slow grind down. You dig your fingers into her waist, guiding her faster.
âIâm not going to last,â you warn, unable to stop yourself.
âDonât pull out,â she whispers near your ear, her breath hot.
âAre you sure?â
âYeah. I need to feel you dripping out of me,â she gasps. âI need to feel you all day, knowing you want meâŚâ
âI want you so badly,â you shiver, trembling beneath her. âI wish I could stay inside you forever.â
âYeah?â she mumbles, her pace quickening.
âThis right here,â you manage, voice guttural, âis what I was made for, Iâm sure.â
Taylor lets out a breathless giggle and you thrust up hard. Her hands brace against your chest as your rhythm turns frantic. The room is filled with wet sounds, skin against skin, and the rising whine of her voice.
She tightens around you, back arching again as she comes with a sharp cry, her pussy clenching in pulses. Youâre seconds behind. You slam into her one last time and come hard, deep inside her, holding her still while you empty yourself with ragged moans. She stays with you through it, her body shaking, head buried in your neck.
After, you lie back, still joined, your hands smoothing over the sweat on her spine.
She lifts her head, cheeks flushed, eyes soft.
âAre you feeling better now?â she whispers.
You laugh loudly and roll your eyes.
âAm I feeling better now?â You say it in the same tone she used. âIâm killing myself when you leave.â
#taylor swift fanfic#taylor swift rpf#taylor swift drabble#taylor swift imagines#taylor swift oneshot#taylor swift smut#taylor swift fandom#taylor swift fic#taylor swift fanfiction#my drabbles#wattpad#ao3#oneshot#wlw fanfic#celebrity fanfic#wlw smut#smut#g!p reader#taylor swift imagine#taylor swift#taylor swift x y/n#taylor swift x you#taylor swift x reader#taylor swift x g!p reader#fanfiction#fanfic#rpf#celebrity#x yn#x you
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Love Thy Frenemy + Ch. 12
TWELVE: Easily Torn, Not Easily Mended
SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM READER

Summary: What is it they say about best laid plans? Well, your plan goes horribly wrong and just keeps getting worse. And worse... Ah, but chin up, dear reader. It's always darkest before the dawn.
Tags/Warnings: profanity, hints of spice but nothing explicit, angst... so much angst, hurt/no comfort
(Notes: I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.)
mdni banner & divider: @saradika-graphics
CHAPTER TWELVE
âFrom this new and intimate perspective, she learned a simple, obvious thing she had always known, and everyone knew; that a person is, among all else, a material thing, easily torn, not easily mended.â
â Ian McEwan, Atonement
-
Ollie's been casting worried looks your way all day.
He can tell that something has gone terribly wrong, but you don't have it in you to tell him. Reliving all that had happened that morning by speaking of it would break you, and you're barely holding it together as it is.
Tears keep welling up out of nowhere, and you have to rush off to the loo or the kitchen or the supply closet to hide until you get yourself sorted out. You try to avoid Ollie as best you can.
While restocking the bar, the memory of how Peach wrapped herself around Simon suddenly pops into your mind. It leads to you imagining what the two of them must be doing at that very moment, and just the thought of it has your gorge rising. You end up in the loo on your knees, retching up your morning coffee and toast into the toilet.
By noon, Ollie has retreated to his office, and you take your lunch break. The idea of eating makes your stomach churn, so you grab a water and your phone and go out the back entrance.
The humidity hits you like a wall as soon as you step outside, and you immediately start to sweat. Flipping over an empty bucket, you drag it into the meager shade of the building and plop down with a tired sigh.
Pretending to be alright while your world is falling apart is exhausting. At this point, you're struggling to keep your head straight, your thoughts a jumbled mess. The feeling only gets worse when you open your phone and see that you've got a voicemail from Simon.
Your hands are shaking as your thumb hovers over the screen, debating whether or not to listen to his voicemail. In the end, you chicken out and call Fiona, instead. You tell yourself you're calling her for a distraction, a bit of idle chat to take your mind off of things. Yet as soon as you hear her voice, the floodgates open and the whole wretched story comes spilling out.
