#though enjoy the angst(?)

[8d2t]

oil and water. wasnt meant to be.

[dandelion-roots]

[ID: a series of drawings featuring Riz Gukgak from D20 Fantasy High. In the first, Pok holds Riz's shoulders in heaven as says, smiling, when you work until the dead of night, your friends know you do it because you love them. In the second, Riz is having a group hug with his party and the text reads, but is it really love that drives you, Riz Gukgak... In the next, a desperate, pleading Riz clutches the shoulder of an indifferent, faceless person and the text continues, ...or is it fear? In the fourth, Riz is younger and digging through crystals with bleeding hands; the text reads, what use are you when you can no longer dig. In the fifth, Kalina, shrouded in darkness with only her eyes glowing, reaches towards the camera with a smile; the text reads, when you're too scared to think. Sixth, Riz is filling out Fig and Kristen's papers under the light of a lamp, serious and tired; the text reads, when you're too tired to work. Seventh, Riz is lying in bed, eyes hidden behind hair, hand on his father's picture; the text reads, too sad to keep the mood up. Eighth, Baron stares into the camera; the text reads, too lonely, too insecure, too weird. Ninth, Baron is holding a defeated Riz by the throat; the text reads, to keep moving? Tenth, Riz is standing in the distance, holding his briefcase, and behind him is a football/soccer ball; the text reads, what use is a ball that can no longer roll? The last drawing just says none in brackets on a dark background. End ID]

[trunktrash]

[Rafayel x Reader] [Synopsis] 》 Despite any apprehensions, you agree to help Rafayel with his paintings by modeling for him. Three hours later the two of you both find yourselves at your wits end. Who'll snap first? [Content] 》 Angst to Fluff : Comfort : Guilt tripping

[Still as a Statue]

"My legs are starting to hurt.", A soft mumble escapes your mouth. A slight grimace pulls at your top lip and nose.

You stand in the middle of Rafayel's living room, surrounded by his piles upon piles of half finished paintings. You're posed quite gracefully, set like stone. It's actually a pose you had come up with on the spot after Rafayel had asked you to be his model on one random morning.

Given how rarely he liked to paint people you didn't want to waste the opportunity to be his muse. Even if it was just once.

The windows are open, and the sun glares through the unblocked glass. Bathing your form in a sheet of warm light. You can feel a bead of swear move down from of your neck to your back to even lower. Its coolness against your heated skin makes you shiver.

Moments pass by, and with no response you feel your skin heat up even more. Whether that's due to your rising impatience or the sun, you don't know.

"Rafayel?" You call out, your voice has a slight tremble. For a moment, there's no answer. The only sound in the room is your small breathes and the soft scrapes of your lovers paintbrush against the canvas.

And then he sighs, a tired, grating sigh. It's the kind you hear all the time when he has to deal with long phone calls from Thomas, the kind that releases the annoyance slowly building inside of him.

You want to flinch at the sound, you don't though, thankfully.

Instead, a weight pull at your chest and a cold wave of guilt washing over you. The feeling akin to rock sinking to the bottom of a lake.

Setting down his paintbrush, Rafayel looks to you, his dear love and bodyguard. And he frowns..

"I did warn you earlier.", he says finally,"I said you'd likely experience some aches if agreed and you still did." He brings a hand to his face, the one previously holding the paintbrush, and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Now you've broken my concentration and not only that, you've been fidgeting this entire time." His tone is harsh, impaitent. No different than the Rafayel you're used to. So you don't understand why tears suddenly prick at the corners of your eyes.

"I'm sorry.", you barely manage to push the words out of your throat. Your knees shake and your muscles twitch in discomfort. You show the weakness in your heart, and you hate yourself for it.

"I swear-"

Rafayel stops mid-sentence, finally looking up at you. Something snaps the gears within his mind into place and he realizes something.

You are weak.

You are fragile.

And it's only because of him.

In a single moment, Rafayel practically leaps from his stool. Dropping his painters pallette, and tripping over his easel. He pays no mind to the damage he causes to the painting he spent the past three hours on. His focus solely remains on you.

You didn't let go of your pose, you couldn't, not until you felt Rafayels desperate hands reach for you. His frantic mind searching to feel you against him. To know that you were with him.

The moment his cold fingers touched your heated skin you feel every ounce of strength, every wall you had built, all come tumbling down. Like he had pulled out the singular brick that held together the impenetrable fortress that was you.

Sinking to the floor, the tears you'd silently been holding back fell onto your cheeks. And the once silent whimpers turned into full sobs and tremors.

Rafayel fell with you, not daring to look away, not once leaving your side. His eyes widen and his stomach twist sickeningly.

Oh how he hated your tears, and the spew of emotions you'd put into his chest. It weighed down heavy upon his heart, seeing you ache.

Slowly he wrapped his arms around your torso, pulling you into his chest. Your head nestled just above his heart. With every tear that wetted his expensive cotton shirt, and every hiccup that clawed through your throat he could feel his own throat begin to close up.

In an attempt to soothe both you and himself; Rafayel began to rock back and forth, humming a tune his mother would sing to him when he was a young guppy.

Gradually, he could feel each and every muscle in his body relax, including his heart. In turn making yours do the same. At the same time he could hear your sobs turn into cries, to whimpers, and into mere sniffles.

Lifting your head up to look at him in the eye, your dear painter, you can't help but sniffle. Which elicits a small chuckle from him. Before his expression becomes more somber, his eyes harden into something much more serious.

"Are you okay my love?", his voice is soft. Likes he's scared you'd break at anything louder than a whisper. "It's okay if you're upset at me, I shouldn'-"

You plant a hand his chest, the motion freezing him in place. "Rafayel.", your voice is raspy from crying, "You know I love you very much, correct?"

"Yes? But what does-"

"Shhh.", you put a finger to his lips,"Let me finish."

He quickly nods, and you start to speak once more.

"Rafayel, my love, you are my light. You're the most creative yet curious peron I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. You're able to capture and hold others attention without even trying. You make my day better without even trying, you just smile and all else disapears. . .", There's a pause, "So the idea of disappointing you, or becoming an inconvenience to you is...", you trail off softly. Allowing the thoughts in your head swim with millions of possibilities and "What-If's"

Rafayel snaps you back into reality, with his palms cupping each side of your face.

"Don't. Don't ever think that." His tone is firm, demanding. In way that you'd never heard before, you almost don't understand it.

"I will love you always. No matter what. You're worth more than any art I could dream to create.", he becomes more breatheless which each word, "Do you even realize why I wanted to make a portrait of you?" His eyes search yours, looking for a response, an answer.

He looks into your eyes he can't find it, instead he sees pool's of confusion, twinges of fear flicker inside them.

Sighing softly to himself, he brings your head to his chest once again. Your face smashes against the cotton shirt as your ears pick up the sound of his lungs and heart. They move steadily, not in tandem with one another but each their own unique rhythm.

"Everytime you leave for a mission", his is so soft you almost don't hear it,"I-..I worry you won't come back. I'm scared you'll leave me." There's a solemn look in his eyes.

The confession makes the air within your lungs disapate. "Raf..", you can only stare up at him.

Rare do you find that your painter is able to be honest about his emotions with you, much less himself.

Reaching up, you cup his cheeks with your hands and you stare into his eyes. "I'm sorry my love.", his gaze softens, " I think we both mean more to each other than we let on."

He shifts his eyes, thinking to himself for moment, before nodding, "Yeah.."

"And I promise you this.", you take one hand off his face, and hold up your pinky to him, "No matter how hard the mission is, I will always come home to you. If I don't, you have every right to hate me."

A spark lights in Rafayels eyes, and he can't help but laugh at the situation you two were in. Before quickly regaining his composure, "I don't think I could ever hate you.", He says as he wipes his face, "But..I would like that."

A sweet smile graces his faces, lifting a hand he holds out his own pinky and intertwines with yours.

"And I promise you, no matter what, my love and my heart will always belong to you.. Mrs. Bodygaurd."

A giggle erupts from your throat, "You still call me that?"

"What? You don't like it?" Rafayel sounds hurt but you know by the look on his face it isn't real. You laugh a bit more before pressing your forehead to his.

"No, it's perfect."

[number-onekidqueen]

pls do Sirius x reader to loml but make it not enough time instead of wrong time

𝓨𝓸𝓾'𝓻𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓛𝓸𝓼𝓼 𝓸𝓯 𝓶𝔂 𝓛𝓲𝓯𝓮

warnings: mentions of prison, death, alcohol, arguments, swearing, semi-cheating, a whole lot of angst.

wc: 8k

a/n: this is a long one, so i hope that makes up for how long this took to publish. i lowkey forgot what happened exactly with sirius, and all the department of mysteries so if it's inaccurate, my apologies.

It was an understatement to say you and Sirius had a history together. 

You'd been in each other's orbit before then, sitting near each other once or twice and sending polite smiles, but everything truly started during fourth year, when the Yule Ball had been announced. Boys in each house began stressing, worrying about how to ask their would-be dates and how they might confess their feelings. 

The marauders were not spared. While Remus had already asked a girl he was in a study group with - and she had accepted, luckily for him - he was overthinking ways it could go wrong and how the night could pan into a disaster.

Peter was a wreck, having ceased the little social contact he’d had with his potential date and attempting to change the subject whenever the topic would surface and she was within earshot.

Even James, at least sure in his choice of Lily as a date was anxious in ensuring the details of his proposal to her would be flawless, anxious to please her and praying she accepted. 

It was worse than exams. Somehow, using natural talent and a bit of cheating, Sirius and James had always managed passing grades or above in most subjects when it came to getting results back after exam season.

But asking a girl out to the Yule Ball? You couldn’t cruise along easily, hoping for the best outcome. Girls were happy to go on all the Hogsmeade dates that they wanted with Sirius and have it be casual, but the second a ball came up, it all became sentimental to them and they wanted it to “mean something”.

And as irking as that was, it led Sirius to question whether he should take someone he actually liked too. 

Which led him to a conundrum. Because when it came down to it, there simply weren’t many options of girls he actually liked, who he could talk to and have fun with. 

Sure, there were a few girls in Slytherin that were acquaintances of his family and that were okay to have a chat to once in a while. But he didn’t want to get sucked into all that pureblood shit. It would be fulfilling his parents wishes if he did something like that, and he would be damned if he did anything remotely close to what they wanted.

And so he was left with two options. 

The first was a Ravenclaw girl he was often paired up with in potions that tolerated his laidback often bordering on lazy attitude towards the subject. But he knew she’d already been asked and accepted, because he’d had to make the potion on his own the last lesson they’d had, as she’d been distracted, passing notes and giggling with a fellow Ravenclaw boy behind them. 

Which left you. Y/N L/N. Friends with Lily, Dorcas, Marlene, Mary, a fair few people. Your friend groups collided often, and he liked that while you enjoyed a laugh, you put James and him in their places when they got too cocky. It took guts to do that, and he respected that.

With the idea becoming more and more appealing, he decided to ask you. 

The proposal was nothing special. He remembered from a conversation he’d overheard between you and Lily about nail polish that you liked burgundy. So he’d conjured three red roses in preparation, and ambled up to you in the library where you were studying, with the flowers thrust out. 

You'd raised an eyebrow as he placed them beside your books, urging him to speak. 

“Look, I know you probably think I’m an idiot. But I like you, and I have no date to the Yule Ball, and I think we could have a lot of fun, so I’d like to ask you to the ball.” He'd proposed.

