#to the rest of my readers: i love you and thank you

[astraystayyh]

Bleeding heart dove

pairing: idol!chan x lawyer!reader. youngerbrother!seungmin.

genre: f2l. slow burn. angst (lots of it). fluff. (un)requited love. forced proximity. law/corruption sub-plot.

warnings: parental loss. grief. self-depreciating thoughts. suicidal thoughts. reader has she/her pronouns. this is a work of fiction. the actions and timeline depicted in the story don’t represent the idols in real life.

word count: 25.7k.

You are ashamed, even in the privacy of your thoughts, of this longing, of this sharp ache. For even thinking, daring to dream of a world where you could behold his warm hands into your butchered ones. Where he’d let you. Where you’d let yourself.

It feels like death to think of Chan, it feels like living too.

a.n: she’s finally here!!!! i haven’t written for chris in such a long time and i’m so grateful to @kayleefriedchicken for commissioning this fic :,) it spiraled and i took some creative liberties that’s why it’s so long now LMAO but i hope you’ll enjoy reading!!!! i challenged myself writing this, it is a bit different from my other fics. much heavier too. but i’m slowly finding a writing structure i truly enjoy. i love you all 🤍 thank you for waiting for me

They say that smells are little vessels of memories, wrapping themselves around moments in time. When a certain scent floats by you, it doesn’t graze your shoulder like a stranger in the streets, never to be seen again.

No, smells seize you by the wrist, their nails sinking deep into the softness of your skin. Scents do not pass. They pull. They lead you into the locked corridors of your mind, to places you thought had crumbled into dust, memories buried seven feet under by the weight of years.

You smell rust.

Many may not recognize it, most might not even notice it. But you do. The scent of rust is etched into your nostrils, carved along your nerve endings, again and again. It smells earthy, metallic, sharp—like blood smeared on your tongue against your will.

As everything in your life has ever been.

Every orphanage you lived in reeked of rust. It seeped into the walls, staining them beneath layers of pale, lifeless paint. It curled into the battered beds and damp linens. You tried to pinch your nose shut at night, suffocating against the foul scent. But rust was patient. Rust had time. And so, naturally, rust always won.

It was a cruel smell at that— the scent of things stolen— childhood, innocence, soft mornings, your very ability to dream.

You were ten years old when both your parents died in a tragic accident. A drunk driver slammed into their car and made it combust into flames. He was quickly caught and cast into prison. But what did that serve you? Your parents were gone. What respite would this semblance of justice bring you?

That part of your life remains hazy since there was no room to mourn, only movement, hands ushering you from one orphanage to another. Each time the walls could no longer contain any more children. Any more grief.

And you were only ten.

But Seungmin was only six.

Your brother didn’t understand what was happening. Why did he have to leave his shiny toys and Pochacco-themed bed behind? He cried at night for your parents, his wails cresting and receding like waves against a fragile shore.

Sometimes, he cried so fiercely that no one could calm him—not even you. You would leave him to sob until exhaustion claimed him. You envied him, in a way. Sleep refused to visit you. You were sentenced to lay awake instead, burdened by responsibilities too heavy for your small hands. Yet, when you glanced at Seungmin’s resting form, the ache in your chest eased, just slightly. If he could rest, that was enough.

You didn’t know it then, but this thought would become the basis of your entire life. You’d give and give, tear at your own flesh if it meant Seungmin would remain intact and safe.

The first orphanage was small. Twenty beds crammed together in a single room. It was a temporary holding place while the city council decided your fate. Orphans, you realized, were like misplaced luggage—tagged and eagerly discarded, waiting for someone, anyone, to claim them.

The second orphanage was somewhat worse. There were a hundred beds this time, a larger playground, warmer food. But the older kids were cruel. That’s what you remember. Rust and cruelty, entwined.

They shoved you hard against the ground on your first night there. And then, they turned to Seungmin. The moment their hands reached for him, something primal surged within you—a burning, blistering rage as if your very being was dipped into scalding water. You lashed out, punching the nose of one of the older boys. Blood. Yours, his, theirs. It all blurred together.

Then, punishment quickly followed: no more dinner for three days.

Seungmin didn’t understand. He tugged at your sleeve, crying that he was hungry late at night. That’s when you decided it was better to endure in silence. To take the blows, as long as your brother could eat.

By thirteen, you arrived at Promise Orphanage. Your hand trembled in Seungmin’s grip as Miss Jeeho introduced you both. Forty-four pairs of eyes bore into you, gliding over the faint bruises that painted your arms like ink stains.

You braced yourself for the worst. But then, a girl stepped forward, her hair a messy halo around her face. Her smile was wide, her eyes bright despite the dust coating her skin. She held out her hand, and you noticed how rough and calloused it was for her age. How warm it was too.

“I’m Winter,” she said, her voice soft.

You blinked at the odd name, then nodded. Later, you would learn she had been abandoned as a newborn, left nameless at the orphanage’s doorstep. It was a cold night when the workers found her, with heavy snow. It was surprising she didn’t pass from pneumonia.

Winter chose her name after the season she was born, since her parents didn’t bother to do so for her.

You came to realize that in these walls, even something as mundane as a name was a privilege, something the world could simply not grant you at birth.

“I’m Y/n, and this is Seungmin,” you replied, gripping your brother’s clammy hand. There was steel in your voice as you said his name, ensuring everyone knew he wasn’t to be touched.

But the other children simply smiled at you, and you tried to smile back. Though it came out much more like a grimace. Smiling felt foreign to you, like a muscle long unused.

Promise Orphanage then became your home for five long years. The children were kinder, their grins did not sharpen into unkind hands. Your bed was slightly bigger. You got gifts for your birthday and cake on New Year’s. You always gave yours to Seungmin— the better toys, the bigger slices, the softest pillows. You hoped it would make him feel better, even for a second.

But rust remained.

It followed you when you turned eighteen, into your first apartment. A single room, smaller than your childhood kitchen. But it was enough. Enough to build a life for Seungmin, to earn his custody, to gift him the privilege of dreaming.

Though even then, when Seungmin laughed, when he sang with Winter, when you had enough warm showers to forget the cold of the orphanage, you wondered if other people could still smell the rust like you did.

Perhaps it was your mind’s way of reminding you that, even if you shut your eyes so tightly that colors bloomed behind your eyelids— even if you thought hard enough of your summer home and salt-kissed winds, if you strained to hear your parents’ airy laughter calling you to dinner— this was not home.

It never could be.

“Y/n?”

Han’s voice slips through the fog of your memories, bright and familiar. You blink, the haze receding like chimney smoke to find him leaning casually against the doorframe.

He’s the first one out of the stylist’s room, his hair falls in soft waves over his forehead, and silver dust coats his eyes, catching the overhead lights like scattered stars.

“Hey, Han,” you greet, pulling him into a brief hug.

His grin is as easy as ever—warm and full of mischief. “Like the makeup?”

“It’s perfect,” you reply, poking his rosy cheeks.

“The boys are still getting ready,” he says, falling in step beside you as you walk toward the waiting room. Shelves stacked with instant noodles, water bottles, chips, and candy stare back at you.

“Figured.”

Your gaze flickers to the jelly candies, and you smile. You can already picture Hyunjin diving for them first and Seungmin scolding him for his sugar intake.

Jiho, the manager, greets you with a nod, and you return the gesture.

“You seemed far away just now,” Han notes, twisting the cap off a water bottle.

You exhale slowly. “The vents smell like rust. This whole place can quickly turn into a safety hazard. That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

Han gasps in mock horror, clutching his chest. “Why is it that every time you talk about law, I feel like I’m about to be sued?”

You swat his arm, giggling at his theatrics, before pinching his forearm lightly.

“Hey—“ he yelps and you narrow your eyes at him.

“I should actually sue you for not visiting my new office though,” you point out, doing a neck-slicing motion with your hand.

“Okay, creepy. AND, for my defense, I sent you that fruit basket, didn’t I? Been busy writing songs. You know how it is when inspiration strikes me.”

You do.

It tugs at a distant summer, long days spent on the coast of Jeju Island alongside the boys, to celebrate your first successful case. Han locked away with his notebook while the sea breeze knocked at his window. He only joined you once he had finished writing the lyrics of two new songs. Some of your favorites too, at that.

“There she is! You’re smiling,” Han says, poking your cheek.

“Just remembering our trip.”

He sighs dreamily, before slinging his arm around your shoulders. “Best summer ever. Next time, the vacation’s on me. Pinky promise.”

Your smile softens, warmth pooling within the cracks of your heart.

Han was angry once, when you had first met him. Just like you. But where his anger burned bright, yours hid beneath the surface, smoldering slowly. But time softened his edges. You wonder if the same could ever be said for you.

“You’re here,” Seungmin appears suddenly, peeling Han’s arm away from your shoulder with a scowl. Han retaliates by blowing you an overly exaggerated kiss before wandering toward the vending machine.

“I finished up the case early,” you explain.

Seungmin’s gaze narrows slightly, scanning the lines of your outfit.

“And why are you so dressed up?”

“Can’t a sister look nice for her favorite brother’s first sold-out concert at the Kyocera Dome?” you tease, clasping your hands.

Jiho snorts from his seat. Traitor.

“I’m your only brother, and we both know you’re lying,” Seungmin deadpans.

It’s endearing—the way he shields you from heartbreak as if he hasn’t spent his whole life beneath the cover of your arms.

It’s foolish too— as if you still have a heart that beats hard enough to love, then to break.

“Fine. I have a date after the show.”

“With who?” Hyunjin’s voice drifts in as he steps into the hallway, Changbin trailing closely behind.

You smile. “Jaehyun.”

Seungmin pinches the bridge of his nose. “You know I don’t love him.”