Needless to say, she's furious on your behalf. She rants for a solid five minutes, threatening to bring doom and destruction down on the heads of Simon and Peach, which does make you feel somewhat better. It's enough to stop your tears, at least.
"I can't believe he stood there an' let that manky tart call ya his bleedin' housekeeper! Swear it, love. Say the word an' I'll geld the fucker!"
You want to get angry about it, like Fiona, to rage and rant and throw things, but all you feel is heartbroken, a sadness that settles deep in the bones and aches like a wound. It hurts; it hurts so much, and it makes you feel sick.
Sick down to your very soul.
>>>>>>>>>>
-
You're still a mess by the time Ollie opens the door for business, but at least you've stopped spontaneously bursting into tears. You're so emotionally drained that you feel numb, working behind the bar like a robotic automaton. It's only when Ollie asks if 'Riley' is coming to pick you up after your shift that you show true signs of life.
In a dead panic, you grab your phone and dart into the kitchen, muttering, "shitshitshit..." as you open your texts. Typing out a quick message with trembling hands, you send it off to Simon and pray it reaches him in time.
[YOU]: No need to pick me up. Already have a ride. TTYL
You fret as you wait, half-expecting the phone to ring at any moment. That text is vague enough to set him off, to have him calling or charging down here to demand more intel. He's protective and suspicious of everyone and...
He's not answering back.
You wait for a minute, then two, then five, both dreading and hoping for a response, but it never comes. Your text sits there in its little speech bubble, unanswered and unread. It's like a knife to the gut, eviscerates you and hollows you out.
After ten minutes, you give up. You guess he's too busy to be bothered with you right now and, oh! Does that cut deep.
A nasty thought suddenly occurs to you. There was probably no need for you to text Simon at all. He must still be so wrapped up in Peach that he's completely forgotten about you. Hell, he forgot about you the moment he saw her standing in his doorway. You never had a chance.
Feeling more despondent than ever, you put away your phone and return to the bar.
>>>>>>>>>>
Fiona arrives a bit early for her shift, coming behind the bar where you're filling a pint for old Ned. You slide it across the bar to him and then shift your gaze to Fi.
"Christ, luv, ya look like hell."
You shrug, because you know this already. You're hurt because Simon hasn't called or texted back. Being forgotten is so much worse than simply being ignored. When you purposefully ignore someone, you're still acknowledging them, in a sense. You're still thinking about them, even if you choose not to engage with them. But being forgotten?
That means you haven't crossed their mind at all. Not once.
Fiona purses her lips, narrowing her eyes at you in assessment. She's gauging your pain, sussing out your mental state. She already knows that emotionally you're a wreck, but she still needs to determine how you're holding up. She doesn't seem very encouraged by what she sees.
"Have ya heard from the blighter?"
Your heart sinks at the question. "No, I..." You shake your head, then pause, remembering his voicemail. "Wait. Actually, he did call me earlier today and left a message. I've not listened to it yet. I was too chicken," you admit.
You take out your phone, feeling nervous, uncertain. "Should I listen to it?"
"It'll drive ya mad 'til ya do," she says with a sigh. "All I can say is, it better be a feckin' apology."
With Fi standing beside you, you finally gather the courage to listen to what Simon had to say. Pulling up the voicemail, you hit the PLAY arrow and tilt the phone so Fiona can listen in.
The first thing you hear is Simon's rumbling chuckle, along with a husky female giggle in the background.
(Simon speaking away from the phone) "Get off me, ya muppet. 'M try'na leave Dee a message."
(Peach giggling in the background but close) "Tell her I wore ya out this morning, so I'm takin' ya out to feed ya. Gotta rebuild your strength for round two later."
(Simon huffing a laugh) "Shuddup..."
...(rustling sounds)...
"Oi, Dee. 'Me an' Peach 'r goin' out f'lunch in Blackheath. She's wantin' t'check out some uh the shops, too, so we'll prob'ly be there all bloody afternoon. Should be back in time tuh pick ya up after work, though. Oh, an' Peach is gonna spend the night. Thought I'd warn ya. Later."
