#that one i'm really struggling with at the moment.

[niningtori]

for the hope of it all | parts i-iii

pairing(s): choi beomgyu x you, choi soobin x you

summary: you've been in love with beomgyu since the first time you saw him, but he sees you as nothing more than a good friend and faithful wingwoman. when he asks you to help him catch another girl, who just so happens to be one of your closest friends, things get complicated.

genre: ANGST, melodrama, romance, smut (mdni), fluff at the end

warnings: smut (mdni), beomgyu is a fucking asshole but he gets better, manipulative!gyu, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering (vaginal), oral (f. receiving), dom!gyu, dirty talk, praise, if i missed anything lmk!

word count: 18.7k

notes: ... hi. literally nobody asked for this, but i realized that part 2 of this work didn't even show up in the tags, so i decided to compile all of the previous parts as well as the ending together. hopefully, you all enjoy this. i'm still struggling, but i pray you all still like it even if it's not me at my best. feedback is always appreciated :) thank you!

part i: august

beomgyu really likes her — like, really— and who can blame him? you certainly can’t. chaewon is a lovely, lovely girl, so it should come as no surprise when beomgyu asks you to, in his words, help him bag her. you’re not one with a particularly strong character at the best of times, so when he practically begs you to convince one of your closest friends that he’s actually not the heartbreaking manwhore he definitely is, you can’t find it in yourself to say no.

it doesn't help that he has enough charisma to charm even the most indifferent target he sets his eyes on, it doesn't help that he's so handsome it makes everyone either want him or want to be him, and it most certainly doesn't help that you've been in love with the boy for the entire time that you've known him. him asking absolutely anything of you would result in you relenting, so when he asks for something as seemingly inconsequential as setting him up with a mutual friend, accepting it is a matter of course. does it hurt your heart to see him pining after someone else when you basically consider him as your soulmate? of course. but his happiness means more to you than your own. if she makes him happy, then so be it.

that's what you tell yourself, at least.

-

beomgyu doesn’t know that you love him — he can’t possibly know — or else he’d treat you differently, right? you don’t want that. you don’t want anything to change, at least not in the disastrous way you anticipate confessing your love to him would go, so you’ve kept your feelings close to your chest to keep him from suspecting anything. you think you’ve gotten pretty good at concealing your feelings. for example, you laugh when he tells you about his sexual escapades, and you don’t hesitate to give him advice on how to woo the girls who are wary of his lasciviousness. you only want to show him the good parts of you, carefully tucking any ugly seeds of jealousy or sadness away from his prying eyes.

the thing is, though, beomgyu is not stupid; and to your never-ending misery, you are not the greatest actress. he can see the crestfallen look on your face for the split second before you can contort your features into a smile. he can hear the tremble in your voice as you force out a laugh. with his godforsaken intuition, he can sense the hesitation in your movement when you playfully push him aside as he over-dramatically recounts his latest raunchy fuck. 

all of this has no discernible consequence, though. if anything, your feelings have been his faithful friend and ally when it comes to conspiring with you to land whatever girl piques his interest at the moment. you may not be a prospective partner, but you are a great wingwoman, he’ll give you that much. and that’s exactly what he needs when dealing with chaewon, who has proven to be a particularly tough nut to crack. he doesn’t usually go for people he would consider friends, if only because he doesn’t like dealing with the messy aftermath, but her refusal to look his way is just too entertaining. he has no earthly idea why this cat and mouse game intrigues him the way it does, but he’s hooked like none other, especially because her reasons for pulling away when she’s definitely as attracted to him as he is to her are unclear. maybe she just doesn’t want to seem easy? whatever it is, he likes it. he likes her.

-

“so what's the plan?” soobin asks. 

“what do you mean?” you blink as you turn towards him, effectively taken out of your daze. you've been staring at a new instagram picture of beomgyu for at least ten minutes now. there's not much going on in it — it's just a candid taehyun took of him — but you can't stop the yearning you feel in your heart as you wish you had been the one to take it, instead.

“i mean, what's your big plan to ‘help’ him this time?” there’s a trace of resentment in his tone as he puts air quotes around “help”. you know he thinks you're just wasting your time on a boy who will never feel the same way you do, but what can you do? you still love him.

“i’m… i’m just going to talk him up to chae, no big deal,” you say rather unconvincingly, because it is a big deal. it’s the biggest deal in the world to you.

“and what are you gonna say? ‘hey, i know you know beomgyu is garbage, but deep down, he’s actually not garbage even though, even deeper down, he really is?’” his words are sarcastic and, for lack of a better term, downright hateful. 

“he’s not garbage, binnie,” you chastise. “he’s actually really sweet once you get to know him.”

“sweet? sweet how, exactly?” he sneers. you just sigh and shake your head. beomgyu is a frequent point of contention in your friendship with soobin, but you don’t know how to overcome it. mostly, arguments surrounding him devolve into conversations like the one you’re having right now. 

“he puts on a tough act, but he’s not really like that on the inside,” you insist. “you just don’t know him like i do.”

“and thank god for that,” he snorts, and you frown. you can tell he feels guilty by the way his expression immediately softens. 

“hey, i’m sorry,” he says, tucking your hair behind your ear. “i just don’t like to see you hurting.”

“i’m not hurting,” you lie. “i’m totally fine. it’s just… i just want to see him happy.” you actually do mean that last part. beomgyu, though seemingly carefree, is actually a lot more insecure and sensitive than one might think. you know this because he’s shown you that side of him many, many times, which must mean that he trusts you like no one else. you are honored to be the one he feels comfortable with, and even if it never amounts to anything more than that, you’re thankful you get to see how he really is. 

“and you think being with a new girl every week will make him happy?” he softly asks, no edge to his voice, but his words hurt even more than they did before.

“it's different this time, binnie. i'm serious. i've never seen him like this before. i think he really likes her.” and the words almost kill you to say, but you mean them, anyway. 

“okay,” he relents. “just do what you want to do. i’ll be there for you no matter what.” 

“thank you,” you reply with a small smile, before putting your nose back into your phone and staring at beomgyu’s pictures again. you don’t catch it, but soobin sighs as he watches you. 

-

you’ve been trying really, really hard. usually, all you have to do is talk about good points about beomgyu, and women fall for it hook, line, and sinker. chaewon is not most women, though, and she makes that abundantly clear with the polite smiles and airy laughs she gives you when you try to bring up beomgyu. 

you don't get it. if you had beomgyu’s attention, you’d never let it go, so it makes no sense to you how someone could have it without taking the opportunity to seize it. if it were you, you’d seize it. if it were you, you'd tell him you’ve loved him since the first time you saw him. if it were you — well, it doesn't really matter, does it? because it isn't you. still, you can’t help but dream.

the sentiment that it will never be you becomes clearer and clearer as you watch beomgyu try to initiate conversation with chaewon at his very own house party you are currently attending. you watch from the sidelines as they sit uncomfortably close together, legs flush against one another, as beomgyu wraps his arm around her shoulder and pulls her in to whisper in her ear. you like to think you’re content with him being with her even if it means you’ll be without him, but it’s difficult to feel that way when you actually see it playing out before you. your heart feels like stone weighing heavily in your chest as she giggles at whatever he says, and you think that things might start looking up for him before her smile suddenly melts into a little frown. 

without warning, she pries his arm off of her and gives him a perfunctory smile before standing up and smoothing out her skirt. then, she grabs her drink from the coffee table and he's left alone. his previously delighted expression is now filled with irritation and disappointment. you're still staring at him, just trying to get a read on the situation as you're left reeling, and before you know it, he's looking up at you. you're a little embarrassed at being caught, but you realize you can play your intrigue off as objectively analyzing the situation in order to help him better. surely he’ll fall for that, right? every time you say something similar, he buys it with no further questions.

he makes eye contact with you then nods towards his room as a silent plea to talk to him in private. if someone were to ask you how you’re able to deduce all of that from one look alone, you’d probably say it’s because you know beomgyu like the back of your hand — and maybe you do, but it’s like a subconsciously trained reaction more than anything. just as you know what beomgyu will do next, he knows you’ll understand his seemingly innocuous gestures. 

you head up the stairs and beomgyu shuts his bedroom door behind you. you prepare to launch into your readymade explanation as to why you were rubbernecking earlier, but he speaks before you can say anything at all.

“why isn’t it working?” he huffs. “did you talk to her like i asked you to?”

“yes, of course i did!” you eagerly insist. you would never lie to beomgyu — well, not about this, at least. your secret feelings are another story. 

“then why does she keep rejecting me?” he huffs. you wish you could answer him. truly, you do. you scramble for the right words, but you sincerely can't wrap your head around her logic, or lack thereof. 

he’s still waiting for an answer, though, so you think back to the recent conversations you’ve had with soobin, and you realize there’s only one plausible conclusion. 

“she just doesn’t know you enough, beoms. if she knew how you really are and how much you like her, she wouldn't act this way; but honestly, she probably thinks you’re just messing with her,” you explain, and you hope beyond hope that he doesn’t take it the wrong way. you don’t want to hurt his feelings by suggesting that his (newly) former playboy ways could be ruining his chances with her.

beomgyu’s feelings, of course, are not hurt. in fact, he just feels more annoyed than anything else. it’s really fucking irritating how he can’t seem to get a read on her or her intentions. she likes him, he can definitely tell, so what’s the problem with him having a messy past? it’s clear that it doesn’t bother you. well, it does, but in a different way. you’d forgive his previous transgressions in a heartbeat if it meant that he’d look your way, so why can’t she be the same? but then, he supposes that comparing someone as lovesick as you are to a normal girl is a bit unfair. 

but why are you so lovesick? it’s obvious that he’s handsome and funny, so falling for him is only natural, but your devotion is on another level. not only that, but you’re devoted in spite of the fact that he clearly wants nothing to do with you. in all honesty, it’s almost like you love him even more when you see him chasing after somebody else... then suddenly, the solution is clear. he has to make her think he doesn’t want her; and the easiest way to do that is to pretend he’s interested in someone else. in the same vein, who better else to pretend with than one of chaewon’s closest friends? you’re absolutely perfect for the job.

beomgyu’s demeanor goes from irritated to self-satisfied, and it puzzles you to no end. maybe he figured out a way to show his true feelings for her? but then why is he looking at you with such intensity? he’s never looked at you this way in the many years that you’ve known him. wait, did he realize something?  please, god, don’t let that be the case. you really don’t think you can —

and your train of thought is stopped when beomgyu strides over to you and locks the door behind you. you look up at him with confusion in your eyes before you finally register what that intense gaze of his really is: predatory.

suddenly, his lips are on yours and you’re holding back a squeal. your eyes widen as he cups his big hands around your cheeks and pulls you in even closer. he tastes like alcohol, which is to be expected, but there's a certain uniqueness to his taste that you can't really put into words; and you’re able to taste it even more as his tongue enters your mouth. you groan at the action, and surprisingly, he does, too. 

you always assumed kissing beomgyu would make you feel like everything was finally right in the world, and it does — it really, sincerely does — but there’s also a certain spark you were not anticipating. something a lot more fiery, and it shoots straight to your core as your tongues tangle together lasciviously. beomgyu seems to know this, and he smirks into the kiss before trailing his warm mouth down your neck. you gasp at the sensation, which just makes him laugh. 

his hands have traveled from your cheeks to your chest, one staying there to grab at your tits while the other one carelessly finds its way up your skirt. 

“so wet,” he whispers in awe when he rubs his fingers against your soaked panties. “is this all because of me?” you feel your cheeks warm and you’re stammering out your next words.

“w-well, i —” 

“is this all because of me?” he repeats, and you give him a feeble nod before covering your face in shame.

“cute,” he snickers, and your previously warm cheeks are now scorching to the touch. 

he moves your panties to the side and rubs against your sensitive clit, which sends pulsations through your entire body, but that’s nothing in comparison to how you feel when he presses a finger into your dripping hole. 

“you’re so tight,” he whispers, lust clearly written all over his face at the prospect of being in your pussy relatively soon; but he wants to enjoy this, he wants to enjoy the way your face screws up as he presses his finger so deep, he’s hitting places previously untouched. he slowly pulls it out, grazing your most sensitive spot with ease before adding another digit in, making you almost groan from the stretch. you bite your lip to avoid making such a sound, but beomgyu pays your attempted discretion no mind as he starts to hammer his fingers into you at a brutal pace. 

it doesn’t take long for you to come undone around his skilled fingers, and once you’re done pulsating around him, he takes them out for a taste. 

“so good,” he remarks, and though your breathing is heavy and your eyes are hazy, you still have it in you to feel embarrassed. he takes your smaller hand in his and leads you to his messy bed, carelessly sweeping every loose item — a t-shirt here, an old cd there — off of it in one go. he lays you down and hungrily licks his lips once he strips you down until you’re fully unclothed. 

you’re feeling extremely small in this moment. you know beomgyu has had his pick of the litter when it comes to women, so you can’t help but wonder how you fare in comparison to the literal bombshells he’s been known to take home. mostly, though, you wonder how you compare to chaewon, as awful as that sounds. if you really think about it, there’s no comparison to be made, really. she’s her, and you’re you. what else is there to say, honestly? still, you’re comforted by the thought that you are the one underneath him right now, not her, and he does not seem disappointed in the slightest if the tent in his jeans means anything at all.

before you can think too much about it, he’s practically tearing his shirt off and you can’t help but stare. his torso is lean and a little paler than the rest of him, probably due to the lack of sun. objectively speaking, he’s no greek god or anything similar, but to you, he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. if he notices your awed reaction, he doesn’t say anything or really care, because he is simply too busy studying how perfect you seem to look under his dimmed lights. again, he is delighted at the prospect of being inside of you very soon.

he unzips his jeans and slides them, along with his boxers, off of his slim thighs and you can finally see him completely. his cock is a red so deep it’s nearly purple, with evidence of his lust leaking out of its flared tip. you’ve heard a lot about beomgyu’s physique from stories, his and his hookups’ alike, but nothing prepared you for the real thing. you’re not a virgin or anything, but you’re still unsure of how you’re meant to fit him inside of you. and you have no idea how you’re supposed to approach the subject. 

beomgyu does not seem to understand your internal battle, though, because he wastes no time in lining himself up with your entrance. before he pushes in, though, he drags his cock along your soaking wet seam just to coat himself in your slick. when he feels he can’t take any more of his own teasing, he begins to push in.

“j-jesus christ!” he exclaims as he tries to push his tip through your entrance. “are you a virgin or some shit?”

“nngh — n-no! i-i’m not. i’ve — mmh — i’ve had boyfriends before,” you say as best as you can while dealing with the feeling of him literally fucking you open. you’re worried he’s not enjoying himself in light of his outburst and his decidedly strained expression. 

“god, s-so tight,” he drawls. “feels so goddamn good.” he draws his hips back before pushing in again, further this time, and his words of praise seem to comfort you somehow, because he’s able to sheathe himself completely in you. 

he groans when he feels your gummy walls wildly contracting around him — unsure of what to do with the pleasurable intrusion and working tirelessly to simultaneously push him out and pull him in. you, on the other hand, feel nothing but full. you’re so full you ache, so after a few moments of adjusting, your watery eyes are filled with an insatiable sense of pleading. 

“you okay?” he asks, actually somewhat sweetly.

“y-yes — ah — i just feel w-weird,” you say. “feel so — fuck — full.” your seemingly innocent words drive him to the brink of insanity, so with reddened eyes, he grabs your hips so hard, you know he’ll leave marks in his wake, and without warning he begins drilling into you.

his thrusts are not calculated or intentional in any sense — they’re rough and fast and show his desperation. why he’s so desperate, he has no idea. beomgyu is sleazy even on a good day, so women come a dime a dozen, but he feels an unquenchable need he feels will only be satisfied if he continues to fuck you like a man gone mad. so he does.

your breasts bounce with every thrust and while he wants to grab one, his thirst only makes him want to go even deeper in you, so he employs his hands to manhandling you into a mating press. the new position has him going even deeper, and you can feel him hitting your cervix with each nasty snap of his hips. tears at the sheer feeling of being overwhelmed spring in your eyes and you have to clamp your hand over your lips to keep from crying out.

“let me hear you,” he pleads while gently moving your hand from your mouth and not-so-gently fucking you like a breeding whore, and he’s not sure if he’s saying it because he wants to make sure chaewon hears or just because he desperately wants to hear you for himself. 

“fuck!” you exclaim, tears flowing freely down your cheeks. “s-so big!”

“oh, sweetheart,” he rambles, “who were you fucking before? they didn’t deserve this tight little pussy. they didn’t fuck you like you deserve to be fucked — like a good little whore.” 

“‘m n-not a whore,” you tearily insist, somehow convinced that he means his words. you’re not completely inexperienced, but you’re not a whore, right?

but your innocence only makes him wanna ruin you more, claim you completely. 

“you’re taking cock so well, but you wanna tell me you’re not a whore?” he snickers meanly, and you feel so delirious, you find yourself agreeing with what he says. 

the lewd sounds of skin meeting skin and the sharp knocking of the headboard fill the room, and the heat you feel building up inside of you has you seeing stars. beomgyu pulls you in for a sloppy, wet kiss as he finally lets one of your legs down in order to snake his hand against your clit, which he languidly rolls in the midst of his pistoning in and out of you. 

“are you gonna come for me?” he asks as his lips part from yours. “are you gonna come all over my cock?” 

“y-yes, please,” you sob. “wanna come!”

“then do it, baby. let go for me,” and with the way he’s rolling your clit while fucking into you, you can’t help but comply.

he hisses when he feels you contracting around him, tightening up even more than before and pulling him in impossibly deeper. that’s all it takes, really, before he comes undone himself and sprays his thick, hot load into your spasming pussy. 

he collapses on top of you, and both of you take a few moments just to catch your breath before he pulls out of you with a wince. he’s absolutely enthralled by the way the mix of both of you two’s cum leaks out of you as soon as he does so. he’s almost tempted to swirl it back in and plug you up, but his rational side stops him before he can do anything he’ll regret. 

“are you on the pill?” he asks, and you nod.

“good, go ahead and get a plan b, too. just in case,” he says with a quick kiss to your forehead, and you nod with a delirious smile even in spite of his pedantic words. you’re just so happy you got to sleep with him, be closer to him.

“oh, i almost forgot to actually tell you,” he laughs. “i think fucking you will make chaewon jealous. i think we put on a pretty good show tonight, don’t you?” 

and your heart and your hope and your dignity shatter like nothing else. 

“y-yeah,” you try to reply with a laugh, but it sounds more forced than anything else you’ve ever heard in your life. “it was a really good show.”

-

“you slept with him?!” soobin asks, and he seems beyond frustrated. if you had the guts to look him in his eyes, though, you’d notice just how much hurt is in them. 

“y-yeah…” you mumble, face downcast.

“why? why would you do that? you’re just going to be even more hurt!” he exclaims, and you shrink into yourself even more, not out of fear, but out of pure shame. 

“i don’t know! it all just happened so fast, a-and i, i don’t know, i just couldn’t stop myself,” is all you manage to say. soobin groans at your words. 

“you do realize that getting over him is going to be even harder for you now, right?” he asks, and you finally look up at him for a second before looking back down and nodding, and it’s almost like you’re a child who got caught doing something they knew was wrong.

“i know, and i’m sorry,” you mutter, still struggling to make eye contact, but soobin catches your timidity and his gaze is softened as he pulls your face up to look at him. 

“you don’t have to apologize to me,” he sighs. “i’m just worried about you, you know?” 

“i know, i know. but i’m still really sorry.” and you don’t have to elaborate on why that is because you both know that he’ll be the one helping you pick up the pieces when this situation inevitably breaks your heart even more than it’s already broken, if that’s even possible.

“it’s alright,” he says, pulling you in for a hug that’s so warm and kind you almost burst into tears. “you’ll be alright. i’m here.” 

-

this is a bad idea. soobin would yell at you if you told him what you’re up to, but you don’t want to think about that right now. all you want to think about is how much better you’ll feel after you get your secret feelings off of your chest. up until now, the fear of rejection has made you too afraid to tell beomgyu how you really feel, but things can’t get much worse than they are at present, can they? it’s only been a few days since your hookup with beomgyu, but your love is eating you alive and you doubt that you’ll be able to hold it in for much longer.

things will probably go badly, and he’ll probably be completely blindsided, but the thought of continuing to lie to beomgyu’s face hurts more than anything else ever could. even more than the pain you feel every day that he unconsciously hurts your feelings. maybe this will ruin your friendship, but you love beomgyu, and he loves you, even if it’s not in the way that you want. all you can do is hope that your friendship is strong enough to overcome this.

with that mindset, you find yourself at his doorstep on this particularly cool summer night. you know he’s home because you can hear the faint sounds of whatever movie he’s watching emanating from his door. before you can lose your nerve, you begin to rapidly knock. before long, you hear the shuffling of feet nearing you, and you almost bolt then and there, but he’s quick to open the door when he realizes it’s just you.

“what are you doing here?” he asks, agitation apparent. oh god, were you interrupting something? what if he was working? what if he was sleeping? you should've texted before just showing up unannounced. 

“i-i’m sorry, are you busy?” you ask sheepishly.

“... no,” he says after a slight pause, and he opens the door to let you in. you sit yourself on his couch, posture ramrod straight due to how fucking uncomfortable you are, and you try to steady your breathing as you fiddle with your fingers. 

“is this about chaewon?” he asks, breaking the silence, and your heart aches at the trace of hope in his words.

“n-no, nothing like that. i just —”

“is there any update on that?” he cuts in before you can even get your words out.

“oh, um, not really,” you reply before remembering that something has happened, but you’ve been so out of it, it genuinely didn't occur to you to tell him. “wait, actually, she mentioned that you seem different lately, but she, uh, she’s still… well, to be honest, she’s —” 

“what? she’s still what?” and there’s no patience for your rambling to be seen.

“she’s still not interested in dating you,” you mumble, unable to look him in the eyes when you say it. he’s completely silent after your words, and when you do finally gather enough guts to actually look at him, you really, really wish you had just kept your face down. because he’s pissed. 

“are you fucking with me? she really said that?” he asks, and you nod. 

“why didn’t you tell me earlier?!” and you feel so disoriented at the way things are unfolding that you can barely croak out a reply.

“i-i forgot.” 

“you forgot? jesus christ, if it’s not about her, then why are you here?” he seems angrier than you’ve ever seen him, but his words get you to finally remember what you’re here for.

“i just… i needed to talk to you,” you say pleadingly, looking into his eyes as you try your hardest to give yourself the strength to be honest with him.

“about?” 

it takes all of the courage in your poor little heart to choke out your next words. 

“beomgyu, you know, for the longest time, i’ve —”

“i know,” he impatiently snaps. you’re unsure of what he’s referencing, but you do know he has no idea about the feelings you’ve kept hidden for so long. 

“no. no, you don’t know, actually,” you argue, brave face on, but voice shakier than a leaf. “i just need to tell you that i —”

“that you love me? i know, that’s what i just fucking said,” he sighs irritatedly. “why else would you help me? ‘cause you love me so much, right?” he knows it’s wrong to take his frustration out on you, but you’re so pathetic, you make it too damn easy. you’re the perfect outlet for him to unleash all of his anger.

“you… you knew? this entire time?” you ask incredulously. you feel like you’re suffocating in the face of his callousness and disgust, and the room feels smaller than it did before.

“i mean, yeah. it was kind of obvious,” he muses. your cheeks feel so hot you’re sure you’re on the brink of immolation. it was obvious? if it was obvious, then why did he keep you around in the first place? because you’re useful when it comes to helping him get his dick wet?

“so… so why did you…” you trail off, still finding it inconceivable that the beomgyu you know and love could possibly know about your feelings; and not only are they unreciprocated by him, which you could understand and respect, but they’re nothing more than a fucking joke and means to an end. the end in question being burying himself into other women.

“why did i act like i didn’t know? because i don't feel the same way,” he answers, and you already knew it and knew it well, but that doesn't make it any more digestible to hear.

“y-yeah, but you — how could you still sleep with me? how could you do that to me?” you ask, lips wobbling and voice cracking. you can't believe this. you won't believe this. you have to be misunderstanding something somewhere. there's just no way this is it.

“because it was easy,” he says with a shrug, and your heart shatters into a million pieces. 

because it was easy. 

easy. what a funny word. you don’t think you even fully comprehend what it means in this context, actually. easy, easy, easy, but what part of this has been easy for you? every day, it’s like you’re killing yourself by trying to twist into what he wants you to be. a friend, a confidant, and now, even a lover. but lover is being too generous, isn't it? because he does not love you, not even as a friend, and this discovery becomes clearer and clearer as you think back to every time he’s shown you just how little he cares.

soobin’s litany of warnings come back to haunt you with a vengeance. 

he’s just using you. 

he’s garbage.

he’s just gonna hurt you.

and though you know soobin will take no pleasure in being correct, you can't help but dread the “i told you so” you know he will never be mean enough to say, but will inevitably think.

“i thought we were friends,” you say incredulously, dread and anxiety pooling in the deepest recesses of your heart. “i thought you cared about me” 

and he doesn’t shrug or anything because he doesn’t really need to, but he might as well seeing as how it clearly makes no difference to him. and this is finally how you come to understand that beomgyu is just as bad as everyone says. maybe even a little worse. and he will continue to act like a sociopath for as long as you let him. 

“i-i love you, i really do. but no fucking way. i won’t sit here and let you treat me like shit,” you declare, tears flowing down your cheeks so quickly and steadily you’d probably be unable to wipe them away even if you tried. luckily or unluckily, you don’t even have the strength to find out. 

“you’re going to regret this,” you whisper, and it’s said with such certainty that for a moment, he almost believes you. almost, but not quite.

either way, you’re booking it out of his door before he can even reply.

-

this is everything beomgyu ever could’ve asked for. chaewon is sitting next to him on his bed, eyes dark with lust as she unceremoniously grabs the end of her top and tugs it off. she's beautiful, no doubt about that, but he feels more and more like something is incredibly wrong. 

she leans in to press her lips onto his, but he flinches, scooting almost imperceptibly further away from her on the bed. she falters for a moment before sighing and crawling on all fours to situate herself between his legs. she begins to unzip his pants and tug on his waistband before he frantically stops her.

“w-what are you doing?” he asks, voice shaking.

“blowing you, what does it look like i’m doing?” she replies with a roll of her eyes. “i just wish i had known you wouldn’t be into kissing or, like, actual foreplay, but whatever.” she continues her movement to pull his pants down before he stops her again. 

“what’s wrong?” she asks curiously, before finally realizing that he is, to what would normally be his eternal shame, completely soft. her mouth drops in shock, and in another universe, beomgyu has enough energy to care. but not in this one. in this one, his eyes are teary as he feels an implacable sense of dread he can’t seem to shake off. 

“oh god,” she says with conviction, pulling herself back up and running one hand through her hair. “i knew this would happen.” 

beomgyu, on his part, looks somewhat out of it, but her words bring him back to earth. 

“knew what would happen?” he asks tentatively, sniffling for reasons unknown to him while he tries not to let his tears run over his waterlines.

“i knew you’d act like this because of her,” she says begrudgingly. 

his eyebrows furrow for a second, not because he doesn’t already know who she’s talking about, but because he doesn’t understand the correlation between you and the situation he presently finds himself in.

“think about it,” she says slowly, condescendingly. “who do you trust, like, actually? and i’m not just talking about with getting girls, but with everything.” beomgyu is silent as he tries to comprehend what she's saying, but he’s nothing if not slow on the uptake in regards to human emotion. 

“oh, beomgyu, come the fuck on,” she sighs in frustration. “i mean, when you were stressed about that presentation for your job, who did you call? yunjin told me all about it. she said you spent hours reciting a 15 minute presentation to the girl you supposedly don’t give a fuck about.” ah. he remembers that night, actually, and he remembers it well. he called you in a panic, so you brought over some dinner because you knew he was stressed, but he was so wound up that you didn’t leave and even insisted that he practice with you in order to give him feedback. he spent the whole night repeating the same speech over and over again, but you sat patiently and encouragingly as he repeated the boring, inconsequential drivel to you. you never complained, not even once, and you didn’t ask him for any compensation in the form of him doing something — anything — similar for you, either. even if you had, he realizes, he wouldn't have given any to you, anyway.

“that’s…” 

“and that’s not even all of it. who’s the first one you look for when you walk into a room? and when something good happens, who do you tell first? not anybody else, and i know for a fact that it’s not me, never will be,” she says bitterly. every new point slashes at his heart and ego.

and suddenly, things start making sense, albeit in the worst possible way. beomgyu loves you. his trust and dependence on you all make an awful sort of sense, but in a way, it’s relieving to finally be able to put a name to this feeling. his eyes still feel hot, but not so much because something feels wrong, but because things finally feel right for the first time in forever. he loves you, has loved you, and will continue to love you.

her words resonate with him so deeply, she can read it all over his face. it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he finally understands, but he’s still missing an important fact. the most important fact, even. 

“yeah, i guess you finally get it now. you have feelings for her. and the worst thing is: you treat her like shit.” his eyes widen and the tears that were just threatening to escape are completely let loose. how could he only come to this realization after he already effectively stomped on your heart and your pure intentions? after you’ve made it clear that you don’t want anything to do with him anymore? and he has nobody but himself to blame, really; he practically shoved you away over and over and over again. 

“i-i didn’t mean to —” 

“sure, of course you didn’t,” she says with a sarcastic smile. “whatever makes you feel better for fucking over the girl who’s been in love with you for years.”

-

beomgyu may not know much about the inner workings of interpersonal relationships, but he does know he needs to see you, and he’s smart enough to understand that he needs to apologize. 

but beomgyu has never apologized for anything in his life — not unless you count the times his mother made him grit them out as a child when he would objectively do something wrong, but this is another matter entirely. nobody will be holding his hand as he does it, and he’s not even really sure where to start. but he knows he has to try.

surely there’s a better place to try than at the bar where he currently finds himself, but then, there’s no time like the present. not to mention that he has a sneaking suspicion that you're avoiding all of your mutual friends’ get-togethers for the sole purpose of avoiding him. if the blocking of all of his socials wasn’t enough, the blocking of his phone number certainly was.

it’s not necessarily fate’s fault that he finds himself here, either. he heard from a friend (chaewon) that you’d be here tonight. he sees you from across the bar looking lively and chatty, and he prays that the good mood you seem to be in will help soften the upcoming conversation with him. to his luck, you step out of the bar to take a call, so he slides from his seat with an open beer bottle in tow, and follows you outside. 

your back is turned, and he doesn’t quite hear what you’re talking about over the phone, but he does catch a giggle and a name, soobin’s, and it makes his heart ache. when you hang up, you turn to head back into the bar, but you’re met with his figure. 

“h-hey,” he says, and he wants to smack himself for the casual greeting he still managed to fuck up.

your eyes widen for a moment before they go blank, and you’re pushing past him without a response. 

“i need to talk to you,” he says, voice trembling as he grabs the back of your elbow, which you snatch out of his grip like his touch is poison. 

“about?” you ask curtly, barely even deigning to turn your head to look at him. you have never been so hostile towards anyone, let alone him, and it's making him spiral. 

“i’m sorry. i’m just really, really sorry,” he desperately apologizes. you’re silent for a few moments as you turn to completely face him with your arms crossed, and he’s trying his damndest to read your expression, but he can’t quite make it out.

“okay… and?” is all you say in response, and he fumbles over his words at your nonchalance. 

“a-and, um, i —”

“you know what?” you cut in with an impatient sigh and a wave of your hand. “i don’t care anymore. you’ve said enough.”

“but i —” 

“i don’t care, beomgyu.” and his name is said in such disgust that it sounds to him like it’s a chore for you to spit out. you’re about to turn and reenter the bar when his next words come tumbling out. 

“i think — i know —  i love you,” he says urgently, and your previously unreadable gaze turns into one of pure, sheer amusement. you’re so amused, you laugh, even. 

“what the fuck are you talking about?” you say between giggles.

“i-i didn’t realize it before, but i talked to chaewon, and she even said that i’ve probably always felt that way about you. i know i didn’t show it, but i really do love —”

“okay, just stop. stop it right there, beomgyu. i’m only going to say it just this once, so listen carefully, okay?” you ask, and he fervently nods. 

“okay. you don't know the first thing about love.” and he goes to interrupt you, but you don’t let him. “loving somebody means you put their feelings above your own. what the hell would you know about that?” 

“i’m… i know i was wrong, b-but i —” 

“beomgyu,” you say exasperatedly. “i’m so glad you’re finally reaching enlightenment, and i’m so happy i was cannon fodder for you to use to get there. but i just really, really don’t care anymore, okay? do what you want with whoever you want, but don’t bother me about it anymore, alright?” and he’s so stunned he can’t even form words, but you just shake your head and prepare to leave again. unconsciously, he goes to grab you again, which you consequently dodge, and he thinks this is the most rejected he’s ever felt before realizing it’s not over yet. it’s only truly over when you grab his bottle from him and splash its contents across his face before throwing the bottle back into his arms and leaving for good.

part ii: cardigan

beomgyu can’t tell if his eyes are stinging from the alcohol you splashed in his face or from the sheer humiliation he feels. maybe from both. probably from both. either way, tears fall as a result. he probably looks like a madman as he stumbles along the concrete on his walk home from the bar. he still has the beer bottle you shoved at him in his hand, and luckily for him, there’s still enough in there to help him get a little tipsier than he already is. he needs it, too, because your words play like a broken record in his head.

you don’t know the first thing about love. 

do what you want with whoever you want, but don’t bother me about it anymore.

each and every word feels like you knew exactly the right thing to say to pierce his heart, but he knows better than to think you cared enough to think about it to the point of choosing them so carefully. no, the words you said were what you really felt at the moment. you didn’t even have to try to hurt him, you just had to tell the truth. somehow, that hurts even more. 

he replays the entire debacle in his head and tries to think of what he could have said differently. to be honest, there are a lot things, but he has a feeling that no matter what he said, you would’ve reacted the same exact way. if he really thinks about it, maybe some small, ugly part of him hoped you’d forgive him as easily as you have always been wont to do, but it's clear to him now that he was just being delusional. maybe he was still under the impression that you’d be as easy to please as ever, but with how repulsed you seemed to be by his words, his touch, him, he has no such expectations anymore.

he now finds himself at an impasse. where does he go from here? you made it clear that you’re done with him, but he still loves you. you don't want his love anymore, so where is that love supposed to go? the only person he feels like he can ask no longer wants to speak to him. he’s unsure if he wants to turn to you because you’d understand, or just because you’re the only person he trusts.

needless to say, the walk home from the bar is a long one, indeed. one filled with pensive silence, save for the steady sound of swigs being taken from his bottle and the occasional sob. 

-

most people in your friend group have no idea what transpired between you and beomgyu, but the smart ones, like taehyun, know something must have happened by the way you avoid hangouts in which beomgyu is present like the plague. he doesn’t pry when you bail, though, for which you are thankful. a few weeks pass before you have the epiphany that beomgyu has already ruined enough, and you won’t let him ruin your friendships, too.

when you show up to taehyun’s for his celebratory house party in lieu of a promotion at his job, everyone cheers when you walk through the door, which makes your cheeks heat up, and you feel so relieved that your friends are still the same even when it feels like it’s been an eternity since you’ve seen them. taehyun pulls you in for a hug, and you eagerly reciprocate it.

“glad you made it,” he grins. 

“i wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you say with a smile, which just makes him beam even more.

you’re pleasantly surprised to note that beomgyu is nowhere to be seen, and you relax for a bit before falling into the familiar rhythm that is being with your friends. you missed this. you missed them. and it seems like they’ve missed you just as much if their excited chatter is anything to go by. you were, admittedly, a little tense when you first came in, but all of that melts away as you join in on the banter and pure fun that is being with the people you love the most.

although beomgyu is nowhere to be found, soobin still never leaves your side. he watches the door like a hawk, and you feel at ease with the knowledge that he’s beside you regardless of the outcome. so what if beomgyu shows up? you belong here, and you have soobin and the rest of your friends with you. knowing beomgyu like you do, his passing fancy has almost certainly ended and he will ignore you like the son of a bitch that he is. 

with this notion in mind, you are not at all prepared for the way the aforementioned boy slams taehyun’s front door open and drunkenly stumbles in. the room gets quiet after he does so, and everyone stares as he scans the room with blank, reddened eyes. when his gaze catches yours, you break eye contact almost immediately, opting to turn to soobin with what you hope is an unbothered look, not to keep up any pretenses with him, but because you don’t want anyone other than him to know how uncomfortable you are. in turn, he grabs your hand and laces his fingers with yours, giving your hand a small, reassuring squeeze, and he does not move to unlace his hand with yours even after he does it.

while you’re trying to be discreet, beomgyu is anything but as he continues to stare at you with a dumbed out look on his face. the intense atmosphere is only broken when taehyun stands up to greet him with a side hug and a pat on the other boy’s back. 

“hey, gyu. i’m happy you’re here,” he says.

“mm,” beomgyu replies, eyes still never leaving you and lingering at the way you and soobin have your hands joined, and taehyun’s casual side hug turns into him having to support beomgyu’s weight as beomgyu almost falls over while standing. 

“you’re really fucking drunk,” taehyun murmurs with a wrinkled nose as he smells the alcohol on beomgyu’s entire person. “c’mon, you can relax in my room for a bit.”

beomgyu can only nod as he leans on taehyun for stability and walks towards taehyun’s room. his gaze on you only breaks when taehyun shuts the door behind him, and if your friends didn’t know that something odd was afoot with the two of you, they certainly seem to know now as they look between taehyun’s room and your awkward figure.