“And who said I do?” you ask, a sly smile tugging at your lips.

“Then why do you still meet up with him?”

“Because he’s fun. And I like spending my time with fun people.”

Changbin leans in, grinning wide. “I’m fun too. Why not date me?”

He drapes his arm over your shoulder, and Seungmin groans, pretending to smash his head against the wall repeatedly.

“Alright, alright, stop the flirting,” you laugh, shaking your head. “I fear you’ll end up killing my brother.”

Seungmin pouts, and you laugh softly, pulling him in for a tight embrace. “Look at you, performing in such a big arena,” the words suddenly catch in your throat, a silky rope tightly binding the syllables together. “You know that I’m proud of you, right?”

You smile, and Seungmin holds you a little closer.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Thank you for coming. I really wanted you here.”

You clear your throat, stepping back with a playful flick to his arm. “I’ll see you after the show. Say hi to the rest of the boys for me.”

“You’ll do great,” you add, and his smile softens like sunlight melting across the sea.

His voice follows you down the hall. “We’re still talking about this date later, though!”

“Seungmin loves acting as if she isn’t older than him—” Swat.

—

There is one peculiar emotion that always beats within your heart at your brother’s concert halls. It is warm, like beholding a glowing sun within the empty hollows of your ribcage. It swells and swells, spreading within your being like paint spilled on canvas— soaking your heart in wildflower hues.

You feel relieved to see your brother and his friends so loved. You sense it in the cacophony of cheers, in the misty eyes of all the fans surrounding you. You know that the boys can feel it too. In the shaking of their voices as they take turns saying their ending ments. It is a monumental moment for them, something they only dared dream of back when they were still trainees and you had to sneak snacks into their dorm.

It is Seungmin’s turn to speak. His shaking hand barely manages to hold the mic. Seungmin doesn’t cry as often as before. Never in front of you anymore. He suddenly stopped once he turned fifteen, as if he had made a vow to himself, to lift off some of his worries off your burdened spine.

But tonight, unmistakable tears gather at the edges of his eyes, glinting like faraway constellations.

He tilts his head toward the sky, and you wonder who these words are really addressed to.

Deep down you already know the answer to this.

“My sister is here tonight,” he starts and tears glisten in your eyes, all of the sudden. “If I’m here today it’s all thanks to her, so I– I hope you’re proud of me,” he says, voice tight, breaking. But he still speaks. “You know, I… I don’t believe in forever—” his lips tremble like leaves at the mercy of autumn winds. A faint ringing surges through your ears, muffling the sound of everything until only his sharp words remain. “But just at this moment, being with the members and everyone who stood by our side, I— I want to believe in eternity with you.”

The crowd roars at his words. Cameras flash everywhere. The boys quickly move forward to wrap Seungmin in their arms.

But you’re not here anymore.

You’re somewhere quieter. Smaller. Somewhere dimly lit by flickering hallway lights and hushed whispers past curfew.

Your hands shake, pressing into your thighs as if their weight might ground you. But the cold creeps in anyway, walking alongside your veins, settling into your heart like an old companion.

—

He was eight.

His hair stuck to his forehead in damp curls, and the faint glow of the moon reflected onto his eyes like a gleaming water surface.

You remember smoothing his bangs away, tucking him beneath a worn blanket that didn’t quite reach his toes. He didn’t mind. Seungmin never minded the small things.

“Did you make a wish?” you whispered. It was his birthday. Birthdays never got easier for Seungmin, nor for you. Most days you were just pretending— that you knew what you were doing, that your knees were strong enough to hold you upright. Pretending that you had what it takes to protect your brother when you, yourself, were in desperate need of protection.

How do you salvage innocence in halls that spell out loss and grief at every turn? How do you make a birthday a happy memory in such a terrible place ?

Seungmin blinked up at you as his small hand curled around your fingers.

“I said that I want to see mommy and daddy again.”

The air had thickened then, and the knot in your throat twisted so tight it left no room for you to breathe.

You forced on a smile anyway. “You will,” you promised, voice soft but unsteady. “Soon.”

He paused, blinking slowly.

“What’s forever?”

The question felt like a swinging pendulum suddenly came to a halt— Seungmin’s innocence slipping away from your shaky grasp.

“Why do you ask?”

“I told Gyuvin I’ll see our parents soon. But he said that you lied, and it will take forever until then.”

Your chest tightened. You knew Gyuvin had a mean streak—sharp edges chiseled by loneliness and unspoken grief. You never held it against him. He was only eight too.

Still.

“He’s joking, Seungminnie,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “Forever just means something that doesn’t end. Like numbers. Numbers don’t end, right?”

He thought for a moment, lips pressing into a pout.

“Would you like to believe in forever?” you asked, teasing gently.

“No,” he said quietly, “Because then I’ll be sad for a very long time. I want the time to pass quickly.”

Oh.

Seungmin drifted off not long after, his breaths soft and even. But you stayed awake—long enough for the world outside to fall silent. Long enough to bury your face in the pillow, stifling the sobs that trembled past your chapped lips.

Seungmin was only nine.

But you were only thirteen.

And you missed your parents, so terribly so. You wished your mom was there, combing your hair with fingers that seemed to be made up of silk. You wished you could press your ear to her chest and listen to her heartbeat, breathe it in, soak in the love that the sound seemed to spell out for you.

You wished your dad was here, holding your hand in his much larger, weathered down one— rivulets of age running between his knuckles. You wished he’d carry you once more on his shoulders, tall enough for you to reach out to the stars, to foolishly believe you’d be able to graze them with your fingertips. You wished they were still here. You hated them for being gone. You hated yourself for hating them, even for a millisecond. For allowing the thought to filter through the endless void that constitutes your mind.

You thought of what it’d be like to float atop the sea near your home. Of letting the waves carry you deep into the darkness of the water. Of sinking deep enough that you wouldn’t feel anything anymore. You couldn’t bear it. You couldn’t bear having a heart that kept demanding you to live. It felt like a curse, like every heartbeat spelled out horrible truths for you. You wished for it to stop. All of it. All of you.

—

“Yah, Y/n why aren’t you smiling?” Changbin nearly shouts in your face and you and Jeongin scurry away on cue, cradling your ears at his loud voice.

You plaster a smile on your face, force the corners of your mouth to tug forward— “Because! You’re all sweaty and pressing onto me,” you say, and a cacophony of protests erupts all at once— “this is the sweat of hard work”, “but our sweat smells nice though!”, a groan, “that’s just you Hyunjin.”

Your yelp as a hand suddenly wraps around your wrist, Felix’s, pulling into the middle for a group hug.

“Stop, your sweat will rub off of me!” Your high-pitched shriek causes all of them to back off on cue, giggling loudly.

You don’t give yourself a second to breathe, afraid that your mask will slip away quicker than you can stop it. You take advantage of the commotion to kiss Seungmin’s cheek quickly, avoiding his gaze as you run off to the entrance. “You all did well! I’ll have to go now! My date is waiting!”

You don’t leave him time to respond as you scurry away, leaving the backstage. You can feel the oxygen settle like stones into the pit of your heart, weighing the rushing of your blood down. It takes you excruciatingly long to breathe. Being here suffocates you all of a sudden.

You remember your wish, for the waves to carry you away into whichever place they rest in. What a violent thing for a thirteen-year-old to wish for. What a violent thing to still seek now deep into your twenties. You felt guilty. To be surrounded by many people who love you and yet to not feel loved.

You’re almost outside when a warm hand curls around your wrist.

“Seungmin, I told you I’m—” you turn around expecting to see your little brother’s gaze, full of mischief, full of affection, only to be met with Chan’s worried one. Your retort dies on the tip of your tongue, like a deflating balloon. You try your hardest to plaster a smile on your face but it comes off like a grimace. Chan’s frown only deepens further.

“I—” you think of something quick to say, to get his scrutinizing gaze off of you. You can predict the question forming, swirling his mind, you already know which way this conversation will head. But all your thoughts seem to melt, your mind unable to conjure something to save your facade.

Your phone suddenly rings, Jaehyun’s name lighting up the screen. You go to reply when Chan grabs the phone away from your hands, silencing the call.

“What’s wrong?” he finally asks and it feels as if the walls are closing on you once more. You can hear the waves thrashing around, calling. “And don’t say you’re just feeling emotional because we made it so far.”

You chuckle faintly. You know it’s no use lying to Chan, of all people. “Jaehyun is calling again,” you point to your lit-up screen, and his lips press into a flat line, rejecting the call.

“Cancel your date,” he cocks a perfectly shaped eyebrow at you, “you know you have the most fun hanging out with me”.

“Alright, Mr. Cocky,” your heart is heavy as you attempt to smile at him, as if you’re forcing it to perform something it does not wish to, to pump blood for an action as meaningless as smiling. What purpose does it really serve if you are not happy? “I'm not in the mood for you to psychoanalyze me, though.”

“I won't,” his eyes soften as he takes one step closer to you. “We'll go on a drive okay, like old times?”

What is the point of pressing ice to a third-degree burn? Nothing, if not a fleeting respite, to close your eyes and pretend as if the burn would come undone, to soothe the fire only for it to barge in again. With a vengeance. Stronger. Harsher.

That is what being next to Chan is like to you.

“Fine,” you concede, though. Because you despise worrying people. You despise worrying Chan mostly. “I don’t want Seungmin to know though.”

“Don’t worry,” he smiles as he hands you back your phone, his thumb brushing your wrist for a second before he walks back. “I’ll come to your car, alright? Wait for me.”

—

It was a late summer night when Chan first discovered his love for music. He was only five, the air fragrant with the sweetness of strawberries and the tang of lemon zest. His curls were damp, clinging to his forehead from how hard he played with the neighborhood kids. The glass of water his mother handed him felt like the sweetest reprieve against his parched throat. Because Chan was happy, a joy so vivid it seemed to have taken roots within his veins, blooming into gleaming eyes and a smile so vast it could mend every crack in the universe.