It was strange. He’d been mostly nonchalant all day leading up to this event, but saying the words left a ball of tension in his throat. He waited with bated breath for your response. For some unknown reason, he knew it would hurt him if you said no.

“Yeah, okay, I’d be happy to come with you.” And you'd smiled at him, just a friendly quirk of the lips, and it made him wonder why he felt jittery afterwards, why he seemed to be in a daze when he left the library after.

The Yule Ball was a success. Sort of.

Remus and his date, Linda, seemed to have a lovely time all night. Peter managed to say a few words to his date every now and then. And Lily had rejected James’ offer, but between both their friend groups, they’d ended up having a single dance together, right towards the end of the night, which James was still rambling about a week and a half later. And as for Sirius, it had been easier than falling asleep to enjoy himself. 

He was stunned at first, when you walked down the stairs with the other girls. All of them looked glamorous and attractive, but it still seemed as if you were the star among stones when you stepped out amongst them. The colour of your gown seemed to bring out different shades in your eyes, and the right tones in your skin, or whatever it was supposed to do. He didn’t really know what it was, couldn't put a finger on what made you look so gorgeous, the only thing he knew is that you did.

And suddenly it was intimidating. With every step of yours closer to him and quiet click of your heels, his mind began to race more, and he felt insecure, worried his hair wasn’t neat enough, that perhaps he’d missed the sneaky patch of bristle under the dip of his jaw-

But you’d smiled and laughed once you approached him, and immediately struck up a conversation. It was like that all night - talking, dancing, drinking, eating. Fun and easy.  

He'd been to so many balls in his life, used to the impressive and dainty decorations, the fine food and all the dramatic events that occurred. It was just another night to him, but he soon discovered that to you it wasn't.

This was your first ball, and you knew nothing of them. And despite hating them for as long as he could remember, there was something fun about seeing the wonder in your eyes as you took everything in, correcting your occasionally awkward dance movements and advising you on what to eat and what not. All these seemingly useless skills he'd acquired could finally be put to use, and help make you happy. And so it was a pleasant night, teaching you everything there was to know about balls, and sharing new experiences.

Until it wasn't. He hadn’t been aware, but the last song of the ball was slow and heartfelt. Out on the dance floor, still laughing together, the pair of you had been caught up in the tune, following the music as you waltzed and swirled and stepped. And as he’d dipped you, he’d felt a spark in his stomach, as if he’d touched a live wire. 

You'd exhaled softly as he gripped the small of your back, and the nervous gesture had cast his eyes onto your lips. Pink, glossed lips. The music seemed to go silent, and all there was were the shared breaths between you as he found himself leaning forward, inch by inch and wanting more, wanting to feel their softness with his own lips. And a rapid glance at your eyes revealed what he felt, a shy but desperate urge to get closer, to explore what hadn't been felt-

The moment had been disrupted when James had bumped into the pair of you, pushing you away from a girl who was hunched over and retching on the floor.

It hit him all at once, when you immediately left his side to hurry over to the poor girl, some Hufflepuff you knew from Herbology. You were good, kind - an amazing girl really. The kind of girl to fearlessly help another girl in need, even if you weren't good friends, even if it was embarrassing. What did he have to offer you? He toyed with girl's feelings, organised pranks on Slytherins and cheated on tests. He wasn't good. He wasn't worthy of you. What in Merlin's name was he doing? No, he couldn't do this.

He walked up to your crouched form beside the Hufflepuff girl, patting you gently on the shoulder, before he walked away, offering a brief goodbye as he headed for his dormitory. 

He knew he’d fucked up the next week. The day after the ball, you’d wanted to talk to him, about what had almost happened, about where the pair of you stood. He could feel it when you glanced over at him in classes, when you quickened to his pace when you spotted him walking around the castle.

He couldn’t bring himself to talk to you. If he even felt the things he felt, which he still wasn't completely sure of, he knew he wasn’t good for you at all. His family, his status, his reputation. Sirius and Black would forever be entwined inevitably, and you detested everything the Blacks stood for. And at his core, he knew he was the exact opposite of you, in all the worst ways. It just wouldn’t work. 

He tried to tell himself that when he dodged your eyes and exclamations to him, and when he avoided you in the corridors between lessons. 

He tried to believe it when he saw your face fall in hurt, saw you and your entire friend group begin to look at him in disdain. 

He tried to reassure himself when he lay in bed awake, long after James had began snoring, and wondered what could’ve been if that chick hadn’t puked her guts out. 

You weren’t good friends after that at all. Your whole relationship seemed to have been tossed into flames. He realised the extent of that, when he casually slid into a seat beside you in Charms a few months later and you up and left immediately. To sit beside a Slytherin.

For the rest of fourth year, your relationship was frosty at best between you both. He tried to be back in your orbit, and you pushed him out, often obviously. It always made him a little upset, even if he rolled his eyes at your passive aggressive antics in public. He'd still wanted to be your friend, even if he knew he couldn't be more than that for your sake.

He was pleased that by the end of seventh year, he at least had a civil relationship with you. You tolerated him, you were polite to him, and sometimes you even let out a short chuckle at his jokes. He loved it when you did. 

It was when you both joined the Order after graduation that he truly began talking to you again and trying to reform the relationship. And it had appeared to be working. 

He was different now, more knowing of himself and his personality than his teen self had been. And he knew now that while he wasn't perfect back then and he certainly wasn't now, you had been worth the risk. You had been worth all the differences between the pair of you and all the changes he would've had to have made. And you still were.

But that was when bloody Craig entered the scene. 

Sirius couldn’t believe of all the blokes out there, you’d chosen to date him. You weren’t just attractive to him, you were seriously beautiful. In his opinion, you probably could’ve dated a prince or Oscar-winning actor with your looks and your personality, and you'd chosen him?!

Craig was… Merlin's beard, where did he even start? He’d been a stuffy Ravenclaw guy in the year above the both of you. And could you believe it, after seven years at Hogwarts and getting cracking marks in most subjects, what did he do with his credentials? He was a muggle television technician or something. Sirius still didn't really understand what he did exactly, but he'd been seriously disappointed when he found out. What?!

What was worst of all was Sirius knew that secretly, you didn’t like him. He’d be invited for Order dinners, and call you sweetie, give you a wet kiss on the cheek, and Sirius would see your eyes twitch, just slightly, your smile tighten. He’d speak of image quality and specific cords, and Sirius would see you roll your lips inward and look away, the way you always did when you were embarrassed or uncomfortable. 

It pissed him off, frankly. If he were dating you, he wouldn’t be talking about bloody televisions. He’d be talking about what you liked, what you were interested in, and trying to crack jokes that would make you laugh, even just a little bit. He'd include you in every conversation, instead of interrupting you mid-sentence to go on tangents about muggle 'technology', whatever that was. He'd kiss you privately, the way he knew you liked, and not blatantly ignore your discomfort and embarrassment at public affection.

When he'd seen your subtle grimace for the fourth time that night, he decided to pour himself another glass of wine, and perhaps a generous one at that. He was going to need it.

Walking into the kitchen, he debated between Merlot and Pinot Noir before choosing the latter option. If this continued, (which he was sure it would) he didn't want to be sober, and he didn't want to remember it at all.

"Do you mind pouring me a glass?"

At your soft question, Sirius nearly dropped his glass in surprise. Spinning around, he faced you and immediately noticed the expression of discomfort on your face, the way your cheeks were coloured and eyes troubled.

Playing it casually, he hummed affirmatively in response, reaching up to get a glass, and beginning to pour the deep red liquid into your glass.

"Oh, woo- that's enough." You chuckled, pulling the glass by its stem to avoid it from filling further. "I don't want to get completely written off."

You laughed and Sirius joined in, although the sound was hollow and fake, even to his own ears.

Frowning, you took a small sip from your glass and tilted your head. "Sirius, what's wrong? I don't mean to be rude, but I feel like you've kind of been off all night."

"I'm fine," he responded tightly, putting the wine back in its place and making to head past you, "there's nothing wrong."

Your hand, small but firm, stopped him on his way past, gripping his bicep. He turned, seeing your look of disbelief and something akin to concern. "Come on. Don't pull this shit with me. I know... we're not friends like we were, but I feel like I know you well enough to know that something's wrong. Just- please tell me."

All right, he thought to himself, I hate that we're not friends anymore, or more than that. I hate your boyfriend. I hate that you hate your boyfriend. I hate myself-

"Fine, tell me nothing," you spoke angrily, when enough time had lapsed that it was clear he wouldn't be speaking, "Hide behind lies, like you always do, Black. But just know, one day the truth might help you. Might save you!"

And just like that he was furious. Because how could you come to him and start preaching of telling the truth and not hiding behind falsehoods like some saint, when your current life was a lie?!

“Right, well if you want me to tell the truth, I will then," He spat bitterly, shaking his arm from your grip, "You don’t-you don’t even like him at all, do you?”

You froze, your eyes narrowing. “What?”

“It’s obvious. Craig! You think he’s a total loser. And he is!”

“Sirius, what the hell?! Just because he’s not in a magic career-“

“It’s not just that," Sirius said, shaking his head, and absolutely bewildered that you were defending him, "He’s a television technician for God’s sake. And he actually enjoys it, and finds it interesting!” 

“And what's wrong with that, Sirius?!" You retorted, eyes flashing, and even though you were angry with him, some deeper part within him cheered as you stepped closer, as you brought your nose to his, "Merlin, not everyone finds parading around and pretending to be some magic soldier entertaining!"

"Oh, but you do?" He challenged, and for the way you stuttered for words, he knew that he'd won in a way.

"You... and I- we're very different. In the way we are, in the way we do our jobs, in everything."

"Fine. But d'you you know who's even more different to you? Fucking Craig! Just admit it! You don't love him, you don't even like him!"

"Craig is nice though," you defended, "he makes me feel safe and-"

"Safe? Safe?! Y/N, I know you might've forgotten that poem you loved in fourth year - but I haven't - and I'm pretty sure the line you liked most literally read 'I'd prefer to be starry-eyed rather than safe', and you talked to me for hours about it, because you agreed with it on so many levels, and you wanted to find a love that felt like that," He exhaled, suddenly feeling exhausted, "I-I know you've changed a lot since then. But if you're anything like who you were then, do you really think that Craig makes you feel starry-eyed?"

There was a long, quiet pause. In the dining room, the sounds of Lily laughing at James' joke echoed through to the kitchen. Then-

"No," you whispered.

And then-

"To be honest, only one person ever made me feel starry-eyed."

Sirius felt as if he were about to topple over from the impact of that sentence, as if he was back on his broom in a gruelling match of Quidditch and the quaffle had socked him in the ribs. He held his breath, his eyes searching yours as he prayed you'd continue, prayed you'd say the words his soul craved.

"Yeah?" His voice was croaky, scratchy, but it was as if his vocal cords had stopped functioning.

"Yeah," you breathed, and he wasn't sure whether it was he or you who moved first, but in an instant you were meeting in the middle, skidding on the cold tiles, and your lips were colliding. They were cool and soft, and coated in lip gloss that tasted sweet, and that he was sure would coat his mouth after this encounter. It was better than anything he'd ever guiltily dreamed of, and just thinking about for how long he'd yearned for this made his head spin. He wrapped his arms around your waist to distract himself from those thoughts, groaning from the warmth of your skin beneath the soft wool, so caught up in everything that he only noticed that your wine glass had slipped from your hand and crashed to the floor when your lips stopped on his, breathy and tense.