“you okay?” a soft, sweet voice whispers. you turn to soobin and muster up a forced smile and a nod. his hand is still holding yours and he soothingly brushes his thumb over your hand in order to try to calm you down. somehow, it actually kind of works. 

-

you’re here. beomgyu thought he may be hallucinating or something just because you seem to haunt him everywhere he goes now, but he knew it was the real thing when he saw how uncomfortable you were. he knows this because in his delusions, you’re either flatout rejecting him or, in the good ones, you’re forgiving him. those are the ones he likes the most, but he hates the sobering aftermath when he realizes they are, in fact, only figments of his imagination.

so now he sits on taehyun’s bed in a daze as he focuses on the door. you’re so close that his heart physically aches in yearning as it insists on closing the distance between you two, but taehyun’s sharp look stops him from doing anything too terribly stupid. 

“this has got to stop,” taehyun halfway pleads, halfway scolds.

“what does?” beomgyu asks dumbly.

“showing up everywhere drunk as hell,” he replies. “look, i don’t know what’s going on, but i know it has to do with her, and i know you’re probably — definitely — in the wrong.” 

beomgyu has enough shame to hang his head and purse his lips in response.

“i don’t know what you did, i don’t know what you said, but whatever it was, i know you’re not making any of it better by getting fucked up every night. stay in here, sober up, and only come out when you’re ready to act like an adult.” and with that, taehyun stalks over to the door before shutting it behind him.

beomgyu is not stupid, but he’s not exactly emotionally intelligent, either; so while taehyun’s words sting, they’re not enough to pull him out of his pity party. all he seems to care about in this moment is being next to you, but he remembers the scene of your hands locking with soobin’s. are you seeing each other now? that can’t be it. the heart does not move on that quickly, but maybe yours did. maybe you buried your feelings for him as deep as they could go in the face of the seemingly repulsive confession of love he gave to you. maybe you belong with somebody like soobin, who’s so gentle and caring. soobin definitely listens to you, cherishes you, treats you gently. maybe beomgyu didn’t exactly understand it before now, but he really understands it at this moment: soobin loves you.

maybe, in a way, he always sort of knew. maybe he felt some sort of sick satisfaction at the way you kept your eyes trained on him while soobin was training his eyes on you. maybe he felt some 12-year-old boy kind of pride at the way you seemed to put him before anyone else in spite of such a viable prospective suitor, but any contentment he may have felt is flushed away at the anxiety of you having somebody so good right besides you — somebody who is obviously much better than him.

do you feel the same way? no, even before that, are you okay? he knows he hurt you really badly. are you still hurting? he wants to know. he has to know. so before he can talk himself out of it, he’s stumbling towards the door.

-

things are still pretty tense when taehyun walks out, but they begin to calm down after everyone asks if beomgyu is alright and taehyun answers in the positive, and you think you might just be in the clear before realizing things are never that easy. beomgyu stumbles out of the door and his gaze immediately locks on you.

“hey,” he says a little too loudly. the room is quiet, and though he didn’t say who he was addressing, it’s obvious it’s you with the way he’s staring so intensely. 

“hey,” he repeats even louder this time. to his chagrin, soobin is still next to you, but that doesn’t mean he can’t slide into the open space on the other side of you. of course, propriety would say that he shouldn’t, but propriety means nothing to beomgyu at this moment. not when he’s so drunk he smells like rubbing alcohol, and not when he’s so openly desperate he looks like a man gone mad.

with no grace to be seen, he plops down next to you, and even through your clothes and his jeans, his legs against yours still feel like they burn you. you try to move to avoid his touch so aggressively that poor, large soobin is squeezed into the armrest even more; and it’s all for naught, anyway, because beomgyu just scoots himself even closer. 

“how’re you?” he slurs, and though everyone tries their best not to seem like they’re eavesdropping, they most certainly are. no matter how hard they try not to stare, their gazes keep flicking towards the two of you and their voices are a little more hushed. you’re beyond embarrassed, but beomgyu doesn’t seem to mind their looks one bit.

“beomgyu…” you whisper exasperatedly, accepting your fate as the spectacle that you currently are and trying to nip it in the bud with your obvious distaste for the situation.

“i jus’ wanna know how you are,” he says desperately as he senses your clear rejection, but to his eventual regret, he doesn't stop. you try to keep your voice low as you say your next words.

“good. look, i really don’t wanna do this with you right now. i have nothing to say to you and you don’t have anything to say to me that i actually want to hear, so i think it’s best if —” 

“but i told you i love you!” he exclaims, and everyone around you ceases to pretend that they aren’t listening. how can they even pretend when he’s quite literally yelling? you don’t notice a thing, though. you’re too absorbed in the melodrama unfolding before you, in which you are in the starring role. “i… i jus’ love you so much, i —” and before he can get out his next words, you’re swiftly standing up with soobin in tow and thanking taehyun for the invite while shuffling out of the front door.

-

beomgyu is devastated when you leave. he takes to walking outside to taehyun’s balcony as he lets tears roam freely down his reddened face. he thinks he’s alone before he hears somebody opening the door and shutting it behind them.

“do you seriously still not get it?” chaewon sneers.

“get what?” he sniffles, and she lets out a long-suffering sigh before she gets out her next words.

“you love her, right? and you miss her?” she asks slowly, as if he’s so stupid, he wouldn’t understand her if she said it any other way.

“of course i do,” he snaps, not appreciating the condescension in her tone, but all the bite is lost in translation because he looks nothing short of pathetic as his tears steadily fall. 

“right. you love her, you miss her, you want to talk to her. you, you, you. it’s still all about you and what you feel, but what about what she feels?” she asks, and he falters at her words. “all you’re doing is making things hard on her, and i can promise you that this ‘woe-is-me’ shit you’re doing right now isn’t gonna change her mind.” 

he thinks back to how you acted when you loved him — how you bent over backwards to try to conceal your feelings so as not to inconvenience him. how everything you did was to make life easier on him, no matter how difficult it was for you. yes, you loved him, but you did it in a way he could accept. you did things his way, and for so long; and all he’s done in return is demand your love in his way, yet again.

“so what do i do?” he earnestly asks. “how do i get her back?” 

“... after what you've done to her? you don't,” she answers after a pause, and he deflates at her words. she’s right, of course.

he thinks about how he’d feel if you treated him the way he treated you. he feels like his heart is dying in his chest just at the memory of you rejecting him, but to be rejected so cruelly? what do you even do with yourself then? he wonders how people live with that kind of hurt, but then, you did it for so long and were even able to paste a smile on your face as you did it. he remembers when he thought that you were a horrible actress because of how he could still see through you despite how bothered you obviously were by his actions, but only now does he understand how much resilience it must've taken. somehow, it just makes him miss you even more. makes him love you even more.

-

beomgyu is a pervert. a sick-in-the-head, nasty, freakish, bottom-of-the-barrel, lowdown, dirty pervert. that's the only way he can accurately describe himself in this moment, and the guilt is strong, but not stronger than his need to let this dream play out the way he wants it to. and the way he wants it to goes like this:

your naked body is splayed across beomgyu’s bed as you watch him undress with watery eyes. 

“i need you, gyu,” you whimper as tears threaten to fall.

“shh, baby. lemme take care of you,” he whispers as he lines himself up with your entrance.

you brace yourself by locking your hands around his neck as he pushes in, and you both groan as your pussy struggles to take him in. it’s so real, he feels you spasm around him like it did on the night you spent together, and he knows he’s a goner.

he lets you adjust for a few moments before slowly pulling out, then thrusting himself back in again. each stroke feels like heaven as you cry out with every movement. he grips your hips, but he tries his best not to hurt you when he does it. you’re far too precious to leave marks on, after all. 

beomgyu gets lost in the feeling all too quickly. he wants to be uncharacteristically gentle, but the feeling of you squeezing around him makes his eyes redden, and before long, he’s drilling into you. 

“‘m close!” you cry out.

“me too, baby,” he whispers, and the feeling of you clenching around him as you come is enough to send him over the edge. he spills himself into you with a broken moan. 

“i love you,” he says desperately as he tries to catch his breath. but even in his dreams, you don’t reply. 

-

soobin has always been sweet, but ever since the beomgyu incident he’s been even sweeter. he shows up to your place with your favorite snacks and never asks any unsavory questions. he takes your calls in the dead of night when he’s clearly been trying to sleep. he holds your hand when you start to space out. 

at first, it was easy to chalk it all up to what best friends do, but as the physical intimacy begins to increase, you start suspecting that something deeper is going on. you are not a cruel person — you’re not the type to pretend not to see something so clear when it inconveniences you (unlike a certain someone). so when soobin places your head on his shoulder during a movie night, against your meek disposition, you ask him a very simple question.

“binnie, do you like me?” and you don’t quite have the courage to look up at him while you ask him, opting to stare at the screen before you.

“yeah. yes, i do,” he replies, and while you would rather continue to avoid eye contact, you have enough respect for him to sit up and look him in his eyes.

“i’m so sorry,” you say, because what else can you say? 

“i know. i know you don’t feel the same way, you don’t have to tell me,” he answers with a soft, forced smile.

“i don’t wanna hurt you.”

“i know you don’t.”

“what can i do?” you ask sincerely.

“i… i don’t need you to do anything. if you need me, you have me. if you don’t need me, you still have me,” he tells you.

“that’s not fair to you.”

“then just give me some time,” he replies. “i’ll get over it if you just give me some time.”

“okay,” you nod.

“are you sure you’ll be okay?” he asks, still as concerned about you as ever. as if you’re not breaking his heart.

“i will be,” you lie. regardless of whether he believes you or not, he nods and gathers his things before leaving.

-

you are, in the most crass of terms, pissy drunk. your sticky situation with soobin is one for the history books, if you do say so yourself, and you lack the proper vernacular at the moment to express just how awful it is. who knew your best friend on this planet had secret feelings for you? well, it seems like everyone, actually, because as you confide in your friends, none seem to be particularly surprised. it appears that you’re the last one to find out. 

of course, you’re only able to deal with the revelation by visiting your favorite bar. against your better judgment, you go alone. usually, you’d ask soobin to come with you, but you can’t do that with the way things are right now, which just makes you feel even worse. you’re on drink number three (or four…  or five…) when an unknown man slides into the barstool next to you. you don’t quite catch his name, but you know you’re not interested in him, or, well, anyone at the moment. you’re far too distracted by your current circumstances to even entertain the thought of another man right now, but even as you deny, deny, deny him, he doesn’t quite seem to get the message.

your vision is blurred as you try to hint to him for what must be the umpteenth time that you’re not looking for anything at the moment, but he still doesn’t understand, and you’re starting to feel every ounce of alcohol you’ve consumed until now. you place your head in your hands as you try to keep the room from spinning, but it doesn’t seem to help, and you can feel his hand squeezing your upper thigh. you’re not the most assertive person at the best of times, and you are certainly even less so in your drunken state, so you’re trying to gather your bearings to reject him once and for all when you feel an arm sliding around your neck. 

“there you are, baby. who’s this?” a baritone voice asks rather loudly, a voice you’d recognize anywhere. beomgyu’s. your gut reaction is to push him off and cuss him out, but even with your delayed reactions, you’re able to register that he’s trying to help you out as you lock eyes with his hesitant brown ones.

“gyu,” you say with what you hope is a believable smile. 

“you’re taken?” the man asks disappointedly.

“yep,” you reply, and he scoffs before pushing out his barstool so abruptly, the chair squeaks before storming away. 

“are you alright?” beomgyu asks quietly.

“‘m fine,” you tell him as you rip his arm off from your shoulder. “i don’t need your help.” 

“i know!” he exclaims a little too desperately. “i-i know that, i just —” but the universe smacks you across the face as you begin to gag, alcohol choosing now of all times to rock your stomach with a vengeance. you begin to try to scramble off of the stool, but you’re so drunk, you’re having trouble even standing up. 

without any prompting, beomgyu hurriedly pulls you up and places your arm around his shoulder before hustling you to the bathroom. you don’t even have time to close the door behind you before you’re hunched over the toilet and choking vomit out of your throat. beomgyu slams the door behind him and rushes over to your pitiful frame before shushing you and rubbing circles into your back in an attempt to calm you down. in turn, you bat his hands away without even condescending to look at him when you do it. his heart stings, but he realizes it’s not about him as you lurch forward and continue to empty your stomach. 

when you’re finally finished, you feel a wet paper towel gently rubbing the sweat off of your forehead, then it travels down to your lips where vomit still pools around them. beomgyu intently cleans you up without saying a word.

“a-are you alright?” he asks meekly, and as if only now registering that it’s him, you push his hands away and say your next words. 

“i thought i told you i didn’t need your fucking help. i hate when people make me repeat myself, didn’t you know?” he winces at your harsh words and sharpness of tone.

“i… i know. i’m sorry. i just thought that you might want somebody with you. i’m really sorry.” and even through your drunken stupor, you know he’s not just apologizing for his interference. but you don’t care.

“and why would i want you?” he’s silent at this before finally replying. 

“you know, when you told me i’d regret it, i didn’t really understand what you meant; but i understand it now. i’m really, really regretting it. i should’ve listened to you,” he says softly with tears brimming in his reddened eyes. 

you’re at a loss for words at this. what do you say? what can you say besides “i told you so”? somehow, that doesn’t quite do the sentiment justice.

part iii: betty

after vomiting, you actually feel like you’ve sobered up quite a bit, but you’re still not speaking, which beomgyu takes to heart.

“i can’t — i’m just really, really sorry,” he brokenly sobs in the face of your silence. “so sorry.” 

“i know,” you reply after a pause, and you do know. you didn’t before, but his pathetic actions and demeanor have shown you that he means what he says. your acknowledgment of his repentance just makes him cry even harder, though. because it doesn’t seem to have changed a thing.

“i was a bastard. i was so fucking awful to you when you were just trying to help me, and i didn’t know what i had until you were gone,” he continues, quite openly sobbing at this point. he looks like a man gone mad as he cries in the public restroom of a bar, but what's the point of trying to keep his cool now? maybe this way, you’ll understand just how much he means what he says.

but you’re the victim. you’re the one who should be crying her heart out at the moment. you didn’t even do anything besides reject him after he’s been continuously rejecting you and treating you like gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe for years. why does he get to cry and get what he wants? what about you?  you want to hold onto this injustice, but the way he crumbles in front of you makes your heart soften. no matter how angry you may be, you can't help but try to reason with him.

“beomgyu, i know you’re sorry. i really do,” you sigh, and your tone tells him everything he needs to know, but he still hangs onto every word as if they’re the most important things he’ll ever hear. still, he feels dread at what you have to say next tugging on his heartstrings.

“but it’s just not enough. you treated me like i was garbage for years. you used me and my feelings, and tossed me away whenever you wanted.” and he withers even more with every word. “and i let you do it because i loved you and i thought you didn’t know how i felt, but you fucking knew what you were doing; and you still slept with me while knowing how i felt about you. how can you expect me to forgive you for that?” you ask, and it is not completely rhetorical. you seem to be searching for an answer, but he doesn’t have one. he never did. if he could figure out how to justify any of his actions, he would, but he can’t seem to come up with anything even as he scrambles for a response. 

he knows he's losing you, so why not just be honest? as a last ditch effort, he lays everything out on the table. 

“you said you loved me,” he says. “m-maybe, if i can be better, you’ll love me again. i can be good for you, i-i know i can. so if you just —” 

“beomgyu,” you interrupt, though not maliciously. you seem to have some level of patience for him even in spite of everything. “i still love you. love was never the problem.” and he can’t help but feel a shred of hope bud in the wake of your words, but it’s killed in its crib at what you say next. “but that’s just not enough anymore. the way you’ve been feeling for the past few weeks is how i’ve felt for years. i bet you can’t even imagine that — i don’t even want you to imagine that, actually. it just hurts too much.” 

and while you just said that you didn’t want him to, he can’t help but envision exactly that: the feeling that he had when you were with soobin multiplied exponentially. and for so long. and with different people. that same pain over and over and over again with no reprieve besides for the hope that someday, if you’re lucky, you might have a chance. someday, maybe any day, but probably not any time soon. to live like that and for so long, just thinking about it makes his heart ache and his stomach churn. 

“do you understand me now?” you ask, and gone are the traces of resentment and disgust. your gaze is only filled with pity. somehow, that makes him feel even worse. 

“y-yeah,” he says breathlessly with an inhale so sharp, it’s as if he’s in physical pain, all the while trying desperately to gather his bearings and to look and sound like a functioning member of society. he fails in light of his constant stream of tears. “i, um, i get it now.” 

“okay,” you say softly. “i’m going to call yunjin so she can pick me up. can you get home safely?” this is it. you don’t have to say it, but he knows that you two will never speak again after this. what else is there to say, after all? 

“i can.”

“good,” you smile, and he tries his best to smile, too, but he doesn’t quite make it there. “goodbye, beomgyu.”

“goodbye,” he whispers shakily, and he looks so profoundly devastated that you wish you could comfort him, but you know it’d just make things worse; so without another word, you leave him alone as you prepare to call yunjin.

beomgyu doesn’t know how long he spends in the wake of your absence, but he cries until no more tears will leave his eyes. when he's all cried out, eyes swollen and face red, he leaves the bar in a state of borderline delirium. your words echo in his unstable state of mind, and he realizes that even when you had every right to treat him like the scum of the earth, you were kinder than he could ever reasonably expect for you to be. it seems that you still gave him more than he ever deserved. as always.

-

things with soobin have stayed in an odd sort of purgatory for weeks now, but unfortunately or not, life goes on, so you don't have the luxury of ruminating on it as much as you probably need to. you don't reach out very much for fear of unwittingly making your circumstances with him even more difficult for him to move past, but that certainly doesn't mean that you don't miss him. still, you prioritize his feelings in the matter over your own and patiently await the day where he finally feels comfortable enough to be friends with you once more. he forgoes most of the gatherings that your friends arrange, and it's like a knife to the heart every time. 

as for your situation with beomgyu, you deliberately try to push that out of your mind as frequently as humanly possible. you feel like things have ended on the best note you could ever ask for, and your friends know better than to bring him up around you, so you figure that ignorance is bliss. old habits die hard, though, and you find yourself wanting to check on him, but you remind yourself that that’s not your job anymore — and it never should have been in the first place, really, which is enough to stop you in your tracks on the bad nights where you want nothing more than to reach out. you reason with yourself that he has friends, so there’s no need to concern yourself with him. 

but you miss him. you miss when you were stupid enough to believe that he didn’t know about your feelings. you wish you could go back and erase your love for him so you two could go back to just being friends. what he did was unforgivable, you know that, but you still miss all the times he made you laugh. still, that pales in comparison to all the times he made you cry, right? that's how you should look at things. that's how you will look at things. 

as it is, you’re perfectly fine with never speaking to him again. at least, that’s what you tell yourself.

-

“are you okay?” taehyun asks in a hushed tone. he hasn’t seen beomgyu in over a month now, but beomgyu finally agreed to come out with him after taehyun said he missed him. now, they are seated in a booth at the dimly lit bar just down the street from taehyun’s place.

“y-yeah,” beomgyu replies with a forced upturn of his lips as he sloshes around the non-alcoholic drink in his cup. after the last time you saw him, he decided to ditch alcohol for the time being. taehyun was right about him needing to act like an adult, and he just knows that if he were to get even a drop of alcohol in him, he’d come crawling back to you, probably to your disgust. 

“good,” taehyun sighs in relief. “i was really worried about you for a while there, you know? everyone was.”

“i know,” beomgyu answers perfunctorily. everyone has been worried about him and has said as much. well, pretty much everyone except for you. 

“are you ever gonna talk about what happened?” taehyun carefully probes, which causes beomgyu to cease all actions and stare blankly at his cup — liquid still gently swishing back and forth. 

“nothing happened that you probably didn’t already guess,” beomgyu says with a derisive smile. its sentiment is not directed at taehyun, however, but at himself. 

“that doesn't mean i don't want to hear it from you,” taehyun replies.

with a sigh of defeat, beomgyu begrudgingly recounts his circumstances with you, sparing no details. at first, taehyun's eyes widen every so often, but after a while, his face relaxes into something somber and resigned. when beomgyu is finished, his gaze remains locked on taehyun’s face, searching for any semblance of a reaction, but he remains stoic.

“well?” beomgyu asks impatiently.

“well, what?” taehyun says after a moment, and he's tempted to just leave it at that, but after looking into beomgyu’s pleading eyes, he realizes that he needs to say more. “you fucked up, but you know that already. i would say that i can't believe you did that, but if it's you, i can believe it,” he sighs, and beomgyu really wishes he hadn't pressed taehyun for more, because he feels smaller and smaller with every new word. 

“i know. i’m a piece of shit who doesn't deserve her. i never did,” beomgyu relents, feeling completely helpless. he wasn't expecting comfort or anything like that — he doesn't deserve it, but he's still hurt by taehyun's words, regardless of their validity. they just further confirm what he already knows.

“yeah, you're right,” taehyun agrees with a nod, and beomgyu deflates even more, if that's even possible. 

“is… is she okay?” beomgyu asks timidly. he's been too afraid to ask about you, but now that taehyun knows the truth, it seems pointless to beat around the bush.

“not really,” taehyun says with a twitch of his lips. 

“why not?!” beomgyu exclaims a little too loudly. taehyun hurriedly shushes him before glancing around the bar to make sure nobody’s attention has been drawn to the two of them. 

“why not?” beomgyu repeats, voice lower this time, but urgency just as palpable.

“i don't know. i think something happened between her and soobin, but neither of them will talk about it. i'm sure you can guess what happened, though,” taehyun sighs. and he's right. beomgyu can guess, but he can't quite believe it. you must've rejected soobin, but why? why would you reject someone so perfect for you? does it have anything to do with him?

-

beomgyu can’t shake the feeling that your situation with soobin has something to do with him. he knows he’s being vain, he knows he’s being selfish, but he can’t help but hope. he doesn't tell anyone about this, though, for fear that reality will be much crueler than he can cope with. he tells himself he's perfectly content with living with said hope and deluding himself into thinking he still has a place in your heart, but he can't control the way his mind wanders to places he scarcely dares to dream of these days. dreams where you miss him, where you still think about him, where you forgive him play out in a number of ways, but in the end, they're nothing more than, well, dreams.

-

as much as some would like to avoid it, gathering for taehyun’s friendsgiving party is inevitable. no matter the circumstances, nobody can quite justify missing out on your friend group’s collective tradition. you try to steel yourself for the potentially awkward encounters with soobin and beomgyu, but you can’t help but worry about potential “what if’s”. still, you decide to be as mature as possible. if you see soobin, you'll make light conversation before excusing yourself if he seems uncomfortable. if you see beomgyu, well, hopefully he'll just ignore you as you've ignored him.

when you arrive at taehyun's, you greet everyone as usual. honestly, as awful as it sounds, you're pretty relieved to see that neither soobin nor beomgyu have arrived just yet. you drink just enough to take some of the edge off, so when soobin comes in, it's not an earth-shattering event. when he greets you, you're prepared to just leave it at a cordial, somewhat distant conversation, and he seems to be on the exact same page. he says hello and performs all of the necessary niceties before wandering off and getting himself a drink. it hurts your heart that this is what your friendship has been reduced to, but you know it's what's best at the moment. you don't want to unintentionally hurt him by insisting he push his limits by being with you. 

you try to shove this out of your mind, and you're talking to yunjin about nothing in particular when beomgyu walks through the door. you can’t help but look up when he enters, but you will yourself to look away while plastering a smile on your face you already know isn’t believable in the slightest. mercifully, he doesn’t do anything other than wave at you and yunjin before getting lost in the hustle and bustle of the party.

you think the worst of the night is over, and you calmly go through the motions of your friendsgiving traditions as if everything is fine. after dinner, you find yourself sitting alone, wondering if you should just hang it up and go home a bit early. before you can do that, though, you notice soobin approaching your spot on the couch. 

“hey,” he says a little unsteadily as he plops down next to you, no doubt a little tipsy from the drinks he’s had.

“hey,” you shyly reply with a smile. 

“how are you?” he asks. 

“i’m okay,” you answer, trying to maintain your composure. “what about you?”

“better,” he says before hesitantly continuing. “i miss you.” your heart soars, but it also somewhat aches.

“i miss you, too,” you tell him honestly. he smiles, albeit very softly.

“how are things with beomgyu?” he probes.

“as good as they’ll get, i guess.”

“so not very good, huh?”

“no, not very good,” you say truthfully. 

“well, why don't you just cut the bullshit, then?” you're very clearly taken aback by his words. you're even actually offended that he could casually say such a thing.

“what are you talking about?” your tone is more defensive than bewildered, but he just looks at you with knowing eyes that make you feel microscopic.

“you know what i’m talking about,” he argues. “this whole fucked up charade that you two are performing isn’t fooling anybody, so why even try?” 

“he doesn't deserve me,” you scoff. “he can't just treat me like shit and get away with it because he's sorry now. he needs to pay for what he's done.”

“and who are you punishing by doing that? him or yourself?” you're, again, surprised, so you don't quite know what to say in response.

“i know you. i know what you want, and denying that doesn't do anything but hurt the both of you. you might as well get what you want. maybe he doesn't deserve it — i'm not really sure, but don't you want to try, at least? with how desperate he’s been acting, i don’t think he’ll hurt you again.” you seriously ponder his words, but the main conclusion you come to is that soobin is still so, so kind. he had — or has — feelings for you, but he still wants to see you happy. you don’t have to say anything, though, because it seems like he understands how grateful you are just from your smile.

he pulls you in for a hug, one so warm and loving you can't help but melt into it. you could cry at how relieved you are that you two will soon overcome the awkwardness and distance. it seems he wasn't one of your best friends for nothing. when you two break apart, you look up at him with a watery smile. before you can say anything, though, you register the odd look on his face. you look confused for just a second before he says his next words in a hushed, hurried tone.

“i'm doing this for your own good,” he whispers as he leans down and catches your lips in a tender kiss. to say you're stunned is an understatement, indeed, but the kiss ends almost as quickly as it begins, leaving you reeling. 

“w-why did you —” 

“i said it was for your own good, but it was kind of for me, too,” he softly chuckles. “maybe i want to punish him a little bit.” you don't really understand what he means until you follow his gaze and catch beomgyu in his line of sight. oh, you get it now. who knew soobin was such a sadist? 

your conversation with soobin ends and you feel a lot lighter than you have in a long, long time, but his words leave you with more than enough to think about. you shake your head and go out to the balcony to clear your head. after a few minutes, you hear the door behind you creak open. you know it's beomgyu before he even says anything. 

“so, you and soobin, huh?” he questions softly as he settles next to you, leaning against the railing. you glance up at him to respond, but his mirthless smile stops you before you can say a word. 

“i’m happy for you,” he adds as sincerely as he can, and you’re not sure you buy that, but at the very least, he seems to want you to believe it. you're not really sure how to respond. you don't even know if you want to explain everything to him, actually, because you're still debating on whether or not you should forgive him. can things really be that easy? does he deserve your forgiveness? who's to say he won't just break your heart again? as you struggle with how to answer, he continues.

“i'm, um, i'm glad you found somebody. especially soobin. he'll treat you right — you deserve it,” he says before timidly rambling. “s-sorry if i’m overstepping, i just wanted you to know that; and, uh, if you ever need anything, i'm here.”

“need anything? like what?” you can't help but wonder aloud. now, this is unlike the beomgyu you've come to know. if it were, then he'd be throwing a fit trying to get you to change your mind so you'd be with him instead of soobin. 

“l-like, if you need advice or something,” he earnestly answers, somewhat surprised you said anything at all. “or if you just want to talk or complain or anything. whatever it is that you need, i’ll be here. i owe you that much after all you’ve done for me.” you look confused for a moment before you answer him.

“i didn’t do those things so you’d owe me, beomgyu,” you tell him, and his heart flutters against his will at the use of his name.

“i-i know, i’m sorry. i didn’t mean it like that. s-sorry. i just want you to know that there’s someone who wants to be there for you, especially since you were always there for me, but even if you weren’t, i would still want to be there for you,” he nervously replies. 

“why?” you quietly ask, and that actually brings a wistful smile to his face. 

“because i care about you,” he says, voice dripping with sincerity and solemnity. what he really wants to tell you is that it's because he loves you, but it's clear that it's the wrong time. he can't just dump his feelings onto you again — that would be wrong since you're obviously involved with someone now. if it were the old him, he'd do it with absolutely no regrets if it meant that you'd come back to him, but he can't do that to you. he can't just steamroll over your wants and feelings like he's always done. 

“but why?” you question persistently. he never saw anything of value in you before, not outside of how he could use you, so what’s so great about you now? you just can’t understand it. his sincere smile turns wry, teeming with a sense of self-mockery as he whispers his next words.

“because you're amazing. you're everything anyone could ever want.” anything i could ever want. he doesn't have to say that last part, because you can already hear the meaning of his words. just because you can hear it, however, doesn't mean you understand it.

“i never thought you, of all people, would think that,” you say honestly. 

“i know, but that's my fault, not yours,” he replies. you purse your lips in response, mulling over your options. you could just walk away right now and go back to ignoring beomgyu forever. it's what he deserves, you reason. he humiliated you in a way like none other, and nobody would blame you if you never let that go; but you look at how hard he's trying, and your heart softens. maybe you want to give it a try. maybe you'll get hurt again, but with how desperate he is, you really don't think so. still, you can’t let him get away with it so easily. you just have to make sure his feelings are pure.

“i know you still have feelings for me,” you say after a long pause, and his face reddens in shame, feeling like his ugly heart that he was desperately trying to conceal has been exposed. he supposes this is the way it should be, but he doesn't want to guilt you into anything, so he chooses to remain silent in his humiliation. “if it were like before, you would just tell me that. why is it different now?” you continue. well, that's it then. he should be truthful and say what he wants to say, and unbeknownst to him, what you want to hear.

“because your feelings should be more important than my own. that's what you do when you love somebody,” he chokes out. “you taught me that.”

you're quiet for a long, long time. too long, in fact. so long, he thinks it's time to call it quits and suppress his unrequited feelings for you until he feels them no longer. he can't imagine a world where he successfully does so, but for your sake, he should try. before he can say his goodbye, though, you speak again.

“okay,” you sigh.

“what?” he asks confusedly, eyebrows furrowed.

“i said, ‘okay’. don't make me regret this,” you tell him before grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him down to you. your lips softly meet each other and his eyes widen in sheer shock, though he doesn't resist you. his breath is labored when you finally part, eyes hazy with his lips red and swollen. 

“w-what are you — i thought — why are you —”

“i'll give you one chance,” you interrupt. “if you fuck up, it's over. do you understand?” he takes a second to process your words — but it's just a second — and his eyes well up with relieved tears when he understands. he dumbly nods in agreement, too afraid that if he speaks, no intelligible noise will come out. 

“good.��� the corners of your mouth curl with a ghost of a smile, and you're prepared to leave it at that as you pull away from him; but like a dog, he earnestly chases after your touch before pulling you towards him, lips meeting yours again. the kiss is hungrier this time — more insistent, but he doesn't push his luck. eventually, he parts from you, leaving you both panting. his tears, which he was previously holding back, now flow from his eyes with no resistance. 

“thank you,” he says gently.

“for what?” you ask, head a little clouded from the kiss, but he just shakes his head with a smile. you will never understand just how grateful he is for the mercy you’ve shown him, but he’ll try to show you how much it means to him. 

-

things go slowly after that — you do your best to ensure that they do; and beomgyu, to his credit, tries to oblige. you’re not official or anything like that, but you let him take you on dates, and he’s always trying to woo you in one way or another. he sends flowers when you work, he shows up to your place with food and drinks, he texts you every morning asking how you’ve slept. it’s everything you could have ever asked for, and you can really see how hard he’s trying, but when kisses become heated, you always pull away before things can go any further. beomgyu tries his best not to show his dejection, but you always end up apologizing before he adamantly insists that he’s more than okay with it. you appreciate his understanding because every time you think about going any further, you can’t help but remember the indelible scar that his previous betrayal left upon you. 

-

christmas parties at beomgyu’s, much like friendsgivings at taehyun’s, are a tradition within your friend group. now that the tension with soobin and (most of) the tension with beomgyu is no longer there, you find that you’re actually really excited to gather again. you have no intention of revealing the nature of your… circumstances with beomgyu to everyone, though, and beomgyu will never say it for fear of making you uncomfortable, but it makes his heart ache. he can't really blame you for not wanting to be tied to him, but that doesn't soothe the pain in his chest.

secret santa takes place without a hitch. that is, until you open up your gift, which is a necklace with a pendant of a silver sun, and it is revealed that soobin got it for you. it’s not the most expensive gift in the world, but it is uncommonly sentimental. many write it off as a pretty, but ultimately meaningless piece of jewelry, but beomgyu instinctively knows it’s because of how so much of you resembles the sun. how could he not understand? you’re warm and nurturing, but it’s unsettling to realize that you’re not his alone. he tries to tell himself that it's not the end of the world, but when soobin turns you around and gently clasps the necklace for you before smoothing out your hair, he can't help but feel like it is. that’s enough for him to excuse himself to his room, but you’re far too preoccupied with gushing over how much you love the gift to soobin to really notice. 

when he enters his room, he sits on the edge of his bed, placing his head in his hands with a groan. he shouldn't be feeling like this. he has no right to feel like this. you had already taken the time to explain that you and soobin are just friends, and you stressed that he’ll have to be okay with that fact if he wants to be with you, to which he eagerly agreed; but he can't help but think that it's only a matter of time before you come to your senses and leave him to be with soobin for good. 

you two aren't even technically official, and your hesitance to be classified as such to your closest friends only shows him just how much you want that to continue to be true. what if he's just a pit stop in yours and soobin's love story? that seems like the most likely outcome. he can just see it now, you and soobin laughingly recalling your tumultuous history to your future kids. is beomgyu being dramatic? probably, but that doesn't stop his mind from running wild. why would you choose to stay with him when soobin, who's been devoted to you since the beginning, is right there? 

the door to his room opens, and he whips his head up in hopes that it's you coming back to him, so he can't hide his disappointment when he's greeted by chaewon’s figure shutting the door behind her before she plops down beside him. his mood turns even more sour than it already was when he sees her.

“if you're here to laugh at me for how pathetic i am, i don’t want to hear it,” he says bitingly. she’s quiet for a moment, as if she’s digesting his words, before she nods.

“you’re right, you are pathetic,” she deadpans. his temper flares, but before he can lash out, she continues. “you look stupid just sulking here because your little girlfriend got attention from another man.”

“h-how did you kn—” 

“she may be subtle, but you definitely aren’t,” she snorts. 

“oh,” he defeatedly replies with a laughably crestfallen look.

“doesn't feel good, does it? seeing the person you love with somebody else,” she asks snarkily. “it’s one of the worst feelings in the world, if you ask me.” 

“and what the hell do you know about that?” he spits. chaewon is one of the most spiteful and bull-headed people he knows. he can't imagine her being too broken up about supposed unrequited love. 

“because that's how i feel when i look at the both of you,” she says matter-of-factly, as if she didn't just drop the bomb of the century. he knew that she was attracted to him, obviously, but he never knew her feelings ran any deeper than that. he sputters as he looks at her, but she cuts him off.

“i know you didn't know about my feelings, for real this time. i guess i'm a better actress than her, or maybe you just never cared enough to find out. whatever it is, i know it's hopeless, so you don't have to tell me.”

“i'm sorry,” he murmurs, but she just shakes her head.

“thanks, but your apology just makes me feel worse,” she scoffs. “i don’t need or want the pity of the most pitiful person in the world.” her words are undeniably harsh, but he can register the amount of hurt in them.

“i'm still sorry,” he says. “i know how you feel, and i know it's really hard. i'm sorry for never noticing.” his sincerity makes her calloused heart soften.

“yeah, it's hard; but for what it's worth, i think she loves you, too,” she tells him.

“i really hope so,” he replies with a sardonic smile before it melts into something more genuine. “thank you for telling me about your feelings. i'm sorry that i don't feel the same way, but i hope you find somebody who does.”

“thank you,” she says, more sincerely this time. “friends?” with this, she extends her hand for him to shake. he smiles at her gesture as he complies. 

“friends.” hesitantly, she pulls him into a hug. he’s stunned for a second before patting her back in reciprocation. he can’t love her, but he can learn to appreciate her, which he has never done, even with all of her help. maybe he’s becoming a better person because of you. 

as if on cue, the door opens the moment that thought is fully formed. he’s relieved to see you for the split second before he realizes how this must look to you. he madly breaks away from her in a haste.

“it's not what it looks like!” he exclaims, and chaewon tactfully rises and scurries out of the door before shutting it behind her, but you remain silent and rooted to your spot.

“i swear! it's really not what it looks like,” he says pleadingly as he stands and grabs your hands, which you promptly smack away. 

“i just fucking knew this would happen,” you spit. “i won't give it up to you, so you turn around and pull this shit — is that it?”

“n-no! seriously, we’re just friends! she told me that she had feelings for me, but i rejected her, and we said we would just be friends,” he desperately explains. “i swear to god i would never do that to y—” he wants to continue, but the way your shoulders shake as you put your head in your hands stops him in his tracks. 

he hurriedly embraces you as he hears muffled cries escape your lips.

“i’m so sorry, please don’t cry. it wasn’t what it looked like, i promise,” he says as soothingly as he can muster, but that doesn't seem to stop your tears. he feels more and more helpless as you continue to break down in front of him, so he resorts to saying whatever he can think of to calm you down. 