He didn’t know it then, but there was a beautiful carelessness in the way he dashed outside, barefoot and giggling to order ice cream from the vendor near his house. Vanilla and bubblegum. In the way he did not use a spoon, instead licking the ice cream directly from the cone, as the sun melted it into rivers of sweetness that coated his fingers, leaving them sticky and fragrant. In the way he paid no mind to the earth clinging to his shorts, the sweat glistening on his face, or the syrupy mess on his hands. Because his happiness was so full he was bursting at the seams with it.

Because he was still a child, and children did not care for perfection. Children did not see the world through a lens that sought out every flaw— Chan did not learn yet how to turn that lens inward, harsher as he aimed it at himself.

His dad had brought him a ukulele, gently placing it into Chan’s small hands. The notes stumbled out, clumsy and wrong at first, as if their melody were caught in the strings, hesitant to be set free. It took a few tries for Chan to untangle them, but he didn’t mind. Because within these notes he found a new kind of joy—one that seemed to amplify his racing heartbeat, spilling into the room and filling it with the decadent taste of happiness.

It was a late autumn night when Chan first hated himself.

It was a particularly exhausting training day, the kind that left Chan barely upright as he walked down the stairs, his legs shaking with every step. He couldn’t bring himself to head back to the cramped dorms just yet, nor did he want to speak to anyone. Or rather, he no longer knew how to talk to anyone anymore. How could he make futile small talk when his soul was seized by a terrible longing, one that lingered bitterly on his tongue like the cough syrup he used to drink as a child?

See, how could he explain to anyone that he even missed that—the syrup, the warmth of his home, the pieces of a life that now felt as if they belonged to somebody other than him. He felt as if the wound only grew larger each day, spreading farther into his ribcage, infesting every part of his heart—every vein, every molecule—tainting them with the blueish colors of sorrow and ache.

Chan had found a quiet spot by the Han River, tucked far from prying eyes, his shoulders slouched under the weight of nostalgia, not the sweet one, rather, the one that felt like pine needles digging into his skin, at once. He liked it here—if he closed his eyes long enough he’d pretend the salty air was Australia’s breeze. He missed the wind there and how it ruffled his hair like an old friend. He missed his father’s grilled meat, his mother’s lemonade, his sister’s shenanigans. He missed his dog.

Would Berry even remember him now? Has it been too long?

It had.

The thought stung sharper than he expected. Was it all for nothing then? Does Berry not remember him for nothing?

Sometimes, it only takes one second for the world to shift off its axis, for the seconds to march forward but for you to remain stranded in the past. It took Chan this single question to break apart. It was as if someone had driven their fist into his chest, their claws digging deep, twisting around his heart until it felt on the brink of bursting— an ugly eruption of crimson, staining the blissful river with its bloodied ache.

What is wrong with me? He’s been asking himself the same question ever since.

It was a late winter night when Chan saw you for the very first time.

He was seventeen, shackles of self-doubt and insecurity wrapped around his ankles, digging deeper into his flesh with each year spent farther from his dream. Chan hated looking at his reflection in the mirror. He hated thinking of home. He avoided thinking of the future, of who he was, of who he hoped to become. Sometimes, he wished his mind could just go quiet. The voices were very loud and very mean.

Yet, unbeknownst to him, there were fragile blossoms of hope that fought to flourish in his chest, tentative, frail, since they grew in barren soil that didn’t quite believe in meeting the sun once more. But they were there.

Because Chan wasn’t alone anymore. Jisung joined him first, a kid with a passion that burns so fiercely it scathes his own heart at times. Then Jeongin, a voice singing of a reverence that shook Chan to his core. Hyunjin, who saw in dancing a form of salvation. Changbin, the missing golden piece to complete the infamous 3RACHA.

And then Seungmin.

It was through Seungmin that Chan saw you.

You had just dropped off Seungmin at the trainee dorms, bags full of homemade food in his hands. You hugged him tightly as he waved you off before disappearing into the building. And then, as soon as Seungmin was out of sight, Chan saw you collapse against the wall, your body wracked by cruel sobs. Cruel, because it was winter, and he knew that crying during the cold was somewhat harsher on the soul. You can’t cling to blooming flowers, to warm sun rays, to anything beautiful to ease your pain.

Cruel, because he recognized himself in you. In the way you rushed to hide your tears, wiping them away with your sleeves so that no one would see you. As if you were not deserving of this moment of weakness. As if you were not deserving of being human too.

“Do you still pick at your nails?” Chan asks, glancing at your figure as the light turns red. “Can’t give up bad habits?”

“You’re the last one to talk about bad habits, Mr. Never Sleeps.”

“Touché,” he chuckles, and you shake your head, the faintest smile lingering on your lips.

The seasons passed, and Chan’s fragmented heart had somehow found itself pieced together again—not to its original form. That would be a fool’s hope. People noticed the external changes—the different hues of his hair, how his muscles grew more chiseled with time—but they couldn’t see how pain and self-doubt had altered him, down to the very molecules of his being.

Because pain doesn’t pass like an angry cloud, casting a dark shadow only to drift away. That would be too kind, too merciful for emotions forged to drain you dry. No, it breaks you, reshapes you, molds you with the thorns in its calloused hands. It forces you to relearn who you are, how to breathe, where to stand, how to cling to the fragile thread that keeps you from stumbling back into the darkness.

The heart Chan carries isn’t his own anymore. It belongs mostly to sorrow now. But it still beats.

And so it did. And that winter passed, and so did spring. Then summer came, and fall returned once more.

And the years went by, and Chan blinked, and suddenly it had been ten years since he first saw you. And yet, it felt as though you remained stuck in winter. Because you did not have anyone’s hand to hold, warm enough to make you believe that summer would come again.

“Is this about Seungmin?” Chan asks softly, his fingernails drumming absentmindedly against the steering wheel.

“No, yes—I… I don’t know,” you sigh in exasperation, and he nods, turning his head to glance at you.

You first went on a night walk with Chan when you were still a law student, and his group had just debuted. Your apartment was under renovation, so you had to stay in the boys’ dorm for a few days. It was late into the night, with both of you the only ones still awake, working through your respective tasks in silence. He had offered to go for a walk, and you had accepted.

Neither of you spoke. Chan pretended not to see the stray tears that silently slipped down your cheeks, with no previous warning. He wondered what had weighed on your heart so heavily that it searched desperately for any moment of solitude to escape.

Your eyes are distant now, glazed over as if your mind has carried you to a place where the sun never rises. You bring your hand to your mouth once more, but Chan gently pushes it away, cradling your fingers in his palm.

He has to pretend that the sensation of your hand in his doesn’t feel like a thunderbolt—a surge of electricity that shoots up from the tips of his toes, swirling deep into his chest and settling into warmth in his stomach.

“It will bleed, and then you’ll come whining because it hurts,” he jokes, though his heart pounds in his throat, threatening to choke him.

“When did I do that?” you exclaim, but you don’t pull your hand away.

Your hand is in his.

Your hand is in his.

Your hand is in his.

“Besides,” you say, your fingers slipping from his grasp to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, “You know I’m the last person to ever whine.”

Was it normal to still feel your hand on his? For his hand to memorize the warmth of yours so quickly? As if it had been thirsty, like a man astray in the desert, longing for what a drop of water would feel against his parched throat.

“Yeah, you should do that more often, actually,” he chastises softly. You exhale a shuddered breath in response.

It feels like a lifetime before you speak again. “You heard Seungmin’s speech,” you say quietly, like a wounded animal, hesitant and wary of what approaching another human might bring, of what baring your heart might cost.

Chan wants to say: It is safe with me, I would shred my own heart if it meant keeping yours intact.

“Hard to miss, since I was on stage next to him,” he jokes, and you finally giggle—a real laugh, not the artificial ones you’ve been giving him. It feels like Australia’s breeze ruffling his hair, like he can finally breathe again.

“You know,” you say, your voice shifting to something gentler, “It reminded me of Seungmin when he was still young, discovering the concept of forever.” A bittersweet smile tugs at your lips. “Seungmin was short, pale, and so fragile that I was afraid the faintest wind would break him. You should’ve seen him. When he looked up at me, his eyes were wide, his irises pitch black, and they looked so trusting. He was an easy target for the kids who needed someone to blame, someone to pour their anger into, to soothe their bruised hearts. There was no one else to punish. Too much injustice, and no respite.”

Chan’s hands tighten around the steering wheel. To think of such sad times for both you and him. Should he rewrite the march of time, he would have forced the universe to make him your friend, to entwine your hand in his, to stop the cold from making a home within the pathways of your heart.

“I remember when I first saw him. He was very shy. Like he didn’t quite know how to carry himself yet. But he ranked second in the open audition.”

“He did,” you smile. It’s a bit different from all your grins. You’re always different when it comes to Seungmin—softer, bursting with pride.

“And…” Chan trails off, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, a wide smile tugging at his lips. “I remember you.”

“Oh, please, no,” you hide your face in your palms. “That’s so embarrassing.”

Chan chuckles softly, but in his heart, he remembers your first encounter with such clarity. He had found you many things—beautiful, brave, human. ‘Embarrassing’ had never been an adjective that crossed his mind when it came to you.

He remembers.

“Here,” Chan handed you a handkerchief, and you looked up at him, a frown deepening in your eyes. Time had somehow stilled then. The seconds felt like years passing on Chan. The cold seemed to dissipate, his heart emanating a warmth he hadn’t known before. Everywhere. Consuming him.

You blinked, and time resumed, and yet Chan was changed.