"Oh, shit. Sirius-"

"Don't care. I'll clean it up later." And he drew you back in, this time caressing your chin and neck, and twisting his fingers through the softness of your hair. It was you who let out a groan then, and then another as he began to trail warm kisses down your throat. And-and it was all that you wanted, but you knew you'd spent a suspicious amount of time as it was in the kitchen, and that soon someone would come to fetch the pair of you. And so, as much as your body screamed in argument, you should stop.

"We-we should-" you murmured, tilting slightly away from his lips which had reached the curve of your shoulder.

"Mm, no. We shouldn't." It was short and decided, which made you laugh lightly.

"They'll see us... and, well-"

"Let them."

But despite his words, even he knew the time had come to venture back into the dining room, before you attracted an audience.

Pulling away, he gave you a long glance that seemed to sear to your very bones before he gave you a final soft peck and retreated. "To be continued," he whispered with a grin, before squeezing your hand and reaching for a new wine glass for you.

-------------------------------------------------------------

The night seemed to progress in a way that reminded you of the fast-forward control Craig had shown you on a television, when the show continued twice or thrice as fast in order to get to the part one was up to quicker.

Dinner was over in a heartbeat, with dessert rolling out soon after you and Sirius had returned to the dining room, and everyone only staying for a half hour or so after that before succumbing to their fatigue or intoxication and heading home.

As you'd hugged Sirius goodbye, you'd whispered 'see you soon', and he'd been more than a bit confused, an eyebrow raising as he probed you with a glance for more information. But you'd just smiled at him before apparating away with Craig.

And from there it was easy.

He'd showered, and you'd sat on the sofa twisting your hands about, wondering how you were going to phrase what you'd needed to say. And when he'd come out, hair wet and on his way out to his own apartment, you stood, and you said what you could. Most of it was measly from your it's-not-you-it's-me explanation, to your utterly decided mind that the relationship was over.

But he'd taken it well. In fact, he'd practically shrugged, said something about how he was sure some girl called Grace working at his office would go on a date with him, wished you a good night, and left. It left you so dumfounded you sat on the arm of the sofa for a good few minutes after, simply collecting your thoughts.

And then you left your apartment too.

Back in the kitchen in Sirius' apartment, you wasted no time in making your way to his room, not pausing before opening the door and rushing in, blurting, "I broke up with him."

He was surprised for a moment, sat on his bed, before he rose and walked over to you, tugging you down to sit on his lap. "Couldn't waste another second without me, could you?"

"Oh, shut up, I just didn't want you going to bed sobbing." You teased, shifting from his lap to lie down on his bed, your legs still splaying over his thighs.

"Well you've absolutely saved me the tears. Now I'll be going to bed in a completely different mood," and he smirked as he ducked down to kiss you deeply, before breaking apart with concern in his eyes.

"Did he take it well?"

"Did he ever," you snorted, settling deeper into his pillow, and inhaling the scent that surrounded the bed - the scent of him -, "I'd barely closed my mouth and he was talking about some girl at his office and how he'd be fine."

"Of course he was," Sirius scoffed, scowling at the roof at the thought of discarding you so easily for someone else.

"But let's not talk about him," you complained, raising yourself up only so you could tug him down so he lay beside you.

"Oh, you want to talk about how you're starry-eyed for me?"

"Wanker," you mumbled in embarrassment, as you buried your face into the pillow.

"Princess, don't be ashamed," he said gently, taking your face into his hands so you could meet his eyes. And as riddled with mirth as they were, there was also something deeply profound in them as he said, "I'm also completely starry-eyed for you too."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The news came late in the night, as bad news always does.

At first you'd been rather irritated as you felt the bed shift and Sirius slip out, even if you were accustomed to it.

You'd made him promise to tone down his midnight meetings and all the dangerous missions he went on with the Order, begging him to not be involved in it over this weekend when you were supposed to be celebrating your engagement, but you supposed he couldn't necessarily ignore the shrill and desperate shrieks of an owl.

Still, you groaned when you heard him curse, heard him pull his clothes on in a hurry and rush down the stairs. And you were positively pissed when you heard the deep roar of his motorcycle start, and the rush as it zoomed off, as he left you.

What the fuck is going on? you thought to yourself as you rolled out of bed, and stumbled to where he'd left the letter.

Sirius,

Someone spilled it. He's coming for them.

-- Wormtail

No.

No, it couldn't be. You rubbed your eyes, blinked until you saw stars, trying to see anything other than the messy scrawl in front of you.

A desperate need overtook you, much like what you were sure had rushed through Sirius once he'd read the letter from Peter. You needed to help Lily and James, and poor, sweet baby Harry. You couldn't let them- but no, you refused to think of that.

But quickly, you realised there wasn't much you could do. Much like the Potters, most members of the Order had strong spells in place that didn't allow you to apparate to and from their houses, due to some leaks that had resulted in house invasions. And Sirius had taken the motorcycle, which is what the pair of you used to travel from place to place, if you didn't use the bus.

So, unless you walked - which you certainly were not going to do at this hour - there was no way you could make it to Godric's Hollow in time, no way you could help anyone.

The anguish overtook you then, and you couldn't help but cry in the horror of it all. This was supposed to be your engagement weekend with Sirius, something romantic and quiet that you had both longed for after all the dangers of being in the Order. You weren't supposed to be fearing for the lives of your closest friends, of their baby boy - and especially not your fiancé.

The hours trickled by slowly, and you weren't sure how you survived, with the way you paced agonisingly and repeatedly, shook heavily, and wept until your body went numb.

The daylight came and went, and when your watch told you that it was ten o'clock you knew something bad had happened. If things had gone well, Sirius would have been back by now. Which meant-

Getting changed into his old quidditch jersey for comfort, and a pair of jeans, you finally headed downstairs and stepped outside and into the street.

It was a normal late morning in London, with people getting on and off buses, and sitting on benches and reading the paper. But you knew in the muggle streets of London, you would get no answers to the questions you desperately needed answering, and so you rushed into action, hopping onto the approaching bus and beginning your short trip to the Leaky Cauldron.

Even at the early hour, it was bustling with patrons. Which only happened when there were things to talk about. You took this as a bad sign, but swallowing heavily, you pushed through them to get into Diagon Alley, and that was when you stepped into complete chaos.

"Get yer Prophet! Read all 'bout it! Mass murder in Godric's Hollow!" A paper seller shouted into the crowd of people.

There were groups of people standing about, with newspapers in hands and horrified expressions all around as they read what had occurred and friends read over their shoulders. Your stomach sank further as you approached the seller, bending down to pick up a paper someone had discarded in disgust on the cobbles.

AUROR COUPLE FOUND DEAD AT HOME, THEIR BABY SOLE SURVIVOR

James and Lily Potter, prominent members of the Auror community were found dead in their cottage at Godrics Hollow late last night, with only their baby boy Harry surviving the encounter that is believed to be another attack by You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters.

But unlike other Auror deaths that seem similar in nature to this double-homicide, this awful story has another horrifying twist. Friend of the Potter's, Peter Pettigrew, was found later on this morning in a London alley, where he was seemingly trying to catch the mole within the Aurors who caused this tragedy before he was brutally-

"Murdered at the hands of Sirius Black!" The seller crowed once more, "a death eater disguised as an Auror!"

You felt like you might vomit. Or faint. What?! None of what they were saying could be true. James? Lily? Dead? No, that couldn't possibly have happened.

And Sirius? You knew him, you loved him. You couldn't even fathom how someone could even have begun spreading this story of misinformation.

Courage and outrage growing within you, you stormed to the seller, calling, "You've got it wrong. Sirius Black isn't a death eater!"

You didn't care about the stares and attention you got at your bold words, at how murmurs began to spread as people looked at the golden surname stitched on the back of the red jersey you were wearing and connected the dots.

"Lovie, I'm afraid he is. Caught redhanded and everythin'," the seller explained, somewhat sympathetically, as she pointed at the front cover of the Daily Prophet. At the scowling mugshot of Sirius, whose face was sprayed in dark droplets.

No. No. But what was worse was the haunted look in his eyes, the utter pain you could see radiating from his pupils, even in the shaky, monochromatic image.

"Look, I get it's hard to come to terms with, especially if he's ya boyfriend. I knew someone who was a death eater too, and bloody hell was that a hard one to swallow! But lovie, just accept it and everythin'll be easier on ya." She soothed, giving you a ginger pat on your shoulder.

But you stepped away from her sharply. "No, this isn't true, and I'll prove it!"

And you ran and ran and ran. You didn't hear as people began to point you out, recognising you as the girlfriend of that murderer, jeer rude words at you, or even spit at you. You had tunnel vision, only thinking of your destination, which was the Ministry of Magic, and you wouldn't rest until you saw that cherry red telephone box, and until it was transporting you into the depths that were the Ministry.

Your legs began to ache, muscles screaming in protest at the ruthless pace you were sprinting at, but you refused to slow down, not when everyone in the world had got it so wrong and they were going to hurt Sirius. It couldn't be him, you simply didn't believe it at all.

The Ministry was a blur of people, colours and sounds as you pushed through crowds of people in suits, desperate to get to the desk clerk you glimpsed in the distance and ready to fall to your knees and beg to be given an audience with Sirius.

Eventually, you made it to her bench, and began breathing heavily as you faced her. "Please," you panted, as you tried to regain your rapidly escaping breath, "I don't know where he is... what's happened- but... I need to see Sirius Black, now, please-"

"Sirius Black?" The girl asked incredulously, halting her relentless gum chewing to gape at you.

"Yes, he-he... I'm afraid something terrible has happened and he's been framed... I need to sort it all out."

"Look, miss, I can't deny the bloke looks half decent," she proclaimed, leaning forward as she began to whisper the latter half of her sentence, "but he murdered some fella! And it wasn't any clean curse too, you hear? I've got an Auror friend and he said the entire road was coated in blood, Black blew the bloke up and-"

"No, no, I refuse to believe that," you rebutted desperately, "I know him, and this isn't about the fact he looks handsome, for Merlin's sake. Just-just tell me what floor he's on, please? Tell me how to access it?"

The clerk girl pursed her lips, seemingly torn before gesturing to a nearby elevator with her head and saying, "8 should be him."

Calling your thanks back at her, you strode away, dashing to make it to the elevator before the doors closed, when you heard shouts behind you.

"Y/N L/N! L/N, stop where you are!"

Obeying the voice, you swivelled your head to see three Ministry guards with their wands out, briskly making their way over and a crowd of officials following them.

"We've obtained knowledge from a source that you have a certain relationship with a recently detained Sirius Black. Would that be correct?" A guard questioned, now facing you.

"Yes," you breathed, scared suddenly.

"Well, Miss L/N, I'm going to assume that you have heard this morning's tragic news and understand the repercussions," An official interjected, once he had made his way over to face her as well, "The Ministry does not take situations like this lightly. In a reflection of that, the trial of Sirius Black is to begin in a half hour."

You couldn't even question the words leaving his mouth as any semblance of language had disappeared from your mind. You couldn't even begin to understand how this could be possible. You wanted so desperately to wake up, but you could feel the way your palms were sweating, and hear the ticking of the Ministry clock. This was not a nightmare, but reality.

"Now, obviously we cannot allow you to be a witness, as to our knowledge you were not part of last night's events, and we cannot allow you to be a part of the jury, as I think it would be safe to say you are far from impartial to Mr Black. However, what we can offer you is a seat in the viewing gallery when a verdict is reached, and a ten minute time frame with him before your trial, given your close circumstance with him. I trust you will be grateful for this and take advantage of this generous opportunity we've presented you."