“i’m sorry, it’s all my fault. i never should’ve touched her. just don't cry, okay? i hate seeing you cry,” he whispers as he draws circles on your back, pressing you closer to him. after a while, your sobs die out and your breathing becomes more steady. 

“a-are you okay?” he timidly probes. you stare at him with eyebrows furrowed for a bit before you slightly nod. he purses his lips before continuing.

“are you going to leave me?” he whispers, and he regrets asking as soon as the words leave his lips. 

it's okay if you're only indulging him in this would-be relationship because you pity him. it's okay if he's just a pit stop in your love story with soobin. it's okay if he turns out to be nothing more than a momentary distraction from the actual love of your life, just as long as you stay with him for as long as you can stand it. why would he question his place in your life? why would he ruin a good thing by making you tell him to his face that you don't want him? he should've just waited for you to figure it out on your own instead of forcing you to confront the true nature of your feelings for him. 

when he’s met with nothing but your pensive silence, he speaks again.

“i-i’m sorry i asked. i, um, i understand,” he adds defeatedly.

“no,” you croak. 

“n-no? what do you mean by —” 

“no, i won’t leave you,” you declare, a little bit more confidently this time.

“you won’t?” he asks doubtfully, taken aback by this sentiment.

“do you want me to?” 

“no! i-i just can’t believe it. why would you stay with me?” 

“because i think you love me. do you?” 

“of course!” he exclaims.

“then will you show me? how much you love me, i mean?” you ask.

“h-how do you mean?”

you look up at him and pull him by his collar so his lips meet yours, and his eyes widen before he melts into the kiss. he feels like he’s floating as you move your lips against his, but he groans when you softly tug his hair, which allows you to snake your tongue into his welcoming mouth. that’s enough to replace the floating feeling with one of pure need. when you part, you're both gasping for air. 

“are you sure?” he seemed so lost in the feeling before, but he looks nothing short of timid right now, endearing you in a way you previously thought was impossible.

“yes.”

he gulps and guides you to his bed, firmly gripping your hand as if he’ll lose you if he doesn’t hold onto you. carefully, reverently, he begins to undress you, making sure not to be too rough, juxtaposing how crass he was the first (and last) time you two did this. when you’re fully undressed, he shamelessly takes the view of you in. you subconsciously feel embarrassed and start to cover yourself, and he gently, but firmly, takes your arms and pulls them away from your shivering frame.

“don’t hide from me. you’re beautiful,” he whispers, before ducking down and pulling you in for a heated kiss. it’s still gentle, but there’s more fire behind it than usual. eventually, he breaks away and quickly rids himself of his clothes, contrasting greatly with the tenderness he showed you as he took yours off. when he’s finished, he kisses you again. this time, though, he doesn’t just stop at your lips, and he trails hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck before he pushes you down onto the bed and finds his way down to your aching pussy.

he plants kisses on your open thighs until your legs are trembling and your core is glistening with anticipation. greedily, he takes one experimental, flat-tongued lick from your pussy and groans at your taste. he starts slowly — licking stripes until his movements become a series of alternating between this and more focused licks to your folds and clit. eventually, he takes one of his fingers and prods at your weeping hole before pushing it in to the knuckle. he curls and teases until he finds your sweet spot with little effort. 

“o-oh,” you sigh, but before you can get used to the feeling, he slides another finger in and repeats his movements, softly sucking on your clit as he does it. beomgyu tries to show restraint, he really does, but you taste so good that before long, he’s practically hammering his fingers into you while he licks and sucks on your lower lips. you’re no match for his skilled tongue, so you’re falling apart more quickly than you’d like to admit. you hold onto his hair for dear life, tugging a little harder than you probably should, but you’re in no state to control your harshness as you reach the end. 

“gyu, i’m gonna — oh, shit — i’m coming! i’m coming!” you cry as your legs buckle, tightening around his head against your will. he doesn’t pull away, however; he just lets you cage him in between your thighs as if he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world. as you come down, he laps up your cum and removes his fingers to directly stick his tongue in your clenching hole. you think you might have to pull him off of you due to overstimulation, but he (reluctantly) does it himself before you can quite get there. 

he makes no move to clean himself up, and his expression is one of pure bliss, as if you were the one who just gave him the best oral of his life and not the other way around. he pulls you in for a heavy kiss, and you taste yourself along with the sweetness that is beomgyu. he tries to be patient, but he can't help but frantically line himself up with your entrance, poking and prodding his tip against your still-spasming hole as he takes one of your hands into his own while using the other to guide himself into you. 

“is this okay?” he nervously asks. you nod. with a strained breath, he slowly begins to push into you. 

it's a struggle to push himself in, meeting resistance as you clench around him, pussy trying desperately to accommodate his length. your hand tightly grips his as you feel the almost unbearable stretch, and he soothingly caresses his thumb over your finger, shuddering as you take him in inch by inch. it feels even better than the first time, somehow — you're even warmer and wetter than before. with labored breaths, he tries to keep himself from coming early as he feels you contracting around him. when he’s finally completely sheathed in you, it's like puzzle pieces fitting together; things seem more right than they have since, well, the last time you two did this. you stay like  that for what must be a long time — just feeling each other in an act of pure intimacy as you both heave out labored breaths. 

“are you ready?” he whispers, and after a few seconds, you nod. he shakily pulls out, feeling your pussy struggling to keep him in, and takes a deep breath before piercing you in one fluid motion, scraping against your g-spot with ease. you whimper at the sensation as he pulls himself out before ramming back in again. 

“relax, baby. i know you can take me. you were made for me,” he says soothingly as he sets his pace. he tries to take things slowly, but it’s difficult when it feels like you’re sucking him in with every thrust. his words comfort you, and before long, you're melting into his touch.

“so good,” he groans as he repeatedly hits your cervix. “you’re so fucking perfect.” all you can do is moan in response, feeling so detached from reality that the only thing chaining you to it is the way he’s fucking you. your grip on his hand tightens until you’re sure his fingers are numb, but he makes no move to stop you. he even leans down to plant a kiss on your lips, which was meant to be mostly innocent, but it quickly devolves into your tongues and teeth clashing against  each other as he snaps his hips into yours. you feel more than full as he stretches you out and pounds into you so deeply, you feel him in your stomach. you can only be described as lightheaded as he hits the deepest parts of you relentlessly, and you feel yourself getting closer to your climax — causing you to let out an animalistic whine.

“shh, baby. i’ve got you. just let go, okay?” you have no choice but to oblige when he continues drilling into you. you couldn't stop even if you wanted to. it's only a few moments before your eyes are rolling backwards as you mercilessly clamp down around him. the feeling of you tightening on his length pushes him to his own end, and he moans out “oh, g-god, i love you,” while he spills himself into you, shuddering as he does it. you feel his hot cum flooding your insides, eventually leaking out of your aching cunt as he slowly thrusts it into you. you stay like that, just joined together, for a long while.

with reluctance, he pulls out of you. you're both silent as he collapses on top of you and mindlessly toys with your hair. 

“i love you, too,” you whisper.

“w-what?” he shoots up and stares at you in disbelief, scanning your face in earnest.

“you heard me,” you reply. 

“can you — can you say it again? please?” your purse your lips before responding.

“i love you, too.”

he doesn't mean for them to, but his eyes well up with tears. he grabs you and flips you on top of him before locking his arms around you. your head rests comfortably against his chest as he pulls you closer and closer, nuzzling his cheek onto the top of your head. 

“i can't believe this is real,” he whispers between his tears, and you can't stop yourself from smiling at the sheer amount of awe in his tone. “i'll be so good to you, you won't believe it.”

“okay,” you chuckle, in spite of yourself. what can you do other than believe him when he's so damn desperate? 

notes pt. 2: finishing this has most certainly been an uphill battle. i was writing like a few sentences a day for the longest time. still, i hope you all enjoyed this. i love you very much, my friends. also, please let me know what you thought about it (as long as it's not mean!)

taglist(s)

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for the hope of it all: @calssunflower @wildernessuntothemselves @pluslandminun @enhasrii @vixensss @pagetammgyu @tyongluvs @aduh0308 @11thenightwemet11

[tinyfantasminha]

Thoughts on Jack's dream(MASSIVE main story spoilers ahead)

JACKS DREAM got me by the thROAT bc the more I analyze it the more angsty it feels and I alreadfy sobbed n cried and I must SCREAAAAAAAAMMMMMMMMM He's dreaming of the magift tournament but basically if..... if Leona's plan never took place....... If Leona actually WERE the hero Jack has idolized...... 😭

First I gotta take note dosodkgkfdgjdfkghfdjk hOW JACK YEARNS FOR HIS SENPAI'S PRAISE AND AFFECTION 🥺🥺truly the epitome of loyal, puppy-like behavior..... It doesn't take much for him to be happy… He yearns for the respect and acknowledgement of those he admires. He craves respect and recognition, but not only that—he genuinely wants to see those he admires thrive.

Seems to me that what Jack longs for most is a sense of belonging within a pack. He’s not just devoted to those he holds in high regard; he also desires to be cared for in return (This becomes even more apparent when he asks Ruggie to act as a mentor or older-brother figure in his dorm uniform vignette.) Jack's actions reflect his innate wolf nature—a being built for connection, loyalty, and mutual protection. No matter how much he tells himself or others how he prefers to handle things on his own… We can clearly see that Jack is happier when he’s part of a team, fighting alongside companions who’ve got his back. It’s the dynamic balance of trust: to protect and be protected, to rely on others and let them rely on him in return. It deeply resonates with the essence of wolves.

We often hear the phrase “lone wolf,” an expression of grudging admiration. A lone wolf is often viewed as a rugged individualist, uncompromising and independent, driven to forge his own path, unfettered by the sentimental need for companionship. In reality, few people would ever want to live this way—and, as it turns out, few wolves would either. Wolves, males and females alike, may go through periods alone, but they’re not interested in lives of solitude. A lone wolf is a wolf that is searching, and what it seeks is another wolf. Everything in a wolf’s nature tells it to belong to something greater than itself: a pack. Like us, wolves form friendships and maintain lifelong bonds. They succeed by cooperating, and they struggle when they’re alone. Like us, wolves need one another. (source)

Which is why the factual reality cuts so deeply.

After Ortho wakes Jack up (in oUTER SPACE DKJGDSDKFJGKJS that was so adventitious but so cool.....) and Jack falls down like a meteorite (ALSO SUPER COOL BUT WTF.....) Fake!Leona and Fake!Ruggie rush to his side, Leona softly reassures him, saying it’s a relief he’s uninjured and advising him not to be so reckless while Ruggie says ''You're a promising rookie. Our treasure.'' (I started crying here.)

Jack breaks into a bitter, despairing laugh as the truth crashes down on him. The sincerity and warmth his “upperclassmen” showed in that moment? It wasn’t real. It never actually happened. Jack recounts his excitement when he first joined Savanaclaw, eager to fight alongside the dormmates he admired so much. He talks about how he had watched Leona’s play three years ago—over and over again, captivated by it. He reveals the painful truth of discovering their wicked plan, the frustration of being unable to snap them out of it, and the overwhelming helplessness that consumed him.

I gotta say, I'm SO HAPPY that Jack's feelings on the events of book 2 were finally properly addressed now (cause let's be real, book 2 uhh... did kinda a shitty job at this 💀 Neither the narrative nor the fandom really took the time to explore the emotional impact it had on him, which is such a disservice to his character.)

Think about it from Jack’s perspective. He was obsessed with Leona's play 3 years ago, watching it over and over again. In his eyes, Leona was a hero, someone worth idolizing to the point of projecting an idealized image of him: an earnest, hardworking, honorable leader. When Jack finally had the chance to join Savanaclaw and be part of the dorm he had admired so deeply, what was his reality? Ostracization, bullying and even physical violence from some of his dorm mates (as shown in Leona's dorm uniform vignette) And worst of all? Jack was met with his idol’s true, treacherous side—dirty tactics, underhanded schemes, and a willingness to harm others to achieve his goals. When Jack tried to confront them about it, he wasn’t met with understanding or respect. Instead, he was called a “filthy traitor” and a “spoiled brat”—by the very person he admired most. It’s a complete dismantling of everything Jack believed in, everything he worked for.

It's a shame the game and manga did not give enough weight to Jack’s feelings, (the novel seems to do a better job at it though) but now it’s clear just how much this hurt him. It wasn’t just a setback; it was a deep, personal betrayal that shook him to his core.

He’s only a first-year. Beneath his gruff demeanor and physical strength, Jack is still a boy—pure-hearted, earnest, and full of hope. All he wanted was to stand beside those he respected most but what he got instead was disappointment, betrayal, and rejection. To idolize someone so deeply, only to have that image crushed in the most personal, gut-wrenching way........ Savanaclaw doesn't deserve him 💔

.

,,,,okay forgive me to break the essay to talk about this but I'm going insane over the fact fake Ruggie ominously coos, ''Hey puppy-chan you're a good boy so come here.....'' UGHGHHHDSHNGDSHNDGSHHHnnnnhhHHHH HE IS BASICALLY SAVANACLAW'S UNOFFICIAL MASCOT,,,,,,, their loyal little puppy 🥺🥺🥺😭😭

fake ruggie and fake leona try to lure him in to sleep again, but Jack says he has no intention of fighting alongside fakes and defeats them 😌

And we get this utterly precious moment where Jack praises Yuu and Grim for having guts and persevering through everything and he PETS GRIM'S HEAD............ HE DIDN'T NEED TO COMFORT THEM BUT AWWAAHBBBAYYAWYWYHAWWABYWAWAYAA

I can't wait to see what role he'll play in Leona's dream 😌 Jack’s arc feels like it’s finally getting the weight it deserves… 🙏🙏🙏

[jaeyunluvbot]

i miss you, i'm sorry

genre/tags 𝟅𝟈 angst, exes to lovers, happy ending

word count 𝟅𝟈 5.3k

NOT PROOFREAD

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Your apartment felt too quiet, the kind of quiet that felt heavy on your chest. Felix stood in the middle of the living room, his hands in his hoodie pockets, his face unreadable. It was one of the rare times you couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and that scared you.

“You deserve better than this,” he said, voice soft but firm, tinged with an unfamiliar edge.

“I deserve you,” you argued, your voice cracking. Your hands trembled at your sides, and you didn’t know if it was from anger or heartbreak. Maybe both.

He shook his head, his lips pressing into a grimace as he avoided your eyes. “Y/N… I can’t give you what you need. I’m always gone, and when I’m here, I’m still not here. You’ve been patient, more than I deserve, but I see what it’s doing to you.”

Your chest tightened, and the tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over. “I’m not asking for anything else, Lix. I know it’s hard, but I love you, and I thought—” Your voice caught. “I thought you loved me too.”

“I do,” he said, and his voice cracked in a way that made your knees feel weak. “That’s why I’m letting you go.” You could see tears welling up in his beautiful eyes and that made you want to run to him even more, but you hold yourself back, not sure he’d even want you near him.

You watch as he grabs his backpack off the floor, sending one last look at you, sighing when you refuse to meet his eyes, “I’m doing this for you, Y/N, I love you too much to keep doing this to you.”

You finally look into his eyes and he feels his heart splinter into pieces as he sees your red-rimmed eyes, tears slowly falling down your cheeks, “if you loved me, you’d stay.”

He sighs once more and turns away from you, heading towards the door, “I hope you can move on and find someone better, I’ll send the guys to pick up the rest of my stuff later.”

You desperately want to grab him, to scream in his face that he’s hurting you more by leaving, but instead you watch him go, shoulders heaving as you struggle to breathe.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The sound of the doorbell pulled you from the haze you’d been lost in for the past week. For a moment, you debated not answering it. The idea of facing anyone felt unbearable, but the bell rang again, persistent and sharp.

With a deep breath, you wiped at your face, hoping to look somewhat composed, and opened the door.

It was Chan, Hyunjin, and Seungmin.

“Hey,” Chan said softly, his eyes scanning your face. His usual warmth was shadowed by hesitation, as if he didn’t know how to approach you in this state.

You tightened your grip on the door, leaning against it to steady yourself. “Hi.”

“We, uh… We’re here for Felix’s things,” Hyunjin said, his voice quieter than usual. He glanced over his shoulder, like he wanted to be anywhere else but here.

You nodded, stepping back to let them in. The apartment felt too big, too empty without Felix’s presence, even though his things were still scattered around. The members hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, their movements careful, almost reverent.

“Is he okay?” you asked, breaking the silence as they started packing his things into boxes.

Chan looked at you, his expression softening. “He’s… coping, I think. This wasn’t easy for him, Y/N.”

You laughed bitterly, crossing your arms over your chest. “Right.”

Hyunjin stopped mid-step, his eyes flickering between you and Chan. Seungmin nudged him gently, silently urging him to keep packing.

“It’s not like that,” Chan said gently, setting down a stack of books. “You know how much he cares about you. He just… he really thought he was doing the right thing.”

“The right thing?” you echoed, your voice rising. “By leaving me? By letting you all pack up his stuff, he can’t even face me, won’t even give me a say in ending our relationship?”

Chan’s shoulders sagged, and for a moment, he looked as lost as you felt. “I tried to talk him out of it,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “We all did. But he wouldn’t listen. He thought you deserved better.”

“Better,” you repeated, shaking your head. Tears stung at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “He doesn’t get to decide that for me.”

No one had an answer for that, and the silence that followed felt suffocating.

Hyunjin was the first to break it, his voice soft. “For what it’s worth, Y/N… he looked just as broken as you do right now. Maybe more.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to turn away before they could see the tears spill over. “Just… take his stuff and go.”

Chan hesitated, but eventually nodded. “We’ll be quick.”

As they carried out the boxes, you couldn’t bring yourself to watch. Instead, you stared out the window, focusing on the city skyline in the distance. It wasn’t until the door clicked shut behind them that you let the sobs escape, your chest heaving as you crumpled onto the couch.

Somewhere deep down, you wanted them to tell Felix how broken you seemed. Maybe then he’d realize that this “better life” he wanted for you didn’t exist without him.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Felix thought throwing himself into work would dull the ache.

Rehearsals became his only reprieve, every movement, every beat, an excuse to avoid the hollow pit in his chest. He stayed at the studio later than anyone else, perfecting choreography that didn’t need perfecting, re-recording verses that were already flawless. The other members noticed, of course they did—they weren’t blind.

“Lix,” Chan said one night, watching Felix push through yet another round of dance practice. The rest of the group had gone home hours ago, but Felix stayed, drenched in sweat, his breaths coming in short gasps as he went through the routine again.

“What?” Felix snapped, the sharpness in his tone unusual but expected.

Chan frowned but didn’t press further. He could see the exhaustion in Felix’s eyes, the weight he carried every time someone mentioned your name.

On stage, Felix was the picture of professionalism, his radiant smile masking the storm raging inside him. Fans screamed his name, but every cheer felt empty. He told himself it was for the best, that this was what you deserved—a version of him you didn’t have to suffer through.

But at night, when the noise died down and the hotel rooms felt too quiet, he’d reach for his phone out of habit. Your contact name stared back at him like a wound that refused to heal. He couldn’t delete it. He couldn’t let go, even though he already had.

Felix watched your Instagram, knowing you’d unfollowed him, but he still scrolled through your old posts, searching for pieces of the life you were living now. The last thing he wanted was to see you suffering because of him, but even the thought of you smiling without him sent a fresh wave of pain through his chest.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

If Felix was drowning himself in work, you were drowning in everything else.

Your days blurred together—wake up, force yourself out of bed, put on a happy face for your friends. Nights were worse. They were quiet, and the emptiness left too much space for your thoughts.

You told yourself not to look. Don’t check his Instagram. Don’t search his name on Twitter. Don’t go down the rabbit hole of fancams and updates from the tour. But your resolve never lasted.

Every night, you found yourself scrolling through endless pictures and videos.

The first time you saw him on stage, glowing under the lights with that smile that had once been yours, it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. You stared at the screen, taking in every detail—his expression, his energy, the way he interacted with fans. He looked happy.

But he wasn’t, was he? You knew that smile better than anyone. You could see the cracks if you looked hard enough.

“Y/N, you have to stop,” your best friend said one night, catching you mid-scroll. “This isn’t helping you.”

You nodded, wiping at your eyes and setting your phone down. But it didn’t stop. It was a habit you couldn’t break, a lifeline to the person who’d once been your everything.

You replayed your last moments with him over and over, the way he avoided your gaze when he said it was over. The way his voice broke when he told you that you deserved better.

Better.

You weren’t sure what that even meant anymore. All you knew was that you felt worse every day, no matter how hard you tried to rebuild your life.

Even hanging out with friends felt hollow. You laughed, you smiled, but your heart wasn’t in it.

Because no matter how far you tried to move on, a part of you was still stuck in that apartment, watching the love of your life walk away.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

A few months later, the tour was over. Months of grueling travel, sold-out arenas, and sleepless nights had finally come to an end. For the first time in what felt like forever, the members of Stray Kids stepped into the familiar comfort of home.

But for Felix, it didn’t feel like home.

The others were buzzing with excitement, already talking about their plans—family visits, long naps, or eating meals they’d missed during the tour. Felix stayed quiet, dragging his suitcase through the apartment like a ghost.

Chan noticed, of course. He always did.

“Hey, man,” he said softly as Felix sank onto the couch, staring at his phone. “You alright?”

Felix nodded without looking up. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Chan didn’t push, but his frown lingered. Felix hadn’t been the same since the breakup, and no amount of screaming fans or bright lights had been able to fix that.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You hadn’t noticed they were back.

You’d stopped checking their social media, stopped asking mutual friends about Felix, stopped torturing yourself with glimpses of a life you were no longer part of. It had taken months, but you’d learned to keep your distance. Deleting most of your social media apps had been the first step to begin healing from your pain.

It wasn’t that you didn’t miss them. You did. The boys had been like family to you at one point. But being around them would only open wounds that had barely started to close.

When your phone buzzed that afternoon, you hesitated before picking it up.

It was a text from Hyunjin.

Hyunjin: Hey, we’re back! I was thinking maybe we could grab coffee or something? I miss talking to you.

You stared at the message, your heart twisting. You wanted to respond, to say you missed him too. But you couldn’t.

You set your phone down and ignored it.

A few hours later, another text came through.

Chan: Hey, Y/N. Just wanted to let you know we’re home. Hope you’re doing okay. Let me know if you need anything.

This one was harder to ignore. Chan had always been like an older brother to you, someone you could count on no matter what. But replying meant opening a door you’d worked so hard to close.

Your phone buzzed again, this time with a call from Jeongin. You let it go to voicemail.

“Did she reply?” Hyunjin asked, leaning against the counter as Chan checked his phone.

Chan shook his head. “No. I don’t think she will.”

Jeongin frowned, flopping onto the couch. “It’s weird, isn’t it? She used to always be around. It’s like… she’s just gone now.”

“She needs space,” Seungmin said simply, though his tone carried an unspoken sadness.

Felix sat silently in the corner, his phone clutched in his hands. He hadn’t reached out—not yet. He knew you wouldn’t respond. Why would you? He was the reason everything had fallen apart.

“She’s doing what she needs to do,” Chan said, though even he looked unsure. “We can’t blame her for that.”

Hyunjin sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I just… I feel like we lost her too, you know? Not just Felix. All of us.”

The room fell quiet, the weight of the unspoken truth settling over them like a heavy blanket.

Felix finally looked up, his voice barely above a whisper. “She deserves to be happy. Even if it’s without us.”

No one responded, but the silence said enough.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Your friends had insisted you show up to this date, practically dragging you to the salon earlier that day. “You need this,” they said, their voices full of determination. “It’s time to move on.”

So, there you were, sitting across from a genuinely kind guy named Daniel at a fancy restaurant, your hair perfectly styled, makeup flawless, and a little black dress that had you feeling confident for the first time in months.

Daniel was sweet, polite, and easy to talk to. You learned he’d just gotten out of a long-term relationship too—his ex had left him, and while he was still nursing the sting of it, he was trying to move forward.

You bonded over heartbreak and the awkwardness of starting over. He made you laugh with his dry humor and clever commentary on the overly pretentious menu.

But as much as you liked him, something was missing. No spark. No butterflies. Just… nothing.

You were halfway through dessert, smiling politely as Daniel shared a story about his college days, when your phone buzzed on the table.

“Sorry,” you said, glancing at the screen. The number was unfamiliar, but something in your chest tightened. “I should take this.”

“Go ahead,” Daniel said, gesturing for you to answer.

You pressed the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Y/N?” a professional voice asked. “This is ASAN Medical Center. We have a patient named Lee Felix admitted earlier today. You’re listed as his emergency contact.”

Your heart dropped, the words hitting like a punch to the stomach. “What? Is he okay? What happened?”

“He’s stable, but we recommend you come in. We can explain more when you’re here.”

You nodded, even though they couldn’t see you. “I—I’ll be there.”

Hanging up, you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Daniel’s concerned expression cut through your spiraling thoughts.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

You shook your head, grabbing your purse. “It’s… complicated. I’m really sorry, but I have to go.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, smiling gently. “Family emergency?”

“Something like that,” you muttered, standing up. You reached for your wallet, but Daniel stopped you.

“Don’t worry about it. Just go.”

You hesitated, then gave him a small, apologetic smile. “Thank you. And… you’re a great guy, really. But I think we both know this isn’t meant to be.”

Daniel chuckled, nodding. “Yeah, I felt that too. Go take care of your person.”

The phrase hit harder than it should have, but you didn’t have time to unpack it. You thanked him again and rushed out of the restaurant, your heels clicking loudly against the polished floors.

The taxi ride to the hospital was a blur. Your mind raced with questions, fears, and the nagging ache in your chest that you hadn’t been able to shake since the breakup.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The drive felt like it had taken hours, and by the time you reached the hospital, your hands were trembling, and you weren’t sure if it was from fear, anger, or something else entirely.

The fluorescent lights in the hospital hallways buzzed faintly as you followed the nurse toward Felix’s room. The air was sterile, cold, and too quiet, amplifying the pounding of your heart in your chest.

You felt like you might be sick. Every step felt heavier than the last, memories of Felix flooding your mind. The way he’d smile at you like you were his entire world. The way he’d whispered sweet promises  in the quiet of your shared moments. And the way he’d broken your heart when he told you he wasn’t good enough.

The nurse stopped outside a door, her face kind but indifferent. “He’s in here,” she said softly before stepping away.

You stood frozen, staring at the closed door. Your breath came in shallow gasps, and your stomach twisted painfully. Why am I even here? you thought. But you knew the answer—because even after everything, you cared. You always had, and probably always would.

After a moment of gathering your courage, you pushed the door open.

The sound of the door caught their attention immediately. Chan was seated in a plastic chair near the bed, arms crossed, while Felix was propped up against the pillows, pale and tired but unmistakably himself.

Both their heads whipped toward you.

“Y/N?” Felix’s voice was weak, his eyes wide with shock. “What are you doing here?”

“The hospital called,” you explained, still standing in the doorway. “They said you were admitted, and I’m… I’m still listed as your emergency contact.”

Chan frowned, standing up. “We didn’t expect—”

You cut him off, smiling softly, but clearly a little hurt. “I just… wanted to make sure you weren’t alone.”

Felix looked down, guilt flashing across his face. “I—sorry. I should’ve removed your name. That was selfish of me.”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, brushing his apology aside. “I just needed to know you were okay.”

His eyes flicked back to yours, scanning your face as if searching for something. “You look… good.”

The compliment caught you off guard, and you shifted uncomfortably. “Oh, thanks. I was kind of on a date.”

Felix froze, his expression crumbling before he masked it. “Oh. I—” He stumbled over his words, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry for… interrupting your night.”

“It’s fine,” you said again, this time more curtly. “But now that I know you’re not alone, I’m probably going to go.”

You turned to leave, ignoring the tight feeling in your chest and the weight of Felix’s gaze on your back.

You were halfway down the hall when you heard someone call your name. Turning, you saw Chan jogging to catch up with you. His face was serious, his eyes tinged with urgency.

“Y/N, wait,” he said, stopping just in front of you.

“What, Chan?” you asked, your voice sharp, your emotions fraying. “What could you possibly want to say to me right now?”

He hesitated, then spoke in a rush. “Please. Don’t let him go.”

You blinked, his words not registering at first. “What?”

“You heard me,” Chan said, his voice quieter now, but no less urgent. “He misses you. I know he does. He’s been miserable this whole time, Y/N.”

Your stomach twisted. “Are you serious right now? He’s the one who ended things. He’s the one who said I deserved better. How can you ask me to fight for something he didn’t even want to fight for himself?”

Chan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “He thought he was doing the right thing. He thought he was protecting you. But he’s realized how wrong he was. I’m begging you, just… talk to him. Please.”

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes. “I don’t know if I can. You don’t understand how much it hurt, Chan. How much he hurt me.”

“I know,” Chan said softly. “And I’m sorry. But I also know Felix, and I know he loves you. He’s just scared. And if you walk away now, I don’t think he’ll ever forgive himself—or me—for letting you go.”

You hesitated, his words gnawing at the walls you’d built around your heart.

“Just talk to him,” Chan pleaded. “If nothing else, you deserve to say what you need to say. Please.”

After a long moment, you exhaled shakily. “Fine. I’ll talk to him. But don’t expect anything, Chan.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” he said, relief washing over his face. “Thank you.”

With trembling hands and a storm of feelings swirling in your chest, you turned back toward Felix’s room, unsure if you were ready for what came next.

You stepped back into the room, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest. Felix looked up, his eyes widening when he saw you. He was startled, as if he hadn’t expected you to come back. Chan shot you a quick glance, then slipped out silently, leaving the two of you alone.

The door clicked shut, and the tension in the room was suffocating. You crossed your arms, standing by the door, unsure where to start.

“Why?” you finally said, your voice harsher than you intended. “Why now?”

Felix blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

You laughed bitterly, taking a few steps closer to the bed. “I mean, why are you doing this now? After months of silence, after breaking me into pieces and leaving me to pick them up on my own, why now? Why drag me back into this?”

He looked down, fiddling with the edge of the blanket draped over his lap. “I didn’t mean to drag you into anything,” he said quietly. “I didn’t even know they’d call you. But seeing you here…” He swallowed hard, his voice breaking. “It just made me realize how much I miss you.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You miss me? That’s rich, Felix. Where was that when I was crying myself to sleep every night? Where was that when I begged you to stay, when you left me?”

He flinched, your words hitting him like a slap. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” he murmured, his voice filled with regret.

“The right thing?” you repeated, your voice rising. “The right thing would’ve been to fight for us! But instead, you gave up, Felix. You left me.”

His hands clenched the blanket, his knuckles white. “I know,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “I know I hurt you, and I hate myself for it. But I thought I was protecting you. I thought you deserved someone who could give you more than I could.”

You shook your head, tears blurring your vision. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been for me? How much it hurt to see you everywhere and know I wasn’t part of your life anymore?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was wrong. I miss you, Y/N. I miss everything about you. And the thought of you with someone else…” He looked up at you, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “It kills me.”

Your heart clenched, but you forced yourself to stay firm. “You don’t get to say that, Felix. You don’t get to come back now, when I’ve finally started to put myself back together, and tell me you miss me.”

“I know,” he said, his voice desperate. “I know I don’t deserve a second chance. But I can’t go another day without trying. I love you, Y/N. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

You looked away, his words cutting through your defenses. “Do you know how hard it’s been for me to even think about moving on?” you said, your voice trembling. “I was starting to feel okay again. And now you’re here, saying all of this, and I don’t know what to do with it.”

Felix pushed himself up slightly, wincing but determined. “I know it’s unfair,” he said, his voice stronger now. “But I’m asking you to let me make it right. I can’t promise it’ll be perfect, but I swear I’ll do everything I can to make you happy. Just… please.”

Your chest heaved as you struggled to keep your emotions in check. Part of you wanted to walk out and never look back, to protect yourself from more heartbreak. But another part of you, the part that still loved him despite everything, wanted to stay.

“Do you mean it?” you asked, your voice barely audible. “Do you really mean it this time?”

Felix’s gaze was steady, unwavering. “With everything I have.”

Silence hung between you, heavy and charged. Then, finally, you let out a shaky breath. “If we do this again,” you said, your voice firm, “you don’t get to run. No more deciding what’s best for me without talking to me first. We fight for it, no matter how hard it gets. Got it?”

A tear slipped down Felix’s cheek, but he smiled—a real, hopeful smile. “Got it.”

You sighed, the weight on your chest easing ever so slightly. “Okay. Let’s try again.”

Felix reached for your hand, his touch warm and familiar. And for the first time in months, you let yourself hope.

You don’t end up going home that night, falling asleep in the hard plastic hospital chair, only waking up when the nurses knocked softly on the door to let you know that Felix was free to leave.

The two of you take a cab to your place, immediately crawling into your bed together, the memories held in your apartment no longer feeling like a crushing weight over you, but a reminder that the two of you can work it out.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

masterlist.

[this-lovely-universe]

Lore Drop/Open Starter/who knows: Throw a punch

Finley & Anastasia

(I got a little carried away here and accidental wrote more then an open starter

anyways if you don't want to read the writing part, just skip to the *** and the open starter starts there)

It was a peaceful day, surprising.

Finley and Anastasia were just sat out the front of the Chaos cabin together, as they normally were.

It was a nice moment. Until it wasn't.

A girl had come up to them. "Are you Darrel Baird's daughter?"

Anastasia immediately tensed. "sadly."

"Why the hell would you lie about him? He did nothing wrong."

"Why the hell would you just come up to her and say that?" Finley asked, standing up.

"No one asked your opinion, you-"

"I suggest you think before you speak." Anastasia spat.

"Oh please, no one finds you intimidating." The girl sneered.

"Do you want to get punched?"

"Fin that's really not-"

"Oh yes, it is. You know it."

The girl rolled her eyes. "You gonna answer the question, Annabelle?"

"That's not my name and you know it."

"Sorry, Anaya."

Anastasia took a breath. "Whatever my father is spewing on his twitter account is bullshit."

Finley put a hand on her shoulder. "You don't have to tell her this." She whispered.

Anastasia smiled weakly at her. "It's fine."

"You sure?"

"Would you two stop whispering about me? I'm right here." The girl crossed her arms.

Finley rolled her eyes. "It literally wasn't about you."

"Oh yeah, sure. That's as truthful as what you said about your father."

"Would you mind your business?" Anastasia asked her.

"It is my business." She defended.

"How?" Finley eyebrows furrowed.

"Oh whatever, you clearly just want a fight." Anastasia gently pulled Finley's arm. "Come on, Fin."

The girl threw something at Anastasia's head. "Don't walk away from me, you useless sack of-"

She didn't get to finish her statement before Finley had punched her straight in the face.

"What the hell is your problem?!"

"Finle-"

The girl glared at her for a second, holding her nose, before punching her back.

She stumbled back, before smacking her head on the stairs.

"Finley!" Anastasia, crouched next to her as Finley groaned.

The girl, having probably realised what she'd done, ran.

Anastasia paid her no mind, just looking at Finley.

"Shit- you're bleeding." She said shakily. "Come on, just stay awake and I'll get you to the infirmary."

"It's not that bad." She sat up.

"Finley, it is- woah, slow down!"

She blinked the dizziness away. "It's-"

"Finley Morgan Zavala, if you say it's fine right now, I will tie you to a cot." She slowly pulled her up and put some of her weight on her.

Finley huffed, but struggled to not let Anastasia take care of her. "Fine."

"Good. Come on, you need patching up."

***

Anastasia came into the infirmary, helping a bleeding Finley.

It wasn't anything serious, nothing some ambrosia couldn't fix, but Anastasia looked one comment away from losing her shit.

"Can you help?" She asked.

"Anastasia, this is the fucking infirmary." She groaned.

more Annie and Fin content yippee

I can't tell if it's good or shit

oh well, it's here for the vibes

@arisdaughter @childofthewargod @dianedantedominic @theorphicforest

@this-rose-has-thornes @ithacas-prince @daonedaonlyskh @hispanic-child-of-hermes @aria-pane @unhinged-waterlilly

@chaos-pers0nified @ariathemortal @i-was-never-sane @gaygirldoodles @smileyalater

@if-i-could-cry-i-wouldnt @hellincarnation

If you want to be added, removed or if I forgot to tag you, let me know :)

[pressplay-if]

Well, I was pleasantly surprised. I really identified with the MC; I also struggled with social anxiety, and I had a long-term friendship that was entirely built around our mutual mental struggles. When I started to improve, my friend tried to drag me back down because she was afraid of "losing me." I really liked the way you approached this topic; I love how you write and the respect you show for these issues. Also, I absolutely love Angel, and I can’t wait to have more moments with him! <3

Bts, sorry if my English sounds a bit off—it’s not my native language... Anyway, I’m excited for the next update! ^^

Hey hey don't worry about the English at all. I understood perfectly well! Btw it's not my first language either 😉

Friendships built in/around dark times in life are volatile and a lot like time bombs... I would know. So I'm glad you approve of my approach to this whole situation. The one thing I got to clarify is Zima, at the time, didn't willingly/maliciously drag down MC. They were a kid that didn't know what to do with their love and felt the one person they wanted to receive it slipping away.

[thewitchblue]

"What are you doing?"

Damian asked you as you bandaged his wounds from patrol. You were knelt in between his legs with all the various medical supplies needed on a nearby table. You raised an eyebrow at him.

"Tending to your wounds? Giving Alfred a break from fretting over you?"

He pursed his lips at your sarcastic questions before clarifying,

"Why are you kissing the bandages?"