“Thank you,” you said tentatively. “Something got into my eye.” You attempted to explain, and he simply nodded, humoring you.

“I figured. There’s a lot of dust around here. From the trees and all,” He cringed internally, realizing how silly that sounded. So, he fell into silence, as did you, both of you just looking at each other. Chan had never felt this way before. He ached to ask you what was wrong, if he could do anything to alleviate your pain. If you too would like to break near Han River with him.

“I’m Chan. Bang Chan. Christopher, actually. But you can call me Chan.”

You had giggled then, and his ears burned so fiercely he was sure they were a shade of fuchsia, bright and loud. The sound was melodious, like notes strung along a flute just right. Soothing and warm. He loved your laugh. He wished his piano could recreate it. He wished he could save it so he could dance to it later.

“Alright, Christopher Actually Chan,” you smiled, and his cheeks flared a shade brighter. He silently prayed you’d account for the harsh winds that wrapped around you both.

“And I know you, actually,” you continued.

His eyes widened in surprise, and you chuckled softly at his reaction. He liked making you laugh. He liked it so much he’d make a fool out of himself if he needed to. “I’m not a stalker, Kim Seungmin told me about you. He’s my brother.”

“Right,” Chan responded, his usual confidence slipping for just a moment. He was never awkward—social prowess was one of his greatest strengths. Still, with you, all semblance of normal interaction vanished. There was something in your gaze, something so beautifully haunting, like the sight of tree branches in autumn. Something that once was whole, now stripped bare, yet still captivating in its vulnerability. It made him wonder if beauty like this could ever be captured in music.

“I’m Y/n, by the way,” you bowed slightly, before quickly turning and walking away. Chan watched, breath hitched in his throat, as you paused, and then as if pulled by some invisible thread, you turned back to him.

Without a word, you grabbed his hand, gently placing something within his palm.

A cherry lollipop.

“As a thank you,” you said, a bit sheepishly, eyes still puffy from the sobs that kept you prisoner just a few moments ago. “Ah, and, you better debut with my brother!”

You pointed at him, and in that moment, a grin broke through your face—one so radiant, so full of life, he wondered if this was what witnessing the first sunset felt like to humans. A beauty so grand, so overwhelming, he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

Chan’s fate was sealed right then and there—he would spend the next ten years chasing after your smile, no matter how foolish it seemed.

For one would ask, what’s a drop of white against a sea of black? What use are cherries’ scent before the stench of sorrow? And the answer would always be everything. Everything, if it’s you.

Chan clears his throat, settling on the least incriminating adjective of the bunch. “You were brave, Cherry. You still are.”

“You think too highly of me,” you snort.

“I think of you just right, actually.”

You are nearly home when, out of nowhere, you speak. “What if I told you I’m terrified?” The words rush out, as though you are afraid they’d die in your throat before they could reach him.

Chan’s heart tightens in worry. He parks hastily in front of your place, the engine still humming as he turns to face you, you who’s like a Russian doll—layer upon layer of your soul wrapped carefully, each one guarding the other.

“Why?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper, thick with concern.

“I didn’t want to tell Seungmin,” you begin, pausing to bite your lower lip. “He’d be heartbroken... I know him, I—” you falter, your voice cracking just slightly. “My new case... It's about Promise Orphanage. They want to tear it down to build a luxury apartment complex. A fucking billionaire’s investment, with pools and golf courses.”

“Sun Corporation,” you explain, “it’s owned by the son of Gyeongdo Holdings’ CEO. They’ve been harassing Miss Jeeho for two months now because she refuses to desert the orphanage. It’s a mess, Chan.” you’re angry, he can feel it, the rage burning bright right beneath your skin.

“The city council caved in and granted them a permit because the land belongs to the state and this project apparently serves public interest, but that’s bullshit. Who would benefit from this other than billionaires?” you bite your lower lip, sucking in a deep breath. “I told you Winter became the vice director of the orphanage, right? She just learned about this and told me. They’re offering compensation but I’ve dealt with those kinds of people. They’re greedy. They’re corrupt.”

“I couldn’t turn my back on it,” you whisper. “I had to take the case. Those kids… they’ll have nowhere to go. And I know how cold it feels, how brutal it is when you lose your family and still have to look for someplace to call home.”

Your eyes glisten, tears clinging to the edge like dew on a leaf, only to be blinked away before they fall. How much does it cost your soul to bear this weight? How much longer until you fracture—like a pomegranate violently split open, bits of your soul scattering out in splatters of raw scarlet.

Chan’s palm finds your knee, squeezing it gently. “You’re worried they’ll end up forgetting about the orphanage and not building a new one?”

“Yeah. They did this before. I checked the civil files. They built over a nursing home and never gave them proper compensation, paid hush money to the owner to keep them from suing. What if I can’t stop them? This is all those kids have. This is all Winter has. Miss Jeeho too.”

“They won’t. you’ll stop them. I know you will, Cherry, alright?” he says with all the sincerity he can muster. You seem dubitative and he sighs, reaching out to hold your cold hands. Please warm up.

“You will, okay? I have no doubt you will,” he repeats with a fire that seems to light you up. A sudden light reflects off the broken shards of your heart.

“I will.”

—

Chan: you up?

Your phone lights up, distracting you from the mountain of paperwork scattered across your desk.

Y/n: What a fuck boyish text

Chan: akldkdkd so you’re definitely up

Y/n: I’m working on the case :(

Chan: open up!! i have snacks

You blink at the message, confused, before padding to the door. When you open it, Chan stands there, a wide grin stretching across his face. He’s wearing a grey varsity jacket that drapes across his broad shoulders perfectly, and a blue navy cap. You still don’t understand why he rarely allows his curls to see the light.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, crossing your arms.

“I got bored alone in the studio,” he shrugs casually. “So I thought I’d drop by.”

“Drop by?” you repeat, laughing softly. “Your studio is on the other side of town.”

“Okay, I guess you don’t want fish cake and tteokbokki—”

“Come back,” you interrupt, wrapping your hand around his forearm and tugging him inside. His body is warm, and it is only then do you realize just how cold your apartment truly is.

“It’s a mess, I’m sorry,” you apologize, glancing at the dirty plates in the sink and the papers all over the desk, and the floor, and the couch too.

“Need me to tidy up again?” he teases, grinning as he steps inside.

You swat his arm, rolling your eyes. “You did it once because I was bedridden, and Seungmin was in Japan for a schedule.”

“I don’t mind, Cherry,” he says softly, setting the food down on your coffee table. His gaze flickers to yours. “I’d do it even if you weren’t sick, you know.”

Chan has a habit of saying things that send your heart into a slow, painful thrum—one long pulse that stretches endlessly, forcing you to acknowledge its existence. But, as always, you avoid it. You never allow yourself to question the warmth that only blooms when he’s near.

You both sit cross-legged on the living room floor, the spicy scent of tteokbokki wafting between you. For a while, the only sound heard in the apartment is the soft clink of chopsticks against takeout containers.

“Any updates on the case?” he asks.

You nod, running a hand through your hair. “I filed for an injunction,” you say, sighing deeply. “Trying to stop the demolition for now, at least until I figure out what to do next. The city council is ridiculous.They keep saying this is for the public benefit, but how is that true? Who benefits from luxury penthouses except rich assholes? And because the orphanage is on state land, they think they can just sell it off like it’s nothing.”

Chan’s eyes have been tracking each one of your words intently, drinking in every syllable that drips from your mouth. He has long thought your calling was law, there is a certain logic in you, a peculiar fire that burns in your core that seems inherent to this job. Though oftentimes he wonders if this is truly what you’ve always wanted. Had you been raised in your home would you have turned out differently? Would you like to pursue something else? Would you sing like Seungmin too?

“I’m trying to figure out who’s behind those apartment deals. Jaehyun’s helping me track it down.”

Chan’s eyes darken, like a storm has gathered within his irises. He doesn’t realize his jaw is ticking. You do. You pretend as if you don’t notice.

“Jaehyun… are you guys together yet?” Chan asks, and your heart pauses at the change in conversation. You shake your head. “Hm? No. We’re just friends.” you say between bites.

“You go on dates with your friends?” he chuckles, but there is nothing funny in the sound. His eyes don’t morph into crescents, his dimples refuse to show.

“You know, we’re just messing around, or whatever,” you quickly say.

“Right.”

Chan remembers the moment with striking clarity—when you first mentioned Jaehyun. You were both at a hotpot restaurant, the steam from the bubbling broth curling around you.

You had said his name casually, A journalist you’d met at one of the court hearings, someone with the same fiery passion for justice that you had. He was annoying, you’d said, always bothering you with his questions, his relentless pursuit of truth. But there was something else in your voice when you spoke of him—something new, something soft and fond that made Chan’s chest tighten.

“Anyways, he’s friends with one of the junior employees in the city council,” you continue, voice tinged with frustration. “So he’s been trying to convince him to help us out.”

“An insider,” Chan says absently, his voice flat, like the surface of a pond long undisturbed by pebbles. He’s thinking, how long is it acceptable to harbor a crush on someone? Three months? Six? A year? What if Chan’s been carrying this weight for ten years? 3650 days spent thinking of you, chasing the shadow of your image away from his eyelids at night, yet always yearning for a dream where all he’d glimpse is you.

What if bile rises in his throat at the thought of Jaehyun so close to you, his fingers tracing the lines of your lips, memorizing the shape of your body, the rise and fall of your chest as you sleep? What if he cannot bear it, cannot stand the thought of anyone else knowing you in ways he never will?