And all you could say was, "Yes."

You suppose it was the shock that had set in at that point. At least, that's what the catering lady suspected when she spotted your shaking form in the court break room fifteen minutes later. You couldn't really remember how you had got down there, what path you had taken and who had taken you. Even after a mug of steaming tea and two buttery biscuits, your shaking would not subside, and your mind remained blank. But then-

"Miss Y/N, you will now see Mr Black if you have no objections." The offical called, and you felt rather than heard the doors open, as you stumbled to your feet.

It was as if all of your emotions flooded back into your body, all at once, as your eyes locked with his. The numbing shock faded away as quickly as it had drenched you, and in its wake was a suffocating number of emotions. You felt like you could begin bawling, yelling and smiling all at once as he was brought closer and closer to you by the guards restraining either side of him.

You decided fate was a cruel thing then, as the guards finally let go of his form, and he dashed the final steps to sweep you into his arms. Because the deja vu was not lost on you, of his suit and tie, and his shocked face as you walked towards him, his actions mirroring those of his ones at the Yule Ball all those years ago.

But you quickly forgot your thoughts of deja vu and fate, when you felt his own body quake with restrained sobs, felt his tight grip of you begin to suffocate you. Just as swiftly as he had embraced you however, he pulled away, his fingers staying interlocked with yours as his face took on a pleading expression.

"You don't believe them, do you?" He asked, and your heart broke to think that he'd considered you'd be against him. "I- princess, I don't know how I can make you believe me, but-but, I promise I didn't do it-I didn't-"

You kissed him then, deeply, passionately and hoping to convey all your love through your lips, if that was even possible. He seemed stunned at first, his lips still, before he responded with a fervour that almost made you smile.

"Of course I believe you," you whispered against his lips, when you both had to pull apart to catch your breath, "Sirius, you... you could never have done something like this. Of course not."

Your heart squeezed painfully once more at the broken, haunted look in his eyes, as he glanced away, anywhere but your own eyes. "It was-it was awful-I-I....," he exhaled slowly and shakily before his eyes met yours once more, "My- James is dead, and so is Lily, and I couldn't save them, Y/N. Do you know how fucking hard I accelerated, God, I thought I was going to crash into about fifteen cars and then maybe a few birds. And-and, it was all for nothing, because-" he closed his eyes, and the pain was tangible in the way he winced, "and Merlin, I don't even know what happened to Harry because not a soul will tell me anything and I'm going wild in that cell down there, because the-the bloody people down there with me-they-they howl and they scream in pain, and when they don't it's just me and the darkness, and-Merlin- I don't know how long I can deal with it-"

He buried his face into your shoulder, and when you felt wet warmth on your shoulder, you began to cry too, squeezing him tighter, because you knew that was the only way you could reassure him. "Sirius, I-I-I don't know how, but-I'll get you out of there, I will... you'll be home with me before you know it, and-"

"All right. Mr Black, Miss L/N. That concludes your session. Your trial will begin shortly."

Everything was urgent at once. Sirius pulled back from you, and the desperation in his eyes matched his tone, as he said, "Whatever happens, it happens. Just know, that I love you. I love you so much, and you are the love of my life, even with whatever ends up happening to it."

You didn't have time to say it back before he pulled you into a kiss that rivalled any others you'd ever had. You tried to memorise the feel of it all: of his arms, and the way he held you like you were the finest piece of jewellery in the world; the way his mouth felt and moved, scalding and desperate and unrelenting; and his hands, the way his fingers trailed up and down your spine and curled into your hair. It was over too quickly, and then he was being pulled away from you, and the world was hazy and blurry because your eyes were furiously streaming with tears of utter anguish. You didn't see the significant look from the officials to the catering lady, as your shaking began again. In fact, you were so distraught, that you didn't even notice the white powder she sprinkled into the tea she offered you soon after, and the realisation only sank in when your body felt leaden and you slumped to the floor, your eyes fluttering shut.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

You thought again of the cruelty of fate when you mistook the catering lady for Sirius shaking you awake.

"Sirius," you mumbled grumpily, rolling away from the hands that shook you, "If you want me to see the bloody sunrise so much, just take a Polaroid of it, why don't you?"

But what followed wasn't a lighthearted argument or tickling kisses on your neck to wake you up, but a gentle, wary voice.

"Love, I think you'll want to wake up for this."

And then you remembered.

In a flash, you were on your feet, turning to her and asking, "Where?"

At the sight of the court room, your stomach bottomed out. Sirius was standing, his back to you and handcuffed, with an officer at either side. As you shuffled into your seat, your eyes remained on his form and barely noted as a member of the jury stepped up to the front.

"We, the jury find Sirius Orion Black guilty of all charges against him."

The banging of the gavel, was in rhythm with bile rising in your throat. And then- and then the other viewers around you in the gallery, the motherfuckers had the nerve to clap. Some cheered. You were at a serious risk of vomiting.

"With that verdict, the Ministry of Magic hence sentences Sirius Orion Black to life in the Prison of Azkaban."

Godric, you actually were going to throw your guts up. This couldn't be possible. You gazed at Sirius' back, wondering how he had not collapsed at the weight of the words they had just said, at what they meant for him and his future. He simply stayed standing, his back straight, his posture firm, as he turned to you.

It had to be fifteen metres between you and he, but you could see the heavy tears in his eyes, see the way his lips were tense as he opened them to mouth 'I love you'. You mouthed them back, just as he was tugged away, and as soon as you burst through the side door, you did vomit.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

To the loml,

I'm not going to lie to you. Anyone who thinks hell is not on Earth has not visited Azkaban. It's dark, it's cold, it's always, always storming and the prisoners deserve to be here. They're all bloody lunatics, and since I thought the crazies in the Ministry cells were bad, I got one hell of a shock coming here.

But I get through it. Some days, I feel like I want to find a way to squeeze through the bars and impale myself on the rocks below, but that's just because I can't stop hearing them, seeing them. I don't think I can ever forget seeing James and Lily like that, and hearing those muggles scream as Peter blew them up.

You get me through it. And I know you'll think that I'm being all sappy to distract you from the dark shit I told you about before, but princess, it's true, I promise. On days like the ones I was writing about, I just think of you, and it starts to get better. I think a lot about that night you dumped that absolute tosser Craig and came home to me. What a night. And it gets me through hearing the rats in my cell and all the nightmares I get.

But enough about me, what have you been up to? I do hope Kreacher has been treating you well, or I'll find some way to beat his wrinkled arse from here.

With all my love,

yours, Sirius.

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You didn't heed the rumours at first.

There'd been many, over the years, and while the first few times, you'd hoped and believed with all of your heart that he had in fact escaped, it hurt you too much to try and believe in rumours of his escape, as each time without fail, the truth came crashing down on you like an avalanche.

It was only when you saw him with your own two eyes that you would believe the rumours.

The night began like any other Saturday night, which was one in which you would indulge yourself with thinking about Sirius and remembering him. You dragged out your cassette player from the cupboard and while you cooked dinner you would listen to the many, many mixtapes that you and Sirius had created for each other.

You were halfway through boiling the pasta, stirring the pot with a wooden spoon as you absentmindedly sang that gushy Cher song that you loved and that you knew even Sirius had a soft spot for.

If I could turn back time,

If I could find a way-

"If I could turn back time, I'd have never got out of that bed next to you."

The wooden spoon clattered to the floor beside you, and you inhaled sharply at the sound of the voice you knew all too well. Could it be- was that even possible?

Ever so slowly, you turned your head, prepared to see the empty dining room, prepared to have finally gone mad and to have your mind playing awful tricks on you.

And yet, there he was.

It had been twelve years since you'd seen him, and you could see what the time had done to him. His hair, once silky and reaching his chin, was longer now, and more matted and rough. He had scruff on his face, like the beginnings of a beard and moustache. And under that, you could see faint lines on his face, where his age really had caught up with him.

But he was still your Sirius; you could still see the equal amounts of depth and amusement in his eyes, even if you could also see pain that hadn't been there before.

And-and somehow, he'd come home to you.

Your hands reached forward to touch him, as he stepped closer, but even with your innate desire to fling yourself onto him and never let go, stronger was your curiosity, your disbelief.

"H-how-what?" you stuttered, tears flooding your eyes, as he picked you up as easily as if you were a feather and put you on the bench top, standing between your legs.

"That, princess," he replied, in between kissing you all over, rapidly, softly, "is a long, complicated story. And-"

"You don't have to tell me right now," you murmured, beaming at him, almost high on the fact that he was back, that he was touching her. A roar of triumph echoed through your head as he sent you his signature grin.

"My thoughts exactly. We have more important things to do."

And you and Sirius carried out those important tasks dutifully and enthusiastically, only stopping abruptly when you discovered the pasta pot was boiling over.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I'm going to the Ministry on Order business. Be back soon, princess," Sirius whispered, as he pressed a kiss to your brow, ignoring your groans of protest as he slipped from the bed.

Yes, Sirius Black still had a rather bad habit of leaving you in the middle of the night to partake in Order business.

The first few times he'd done this, you'd had arguments after, because obviously, after what had happened the last time he'd slipped out after midnight, you were scared stiff when you couldn't contact him, or if he came home late.

But after many, many more escapades, and two joyous years of safety, of him returning after a few hours, you'd begrudging relented on scolding him for the nasty habit. For as much as you still felt a large twinge of anxiety for every minute that ticked over sunrise when he still hadn't returned, he always did, in the end. And you knew that as much as you hated it, Sirius was an integral part of the Order, and he had to do what he had to do.

But tonight somehow felt different. Because for as much as you tossed and turned, and told yourself over and over that Sirius would be fine, the little voice inside your head would not be silenced, and it accompanied a feeling of sickness, deep in your stomach.

Cursing as you rose, you swiftly put on a comfortable and practical outfit before you left the house, venturing a few steps from the doorway before you apparated to the the telephone box that would lead you in to the Ministry.

The memories coming back to you did not help soothe your rapidly rising nerves, and neither did the dark, deserted Ministry that you found before you from your wand glow.

Your trepidation only grew when you found broken glass, and obvious signs of a scuffle. There had been a fight here, and recently. What in the name of Merlin was going on?

You were about to say that aloud when Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared beside you, and grabbed your arm, pulling you with him towards an elevator.

"Come on, we must go. They're in the Department of Mysteries." He explained, as he punched in the appropriate floor.

"What? The Order?" You asked, bewildered, as the elevator travelled at its dangerously rapid speed, "why?"

"The kids, you know - Harry, his lot, a few others - they found some death eaters down there and they've been trying to fend them off while the Order get here."

"Shit. Is everyone okay?"

"Well," he turned to face you, looking grim, as a cheery ding alerted you to the fact the elevator was stopping at the selected floor, "we have no way of knowing, but if You-know-who is involved as well as his death eaters, we have to expect the worst."

Expect the worst. You were all too familiar with the worst outcomes of a situation, and images of piles of dead, bloody bodies and Sirius being crucio'd flashed in your mind as you kept up with Kingsley's pace, racing down the corridor to the end door which was slightly ajar.

Inside was a wreck. While you'd never been inside before this moment, you'd heard that the Department of Mysteries was like an orderly maze of wonder, full of shelves that reached the roof groaning with the weight of luminescent orbs and other weird and wacky wonders.

But what was facing you now was nothing like what you had envisioned. There was only wreckage; splintered wood, and piles of glowing shards of glass littered everywhere the eye could see. Further on, you could see dark figures and flashes of green and red as fighting ensued.