You looked confused for a moment before remembering nobody ever kissed his wounds or really even bandaged him. He was required to learn his own first-aid.

"My family kissed the bandages to 'seal the wound.' It's a stupid way to wish for you to get better soon."

Damian seemed hilariously sceptical about the tradition, but you continued to kiss each wound despite his confusion. He wouldn't say it, but he secretly savoured each kiss. The location didn't matter. Every injury location got a kiss and a loving smile. He said after a few more kisses,

"You don't have to kiss my wounds."

You gave an acknowledgement hum, before you said,

"Well, I want to. You are going to be dealing with this for as long as I'm yours. You deserve the love, my heart."

You gave his hands kisses. He tsked to hide his embarrassment. He had never experienced this before. This was the first time you offered first-aid after a mission. You figured it would be simple after watching Alfred do it for months.

Damian frowned but allowed you to continue. He was still not used to your overwhelming unconditional love and all the warm fuzzy feelings that come with you around even after a year of dating. You were the first one to make the move and the first one who continues to guide him through the world of love.

"I suppose I'll allow it."

He grumbled. You both could tell he wasn't disgruntled in the slightest. He was just acting grumpy in front of his family as a defence mechanism. He had no family to fight with before he was brought to his father's and still struggles with making ties. He struggles to trust his family, which you both are working through together. He struggles at times to feel familial love after going so long without it. Jason, his most common enemy, is in the area, cursing at every stitch Alfred put along his ribs.

Damian snickered slightly. It was a completely avoidable wound. Todd was sloppy in his defence, and Damian was too far away to deflect the blade. Jason asked gruffly,

"What are you laughing at, demon?"

You gave Damian a look that told him to play nice, but he didn't want to. You tightened your grip on his thighs to prevent him from moving towards Jason. Realistically, there was no way you'd be able to hold him back, but it was a reminder to stay still. Damian relaxed back under your hands, but he still wanted to bicker, so he replied coldly,

"If you weren't such a reckless oaf, you wouldn't be in this situation."

You gently wrapped your arms around him, which made Damian tense momentarily. He felt bad for not letting it go for your sake, but he wanted to defend his actions. Jason snickered now. He mocked,

"Are you on a leash now?"

Damian debated for a long moment to cut off his hands for daring to insinuate you are holding him back. You've been nothing but supportive and loving.

His hands twitch at his side, nearing his sheathed sword, but you took his hands in yours to prevent him from drawing his sword.

"He's not worth it, my heart."

He clicked his tongue in annoyance, but he relented. He didn't want you to see bloodshed over a sibling fight. He said,

"He's not worthy of my blade anyway."

You kissed him quickly and squeezed his hands lightly to show your gratitude for him dropping the metaphorical and literal sword. You always were good at calming him down while still making him feel like he wasn't broken for falling apart or exploding in anger.

He tried to fight off his smile, but he couldn't when he looked at you. He loved you with his entire heart. He's not one for PDA, but he was content with quick kisses and holding hands.

"You really are on a leash."

Jason snorted an amused laugh at his own words. Damian didn't particularly care that others knew how much he loved you. It was obvious to everyone. Damian scoffed and said,

"It's not a leash. It's called being loved, something you don't experience."

Jason looked ready to argue further, but Alfred gave them a disapproving glare that made them both shut up and drop the topic. You wrapped your arms around him.

"I love you."

You whispered it like a secret between you two with a growing smile on your face. Damian rolled his eyes at your antics. You are no secret. You are his, and he is yours. He grumbled as he pulled you to his chest,

"I love you, too."

[dorabellingham]

Drunk Call

warning: alcoholic beverages, being unconscious

characters: jude x reader

summary: when you call him in the middle of the night because you haven't gotten over the breakup

may contain spelling and translation errors!

It was a silent night in Madrid and Jude was sitting on the sofa in his apartment, his eyes fixed on the television, but not really paying attention to what was playing. His mind was somewhere else, or rather, with someone else. You. Since the breakup, things had never been the same for him. He knew he needed to move on, but how? When everything around him seemed to have your memories embedded in it? The sound of his cell phone interrupted his thoughts. He looked at the screen. It was you. His hand hesitated for a moment before answering, his heart pounding in his chest.

—Y/n?

His voice came out cautious, almost fearful.

—Jude... —Your tone was slurred, tearful, unmistakably drunk. —Please, don’t hang up.

He sat up straighter, a wave of worry taking over him.

—Y/n, what’s going on? Are you okay?

—No... —You sobbed, and he felt the lump in his throat tighten. —I... I'm horrible. I can't do this anymore. I can't live without you, Jude.

His heart sank. He wanted to tell you that he felt the same way, that every day without you was a constant struggle. But he knew you weren't in the right state to hear that right now.

—Where are you?

He asked, trying to stay calm.

—At home... —You laughed humorlessly. —Alone, as always. Honey... can you come? I know I shouldn't ask this, but...

He was already grabbing the keys before you could even finish.

—Stay there, okay? I'm going.

When Jude got to your apartment, the door was already unlocked, which only increased his concern. He walked in and found you sitting on the floor in the living room, holding a half-empty bottle of wine and with your eyes red from crying so much.

—Y/n...

He approached slowly, kneeling in front of you.

You looked at him, your eyes watering, and suddenly started laughing.

—You came. I can't believe you came.

—Of course I did. —He put the bottle aside and held your face in his hands. —What's happening to you?

You shook your head, tears starting to flow again.

—I'm broken, Jude. I know I was the one who broke up, but... I didn't know it would be like this. I didn't know it would hurt so much.

He swallowed hard, feeling the weight of your words.

—Sweetie, you're drunk. We should talk about this when you're better.

—No! —You held onto his shirt, almost as if you were afraid he would disappear. —I need to say this now. Jude, I love you. I've always loved you, and I was an idiot for thinking I could live without you.

Your words hit him like a punch to the chest. He loved you. He always had. And hearing it from you now, even in that state, made everything inside him want to scream that he felt the same way.

—Y/n...

He started, but you interrupted.

—You can hate me. You can ignore me tomorrow. But today, Jude, please, just hold me.

He couldn't resist. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tight, as if he could protect you from all the pain you were feeling. You cried against his chest, sobbing, as he ran his hand through your hair.

—I never hated you. —He whispered. —Not for a second.

You pulled away just enough to look at him, your eyes shining with a mix of sadness and hope.

—Then stay... just for today.

Jude nodded, unable to deny you anything at that moment. He helped you up and took you to the bedroom, where you lay down, still holding his hand as if it was the only thing keeping you on the ground.

—Will you be here when I wake up?

You asked, your voice trembling, before closing your eyes.

He squeezed your hand gently, feeling a new wave of emotions rise within him.

—I’m not going anywhere, Y/n. I promise.

And that night, as you slept, he stayed by your side, watching you, fighting his own demons and wondering if, perhaps, you could still have a future together.

part 2?

[russellius]

2024 VEGAS GP : P1

Q: (Ben Hunt – Autosport) Two questions. First one: George, can you just confirm if you jumped in the fountain or not? I see you've got wet clothes.  GR: No, I really wanted to do it, but I was so cold after the race, I thought, like, I'm going to get super ill and this time last year I actually caught pneumonia and I was ill all the way into mid-February after Vegas and Abu Dhabi. So I was like, you know, in the moment I really wanted to do it, but then I was thinking back to the struggles I had this time 12 months ago because it's such a toll on the body. It's from all the champagne, to be honest, why I was soaking wet.

[weirdsht]

Helooo :ppp

Would it be ok if we get more yan!cale. He makes me so thirsty dawg... 😞 Crazy scenarios will always be on top. Like what if they find out the reader has a weak ass heart (me) and reader's been fighting with them against war since like forever

Recuperation - Yan!Cale/Reader

a/n: i swear you guys took a peek at my notes and forced me to write prompts i've been procrastinating. this and that other req about isekai reader has been on my notes rotting. also i'm working on it but i'm still struggling to write yanderes

tags: reader's gender not specified, yandere Cale, confined reader, hints of gaslighting and manipulation

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Buy Me Dessert

Navigation Masterlist

First, it started for hours, then it became days. Days turned into weeks, and before you knew it you have been confined in your room for months now. It’s not like you’re imprisoned inside your room, at least that’s what Ron tells you, rather, it’s for your safety.

You try to understand their point of view, you really do. But man does it get boring and tiring really fast. Especially when you know that the rest of the group is out there, adventuring everywhere.

It wasn’t like this from the start. You used to be part of the missions Cale leads. Used to practically not see the underground manor as you were too busy running here and there. In fact, before that day you used to be the person Cale trusted the most when it came to infiltration.

Then everything changed when you suddenly felt lightheaded before a mission.

“You okay?”

Cale asked as he looked at you with that nonchalant yet caring gaze of his. You held out your hand, asking him to give you a moment before answering.

“I’m fine, I just felt lightheaded for a moment. Probably because things had been so hectic lately.”

Your lover nodded and continued his preparation. However, he made sure to monitor you closely as he was still worried.

Turns out his concerns aren’t unfounded.

One simple lightheadedness turned into full-on dizziness. Then while on the mission you felt more out of breath than usual. You were also sweating more when the work wasn’t even that strenuous.  

You were showing clear signs that you were sick so everyone silently agreed to wrap it up quickly. And you were thankful for that because you barely managed to hold on while finishing the mission.

After that, you fainted and that’s when everyone started coddling you.

“Ron until when must I stay here?”

You looked at the old servant with pleading eyes. Of course that blasted geezer only smiled at you like he always does.

“The young master already told you that you are free to leave your room.”

With that usual calm and composed poise of his, Ron poured tea for you as you finished the last of your dinner. You took the teacup with grateful hands but still flashed a frown at his response.

Both of you knew that was not the answer you were looking for.

“Let’s ask Saint-nim to take another look at you when they come back and we’ll decide from there.”

The answer only made you frown more because you already knew that being as healthy as before is almost impossible. 

And so you tried to control your temper. Logically, you knew that it would only make your condition worse. Could trigger your heart to become erratic once more.

Nevertheless, a part of you has had enough. You felt dead, you felt envious of everyone else being busybodies while Cale wouldn’t even let you outside your room without a servant following your tail.

“We all know that won’t do anything! I already promised I would take better care of myself, why won’t any of you listen to me!? I’m tired… I’m sick and tired of being here! I feel so incompetent, it’ll be better to let me die in the Forest of Darkness!”

At the end of your shouting session, you were heaving and clutching your chest. Ron, already expecting this merely took the necessary measures to take care of you. As he does a knock sounded on the door before it opened revealing Cale Henituse himself.

He entered your room as if he owned the place, well he does but the point stands, and sat down on the side of your bed once Ron was done.

“I could hear you shouting from the stairs. I told you not to get worked up, it’s not good for you.”

That handsome face of his frowned before kissing your forehead. Still angry, you turned your head away from him. Cale’s frown deepened slightly but he let it go, he's not going to stoop so low that he’ll fight a patient.

Ron cleans up before leaving the room, creating privacy for you and your partner.

“How did tricking White Star go?”

You grumbled silently, still concerned about everyone’s welfare.

“It took longer than expected but we had fruitful results.”

“Everything could’ve been done faster if you allowed me to join the war.”

Cale didn’t answer for a few moments. Opting to caress your hair instead. It was as if he was gathering his thoughts. Trying to think of the best way to make you understand his side.

“You’re concerned, I understand… but this is jarring my love. I cannot keep living like this.”

As Cale can’t seem to find the words, you let him know that you understand.

“You won’t I promise, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Cale let’s go of your hair to caress your cheeks instead. Each stroke of his hand conveys the concern he carries with him every day. He can’t help but worry even though you are in the safest place he knows of.

“So please just bear with it. Just until you stabilize or until we can find a solution of some sort.”

You nodded and that was the end of the conversation as you dozed off thanks to your lover’s doting. It didn’t take long for you to fall into a deep sleep as your heart finally calmed down.

When Cale noticed you were sound asleep he tucked you in before pressing a kiss in your temple.

“I’m not so cruel that I will imprison you, but I do need to find a way to monitor you no matter where you go. Need to make sure that you will be safe at every step.”

Cale stood up from your bed so he could turn off the lights.

“So just until I’ve planted people all over this world and beyond, please patiently wait.”

He walks towards the door to go to his. Usually, he and the kids would sleep with you, but you need some quality rest so they’ll do that another time.

“I’m doing all of this for your safety after all.”

With that, he shut the door behind him. Leaving you inside the little cocoon he has created for you. Unaware of the bloodbath he has been causing in the name of keeping you safe.

[gayferrari]

okay i am coming to you as carlos fan who loves charles to my core (he is my soul sister!!!) but only ever roots for him for ferrari reasons, trying to see this from charles fans pov how is anything that happened tonight carlos’s fault and not just ferrari’s fault… like i try to be critical and i love to shit on carlos when he is stupid (bc he is stupid a lot) (for example spain24 i fear i am not on his side there) but ferrari fucked carlos over so bad today with his pit stop like i truly believe the thing that happened with charles was more of a fuck you to ferrari and not anything to do with charles at all so like i get why charles fans are upset but… i don’t know again would like to hear your thoughts on tonight

DISCLAIMER VIEWS MY OWN (as in. I don't speak for all Charles fans and probably not even a majority of them about this. and I enjoy it when athletes are petty and angry and grudgy and let out their ugly sides)

my first takeaway is that it's truly not that deep. Like, yeah, it's race day emotions are running high but so are the emotions of the guys in those cars. they're gonna get out of the car, calm down, shower, go on with their lives, and not think half as hard about this stuff as fans do, and some fans will remain upset for far longer than their blorbos will ever remember this. I think it is good to keep in mind before getting worked up

what happened: [regardless of garage 55 brainfart moment] Charles was ahead before the pit stops. At the pit exit, Bryan told Charles that Carlos had been told not to fight him and he should just focus on tyre temp instead of defending; Carlos went ahead and overtook him anyway. (That's when Charles said "Next time tell him in Spanish") Later, when Max was right behind Carlos and Charles was trying to overtake Max, Carlos was really slow. Like, there's speculation on reddit that he was feeding Max DRS <- not saying it happened (WE will never know) BUT he was slow enough that other people went "Wait this is weird," and his frustrated teammate would have noticed. If EYE was fighting for the wcc and I even suspected my teammate put someone else between the two of us (costing the team points) to protect his individual race, I would also go off about it. Regardless of whether it's true. Again! Not saying this is what happened and we will never know, but earlier in the race Carlos was definitely told not to overtake, and did it, and between the two of them he's the one with a history of ignoring team orders.

EYE (tumblr user gayferrari) have my own opinions. nuance button. I don't think you should get a gold star for being a "good teammate" or that following team orders is always the right thing. But CHARLES clearly values it, and in the past he's actually put his money where his mouth is and pulled his weight even when it cost him individual points, and I can understand he'd go on a heated tirade for 4 seconds when he's high on adrenaline. I don't think any of this should be a big tell about Charles's personality, team dynamics, his relationship with Carlos or whatever. I think he just spoke without a filter for a couple seconds, and I believe in taking these kinds of radio moments with a big pinch of salt. I'm gonna RPFy the shit out of this because I am on f1blr to have fun not to get angry. But I don't agree Charles was mad at the team, it was a very much "other side of the garage" kinda moment.

(*) note also that Carlos was told to swap with Charles earlier and DID do that, but after a few laps / because he was struggling with pace + very early on, when Charles dropped P2 -> P4, he was the one who spontaneously brought up letting Carlos pass because he knew he was struggling. So they both had moments where they were collaborating this race. I'm bringing this up for completion's sake, like, yeah Carlos swapped when asked even if late! But he also overtook when told not to

I hope this clears it up! Again, it's MY view that it's not that serious because we all choose how to enjoy sports and I'd much rather get angry about other things I feel matter more, and leave the petty drama as RPF fodder. But everyone enjoys sports differently so I can't speak for others

[sk-touchthesun]

It has been a bit over a month since the first time I watched Dead Boy Detectives and I now have watched it from start to finish four times. Oops. I don't know how that happened—I certainly wasn't prepared for this level of love for a series.

Since I haven't really been in any fandoms or tumblr in, like... ten years or whatever, I wanted to write about why I fell in love with Dead Boy Detectives when I saw the series for the first time. I don't know if anyone's interested in reading a long-ish post, but in case you are, buckle up because this is going to be pure love and positivity from start to finish. It's mainly about Edwin and Charles, though.

I started watching the show without any background information and never having seen the Sandman either. I rotate streaming services and it was Netflix's turn. I read queer fiction quite a lot and watch queer movies and series as a hobby, and remembered someone mentioning Dead Boy Detectives.

The beginning on the series was intriguing enough already, but it was during this scene that I knew I was going to watch the entire thing:

This leads me to the reason I love the series so much: the carrying force of the story is the love Edwin and Charles have for each other, be it platonic or romantic. I'm a sucker for themes like found family and being loved as your authentic self because that's something I crave. I have always been more or less lonely because of social anxiety and struggling with social situations. Perhaps that's why stories containing those themes have such a profound effect on me each time.

Of course, the way the series combines elements of horror and comedy with heartwarming and wholesome sweetness is delightfully refreshing in itself. Dead Boy Detectives kept me glued to the screen so that I finished it in a day the first time I watched it. However, the characters are what makes the show so brilliant. I think the cast in general is phenomenal, but it's the love between Edwin and Charles that I felt most while watching.

This obviously is where I have to praise George Rexstrew and Jayden Revri for their acting. I think it's largely thanks to them that I love Edwin and Charles so much. Their characters' chemistry and the fond way Edwin and Charles interact with each other in the series is something I felt viscerally right from the beginning. It's obviously ingrained in the overall plot, but the love can also be felt in the smallest gestures. How many shows do you have where your favorite character dying is one of your favorite moments in the series because it's so sweet? (I'm sure you can deduce my favorite character from this...)

Personally, I also think that George Rexstrew and Jayden Revri's acting is particularly spellbinding during the moments their characters break down and show raw emotion. In an odd way the characters' suffering is what makes episodes like The Case of the Devlin House and The Case of the Very Long Stairway so brilliant. The characters' emotions during their most vulnerable moments are so tangible.

I know there has been talk about how season two would look like if the series was revived, and honestly, I think there's one crucial thing that should be kept as it is or the entire thing would be ruined: the carrying force of the show being that Edwin and Charles are willing to do anything to not to get separated.

I can't see any universe where someone becomes more important to the two main characters than what they're to each other. Charles says that Edwin is the only person he'd go to Hell for. We know how Edwin feels. The love is there already. If either of them had a long-lasting romance with someone else, the love interest would get two with the price of one. Equally important? Well—possibly. Love isn't finite. More important? Never.

I'd like to see Edwin and Charles get together, though. They're like an old married couple already and I can't imagine them being together with anyone else in the long run. At least the first season left things open enough for interpretation, with the cancellation and all.

Last but not least, it's a bit crazy that I only saw the show for the first time a bit over a month ago and was ready to splurge on a cameo. It was my birthday during the gameoden week and I got a birthday message! It was very sweet and has cheered me up ever since. I'm not sharing it here because I feel it's a bit personal with my birthday and all, but I loved it.

In case you ended up reading all this, thanks for reading my love letter for the show and the characters and the actors!

[eponymous-rose]

Some (many) thoughts on Arcane s2 while it's still fresh in my mind:

(tw: discussion of fictional depictions of suicide)

I'm gonna do some nitpicking here, but only because I really did like it overall - I think for me s1 was a solid 10/10 and this season was an 8.5/10, so I'm certainly looking forward to rewatching it! The animation was a big step up from s1's incredible work, the music was great, the performances were fantastic. I do think the overall writing/story fell down a bit, though.

It's weird, because my go-to when character arcs feel rushed is to want more episodes, but I don't think that necessarily would have solved my issues with this season.

Cait turned on Ambessa on a dime - we love to see it, but I think we maybe needed a few more overt hints of her discomfort with her position, maybe a sense of wrongness in their adoptive relationship and some parallels with Jinx & Silco given what Vi says early on ("why are you the one acting like her?"). Ambessa believes her daughter to be lost, and Cait has lost a mother - they were certainly playing on that substitution, but the eventual turn, while fun, felt a bit quick and unearned. I saw someone joke about the word "Cupcake" flipping Cait back like a sleeper agent, but that's kinda how abrupt things felt.

I think Mel's plot largely hung together okay, although it was pretty disconnected from everyone except Ambessa - would've loved to have seen some acknowledgement that Cait was filling her shoes as Daughter for a while there.

Isha was sweet and I liked the parallels with the Powder-Vi relationship (LOVED Jinx running with the pink chalk and Isha with the blue), but I think the sacrifice metaphor got a little muddled. The parallels with Powder charging in and killing everyone around her, versus Isha charging in and saving everyone but herself felt a little forced and I struggled to see how they served the greater narrative. The whole point of Powder's failure was a messy combination of bad luck, overcompensating for what she perceived as a lack of confidence in her, etc. Isha had Jinx's confidence on her side, I guess, and now of course we have the foreshadowing of Jinx dying to save someone else, which she's been trying to do since Act II.

Suicide was a pretty heavy concept throughout the first season. We had the parallels of Jayce and Viktor, we had the little-remarked-upon moment where Viktor hesitates before cutting the wire on Jinx's bomb. I actually think this season did pretty well with those two (although I'll talk about a couple things that irked me below), but the concept that we can't escape the things that we've done and we instead have to find salvation in those around us felt kind of contrary to Jinx's finally finding a way to die for her sister. I don't know that Jinx's story was necessarily supposed to feel satisfying or complete, but without another season there's not much to dig through there.

And that brings up the main reason I don't think more episodes would have resolved my quibbles with this season: it was pretty prone to overexplaining. To me, one of the most exceptional things about that first season was how little it explained. You had these gorgeous, evocative flashes of Vander trying to kill Silco, Silco stabbing him and fleeing into the night, and that's all we needed! That's it! We didn't need to know the specifics, we didn't need more backstory than that - the whole point of the season was that these kids are trying to make their own stories, and these guys have set the stage and are in the process of bowing out. Much as I loved the glimpses this season into the past generation's adventures, it felt like it was pinning something down that was more effectively left to the imagination.

There were also some weird fumbles with discussions of disability, especially in that last episode. I loved so much of what season one did with it - the older generation of Zaunites almost all had some form of disability due to the way they'd been systematically poisoned and their constant exposure to danger, and that was a really in-your-face way to challenge the early "why can't we all get along" stuff. And so much of Viktor's and Jayce's arcs are tied in with the sense of time running out and how Heimerdinger's long-term goals are incompatible with helping the people suffering right now. But instead we get this weird "you didn't like your imperfections so you tried to eliminate all imperfections", which doesn't quite ring true.

We just fundamentally didn't get to a resolution that I think was heavily implied, especially in Act II. "No one in power is innocent" is a great, raw line, but we didn't really see it play out. Instead, we have everyone stopping from othering each other in order to band together against an even bigger Other. As a side note, I don't think that Sevika's ending is meant to be a positive thing - we see from the skeptical looks of others that she's got a long road ahead. The revolution we saw coming just sort of fizzled out, and I think it's still on the horizon, which makes things feel incomplete.

There were also a lot of notes that repeated instead of echoing or harmonizing. We had variations on the theme of Vander dying three different times. We had Vi being unable to kill her sister several times. The repetition felt a bit like it was filling time instead of moving things forward the way s1's plot kept pushing.

This season is also the first time I felt the hand of League of Legends Canon shoving the plot into place. We knew Vi was heading for that enforcer uniform, but after the initial conflict it sometimes felt more like we just unlocked a new skin for the character. The Vander-as-Warwick stuff was kind of silly and out of left field, although it was executed pretty well and certainly pulled at the ol' heartstrings. Ekko getting his time abilities was fun and impacted the final fight, but I feel like we were missing something there as well that I'm having a harder time putting my finger on. Some of Viktor's lines felt designed to make the League players in the audience go "HE SAID THE THING". And I hate the feeling of setting up the Next Installment in the Cinematic Universe, probably just because I'm exhausted with Marvel stuff - I'd love for an adaptation like this to be able to really and truly stand on its own.

Overall, it just felt less like the characters were driving the story and more like they were ticking off boxes, which is just something that any good finale has to contend with one way or another.

Anyway, that's a lot of nitpicking. Fundamentally, this felt almost like it was a really strong fic that did a surprisingly good job of wrapping everything up and was stunningly put together in places... but still lacked the spark of the original.

Stuff I loved: Vi/Cait getting a pretty strong arc and certainly the first lesbian sex scene I've ever seen in a TV-14 cartoon. Animation and score was stunning. I did love the what-if of episode 7 - something I've been waiting for them to acknowledge is that literally everything that happens in the show follows from that one break-in during episode one. I actually think Vi and Jinx's reunion and reconciliation felt earned.

I'm curious how I'll feel on subsequent rewatches - the first time I watched s1, I remember being blown away but not in a "this is the best thing ever" way, and it wasn't until the second time that it really clicked for me.

[estellan0vella]

My Very Own Speed Demon: K.S Kim Seungmin x fem!reader (College AU)

WC: 15.5K

CW: Seungmin is bad at feelings, talks of a guy making reader uncomfortable with touching, Mechanic Student Seungmin, Hyunjin is a bit of an ass

General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

The sun sinks lower, painting Miroh College in golden hues as shadows stretch lazily across the almost-empty parking lot outside the engineering building. The faint hum of machinery fades into the evening air as Seungmin steps out, rolling his shoulders with a slight groan. His black shirt hangs open, the silver chain on his chest catching the light with every movement. He wipes his slightly greasy hands on a rag stuffed into his back pocket, his boots scuffing against the pavement as he heads toward his car.

But something halts him. A few rows down, parked like a relic from a cooler era, is a 1977 Datsun 280Z. The hood’s popped open, and standing in front of it is you.

You’re bent slightly over the engine, your phone in one hand as the other gestures vaguely toward something under the hood. A quiet sigh escapes you as you tilt your head, clearly deep in a YouTube tutorial. The sunlight plays off the chain belt draped around your waist, your layered necklaces, and the flutter of your blue maxi skirt. A loose strand of hair brushes against your face as you mumble softly to yourself, brows furrowed in concentration.

Seungmin slows, lips twitching into a barely restrained smirk. “Fuck me,” he mutters under his breath. You’re cute. And absolutely lost. Before he realizes it, his curiosity gets the better of him, and he strides toward you.

When he’s close enough to see the way you’re squinting at your phone like it holds the secrets of the universe, he clears his throat. “You’re looking at the wrong engine model.”

You jolt like you’ve been shocked, nearly dropping your phone as you whirl around. Your wide eyes meet his, and your voice comes out breathy, startled. “Shit, you scared me!”

Seungmin raises his hands in mock surrender, the silver rings on his fingers glinting. His smirk deepens. “Sorry, sorry. I just couldn’t help noticing you looked like you were fucking struggling.”

Your cheeks flush, but you huff out a laugh despite yourself. “Yeah, well. I don’t know jack shit about cars, so I’m improvising.” You gesture toward the duct tape crisscrossing random parts of the engine. “This seemed like a good idea at the time.”

Seungmin leans closer, eyebrows raised as he inspects the tape job. “Jesus Christ. That’s a lot of duct tape.”

“Duct tape works,” you insist, crossing your arms in a half-defensive, half-sheepish posture.

He straightens up, deadpan. “How’s it working for you right now?”

Your lips twitch, trying not to laugh. “Okay, point taken.”

He snorts, rolling up his sleeves as he steps closer to the car. “Mind if I take a look? Because this thing isn’t running without some proper help. And no offence, but I don’t think YouTube’s got you covered.”

You hesitate for a moment, then sigh, stepping aside. “Go ahead. I’d appreciate it. Just, please don’t tell me it’s completely fucked.”

He leans over the engine, peering into the mess of parts. “Probably just your spark plug. Maybe the alternator if you’re really unlucky. But this? This is salvageable.”

You lean against the side of the car, watching him as he works. The way his fingers move over the parts, quick and sure, makes you feel a little less panicked. “The grease on your face tells me you’ve done this before, so I have faith in you"

Seungmin glances at you, smirking. “You should probably raise the bar for what counts as a ‘professional mechanic.’ But yeah, I’ve worked on cars since I was a kid and I'm a mechanics student. You’re in decent hands.”

“Well, considering I almost called Hyunjin to come save me, you’re already a fucking upgrade,” you admit with a small laugh.

He freezes for a split second, looking up at you. “You know Hyunjin?”

“Yeah,” you say, tucking your phone into your bag. “We’re supposed to be working on this art history project together. He’s going to fucking kill me for being late.”

That earns you a quiet laugh as Seungmin wipes his hands on his rag. “You’re meeting him at the Alpha Phi house?”

You blink at him in surprise. “Wait, you’re in Alpha Phi?”

He shrugs, leaning casually against the car. “Yeah. I'm Seungmin. I live there with him and the other idiots.”

A grin tugs at your lips. “I'm Y/N and Hyunjin's mentioned you. Mostly just complains about you being soulless.”

Seungmin snorts. “Sounds about right.” He glances back at the engine, then at you. “Hate to break it to you, but this car isn’t going anywhere until you replace the spark plug. You’re fucked for tonight.”

You groan, pressing a hand to your forehead. “Of course I am. That’s just perfect.”

“Hey,” he says, his tone softening slightly. “I’m heading home anyway. Why don’t you let me give you a ride? It’s either that or you haul your ass across campus alone.”

You hesitate, biting your lip as you weigh your options. “Are you sure? I don’t want to bother you or anything.”

Seungmin tilts his head, his voice calm but teasing. “What kind of dick would I be if I let a pretty girl with good taste in cars walk all the way to campus alone?”

“The same kind of dick as most of the guys on this campus?”

He bursts out laughing, shaking his head. “Well, they’re all assholes. I’m not.”

That gets a real laugh out of you, and you push off the car. “Alright, fine. Let me grab my bag.”

As you fall into step beside him, he shoves his hands into his pockets, glancing at you sideways. “So, art history, huh? What’s the project?”

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s on Tudor art. Specifically how Anne Boleyn’s image was erased after her execution. Hyunjin’s handling the movement and symbolism stuff.”

Seungmin groans, rolling his eyes. “That tracks. Hyunjin loves overanalyzing the fuck out of everything. Half the time, I think he’s just making shit up to sound smart.”

You laugh softly, your steps matching his as the two of you head into the twilight.

The drive to the Alpha Phi house is unexpectedly comfortable, considering you’re riding with a guy you’ve known for all of ten minutes. Seungmin’s Honda Civic smells faintly of coffee and motor oil, and the faint hum of the engine is almost soothing as it cuts through the winding streets of Miroh College. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, curious about this sharp-tongued yet oddly chivalrous stranger. He’s relaxed, one hand gripping the wheel while the other rests on the gear shift, the silver rings on his fingers glinting in the muted streetlights.

Seungmin breaks the silence first, his voice dry but not unkind. “So, why a 280Z?”

You blink, his question catching you off guard. “What do you mean?”

He flicks his gaze toward you briefly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth before his eyes return to the road. “It’s a cool car, sure. But let’s be honest—it’s a high-maintenance pain in the ass. And judging by your duct tape situation earlier, I wouldn’t peg you as the ‘engine whisperer’ type.”

You laugh softly, your fingers fiddling with the bracelets on your wrist. “Okay, fair enough. I’m not exactly a mechanic. But it was my dad’s car. He restored it when he was in college, and it’s been in the family ever since. It’s sentimental, you know?”

His smirk softens into something more genuine, and he nods. “Yeah. I get that.”

The car falls into a comfortable quiet again, broken only by the soft buzz of the engine and the occasional sound of tires crunching over the asphalt. The two of you fill the gaps in the silence with casual conversation. You complain about campus parking, and he counters with a running list of the best parking spots he’s commandeered over the years. 

He mentions a coffee shop near the library that’s cheap but “doesn’t taste like watered-down pretentious-cunt water,” and you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity. When you bring up how much you love late-night drives, his face lights up just slightly, and he shares how he used to drive aimlessly to clear his head when shit got overwhelming.

By the time he pulls up in front of the Alpha Phi house, its massive white columns glowing in the night like some over-the-top temple to chaos, you’re almost disappointed that the ride is over.

The house looms ahead, loud even from the outside. Someone’s yelling from the second-floor window, and you catch a glimpse of a guy leaning halfway out, waving his arms. “For fuck’s sake, Chan, shut up and come back in before you fall!” someone shouts from inside.

Seungmin just shakes his head, exhaling sharply as he pulls into the driveway and cuts the engine. “Every day, I wonder why the fuck I still live here,” he mutters under his breath, grabbing his keys.

You step out of the car and sling your bag over your shoulder, smoothing your skirt as he leads the way up the wide, creaky steps. The faint light from the porch lamp glints off the chain around his neck as he digs into his pocket for the keys.

“Hyunjin’s probably upstairs,” he says, unlocking the door with a practiced ease. “You’ll hear him before you see him.”

The door creaks open, and the chaos of the frat house spills out into the night. Inside, the space is somehow both clean and a complete disaster. The floors are clear of clutter, but the mismatched furniture in the living room is piled with discarded hoodies, random solo cups, and what looks suspiciously like a pair of boxers. A giant flat-screen TV blares some football highlight reel, and the faint smell of beer, sweat, and something burnt lingers in the air.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say quietly, taking a tentative step inside. The house feels like it’s pulsing with energy—voices shouting, footsteps pounding, someone laughing like a maniac in the kitchen.

Seungmin shrugs, brushing past you toward the noise. “No problem. Hyunjin’s room is upstairs, last door on the left. Just tell him I didn’t kill you or anything.”

You smile a little at that and nod, heading toward the stairs. The wooden steps creak under your Converse, and the sounds of the house get louder with each step. Behind one door, someone’s blasting music—something heavy and bass-driven. Behind another, you hear what sounds like a heated debate about the “existential meaning” of SpongeBob.

Finally, you reach the last door on the left. You knock softly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you wait.

“Come in!” Hyunjin’s voice booms out almost immediately, loud and theatrical as always.

You push the door open to find Hyunjin sprawled dramatically on his bed, his long limbs draped across the comforter like he’s auditioning for some avant-garde art piece. He’s shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants that hang dangerously low on his hips, and his golden hair is messy in a way that looks too good to be accidental.

“Took you fucking long enough,” he says, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. “I was about to start working without you.” His eyes land on you, and then narrow slightly. “Wait—how the fuck did you even get here? Did you walk?”

“No,” you say, stepping into the room and closing the door behind you. “Your friend Seungmin gave me a ride. My car decided to fuck me over in the middle of the engineering lot.”

At the mention of Seungmin, Hyunjin groans, flopping back onto his bed like the mere thought of his frat brother is exhausting. “Of course he did. Bet he was an absolute cunt about it too, wasn’t he?”

You laugh softly, setting your bag down on the chair near his desk. “He was actually pretty nice. Surprisingly helpful, considering the duct tape situation.”

Hyunjin snorts, propping himself up on his elbows. “That asshole’s full of surprises. Don’t get used to it, though. He’s usually too busy being a sarcastic dick to help anyone.”

You smile faintly, settling into the chair and pulling out your notes. “He’s not that bad.”

“Trust me,” Hyunjin says, grabbing a notebook from the floor and flipping it open. “You haven’t known him long enough yet. Give it time.”

The two of you fall into an easy rhythm, the chaos of the house fading into the background as you dive into your project.

Seungmin steps into the kitchen, popping the tab on a cold beer before leaning against the counter. The sound of the aluminium can hissing open is barely audible over the general buzz of conversation. He takes a long, quiet swig, hoping for just a moment of peace. But when he lowers the can, he immediately notices it. Six pairs of eyes fixed on him like vultures circling a fresh carcass.

Minho, Felix, Jeongin, Changbin, Jisung, and Chan sit scattered around the dining table, their expressions ranging from smirking amusement to outright glee.

“So,” Chan starts, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms like he’s conducting some kind of frat house tribunal. “She was cute.”

Seungmin raises an eyebrow, playing dumb. “Who?”

“You fucking heard me,” Chan replies, his smirk widening. “The girl. The one who came in your car.”

Minho snickers, lazily spinning a pen between his fingers. “Yeah, I saw her. Very your type. You into hippies now?”

Felix immediately elbows Minho in the ribs, his voice sharp with mock outrage. “Shut the fuck up, Minho. She wasn’t a hippie; she was hot.”

Seungmin groans, tipping his head back and muttering to the ceiling like it might spare him. “Here we fucking go.”

“You don’t just offer a girl a ride unless there’s something there,” Jeongin cuts in, his grin pure mischief as he leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head.

Seungmin shoots him a glare. “Her car was busted, and it was getting dark. What was I supposed to do, leave her there to get mugged or some shit?”

Jisung raises a hand like he’s in class, his grin borderline feral. “Counterpoint: You’re totally the guy who lets people fend for themselves because you’re too busy being a soulless bastard”

Changbin chuckles, lifting his can in a mock toast. “Be honest. You didn’t give her a ride because you’re a nice guy. You did it because she’s hot, right?”

Seungmin takes a slow, deliberate sip of his beer, his patience thinning with every word. When he sets it down, he exhales sharply. “From an objective standpoint, sure. She’s, objectively speaking, good-looking. I can admit that.”

“‘Objectively,’” Jisung parrots, squinting at him. “Why the fuck do you keep saying it like that?”

Jeongin smirks, leaning forward with his chin resting on his palm. “Because our boy here doesn’t know how to handle the fact that he just lived a fucking meet-cute.”

Seungmin rolls his eyes so hard he’s surprised they don’t pop out of his skull. “I don’t know her. I gave her a ride, that’s it. The end. Stop making this a fucking thing.”