You sigh, fingers digging into your temple as the weight of your exhaustion becomes tangible. “It’s tiring, Chan,” you admit as your forehead rests against your knees. Chan feels something shift inside him—a peculiar ache that only surfaces when you are in pain.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his hand hovering above your back before it settles there. He slowly pats your back, dragging his nails along your spine. It’s very quiet all of the sudden, a calm that only manifests when two souls, not bodies, are sitting by one another. You lean into his touch, your body angling towards him like a sunflower tilting towards the sun.

“Do you remember when the possibility of us debuting became very high?” he says and you nod, resting your cheek against your knee to look up at him. His hand doesn’t stop caressing your back. You don’t wish for it to.

“What is it with you and my most embarrassing memories?” you giggle quietly only to sober up at the sincerity you gather in his eyes. They are like pools of amber, the color of decadent chocolate, like the rich bark of trees kissed by sunlight.

“Everyone was out and I was the only one in the dorm.” He recounts the memory as if you weren’t there; as if he needed you to hear this, not as a participant but as an outsider. “And then you came knocking on my door, disheveled, looking like you hadn’t slept in days. You asked me, ‘Is it true? Are you debuting soon?’”

You close your eyes, the weight of that moment flooding you—how raw and real it was. You remember it vividly: the way his eyes met yours, like he had seen you for the first time right there and then.

“You were petrified. Because yes, you worked overtime to pay off Seungmin’s vocal lessons, you supported him so much his confidence never wavered, and yet, you were scared,” his words soften, and the pit in your throat tightens. You can’t speak even if you wish to.

“I said yes and you started crying. and I hadn’t seen you cry in three years. Not since the night we first met.” You remember his worried gaze, how he sank to the ground with you when your knees crumbled beneath you. He called you Cherry for the first time then, as if he had kept the nickname a secret, wishing to speak it outloud but never daring to. He did it because he thought back to your first meeting, and the cherry lollipop in your hand. You thought of it too.

“Seungmin,” you heaved, “please protect him, Chan, I— please, you have to protect him, please.”

“What’s wrong?” He panicked. “Talk to me Cherry, hm?”

“What if they are unkind to him? What if they somehow find out he’s an orphan and use that against him? He doesn’t like telling me anymore when it hurts. What if he’s hurt and he can’t tell me?”

His thumb swipes at the lone tear slipping from your eyes, gentle and warm. What if Chan is too kind to you? What if your heart wasn’t crafted to handle it?

“Then when all the boys came back ten minutes later you smiled as if nothing happened. I had seen you break down on the floor a few moments prior, and yet, you found the strength to smile, so as to not worry anyone, especially Seungmin.”

Chan’s heart throbs in his chest, the rhythm uneven and insistent. His voice wavers as his gaze locks with yours. Your eyes glimmer, like a river kissed by the summer sun, like stained glass basked in the light of a centuries old cathedral.

His palms cup your cheeks, tentative and gentle, akin to a flower breaking through the soil for the first time. “You are the strongest person I know,” he says, his voice soft, “The most hardworking, too. You care, so much, even when you try to hide it. It’s that passion that makes you the best at what you do. You’ll win this case, and every case after it, because you’re the one handling them.”

His thumb brushes against your skin. “And you believed in me when I said I’d protect Seungmin. So I believe in you, Cherry. Please believe in yourself too.”

You nod, over and over, like a broken record stuck on a single note. Before he can process it, your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him close. Your head finds its place in the crook of his neck, and for a fleeting second, he’s frozen, the world tilting off its axis. Then, slowly, his hands slide to your waist as he breathes you in—your shampoo, your favorite laundry detergent, the faint trace of cherry lingering on your skin like a memory of a distant summer.

“Thank you, Channie,” you whisper against his shoulder.

He nods, his voice muffled by the turmoil caging his heart. “You’re welcome, Cherry.”

For how long is it acceptable to love someone who doesn’t love you? Chan doesn’t know. He doesn’t really want an answer. Even a lifetime wouldn’t be a waste if it’s spent loving you.

—

“Three penthouses are already registered under different names,” Jaehyun tells you, handing over a couple of lease contracts. You’re seated in a small café near Promise Orphanage, waiting for Winter to join you. The junior employee in Sun Corp. has finally caved and handed over the registrants to Jaehyun—names of the people who have already secured luxury apartments, long before the project even saw light.

“Park Yuna, Lee Seo-Jun, and Choi Joon-Ho,” you read aloud, glancing up at Jaehyun, who’s already smirking.

“Park Yuna…” you pause, “isn’t she the wife of the city council president?”

“Bingo!” he exclaims, his arms wide open, head tipped back as a sinister giggle rips out of his throat.

“Oh gosh,” you cover your face as some customers turn to look at you. “This isn’t an action movie stop it.”

Jaehyun pouts as you swat his arm and you laugh despite yourself.

“Anyway, you’re right. She’s his wife. I also found out Seo-Jun and Joon-Ho are tied to prominent council members. Second cousin and son-in-law. They had their penthouses promised before the project was ever public.”

“They didn’t even register them under their names. Subtle,” you mutter, shaking your head.

“Yeah, I bet they weren’t even expecting Miss Jeeho to resist the compensation.”

You sigh, leaning back in your chair. “They think those kids are just pawns, something they can move around for their benefit. They don’t get that those children have nothing but each other and the comfort of a familiar bed.”

The conversation lulls. Jaehyun grows quiet as you stare holes into your coffee, swirling the caramel syrup into the dark liquid. But no amount of sweetness can mask the bitterness on your tongue—the bitter taste of injustice, of watching people prioritize their greed over others’ lives.

“We’ll gather more evidence of their corruption,” Jaehyun says eventually, his tone firm. “And when we do, we’ll confront them. They won’t risk this becoming public with so many global investors involved.”

You nod. “You’re right.”

He leans back in his chair, a teasing glint in his eyes. “By the way, why did you cancel on me two nights in a row?”

The question catches you off guard, and your mind drifts to last night: Chan showing up at your home, his comforting words, the warmth of his hand on your back, the scent of pinewood and cinnamon lingering in the air, the clean apartment you woke up to. Something stirs in your chest, warm and soft.

“Chan came over,” you admit.

Jaehyun whistles, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

“Chan,” he says, drawing out the name.

“Mhm,” you reply, suddenly shy under his gaze.

“The man who calls you Cherry.”

“Yeah. Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Because you’re so oblivious.”

“Agreed,” a familiar voice chimes in as Winter slides into the seat next to you. She presses a quick kiss to your cheek before sitting back with a knowing smile.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “This isn’t the subject of discussion,” you say pointedly, glaring at both of them.

You’re momentarily distracted by Winter’s appearance. Her cheeks are hollow, her eyes shadowed with exhaustion. She’s poured so much love back into the orphanage she grew up in. Losing it would destroy you both.

“That man likes her,” Winter says casually, sipping from your drink.

You glare at her. “No, he doesn’t. He’s my friend.”

Winter raises an eyebrow at you. “He always looks at you differently. His tone is softer when he talks to you.”

Your eyes drift away, thoughts pulling you back to last night—to how Chan stayed with you until dawn, watching awful dramas with you despite his packed schedule, simply because he was worried.

“What’s the point of him liking me if I can’t like him back?” you murmur, voice barely audible. “My heart isn’t made for this.”

“Have you ever given yourself a chance?” Jaehyun asks and you scoff.

“A chance for what? To hurt someone?” you reply, shaking your head. “I don’t know how to love. I never had the time to learn. I was too busy surviving. We were,” you say glancing at Winter who averts her gaze.

This suddenly felt like a conversation too grim to have in the open. To speak of how your heart has been morphed into a cowardly being, shrinking at the simple thought of being looked at. What would anyone behold anyways? If not an organ that’s too battered, too bloody, unworthy of being seen, let alone to be loved.

“Anyway,” you say, forcing your voice to steady, “Can you set me up a meeting with that employee? We need more insider evidence and he’s the only one who can help us. I’d like to talk to him alone.”

“Yeah, I’ll try to convince him,” Jaehyun reassures you. The three of you nod and dive back into the stacks of paperwork, but the words blur in front of your eyes, forming an incoherent mass.

There are things you’ve always wished to escape—dark truths you thought you'd one day outrun. You still haven’t. Perhaps, you will never.

Perhaps, had you not been shaped by the cruelty of others, had you not been born beneath a star soaked in grief. Perhaps, if you never had to carve pieces of yourself out to survive, if you had the time, the strength to sit quietly with your own heart, to listen to who it wanted you to be, then, maybe, just maybe, you would have known the warmth of another’s touch.

You would have allowed yourself to melt into the softness of their gaze, you would have let your cheeks flush freely with the sweetness of their words, with no restraints, no shame. But the world is not kind. It will not offer you such a path. And so, this is your curse: to be one of grief’s favorite beholders, for you to wear it like a second flesh. To cling to it, as it clings to you because it is all you’ve ever known.

—

Your mother’s fingers were always warm as they entwined with yours, no matter the season. You remember the feel of them particularly when you went on walks by the ocean, her hand tugging you close to her frame. She was like an angel, walking softly on earth, coaxing the waves to slow down their feverish run as she brushed against their milky foam.

You can’t see her clearly in your memories anymore. Your temples ache each time you try to picture the fine details of her features. But you remember her humming along with the waves, as if singing a song to the sea, thanking them for the salty breeze they carry within their tides and swells. You remember closing your eyes to soak it in, as if you had known, even back then, that you’d forget the map of moles drawn upon her face, and the specific hue of her hair against the sun, and yet you wouldn’t forget her voice filling up your heart to the brim.

You remember coming home and trying to replicate her humming, through broken whistles at first, then, adding words where you saw fit. You remember singing to your mother in your living room. You remember feeling as if the sea was lodged right within your heart.