Soon enough, you could make out a few familiar faces: Tonks with her fierce expressions and brightly-dyed hair; Remus with his nose streaming red, but arm still firm and strong as he hexed his opponent; Ginny, with her red hair streaming about as she ducked and dived from the many hexes death eaters were shooting at her.

But no Sirius.

You jogged further in, edging into the fight as well, and beginning to hex and curse death eaters in your midst, and those who challenged other Order members who you could reach. All the while, your eyes darted about, longing to see even a glimpse of long, dark hair, that would tell you that Sirius was safe.

But it wasn't his hair that made you notice him; no, it was his voice.

"Nice one, James," He'd called, and you could see that he was grinning with pride at his godson, Harry reflecting the expression, as he ducked from another hex shot at him.

And then the world seemed to go in slow motion.

Because there was Bellatrix - that utter bitch - her face twisted in psychopathic rage as always, as a flash of green erupted from her wand. And you could do nothing but watch, as it sailed through the air, and-

-hit Sirius squarely in the chest.

At once, he was stumbling backwards, and you weren't sure why, but Harry was screaming at this, struggling so hard that Remus had to restrain him, as he began to fall towards a shimmering mirror.

You caught his gaze then, as his hand seemingly went through the mirror. And to add to your confusion, his eyes were somber, the way they only were when something tragic and awful had happened. 'I love you' he mouthed, but you didn't have time to say it back, didn't even have time to react, because-

-then he was gone.

"NO!"

You weren't sure if it was you or Harry who'd screamed that, but you couldn't breathe as you heard Bellatrix laugh maniacally, beginning to taunt Harry. And while Harry was restrained, you weren't.

And if-if she had actually-If Sirius was actually gone, you would not rest until you wiped that evil smirk off her face permanently.

You were certain it was you, when you began charging towards her, screaming bloody murder and death threats at her. Because you weren't just going to let her die, no you were going to make her bleed, and hurt, and scream in pain before you gave her the honour of dying.

Your efforts were stopped by Kingsley however, who grabbed you by the shoulders and dragged you away from the scene, even when you struggled as furiously as Harry had, and began to scream at him. It didn't help anything, as he wrapped both arms around you and apparated away to the top floor of the Ministry. It was only then he released you.

"Kingsley, what the fuck?! How could you?!" You screeched, swivelling towards him and barely restraining the urge to slap him.

"Y/N, you need to calm down," he soothed, rubbing your shoulder, "I know you're upset, I'm upset too. But it wouldn't have solved anything at all if you did that, I can promise-"

"No, you can't promise me anything!" You yelled back, tearing backwards so his hand fell to his side, "How do you know I couldn't have disarmed her? Couldn't have forced her to get him back?"

"I can promise you that," he said slowly, enunciating every word carefully as if it were a statement of high importance, "because you can't come back from that mirror, Y/N. Sirius is gone, and if you went after Bellatrix, you would've followed right behind him."

A world without Sirius, where you couldn't bring him back to you had been unbearable the first time. But this time, you realised, as you fell backwards, as you fainted, there wasn't even a human possibility that you could get Sirius back.

He was gone.

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The letters were your prized possession.

You kept them in a box in the cupboard, right next to the cassette player. And after a few months, when thinking about him didn't cause you to go into states of inconsolable grief, every Saturday night, you'd allow yourself to reminisce, listening to the mixtapes while you read his letters.

You didn't think there'd been a Saturday night where you hadn't spent the whole time sobbing once you were finished, even though now, you could console yourself afterwards.

You didn't think there would be a Saturday you didn't cry over his letters.

And as you stared at the letters once more, at the ink words that were the only relics you had of Sirius, that you were certain you would see in your mind until you died, you realised that what he'd addressed you as all that time, that small four-lettered anagram that you'd thought so creative and romantic of him, could be rearranged to a word combination that was now more accurate to you than the sweet nickname of the past. Because he wasn't only the love of your life, he was something else.

Loss of my life.

[bangchangbinnie]

The Name I Can’t Say c.yj (2)

summary: your soulmate’s name appears on your wrist when you turn twenty. you’ve spent your whole life dreaming of the moment you’ll finally see yours—until the ink spells out choi yeonjun, your best friend who doesn’t believe in soulmates.

pairing: childhood best friend!yeonjun x fem!reader

genre: angst, slow burn, soulmate au

This is a continuation to TNICS (here)

————

Y/N hadn’t been expecting him.

Not tonight. Not like this.

She had spent the past two weeks carefully avoiding any situation where he might see her, question her, get too close. She had convinced herself that if she just kept her distance long enough, things would go back to normal. That she could bury the truth so deep inside herself that it would never see the light of day. That she could pretend fate hadn’t decided this for her.

But all that effort had just gone up in flames.

Because now, he was here.

Yeonjun stood in her doorway, shoulders rising and falling with unsteady breaths, his eyes dark with something she couldn’t quite place—anger, hurt, betrayal. His entire body was tense, like he was barely holding himself together, like he had been carrying something too heavy for too long.

And she knew.

He knew.

A wave of panic crashed over her, sharp and overwhelming, making her fingers dig into the wood of the doorframe.

Yeonjun stood before her, his presence suffocating in a way it had never been before. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, his knuckles white at his sides. He looked different—like the weight of something unbearable had just settled onto his shoulders, like he was barely keeping himself from unraveling.

The apartment, once familiar and safe, now felt too small, too tight, too full of him.

His eyes—usually warm, usually laced with teasing amusement—were dark with something else entirely. Something raw. Something breaking.

And then, he spoke.

His voice wasn’t loud. It wasn’t angry, but it hit harder than if he had shouted.

“You knew.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted painfully, a deep, sinking feeling clawing at her ribs. She opened her mouth, scrambling for something to say—anything—but her throat closed up, trapping the words inside.

Yeonjun exhaled sharply, the sound almost like a laugh—except it wasn’t amused. It was disbelieving, unsteady.

And then, he stepped forward.

Not in the lazy, effortless way he usually moved, but more deliberate.

“How long?” he asked, his voice tight. His hands flexed at his sides, like he was holding himself back—from what, she didn’t know. She swallowed hard, her pulse roaring in her ears, forcing herself to meet his gaze.

“About 3 weeks”

His face changed.

His expression didn’t shift in the way it usually did—no sarcastic quip, no teasing smirk, no easy dismissal. It was slower than that, like the words were sinking in one by one, like they were physically pushing the air from his lungs.

The muscle in his jaw tensed. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out.

And for the first time in her life, she watched Yeonjun become completely, utterly speechless.

The moment those words left her lips, she watched something flicker behind his eyes—something sharp and raw, like a wound being ripped open, like she had just confirmed the very thing he had been afraid of.

For a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

Then, the tension in his body snapped.

“Three weeks?” he repeated, his voice eerily calm, but it didn’t last. A sharp, humorless laugh tore from his throat, but there was no amusement in it—only disbelief, only something that barely masked the hurt beneath.

He shook his head, dragging a hand through his hair, the way he always did when he was trying to make sense of something that didn’t make sense at all.

“You’ve known for three weeks,” he said again, slower this time, as if saying it out loud would somehow change it, as if it might rewrite reality into something he could understand. His voice turned tight, clipped, strained. “And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Yeonjun—” But he wasn’t listening.

His frustration spilled over, his voice rising, his words cutting through the space between them like a blade.

“You’ve been acting weird. Avoiding me. Lying to me.” He let out a breath, sharp and uneven, his hands curling into fists. His eyes burned into hers, searching for something—an answer, an excuse, anything that might make this hurt less. “And the whole time, it was this?”

Y/N flinched, her fingers gripping the hem of her sweater so tightly that she thought the fabric might tear, but she forced herself to stand her ground.

Because what else could she do? What could she even say?

That she had tried? That every single day since the mark had appeared, she had thought about telling him but had swallowed the words instead?

That she had spent years falling for him only to have fate confirm what her heart had already known—but instead of joy, it had only brought her fear?

That she had known—from the very beginning—that if Yeonjun ever found out, this moment would play out exactly like this?

That no matter how much she had wanted to be his soulmate, she had never once believed he would want to be hers?

The words swelled in her throat, burning, suffocating—

But in the face of his anger, his betrayal, his pain—

She couldn’t bring herself to say any of them.

“Why?” Yeonjun exhaled sharply, his voice quieter now. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

Because you don’t want me.

Because you already said you’d ignore it.

Because I knew this was exactly how you would react.

The words pressed against the inside of her throat, but she couldn’t say them. Instead, she gave him the only truth she could. “Because I was scared.”

Yeonjun stilled. The anger on his face wavered, his lips parting slightly like he hadn’t been expecting that answer.

Y/N’s hands trembled at her sides. “I didn’t want things to change,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

Yeonjun let out a sharp breath, pressing his palm against his forehead as if he could physically push away the pounding in his skull. His fingers dragged through his hair, tugging slightly at the strands, his entire body tense like he was holding something back—anger, disbelief, maybe even something dangerously close to hurt.

“Damn it, Y/N,” he muttered, his voice low but edged with frustration, with something he wasn’t sure he even had the words for. It wasn’t just anger—it was exasperation, confusion, something raw sitting in his chest like a weight he didn’t know how to carry.

He dropped his hand to his side, his eyes burning into hers, jaw clenched so tightly it looked like he might shatter if he let himself feel too much.

Like if he didn’t keep himself together, he might break completely.

Tears burned at the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “You said it yourself, Yeonjun,” she whispered. “You don’t want a soulmate.”

His jaw clenched. “That’s not—”

You don’t believe in fate.” Y/N’s voice was quiet, but it cut through the space between them like a blade. Sharp. Final.

Yeonjun stilled, his jaw tightening, but she didn’t stop.

“You never have,” she continued, her voice trembling, but she forced herself to keep going. Forced herself to say the words that had haunted her since the moment she saw his name on her wrist. “You told me—you told me you’d ignore it.”

The second those words left her lips, she saw it.

The flicker in his eyes, the slight parting of his lips, the way his shoulders tensed like she had just landed a blow he wasn’t ready for. Like she had taken the very thing he had said so easily before and thrown it back at him, forcing him to taste the bitterness of it.

And she wished she didn’t see it.

Because if she could see it, if she could see the way it hurt him—then maybe, just maybe, part of him knew she was right.

Silence.

It stretched between them, thick and suffocating, until Y/N thought she might collapse under the weight of it.

Yeonjun looked away first. His fingers flexed at his sides, his entire body so tense, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

And then, after a long moment, he muttered, “Do you really think so little of me?”

Y/N’s breath hitched, the sound barely audible over the tense silence between them. Her heart slammed against her ribs, a frantic, uneven rhythm that made her feel unsteady, like the ground beneath her had just cracked open.

“What?” she whispered, but it came out more like a breath than an actual word—like she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.

She searched his face, desperate for something—a hesitation, a regret, anything that might soften the weight of what he had just said.

But Yeonjun’s expression remained unreadable, his lips pressed into a tight line, his eyes dark, guarded. Like he was bracing himself for something, like he had already decided what this meant for both of them.

And that terrified her more than anything

“That I wouldn’t even get a choice?” His voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through her all the same. “That you just decided for me?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, her heart twisting violently inside her chest. “It wasn’t like that,” she murmured.

“Then what was it like?” Yeonjun asked, stepping closer. His eyes burned into hers, searching—begging for something to make this make sense. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you just—” He let out a shaky exhale, his voice breaking slightly. “Like you didn’t trust me enough to let me figure it out for myself.”