(click)
It feels like an invisible hand has reached into your chest and is squeezing your heart. It thuds hard and erratic, the sound loud in your ears. Your phone slips out of your numb fingers and hits the floor, breaking apart. You don't bother picking up the pieces.
Fiona has moved down to the end of the bar, whispering at Ollie's ear with a seething expression on her face. Ned and the other old geezers look on with keen interest, muttering their speculations back and forth. All the voices sound garbled, like your head's under water.
Your throat constricts, your next exhale wheezing out. You can't breathe in here. You feel like you're suffocating. You need to get out, go outside where there's more space, more air.
The quickest route is through the kitchen, so you slam through the swinging door and rush for the back exit. Stumbling out into the alley, you manage to get out just in time, before you heave up the water you drank earlier. You gag and spit and sob, bracing your arms against the wall. You drop your head, panting, and try to count your breaths.
Eventually, you hear the exit door creak open, but don't bother to see who's come out. Footsteps crunch on bits of broken glass, grinding them into sandy grit. A pair of red Converse appear. Fiona.
"Christ, Dee..."
You straighten, arms wrapping around your torso, as your eyes raise to meet hers. She blanches, hurting because you're hurt, and her bottom lip trembles before she wills it to stop.
"C'mere," she whispers, and wraps her arms around you. "I'm so sorry, luv. I can't believe Riley would justâ" She bites off her words, shaking her head. "Never mind. Him an' tha' homewreckin' slag can both feck off."
Sniffling, you pull away to look at her, panic dawning on your face.
"What am I going to do, Fi? I can't go home. I can't be around them. If I see them together, I'll..."
The rest of your words dissolve into tears.
"I know, luv," she murmurs, rubbing your back to soothe you. "Ya come stay with me an' mum t'night. Hell, stay fer as long as ya want. We'll make do."
You sniff, clinging to her, beyond grateful for her offer. "Are you sure?"
Fi scoffs. "Like ya hafta ask." She keeps on hugging you, tight and fierce. "We'll get this sorted out, luv. Don't ya worry."
Heaving a sigh, you draw away to look at her, still hurting but resigned to it now.
"This sucks," you sniffle, your breath hitching. "I don't even have a change of clothes or my toothbrush."
"Then we'll go by Riley's an' get it."
You rear back, shaking your head. "No! I can't, Fi! I don't want to seeâ"
"Shh... Easy, now," she croons, trying to calm you. "I know ya don't want to see him, but just listen fer a second. Riley said him an' Peach were goin' t'Blackheath, so they may still be there. I can drive ya by his place t'see if they're still gone. If they are, we'll go in, grab ya some clothes and get out."
You bite your lip, considering it. "But what if they're back?"
She thinks about it for a moment, then smirks. "If they are, I'll have Ollie give Riley a call. He can talk 'em into comin' down to the Dog fer a pint. We'll wait fer 'em t'show up, then go back to Riley's and grab yer stuff."
You give her a worried frown, uncertain. "Do you think Ollie will do it, though? He might not want to get involved, and I don't want to drag him into the middle of it."
"Pfft!" Fi scoffs. "He saw how upset ya were, an' he's none too pleased with Riley right now. If I ask him, he'll do it."
Steeling your nerves, you take in a deep breath and blow it out. "Alright then. Let's go."
>>>>>>>>>>
It's just past six when Fiona turns down Simon's street and cruises past the line of row houses. A few dim lights glow in the windows of neighboring houses, but Simon's windows are dark.
"I don't see any lights on inside his flat, but his truck's here," Fi mutters, head turning as she drives past it.
You peer out at the line of cars parked at the curb. "I don't see Peach's rental car, though. She'd be parked behind his truck if she was here."
Fiona speeds up, does a U-turn, and goes back for another look. "Check all the cars, t'be sure," she says. "Riley said he was goin' with her to Blackheath. That makes me think they took her car."
After another drive-by, you still don't spot her rental. "Her car's not here."