You loved singing, for the three years before your parents’ deaths. You sang in chorals, you sang to the birds and to the flowers blooming in your garden. You sang to the sun and to the moon. You sang to your reflection in the mirror. You sang, because it made you feel like your mother talking to the waves. And then, your parents died, and the music within you did too. The flowers, the sun, the birds… They were all an unworthy audience all of the sudden; since they all turned blind to your voice, allowing for your entire world to be stripped away from you. Leaving you bare, rootless.

You were then forced to learn that there isn’t just one big death in a lifetime. That the heart can perish multiple times before it finally stops beating completely. It felt like a little death when you began to loathe the ocean. It felt like a little death when Seungmin told you that he wished to become a singer.

You too, had wanted to, once. Maybe. If you had been given enough time to think.

It felt like a little death when you stepped into a recording booth for the first time.

You’d told Winter you were desperate for money. She mentioned agencies looking for anonymous artists to record backing vocals for prominent groups. It paid well, she said.

Your voice was well-liked. Not overpowering, but subtle, like a floral perfume—soft, seamless, blending effortlessly with whoever you sang alongside. It paid well to sing lifeless songs, to let your name dissolve into the footnotes of prominent groups, 2PM, Twice… Even your brother’s group when he debuted.

You knew that fans liked to speculate on who you were. You knew that the songs in which you sang were popular. And yet, it did not matter.

It felt like death, to kill your voice and for the sun to keep rising regardless.

“You were brave, you still are, Cherry.” Chris had told you. You wanted to believe him so badly. You wanted for the world to split open and atone for what it did to you. You wanted for the world to mend the cracks in your soul. You wanted for the world to disappear with you in it.

Your legs are growing weary of driving for so long with no destination in mind. Your eyes burn from how long you’ve stared at the road, unblinking. Somehow, you find yourself outside of Chan’s and Jeongin’s place.

It would feel like death too for you to head back to your empty apartment.

You grab your phone, sending Chan a message before you can second-guess yourself.

Y/n: Are you home?

You wait, fingers hovering over the delete button. His reply comes three seconds later.

Chan: yeah, innie is sleeping over at seungmin’s

A heartbeat.

Chan: why? are you here? are you alright?

You sigh, resting your forehead against the steering wheel. What the fuck are you doing? But still, you unbuckle your seatbelt and walk hurriedly to his door.

You knock. He opens immediately, eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m okay,” you say quickly, expecting the deluge of questions swarming in his mind.

“It’s 1 a.m.,” he replies, concern etched into his features.

“I can read the clock,” you joke, and his pout deepens as he steps closer. He’s beautiful in a way that makes your soul wish to split open to escape it. It overwhelms you.

“I’m just anxious about the next few days,” you admit.

“What’s happening?” he asks, already taking your coat and leading you to the kitchen. He pours you a glass of cold water, just the way you like it.

“I’m meeting a junior employee at Sun Corp. He’s called San. I need to convince him to give me materials proving the corporation’s corruption for our case.”

Chan’s worried gaze meets yours, and you shake your head quickly.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmur. “I didn’t come here to worry you. I just… I wanted your company.”

Chan’s demeanor softens at your words, like white foam finally resting against the warm sand.

“I think I feel less anxious around you,” you add, the warmth in your cheeks suddenly betraying you. Winter’s words echo in your mind: That man likes you. What a foolish thought to engrain in your mind.

“Oh, I…” His words stumble, and his fingers flex as if they’re debating reaching for you. Instead, he lowers them and smiles softly.

“So do I, Cherry,” he admits. His voice is gentle, his ears tinting red. “And I could come with you to meet San, if you’d like.”

“Really, you’d do that for me?” his being slacks off, his shoulders sinking low. If you were in a battle, this would be him dropping his sword, kneeling.

“Of course, you don’t even need to ask.”

You see it then—visions of yourself wrapping your arms around Chan’s neck in his kitchen, holding him long enough for his warmth to seep into your soul, shielding it from the many winters to come. You imagine, for a fleeting moment, putting down your defenses and letting one human in.

Perhaps this is the most violent act of all—to have visceral fantasies of something as innocent as a hug.

“Were you working?” you ask, and Chan clears his throat, nodding. “Yeah, working on some new songs. But I’ll take a break now.”

“The mighty producer CB97, taking a break for little old me. How wonderful,” you tease, a giggle escaping your lips. He rolls his eyes, his tongue pressing against his cheek in mock exasperation.

“Should we have a drink?” he offers, and you clap your hands excitedly. “Yes, I’d like that.”

It’s easy to recall with Chan—to relive the memories alive in your shared history. The summer vacation in Jeju, grilling meat for the boys, playing video games till dawn. Chan face-planting into the snow, the times you hid backstage to surprise them. You remember him accidentally body-slamming you onto the floor, the way you nearly drowned in the pool from laughing too hard.

The clock creeps toward four a.m., but you don’t feel tired. You’re tipsy, the wine warming your stomach—a bright, crisp taste, like biting into a ripe apricot. And you are happy. Your soul feels satiated, as though this laughter could sustain you for a lifetime.

Your giggles fade, leaving a comforting silence between you. You’re close to all the boys—you care for them deeply. But Chan is different. Because he dropped by only because he was worried. Because he calls you Cherry. So he remembers, and not alot of people remember you.

“I was thinking on my drive home of this… melody my mom used to sing,” you whisper, staring ahead. Your shoulder brushes against Chan’s. You rarely speak about your parents. Never this openly. Chan knows this well.

“She used to hum it to the ocean, to me when I’m about to sleep, when I was sick, when she was cooking,” you smile softly, bringing the drink to your lips. “I’ve been trying to replicate it on the piano but I’ve never managed to.”

You turn to look at him, only to find his gaze already fixed on you. His eyes are wide, vulnerable, twinkling like stars witnessing the birth of a galaxy. He licks his lips, hesitant, and your eyes linger on them. They are glossy, red, and impossibly inviting.

“Can I hear it?”

You start humming, singing what you remember off of your fragmented memory. Chan listens intently, his eyebrows tightly knit in concentration. You hear the waves, you taste the salt in the breeze. You miss the sea.

You finish, resting your cheek against his shoulder. “Thank you for sharing,” he says.

“Thank you for listening,” you whisper, and your eyes are closed, but you feel it, his lips pressing to your temple, soft as a petal. It quakes through you, unmaking you, as though your soul has been cleaved wide open. You are a supernova, unraveling, scattering light in a beautiful, dying burst.

You wake up to a note on the bedside, and a pink plaid blanket draped over you. It hits you then: you’re in Chan’s room. A blush spreads across your cheeks, igniting your skin. When did you fall asleep? Did he carry you here? Of course he did. Did he press another kiss to your temple? Why would you think of that? Still, you can’t help but wonder if he too felt it— the way your soul trembled under the weight of his touch.

You imagine him writing the note, his figure hunched near you, glancing at your peaceful form, his eyes fleeting to yours as if making sure you were still there.

‘I’ve made you breakfast, it’s in the kitchen. I have an early morning schedule, but I’ll see you tomorrow, Cherry. Thank you for coming to see me :)’

You close your eyes, burying your head deeper into the pillows surrounding you. You can’t help but inhale their scent—traces of Chan lingering in the fabric, pinewood and cinnamon, intoxicating, as though they were made for you alone to breathe in. Your skin tingles with the thought, as you imagine him beside you, what it would be like to press your face into the soft curve of his neck, to take in that scent and to fill all the hollow spaces inside you with it.

You are ashamed, even in the privacy of your thoughts, of this longing, of this sharp ache. For even thinking, daring to dream of a world where you could behold his warm hands into your butchered ones. Where he’d let you. Where you’d let yourself.

It feels like death to think of Chan, it feels like living too.

—

You find Chan leaning casually against his car, arms crossed over his chest. With his Chrome Hearts beanie nearly swallowing his eyes and a mask covering the rest of his face, he looks almost intimidating. Almost—because you can’t help but giggle at his over-the-top efforts to stay incognito.

“I think we’ll scare the poor boy away,” you tease in greeting, and he huffs, reaching out to lightly punch your arm.

“Do you want me gone? It’s fine, I can leave,” he mumbles, his pout clear even behind the mask. “It’s not like I made all this effort to come here—”

“Oh my god, you’re still a whiny baby at your big age,” you cut him off, laughing as you both step into the café.

You choose a table by the large windows, the sunlight streaming in and bathing the space in golden light. As Chan sits across from you, his grin spreads wide, making his eyes crinkle and nearly disappear. You miss the sight of his dimples, all of the sudden.

San arrives ten minutes later, sliding into the seat across from you. His eyes dart to the door every few seconds, as though someone might burst through at any moment. He fidgets in his chair, tugging at his slightly askew tie, beads of sweat gathering on his brow despite the cool air conditioning.

Your fingers curl loosely around a lukewarm cup of coffee you’ve yet to sip. “Thank you for meeting me, San. I really appreciate it,” you begin softly, and he barely nods. He reaches for his iced Americano but pulls his hand back.

“Look, Miss Kim,” he stammers, voice barely above a whisper. “I gave Jaehyun the names of the apartment holders, but what you’re asking of me now... it’s dangerous.” He avoids your gaze, eyes fixed on the floor, as if it might open up and swallow him whole. “They’re not the kind of people you cross. You have no idea how high this goes.”

“I do,” you say firmly, leaning forward. “I know exactly how high it goes. That’s why I’m here. And that’s why I need your help.”

San hesitates, his lips pressing into a thin line. His gaze flickers to Chan before meeting yours again.

You take a deep breath, knowing how delicate this conversation is, how crucial it is too. “Look, I’m not asking you to go public,” you murmur, lowering your voice. “I just need the truth. Documents, emails… anything that proves there’s a corrupt force behind this decision. I’ll keep your name out of it. I promise. Whistleblowers are common in our lines of work. No one has to know where it came from.”