Her breath caught. It wasn’t about trust. It was about fear.

It was about knowing that no matter what choice he was given, he wouldn’t have chosen her.

But how was she supposed to say that?

How was she supposed to look at him and admit that she had spent years watching him run from love, watching him walk away from every girl who ever got too close, and she had been terrified of becoming one of them?

Yeonjun exhaled through his nose, his jaw clenching. “I don’t—” He stopped himself, pressing his lips into a tight line before finally muttering, “I need a second.”

And just like that—before she could stop him, before she could say anything—he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind him, and Y/N stood there, heart pounding, her whole world unraveling around her.

For weeks, she had been afraid of losing him.

And now, it felt like she just had.

-

Y/N didn’t know how long she stood there.

The air in the apartment felt thick, suffocating, pressing in on her from all sides. The last of Yeonjun’s words still echoed in her head, over and over, like a wound that refused to close.

She could still see the look in his eyes before he left—the rawness of it, the disbelief, the hurt buried beneath the frustration.

She had done this. She had broken something between them.

Her legs felt weak as she backed up, pressing her hands against the kitchen counter for support, trying to ground herself—but nothing worked. Because no matter how much she tried to steady herself, the truth was still there, undeniable and irreversible.

He knew.

And now, she had no idea if he would ever look at her the same way again.

-

Yeonjun didn’t go home.

He walked. The streets were nearly empty this late at night, the cold air biting at his skin, but he barely felt it. His thoughts were too loud, too consuming, spinning in circles he couldn’t break out of.

Y/N had known. For three weeks.

Three whole weeks of silence, of awkward tension, of her dodging his eyes like she was hiding a secret too big to be spoken.

Because she was, and all this time, he had been going crazy trying to figure out what had changed between them, only to find out she had known something that could’ve changed his entire life—and she hadn’t told him.

His fingers curled into fists, his pulse hammering beneath his skin. He wasn’t even sure what pissed him off more—the fact that she had kept it from him, or the fact that she had decided for him.

That she had made up her mind about how he would react before he even got the chance to process it for himself.

His soulmate.

She was his soulmate.

And she had been too afraid to tell him. That part—that part hurt the most. Because it meant she truly believed he wouldn’t have wanted her.

That she thought he would take one look at the mark on his wrist and turn his back on her. Was that really how little she thought of him?

Yeonjun exhaled harshly, raking his fingers through his hair.

No.

No, that wasn’t fair.

She hadn’t done this to hurt him. She had done this because she was scared. Scared of what this meant. Scared of losing their friendship. Scared of how he would react.

And the worst part? She wasn’t wrong.

Yeonjun had spent years saying he didn’t believe in fate. He had spent his entire life treating soulmates like they were just another expectation he never asked for. So maybe she hadn’t been wrong to think he wouldn’t want this.

Maybe she had just been protecting herself from something she thought was inevitable.

His chest ached, frustration bleeding into something heavier, something he didn’t know how to name.

Because no matter how angry he was, no matter how much he hated that she had lied to him—

None of it changed the fact that it was her. It had always been her, and now, he had no idea what to do about it.

-

“You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

Y/N blinked, her mind sluggish, barely registering Beomgyu’s voice before he dropped down onto the park bench beside her with his usual effortless ease. The wood creaked slightly beneath his weight, and before she could react, he tossed a crinkling bag of snacks into her lap—a silent offering, one that carried more understanding than she was willing to admit.

She sighed, her fingers tracing the ridges of the packaging, rolling the unopened bag between her hands as if the repetitive motion could settle the storm inside her. “That obvious?”

Beomgyu snorted, his laugh short and knowing. “Painfully.”

He stretched out, his arms draping over the backrest like he had all the time in the world, his posture relaxed despite the underlying tension in the air. But Y/N knew Beomgyu—he wasn’t just here to keep her company. He was here to pull apart whatever mess she was tangled in.

“So.” His voice was casual, but his sharp eyes didn’t miss a thing. “You finally told him?”

Her entire body went still.

The cool breeze drifting through the park suddenly felt colder. Her grip on the snack bag tightened, the plastic crinkling under her fingers.

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

Beomgyu exhaled through his nose, the sound soft but weighted, like he had already expected this outcome. He shook his head, tilting his gaze up toward the sky, the late afternoon light casting long shadows across the pavement.

“And it went exactly how you thought it would.”

His voice wasn’t mocking, wasn’t judgmental. It was simply factual. Like this was the inevitable result, like she had been walking toward this moment all along, step by step, with no way to turn back.

Y/N swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as she stared at the ground. Yeah. It did.

Her hands curled around the edges of her sleeves, knuckles turning white as she tugged them down, an old habit resurfacing under the weight of everything pressing against her chest. The fabric felt heavy against her skin, shielding the mark that had done nothing but remind her of the storm she had caused.

It had been burning ever since Yeonjun found out—not in the way that left scars, not in the way that could be soothed with a touch, but in the way that mattered.

Like a wound left open. Like it knew the damage had already been done. She let out a slow, shaky breath, her voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know what to do.”

It was the truth, stripped bare, a confession she hadn’t even wanted to admit to herself. Her world had cracked, splintered at the seams, and she wasn’t sure if it was something that could ever be pieced back together.

She bit her lip, her throat tightening. “He was—he was angry, but he was hurt, too.” She paused, swallowing hard, blinking against the weight behind her eyes. “I think I really broke something between us.”

Beomgyu didn’t answer right away. Instead, he studied her, his gaze steady and unreadable, as if weighing her words, as if trying to decide whether she was saying them because she truly believed them or because she was too afraid of the alternative.

Then, he let out a small sigh—one that carried more understanding than pity, more knowing than judgment.

“I think you’re both just scared,” he said finally, his voice even. Y/N’s breath hitched slightly, her fingers tightening around the sleeve of her sweater.

“Him,” Beomgyu continued, “because he doesn’t know how to deal with something this big. And you…” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “Because you never expected him to want this.”

A sharp, twisting ache curled in her stomach.

She forced out a small, brittle laugh, but it tasted bitter on her tongue. “Because he doesn’t.”

Beomgyu didn’t react the way she expected—he didn’t agree, didn’t say something comforting just to make her feel better. Instead, he raised an eyebrow.

“Are you sure about that?”

Y/N stilled.

Her grip on her sleeves faltered slightly, her breath catching in her throat as his words settled in her chest.

Was she? Because the way Yeonjun had looked at her last night—the sharp confusion in his eyes, the way frustration bled into something that looked almost like hesitation, the way he seemed like he had lost control of something he hadn’t even known he was holding—

It didn’t feel like rejection. It felt like something else entirely.

Y/N rubbed a tired hand over her face, exhaustion clinging to her bones like a second skin. “I don’t know,” she muttered, shaking her head slightly. Her voice sounded too fragile, too uncertain, and she hated it. “I just… I don’t know if things will ever go back to the way they were.”

Beomgyu let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head as if she had just said something naive. “They won’t,” he said simply.

Y/N turned to him, something heavy pressing against her chest. “I figured.” But Beomgyu didn’t look at her with sympathy.

Instead, he gave her a small, almost amused smile, one that held something close to certainty. “That’s not always a bad thing, you know.”

Y/N didn’t answer.

Because the truth was, she wasn’t sure what scared her more—losing Yeonjun completely, or finding out that maybe, just maybe, this could be something more.

-

“I don’t know what to do.”

Yeonjun let out a long, uneven breath, his gaze locked on the ink staining his wrist like it held the answers he so desperately needed. The name—her name—stood out against his skin, as if it had always been there, waiting for him to notice.

But he hadn’t noticed. Not until it was too late.

The realization sat heavy in his chest, an unbearable weight pressing against his ribs, making it impossible to think straight.

Across from him, Soobin raised a single brow before lazily bringing his iced coffee to his lips, taking a slow sip like he had all the time in the world.

“You?” Soobin finally said, setting his cup down with a small thunk against the wooden table. “Choi Yeonjun? The guy who always acts like he has everything figured out?” He crossed his arms, leaning back. “Man, this must be bad.”

Yeonjun scowled, the comment barely registering beneath the storm in his head. “Not helping.” Soobin shrugged, unfazed. “Alright, fine. You’re talking, so I’m listening. What exactly are you confused about?”

Yeonjun let out a breath, his fingers twitching at his sides as his mind replayed the same scene over and over—the moment Y/N had looked at him with guilt in her eyes, the way her voice had trembled when she finally admitted it.

“Three weeks.”

Three weeks of silence. Three weeks of avoiding him.

Three weeks of knowing they were meant to be—and never saying a word.

His jaw clenched. “I don’t get why she didn’t tell me.”

Soobin hummed, tilting his head slightly as he studied him. “You sure about that?” Yeonjun opened his mouth to argue, to throw back some frustrated response about how of course, he wasn’t sure—none of this made any sense—

But then Soobin just raised an eyebrow, waiting.

And the words died before they could even form. Deep down, he knew. He knew exactly why Y/N hadn’t told him. She had been afraid.

Afraid of losing him. Afraid of how he would react. Afraid that he would take one look at the mark and walk away. That was what hurt the most.

Not that she had kept it from him. Not even that it had taken this long for him to find out, but that she had believed—truly believed—that he wouldn’t want her.

Maybe… maybe she hadn’t been wrong to think that. Yeonjun swallowed hard, rubbing a hand over his face, frustration bubbling beneath the surface of his skin. He had spent so long saying he didn’t believe in fate, saying that soulmates weren’t something he needed—

And she had believed him.

Believed him enough to hide something that had changed everything.

He leaned back against the bench, exhaling sharply, his head tilting back as he stared up at the sky, searching for something he knew he wouldn’t find.

“I don’t want to lose her.” The words slipped out before he could stop them—so quiet that if it had been anyone else sitting across from him, they might not have heard.

But this was Soobin, and Soobin had always been able to read between the lines. He nodded, his expression thoughtful, his gaze steady. “Then don’t.”

Yeonjun let out a humorless scoff, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple.”

“Isn’t it?” Soobin leaned forward slightly, resting his arms on his knees, his voice calm but firm. “You’re making this harder than it has to be. You already know she’s important to you. The mark doesn’t change that.”

Yeonjun didn’t say anything for a while. A small pause laid between them for a moment before soobin tilted his head slightly and finally spoke again. “It just means she was always meant to be.”

Silence settled between them, heavy and unmoving.

Yeonjun stared at the ground, something tightening in his chest, his pulse thrumming against his wrist like it was trying to remind him of something he wasn’t ready to accept. She was always meant to be.

He had spent years running from the idea of soulmates, from the weight of expectations, from the fear of not getting to choose his own fate.

But now, standing at the edge of something undeniable, something that had been in front of him all along— Maybe he had never really been running from soulmates.

Maybe he had just been running from her. Yeonjun’s throat felt tight, his mind a mess of contradictions. “Yeah,” he muttered, voice rough, barely audible.

“I guess I just never thought about it like that before.” Soobin gave him a small, knowing smile, shaking his head.

“Then maybe it’s time you do.”

-

She hadn’t meant to see him today.

She had spent the last two weeks avoiding places he might be—dodging plans, keeping herself busy, always making sure there was enough distance between them so she wouldn’t have to face the look in his eyes again, but fate had other plans.

The bookstore was quiet, the scent of old paper and fresh coffee lingering in the air. Y/N had been staring at the same page of a book for the past five minutes, her mind somewhere else entirely, when a familiar presence washed over her.