“Yet,” Changbin drawls, grinning like he’s cracked the code. “You don’t know her yet. But you could.”

“This isn’t a fucking fanfiction,” Seungmin snaps, slamming his beer down on the counter hard enough to make the others laugh. “Alright? This is real life. She’s not some pixie dream girl who’s gonna change my fucking world or whatever.”

“Relax,” Jisung says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “We’re just saying it’s a possibility. You’ve got the whole oil-smeared, black-on-black, moody mechanic thing going for you. Girls eat that shit up.”

“Exactly,” Jeongin agrees, nodding sagely. “She’s probably already imagining you fixing her car shirtless in slow motion. Hell, I’m imagining it.”

“Fucking gross,” Seungmin deadpans, shaking his head as the table dissolves into laughter.

Chan raises an eyebrow, his voice mockingly serious. “You’re saying there’s no chance, none at all, that she might’ve been a little into you?”

Seungmin stares at him, his tone flat. “Zero. I’m the asshole who told her duct tape isn’t a real fix and then made her leave her car in the lot. Really romantic.”

“That’s your version,” Felix says with a grin. “Her version is probably all, ‘Oh my God, this sexy, grumpy mechanic saved me and then gave me a ride in his cool car.’”

“It’s a Honda Civic,” Seungmin mutters.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jisung replies. “You’re a walking Wattpad trope right now.”

Seungmin sighs heavily, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You’re all idiots. I helped her out because it was the right thing to do. That’s it.”

But as their teasing fades into background noise, Seungmin can’t help the way your face lingers in his mind. The way you’d smiled at him, soft and sweet, like you weren’t sure if you were supposed to but couldn’t help it anyway. The way you’d laughed when he’d called you out on your duct tape fix, not defensive, just genuine. And the way you’d looked so at ease in the passenger seat of his car, your hair catching the light from the streetlamps as you told him about your dad’s 280Z.

He shakes his head, pushing the thoughts aside. This is nothing. Just a pretty girl who needed a ride.

At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself as he finishes his beer and listens to his friends laugh.

The autumn sun bathes the campus in golden light, shadows stretching across the cobblestones as Seungmin strides toward the café. The crunch of fallen leaves under his boots echoes in the crisp air, his every step purposeful but unhurried. His black compression top clings to his frame, the fabric outlining his shoulders and arms. The silver chain against his chest catches the light as he shifts the strap of his bag, his fingers absently toying with the chunky rings that gleam on his hand.

He spots the café ahead, its tables littered with students hunched over laptops, sipping steaming cups of caffeine. His plan is simple. Grab coffee, kill some time, and enjoy the rare peace between classes. But as he rounds the corner, the sight of you freezes him mid-step.

You’re standing near the entrance, your sage green blouse slipping slightly off one shoulder, the delicate strap of your bra peeking out. Layers of necklaces glint against your skin, and your chain belt sways with every tiny shift of your weight. You’re smiling, polite but clearly uneasy, as a Sigma Chi douchebag looms too close. His navy sweatshirt emblazoned with the frat’s oversized logo makes Seungmin’s lip curl immediately.

“You’re such a fucking tease, you know that?” the guy sneers, his voice dripping with mockery.

Your polite smile falters, but you hold your ground, your tone gentle despite the venom aimed at you. “I’m sorry. I just don’t think—”

“Bullshit,” the guy cuts you off sharply, his voice rising. “You were sweet as fuck at the party, all flirty and cute. Now you’re ghosting me like I’m some fucking loser? What the fuck is that about?”

Seungmin’s jaw tightens. The guy’s posture, leaning in with fake bravado, makes his blood simmer. You’re too nice, too soft-spoken, trying to defuse the situation instead of telling this idiot to fuck all the way off. Not on Seungmin’s watch.

“Hey, Y/N!” Seungmin calls out as he strides toward you.

Your head snaps to him, relief flashing across your face. “Oh! Hi, Seungmin!” The brightness in your voice is unmistakable, and you take a step toward him, only for the Sigma Chi asshole to block your way.

The guy sneers, glancing between you and Seungmin. “Kim Seungmin? Really? You’re ditching me for this fucker?”

Seungmin’s boots crunch loudly against the gravel as he closes the distance. His sharp eyes narrow, and his voice drops, calm but laced with menace. “Got something you want to say, Sigma Chi?”

The guy stiffens but holds his ground, though the confidence in his sneer wavers. “Yeah. I’m saying she’s ditching a real man for some emo mechanic wannabe. That about cover it?”

Seungmin tilts his head slightly, his lips curving into the faintest smirk. “Funny. You sound like a lot of talk for someone who’s about five seconds away from having their teeth kicked in.”

The frat guy falters, glancing around to see if anyone is watching. Seungmin steps closer, his boots scraping loudly against the pavement, and lowers his voice. “Walk away, asshole. While you still have a choice.”

The guy scowls but backs off, muttering something about “fucking losers” under his breath as he storms off. Seungmin watches him go, the tension in his posture easing only once the guy is out of sight.

“Fucking dickhead,” he mutters before turning his attention back to you. “You alright?”

You nod, your fingers fidgeting with the bracelets on your wrist as you take a steadying breath. “Yeah. I didn’t know how to get him to leave without making it worse.”

“You don’t have to,” Seungmin says simply. “Guys like that don’t deserve your time. Next time, just tell him to fuck off.”

You laugh softly, though it’s tinged with a bit of nervousness. “Easier said than done.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he says, his voice lighter now, though the edge of protectiveness hasn’t left. He tilts his head toward the café door. “Come on. Let’s get coffee before some other Sigma Chi asshole shows up.”

You fall into step beside him, the warmth of the café greeting you as you step inside. The scent of fresh coffee and pastries wraps around you like a blanket, and the low hum of conversation fills the space.

“Grab a seat,” Seungmin says, gesturing toward the tables. “I’ll order.”

You choose a small table by the window, your nerves finally settling as you watch him at the counter. He exchanges a few quick words with the barista, his tone casual but confident, and a few minutes later, he’s making his way back to you with two drinks in hand.

He sets a cup in front of you before sliding into the seat across from you. “Chai latte,” he says. “Figured that’s more your speed than straight black coffee.”

You blink, pleasantly surprised. “How’d you know I like chai?”

He shrugs, smirking faintly as he takes a sip of his own drink. “Lucky guess. You just seem like the type.”

You chuckle, wrapping your hands around the warm cup. “Well, thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Least I could do,” he says, leaning back in his chair, his silver rings tapping lightly against the ceramic mug. “That guy was a fucking disaster.”

You trace your finger around the rim of your cup, your voice soft. “He wasn’t always like that. We just didn’t click, and I thought he’d understand, but I guess not.”

Seungmin snorts, setting his drink down with a small thunk. “Yeah, because entitled shitheads like him don’t take rejection well. They think they’re God’s gift to the world and lose their shit the second someone disagrees.”

You smile faintly, though there’s a sadness in your eyes. “I just try to see the good in people. Maybe that’s stupid.”

He watches you for a moment, his eyes softening. “It’s not stupid. It’s just risky. Too many people out there are assholes, and being nice doesn’t mean they’ll stop being assholes.”

You nod, taking a sip of your latte and you glance up at him with a small smile. “Well, I’m lucky you were there.”

“Damn right, you were,” he says with a smirk. “Seriously, though. If some other dick tries that shit, call me. I’ll handle it.”

You raise an eyebrow, teasing. “What, glare them into submission?”

“Exactly,” he deadpans, taking another sip of his drink. “It’s a very refined technique.”

You laugh, the sound light and genuine, and the tension from earlier melts away completely. Seungmin surprises you with his dry humour and blunt honesty, and before you know it, the conversation flows easily, dipping into random topics and shared complaints about campus life.

When you finally leave the café, the sun has dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the quad. Seungmin walks beside you, his hands shoved into his pockets as the two of you approach the main campus intersection.

“You heading to class?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you reply. “Art history in ten.”

He nods. “Workshop for me. Another day of fixing shit that some moron broke.”

You laugh softly. “Sounds riveting.”

“Oh, it’s a fucking thrill,” he replies with a faint grin.

At the intersection, you pause, turning to face him. “Thanks again, Seungmin. For everything.”

He nods, his expression softening. “Anytime. Just don’t let assholes like that ruin your day, alright?”

You smile warmly, your voice quiet but sincere. “I’ll try.”

With a small wave, you head off toward your class, and Seungmin watches you go, the sound of your footsteps fading into the autumn breeze.

He shakes his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips. You’re sweet, soft-spoken, and far too good for this world. And somehow, you’re starting to get under his skin.

The Alpha Phi house looms ahead as you walk up the driveway, your oversized portfolio folder tucked under one arm. The autumn breeze toys with the hem of your blue maxi dress, making it swirl around your ankles as you climb the steps to the front door. Stray strands of hair escape from the clip holding them back, brushing against your face as you adjust the strap of your bag and shift the weight of the folder. Your mind is focused on Tudor art, Anne Boleyn, and the mountain of work you need to finish before tomorrow—definitely not on how chaotic the frat house is probably about to be.

You knock lightly on the door and step back, waiting. The sound of heavy footsteps grows louder before the lock clicks, and the door swings open to reveal Seungmin, barefoot, in grey sweatpants slung low on his hips and a white t-shirt clinging to his damp frame. A towel hangs loosely around his neck, his dark hair tousled and still wet from a shower. The sight is so effortlessly casual yet striking that it catches you off guard, and for a second, you forget why you’re even here.

His sharp gaze flicks to the massive portfolio folder you’re holding. “Jesus Christ,” he deadpans, leaning against the doorframe. “That thing’s almost as big as you.”

You huff a soft laugh, shifting the folder to rest it against your hip. “Well, Tudor art’s got a lot of depth. It’s heavy, literally and metaphorically.”

Seungmin’s lips twitch into a faint smirk. “Right. Deep. Heavy. Bet it’s still more entertaining than the shit Hyunjin tries to call art.”

You grin, your voice light as you step past him into the house. “Oh, it’s profound. Intricate. Emotionally moving. You’d love it.”

The house, predictably, is chaotic but lively. There’s the faint sound of a video game coming from one of the rooms down the hall, the kitchen smells faintly of burned something, and a pair of sneakers is inexplicably hanging from the banister. You glance around, searching for any sign of Hyunjin.

Seungmin notices your scanning gaze and rubs the back of his neck. “About that,” he says, his voice edged with mild irritation. “Hyunjin left, like, twenty minutes ago. Went to meet up with that Marissa girl.”

Your shoulders slump slightly as you let out a quiet sigh. “Of course he did. Perfect timing as always.”

Seungmin shrugs, dropping the towel onto the back of the couch and crossing his arms. “If it helps, I can try to help you out. And by help, I mean I’ll sit here, look up shit on my laptop, and let you do all the actual work.”

Your grin softens into something more genuine. “That would actually be amazing. Thanks, Seungmin.”

He jerks his head toward the stairs. “Come on. It’s quieter in my room.”

You follow him up, navigating past a stray hockey stick and what looks like a torn-out couch cushion, until you reach his room. It’s surprisingly neat—especially for a frat house—with a neatly made bed in one corner, a desk covered in mechanical tools and textbooks, and walls lined with posters. Your gaze lands immediately on one—a half-naked woman straddling a motorcycle, her pouty lips and sultry gaze seeming comically out of place compared to the otherwise functional vibe of the room.

“Wow,” you say, unable to suppress a small laugh. “A half-naked girl on a motorcycle? Real classy.”

Seungmin glances at the poster, his smirk returning. “What can I say? It’s vintage. Been with me since I was thirteen. Practically a family heirloom at this point.”

You hum thoughtfully, setting your portfolio down on the bed. “I had Bruno Mars on my wall. Right next to Edward Cullen.”

Seungmin raises an eyebrow, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Bruno Mars and Edward Cullen? What a lineup.”

You shrug, your lips quirking. “I was multifaceted.”

“Clearly,” he says, smirking as he leans back on his hands. “But Edward Cullen, though?”

You nod, unzipping your portfolio. “Oh, obviously. A staple for any teenage girl. But for the record, I was team Alice.”

That makes him pause, his brow furrowing slightly. “Team Alice? Not team Jacob or Edward?”

“Too mainstream,” you say with a grin. “Alice deserved better. She’s underrated.”

Seungmin lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “I can’t even argue with that.”

You settle cross-legged on the bed, flipping through the pages of your portfolio and spreading your sketches and notes across the comforter. Seungmin leans forward slightly, picking up one of your reference images.

“So,” he says, studying the sketch of a Tudor-era portrait. “What’s the big project?”

“It’s about how Anne Boleyn’s likeness was erased after her execution,” you explain, pointing to a specific note scribbled in the margin. “They painted over her portraits, rewrote history through art. It’s fucked up, but it’s also fascinating. Some of her portraits survived, though. It’s like this tiny act of defiance against a system that tried to erase her completely.”

Seungmin traces his thumb along the edge of the image, his dark eyes thoughtful. “That’s some heavy shit. People really went that far to bury her?”

“Yep,” you reply, smoothing out another page of notes. “Art’s more powerful than people realize. It can tell the truth—or rewrite it. That’s what makes this so interesting. It’s like solving a mystery but through brushstrokes and canvas.”

He watches you for a moment, his gaze steady and unreadable. The way your eyes light up, your voice gaining a quiet confidence as you explain something you’re clearly passionate about—it’s distracting in a way he didn’t expect. And maybe doesn’t entirely hate.

“Alright,” he says finally, snapping out of it. “Tudor art, huh? I think I’ve got some old books on restoration techniques that might help.”

You blink, surprised. “You do?”

He gets up, heading to his desk and rummaging through a small shelf. “Yeah. Took an elective on historical restoration last year. Figured I’d keep the books in case I needed them. Didn’t think they’d actually be useful, though.”

You watch as he pulls out a few worn textbooks, his movements efficient but with an almost surprising gentleness. He tosses them onto the bed beside you.

“Here,” he says. “See if there’s anything in there you can use.”

You pick up one of the books, flipping through the pages with growing excitement. “Seungmin, this is perfect. Thank you.”

He sits back down, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “No problem. Just don’t let Hyunjin take all the credit for this shit.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “He’s not that bad.”

Seungmin snorts, his smirk turning sharp. “Sure he’s not.”

Seungmin leans back against the headboard, his legs stretched out in front of him, one foot tapping lazily against the edge of the bed. He watches you sketch in your portfolio, the soft scratch of your pencil filling the otherwise quiet room. The occasional rustle of paper or your quiet hum of concentration is the only sound beyond the faint chaos filtering in from the house downstairs. 

For a moment, he just observes. The way your brow furrows slightly as you work, how the delicate chain around your neck glints every time you shift positions.

Finally, he breaks the silence, his tone dry. “So, how many times has Hyunjin ditched you for shit like this?”

You pause mid-sketch, glancing up at him with a small shrug. “It’s not that bad,” you say. “He lets me use his printer when I need it. Mine broke a while ago, and I haven’t replaced it yet.”

Seungmin raises an eyebrow, his smirk sharp as a blade. “Do you own anything that actually works, or is your whole life just duct tape and crossed fingers?”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “A few things work. My blender’s still going strong.”

“Great,” he deadpans, gesturing at the mess of notes and sketches spread across the bed. “And how much of this ‘collaborative’ project is actually Hyunjin’s work?”

You hesitate before flipping to a single page in your portfolio, its sparse, half-assed notes glaringly out of place among your meticulously detailed work. You push it toward him, your lips twitching in a sheepish smile.

Seungmin peers at it, his expression blank for a beat before he lets out a low whistle. “Holy shit,” he mutters, leaning back. “He’s really pulling his weight, huh?”

You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. “He’s busy, I guess.”

“Yeah, busy being a useless dick,” Seungmin says bluntly. “Honestly, you should erase his name from the project and turn it in as your own. Fuck him.”

Your eyes widen, and you immediately shake your head, scandalized. “I can’t do that! He could fail!”

“And?” Seungmin’s gaze sharpens, his voice edged with disbelief. “That’s his problem. You’re the one busting your ass here. What’s he even doing, fucking Marissa while you save his degree?”

You groan softly, dropping your pencil and fidgeting with the hem of your dress. “It’s not that simple. I don’t want to screw him over.”

Seungmin sighs, his tone exasperated but not unkind. “Then you need to tell him to step the fuck up. You’re not his babysitter.”

You grimace, avoiding his eyes as you pick at a loose thread on your skirt. “Confrontation makes me feel like I’m going to physically die.”

He snorts, his lips curving into a smirk as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Yeah, you seem like the type who’d eat around a deathly allergen just to avoid ‘causing trouble.’”

Your silence is damning. You don’t even look up.

“Oh my fucking god,” Seungmin says, his voice laced with incredulity. “You’ve actually done that, haven’t you?”

You groan softly, covering your face with your hands. “I had my EpiPen! I was being polite!”

He stares at you for a long moment before letting out a sharp, disbelieving laugh. “You risked death to be fucking polite? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Peeking at him through your fingers, your cheeks burn with embarrassment, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “To be fair, the coconut added to the flavour. I wasn’t even mad when my throat started closing up.”

Seungmin’s jaw drops, and he shakes his head, looking genuinely appalled. “What the actual fuck? You’re insane. Like, genuinely fucking insane. Who the hell does that?”

You shrug, biting your lip to hide a laugh. “It was a really good dessert.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath. “You’re gonna be the fucking death of me.” When he looks back at you, there’s a glint of amusement in his eyes, though his voice is firm. “You’re unbelievable. Sweet, sure. But fucking unbelievable.”

“I just don’t like making people feel bad,” you say softly, fidgeting with your pencil again. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” he counters, his voice dropping into something almost serious. “You shouldn’t have to risk your life or your grade just to keep everyone else happy. That’s not how it works.”

You glance at him, surprised by the sudden edge in his tone. The usual sarcasm in his voice is gone, replaced by something quieter, heavier. It’s unexpected, but it doesn’t feel unwelcome.

“Maybe you’re right,” you murmur, your gaze flicking back to the portfolio spread across the bed. “But it’s hard. I don’t want to cause trouble.”

Seungmin leans back against the headboard, watching you for a long moment. His expression softens just slightly. “Standing up for yourself isn’t causing trouble,” he says, his voice quieter now. “It’s just making sure people don’t walk all over you. And trust me, people will walk all over you if you let them.”

You nod slowly, taking in his words as you absently trace the edge of your sketchbook. For a moment, the room is quiet again, save for the faint noise of the frat house below.

Seungmin’s voice cuts through the silence, light and teasing once more. “So, about the coconut. Did someone finally figure out you were dying, or did you just sit there and wait for your ‘polite death’?”

You laugh softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “One of my friends noticed and freaked out. She basically tackled me and stabbed the EpiPen into my leg while I was trying to tell her it was fine.”

Seungmin lets out another laugh, running a hand through his damp hair. “Jesus fucking Christ. You’re lucky you’ve got people watching out for you, because clearly, you won’t do it yourself.”

You stick your tongue out at him, earning a sharp smirk in return. “Maybe I’ll start being more assertive. After this project is done.”

“Good,” he says, stretching his legs out and crossing his arms. “Because if you let Hyunjin keep pulling this shit, I’m gonna start calling you Saint Y/N. Patron fucking saint of doormats.”

You roll your eyes, laughing despite yourself. “Fine, fine. I’ll try to stand up for myself. No promises, though.”

Seungmin raises an eyebrow, his smirk laced with challenge. “I’ll believe it when I fucking see it.”

And though he’s teasing, there’s something in his voice that feels almost encouraging, like he might actually believe you can do it.

The house hums with faint background noise as Seungmin sits cross-legged on his bed, the fan lazily pushing air through the room. Your portfolio rests open in front of him, the pages fanned out carefully on the comforter. His sharp eyes flick over your sketches, pausing on the intricate lines and shading of Anne Boleyn’s face.

One piece in particular, a half-finished sketch of Anne wearing her iconic "B" necklace, makes him stop. Her expression is soft but haunted, the shadows under her eyes suggesting both weariness and resilience. It’s not just good; it’s fucking captivating.

“Damn,” he mutters under his breath, running a thumb along the edge of the page. “She's talented as fuck.”

He leans back, letting his head rest against the wall as his thoughts drift. He’s not sure what it is about you that keeps grabbing his attention. Maybe it’s the way your sweetness feels genuine, like it hasn’t been diluted by the world yet. Or maybe it’s the quiet determination you carry, even when people like Hyunjin leave you holding the bag.

The thought of Hyunjin makes his jaw tighten. That asshole.

By the time Hyunjin walks through the door later that night, the house is alive again. Bowls of Minho’s kimchi jjigae are being passed around the living room, the spicy, rich aroma filling the air. Seungmin sits on the floor, his back against the couch, spooning stew into his mouth like it’s his last meal.

The front door opens with a bang, and Hyunjin strides in, looking far too pleased with himself. His hair is slightly mussed, and he hums under his breath as he kicks off his sneakers. Before he can even greet anyone, a slipper flies through the air, smacking him square in the face.

“What the fuck?!” he yells, stumbling back and clutching his nose. His wide, offended eyes dart to Seungmin, who’s glaring at him.

“You,” Seungmin says, setting his bowl down on the coffee table with deliberate care, “are fucking lucky Y/N is too nice for her own damn good.”

The chatter in the room screeches to a halt. Chan, perched on an armchair, raises an eyebrow and gestures vaguely with his spoon. “Alright, what the hell is happening?”

Seungmin doesn’t even glance away from Hyunjin as he explains. “Our dear friend here has left Y/N to carry their entire art history project on her back. She’s done everything, while he’s done jack fucking shit.”

Minho, who’s leaning casually against the wall with a beer in hand, lets out a low whistle. “Classic Hyunjin move. Should’ve seen it coming.”

Hyunjin groans, rubbing the spot on his cheek where the slipper hit him. “She said she didn’t mind! I asked her if she needed help, and she told me it was fine!”

“Of course she did,” Seungmin snaps, his glare intensifying. “Because she doesn’t like confrontation, you absolute dickhead. And you fucking know that.”

“That’s rough, man,” Felix says from the couch, slurping his stew loudly. “Kinda makes you a cunt, doesn��t it?”

Hyunjin groans again, throwing his hands up. “Okay, okay, I get it. I fucked up. What do you want me to do?!”

Seungmin doesn’t even hesitate. “Pay for her car repairs.”

The room goes completely still. Then, one by one, everyone nods in agreement.

“Yeah,” Chan says, pointing his spoon at Hyunjin like a judge passing down a sentence. “That’s fair.”

“Her car’s a fucking 280Z,” Minho adds, taking a swig of his beer. “Repairs aren’t cheap. Pay up, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin looks around the room in disbelief, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. “You guys are ganging up on me! What the fuck!”

“No, what the fuck is you,” Seungmin snaps, crossing his arms over his chest. “You owe her. If it weren’t for her, you’d fail that class. Pay for the fucking car.”

Hyunjin sighs heavily, dragging a hand through his hair. “Fine. Fucking fine. I’ll pay for her car repairs. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” Seungmin says flatly, picking up his bowl of stew again. “And if you flake on this, I’ll throw something heavier than a slipper next time.”

“Like what?” Hyunjin challenges weakly.

“Like the fucking coffee table,” Seungmin replies without missing a beat.

The room bursts into laughter, but Hyunjin mutters under his breath as he grabs a bowl of jjigae for himself. Changbin, seated on the floor with his legs stretched out, nudges Seungmin with his foot. “You really stepped up for her, huh? Study buddy and all.”

Hyunjin squints at Seungmin, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “Wait. You? Helping with art? What’s next, you learning to waterpaint?”

Seungmin glares at him, but the heat doesn’t quite reach his voice. “I know how to read, dumbass. It’s not that hard to help someone find sources.”

Jeongin smirks from his spot by the coffee table, resting his chin in his hand. “Nah, it’s not just that. Seungmin’s got a soft spot for her. We all see it.”

Felix leans forward, his grin mischievous. “Yeah, the mean mechanic act breaks real quick when she walks in with her flowy skirts and shy little smile. You’ve got a thing for her, don’t you?”

Seungmin flips him off with zero hesitation, his eyes narrowing. “Eat shit, Felix.”

“I’m just saying,” Felix continues, unbothered. “You’re kinda protective for someone who’s ‘just helping.’”

“I don’t have a fucking thing for anyone,” Seungmin retorts, shoving a spoonful of stew into his mouth. “She needed help, so I helped. End of fucking story.”

“Right,” Jisung says, drawing out the word with an obnoxiously knowing smirk. “Totally believable.”

Seungmin groans, standing up and grabbing his empty bowl. “You’re all fucking insufferable.”

As he stalks out of the room, the sound of their laughter echoes behind him. But as much as he tries to ignore their teasing, the image of you sketching quietly on his bed lingers in his mind.

Maybe they’re not entirely wrong. But he’s not about to admit that. Not yet.

The late afternoon sunlight slants through the wide windows of the Alpha Phi living room, turning the room golden and catching motes of dust as they swirl lazily in the air. The mismatched furniture gives the space a slightly chaotic charm. Minho is sprawled on the couch like a cat, his cherry-red hair catching the sunlight as he lazily flips through a magazine about exotic pets. A faint smirk plays on his lips, suggesting he’s less interested in the articles and more in the idea of tormenting his housemates with his next grand idea.

Chan is perched on the armrest of the couch, his easy grin in place as he scrolls on his phone. His head bobs faintly to the playlist humming from a speaker tucked in the corner.

The peace doesn’t last.

Seungmin walks in, his boots heavy against the floor, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his black cargos. His shoulders are tense, his jaw locked tight, and his sharp eyes dart around the room like he’s searching for something or someone to aim his frustration at.

Minho looks up first, instantly zeroing in on Seungmin’s sour expression. He doesn’t bother hiding his amusement. “Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Sunshine himself,” he drawls, tossing the magazine onto the cluttered coffee table. “What’s got your panties in a twist today?”

“Fuck off,” Seungmin snaps, sinking into the armchair across from them with all the grace of a dropped anvil. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and drags a hand down his face, muttering something under his breath.

Chan raises an eyebrow, setting his phone aside. “Uh-oh. You look like you’ve been thinking too hard. What’s going on?”

Minho leans forward, his smirk sharpening like a predator scenting blood. “Yeah, Seungmin. Lay it on us. Who pissed you off now? Or is this your natural state?”

Seungmin glares, his gaze flicking between them like he’s debating whether or not to just leave. But the weight in his chest refuses to budge, and he knows he’s going to explode if he doesn’t say something.

Finally, he exhales sharply, his voice low and tight. “It’s about Y/N.”

Minho and Chan exchange a quick glance, eyebrows shooting up in unison. Minho’s grin stretches wider, and Chan’s expression softens with interest.

“Oh, this is gonna be good,” Minho says, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Go on, lover boy. We’re listening.”

Seungmin scowls, but the heat in his glare feels more defensive than angry. “I don’t know,” he mutters, his gaze fixed on the floor. “I’ve just been thinking about her. A lot. And it’s fucking annoying.”

“Thinking about her how?” Minho presses, his tone a mix of curiosity and outright glee.

“Fucking... I don’t know! Like that!” Seungmin snaps, gesturing vaguely with one hand. “That’s why I’m asking you two assholes. What the fuck is going on with me?”

Minho’s grin turns predatory. “Oh, you absolute dumbass. You like her.”

Seungmin freezes, his sharp gaze snapping to Minho. “Do I?”

“Yes,” Chan says immediately, clapping his hands together like he’s just cracked the case of the century. “It’s so fucking obvious. How do you not know this?”

Minho cackles, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hand. “Are you emotionally stunted, or just slow on the uptake?”

“Probably both,” Seungmin mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “God, this is fucking stupid.”

Chan’s grin turns fond, his voice teasing but not unkind. “Oh, Seungminnie. You’re so cute when you’re like this.”

Seungmin flips him off without hesitation. “Don’t fucking start.”

Minho tilts his head, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “You’re really out here having a whole-ass existential crisis because you caught feelings. It’s almost... endearing.”

“Fuck you, Minho,” Seungmin bites out, though his tone lacks any real venom. “I didn’t ask to be analyzed. I just want to know what the fuck I’m supposed to do about it.”

Minho sits up, rubbing his chin like he’s deep in thought. “Well, for starters, you could try not being such a cold, emotionally constipated robot. That might help.”

Seungmin glares, leaning back in the chair. “So helpful. Thanks.”

Chan chuckles, reaching over to pat Seungmin’s shoulder. “He’s right, though. If you like her, you’ve gotta stop acting like a brooding asshole and actually talk to her. You’re good with words when you want to be.”

“Yeah, but not like that,” Seungmin mutters, crossing his arms. “What the fuck do I even say? ‘Hey, I’ve been thinking about you a lot and it’s annoying as fuck, so maybe we should go out?’”

Minho bursts out laughing, nearly falling off the couch. “That’s... wow. No. Don’t say that.”

Chan shakes his head, biting back his own laughter. “Just be honest, man. You don’t have to make it weird. She’s the type who’d appreciate the truth.”

Seungmin sighs, tipping his head back against the chair. “What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if I just fuck it all up?”

Minho snorts. “Then at least you’ll know instead of sitting here stewing like a fucking idiot. Either way, it’s a win for me. Free entertainment.”

“Go to hell, Minho,” Seungmin mutters, running a hand through his hair.

Chan chuckles, his voice softer now. “You’ll figure it out, Seungmin. Just don’t overthink it. You’re not as bad at this stuff as you think.”

Minho hops off the couch with a shit-eating grin. “And if you fuck it up? Well, we’ll all be here to laugh about it.”

Seungmin sighs heavily, standing and heading for the kitchen. “You’re all fucking insufferable.”

In the kitchen, he grabs a beer from the fridge and twists the cap off, taking a long swig before leaning against the counter. Minho and Chan follow him, their shit-eating grins still firmly in place.

“So,” Minho begins, hopping onto the counter and dangling his legs like a kid on a swing. “What’s the grand plan, Romeo?”

“There is no fucking plan,” Seungmin mutters. “I’ll keep helping her with her project and hope I don’t make things weird.”

Chan raises an eyebrow. “That’s not a plan. That’s avoidance.”

“Thanks for the analysis, Freud,” Seungmin deadpans, taking another swig of his beer.

Minho nudges him with his foot. “You like her. Just admit it to yourself and do something about it. Don’t be a coward.”

Seungmin sighs again, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I’m not a coward. I just don’t want to fuck up something good, alright?”

Chan claps him on the back. “Then don’t. Keep it simple. Honest. She’ll appreciate that more than anything.”

Minho grins smugly. “And if she doesn’t? Well, at least we’ll have fun watching you crash and burn.”

Seungmin glares at him, but the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth betrays him. “Go fuck yourself, Minho.”

Minho smirks. “Already planned for later.”

Seungmin groans, pushing off the counter and heading for the stairs. “You’re fucking unbearable.”

Minho’s laughter and Chan’s chuckling follow him as he heads back to his room, but even with their teasing, Seungmin feels a little lighter. Maybe, just maybe, he can figure this out.

The low whir of Seungmin’s fan hums through the room as you sit cross-legged on his bed, your laptop balanced precariously on your thighs. Stacks of old books are scattered around you, a testament to the marathon research session you’ve been enduring. The late afternoon sun filters through the blinds, casting soft golden streaks across the room. You’re wearing a light summer dress, its fabric brushing against your skin as you adjust your position, the hem barely brushing mid-thigh. Strands of your hair have slipped out of the clip holding it back, framing your face as you squint at your screen.

At his desk, Seungmin leans back in his chair, his black sweatpants and tight tank top clinging to his frame in the warm room. One hand flips through a heavy book on Tudor history, the other absently twirling a pen. His brow furrows in concentration, but every so often, his gaze flicks to you. Curious, amused, unreadable.

Finally, he breaks the silence. “So,” he starts, his voice slicing through the hum of the fan, “have you talked to Hyunjin yet?”

Your fingers pause mid-typing, and you glance up, blinking. “Uh, no. I don’t think I need to. It’s not really a big deal.”

Seungmin’s pen drops to the desk with a loud clink, and he swivels to face you, his expression flat but his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, sure. Not a big deal. He slacks off, you do all the work, and he gets to keep floating through life like a fucking golden retriever on vacation. Totally fine.”

You shake your head, a soft laugh escaping despite yourself. “He didn’t mean to slack off. He’s just... busy.”

“With what? Pouting for his Instagram stories?” Seungmin leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. His sharp eyes glint with mockery. “Come on, Y/N. Don’t let him off the hook so easily. I could shave one of his eyebrows off.”

You laugh again, waving him off. “Seungmin, no. It’s fine, really. I’ll just finish the project, and we’ll move on.”

“Yeah, no.” He stands abruptly, his chair squeaking against the floor. “That’s not happening. Get up.”

You blink at him, confused. “Why?”

“Because I’m going to teach you the art of confrontation,” he says, walking over to you with an air of finality. He holds out a hand, clearly expecting you to take it. “And before you say anything, no, you don’t get a choice.”

You lean back, groaning. “Oh no. I’m bad at that. Absolutely not.”

“Exactly why we’re doing this.” He grabs your hand, his grip firm but not forceful, and pulls you to your feet. 

The movement sends your laptop sliding precariously to the side of the bed, and you hastily catch it before steadying yourself. Your dress brushes against his sweatpants, and for a moment, his hands linger on yours, warm and steady.

“I already hate this,” you mutter, pouting.

“That’s the spirit,” he quips, smirking. He takes a step back, crossing his arms as he looks you up and down. “Alright. Repeat after me. Hyunjin, you’re a selfish asshole, and your hair isn’t even that great.”

Your eyes widen, and you shake your head frantically. “I can’t say that! What if he hears me?”

“Good,” Seungmin says, his smirk widening. “Maybe he’ll learn something.”

You laugh nervously, covering your face with your hands. “This feels so wrong.”

Seungmin sighs dramatically, stepping closer and gently tugging your hands down. “I was prepared for this,” he says, his voice carrying a note of triumph. He walks to his closet, rummaging around until he pulls out a dartboard with a photo of Hyunjin’s grinning face pinned dead centre.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, your jaw dropping as you stare at it.

“It’s modular,” Seungmin says nonchalantly, holding it up. “I’ve got all the guys’ faces in here. They piss me off in cycles.”

“This is insane,” you say, barely stifling your laughter as he hangs the dartboard on his door.

“It’s cathartic,” he corrects, tossing a dart into your hand. “Go on. Aim for the pretty boy’s stupid smile.”

You hesitate, holding the dart awkwardly. “I’ve never thrown a dart in my life.”

“Not fucking rocket science,” he says, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “Just throw it. Let your rage guide you.”

Rolling your eyes but laughing, you square your shoulders and toss the dart. It bounces off the board and clatters to the floor with an anticlimactic thunk. Your cheeks heat up as you bury your face in your hands.

“Jesus Christ,” Seungmin mutters, pushing off the wall and walking over to you. “Alright, rookie. Relax. You’re trying too hard.”

He steps behind you, his hands gently resting on your arms and you feel your breath catch slightly as he leans in, his voice low and soft.

“Breathe,” he murmurs, his thumbs brushing your forearms lightly. “Loosen up. You’re not throwing a grenade.”

You nod, trying to ignore how close he is, or the way his cologne lingers, sharp and clean. “Okay. Relax. Got it.”

“Good,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Now, aim. And don’t overthink it this time. Just let it go.”

With his guidance, you throw the dart again. It sticks in the board, just outside Hyunjin’s cheek. Your eyes widen in surprise, and you turn to look at Seungmin with a triumphant grin.

“See?” he says, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Not so bad.”

You laugh, the tension from earlier dissolving. “Okay, that was kind of fun.”

“Kind of?” He raises an eyebrow, feigning offence. “It’s the best fucking stress relief there is. Try again.”

Grinning, you grab another dart and throw it. It lands even closer to the centre, and you let out a delighted cheer.

“Nice,” Seungmin says, nodding approvingly. “You’re a natural. Hyunjin should be scared.”

As you line up another shot, Seungmin leans back against the wall, arms crossed. There’s a softness in his expression now, a flicker of something he doesn’t let show often. Watching you laugh and let loose feels oddly satisfying.

“Alright,” you say, aiming carefully. “What do I get if I hit his stupid grin?”

“A medal for bravery,” Seungmin deadpans, but his smirk betrays his amusement.

You throw the dart, and it lands just shy of the photo’s centre. Laughing, you turn to him with a mock pout. “I want a rematch.”

“You’re not ready for that kind of pressure,” he says, his tone teasing but warm.

And for the first time all day, the weight of your project and the tension with Hyunjin feel far away. In this room, with Seungmin, all that exists is the laughter, the easy banter, and the flicker of something unspoken in the air between you.

The sun dips low, casting a warm, golden hue over the Alpha Phi house as you neatly pack up your things in Seungmin’s room. The quiet scratch of your pen against paper, the occasional tap of your laptop’s keyboard, and the hum of his fan have created a soothing rhythm all afternoon. Now, as you finish jotting down the last of your citations, you stack your books and papers into an organized pile.

Seungmin leans back in his chair, his legs stretched out and his dark eyes lazily tracking your movements. A pen twirls effortlessly between his fingers, his expression calm but sharp—like he’s quietly taking in more than he lets on.

“Leaving already?” he asks, his tone casual but carrying a note of something you can’t quite place.

You glance up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Yeah, I’ve got to get ready. I have a date tonight.”

The words hit like a brick, and Seungmin freezes for half a second before resuming the pen twirl, though his fingers grip it a little too tightly. His face remains neutral, but his jaw ticks slightly.