“I want to help you, I do,” he says, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “But they will find out, and I’ll lose everything,” he pauses, shoulders slumping, “I’m the sole caregiver for my mom… She’s in the hospital, and I still have bills to pay. You understand, right?”

Your eyes soften as you watch his anxious form. He’s still young, shouldering a burden you know all too well. You think he will understand, only if you bare a part of your heart to him.

“San,” you start gently, “I once lived in Promise Orphanage too.” you admit and his eyes slightly widen. “Before that, I was in two other orphanages in the city…” You pause, looking for the right words. “I still have nightmares about those places. About how cruel some of the people there were.” Your voice cracks, and Chan’s warm hand finds your knee.

“It’s hard to be happy in a place like that, but Promise Orphanage was the only place I ever thought of as home. It felt like family. I still visit to play with the kids. They’re happy, I see it, as best as they can, anyways. But they’re well taken care of. I know Miss Jeeho, I know Winter. They love those children. They allow them to dream. They don’t deserve to have their only familiarity stripped away from them.”

San swallows hard. "And what happens when Sun Corp. finds out anyway?”

“You’re here,” you reply, “you’re afraid, but you also believe in what we’re fighting for. Otherwise, you would’ve rejected this meeting.” You sigh, your voice softening. “You’re a good person, San. Don’t let them corrupt you too. You know this is wrong.”

“I do,” he admits, voice shaky. His resolve is unraveling.

“Look, I know they gifted the city council members penthouses to sway them in their favor. But no judge would consider this hard evidence since I can’t prove intent. What we need is what’s inside your office. You know, emails, memos, contracts, whatever. I can’t do this without you, San. I mean it.”

San stares at you for a long moment. Finally, he sighs, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “There are emails,” he admits quietly. “Some from the CEO, discussing how to ‘incentivize’ council members. And I’ve seen the transaction logs... Large deposits to personal accounts, listed as ‘consulting fees.’ It’s not hard to connect the dots.”

Your heart leaps in your throat. “That’s exactly what we need. Can you get copies?”

“I think so,” he says reluctantly. Then, in a quieter tone he adds, “I lost my father too, you know.” There’s a rawness in his voice that only those who’ve been burdened by grief can understand. “I’ll find a way. For those kids.”

You reach out, briefly covering his hand with yours. “Thank you,” you whisper, and he nods, a miniscule smile finally stretching across his lips.

-

“Should we celebrate?” Chan asks, his voice light, once you’re settled in his car. For a moment, you hesitate. Celebration feels foreign to you. You’ve been the prosecutor and the wrongfully accused, you tie the noose and gasp when it tightens. But now, it seems like you’ve closed this case without needing a trial. That’s something worth celebrating.

“You know what? Hell yeah,” you giggle, and Chan’s face lights up like the sun cresting the horizon. “Great! Because I already planned for us to!” His laughter bubbles over, and you yelp as the car suddenly accelerates.

“Cherry! you’re free tomorrow, right?” he shouts over the music, and you recognize the song—No. 1 Party Anthem.

So you’re on the prowl, wondering whether she left already or not…

“Hmmm, let me check if my schedule is clear for being kidnapped…” you tease, pretending to swipe through an imaginary calendar. He chuckles, his dimple deepening, and the sound makes you feel giddy, like champagne fizzing in your veins. “Looks like I am!”

“Perfect! Let’s go on a trip, then!”

Sunglasses in doors are par for the course…

“Where to?” you laugh, and he simply winks in response, “You’ll see.”

“Fine, you be mysterious, and I’ll…” You grab his Fendi sunglasses from the console, perching them on your head, “I’ll be your passenger princess.”

It doesn’t escape him— how readily you’ve let go, how much you’ve placed in his hands without hesitation. It makes him want to drive further, faster, to a place where your bruised hearts won’t catch up with the two of you.

Her eyes invite you to approach…

You stop along the way at a small, unassuming seafood stand nestled along the coast—one Chan seems to know well. The air is alive with the sizzle of grills and the briny scent of the ocean. The ahjumma behind the counter greets Chan warmly, her hands deftly working as she prepares your meal.

You’re served grilled crab, its shell glistening in a marinade of soy sauce, chili, and honey. The flavors burst on your tongue—savory and spicy with a delicate sweetness that reminds you of the sea itself. Chan insists on feeding you the oysters, gently placing each one on your plate. They’re buttery and tangy, kissed with lemon and sea salt and the warmth of Chan’s gaze.

Your heart softens as you watch Chan chatting easily with the older woman, a laugh bubbling out of him as she teases him for eating too fast, as he fist-bumps her grandson as he clears the plates. How tragic it would have been for him to remain closed off, a flower enclosed in itself, never sharing the vibrant beauty of his petals with the world.

And it seems as though those lumps in your throat that you’ve just swallowed have got you going…

You pause again at a roadside shop, picking out heart-shaped sunglasses and trading the ugliest souvenir T-shirts you can find, laughing until your sides ache. Chan drapes an obnoxious orange scarf over his shoulder, striking a runway pose that makes you topple over from how hard you’re laughing. But then, in the mirror’s reflection, you catch his gaze—soft, unguarded, and filled with something you don’t dare name. Your breath falters. You’ve never been looked at like this before, as if someone could unravel you completely and still leave you whole.

Come on, come on, come on…

The road stretches endlessly ahead, the horizon blurring as you feed Chan fresh strawberries from a farmer’s market along the road. You don’t question why your pulse skips each time his lips brush your thumb. You don’t question why you’re suddenly sure the fruit would taste sweeter off of his mouth. You simply let the wind whip past, wondering if his cheeks are flushed from the cold or from you. You pray it’s the latter.

Number one party anthem…

“Welcome to Gangneung,” he announces as the car rolls into the small coastal town. The sea glimmers outside your window, and the houses—painted in pastel blues and greens—climb the hills like a living postcard. A group of high schoolers are biking down a narrow street, their laughter reaching you even as you drive away. While three women walk uphill, groceries in hand, their wide-brimmed hats bobbing as they chatter energetically. They seem to be gossiping. They seem happy.

“You remembered,” you say softly, your gaze flickering to him.

“I’d like to go to Gangneung one day,” you had once told him during a late-night walk. “I heard it’s a small town, and the locals agreed to all paint their houses blue. Isn’t that sweet? I’d love to escape there one day, without telling anyone.”

“I didn’t tell anyone,” he says, giggling. “Well, except Winter—so she could pack a bag for you. And Jisung, so the kids wouldn’t worry. But I didn’t tell them where we’re—”

You don’t let him finish. Stopping yourself would feel unnatural, like damming a river mid-flow. You lean over and press a kiss to his cheek, right where his dimple is hidden.

The look of love, the rush of blood…

“Thank you, Channie,” you whisper. He simply nods, a bit dazed, so are you.

Come on, come on, come on…

Both your cheeks are still burning as you pull up by the sea. You’re the first to step out, stretching your arms to shake off the nerves while Chan rummages through the car. A sudden chill creeps over you, and you instinctively wrap your arms around yourself.

Number one party anthem…

“Here,” he says, draping a hoodie over your shoulders. He’s got a towel slung casually over one shoulder, and a basket balanced in his hands. “Come on,” he beckons softly, leading you to the shoreline.

He spreads the blanket atop the golden sand and you both lay on it, admiring the sea. You’re lost in your thoughts as you silently nibble at the cheese and crackers Chan brought with him. You haven’t sat before the waves in so long. For all your bravery in courtrooms, you were a coward in real life, scared that the mere sight of the overlapping water would make your buried wish resurface— to be adrift amidst waves, to sink with the peaceful certainty that you won’t resurface again.

But you haven’t felt this serene in a long time. Like you could draw in a deep breath and not dread the one that will follow it.

“I made you something.” Chan blurts suddenly, and you twist your neck to look at him. You’ve seen Chan in many states— happy, angry, weeping. But you haven’t seen him this nervous before.

“What is it?” you ask, your curiosity tinged with caution as you sit up.

He hesitates, his words tumbling over one another. “I’m sorry if this is too much, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the melody you hummed. I... I turned it into a piano piece. I recorded it. Do you want to hear it?”

He offers an earphone with trembling hands. Your own shake as you tuck it in, and then—oh god.

“Chan, I—” you choke, clutching his arm as the music flows into you. It’s her. It’s your mother, her voice resurrected in the notes. It’s as though he’s handed you a forgotten fragment of time, lighting it up, brushing away the dust of years. The memories flood back—her hand in yours, the melody she sang to you like a lullaby for your soul. Because she loved you, so much. You were once very loved.

You close your eyes as silent tears slip down your face. It’s a short recording, just fifty-five seconds, so you replay it, again and again, until the night falls gently around you. You want to live, you want to live if only to keep her voice alive.

“Should we go swim, Chan? I feel like swimming.” You suddenly say, a smile breaking through your face. This is the easiest it has been for you to grin in a long time.

“We’ll get sick,” he says, though a grin tugs at his lips.

“We haven’t been kids in so long”, you say and something shifts in his gaze. He understands, so he nods, suddenly picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder.

“Wait, not like this!” you shout, flailing as Chan hoists you up with ease. But it’s no use—he’s already running and the next thing you know, you’re plunging into the cold water.

He dives in after you, surfacing with a loud laugh that echoes across the shoreline. The water is freezing, but it doesn’t matter. He feels weightless, unburdened, like a child again, like he could do anything he wishes for in this world, like he could get on his knees and confess to you right there and then.

You’re both trembling still by the time you reach the hotel. You linger by the entrance, your gaze tracing the cracked wallpaper and worn-out carpets. Chan is at the desk, talking to the receptionist. Snippets of their conversation float your way—“only one room... unfortunately a pipe broke... an old hotel.”

Oh.