She didn’t even have to turn around. She knew.

Yeonjun was here.

Her grip tightened around the book, her heart hammering in her chest as she forced herself to breathe. She debated running—grabbing her things and pretending she had never been here in the first place—but it was too late.

The moment she glanced up, their eyes met. For the first time in weeks.

And everything froze.

He was standing a few aisles away, a book in his hand, his fingers curled loosely around the spine like he had just picked it up without thinking. He wasn’t even looking at it.

He was looking at her. Y/N’s breath hitched. She could see the hesitation in his posture, the way his shoulders tensed, like he was debating whether to say something or pretend this wasn’t happening. Like he was just as lost as she was.

A beat of silence passed. Then another, and then, he did something she hadn’t expected. He gave her a nod. Just a small, subtle tilt of his head—acknowledgment, nothing more. Like they were strangers. Like they hadn’t been everything to each other just weeks ago.

Y/N felt something ache deep inside her, something raw and unfamiliar.

She hesitated, gripping the book in her hands like it was an anchor, and then—before she could think too hard about it—she nodded back.

And just like that, the moment passed.

Yeonjun blinked, his lips pressing together for half a second—like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words.

Then he looked away. Turned. Walked past her without another word, disappearing into another aisle.

Y/N exhaled, her fingers trembling slightly as she set the book back on the shelf, realizing she hadn’t even been reading it.

-

He hadn’t meant to see her today.

He had only come to the bookstore to clear his head, to do anything other than sit in his apartment, drowning in thoughts that led nowhere, thoughts that started and ended with her, but the second he walked inside and saw her, everything else faded.

Y/N.

Standing just a few aisles away, fingers curled loosely around a book she wasn’t really reading, her lips pressed together like she was holding something in.

Existing in the same space as him for the first time in weeks. Yeonjun stopped breathing. She looked the same—but at the same time, she didn’t.

Her hair fell the way it always did, her posture relaxed but too still, too careful. She wasn’t hiding from him the way she had before, but she wasn’t reaching for him either.

There was a distance between them now, a thin but impenetrable line, and she was standing on the other side of it, and maybe that was what made it worse.

She wasn’t running. She had already left.

She looked like someone who had been carrying something too heavy for too long—someone who had long since accepted the weight of it. Someone who had already braced themselves for what came next.

That realization settled in his chest like an ache he didn’t know how to soothe. When their eyes met, something sharp pulled inside him.

The way her fingers flexed around the book, like she needed something to hold onto. The way her breath caught—the way she still reacted to him, even now, but she didn’t move. She didn’t look away.

She just stood there, frozen in the middle of an ordinary afternoon, staring at him like he was something out of a past life.

For the first time, Yeonjun didn’t know what to do. He thought about saying something—anything.

Something casual, something light enough to make this moment pass without breaking anything more than it already had. Maybe a simple “Hey,” or “How have you been?”—but the words felt too shallow, too meaningless for what they had become.

Because nothing about this was casual. Nothing about this was light. There were no words big enough to undo the silence that had stretched between them for weeks.

So he said nothing at all. He just nodded. A brief, wordless acknowledgment—as if that was all they were now.

Like two people passing each other in a dream. Two people who used to know each other but no longer did.

And when she nodded back—hesitant, distant—he knew this was their new reality.

She wasn’t avoiding him anymore. She wasn’t waiting. She had already let go.

Yeonjun felt something crack inside him, but he forced his feet to move, forcing himself to do the same. He looked away first. Walked past her without another word, disappearing into another aisle.

He had spent days wondering what he would say to her when they finally saw each other again. Turns out, it didn’t matter, because neither of them said anything at all.

-

Y/N hadn’t been expecting company.

She definitely hadn’t been expecting Beomgyu to show up at her apartment unannounced, carrying bags of takeout in one hand and a stack of DVDs in the other, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

She blinked at him from the doorway, still wrapped in the oversized sweater she’d been lounging in all day. “What… are you doing?”

Beomgyu didn’t bother answering—he just walked past her like he owned the place, dropping the food onto her coffee table before dramatically collapsing onto her couch.

“Saving you from yourself,” he declared, kicking his feet up like he had all the time in the world. Y/N shut the door, narrowing her eyes at him. “I don’t need saving.”

Beomgyu scoffed. “Right. And I’m in a happy, healthy relationship.” He patted the space next to him. “Come sit. I brought your favorite.”

She eyed the takeout bags suspiciously. “…Did you actually get my favorite or did you just buy whatever sounded good to you?”

Beomgyu gasped, hand to his chest. “How dare you? I am a man of integrity.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the corner of her lips twitched against her will. Beomgyu noticed, because of course he did, and shot her a smug grin.

“See? You’re already in a better mood.” She sighed, but it was more of an exhale of relief than anything else. It had been weeks since she had felt this—this lightness, this sense of normalcy. Like the weight of everything with Yeonjun had been momentarily set aside.

Beomgyu stretched out, holding up the stack of DVDs. “Alright. Tonight’s theme is cinematic masterpieces.”

Y/N arched a brow. “And by that you mean…?” He smirked, revealing the first movie—Sharknado.

Y/N groaned. “Beomgyu. No.”

“Beomgyu. Yes.” He replies, holding a shit-eating grin.

She shook her head, grabbing one of the takeout boxes and plopping down beside him. “You have the worst taste.”

“Bold of you to say when you’re about to enjoy this award-worthy film.” He unwrapped his chopsticks, bumping his knee against hers. “You can thank me later.” Y/N sighed, letting herself sink into the couch.

For the first time in weeks, she felt something familiar. Something almost like before.

-

The movie had been playing for at least twenty minutes, but Y/N hadn’t absorbed a single second of it.

The chaotic action sequences, the exaggerated dialogue, the absolutely ridiculous premise—normally, it would have been enough to pull her in, to at least serve as a temporary distraction, but her mind was somewhere else.

Her half-eaten food sat forgotten on the coffee table, condensation from her drink pooling into a ring on the surface. She was curled into the couch, her knees tucked loosely against her chest, her fingers absently picking at a loose thread on her sweater sleeve, and she was a thousand miles away.

Beomgyu noticed. Of course he did.

His gaze flickered to her for the third time in five minutes, his usual amusement dimming into something closer to curiosity. He didn’t say anything at first, just studied her for a moment, waiting to see if she would snap out of it on her own. She didn’t.

With an exaggerated sigh, he grabbed the remote and paused the movie, the screen freezing on a particularly absurd shot of a CGI shark mid-air.

The sudden silence jolted her back into reality. Y/N blinked, momentarily disoriented. “What—?”

Beomgyu tossed the remote onto the couch and turned to face her fully, arms crossed. “Alright, spill.”

Her brows furrowed. “Spill what?”

Beomgyu gave her a deadpan look. “You’ve been zoning out this whole time, and not even Sharknado can hold your attention?” He raised a brow, leaning forward slightly. “That means something is very wrong.”

Y/N parted her lips to argue, but nothing came out.

Because… he wasn’t wrong. And the worst part? She already knew exactly what was keeping her distracted.

She hesitated, pulling her knees closer to her chest, the fabric of her sweater bunched beneath her fingers as she gripped the sleeves. The warmth of the room, the soft glow of the lamp, the distant hum of the paused movie—it all felt distant, like white noise against the storm inside her head.

Beomgyu arched a brow, shifting slightly so he could face her fully. His expression was expectant, but not pushy—a careful balance of patience and amusement.

“Let me guess.” He hummed in thought, tapping his fingers against his knee before answering his own question.

“Yeonjun.”

Y/N let out a slow, tired sigh, slumping further into the cushions. The weight of his name alone was enough to press against her chest, making it harder to breathe.“It’s stupid,” she muttered.

“That’s never stopped you before,” Beomgyu quipped, grinning as he dodged the weak punch she aimed at his shoulder. Still, she hesitated.

Because saying it out loud made it real. And if it was real, then she would have to actually deal with it, but this was Beomgyu.

He had been there through everything—the good, the bad, the moments in between. He had seen her at her best, her worst, and all the messy parts in between. If there was anyone she could tell, it was him.

And besides—he wasn’t going to let this go.

She exhaled through her nose, her gaze dropping to the coffee table, tracing the condensation rings left behind by their drinks. “I saw him today.”

Beomgyu, who had been lounging comfortably just seconds ago, immediately straightened, his expression shifting from playful to genuinely intrigued.

“And?” Y/N’s fingers curled into the fabric of her sleeves. “And… it was weird,” she admitted, the words coming out slower than she intended. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, trying to find the right way to say it, but there wasn’t one.

Because what was she supposed to say?

That for weeks she had been dreading the moment she would see him again? That she had imagined it a thousand different ways—some good, some bad, but none of them like this?

She swallowed, forcing herself to meet Beomgyu’s gaze. “It was like we were strangers.”

Beomgyu didn’t say anything right away. He just watched her, taking in the way her voice had softened at the end, the way her shoulders seemed to sink under the weight of something too heavy to carry alone.

Then, finally, he leaned back, stretching his arms over the couch.

“Damn,” he said, dragging out the word. “That’s rough, buddy.” Y/N let out a groan, shoving a throw pillow into his face.

Because, of course, this was Beomgyu’s response.

She shot him an unimpressed look, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “Really?”

Beomgyu only grinned, entirely unfazed. “What do you want me to say? Wow, Y/N, that sucks, but I bet if you just talked to him like a normal person, this whole problem would disappear?”

Y/N groaned, dragging a hand over her face. Because, as much as she hated to admit it—he wasn’t wrong, but just the thought of facing Yeonjun again, of breaking past the awkward distance that had settled between them, made something twist uncomfortably in her chest.

“You make it sound so easy,” she muttered.

“That’s because it is.” Beomgyu shrugged like it was the simplest thing in the world. “I mean, what’s stopping you from calling him right now?”

She scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “Yeah, right.” Beomgyu’s grin turned mischievous in an instant, and before Y/N could process the warning signs, he was suddenly reaching for his phone.

“You want me to do it?” Her entire body went rigid.

Her eyes widened in horror as she lunged forward, already reaching for the device in his hand before he could even think about unlocking it.

“Beomgyu. No.” But it was too late.

His thumb casually, effortlessly, recklessly pressed the call button, and before she could even begin to yell at him, the line started ringing.

Y/N’s stomach plummeted. Her heart stopped. Beomgyu’s own eyes widened as if he had just realized exactly what he’d done.

“Oh,” he said, a little too slowly. Then, grinning sheepishly—

“Oops.”

“Beomgyu, you idiot—”

Panic surged through her, and she lunged, scrambling over the couch, fingers grasping desperately for his phone.

Beomgyu, being the absolute menace that he was, only leaned back further, holding the phone just out of her reach, grinning like this was the most entertainment he’d had in weeks.

“Oops?” she hissed through gritted teeth, practically climbing over him now, her weight pressing against his shoulder as she stretched her arm out further. “End it!”

Beomgyu laughed, effortlessly dodging her flailing hands. “I mean, technically, this is your fault for not calling him sooner,” he teased, twisting just enough to make her struggle even harder. “I’m simply moving the plot along—”

Before she could pry the phone from his grasp, before she could hang up, delete the call history, and potentially throw Beomgyu out the window for good measure—

The ringing stopped.

A pause. A breath. And then—

“…Hello?”

Y/N froze. Beomgyu cackled.

And just like that, she was trapped.

Her heartbeat roared in her ears, her throat suddenly dry, too tight, too frozen to form words. Her hand, which had been gripping Beomgyu’s wrist, slowly dropped away as her brain struggled to catch up to the reality of the situation.