“A date?” he says, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

You nod, slipping your laptop into your bag. “Yeah, Minho introduced me to a guy in his class. Animal behaviour or something? He seems nice.”

His forced smile cracks for a moment, but he patches it quickly. “Nice,” he echoes, leaning forward in his chair. “That’s… great.”

The silence lingers, awkward and heavy. You tilt your head at him, your soft gaze curious. “Are you okay?”

“Me? Fine,” he says quickly, too quickly, sitting up straighter. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You frown slightly, unconvinced, but you let it go, offering him a gentle smile. “Thanks for all your help today, Seungmin. I really appreciate it.”

He nods stiffly, watching you head for the door. His chest feels tight, like someone’s wrapped a steel band around it. When the door clicks shut behind you, he lets out a low, frustrated sigh and tosses the pen onto his desk.

A beat passes before he’s on his feet, striding purposefully down the hall toward Minho’s room.

Minho’s door is ajar, soft music filtering out as Seungmin pushes it open without knocking. Minho is sprawled on his bed, headphones around his neck, scrolling through his phone with his usual smug expression. Minho barely has time to look up before Seungmin grabs a pillow from the bed and swings it at him with alarming force.

“What the fuck?!” Minho yells, his phone flying from his hand as he scrambles to defend himself.

“You!” Seungmin growls, punctuating each word with a swing of the pillow. “Fucking introduced her. To. A. Guy?!”

Minho bursts into laughter, raising his arms to shield himself. “It’s incentive, Seungminnie!” he cackles, gasping between laughs. “You needed a push!”

“I don’t need a fucking push!” Seungmin snaps, hitting him even harder.

Minho tries to sit up, still laughing despite the onslaught. “You’re so fucking obvious- Ow! Stop, you lunatic!”

“Good!” Seungmin barks, his voice sharp as he lands another hit. “Maybe next time you’ll keep your matchmaking bullshit to yourself!”

The commotion attracts Chan, who appears in the doorway with his arms crossed and an amused look on his face. “What’s going on here?”

“I’m smothering Minho,” Seungmin says flatly, not even looking up as he presses the pillow down over Minho’s face.

Chan nods approvingly, stepping into the room. “Good. Carry on. You’re doing the lord’s work.”

Seungmin lets out a humourless laugh, pressing the pillow down harder as Minho’s muffled protests grow louder. “I know, right? Someone’s gotta do it.”

“While you’re at it,” Chan says casually, leaning against the doorframe, “make sure he can’t reproduce. The last thing we need is a mini Minho terrorizing the campus.”

Minho’s muffled yell rises to a panicked pitch as Seungmin shifts his weight, digging a knee into Minho’s crotch. The resulting strangled groan is enough to make Chan burst into laughter. “Jesus Christ, Seungmin,” Chan says, shaking his head. “You’re fucking ruthless.”

“Yeah, well,” Seungmin mutters, his tone clipped. “He fucking deserves it.”

Minho finally manages to yank the pillow away, his face red and his hair a mess as he glares up at Seungmin. “You’re a psycho!”

“And you’re a fucking meddler,” Seungmin snaps, tossing the pillow back onto the bed. “What the hell were you thinking, setting her up with some random guy?”

Minho sits up, rubbing his face. “I was helping! You’re clearly into her but too chickenshit to do anything about it!”

“I didn’t fucking ask for your help!” Seungmin snaps, his hands balling into fists at his sides.

Chan raises a hand, stepping between them with a smirk. “Alright, let’s all take a deep breath. Minho’s an idiot, but he’s not wrong. You’re jealous, Seungmin. Just admit it.”

Seungmin glares at him, his jaw clenching. “So what if I am? What am I supposed to do about it, huh? March up to her and say, ‘Hey, I think about you way too much, and it’s driving me fucking insane?’”

“Honestly? Yeah,” Chan says, shrugging. “She’s sweet. She won’t bite your head off.”

Minho smirks, leaning back against the headboard. “And if she says no, at least you’ll have closure. Better than sitting here brooding like some tragic fucking Byronic hero.”

“Fuck off,” Seungmin mutters, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

Chan claps him on the shoulder. “You’ve got this, man. Just be honest. It’s not as scary as you’re making it out to be.”

Seungmin huffs, glancing between them. He hates that they’re right. The thought of you with someone else already twists his stomach into knots, and the idea of doing nothing feels even worse.

Without another word, he storms out of the room, leaving Chan and Minho grinning behind him.

“Think he’ll do it?” Chan asks, leaning against the wall.

Minho snorts, rubbing his sore ribs. “Oh, he’ll do it. Or he’ll self-destruct. Either way, we win.”

Their laughter follows Seungmin down the hall, but for once, he doesn’t care. He’s got bigger things to worry about and her name is Y/N.

The Alpha Phi living room is a vortex of noise and chaos. The mismatched couches are packed with bodies. Jeongin and Felix are loudly arguing over the outcome of a video game, their hands flailing in exaggerated gestures, while Jisung lies sprawled on the floor, chip crumbs scattered around him like evidence of a crime. The massive TV blares the commentary of a football game, its volume competing with the general din. Minho is perched half-asleep on the armrest of the couch, his cherry-red hair a mess from running his fingers through it repeatedly, while Chan sits cross-legged on the floor, calmly trying to fix the connection on a janky Bluetooth speaker.

Seungmin reclines in the worn recliner, scrolling idly on his phone, tuning out the noise with practised ease. His legs are stretched out, and his dark eyes are fixed on the screen in front of him. It’s an average evening in the house, loud, chaotic, and comfortably predictable.

Until his phone rings.

The name flashing on the screen makes him sit up so abruptly that the chair creaks. He immediately presses the green button, his heart rate kicking up as he brings the phone to his ear.

“Hello?” His voice is calm, but there’s a sharp edge of alertness in it.

A soft sniffle echoes on the other end of the line, and every muscle in Seungmin’s body goes taut. “Seungmin,” your voice breaks, trembling and fragile, and it’s enough to make his blood run cold. “I—I didn’t know who else to call. He… he was awful. I just- I’m so sorry-”

“Hey,” Seungmin cuts in, his voice firm but gentle. “Stop apologizing. Just breathe, okay? Tell me where you are.”

Your breathing is shaky, but you manage to get the words out. “That sushi place near campus. I’m in the bathroom. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You did the right thing,” he says, already slipping his boots on with one hand and gesturing wildly at Minho with the other. “Stay there. Don’t leave the bathroom until Minho and I get there. We’re coming to get you.”

“Okay,” you whisper, barely audible, and the line goes quiet.

Seungmin stands, his movements quick and purposeful. “Minho. Shoes. Now. You’re driving.”

Minho’s lazy posture vanishes as he sits up, alert. “What? Why? What’s going on?”

“Y/N,” Seungmin says sharply, grabbing his jacket. “She’s in trouble.”

The room quiets instantly. Jeongin and Felix stop arguing mid-sentence, their heads snapping toward Seungmin. Jisung sits up from the floor, the chips forgotten. Even Chan abandons the Bluetooth speaker, standing with his arms crossed and his face serious.

“Fuck,” Minho mutters, pulling on his shoes. “What kind of trouble?”

“She’s at the sushi place,” Seungmin says, his tone tight. “And it’s because of the guy you introduced her to.”

Minho’s face falls, guilt flashing across his features. “Shit.”

“Yeah. Shit,” Seungmin snaps, already halfway to the door. “Now move.”

The drive to the restaurant is tense. Seungmin sits in the passenger seat, his foot tapping a relentless rhythm against the floor. He checks his phone every thirty seconds, the tight line of his jaw only softening when he glances at the screen and sees no new messages. Minho keeps his focus on the road, his hands gripping the wheel tighter than usual.

When they pull into the parking lot, Seungmin is out of the car before it even comes to a full stop. His sharp gaze sweeps across the glass front of the restaurant. Through the window, he spots the guy sitting at a table, casually scrolling through his phone as if nothing’s wrong. Seungmin’s blood boils.

Minho sees him too, muttering a low “Fuck” under his breath. “I’ll handle him,” he says, his voice hard. He pushes the car door open and strides toward the entrance, his usually laid-back demeanour replaced with something cold and dangerous.

Seungmin doesn’t wait to see what Minho does next. His focus is on you. He heads straight for the bathrooms at the back of the restaurant, his boots thudding heavily against the tile floor. Stopping just outside the door, he takes a deep breath before knocking softly.

“It’s me,” he says, his voice gentler now. “You can come out.”

There’s a long pause, followed by the faint sound of shuffling. The door creaks open slowly, and you step out. Your eyes are red and puffy, tear tracks glistening on your cheeks. Your arms are wrapped tightly around yourself, your whole frame trembling slightly.

The second you see him, something in you breaks. You step forward and bury your face in his chest, your hands clutching his jacket like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Seungmin freezes for a split second, his eyes wide with surprise. Then his arms wrap around you tightly, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other presses against your back, holding you close. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady. “You’re okay now. I’ve got you.”

You don’t say anything, but your fingers grip his jacket tighter, and your trembling becomes more pronounced. He holds you like that for what feels like forever, his heart pounding as he tries to stay calm for you.

When you finally pull back slightly, he keeps his hands on your shoulders, his dark eyes searching your face. “You’re safe,” he says, his voice firm but soft. “I promise. No one’s going to hurt you.”

Your lips tremble as you nod, but you still can’t bring yourself to speak. Seungmin brushes a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch careful, grounding. “Do you want to tell me what happened? Or do you just want to leave?”

“Leave,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“Alright,” he says without hesitation. “Let’s go.”

He keeps a protective arm around you as he guides you out of the restaurant. As you pass through the dining area, his sharp gaze finds Minho, who is standing over the guy’s table, his expression icy and his arms crossed. The guy is slouched in his chair, looking decidedly less cocky than before, and Seungmin feels a flicker of satisfaction at the sight.

Outside, Minho’s car is waiting. Seungmin opens the back door for you, helping you in before sliding in beside you. Minho climbs into the driver’s seat a moment later, his face pale but his expression grim.

“Where to?” Minho asks, his voice quieter than usual.

“Back to the house,” Seungmin says firmly. “She’s staying with us tonight.”

Minho nods, starting the car without another word.

In the backseat, you lean against Seungmin’s shoulder, your body still trembling slightly. He doesn’t say anything, just rubs slow, soothing circles on your back with one hand, his touch steady and reassuring. The warmth of his presence and the quiet strength in his gestures begin to ease the tension in your chest, bit by bit.

The drive back to the Alpha Phi house is suffocatingly quiet. Minho’s hands grip the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white, his jaw clenched like he’s holding back a thousand words. In the backseat, Seungmin sits close beside you, one hand resting on your knee, steady and firm. It’s not invasive, not demanding. It’s just there, a silent promise of safety.

Your head leans against his shoulder, your breath shaky but starting to even out. He hasn’t said much since getting you out of the restaurant, but his presence is enough. When the car pulls into the driveway, the headlights casting long shadows against the house’s worn exterior, Seungmin nudges you gently.

“We’re here,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost soothing.

You sit up, your movements sluggish, and Seungmin is already out of the car, holding the door open for you. He offers you his hand, and you take it without hesitation, your fingers trembling slightly in his firm grasp.

Minho hesitates by the car, glancing between you and Seungmin with guilt written all over his face. “Do you need—”

“No,” Seungmin cuts him off sharply, his glare like a blade. “Just... go inside.”

Minho opens his mouth to argue but thinks better of it, nodding stiffly and heading up the steps without another word.

Seungmin keeps his arm around you as he guides you toward the house. The muffled sound of laughter and chatter spills out the windows, but the moment the two of you step through the front door, it dies like a switch has been flipped.

Jeongin, mid-laugh, stops abruptly, his expression shifting to confusion and concern. Felix, perched on the back of the couch, opens his mouth to say something, but Seungmin’s sharp glare silences him instantly.

“Not now,” Seungmin says, his tone flat but carrying an unmistakable edge of authority.

The room goes completely silent, everyone exchanging uneasy glances as Seungmin leads you upstairs. His grip on your shoulder remains steady, a grounding force as you ascend the creaky steps. You barely register the concerned murmurs behind you, too focused on the warmth of his touch and the growing knot in your chest.

When you reach his room, Seungmin pushes the door open and gently guides you inside. The familiar scent of his cologne wraps around you, grounding you further. He closes the door with a soft click, shutting out the world, and turns to face you.

You stand in the middle of the room, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. The dam you’ve been holding back all night finally breaks, and a small sob escapes before you can stop it.

“Hey,” Seungmin says softly, stepping closer. He sits on the edge of the bed, patting the space beside him. “Come here.”

You hesitate, fiddling with the hem of your dress. “I—”

“Y/N,” he interrupts, his tone gentle but firm. “Come here.”

You move slowly, sitting beside him. The second you’re close enough, he pulls you into his side, one arm draped securely around your shoulders. His warmth seeps into you, steadying your ragged breathing.

“You wanna tell me what happened?” he asks after a moment, his voice quieter now. “Or we can just sit here. Your call.”

You swallow hard, nodding slightly. “I- I tried to call the date off,” you start, your voice trembling. “I just- he wasn’t what I wanted. And when I told him that, he got-” Your breath hitches, and you shake your head, trying to steady yourself. “He started touching me. Grabbing me. I- I didn’t like it. I told him to stop, but he just laughed, and I panicked. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Seungmin’s entire body goes rigid beside you. His arm tightens protectively, and his jaw clenches so hard you can hear his teeth grind. “That piece of shit,” he mutters under his breath, his tone low and venomous.

You glance up at him, your eyes wide and glossy. “Maybe I overreacted,” you say quickly, your voice defensive as though you’re bracing for judgment. “Maybe I just-”

“No,” Seungmin cuts in, his voice sharp. He shifts to face you fully, his hands gripping your shoulders gently but firmly. “Don’t fucking do that, Y/N. Don’t blame yourself. If you were uncomfortable, then you were uncomfortable. That’s it. No one gets to fucking touch you without your consent.”

His words make your chest tighten, but in a different way. A warmth spreads through you, breaking through the lingering fear. “Thank you,” you whisper.

Seungmin’s gaze softens, his hands sliding down to your elbows. He exhales slowly like he’s forcing himself to calm down. “You deserve better than that,” he says quietly. “Better than some asshole who doesn’t know how to take no for an answer.”

“He wasn’t you, Seungmin,” you say before you can stop yourself.

The room goes still, the weight of your words hanging in the air between you. Seungmin’s eyes widen slightly, the sharpness in his expression giving way to something warmer, something softer.

“Good,” he says after a beat, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He pulls you into a tight hug, his chin resting lightly on the top of your head. “Because I’d never fucking treat you like that.”

You bury your face in his chest, letting his steady heartbeat and the warmth of his arms melt away the last traces of fear. For the first time all night, you feel like you can breathe again.

After a while, Seungmin pulls back slightly, one hand lingering on your shoulder. “You know,” he says, his tone lighter now, “Minho owes you a massive apology. I say we make him grovel.”

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping at your eyes. “It’s not his fault.”

Seungmin raises an eyebrow. “Sure, but letting him squirm a little wouldn’t hurt.”

You laugh again, stronger this time. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” he says with a smirk. Then his expression softens, and he leans forward slightly, his gaze locking onto yours. “Hey. I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“What?” you ask, tilting your head.

He hesitates for half a second, then his lips curl into a faint smile. “Go out with me. Let me take you on a real date.”

Your breath catches, your heart thudding in your chest. “You mean that?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice low but steady. “I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while. I just didn’t know how.”

A small smile spreads across your face. “I’d like that.”

Seungmin’s shoulders relax, the tension he’s been carrying all night finally easing. “Good,” he says, his smile widening. “Because I’ve been waiting for an excuse to make a move.”

You laugh softly, the sound bright and genuine. “You’re not very subtle, you know.”

He groans, rolling his eyes. “Don’t rub it in.”

“Cool and mysterious,” you tease, leaning a little closer. “Not exactly your vibe.”

Seungmin snorts, but the warmth in his gaze doesn’t waver. “You’re lucky I like you.”

“Yeah,” you say, your smile softening. “I know.”

The quiet knock on the door is hesitant, a rare sound from someone like Minho. Before either of you can respond, it creaks open, revealing him standing there in sweats and a hoodie that’s slightly too big for him. His cherry-red hair is a mess, like he’s spent the last hour running his hands through it in frustration. His usual cocky smirk is absent, replaced by something far more uncertain—almost guilty.

Seungmin’s eyes narrow, though he doesn’t move from where he’s perched on the bed beside you, his arm loosely draped behind your back. “What do you want?” he asks, his tone clipped.

Minho hesitates in the doorway, his eyes flicking between you and Seungmin. His hands stay buried in his pockets, his shoulders slouched as if he’s bracing for impact. “I’m… fuck, I’m sorry,” he mutters, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I didn’t know. I swear, I didn’t fucking know he was going to be like that. I just thought—shit, I thought I was helping.”

You exchange a quick glance with Seungmin, who huffs but doesn’t say anything. Slowly, you stand and cross the room toward Minho, ignoring the way his eyes widen slightly in surprise. Before he can protest or retreat, you wrap your arms around him and pull him into a hug.

Minho stiffens for a moment, caught off guard, but then he melts into the embrace with a sigh, resting his chin on your shoulder. His arms come up, circling your waist with a grip that’s firmer than you expect—like he’s the one who needs comforting.

“I know,” you say softly, your voice muffled against the fabric of his hoodie. “It’s okay. You didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

Minho lets out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Still. I feel like a fucking asshole.”

“You’re not,” you say firmly, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “I think you scared him off, anyway.”

Minho smirks faintly, though the guilt still lingers in his eyes. “Good,” he mutters. “But I’m gonna fight him. Just so you know. That prick doesn’t get to pull that shit and walk away.”

“Do what you need to,” you reply softly, resting a hand on his arm.

His smirk falters, and his grip tightens almost imperceptibly. “You’re too fucking nice,” he mutters, his voice low and rough. “You know that?”

“Minho,” you wheeze dramatically, giggling weakly as his hold becomes borderline crushing. “Can’t breathe.”

“Shut up,” Minho says, though his tone is lighter now. “I’m processing being wrong, and I’m not taking it well.”

Seungmin snorts loudly from the bed, crossing his arms as he leans back against the headboard. “Never thought I’d see the day,” he says dryly. “Minho, wrong about something? Someone call the press.”

You laugh again, a little stronger this time, and Minho scowls over your shoulder. “You’re fucking enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely,” Seungmin replies without hesitation, his smirk sharp.

Minho pulls back from the hug, ruffling his already messy hair with a groan. “This is a disaster. I try to help, and it just blows up in my face. I should’ve known you were too much of a coward to ask her out on your own.”

“Here we fucking go,” Seungmin mutters, rolling his eyes.

Minho points an accusatory finger at him. “You. This is partly your fault. If you’d just grown a pair and asked her out, I wouldn’t have had to intervene!”

Seungmin raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “And your intervention led to exactly what? A shitshow?”

Minho throws up his hands. “I’ll admit it! I fucked up, alright? But don’t act like you didn’t need the nudge.”

Seungmin leans forward slightly, his voice razor-sharp. “Next time, keep your fucking nudges to yourself.”

“Boys,” you interject softly, your tone patient but firm. Both of them snap their attention back to you, and you give Minho a small, reassuring smile. “It’s okay. Really. No one’s perfect, Minho.”

Minho looks at you, his expression softening further. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Seriously, though. If you need anything—anything at all—you come to me. I don’t care what it is, okay?”

You nod, your smile warm. “I will. Thanks, Minho.”

He leans down slightly, his hands resting lightly on your shoulders. His voice drops to a low, serious tone. “I mean it, Y/N. I’ll fight anyone for you. Literally anyone.”

“I know,” you whisper, your chest tightening at the sincerity in his words. “But I think you’ve done enough for tonight.”

Minho straightens up with a sigh, ruffling your hair playfully. “Fine. But if that prick so much as breathes in your direction again, he’s dead.”

Seungmin chuckles from the bed, shaking his head. “You’ll have to get in line for that, Minho.”

Minho smirks, turning back to him. “Big talk from the guy who’s been dragging his feet all fucking semester. Don’t get all protective now—you’ve got a date to plan.”

Seungmin flips him off without missing a beat, and Minho’s grin widens. You can’t help but laugh, the tension in the room finally dissolving as they slip back into their usual banter.

For the first time all night, everything feels like it might actually be okay.

The hum of the city murmurs faintly in the background as you linger outside your apartment building, your phone clutched loosely in one hand. The early evening air is warm, carrying the faint tang of gasoline and asphalt. The golden glow of the setting sun drenches everything in soft, honeyed light. You catch your reflection in a nearby window and smooth down the strap of your yellow bustier crop top. The fabric hugs you snugly, the bright color contrasting against your black flared pants, which sway lightly in the warm breeze. Your black Converse scuff against the pavement as you shift your weight nervously.

The distant growl of an engine draws your attention, low and throaty, vibrating through the air. You glance up as a sleek black motorbike rounds the corner, Seungmin perched effortlessly on top like he was born there. The machine glints in the fading sunlight, polished but clearly well-loved, with just enough wear to make it look lived-in. Seungmin slows the bike as he approaches, and your breath catches at the sight of him.

He’s dressed head to toe in black, cargo trousers that hang low on his hips, a fitted black t-shirt that clings to his lean frame, a well-worn leather jacket zipped halfway, and scuffed boots that look like they’ve seen more road than carpet. His hair is slightly tousled from the wind, and there’s a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he kills the engine and kicks the stand down.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, stepping closer as the silence rushes in to fill the space the engine left behind. “You didn’t tell me you had a motorbike.”

Seungmin swings his leg off with ease, the motion fluid and confident. His boots hit the pavement with a satisfying thud as he straightens up, shrugging casually. “Not something I go around broadcasting,” he says, his tone dry but tinged with amusement. “But I figured it’d make a decent first date impression.”

“Decent?” you echo, your eyes wide and sparkling. “Seungmin, this is fucking unreal.”

His smirk deepens, and he reaches behind the seat, pulling out a smaller leather jacket. He holds it out to you, his fingers brushing yours briefly as you take it. “Jisung’s,” he explains. “Figured you’d need one. You’re about the same size, and he won’t notice it’s missing for at least a week.”

You shrug the jacket on, the leather slightly oversized but warm and reassuring. “It’s perfect,” you say, zipping it up. “Jisung has surprisingly good taste.”

Seungmin chuckles, then picks up the helmet hanging from the handlebars. He steps closer, his movements deliberate as he gently places it over your head. “Hold still,” he murmurs, his voice dropping a notch. His fingers brush against your jaw as he fastens the strap under your chin, his touch light but lingering. Once the helmet is secure, he pulls back, his dark eyes meeting yours through the visor. “Ready?”

You nod eagerly, your pulse quickening. “Hell yes.”

He grins, climbing back onto the bike and steadying it with ease. He gestures for you to climb on, his smirk playful. “Hop on, daredevil.”

You swing your leg over the seat carefully, your movements slightly hesitant as you settle in behind him. The leather of his jacket is cool against your palms as you wrap your arms around his waist. You feel the firm press of his body beneath your hands, steady and grounding.

“How fast do you want to go?” he asks, glancing back at you over his shoulder, his voice muffled but clear.

You lean closer, your voice daring and breathless. “Fast enough to feel like we’re fucking flying.”

His smirk turns almost wicked, and he nods. “Alright. Hold on tight.”

The bike roars to life beneath you, the deep rumble reverberating through your legs and chest. You tighten your grip on Seungmin’s waist as he pulls onto the street, the bike purring as it eases into motion. The city blurs past, a kaleidoscope of lights and colours, as Seungmin weaves through traffic with effortless precision. The wind rushes against you, tugging at the loose strands of your hair that escape from the helmet.

You laugh, the sound bubbling out of you like champagne, light and effervescent. “This is fucking insane!” you shout, your voice barely audible over the wind.

Seungmin glances at you in the rearview mirror, his grin sharp and full of exhilaration. “You good back there?” he calls.

“Never better!” you reply, tightening your hold on him as he picks up speed.

The city begins to thin, the towering buildings giving way to open stretches of road. The air cools as the sun dips lower, painting the sky in streaks of deep orange and fiery pink. Seungmin leans into the curves of the road, his movements fluid, the bike responding to him like an extension of his body. You cling to him, your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Faster?” he calls over his shoulder, his voice teasing but tinged with excitement.

“Y!” you shout back, your voice full of laughter.

He obliges, twisting the throttle and sending the bike surging forward. The wind whips past you, the world blurring into streaks of colour and motion. For a moment, it feels like nothing else exists. Just the bike, the open road, and Seungmin’s steady presence.

Eventually, Seungmin slows the bike, pulling onto a quiet stretch of road lined with tall trees. He kills the engine, the sudden silence almost deafening after the rush of the ride. He flips up his visor, glancing back at you with a smirk.

“Still breathing?” he asks, his tone light and teasing.

You pull off the helmet, shaking out your hair as you catch your breath. “Barely. That was incredible.”

He chuckles, leaning back slightly as he watches you with a mixture of amusement and something softer. “Glad you liked it.”

“Liked it?” you repeat, your grin wide. “Seungmin, that is the best fucking date of my life.”

His smirk softens into a genuine smile, and he reaches out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Good,” he murmurs. “That was the goal.”

The sky above has deepened into twilight, the first stars beginning to dot the horizon. You tilt your head back, taking in the clear expanse, the cool night air brushing against your skin. Beside you, Seungmin shifts slightly, resting his elbows on the handlebars as he watches you.

“You’re something else,” he says quietly, his voice carrying a note of awe.

You glance at him, your cheeks warming at the sincerity in his gaze. “So are you, Seungmin.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, but I think you’ve got me beat.”

You laugh softly, leaning closer to him, the warmth of his presence chasing away the lingering coolness of the air. “Guess we’ll call it a tie.”

His grin returns, sharp and playful. “Deal. But only because it’s you.”

The air between you feels charged, the adrenaline from the ride mingling with something deeper, more electric. Seungmin's eyes meet yours, and without hesitation, his hands find your waist, his grip firm but grounding as he lifts you gently off the bike and sets you down. The world feels steady beneath your feet, but your heart is anything but.

“Come here,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, a sound that sends a shiver coursing through your spine.

Before you can respond, his hand slides to the small of your back, tugging you closer. His other hand tangles in your hair, tilting your face toward his. The heat of his body presses into you as he dips you slightly, his lips crashing into yours with an urgency that leaves you breathless. The kiss is searing, unrestrained. Like he’s been holding himself back for far too long and has finally decided to let go. His fingers tighten in your hair, and the hand on your back presses you flush against him, eliminating any space.

Your hands fly to his chest instinctively, gripping the fabric of his t-shirt as you melt into him. The faint scent of leather, wind, and his cologne surrounds you, intoxicating and grounding all at once. His lips are soft yet demanding, each movement carrying the weight of everything he hasn’t said out loud. The cool night air bites at your skin, but it’s drowned out by the fire between you.

When he finally pulls back, his lips linger close to yours, his breath warm against your skin. His thumb brushes against your waist absentmindedly, and his eyes, dark and intense, lock onto yours. A grin slowly spreads across his face, equal parts smug and genuinely amused. “You’re gonna have to hang on tighter than that for the ride back to the frat,” he teases, his voice roughened with desire.

You let out a soft laugh, still catching your breath as you clutch his jacket for balance. “I think I can manage,” you say, your voice softer than usual but no less sure. “I’ve got my very own speed demon. How could I say no?”

His grin widens, that slightly cocky, slightly boyish charm making your stomach flip. “Damn right you do,” he mutters, leaning in to steal another kiss, this one quick and playful but no less electrifying.

He steps back reluctantly, letting out a breath as if steadying himself, before turning to grab your helmet from the bike. “Helmet back on, daredevil,” he says, his voice light but still carrying that teasing edge.

You tilt your head as he steps closer, holding the helmet up for you. “Oh, you’re worried about safety?” you tease, but you stand still as he slides the helmet over your head with careful hands.

His fingers brush against your jaw as he adjusts the strap under your chin, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “Gotta keep you alive,” he says with a smirk. “Wouldn’t be much of a date if you died halfway through.”

You laugh, the sound muffled by the helmet but no less genuine. “Fair point.”

Once the helmet is secure, he tilts the visor down, his dark eyes crinkling slightly with amusement as he steps back. “More Tudor art when we get back?” he asks, his tone casual but his gaze still holding that spark of mischief.

You pretend to think, tapping your finger against the helmet. “Depends. Are you going to admit that Anne Boleyn was a badass?”

“For you?” he says, his smirk softening into something more sincere. “I’ll admit anything.”

Your laugh echoes in the cool night air as you climb back onto the bike, wrapping your arms around his waist again. This time, your grip is tighter, not just because of the ride but because you don’t want to let go.

Seungmin revs the engine, the deep, throaty growl vibrating through your chest. He glances over his shoulder, his voice carrying over the roar. “Ready?”

“Always,” you say, your voice steady despite the helmet.

He grins, twisting the throttle, and the bike surges forward, cutting through the night like a blade. The city lights blur around you as Seungmin navigates the streets with the same effortless confidence as before, but this time, the ride feels different. It’s not just adrenaline now—it’s something more grounded, more connected. Each twist and turn feels like a shared secret, the warmth of his body steadying you as the wind rushes past.

As the city falls behind you, replaced by quiet streets and patches of open road, the sky above deepens into twilight. The stars begin to peek through the inky blackness, their faint light mirrored in the shimmering horizon ahead. You press yourself closer to Seungmin, the steady rhythm of his breathing grounding you even as the bike picks up speed.

When the lights of the frat house finally come into view, you feel a pang of regret that the ride is almost over. The bike slows as Seungmin pulls smoothly into the driveway, the rumble of the engine fading as he cuts the power. He kicks down the stand and turns to you, his grin still firmly in place.

“Still breathing?” he asks, his voice teasing as he removes his helmet.

You pull off your helmet, your hair tumbling out in a mess of strands. “Barely,” you reply, laughing softly. “But that was fucking worth it.”

He chuckles, watching you with a mixture of amusement and something softer. “You’re trouble, you know that?”

“Takes one to know one,” you fire back, your smile widening.

Seungmin shakes his head, clearly trying not to laugh, and steps closer to help you off the bike. His hands find your waist again, steadying you as your feet hit the ground. This time, his touch lingers, his dark eyes scanning your face as if committing every detail to memory.

“Ready to dive back into Tudor art?” he asks, his tone teasing but affectionate.

You roll your eyes, a laugh bubbling out of you. “You’re ridiculous.”

“For you?” he says, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Always.”

You shake your head, biting back a grin, and follow him toward the house. The warm glow of the frat house lights spills out onto the driveway, and as you step inside, you feel the lingering coolness of the night disappear entirely. With Seungmin by your side, everything feels exactly as it should.

[buckets-and-trees]

You took photos until you got one that you liked well enough and sent it to Bucky.

OH MY GOSH THE STRUGGLE IS SO REAL! AND MEN DON'T GET IT! SEXY SELF PHOTOGRAPHY IS SOMETIMES JUST TOO MUCH EFFORT!!!

You were so horny, you were seconds away from shoving a pillow between your thighs simply so you’d have something to hump against. That probably should’ve been a sign that you weren’t thinking clearly, but instead, it had you making up your mind.

I can neither confirm nor deny that I've made poor horny choices in the heat of unrestrained need and picked up a morning after pill on the way home.

Just the tip.

And then I stopped breathing for a really long time. The tone you managed to build and sustain of just that feral desperation, the naughty playfulness, and when it got absolutely feverish?! Stunning!

The volume of kisses... This is so physical for them, but to have Bucky kissing the reader so much - lips, face, neck, nipping and sucking, the tongue fucking, just... so much kissing. Just like with the first part, I know we're toxic and situationship, but my feels detector is detecting the deep feels. Doesn't mean they're good or noble or romantic, but there are feels there.

And I want to specifically point out how well you navigated us through that climax to intimate moment of post-orgasm bodies against each other (I'm not gonna say cuddling because it wasn't an active cuddle like in the beginning so much as this post-sexual need to just be body to body) to the bashful moment and then getting a bit dirty again. Because wow. You hit each note of it perfectly.

All the interaction after she gets out of bed (to the door frame to the shower to back to bed)... I feel like you're packing in a lot of their thoughts and feelings - especially the unspoken ones - for things that are going to come up in the next two parts. I have thoughts and theories. I have ways I'm hoping this goes... I'm utterly ensnared by this wicked, dirty, intense thing between them. But I'm not going to say anything in case I'm wrong.

But holy hell, Molly.

The way this is suddenly in my top favorite series...

You should be arrested.

only man allowed

pairing: toxic!bucky barnes x toxic!female reader

summary: you're feeling particularly needy one night, but when you text your situationship to come over, he reminds you that he won't wear a condom, which is a problem since it's a risky time of the month for you. but you tell him to come over anyway.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), established situationship, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering (f receiving), consensual non-consent and consensual sexual coercion, sexual roleplay, 'just the tip' trope, breeding kink, bdsm elements, some biting and marking, some dacryphilia, some pain play, dirty talk, daddy kink, praise kink, degradation kink, pet names (baby), begging, teasing, multiple orgasms, aftercare, taking and sending nude photos, possessive behavior, toxic behavior, jealousy, referenced but not shown situationship between reader and john walker, very anti-john walker behavior

word count: 8.5k

a/n: listen, i definitely wrote this at a certain time of the month and i'm not going to apologize for it!!! what i will apologize for is the fact that this ended up being way longer than i expected!! i wanted these to be short little fics, but apparently toxic bucky won't let me keep things short 🤭 anyway, this was fun to write and i hope y'all enjoy it!! ♡

you ain't my boyfriend and i ain't your girlfriend series masterlist

You missing me, baby?

You could perfectly imagine the arrogant smirk on Bucky Barnes’ stupidly handsome face and the playful glint of mischief in his eye as he asked you that question in response to the picture you’d sent. It was a hastily taken photo of your body clad only in one of Bucky’s t-shirts, your fingers pulling up the hem to show a pair of panties—the ones that had made him groan like he was being tortured when he’d first seen them. 

The truth was, you were missing him. You were horny as fuck and you didn’t care if he knew it—which, you were certain he did, because you only ever sent him lewd photos of yourself when you wanted him—but would it kill Bucky to show a little bit of reciprocity, instead of sending you that teasing response?

It didn’t matter that his playfully cocky words only drove your need higher, your body warming as heat flooded between your thighs. You were missing Bucky’s brand of arrogance, and it was all you could think about, the deep rasp of his voice in your ear while he pounded into you, the dirty and depraved things he’d say as his cock slid into your pussy, stretching you out just the way you needed.

You knew, without even touching yourself, that neither your fingers nor your toys would be enough for you that evening. You needed Bucky. Not John Walker, not any of the other guys on your roster—only Bucky Barnes could satisfy the need burning through your body.

So you rolled onto your knees and lowered your upper body to your bed, arching your ass high in the air. You positioned your phone and took a photo of your curved ass, barely clad in your panties, with the TV on your dresser also in frame. You took photos until you got one that you liked well enough and sent it to Bucky.

I’m bored, come chill.

Your text deliberately didn’t acknowledge Bucky’s question—and you weren’t asking him to come over, you were demanding it. You refused to beg a guy like Bucky Barnes, who refused to be exclusive with you, to come over and fuck you. 

But you knew the simple request would drag him away from whatever he was doing on that Saturday evening and get him to your apartment.

So you were surprised when he texted back and didn’t immediately say he was on his way.

You sure? If we end up fucking, I’m not wearing a condom.

The second you finished reading Bucky’s text, you shoved your face into one of your pillows and let out a frustrated groan. Of course Bucky hadn’t forgotten you were in the process of switching to a new birth control and you’d told him that if he was going to fuck you, he’d have to wear a condom.

He’d taken it better than you expected—especially for a guy who claimed sex with you “didn’t feel as good” when he wore a condom. He hadn’t thrown a tantrum or tried to talk you into fucking bare while it was unsafe. He’d seemed happy enough with handjobs and blowjobs, and had always reciprocated by getting you off with his fingers or mouth.

But you could tell from his text that he was reaching his limit and, truthfully, so were you. 

You missed the feeling of Bucky’s bare cock sliding into you, the heat of his stiff length and the drag of his veins against your sensitive inner walls. You were desperate to feel his cum flooding your cunt, filling you up with his seed while his balls twitched against your ass or clit, and he groaned low and deep in your ear. 

Bucky was the only man on your roster allowed to fuck you bare, and it was entirely contingent on him swearing on his mother’s grave that you were the only girl he fucked without a condom. As far as you knew, Bucky had kept his promise—which you knew because you made him get tested at the local clinic at least once a month. 

Still, you were only four weeks in to the 4-6 week period where your doctor had told you to use secondary methods of birth control while you were switching prescriptions. And you were so horny that you were probably ovulating—but you wanted Bucky so bad you could barely think. 

In fact, the thought of letting Bucky cum inside you when it wasn’t a safe time of the month, and was extra not safe because you were switching your birth control, turned you on so much, your whole body shivered with need. Something about the idea, how risky it was, how it might mean Bucky would knock you up, was too good to be ignored. 

You were so horny, you were seconds away from shoving a pillow between your thighs simply so you’d have something to hump against. That probably should’ve been a sign that you weren’t thinking clearly, but instead, it had you making up your mind.

You decided having Bucky over—having him fuck you raw—was worth the risk. In a brief moment of clarity, you reasoned with yourself that there was always the morning after pill. That was good enough for you.

So you texted him back.