"Let's do this, then."
Fiona parks up the street and shuts off the motor. Taking your hand, she looks you in the eye. "Are ya ready?"
You blow out a shaky breath and nod. "I'm ready. Let's hurry and get this over with."
You feel like a thief, slipping through the gate and creeping up Simon's walk. You've got your door keys already in hand, casting around furtive glances. You know you're being ridiculousâyou live here, you're not breaking and enteringâbut the thought of Simon and Peach catching you here and confronting you is your current, worst nightmare.
Fi stands as lookout while you unlock the door and turn off the alarm, then she hurries inside after you and closes the door. She grins at you in the gloom of the foyer, her eyes glinting.
"See? Nothin' tuh worry about."
You open your mouth to reply, then nearly swallow your tongue when a voice at the top of the stairs calls out softly, "Who's there? Is that you, Deedee?"
No. Fucking. Way.
You both gawk as Peach comes padding down the stairs, dressed in a short, red kimono with her long, black hair hanging damp around her shoulders. She stops on the bottom step, propping a hand on her hip as she looks you both over.
"Simon was wonderin' where ya were. He tried callin', but ya didn't answer, so he tried the pub. His friend told him you were out with Fiona. I'm guessin' that's you?" she asks Fi.
You feel Fi tense up beside you and grab her hand, giving it a squeeze. Side-eyeing you, she huffs out an irritated breath but maintains her cool.
"Yeah," she mutters and crosses her arms.
Peach smiles as she takes the last step down and saunters past you like she owns the place. Heading towards the kitchen, she calls over her shoulder, "Gettin' a drink. You guys want one?"
"Where's your rental car?" you blurt out, following her. "I didn't see it parked out front."
She giggles, flapping her hand. "Ah, we had to leave it in Blackheath and take an Uber home. After me an' Si went shopping, we stopped at a pub for a drink and ended up having too good of a time."
"Who the feck is Si?" Fi whispers to you as you trail Peach into the kitchen.
"Later," you mouth back.
Peach opens the fridge and takes out a bottle of water. "Sure ya don't want one?" she asks, standing in the bright vee of its light.
The sash of her robe has come undone, the kimono parted to reveal what she's wearing underneath. You nearly choke at the sight.
She's wearing a sheer, red, see-through nightie with a matching G-string that does little to hide her lithe body. Her pert breasts are pushed out proudly, hard nipples plain to see through the gauzy material.
She sees you both staring and laughs at the look on your faces. "You like?" she teases, her grin lewd. "Pretty hot, right? Si helped me pick it out. Man's got good taste."
Fiona makes a gurgling, choked sound in the back of her throat, her eyes bugging as she turns to glare at you.
You feel sick and avert your eyes. "We should go," you croak.
"Where's Riley?" Fi grits out between her clenched teeth.
"Fi, no," you hiss, shaking your head.
Peach cracks open her water and takes a slow sip, then tilts her head, giving you a sly little grin. "In bed, asleep. He needs the rest, so be quiet if ya go upstairs. Don't want to wake him."
You're shaking, wanting nothing more than to launch yourself over the island and rip out her silky, black hair. Fiona grips your elbow and pulls you back towards the kitchen door.
"C'mon, Dee," she mutters lowly, disgust plain on her face. "Let's get yer stuff and get the hell outta here."
Leading you up the stairs, Fiona practically drags you down the hall to your room, muttering a steady stream of curses under her breath the whole way. You come up short in front of Simon's bedroom door, tempted to barge in and just scream at him. You feel like you could scream until your throat is bloody and raw, and then you would scream some more. Instead your tongue stays glued to the roof of your mouth.
Fiona sees you staring and gives your arm a sharp tug, drawing your attention. "He's not worth it, Dee. He's not worth another second of yer time. Now, c'mon an' pack yer things. We need t'get outta here before I do somethin' that'll get me arrested."
The two of you manage to pack two large duffels plus a carry-on bag with all your toiletries in record time. You're just coming out of the loo into the hall when Peach appears at the top of the stairs. She sashays towards you with a smug smile, pausing at Simon's door as you approach.