This was happening. Yeonjun was on the other end of the line. She had no way out.

She swallowed, her fingers curling against the couch cushions, forcing herself to speak, forcing her voice to work.

“…Yeonjun?”

The silence on the other end stretched just long enough to make her wonder if he was about to hang up.

Then, soft but cautious—like he hadn’t expected to hear her voice tonight, like he wasn’t sure if this was a mistake or a second chance

“Y/N?”

And just like that, there was no turning back.

—————

AN: mwahahaha. Cliffhanger 😈. Part three will be out soon (hopefully) once again, hope you all enjoyed this ❤️

Taglist: @c9b7luv @hyueika (thank you both for leaving feedback! It’s very appreciated! ❤️❤️)

[luminique]

HEAR ME OUT, one sided love?? Imagine s/o doesn’t like lighter back, being oblivious about lighters feeling and only see lighter as a friend meanwhile lighter is so MADLY in love with them and is aware of s/o not liking him back but he can’t help it because you’re the only one that makes him feel this way even if his feelings aren’t reciprocated… they’re so doomed think about the potential angst!! 🫤

lighter isn’t perfect. his body is littered in scars of his past, his actions are solutions to mistakes he had made before. to say that he deserved something as rewarding as love didn’t sound right to him, but oh, would it feel right if it was from you.

it was definitely not an immediate fall, rather it was slower like starting a fire. you bring the materials you require, some wood and a starter. it’s difficult to get a fire going, even he knows that with his lighter in hand. his hand gets warmer the longer the flame is out but it doesn’t compare to the accidental grazes of your hand against his gloved ones.

he had poked you once with the spikes on his gloves. the look on your face when you brought your hand up to rub it while you apologized for it. why were you apologizing? every soft “sorry” that came out of your mouth was like sprinkling water onto the fire. best to get fresh firewood so that it doesn’t go out.

ensuring that the fire is a consistent flame is also important to prevent accidents. accidents like playfully taking off his sunglasses and putting it on yourself while imitating him. somehow, that didn’t cause the fire to go out, in fact, it made it burn even brighter than before. the redness on his face when he watched you was comparable to the orange and red hues of a fire.

he stayed close to the fire, close to you. feeling the warmth of love on his skin, finding it calming but also terrifying. it doesn’t rain often in the outer ring but that doesn’t stop him from worrying that it would all of a sudden. so he lies awake at night, thinking about all of the possibilities, the what ifs and its outcomes.

he thought he had considered everything. from keeping the fire from going out, to ensuring it was a stable flame, to tending it slowly and carefully. what he didn’t consider was getting too close to the fire, burning through what he thought was tough skin.

he was too focused on trying to maintain a certain personality, not quite showing his interest in you. so when caesar was talking to you about her love stories while everyone was hanging around the bar, his heart rate increased. just like how consuming alcohol affects one’s mental and physical state, so does it affect a fire. maybe someone poured his drink into the flames as he watched it burn even brighter than before, making him eavesdrop on your conversation.

but a large flame meant a higher possibility of getting burnt, and soon he saw the burn marks on his skin. as you continued to talk with caesar, the longer he let the fire burn him. how you had said that real love wasn’t like the stories, how you seemed disinterested in romance, how you had believed that no one was interested in you. at that moment, he ended up getting more drinks from burnice, hoping it would soothe the roaring flames within him. he drank so much and fell asleep to the soft crackling of the fire, your voice acting as background noise.

he woke up to the coldness of the bar counter pressing on his cheek. the fire had been put out by you when you tapped on his shoulder. the memories of last night flooding into his mind like water. maybe it was all some nightmare and you did like him back, but the sudden coolness of your touch made him realize the reality of it all.

you didn’t like him, and not because he did anything wrong but because he didn’t do anything in your eyes. you were feeding the fire in his heart and he mistook that fire for your heart too. he sat up straight, took one look at you and shook his head. you still cared for him, came with water and woke him up gently. he never intended to get so severely injured because of his own growing feelings for you.

his own feelings, you didn’t even know he had any for you. the pile of ashes, you both stared at it and yet only he knew that fire existed. the flames had misled him, danced around his heart that craved for you, that only asked for you as its fuel. now all he can do was sit next to what was once a big fire, feeling the cold on his skin despite the layers. no warmth left, no light left, no love left.

[lesbianslugreaction]

Post-Seine Valjean whenever Javert leaves the house: Surely he has realized he can do much better than an ugly old convict like me. I have continuously tainted him with my presence, and he secretly despises me. He has left Paris already. He is getting his beautiful hole creamed by some despicable, horrendous man. He is mine, but I cannot have him. I detest whichever lucky man gets to have him. It is his right to leave me. He should go; I deserve it. Should I starve myself to death?

Javert whenever he leaves the house: I🫃cannot❌ wait😫to➡️return🚶‍♂️home🏡so😌my🫦hot🌶️beefy🍖dilf🎅boyfriend👨‍❤️‍💋‍👨can🥫dick🍆me🥴down⬇️

[breadball]

"Are you flesh? ....Or are you spirit?" "I am Sorrow."

YALL I AM UNWELL. I lied to myself and told myself it was just gonna be a sketch and i failed again.

The vice grip this au has on me is unparalleled and there isn't even fic yet.

Early in our rambles I couldn't decide who would make a better Mouse out of Ekko and Jinx but the second I thought about both of them crawling their way out of Aquila bickering the whole time, I was obsessed. if you're unfamiliar with 1980s cult classic Ladyhawke this is the scene:

[bayetea]

fun fact I forgot to draw electricity surging through her hand when I posted this for christmas

[the-sunniest-angels]

it's so funny every time someone complains about not enough kissing/making out in my fics bc I'm gonna be so fr you guys I'm super mega ace and so kiss scenes? Not really my thing. Gonna be honest most of the time I couldn't care less if the characters who are in love kiss throughout the entire story or not. I add kiss scenes as a plot device or to appeal to an audience but it's certainly not for me

This is a recurring thing for me lol but the first time it happened I was like 12 writing the shittiest fics on earth and someone asked when the characters, who were actively dating and like I think also getting married or smth, would kiss. And I remember being like... "When will they WHAT???" Like genuinely shocked this was smth that was expected of them

And so someone even now will be like "bro why don't they kiss more throughout the story" and every time without fail I'm like "wdym? I had them do that a whole One Time™?"

bc like to me a kiss isn't really like the pinnacle of romance and in fact I personally am averse to them so every time I'm like thrown off by the fact that other people not only are not averse to kisses but also actively want to see them included often in romance stories lmao. Which makes total sense of course! It's just that I am really way too ace for this lmao and every time I'm deeply amused

[bleue-flora]

i need ur opinion on angel cdream

I’ve literally had this for weeks and this is still all I got…

[lassie-farce]

“i thought you didn’t smoke”

“i didn’t”

[foxgloveinspace]

Could I request secret/forbidden relationship Lukercy? If that isn't inspiring, I apologize

Not uninspiring, but simple, and I like that. <3

Luke sighed as he sat next to Percy on the doc. Percy didn't look up at him, too busy staring at the water under his feet, Percy was kicking his legs, and just before his toes hit the water, the water would ripple out as if already struck. His eyes might not have left the water, but he did move his hand closer to where Luke sat, as open of an invitation as he could get out here in the open.

Luke laid his hand over Percy's, his thumb rubbing over the back of Percy's knuckles. This was the most physical he would get outside of Percy's cabin, where he would be talked into laying on top of Percy for a nap or out in the forest if they where lucky enough to be there alone, allowed to make as much noise as they wanted, or in his case, get Percy to make as much noise as he could.

He could hear kids shouting behind them, off in the distance, the camp alive with activity, but he allowed himself to stare at Percy unabashedly, and the reflection of the water in his eyes. His hair was almost in his eyes, and Luke wanted to reach over and brush it out of the way. He didn't move, but he did swipe his thumb up one of Percy's fingers before going back across his knuckles.

Things were still tense with him at the camp. They really didn't have a way to keep him there, but they didn't want him to leave either. They wanted to know where he was at all times, and he had been brought in to be questioned about his decision to stay many times. He hadn't given them a proper answer yet.

The fight hadn't left him, as Chiron suggested many times in these meetings, it was just shifted. If he couldn't get the gods to acknowledge them with a war, and even Percy making them swear it as his war prize couldn't get them to change their ways, then maybe he could be there for the kids who would trust him still. The ones who where new and hadn't yet heard the others stories of him. Who got to make their own judgment of him. Some of his half siblings even started talking to him again.

It wasn't water under the bridge, but they knew he wasn't there to make them suffer.

Which was why Luke insisted they hide this. Percy didn't care what anyone else thought, knew that at least a few of his friends wouldn't abandon him. But Luke didn't want to risk his chances of being able to be what the younger kids need him to be. Percy might not be great with kids, but they still looked up to him.

Luke sighed, his eyes trailing Percy's jaw, and he desperately wanted to place his mouth there.

Someone shouted behind them, calling Percy's name. They sounded young, and Luke couldn't place their voice. He thought of it as both a blessing and curse. New campers were a good thing. One less dead child, no matter how you looked at it. But he used to know everyone by name.

Percy slid his hand out from under his, and Luke turned to the lake, pulling his hand back to himself to pull his lighter and pack out his pocket. He hunched in on himself and Percy stood as a child hit the doc, their steps shaking the wood.

He was already smoking by the time Percy walked away with them, and he forced himself not to watch him walk away.

[waterghostype]

i have so much to say about them not in a good way not in a bad way but a secret third thing way.

[glitteredbubbles]

In honor of me posting a new chapter for my fic where Neil gets sent to military school/Harvard and Todd becomes a poet in the meantime before they run into each other years later, here’s an excerpt from chapter two:

“Why are you here in Manchester? I meant to ask at the bar but totally forgot,” Neil inquires, his innocent excitement causing Todd’s heart to catch for a moment.

“Oh god, the reason is actually really embarrassing,” Todd groans as he hides his face in his hands, slumping down into the hold in hopes this moment could pass by quickly with no further explanation needed.

“Well now you have to tell me why,” Neil teases lightly, his cadence paired with Todd’s lack of vision transporting him back to 1959. Opening his eyes to look up at Neil, he’s half surprised to find a grown man sitting across from him rather than the boy he remembered so vividly.

“I’m kind of having… writer’s block, I guess. And Keating suggested it’d be best for me to move out of the city, maybe even go back to my roots to budge this wall I keep hitting,” Todd explains practically through a wince, not quite sure how to word it without sounding like a pretentious prick.

“That’s not that bad,” Neil laments with a chuckle.

“How about the fact that I’m staying in a cabin in the woods to help with my poetry?” Todd tacks on, reveling in the laugh it gets out of Neil despite it being at his own expense.

“Yeah, okay, that’s pretty bad. Who are you — Thoreau?” Neil asks through his laughter.

“That’s what Keating said! Well, at least he quoted Thoreau to convince me to get away from the city. I’m not sure if he meant for me to take his advice so literally,” Todd responds excitedly, almost forgetting himself and where he was.

Seeing the stares he was garnering from the few patrons at the coffee shop from being so loud, though, causes him to tone down and sit back in his seat casually. Right, he and Neil were just normal acquaintances rekindling their friendship briefly, nothing more. Todd wishes he could get that fact through his thick skull.

[sloasis]

My ass has four buddie fic's being written all at the same time ... Will I ever complete them ? Who knows .