I’m sure.

Bucky showed up to your apartment so soon after you texted him that you were sure that he either broke a number of traffic laws driving over from wherever he’d been, or he’d already been on his way. You loved both ideas, and didn’t want him to give you another reason, so you opted not to ask.

But for how fast he’d gotten to your place, he seemed content to take his time getting to the main event. When you opened the door, you’d been expecting (or, rather, hoping) he’d pounce on you. Instead, he pulled you into his arms and gave you a brief, chaste kiss, asking how your week was and how you’d been since he last saw you.

Then, as you entertained his desire for small talk, Bucky made himself comfortable, stretching out on your bed after kicking off his shoes and beckoning you to curl up with him. You did so, a little warily, and even put on a show you’d seen a million times since you figured Bucky would distract you from it soon enough. 

But he didn’t. 

You lasted all of five minutes before you were lifting your head from Bucky’s chest to look at him, surprised to find the guy you’d texted to come over and fuck you was seemingly engrossed in your show. You whined his name in a pitiful voice, “Bucky.” 

The arrogant smirk you’d pictured when he’d texted you earlier spread across his face and he squeezed you tighter in his hard, muscled arms. 

“Shhh, baby, watch your show,” he rumbled, rolling you onto your back so he was curled around your side, throwing a leg over yours and burying his scruffy face in your neck. “I’m just here to chill, right?” There was a teasing note in his voice that had you huffing out a frustrated sound.

“Bucky…” you grumbled, even as you shifted your head on your pillows to give him easier access to your neck. He rewarded you by kissing your soft skin, sending a tendril of heat curling down your spine and settling heavily between your thighs. “You know this isn’t what I meant when I told you to come over.” 

Bucky lifted himself up onto his forearm, hovering above you so he could stare down into your eyes. His arrogant smirk had slipped off his face, leaving a serious expression as he took in the pinched, frustrated look on yours. He seemed to come to some kind of decision as he stared at you.

“It’s not a safe time for you, right, baby?” he asked, each word said slowly, intentionally, another meaning laced within. “You don’t want me to tell you that I’m horny as fuck and the only thing I want is to bury my bare cock in you and cum in your unprotected pussy—you don’t want me to try to talk you into it, to coerce you, right, baby?”

At his filthy words, your heart thundered in your chest and your pulse thrummed between your thighs, and for a brief, blistering moment, you considered throwing a whole entire hissy fit because that’s not what you wanted. You wanted the opposite of what Bucky was saying—and then the deeper meaning in his words hit you. 

Bucky wasn’t really asking if you wanted him to be nice and respectful of the boundaries you’d set, even though you’d already essentially given him permission to ignore them. He was asking if you wanted to play along with the idea that you were reluctant to let him fuck you without a condom while you were at risk of getting knocked up.

“That’s not what you want, is it, baby?” Bucky rumbled, his gaze holding yours as he nodded his head slowly, the gesture so at odds with his words, it could only mean he was asking you the opposite of what he said.

You’d been eager for Bucky to fuck you—you were so horny, it was the only thing you could think about—but the opportunity of playing this game with him was too enticing to pass up. Pretending to be reluctant, pretending to slowly give in to Bucky’s whims when it was what you both really wanted, would only make the sex that much hotter. 

An excited smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, and you saw Bucky’s gaze drop to your lips, his own face flickering with elation as he took in your reaction. You waited until his eyes returned to yours before you answered him.

“Noooo, that’s definitely not what I want, daddy,” you whimpered huskily, the barest hint of sarcasm in your tone as you struggled to stop from smirking. Your head was nodding just as Bucky’s had, and he was the first to break, an eager grin spreading across his face. 

He ducked down and brushed another frustratingly brief kiss to your lips. “You got it, baby, no fucking tonight—just chilling,” he murmured, a teasing tone in his voice that had your body tingling with anticipation.

You were less surprised that time when Bucky snuggled back down on top of you, his mouth going back to your neck where he was working on sucking a hickey into the side of your throat.

Since you knew the game you were playing, it was a little easier to settle in and watch your show, all the while trying to forget the way your pussy was pulsing with need. Still, you wouldn’t have said it was easy to ignore the steady twitching of Bucky’s cock against your thigh as he hardened in his sweatpants.

It only got more difficult to keep your attention on your show when Bucky’s hand slid under your shirt, his fingers trailing idly over your stomach until he eventually reached your tits. He began kneading your soft flesh lazily, his fingers plucking teasingly at your nipples, while his mouth sucked on your neck. 

Despite how obvious it was that Bucky was taking his time, it wasn’t long before you were a wet, whimpering mess beneath him.

“Bucky, w-we shouldn’t fool around,” you murmured breathily, mouth tripping over the words as you voiced the exact opposite of what you wanted. It was like your lips didn’t want to play the game you’d started, but you were rewarded for their effort by his frustrated growl, which had you throbbing between your thighs.

“It’s fine, baby, we’re not doing anything we shouldn’t…” he rumbled against your neck, his teeth nipping at your sensitive skin and making you shiver. 

The word “yet” hung unspoken in what little space there was between your bodies, and the promise of it had you warming even more, pressing your thighs together against the ache pulsing in your core. “Bucky,” you whimpered his name, your hips twisting toward him like they had a mind of their own.

“Are ya getting wet, baby?” he asked teasingly in your ear, his fingers tripping down your body until they skimmed along the hem of your panties. All you could do was whine in response and Bucky chuckled. “Yeah, I bet you’re dripping for me.”

Your chest was already heaving with heavier breaths just from the way Bucky was teasing his fingers beneath the edge of your panties, taking his sweet time going any lower to where you really needed him. Your fingers wrapped around his wrist, and your intention had been to shove his hand deeper into your panties so he’d finally touch your pussy, but instead he stopped.

“Don’t worry, baby, ‘m not gonna fuck you, no matter how wet your pretty little pussy is,” Bucky murmured in your ear, brushing a kiss to your cheek. 

Though his words might’ve sounded reassuring, his tone was a deliciously teasing rumble and you could feel his smirk against your cheek. Your body trembled, your thighs parting for Bucky of their own accord, which had him humming a pleased sound. 

“Good girl, just let me feel you.”

Bucky’s fingers finally dipped into your panties and slid down to your pussy, a breathy little moan bursting from your lips. The feel of his warm, skilled fingers slipping through your soaking wet folds, bumping against your clit before swirling around your aching, clenching hole, was almost too much. 

You had to bite your lip against the urge to beg Bucky to fuck you already, not wanting to ruin the game that was making everything hotter. But he seemed to lose himself for a moment, burying his face in your neck and groaning while his fingers slipped between your swollen and soppy lower lips.

“Fucking hell, baby, you’re drenched for me,” Bucky growled, his voice low and no longer teasing. His fingers were dipping shallowly into your hole and spreading your wetness around, making a mess of your pussy. “You feel so fucking ripe, I gotta feel it—gotta feel you against my cock.”

Bucky was already pushing your panties down your thighs, rising above you and tearing his shirt off over his head before tugging your own shirt from your body. 

At the same time, you were kicking your panties from around your ankles and spreading your legs, sitting up shove at the waistband of Bucky’s sweatpants. When his cock bounced free, you reached for his perfect length, saliva already pooling in your mouth as you gave his girth a reverent stroke.

But then Bucky was urging you back down, guiding your shoulders to the bed and covering your body with his own. You arched up into his warmth while he settled between your thighs, your fingers clinging to his sides.

His darkened eyes were fixed on the juncture of your legs, his fingers going back to playing through your wetness and spreading it around to make a mess of your pussy. Occasionally, he’d bump against your clit, which made your body jolt every time he brushed the needy bundle of nerves. 

Bucky felt so good, and you were so close to getting what you really wanted—his cock inside you—but you forced yourself to remember the game you were playing.

You grabbed Bucky’s face in both hands, tipping it up so you could catch his eye. There was an almost dazed look on his face, but he blinked and focused back on you.

“It isn’t a safe time of the month,” you said, as sternly as you could manage. But your breaths were coming too quickly for there to be much steel in your voice. Bucky’s thumb brushed over your clit purposefully and your hips bore down on his hand, your body begging for more as you whined, “You can’t fuck me bare, Bucky.” 

“I won’t, baby,” Bucky purred, wrapping the fingers that were sticky with your desire around the hard length of his cock. He chuckled when you whimpered at the loss of his touch, leaning down over you and brushing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Just let me rub against you—you’re so wet, it’ll feel so good. I won’t push inside your drippy little pussy, baby, I promise.”

You knew he was lying, and you knew Bucky knew you knew he was lying. For some reason, that made everything so much hotter. So did playing the reluctant participant, which was why you bit your lip with fake nervousness as you stared up at Bucky, your panting breaths adding even more uncertainty to your voice when you spoke.

“Oh-okay, daddy, you can rub against me—but no more.” 

The words were barely out of your mouth before Bucky was sliding his thick, hard cock between your pussy lips, making you moan and spread your legs wider, raising your knees toward your chest to give him all the access he needed. 

Bucky let out a groan and dropped down to cover you with his body, his arms digging beneath your back to hold you pinned tightly against his chest. Your sensitive nipples rubbed against him, teasing you relentlessly.

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good,” Bucky rumbled, rocking his hips so his cock dragged between your swollen, dripping folds, rubbing against your clit and sending sparks of pleasure swirling through your body. “So wet… You’re making a fucking mess on my cock, baby.”

“Oh god,” you whimpered in Bucky’s ear, your body shuddering under the onslaught of blistering pleasure and aching emptiness in your core. 

You wrapped your arms around Bucky’s shoulders, hands digging into his soft brown hair and holding onto him while his hips kept rocking into the cradle of your body, his cock grinding against your clit until you were gushing with wetness all over his stiff length.

“Doesn’t it feel good, baby?” Bucky murmured in your ear, his voice sweetly entreating, like he was trying to convince you of something, though you were already very well aware that his hard shaft grinding into your dripping wet pussy felt better than it had any right. “You’re creaming all over daddy’s cock, baby—tell me how good it feels.”

“Nngh, so goooood,” you keened, hooking your ankles around the backs of Bucky’s thighs to get better leverage to grind against his hard length. You were caught between wanting more and wanting to keep grinding against him. “Your cock feels sooo good, daddy, so big and hard against my drippy pussy.”

“Fuck, ‘m so hard for you,” Bucky groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder as he rutted into your soft, drenched folds with rough, punishing thrusts. “My dick’s throbbing for your cunt, baby, can you feel it?”

He pressed his shaft deep into your slit, the flared head of his cock bullying your clit, and you could feel it. You could feel the pulse in his hard length, joining the rhythm in your center. 

Your body reacted on instinct, your inner walls clenching hard around nothing while you whined his name, “Buckyyy.”

“I can feel you, baby,” Bucky rumbled, the teasing tone back in his voice. “I can feel your cunt mouthing at my cock.” 

Bucky’s words sounded so deliciously depraved that you wanted to turn your head and kiss him, to taste his debauchery straight from his tongue. You knew he had a filthy mouth, but his dirty talk was even hotter because of the game you were playing—and he just kept talking. 

“Feels like ya want me to fuck you, baby,” he cooed, lifting his head to speak directly in your ear. “Does your pretty little cunt wanna get fucked?”

It was on the tip of your tongue to scream, ‘Yes!’ You wanted to get fucked so bad. You practically desperate for Bucky to push inside you and impale you on his cock, to pump into your pussy bare and cum inside you. You managed to bite it back at the last second for the sake of the role you were playing, but you couldn’t get any other words out.

When you were quiet, save for your panting breaths while Bucky’s hips kept up their torturous rocking, he lifted himself, bracing on his forearms so he could hover above you and see your face. He raised an eyebrow in question, his body slowing its movement as his gaze raked over your face, uncertainty flickering in the depths of his blue eyes.

It was clear he was questioning whether you still wanted to play the game you’d both started, and the fact that he was taking the time to check in with you had your heart squeezing uncomfortably in your chest. 

It was an annoying reminder that Bucky wasn’t the kind of man to be selfish and self-absorbed in bed. Even if he was only your situationship, he made sure you were enjoying everything he was doing. 

And you wanted him to know you were enjoying yourself very much—and that you still wanted to play the role you’d been given.

“I want you so bad, Bucky.” The words tumbled from your lips as you gave in to the urge to assuage Bucky’s concern. “I want you so bad, but we shouldn’t,” you whined, pouting up at him as you slipped back into the game. 

The furrow of concern smoothed itself from Bucky’s brow and he smirked before ducking down to capture your lips in a quick kiss. 

His hips began rocking into you again, and he swallowed your responding moan greedily. He groaned himself when you used your ankles hooked around his thighs to grind back against him, your soft, wet pussy sliding against the rough ridge of his cock and making a mess of both of you.

“What if I…what if I just push the tip in?” Bucky rasped, pulling away and catching your eye, a smirk fluttered at the edges of his mouth, like he was trying to hold it back but was failing. “Just the tip—just let me feel you. Please, baby, I wanna feel you so fucking bad.” 

Bucky bowed his head, pressing sweet kisses to your collarbones, a barely restrained chuckle rumbling his chest. It seemed he’d lost the battle with being able to keep a straight face and you couldn’t blame him, your mouth was spread in a mischievous grin while your nails raked through his short brown hair.

“It’s not safe,” you reminded him, but there was an edge of glee in your tone. 

You couldn’t hide the fact that you were having fun with Bucky, playing out the little game he’d started. You were so close to getting what you wanted, that it only made it more difficult to pretend you didn’t want it. 

So when you murmured, “If you cum inside me, Bucky…” your voice was breathless with desire, and you had to cut yourself off to bite back the moan that wanted to be set free. 

Bucky smirked against your neck, his teeth nipping playfully at the mark he’d left on your throat before he responded. “It’s just the tip, baby, promise—I won’t cum inside you.”

Had it always been so easy for you to hear when Bucky was lying, or had he given up on the pretense of the game so much that it was even more obvious? 

The question flitted across your mind but didn’t stay long. You were too busy gasping a quick, “Ok,” your hips tilting, trying to catch the tip of Bucky’s cock in your hole on one of his grinding thrusts. However, it wasn’t until he pulled his hips back that the head of his hard length notched at your tight, clenching pussy.

Both of you held your breath when Bucky pushed inside. He stopped when just the tip was nestled inside the entrance of your warm, wet cunt. 

“Fuuuck,” Bucky groaned, pressing his face into the side of your neck, his hot breath fanning over the hollow of your throat and his scruff rasping against your sensitive skin. “You’re so fucking warm, baby,” he rumbled into your neck, the sensation of his mouth against your throat making you shiver all over. “Gotta do it again.”

His muttered words were your only warning before his hips reared back, the broad tip of his cock pulling free from your grasping hole. A tortured whimper slipped from your mouth before you could stop it, and Bucky chuckled as he slid back inside you, your pitiful sound dissolving into a moan when the head of his cock popped into your cunt.

“Yeah, that feels good, doesn’t it?” Bucky crooned in your ear, doing it again, slower that time, making you feel every tiny bit of his tip pushing into your weeping hole. “My cock sliding into your drippy little cunt—you’re so fucking wet for me, aren’t you, baby?”

“Yes, Bucky, so wet for you,” you echoed, unable to do more when all your focus was on not impaling yourself on Bucky’s cock. Your body squirmed beneath his larger form, one of Bucky’s big hands pressing down on your hip like he knew you were barely holding back from pushing yourself down on his cock.

“It would be so easy for me to slide all the way inside, don’t ya think, baby?” Bucky purred in a teasing tone, his hips rocking forward until he’d pushed another inch deeper before pulling back so only the tip was inside you again.

Just that little tease had you moaning mindlessly beneath Bucky, tears of desire and frustration springing to your eyes. 

Your arms wrapped tightly around Bucky’s shoulders and your legs hooked around the backs of his thighs, trying to pull him in deeper. You needed more, to hell with the game you’d been playing. You needed him inside you already. 

“Bucky, please,” you begged on a sob, pressing your face into his cheek.

“I can feel your cunt gripping me, baby, sucking on me—she wants me to push deeper,” Bucky rumbled in your ear, a gruffness to his voice that told you he was reaching the limit of his patience with the game as well. 

In that moment, you’d have done anything to get Bucky to fuck you properly, but before you could speak, he went on. 

“Do you want it, baby?” he asked, his voice rough as crushed rock, his own breaths hot and heavy against your skin. “Want my cock buried deep inside you, filling you up and fucking you hard?”

“Yes, Bucky, please,” you gasped, your hands diving into his hair and pulling his head up so you could look him in the eye. You had to blink the tears from your eyes to do it, but you didn’t want there to be any confusion about what you wanted. “Fuck me, daddy, please!”

A slow, depraved grin spread across Bucky’s face as his eyes roved over your tear-stained cheeks. You felt the tip of his cock twitch inside you, and your body gave an answering clench, like it was begging him to slide inside. But Bucky seemed happy to let his eyes wander over your face, relishing the sight of you crying and begging him to fuck you. 

It felt like a small eternity before his gaze met yours again and he seemed ready to give you what you wanted. 

“But don’t cum inside you, right, baby?” Bucky asked, a devious tone in his voice. His hips pulled back and thrust forward slowly, pushing his big cock inside you at a torturous pace. Bucky’s grin was teasing as he went on, murmuring, “Wouldn’t want daddy knocking you up, right, baby?” 

At Bucky’s words, something inside you snapped. Your mind went blank and your body moved on its own, your legs hiking up Bucky’s sides to wrap tightly around his lower back. Your heels dug into his firm ass and you whined loudly until he let you pull him deeper inside you.

Bucky’s cock impaled you with one thrust, a pleasured grunt slipping from his mouth, half-muffled against your neck. He filled you up all the way to the root of his thick cock and you moaned, long and loud in his ear. 

You finally got what you wanted. Finally, you were full of his cock.

Bucky was buried so deep inside you that you could feel his balls pressed against your ass—his big, heavy balls, full of the seed you desperately wanted him to pump inside you. The desire left you dizzy and dazed, your body thrumming with a need to be filled, to be knocked up, to be bred by your situationship.

“Breed me, Bucky,” you whispered breathlessly in his ear. 

He stilled for a very brief second, but then he was groaning obscenely, sucking hard on the hickey he’d already left. Whether it was a reward or a punishment, you didn’t know—nor did you care.

“Oh fuck,” Bucky grunted, his legs shifting on your bed and repositioning himself to fight against the stranglehold you had on his body. 

He pushed up onto his forearms so he could hover above you, his eyes raking over your face as he rolled his hips to fuck you in hard, shallow thrusts that had your lips parting, punched-out whines slipping from your mouth. 

You were so consumed in basking in your pleasure that it took you a moment to realize Bucky had gone quiet—quieter than he normally was when he was fucking you. It took another moment for you to blink your vision back into focus and when you did, you sucked in a sharp breath at the look of pure, depraved desire on Bucky’s face. 

“Do you have something you want to tell me, baby?” he asked dryly, lifting an eyebrow in question. Before you could answer, he ducked down and captured your lips in a searing kiss, the heat of his tongue flicking into your mouth making you moan. “Does my girl have a breeding kink she failed to tell me about?” he asked in a teasing tone, plunging his cock deep into your pussy and grinding hard against a spot inside you that had you seeing stars.

“Not your girl,” you managed to gasp, even through the pleasure. 

A low growl rumbled in Bucky’s chest, but it cut off abruptly. It seemed your situationship didn’t like being reminded that he wasn’t the only one who fucked you. Bucky nipped at your bottom lip, biting it a little harshly, making your pussy clench around his cock as you whined through the brief sting.  

“Does John fucking Walker know about your breeding kink?” Bucky seethed, his voice suddenly furious. His anger was reflected in the way he picked up the pace of his hips, fucking you in rough, hard thrusts that had you crying out and clinging to his shoulders, your nails sinking deep into his golden skin. “Do you let John fucking Walker fuck you raw—fucking tell me, baby.”

“No,” you cried, tears of pleasure slipping from your eyes and trailing down your temples into your hair. Bucky’s lips found the salty tears and he kissed them from your skin, making your heart and pussy clench simultaneously. “You’re the only one allowed to fuck me bare, Bucky, you know that.” 

“That’s fucking right,” he growled, punctuating each of his words with brutal thrusts. “I’m the only man who fucks this pussy raw,” he went on in a gruff, furious voice, raising up onto his arms so he could look you in the eye. “I’m the only man who cums inside this cunt, who fills you up until you’re leaking my seed all down your pretty thighs—I’m the only man who breeds you, isn’t that right, baby?”

“Yes—yes, Bucky, only you,” you cried, squirming beneath him, using your ankles hooked around his thighs to meet Bucky’s thrusts. It didn’t even occur to you to fight him on his possessive questions—he was right. He was the only one allowed to do all those things. “Only you, only you—please, I need you to breed me Bucky!”

You were getting close, but before you could tumble over the edge of your release, Bucky sat up, breaking the hold of your arms as he pushed up onto his knees. You let out a frustrated wail, but stopped short at the expression on Bucky’s face.

The look in his eye was wild, nearly feral. His hands were rough and possessive when he grabbed your plush thighs, pushing them up toward your chest until you were folded in half. His cock was still inside you, but not nearly as deep as you wanted it in the position Bucky was in. 

Your hips squirmed, a whine working its way up your throat before spilling free.

Bucky leaned back down on top of you, pinning your legs to your chest and your body to the bed as his cock slid deeper until you were so full of him, you swore you could feel him in womb—even though you knew that was impossible. 

He stayed like that, buried inside you, his cock stretching out your tight cunt while he rocked his hips, grinding deeper into you. All the while, he stared at you, his gaze glittering with the wildness that spoke of a deep-rooted possessiveness, but when he spoke, his voice was deceptively sweet.

“You want daddy to breed you, baby?” Bucky cooed in your ear, his mouth pressing wet, messy kisses to your cheek and jaw. “You knew it wasn’t a safe time of the month, and you let me fuck you raw anyway—such a silly little cumslut pretending you didn’t want it, but you do, right, baby?”

All you could manage was a punched-out, “Uh huh,” Bucky’s heavy weight pressing the air from your lungs while he crushed you to the bed. He shifted a little, so you could breathe, but it didn’t seem to matter that you’d responded, because he went on as if he hadn’t even heard you.

“You wanna feel my fat cock bruising your cervix, baby?” he huffed, pausing only to nip at the lobe of your ear with his teeth, making you clench hard around his cock. His next words came out on a filthy groan, pouring into your ear and settling deep in your mind. “Ya want me to flood your fertile little cunt with my seed and breed you—is that it?” 

You were half feral yourself with desire, with your need to cum—with your need to feel him cum inside you—and you weren’t sure if Bucky was checking in with you, or if he was getting off on teasing you, but you rushed to answer, telling him the truth.

“God, Bucky, yes—please,” you whined, your fingers digging into his soft hair and towing his head until your mouth found his, kissing him messily while he kept fucking you in hard, rough thrusts. “Fill me up with your cum, daddy, make me your pretty little cumdump, please, I want it—I need it!” you cried into Bucky’s mouth, your words half muffled because neither of you wanted to pull away. 

“Jesus fucking christ, baby,” Bucky grunted, his hot breath panting past your lips. You felt his mouth curve into a sly smirk. “First you don’t want me to fuck you because it isn’t safe,” he murmured in a teasing tone. “And now you want me to breed your little pussy full of cum—which is it, baby, d’you want me to pull out or cum inside your unprotected cunt?”

A mindless moan slipped from your lips at his filthy question, your mind going entirely blank for a split second. All you could do was feel—Bucky’s thick cock pounding into your pussy, the tip hitting a spot inside you that felt so good, you never wanted him to stop. It was too good, you didn’t want him to pull out, even if it would’ve been the smart decision.

“Breed me, daddy,” you begged in a throaty, desperate voice. “Breed me, cum inside me—please, please, please!”

“Fuck,” Bucky cursed, but he sounded pleased, too. “I’m so fucking close, baby, so close to draining my balls in your tight little cunt.” 

His body shifted and then he was pounding into you in a new, better angle, making you feel impossibly good as you careened toward the edge of your release. 

“Tell me, baby,” he rasped, his forehead pressed to yours. “Tell me you never let John fucking Walker cum inside you—tell me I’m the only man allowed to breed you.”

You whined, well aware you’d already told him—and he already knew he was the only one allowed to cum inside you. But it fed the possessiveness Bucky felt, and it felt good to give him that, so you did. 

“You’re the only one,” you promised in a thready voice, your pleasure dripping from every word. “The only man allowed to cum inside me—you’re the only man allowed to breed me, daddy!”

Bucky captured your mouth in a dominating kiss, his tongue plunging past your lips like he was desperate to fuck as many of your holes at the same time as possible. You moaned into his mouth, gripping his face and holding him close while you sucked on his tongue, your nails raking through the scruff on his jaw, both of you groaning at how good the other felt.

Finally, Bucky managed to wrench himself away from your clinging grip and his face hovered above yours, a devious smirk on his plump lips.

“Ya know I heard,” he started, his voice a little breathless and gruff, the deep sound of it singing through your body and making you shiver as your pussy pulsed around his thrusting cock. “If you cum at the same time as me, you’re more likely to get knocked up.” 

A violent shiver raced down your spine and your pussy clenched hard around Bucky’s cock. His words were going to be the end of you, you just knew it, but what a glorious end it would be.

Bucky grinned at your body’s reaction, looking far too pleased with himself, though you were too far gone in your pleasure to try to wipe that smirk off his face. Not that he gave you much opportunity, ducking down to murmur in your ear.

“Rub your clit, baby, I wanna feel you cumming on my cock while I’m knocking you up.”

“Oh my god, Bucky,” you whimpered pleasure spiraling through you at his words, but you did as he said. 

You slipped your hand between your bodies, finding your clit messy and sticky with your desire, your fingertips brushing the thick shaft of Bucky’s cock as he fucked you. Rubbing your clit in ruthless little circles, your body pulled tight.

“Bucky, I’m gonna cum—don’t stop!”

Your mouth dropped open in a silent scream as the coiled tension in your body finally shattered, and you came with a strangled cry, pleasure consuming your mind and body. 

Your release washed over you in waves of bliss that were so intense, you could feel your arms and legs trembling, your cunt clenching hard around Bucky’s thick length that was still plunging deep into your grasping channel.

“That’s it, baby, cum on daddy’s cock,” Bucky rasped, brushing sloppy kisses to your face as he rutted into you, his thrusts turning wild and rough. “You feel so fucking good, baby, you’re doing so good for me, gonna make me a daddy for real, baby—Jesus fuck.” 

Bucky cut himself off on a groan, his hips pressing flush to the backs of your thighs, his cock impaled to the hilt in your still fluttering cunt. He came with a loud moan, his cock twitching inside you as he shot rope after rope of cum into your pussy. Your inner walls milked every last drop of seed from his balls while he painted the inside of you white.

When Bucky was finally spent, he collapsed on top of you, your bodies easing into a more comfortable position. He lay on top of you in the cradle of your thighs, his palms smoothing over your hips and sides while your fingers stroked idly through his soft hair. You made small sounds of contentment, and an answering, pleased rumble, sounded in his chest. 

Finally, just when it was beginning to get uncomfortable bearing so much of Bucky’s weight, he heaved himself up onto his knees and carefully slid his cock from your thoroughly used pussy. You watched him, his gaze focused on the slit between your thighs, and you saw the moment his blue eyes darkened when his cum started dripping out of you.

You reached between you thighs, which were splayed over his his spread knees, to clean up the cum before it made a mess of your bedsheets, but Bucky knocked your hand away. He fished through the mussed up bedding until he found his discarded sweatpants and pulled his phone from the pocket. 

Your body was limp with sated pleasure, and he’d taken enough post-sex photos of you, that you let Bucky arrange you how he wanted. You even held your legs open for him so he could position his phone above your pussy and take a couple close-up photos of his cum spilling out of your pussy. Then he pulled his phone back, so your whole body was in the shot.

“Say, ‘I’m gonna be a mommy,’ baby,” Bucky ordered, a lazy grin on his face.

Between your thighs, your pussy pulsed at the words, which sounded so innocent and so filthy at the same time. Heat filled your cheeks and you turned your head to the side, trying to bury your face in a pillow while you whined, “Bucky.” 

You knew it was silly to be shy about saying something so innocuous, especially after everything you and Bucky had just said and done, but the moment was over. You didn’t normally have such a breeding kink, but you’d been so horny and it had made you so hot to talk about getting bred while Bucky was inside you. 

However, it felt like a whole other thing to play into it when the heat of the moment had passed. It felt like the kind of thing boyfriends and girlfriends did, and you knew better than to tread into that territory. 

Still, your body warmed at the idea of looking into Bucky’s camera and saying those words…

“Baby,” Bucky crooned, leaning over you and pressing a kiss to your cheek. “C’mon, I know you wanna,” he murmured in your ear, his mouth brushing butterfly kisses along your jaw. “You don’t have to be shy with me, baby, I know you’re a dirty little breeding slut desperate to be daddy’s good little cumdump.”

“Jesus Christ, Bucky,” you groaned, but you were smiling when you turned your head and met his mouth for a kiss. 

Bucky let you kiss him for a few moments before he pulled away and sat up, holding his camera in position while he raised his eyebrows at you in an expectant expression.

“I’m gonna be a mommy,” you mumbled, pouting up at the camera while Bucky snapped a few photos. It wasn’t long before you were smiling and preening for the camera, sticking your tits out and holding your legs even wider for Bucky.

“Good girl,” he murmured, catching your eye as he lowered his phone. He was giving you a pleased smirk, and you smiled up at him in return.

Bucky gently moved your legs from around his waist and flopped down on the bed beside you, swiping through the photos he’d taken of his cum leaking out of your pussy while you curled around his bicep. You had to admit, they looked hot—even the ones of you pouting and mumbling up at him.

Seeing yourself like that was turning you on and you were just about to shimmy down Bucky’s body and lick his cock clean until he was hard again when he spoke, derailing your dirty thoughts.

“I’ll pick up the morning after pill for you before I head home,” he rumbled absentmindedly, still focused more on his phone. You could see him favoriting some of the photos he’d taken and saving them to a separate folder. “And if you are knocked up, I’ll pay to have it taken care of—but don’t expect me to cuddle you and do boyfriend shit after.”

For a moment, you restrained the urge to smack Bucky in the face with a pillow. And then you thought, why not? You weren’t his girlfriend, you didn’t need to play nice. 

So you grabbed the pillow behind your head and brought it down right on Bucky’s face. He let out a satisfying, startled ‘oomph’ sound, and you chuckled as you rolled out of bed. 

“Gee, thanks,” you shot over your shoulder sarcastically as you padded toward the bathroom, intent on cleaning Bucky’s cum from between your thighs. 

But then you had an evil thought and a wicked smirk tugged at the corners of your lips. You wiped that look off your face, though, as you turned and leaned against your doorway, striking a casual pose.

“Maybe if I’m knocked up, I’ll just let John fuck me bare and tell him it’s his,” you said, giving a carefree little shrug while trying not to make it obvious how close you were watching Bucky.

You were delighted when his head snapped toward you, his gaze finally pulling away from his phone as his brows lowered into a glare. His soft mouth turned down at the corners, a furious frown darkening his face.

“D’you think John would offer to marry me?” you asked, ignoring Bucky’s reaction and tapping your chin with one finger like you were thinking. “He strikes me as the type of man who’d want to make an ‘honest woman’ out of me.” You couldn’t hold in your eye roll, even as you were trying to torture Bucky with the possibility of you marrying John fucking Walker.

In an instant, Bucky was up and off the bed, pinning you to the doorframe of your room with every inch of his big, strong body pressed against yours. You only had time to gasp while Bucky quickly gathered your wrists in one hand and pinned them above your head. His hardening cock was trapped against your belly, the stickiness of both your releases rubbing into your skin.

“You’re not marrying John fucking Walker, baby,” Bucky growled while he loomed over you. He was so close, you had to tilt your head back to look up at him, and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smirking. “And you’re certainly not raising my kid with Walker’s last name.” 

At that, you had to laugh. But when you saw how serious Bucky still looked, you realized he didn’t realize you were just trying to get a rise out of him. Something about the thought of you marrying John Walker had clearly made all rational thought completely abandon Bucky in that moment. 

Instead of thinking too hard about Bucky’s reaction, you explained yourself to him.

“Bucky, it was a joke,” you wheezed, giving him an incredulous look. “Of course I’m not gonna marry John.”

Bucky’s eyes flitted back and forth between yours, like he was checking to make sure you were being honest. He must’ve decided you were because he blew out a breath and closed his eyes, his forehead falling to yours. 

“Jesus, baby, you drive me fucking wild sometimes,” he rumbled, but there was humor in his tone, albeit reluctant.

A breathless laugh slipped from your lips and you leaned back against the doorframe, hiking your leg up around Bucky’s waist. He caught it in his free hand, the movement pressing his thickening cock between your thighs, making both of you groan.

“I think you should show me exactly how wild I make you,” you purred, rocking your hips against his stiff length, coating him in the mixture of your desire and his cum still leaking out of you. 

Bucky growled, his eyes flying open as he stared at you and worked his cock against your pussy. 

“Careful what you ask for, baby,” he rumbled, his tone a delicious taunt that had your toes curling against the floorboards and your hips tilting so you could rub your clit against his hard shaft. “Or you’re gonna get another load pumped into your tight, unprotected little cunt.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, daddy,” you sassed, smirking up at Bucky and watching as his eyes darkened with desire.

In a flash, Bucky dropped your leg and let go of your wrists, spinning you around to face the doorframe and yanking your hips toward his lap with a rough, possessive grip on your body. Your upper body fell forward and your hands clung to the doorframe, nails digging into the wood when Bucky entered you in a swift, hard thrust.

Bucky fucked you in the doorway of your bedroom, making you promise yet again that you’d never let John Walker fuck you without a condom before emptying a second load inside you.

After, he followed you to the bathroom, hopping in the shower with you where he drained what little cum was left in his balls inside your pussy before helping you clean up—though you suspected he only offered to help so he could finger his cum deeper into your cunt under the pretense of cleaning you.

When you were both finally, finally sated, you collapsed into your bed together. Your mind was blissfully blank and your body deliciously sore as you cuddled together. Bucky dozed for a bit, his head on your chest while you carded your fingers through his hair and watched your show.

After a while, Bucky roused and got dressed, going out to get you the morning after pill from the nearest drug store, just like he’d said he would. 

He also brought you back your favorite sports drink and snacks, explaining in a gruff voice that he’d read the potential side effects of the pill on the box and wanted you to be prepared. You refused to feel any type of way about that.

Then Bucky kissed you and left to head home.

All things considered, it was a good thing your new birth control had taken effect, or the morning after pill had worked, and you didn’t get pregnant despite the evening you’d had with Bucky. It was a relief when you were able to tell him that your risky night hadn’t led to any of the consequences the both of you had willfully ignored.

When you texted him to tell him you’d gotten your period, he responded quickly, messaging twice in quick succession. The first text made you roll your eyes, because you thought that was all he’d have to say. 

Good.

But then you saw the second message, and you could imagine the arrogant smirk on Bucky Barnes’ ridiculously handsome face and the playful glint of mischief in his eye when he’d sent it.

It made you smile, and you had to bite your lip against a giggle, forcefully reminding yourself that he was just a situationship.

Let me know when you wanna play ‘just the tip’ to ‘breed me, daddy’ again, baby.

you ain't my boyfriend and i ain't your girlfriend series masterlist

[eliaah]

you're drunk !

characters: yami sukehiro, fuegoleon vermillion, nozel silva, & william vangeance

tags: fluff , multi characters x fem reader

a/n: i'm back with the scenarios ! sorry if it's been awhile, i'm just really busy with school and all

🍂 YAMI SUKEHIRO

The cool night air wrapped around you as you stumbled along the path, still feeling the warmth of the drinks you had with Yami back at the tavern. The night had been filled with loud laughter and challenges from overly confident patrons that Yami either shrugged off or jokingly threatened to handle with his sword.

Yami walked beside you, hands shoved casually into his pockets, his steps as steady as ever despite the amount of beer he’d downed. He glanced at you, clearly entertained by your struggle to walk in a straight line. “You’re wobbling like a newborn deer.” he teased, his smirk growing wider.

You shot him a glare, though you knew it lacked any real bite. “I’m not wobbling.” you insisted stubbornly, your voice slurring just a little. “I could walk a straight line if I wanted to.”

Yami raised an eyebrow, his grin daring you. “Oh yeah? Prove it.” He stopped, crossing his arms over his chest, clearly enjoying this far too much.

With an overly determined look, you tried to step forward, concentrating so hard that your tongue peeked out between your lips. But despite your best effort, your feet betrayed you, and you tripped. Yami quickly caught you, pulling you upright and steadying you against his chest.

“Yeah, real convincing.” he chuckled, keeping his strong arm around your waist. “Remind me to never let you talk yourself into a drinking contest again. You’d end up starting a bar brawl and lose.”

You scowled up at him, though you couldn’t stop yourself from laughing at your own clumsiness. “I don’t need your help, Captain.” you grumbled, but you made no effort to move out of his hold. “I’m perfectly capable of handling myself.”

His smirk grew more teasing. “Sure, Miss Independent.” he said, leaning in closer. “You’re strong as hell, but right now, you’re about as coordinated as a fish out of water. Admit it.”

“Never.” you shot back. But your pride softened, and you couldn’t hold back a smile. You let yourself rest in his embrace, at least for now.

Yami seemed pleased, but he wasn’t done teasing you yet. His eyes glinted with amusement as he added, “You know, you’re lucky I’m here to catch you when you do something reckless. Otherwise, I’d be scraping you off the pavement.”