"Are ya leavin' now?"
"Yeah," you rasp, choking on your own impotent fury. "Just need to get my bags from my room."
"Okay. See ya around, I guess." She twiddles her fingers in a mock wave before she opens Simon's door. "Be sure an' lock up on your way out, will ya, Deedee?" she says, then shuts the door with a soft click, not waiting for a response.
"Feckin' cunt!" Fiona hisses, taking a step towards Simon's door, before you yank her back and pull her into your room.
"Just leave it alone, Fi," you warble out, fighting tears. "They can both rot, for all I care."
Hitching a duffel up on your shoulder, you follow Fiona out of your room, but then freeze mid-step when you hear Simon grunt, followed by Peach's husky giggle.
"Ungh... Peach? Whaddya want? Why'd ya wake me up?" Simon slurs, his voice gravelly with sleep.
"Mmm, c'mon Si," she moans. "You know exactly what I want, baby..."
You can't get down the stairs fast enough, and when you run from the row house, you leave the front door standing wide open behind you.
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#simon ghost riley#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x you#ghost x reader#ghost cod#love thy frenemy#love thy frenemy au
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texting đ˛ kaia
nick: darling, it's been a while, i seriously hope all is well. i feel like a lifetime happened since we spoke last. nick: i mean, more so i'm married with kids now, which.. seems pretty crazy for me, but that happened, lmao. nick: enough about me, tell me about you! ( @kaia-grbxr )
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Merry Christmas, Please Don't Call is super vague and as such it can be anything you want, which is why it's nothing, but if it's anything I gotta say it's definitely a BDEF Will song.
Perhaps even a BDEF Mike song.
Could be BDEF Charlie if you squint.
#'everybody's gone; it's just you and your anger. Oh golden boy don't act like you were kind; you were mine but you were awful every time. So#don't tell them what you told me; don't hold me like you know me! I would rather burn forever.' BDEF Henryesque text for real#'But you should know that I died slow running through the halls of your haunted home. And the toughest part is that we both know what#happened to you.' BDEF Wills response to that tbh#and the part 'Why you're on your own#Merry Christmas; please don't call.' could be both of them#like haha boys you are doomed just the same despite one of you being alive and the other dead.#after all the line between those is rather fine; isn't it?#who is the one who's alive again? do you know? do you remember? the memory itself is more alive than you've ever been#anyway
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texting đ˛ ari âĄ
nick : hey, you! should i just send you pictures of the girls to tell you how much they miss you? nick : i've been lazing around currently, seeing if i can just properly bothering all my friends again. forgive me for spacing while working and after. ( @aridebxse )
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Damn yall ever experience grief for the first real time during your existence on earth and then proceed to ghost everyone in your virtual life that you could conceivably ghost for a whole year
#its crazy out here.#it just happens to you and you realize that no one that close to you has ever died before and then you don't think about it for half a year#and your dad who hasn't said a serious thing in your life tells you with unshakable confidence to not hold it#and your professor says that you were an impeccable student last quarter especially considering the cirmunstances of your family#and then your roommate cries at his memorial months later even though she never even met him and its like okay. somethings going on here#and everyone seems to think your new tattoo is a minecraft reference. that one is actually funny though#its like a jumpscare. 'oh haha is your tattoo a Gamer Number?' 'its a number relevant to my recently deceased grandfather'#anyways if you got through all these tags and i just. didn't text you for the entirety of august 2022 to now this is why. sorry :(#i've missed this blog though. i've missed monologuing in tags. i will be back here#i just may only post about the locked tomb and mentopolis and good omens from now on :/
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N: i mean, whatever helps right? sometimes i just cry when i'm alone too, just feels good to get out. well, we'll have a wine tasting then. we do have a wine cabinet and you're always welcome to bring some by as well.
V: It was the only thing that helped. I'd lather myself with lotions afterwards and lay on the floor crying. Totally worth it though. Ah, sounds like a dream, yes please! It is! And wine tastings are also amazing and so much fun.
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