You gasped, playfully swatting at his chest. “You’re the worst!” you exclaimed, though a grin spread across your face. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

Yami shrugged, his smirk never fading. “Probably because I’m devastatingly handsome.” he said, then leaned in close, his voice dropping to a mock whisper. “And because you’re hopelessly in love with me.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart skipped a beat. “Arrogant as ever.” you shot back, though the affection in your voice was undeniable. “One day, that ego of yours is going to be your downfall.”

“Maybe,” he replied, squeezing you a little tighter as the two of you continued down the road. “But at least I’ll have you to catch me when I fall, right?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, leaning your head on his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, you big idiot. Just don’t make me regret it.”

Yami let out a soft chuckle, and for a moment, the silliness fell away, replaced by a genuine warmth that lingered between you. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” he said, his voice unusually gentle before he quickly added, “Now hurry up. I don’t feel like carrying your drunk ass home if you pass out on me.”

You burst out laughing, nudging him playfully as the two of you continued down the path. The night felt perfect, and for a moment, you let yourself enjoy leaning into his warmth, knowing that your silly, playful love would always make you feel this light.

🍂 FUEGOLEON VERMILLION

The mission had been a resounding success, but the celebration that followed had clearly taken its toll on you. Fuegoleon had joined the squad in raising a glass—or several—to the victory, but unlike you, he’d known when to stop. You, on the other hand, had indulged a little too freely in the wine.

Now, you found yourself lying on your bed, your limbs feeling heavy, and your head buzzing in that telltale way that meant you’d had far too much to drink. Fuegoleon sat on the edge of the bed, carefully removing your boots as you mumbled incoherent protests.

“You don’t have to do that.” you slurred weakly, though your attempt at resistance was half-hearted at best.

“And yet here I am.” Fuegoleon replied calmly, his voice laced with patience as he set your boots aside. “It seems tonight I have the honor of looking after you, my love.”

You blinked up at him, a hazy smile tugging at your lips. “You’re too good to me.” you murmured, the warmth of the wine in your system amplifying your emotions. “I don’t deserve you.”

Fuegoleon chuckled softly, reaching for a damp cloth. “If that’s true, then what does that say about me? I’m the one who chooses to stay by your side.”

You let out a breathy laugh, your eyes fluttering closed for a moment before you peeked at him again. “Probably that you’re too noble for your own good.”

“Or perhaps,” he countered, his voice quieter now, “I simply know a treasure when I see one.”

The words made your cheeks heat, and you let out a shy laugh. “Stop, you’re gonna make me cry.” you said teasingly, though your voice cracked ever so slightly.

Fuegoleon smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face before running the damp cloth over your hands. “No tears tonight, sweetheart. Only rest.”

You watched him in silence for a moment, taking in the way his purple eyes glowed softly in the lamplight, his every movement deliberate and tender. “You’re really handsome, you know that?” you murmured, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

Fuegoleon paused, glancing down at you with a look of amused surprise. “Am I now?”

You nodded with conviction, your voice growing dreamier. “Mm-hmm. Handsome and kind and strong and... warm. You’re everything, Fuegoleon.”

A faint blush colored his cheeks, but his smile didn’t waver as he set the cloth aside. “You’ve had too much to drink, my love.” he said softly, leaning in closer. “But I’ll take your words to heart.”

“I mean it.” you insisted, your voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re amazing. And I love you.”

He cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “I love you too.” he murmured, his voice full of warmth. “Now rest. You’ve earned it.”

You hummed in contentment, your eyes fluttering closed as sleep began to claim you.

Fuegoleon stayed by your side, his hand resting lightly over yours as he watched you drift into peaceful slumber. Even as the night stretched on, he remained there, his heart full and his resolve unshaken. For all your stubbornness and mischief, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

🍂 NOZEL SILVA

The night had gone exactly as Nozel predicted—messy. You’d gone out to celebrate your friend’s birthday, promising him you wouldn’t overdo it. Yet here you were, kneeling on the bathroom floor, your stomach emptying every last drop of the party’s "fun."

Nozel stood behind you, his hand carefully holding your hair back, the other steadying you with a light touch on your shoulder. His usual pristine demeanor was intact, save for the slight furrow in his brow and his sleeves rolled up—a rare sight that might’ve made you laugh if you weren’t currently miserable.

“I should’ve known.” he muttered, his voice calm but tinged with irritation. “Letting you go to a party unsupervised was clearly a mistake.”

You groaned, wiping your mouth weakly. “It was... one night. I don’t always do this.”

“Precisely why you don’t handle it well.” he replied, offering you a glass of water. “Drink. Slowly.”

You took the glass, sipping carefully before giving him a half-hearted grin. “Look at you, Sir High and Mighty, tending to a lowly drunk like me. Isn’t this beneath you, Captain Silva?”

He raised an eyebrow, his grip on your hair steady. “It’s certainly testing my patience.”

You laughed weakly, leaning against the wall. “Don’t pretend you’re not enjoying this just a little. You love me too much to leave me here.”

He let out a sharp sigh, though his hand on your back moved in slow, soothing circles. “Loving you doesn’t mean I enjoy watching you throw up.”

You cooed, turning to look up at him with a tired smile. “You said you love me. That’s rare. Must be the alcohol working its magic.”

“Don’t push your luck.” he replied, though the faintest smile tugged at his lips. “Now stop talking nonsense and rest.”

“But you’re so handsome when you’re annoyed.” you teased, closing your eyes and leaning into his touch as he helped you shift into a more comfortable position. “It’s like... brooding prince energy.”

“Foolish woman.” he muttered, shaking his head, though his fingers brushed a stray strand of hair from your face. “You’ll be the death of me.”

“You'll live.” you murmured, your voice softening as sleep started to creep in. “You’d miss me too much if I wasn’t around to drive you crazy.”

Nozel paused, his amber eyes softening as he gazed at you. “Perhaps.” he admitted, his voice so low you almost didn’t hear it. “Now sleep, before you say anything else you’ll regret.”

You gave a small laugh, your head lolling to the side as exhaustion overtook you. “No regrets... just you.”

As your breathing evened out, Nozel sighed, his hand lingering on your back for a moment longer before he stood. He quietly adjusted the blanket draped over you, his usual sharpness replaced by a rare tenderness.

“Rest well, my love.” he murmured, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. “I’ll be here.”

🍂 WILLIAM VANGEANCE

It had been one of those days where everything felt overwhelmingly boring. After a mission, everyone had dispersed to rest, and you found yourself wandering the halls, feeling antsy. The idea of a drink crossed your mind—just to pass the time and try something new. You'd never really been interested in alcohol, but today, curiosity got the better of you.

You found an unopened bottle of something fruity-looking in the pantry, poured yourself a small glass, and took a sip. It wasn’t bad. A little sweet, a little tangy. You went back for another, and before long, you’d emptied half the bottle. You could feel it starting to settle in—everything was a bit fuzzy, but nothing you couldn’t handle.

After a while, the alcohol made you feel a little too good, a little too brave. You thought about how lovely it would be to visit William. You had to tell him something important, after all.

You made your way to his office, swaying slightly as you walked, still feeling the warmth spread through you. When you entered, William looked up from his desk, and for a moment, his expression was a mix of surprise and concern.

"Y/N?" he asked, standing up immediately, his brow furrowed in worry. "What’s wrong?"

You smiled up at him, feeling unusually lighthearted. Without thinking, you dropped to one knee in front of him. “William Vangeance.” you said dramatically, though your voice was slightly slurred. “Will you marry me?”

William froze, his eyes widening, clearly taken aback. "Y/N, what are you—" His voice softened as he rushed over, kneeling in front of you. “You’re drunk.”

You giggled, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. “I’m not drunk, I just… really love you.” you said, trying to focus on him. “You’re kind and smart and… and perfect. How could I not want to marry you?”

William’s expression softened, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He reached out and gently cupped your face, his touch tender. “My love,” he said softly, “You’re a little tipsy right now, aren’t you?”

You nodded, still smiling up at him, completely at ease. “Maybe. But it’s still true.” you said, your voice warm with affection. “You’re everything to me, William. I’m lucky to know you.”

He chuckled lightly, the worry in his eyes replaced by something softer. “You’re adorable when you’re drunk.” he murmured, his voice fond as he helped you sit back down on the floor. “But I think we should get you comfortable. You’re not thinking straight.”

You pouted, but it was more playful than anything. “I am thinking straight.” you said, leaning into his chest as he wrapped his arm around you, helping you to the couch. “I’m just being honest.”

William's arms wrapped around you more securely as he guided you onto the couch. He sat beside you, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His voice was calm, but affectionate. “You’ve always been honest with me, even when you're sober. But I think tonight, we’ll keep the marriage talk for another day.”

You relaxed into his embrace, still feeling giddy and safe in his arms. “But one day, though.” you murmured, your eyes fluttering a little. “Promise me we’ll talk about it when I’m not… all wobbly.”

William smiled softly, his heart full of affection for you. “I promise.” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “But for now, just rest. You’ve had a long day, my love.”

You hummed, leaning into his warmth, the world around you beginning to fade into the comfort of his arms. “You’re so sweet, William. I’m glad you’re here.”

He held you close, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m always here for you, Y/N. Always.”

You sighed contentedly, letting the last of your energy slip away as you drifted off in his embrace.

[mirandasidefics]

But Home is Nowhere- Chapter 12 Pt2

Pairing(s): Lucien x Plus Size Reader, Azriel x Plus Size Reader, and Ruhn Dannan x Plus Size Reader.

Summary: Azriel and Reader finally start to bond bringing about some strange feelings that Azriel isn't sure how to process. It's made all the more complicated when Azriel confronts Ruhn about his actions.

Word Count: 5.8 K

Warnings: Mentions of nudity, sexually suggestive dialogue (no smut)

Author's Note: I'm still in a bit of a funk, and with the holidays coming up, things may be a bit slower. So I apologize for things slowing down. I can't thank you all enough for the support that this fic is getting along with some of my other little stories.

As always, a HUGE thank you to my beta reader @hardcoremarvelfan for all her help with this chapter. She really helped out with the struggles I was having for the Azriel and Ruhn scene and I don't think that I could have gotten past that block without her!

Series Masterlist Divider by @/tsunami-of-tears

Previous: Chapter 12 pt1 Next: Chapter 13

A half hour passed by quickly and Azriel was back at the front of the townhouse waiting for (Y/N) to emerge. He sent in a shadow to let her know of his arrival, even though she still appeared uncomfortable around them, she seemed to do better with a single shadow at a time. He couldn’t help but wonder if she had the same reactions to Ruhn’s shadows as she did with his.

When she finally joined him in front Azriel drank in the sight of her. He knew instantly that this wasn’t a dress Rhysand had originally picked out for her, but one that was very likely picked with either the assistance of Mor or Bryce. The simple silver off shoulder sweater dress was perfect for her frame. 

“Wow.” He whispered to himself. 

“I know right. I never thought that I would have the opportunity to actually wear this. Bryce picked it out. Apparently she wanted to take me to this place called Rita’s here. I told her I haven’t been out to a club in like a decade… literally.” 

“Wait, how old are you?” Azriel asked, realizing that was something he had never learned about her. 

“How old do I look?” She challenged. Azriel paused for a moment as she looked down from the stair stoop of the townhouse. 

“I’m not answering that. Not if I want to continue living,” He smiled.

“Good boy,” She quipped. 

A couple hours later, Azriel and (Y/N) returned to the townhouse after the concert. They decided to walk back from the concert hall and the entire time she spent gushing about the experience. He noted each of her hand movements as she talked, the way she walked slightly angled towards him. He was surprised that she hadn’t tripped on the cobble stone path in the high heels she wore. Azriel smiled the entire time she spent describing the music, her descriptions even provided him with insights into the pieces he had never considered before. 

However, her chatty demeanor quickly dissolved the minute they approached the townhouse, which was still as dark as they had left it before leaving for the concert. Azriel watched as the sparkle that had been in her eyes throughout the performance slowly dissipated. It was starting to get late and it was clear that Ruhn had still not yet returned from whatever Rhys and Cassian were having him do. 

“I’m sure he will be back soon,” He reassured her. However, she didn’t bother to acknowledge him. Instead she squared her shoulders, entering the townhouse as if nothing was wrong and resumed their conversation. 

“So a requiem in my world also serves the purpose of remembering and honoring the dead,” She explained. “One of the largest religions has a very specific ritual surrounding it and many composers have set music to the prayers that make up the Mass. It’s honestly fascinating to see the same occurring here, but with a completely different religious base.” Azriel couldn’t help but smile as she continued to talk about what she found most enjoyable about the concert. “What were the parts of this one again? I’m so used to the Latin from my world,” She looked at him and Azriel’s mind froze for a half second before he remembered what she asked. 

“So there are eight segments, the first seven are based on the elements of life that the Mother placed in her Cauldron to create Pyrthian, which are Darkness, Sun, Moon, Earth, Water, Sky, and Fate. The final segment is the standard prayer that the Fae recites to those that are dying and was added much later.” He explained as they entered the parlor.  

“Yes I recognized the prayer. My mother taught me that one. It’s been passed down in my family for generations.” Her previous excitement was diminished, but she was making an effort to not let her disappointment in Ruhn’s continued absence show. “I also really enjoyed the segments for Moon and Earth. I am so impressed with this composer’s ability to encapsulate the imagery of each concept. It reminded me more of “The Planets” by Holst than a liturgical mass of traditional requiems in my world. It’s fascinating. And see this was one of my favorite things about music, the ability to allow us to gain insight into a wholly different culture through sound and the emotions it can help us experience. Oh! And…I’m rambling again…” She trailed off, but Azriel truly didn’t mind. There was a long pause before she spoke again.

“Thank you,” She whispered. “Wow…I didn’t think I’d ever thank you for anything if I’m being honest.” Azriel chuckled, slightly shaking his head. 

“Just glad that I could help, even for a few moments.” He admitted as they sat down in the parlor. The conversation between them dwindled, the silence more comfortable than it had been in the past. But just as the silence grew, so did her anxiety. 

“I should head up to bed soon.” Her voice was quiet and tried to mask the worry.  He watched as she chewed on her lower lip, wondering if she was aware of how frequently she looked towards the clock on the wall. He noted that it was getting late, well past midnight. He also noted how Ruhn had still not arrived. 

“Will you be needing more of the tonic soon?” He asked, trying to keep a conversation going, hoping that it could possibly lead to a new topic to help ease her mind. She merely continued  to chew on her lower lip and began to pick at her nails. 

“He’s never been home this late before,” Her whisper was her only response. “It’s been a week. I was hoping to talk to him tonight…I can’t…” Her eyes flicked to the clock again. 

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” Azriel tried to reassure. “But what is it you can’t do?”

“I can’t take the tonic tonight. If I take it for more than...a week at a time…” She sighed. “That’s when I pretty much reach my limit before I start to build a tolerance for opiates. After that I notice that I have to start upping the dosage to have the same effect. And that…that just won’t be good for me in the long run.” Azriel nodded in understanding, his own mother experienced the same issue from time to time. He watched as she continued to chew on her lip and pick at her nails. He wanted to rest his hands upon her before she hurt herself again but stopped himself. He could tell she was lost in thought and his touching her suddenly had the potential to undo all the progress they made over the past year.  

“Would you…would you like for me to stay here until he shows up?” Azriel asked tentatively. She nodded, her eyes still mostly glazed over from whatever scenario was playing out in her mind. “Go upstairs then and get some rest. I’ll let Cassian know that you won’t be at the training tomorrow.” She nodded again, making her way towards the staircase. Azriel watched closely, but remained a few steps behind her. As soon as she closed the bedroom door, he took a steadying breath and plopped himself on the staircase.  

Azriel sat on the center of the staircase, head bowed down as his elbows rested on his knees. It had been a couple of hours since (Y/N) went to bed, though his shadows informed that it was not at all a restful sleep. His own hearing could attest to her experiencing at least one partial nightmare that she was able to wake herself from without screaming. After the first hour of waiting for the Midgardian male to return he had decided that he was going to have a small chat with Ruhn upon his return.  

A few minutes later, Azriel heard the beating of Cassian’s wings in front of the townhouse. Given the hour it was slightly unusual for him to even be awake this late, much less out and about town. For a slight moment, Azriel even wondered if something may have happened to Ruhn. That thought was quickly dismissed as a second set of uneven steps were heard all the way from the gate.

As soon as the pair reached the front door Azriel was able to smell the stale and bitter stench of ale. Once the door opened the varying scents of different females were added to the mix. Azriel felt the shadow of rage begin to build within his gut. If the scents of the females truly indicated what he assumed, then he’d have every reason to physically beat some sense into Ruhn rather than just listen to whatever bullshit he may have spun as an explanation for his behavior.   

As soon as Ruhn stumbled through the door, he made a beeline for the parlor, falling face first on the couch. Cassian stood in the entryway, his gaze moving towards Azriel. “Go easy on him brother,” Cassian’s voice almost sounded defeated. “He’s been a mess all week and I figured he could use a break. So, I took him to Rita’s. He was quite the novelty amongst the females, I almost wonder if I should have kept a better eye on him.” Azriel stood from his spot on the stairs, nodding his acknowledgment of Cassian’s words, but his eyes remained on the other clearly exceedingly drunk male. 

Azriel descended the stairs turning to Cassian and sighed. “I got it from here.” Cassian nodded, leaving the townhouse and returning to his own home. With his arms crossed Azriel entered the parlor and stopped in the other male’s line of sight. Or at least it would have been his line of sight had Ruhn’s eyes had been open. 

“What happened between you and (Y/N)?” Azriel questioned. Ruhn merely groaned in response, arm falling off the side of the couch. Azriel sighed again, closing his eyes to take a deep breath and keep the building rage at a simmer. “She said you made her feel ‘forgotten.’ You of all people.” This time Ruhn managed to release a sequence of incoherent noises, only a few words making any sense.

“Stupid… can’t… gonna…up…”

Not even a second later Ruhn bolted up from the couch and ran towards the kitchen, without a care that he bumped into Azriel as he dashed by. Azriel quietly thanked the Mother that the purple eyed male made it to the kitchen sink before puking inside. Ruhn remained draped over the sink, breathing heavily and occasionally spitting into the basin. Azriel walked over to the male, the awful stench of stale ale, whiskey, and whatever food Ruhn had managed to eat nearly overpowering Azriel’s nostrils. Turning on the tap, Azriel rinsed the vomit down the drain before grabbing and filling a glass of water for the other male. Clearing his throat, Azriel garnered Ruhn’s attention, slightly shaking the glass of water. Ruhn made to reach for the glass, but Azriel withheld it. He needed to hear exactly what the hell happened between them, though he wasn’t entirely sure why he found himself caring so much about a squabble between them. 

“What. Did you say. To (Y/N)?” His speech was slow, voice filled with the dark undertone he reserved for his interrogations. He blinked away the surprise, having honestly not intended to use that tone when talking to Ruhn. 

“I fucked up.” Ruhn muttered, his voice a bit clearer now that he emptied a good portion of the contents of his stomach. 

“Yeah, I’m aware of that much. Question is: How?” Azriel insisted, hauling the younger male to sit at the small breakfast table on the far side of the kitchen. Ruhn stumbles over, the metal chair from the table squeaking against the tile floor as the male practically drops himself down. 

Ruhn leans his head back against the wall, “I called her ‘Lidia.’” 

“Lidia?” Azriel sat himself opposite the male across the small breakfast table. The water glass was still in the Illyrian’s hand, holding it just out of reach as incentive for answers. 

“Lidia Cervos, also known as ‘the Hind’. She was a female shifter from Midgard.” Ruhn paused, letting out a heavy sigh. “I thought… I don’ fuckin’ know.” He paused again, a wry chuckle escaping him. “I…cared ‘bout her. She died before I could… figure my shit out.” Ruhn chuckles again, but the laughter quickly turns to tears. “Lidia died…just to save me.”

Azriel remained quiet, taking in the information. He could almost see where this was going, but needed the other male to confirm, he’d long learned to never assume anything during an interrogation. Ruhn released a pathetic whine, his head falling to the table, forehead banging hard against the glass surface. Luckily it didn’t break. The younger male’s arms came up to support his head as he continued to rest it on the table. 

“Okay, so, you called her by another female’s name,” Azriel tried to brush off the icky feeling saying the words out loud gave him, “I’ve called Rhys Cassian and vice versa. So, it sounds like an honest and innocent mistake. Just a slip of the tongue. Unless-”

“I had her nipple in my mouth.” Ruhn’s voice was muffled by his arms, but the shame in his voice was as clear as the winter night skies of Illyria. Azriel felt the simmering rage turn into a boil and it took everything within him not to lash out. 

After a few deep breaths, he was finally able to respond with a simple, “Oh.”  

“Her sweet, perky nipple…” Ruhn trailed off, as if lost in the memory. “FUCK! I’m so stupid! How could I…I was thinking about (Y/N)! Her intoxicatin’ scent, the way it takes on a slight tinge of amber when she’s aroused. Fuckin’ Urd, I get so fuckin’ hard jus’ thinkin’ about it!”

“Alright, I don’t need to hear that.” Az shuddered. The last thing he wanted was to imagine the human woman in that state. Naked and moaning, another male’s mouth on her breast. He didn’t want to know, let alone allow himself to imagine what that change in her scent would taste like. The sweet and savory taste of the slickness between her…Azriel caught himself. The thoughts swirling around in his head took him by surprise. He couldn’t deny that the woman was attractive, but he couldn’t afford to have those thoughts. There were other…other things-people- he needed to focus on. Azriel shook his head, hoping the physical action would work to clear the questions forming in his mind about (Y/N). His focus returned to the blubbering male in front of him. 

“Why’d I say Lidia? I wasn’ thinkin’ ‘bout her, at least not then,” Ruhn continued, his tears were silent and slow. “I wanted that moment with (Y/N) for years now. I can’t believe I fucked it up. When Lucien-”

“Lucien? What does…” Azriel’s attention perked up at the mention of the Autumn male. “Lucien is mated.”

Ruhn sits up, scoffing at the reminder of Luicen’s relationship status, “Yeah, well his ‘mate’ won’ give ‘m the time of day, let alone even acknowledge the bond.” Ruhn took hold of the glass of water, drinking half of it quickly before continuing. “I may be new ‘round here, and mating bonds seem to be a little different, but I’m not blind. Elain wants nothin’ to do with him.”

“I still don’t see what that has to do with (Y/N)?” 

“I thought Lucien… he and (Y/N) would be something more than jus’ friends,” Ruhn explained. “But things changed after tha’ first trip to that other court. Lu kept his distance, and even if he didn’ ask me to help I would have. The past three years we’ve become so close.” He sighed, finishing the water in his glass. Azriel stood and refilled it for him before sitting back across from the male. “I didn’ wanna rush things between us either. She’s been through so much. Last thing on her mind was romance or sex. Then her birthday came; I wanted to make it special for her. I didn’ do it with the hope of anythin’, but…she kissed me an’ I thought, ‘Finally!’” He smiled softly to himself. “I could feel it, she wanted me as much as I wanted her.” Ruhn ran his hand through his mangled hair. “I jus’ had to fuck it up.” He reached for the refilled glass again, Azriel sliding it towards him. 

“Did you apologize?” Azriel asked, knowing that even if Ruhn had, the likelihood of her being receptive to that apology in the moment was minimal. 

“I tried,” Ruhn sighed, spinning the glass of water in his hands along the smooth glass surface of the table. 

Azriel sighed again, his own hand running through his short hair, as he debated on saying anything. His own thoughts surrounding the woman were jumbled. It would be so easy to withhold what he knew about her feelings, her worry for the Midgardian prince. Ruhn deserved to wallow in self pity. Deserved to spend a few more nights away from her. However, Azriel eventually settled on his earlier admission to himself. (Y/N) deserved someone that made her feel safe, and Ruhn made her feel safe, even if they were in the middle of a fight. “She misses you.”

“I miss her,” Ruhn picked up the glass, drinking the contents in a singular gulp, throwing it back like a shot. He paused, setting the glass back down on the table, “Did she really say I made her feel ‘forgotten?’” Azriel could only nod, causing Ruhn to groan, his head returning to rest against his arms on the table.  

“I can’t believe I did this. She’s all I think about and…” He trails off.  “Her softness. Her body is so soft, yet also firm, strong. Even with all the trainin’ over the years she still has those plush feminine curves.” Ruhn closed his eyes and groaned. “And her skin tasted like… like… fuck, I don’t even know how to describe it. Imagine your-your favorite dessert, the one that’s not overwhelmingly sweet so you savor every bite. You then spend the rest of your life only wanting that flavor, craving it and daydreaming about the next time you’ll get a taste.” 

The Shadowsinger shifted his wings, bringing them closer to his body. Even his shadows began to swirl and vibrate as the other male’s description of how the human woman’s nipple tasted made his cock twitch. With a deep breath Azriel willed himself to remain soft. 

“Lidia…the shit with Lidia is just a jumble of thread. I wanna ignore it; a loose end with no closure.” Silver tears returned to line purple irises. “I had just found her and…there’s a lot of shit I gotta unpack ‘bout her. I sure as Hel didn’ think I’d find anyone else, but…(Y/N) just had to walk into that fuckin’ dining room. It’s like…the more time I spend with her, the more I get to know her, fuck… she is jus’ what I needed. Straight from my dreams. I felt this way with Lidia and… it’s so fuckin’ hard,” Despite the cracks in his voice, his words became clearer. “I feel guilty, like I shouldn’ wanna even be with anyone else. And ashamed, ashamed that I didn’ grieve the female that was likely-” The prince paused, trying to compose the tears that wouldn’t stop. Azriel hated to admit it, but the young shadow wielder was a damn mess without (Y/N). “I’m falling in love…I’m in love with (Y/N).”

Love. That simple word rattled something deep in Azriel, a wave of nausea swirled in his gut. He shouldn’t have been surprised. It wasn’t as if the Prince’s behaviors didn’t give away his feelings towards the woman. Nevertheless, the Shadowsinger didn’t expect to hear that exact word, that exact confession and the genuine emotion in Ruhn’s voice as he finally expressed the sentiment out loud. Azriel felt the blood rush to his head, his vision tunneling as the nausea built and acidic bile burned his throat. His mind echoed a singular truth: Ruhn is in love with (Y/N). The thought played over and over in his mind on a tortuous loop. 

Another thought struck Azriel, why the hell did he even care? Why did he care if any male- Human, Fae, or otherwise-held any feelings or sexual fantasies for (Y/N)? He didn’t. He didn’t care. His body just responded as any sexually frustrated male would upon hearing Ruhn’s desire for her. Azriel reminded himself that he’d had similar thoughts about Elain many times over the past few years. Said fantasies regarding Elain made perfect sense for Azriel to have. Just like it made perfect sense for the male crying in front of him to be in love with the human woman that had slowly crept into all of their lives. But if he didn’t care, why did Ruhn’s spoken confession cause such a visceral reaction? Could it be guilt? Azriel recognized that most of his efforts to make (Y/N) feel comfortable in this world stemmed from the guilt from…that week of torture. That had to be what caused these feelings churning deep inside him. Guilt that he wasn’t the one to make her feel safe and secure after he had been the one to break her in the first place. 

It wasn’t anything more than that. It wasn’t anything like what he felt for other females in his life. (Y/N) wasn’t all that unique; sure, she was kind, compassionate, and resilient as hell, but so were Elain and Gwyn, and many of the other Priestesses he’d come to know during the morning training sessions. This feeling in his stomach, and the thoughts now swirling around in his head were all just the result of a guilty conscience and nothing more. Settling on this rationale, the nausea in his stomach subsided, and the rushing of blood in his ears died away, allowing the Spy Master to refocus on the still struggling and drunk male in front of him.   

“I really fucked up,” Ruhn held his face in his hands, elbows resting on the glass table. “I don’ think…I can’t…atone for something like this. Fuckin’ Hel…jus’ a piece a shit…makin’  her feel forgotten.” Azriel continued to listen quietly, biting his tongue to keep his agreement of the Midgaridan’s self assessment to himself. 

The two fell into an uncomfortable silence. Ruhn’s head now leaning back against the wall of the breakfast nook. Azriel glances between the male and his empty water glass, a few minutes pass by before he stands. Picking up the glass from Ruhn’s limp grip, he refilled it a final time. However, instead of returning to his previous perch, he went over to the opposite side of the kitchen. Pulling out a loaf of bread, he ripped off a sizable chunk to then set down in front of the night haired male. Azriel had to pause for the briefest of moments, the tears in Ruhn’s purple eyes reminding the Shadowsinger of Rhysand after he returned from Amarantha’s grasp. 

“Apologize.” Azriel tried to keep his voice soft yet stern. “Don’t just ‘try.’ Make her listen and apologize.” 

“Make her listen, huh?” Ruhn chuckled darkly, picking at the chuck of bread. “You interrogated and tortured her for a week, and you now spend hours with her every day. Yet you still don’t know a fuckin’ thing ‘bout her.” Azriel stopped and turned from where he stood in the doorway leading towards the hall. He was about to counter the Prince’s words, but the utterly defeated look on the male’s face gave him pause. 

“You’re right,” He loosened a heavy breath. “You know her better than I do. So figure something out. Maybe a grand gesture or something.” 

Ruhn began to laugh, “I didn’t peg you as the romantic type Azzie.” Azriel tensed his shoulders at the nickname, mentally brushing it off due to the other male’s drunk status. He looked towards the clock on the wall, dawn was only a couple of hours away now. 

“Look,” The spy master ran his fingers through his hair, “Just…just talk to her. If a grand gesture won’t work, then start with a small one. She made a comment about not really knowing you. That sounds like a good place to start.”

“The last female I opened up to was killed,” Ruhn lifted the water glass to his lips, his movements slow, as if the glass held the weight of his heavy words. The sips he took were slow and deliberate. His eyes glazed over as he stared ahead.  Azriel sighed again. While he kept most of his thoughts to himself, he also understood the other male’s hesitancy. However, the idiot in front of him created this issue. It wasn’t up to Azriel to fix it nor tell him exactly how to do so. Yet, that is exactly what he found himself doing.   

“If I was in your position, trying to regain the trust of someone I was in love with, I’d tell her everything and not hide a single part of who I am.” Azriel stepped closer to the male still sitting at the table. “She’d know of every crime, and every life I’ve taken or irrevocably altered. She’d know about my past and the story behind every single visible and invisible scar. She’d know the reasons behind every sacrifice I’ve made over the last few centuries. Especially regarding the safety of those I love and care for. She would become an integral part of my life, she’d know my loved ones and they would know her.” Azriel didn’t care that Ruhn began to shrink away in shame as he loomed over the younger male; the unintended intimidation of flared wings appeared to be just the thing the “Starborn” Prince needed to understand that any apology to a loved one could not be half assed. “I’d lay my soul bare before her… and if she understood, if she stuck around, and she could feel safe with me then I’d know with complete certainty she would be worth it.”

“And if she couldn’t?” Ruhn questioned. Azriel paused, he knew what answer he would receive from (Y/N) if he truly was in Ruhn’s position; and that would be a very different response than what she would grant the Midgardian Prince. 

“Just talk to her Ruhn,” He muttered, wings returning to tuck in close before turning around to exit the kitchen. “She wants to listen.” Ruhn’s midnight hair shifts as he nods, a long contemplative sigh escaping his lungs. 

“I’ll talk to her, tell her everything…” he mumbled, placing his head on his arms as they rested on the table top.

“And apologize.” Azriel reminded sternly. 

“And apologize,” Ruhn nodded, his voice drifting off as he closed his eyes. Within seconds the younger male was asleep at the table. Azriel didn’t even bother to wake him, perfectly content to let the other male’s muscles cramp from the awkward sleeping position. 

Azriel made it to the bottom landing of the staircase before a soft whimper caught his attention. Against his better judgment, he ascended the stairs giving into the pull he felt to check on (Y/N). The door was already slightly ajar, the light from the hall flooding into the darkness of the bedroom. The beam of light streaked across the wooden floorboards, up along the bed. Her lower limbs tangled up in the wine red colored sheets. He instantly knew that the level of dishevelment was the result of her tossing and turning during a nightmare.  

His hazel eyes followed along her legs, red sheets fading into the black of her night dress. His gaze continued to travel up, snagging on an unexpected exposure of soft flesh. Azriel’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes drank in the sight of her uncovered breast. He tried to avert his eyes, but they continued to linger, a part of him wanting to know if Ruhn’s description was accurate. His questions were answered as she shifted, and a perky nipple made visible in the light from the hall. 

One second Azriel stood frozen in his spot, the next, he was sprinting down the steps and out the front door of the townhouse. The cool air filling his lungs helped him regain his senses long enough to force the organ between his legs to return to a limp state. He glanced back at the townhouse, confusion marking his face. Perhaps he was spending too much time with the human…he shook his head, taking a few steps to exit the gate. It had also been quite some time since he enjoyed the company of a female, perhaps it was time to find that release. As soon as he cleared the gate of the townhouse, Azriel shot into the skies of Velaris, taking his time to process the conflicting and concerning thoughts in his head before returning to the House of Wind.

The sound of glass shattering startled Ruhn awake. Sitting bolt upright, he looked around the darkened room, moonlight filtering through the bay window of the breakfast nook in the kitchen. His heart pounded inside his chest, as he took in the sight of the broken water glass now on the floor.  It took a few more moments for him to get his bearings and remember what transpired earlier in the evening. He could still smell the alcohol, and the various scents of what he could only assume were Fae females on his clothes. He needed to change. He needed to clean up this glass first. It took him ten minutes, but he finally located a broom and dustpan and swept up the shards, dumping them in what appeared to resemble a trash can. His vision was still slightly blurred as the headache of what was sure to become a monster of a hangover made an appearance. 

Ruhn took a few more minutes for himself at the kitchen sink. Grabbing a new, clean glass, he filled it with water from the tap, taking small sips and deep breaths. Gathering the stamina and the courage to face going upstairs. Bits and pieces of his conversation with Azriel stuck out in his mind. He knew that he had to talk to (Y/N). To apologize again, especially now that the woman had some time to get her own thoughts in order. He also knew that Az and Cass were right. He and (Y/N) wouldn’t get anywhere if he didn’t also open up to her. He supposed that he could start small, let her know some of the positives of his life before telling her about all the fucked up shit. 

He finished the glass of water, and slowly made his way upstairs. As he reached the top landing, he heard a faint whimper. He instantly recognized the sound and even in his hazy mind realized that (Y/N) had not taken her tonic tonight. He sighed, a part of his heart breaking that he had allowed himself to fuck around while she suffered. She had already been using the tonic for a full two weeks at this point. One week while with Lucien, and now this past week during their time apart. The Prince closed his eyes, standing outside the bedroom door debating if he should even enter. He heard her sharp movements and that was enough for him to move his feet forward. 

Ruhn quietly entered the bedroom, careful as not to wake the woman sleeping in the bed. Their bed, he reminded himself. The one that he missed sharing. He missed her warmth and the softness of her body as he would curl around it. They had slept next to each other for the past few years and he was surprised by how much he missed her. The past week had been one of the worst he endured since he first arrived. Tossing and turning. Panicking when he couldn’t feel her lying next to him. He lost count of how many times he startled awake to find himself in a room separated from her. Cassian had seen the change in his attention, and after a week decided that it would be a good idea to let off some steam by taking him to a place called Rita’s. 

He carefully made his way around to his side of the bed. Sat on the edge, he took off his shoes; his pants and shirt quickly followed suit. He didn’t care that (Y/N) would likely be pissed that he joined her in bed before she allowed it. He needed to feel her, to hold her. Especially if she had been too afraid to take the tonic tonight.  

He knew that he needed to apologize, he only hoped that she was more willing to listen to him now. He had spent most of the evening trying to figure out exactly what to tell her. Where would he start? Cassian advised to start at the beginning, and Az…well all Ruhn could remember was Azriel telling him to just talk to her. However, which “beginning” would be the best to start off with? Should he tell her about his childhood, his mother, and his dickhead of a Father? Or should he start with telling her more about Midgard and what his life was like before his sister turned it all upside down. Honestly, with the way his head was starting to pound he may as well just flip a coin. Whatever he chose to tell her first didn’t matter. All that matters is that he would be telling her something. 

Ruhn lifted the sheet, immediately noticing that her body was curled in on itself, back towards the center of the bed. She only did that when a nightmare was starting to take hold. He laid down next to her, and carefully wrapped his arm around her middle. Her body immediately began to relax. The knowledge made him smile, his own shoulders and upper back releasing their built up tension. He curled the rest of his taller frame around her, perfectly molding himself to her. She stirred, hips twitching as if she was going to turn over. Ruhn moved his hand seeking hers, interlacing their fingers once it was found. 

She turned over to face him, and that’s when he heard her soft whimpers. Even though he enveloped her during the early stages of her nightmare, it seemed that whatever had played in her mind had already done its intended damage. He hated watching her cry, especially when he felt so powerless against the forces that brought her to tears each and every time. 

He adjusted his limbs to accommodate their new position. One of her legs wiggling its way in between his. His arm wrapped around her back, snaking up her shoulder blades, allowing his fingers to find purchase in her hair. He gently tugged on the roots, reassuring her that he was there. She let out a shaky breath and the smallest whine before pressing her face into his chest. 

“It’s okay baby,” He assured, another gentle tug, “I’m here. You’re safe.” She seemed to relax a bit more at his dulcet timber. “Go back to sleep. I’m right here.” 

General tag list: @loving-and-dreaming

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