When he returns, his ears are tinged with pink. “There’s only one room left,” he stammers. “The other one has a water leak. But it’s okay! We can find another hotel. I understand you might be—”

“Christopher, I’m fucking freezing,” you interrupt, teeth chattering. He giggles softly, boyish. “I’ll let you shower first, then.”

The room is sparse, reminiscent of a hanok. There are no beds, only two padded mats that side by side on the heated floor, and a small desk in one corner. It feels intimate, ten times smaller as Chan stands behind you.

“Go ahead,” he says, “I’ll wait.”

You quickly grab your bag and retreat to the bathroom. With trembling hands, you unlock your phone.

Y/n: Winter!!!!!!!!!! Are you here?

Winter: OMG are you still with cherry man?

Y/n: Yes, and we’re sharing one room 🫣

Winter: Wooooooo my ship is sailing

Y/n: I hate you. Did you pack me cute pajamas at least?

Winter: Of course i foresaw this

You giggle slightly, gusts of powdery air materializing before you.

Y/n: I’ll kill you once I’m back!!!

Winter: you love me 😘 you’ll have to tell me everything when you come back

Y/n: I will ❤️ He’s very sweet… and confusing

Winter: Just trust your gut

Trust your gut? You’re quite unsure what your gut is trying to spell out for you. You sigh, before quickly heading into the shower. You know Chan must be freezing too even if he tries not to show it.

You hear the water cascade down when he goes in after you, still avoiding your gaze. It feels almost forbidden to imagine him standing there, steam curling in clouds scented with your cherry shower gel. He’ll carry it with him, you think—a faint trace of you on his skin. That thought seems to send goosebumps rippling down your spine.

Later, the two of you lay atop your mats in a quiet darkness. You can hear the hum of the heater, and the splashing of the waves far away. You don’t remember falling asleep, but the cold wakes you, sharp and biting.

“Chan?” you whisper into the quiet.

He hums instantly. He hasn’t slept.

“Aren’t you cold?”

“I am.”

“Should we move closer? Body heat and all,” you suggest, your voice barely audible. You hear him swallow in the dark.

Slowly, cautiously, he inches closer until your shoulders brush. You wrap a tentative arm around his waist, and he draws you in, his palm resting on your back. The embrace feels intimate, terrifyingly so, but you stay. He is warm. He smells like pinewood and cherry. He smells like you and him.

“Good?” he asks, voice rough, and you nod. “Yeah, good.”

You hear his heartbeat, frantic at first, mirroring yours, then slowing down as the minutes pass by. It feels familiar to lay so close to him, it feels natural, ordinary.

“Channie?” you whisper.

“Yes, Cherry?”

“How different do you think we’d be, if we hadn’t gone through the things we did?”

You don’t know why you ask, except that today, for the first time in forever, you feel like blank paper—uncrumpled, untainted, left to be.

He thinks for a while, his hand threading gently through your hair, lulling you back toward sleep.

“I think I would open my heart more,” he finally says, voice soft. “I’d be myself without fearing judgment or abandonment. I’d stop chasing perfection. I’d just... exist.”

You nod against him. “You should stop apologizing for wanting the things you do.”

It feels hypocritical coming from you, but you mean it.

“Yeah, Cherry,” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “And you?”

“I’d allow myself to love. Without fear. I’d be someone worthy of being loved.”

A pause stretches between you, heavy and sharp. You inhale deeply.

“I’ve dated people,” you say quietly, “it drives Seungmin’s crazy because I know he wants to protect me from heartbreak,” you giggle softly, memories of the long talks Seungmin had dealt you flooding your mind.

“He’s a good brother.”

“He is,” you smile, before sighing. “But I don’t know how to tell him that it has always been for fun. They know what they’re getting into, which is, nothing beyond a few dates because... that’s all I have to give. I’m afraid someone might waste their time peeling away my layers, only to find nothing worthwhile. I’m hollow inside, Chan. A hollow chest can’t beat for another. Not in the way they deserve.”

His hand stills, his grip falters on your back. You hope he has heard your plea, unspoken, that he can read between the lines of your words. Please, you beg. Don’t love me. Don’t hurt yourself.

—

Chan sees it then, as evident as the rising of the sun. The truth of you, the truth of himself. Chan is loved by many, yet he doesn’t feel loved. You do not love Chan, perhaps you will never allow yourself to love another, and yet—he still loves you. Despite your warnings, he does. Even if you paint the image of the most violent of heartbreaks, he still will.

—

You judge heels by two criterias: one, how easy they are to stand long hours in, and two, how satisfying they sound when you walk. The powdery pink Jimmy Choos Seungmin gifted you hit both marks perfectly, sounding particularly delicious as you stride through the halls of Sun Corporation’s headquarters.

From the corner of your eye, you catch employees glancing up from their desks, whispers rising as you breeze past the secretary’s protests, her voice growing increasingly frantic. But you already know where you are headed: straight for the conference room, where you know an important meeting is currently unfolding.

Fun!

The secretary, a petite brunette, jogs after you, her heels barely keeping up with her urgency. She plants herself in front of the double doors, blocking your path, literally, with her arms outstretched.

“Miss, you can’t go in there,” she says, chest slightly heaving. “This is a private meeting.”

You flash her a thin smile, the kind that looks anything but kind. “Private? How convenient! It seems like they’ve kept their corruption private too!”

Her face pales, and she stammers. “I… I’m sorry, but I’ll need you to wait. Mr. Choi is—”

“Expecting me,” you cut her off, brushing past her without a second glance.

With a forceful push, you throw open the conference room doors. The chatter inside ceases instantly, replaced by stunned silence as ten executives turn to face you. At the head of the table sits Choi Min-soo, the CEO. His expression remains calm as his gaze locks with yours. He’s young, roughly in his thirties, surrounded only by men, of course. Perhaps that's why he keeps accumulating one bad decision after the other.

Choi leans back in his chair, his eyes narrowing in irritation. “Who let you in here?”

“Apologies for the interruption,” you say, though there’s not a shred of remorse in your voice. “I’m here about the demolition permit for Promise Orphanage.”

Choi leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. “I don’t recall scheduling a meeting with you.”

“No, you didn’t,” you reply coolly. “But I thought I’d save your secretary the trouble. Some things simply can’t wait. Surely you understand.”

An executive to Choi’s right clears his throat, tapping his fingers against the table in a measured rhythm. “This is a private meeting. You can’t just barge in—”

“Oh, but I can,” you curtly cut him off, “And I have. Now, if you’d prefer, we can do this in front of the press, but I thought you’d appreciate the courtesy of keeping this internal.”

Choi’s mask of indifference falters ever so slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“Sit,” he says curtly.

You ignore him, instead leaning forward, your palms pressing into the polished surface of the table. “No need for pleasantries. Let’s cut to the chase. I have evidence that the city’s approval for your demolition project didn’t come through lawful means. Bribery, to be precise.”

A heavy silence blankets the room. The executives exchange uneasy glances, but Choi’s smirk betrays no concern. Though you know it is all rehearsed. Every expression is part of the masquerade that is their lives.

“I could sue you for defamation, you know,” he says, leaning forward. He’s beautiful, but in a sinister way. Like staring into the core of a bubbling volcano knowing it could swallow you whole.

“Is it defamation if it’s supported by your own emails?”

From your bag, you retrieve a thick stack of documents and toss them onto the table. One of the younger executives fumbles to pick them up, his face paling as he scans the contents.

“These emails detail discussions between your company and key city council members about how to tip their votes in your favor. Then there are the transaction logs. Substantial sums of money deposited into personal accounts, labeled as ‘consulting fees.’ Oddly enough, these transactions occurred right after a cozy dinner at that hotpot spot downtown. Convenient timing, wouldn’t you agree?”

Your grin widens as you add, “All of it obtained lawfully, of course.” You know they’re infuriated by you. You’ve learned over the years that men like these don’t fear consequences as much as they despise being brought down by a woman.

“There is nothing illegal about consulting fees,”a voice quips from your right, “it’s standard practice.”

“Standard practice,” you repeat, tilting your head. “How fascinating that these fees always seem to align perfectly with approvals for morally bankrupt projects. This isn’t your first rodeo, Choi, is it? Remember the nursing home? Your big debut? The one that earned you Daddy’s approval?”

Choi’s fist slams onto the table. The sound echoes sharply through the room. You don’t flinch.

“How dare you speak to me like this?”

“And how dare YOU prioritize greed over the lives of children?!” you fire back, your voice rising. “YOU are the one bulldozing an orphanage to fatten your pockets. Not me.”

The room shifts uneasily. The executives glancing at one another, avoiding your gaze.

“You have two choices,” you say, straightening. “Withdraw the permit and take responsibility for the lives you’re willing to destroy, or I’ll take this to the media. Every email, every transaction log, it’ll all be public knowledge. Let’s see how long you keep your title when the truth comes out.”

Choi chuckles, a sinister sound that sends shivers down your spine. Spoiled assholes are always somewhat deranged. “So let me get this straight. You barge in here, threatening ME in my OWN office? Do you have any idea what this project is worth? FUCKING BILLIONS! And powerful people back it, people who won’t tolerate interference.”

You pick up your bag, winking. “Then I suggest you start figuring out how to explain this mess to them. You have five days to withdraw the permit. Good luck!”

Without waiting for a response, you turn and stride out, the sharp clicks of your heels like music to your ears. You wave at the secretary who looks at you as if she’s just seen a ghost. And so do the rest of the employees. Your voice must have been loud enough then.

Now that was fun.

Winter launches herself at you as soon as you open the door to her car. “Fuck you were so badass!” she laughs, hugging you tightly and you giggle, the sound light and airy, as you take out your phone from your back pocket, silencing the call with her.

“I can and I have,” she repeats your words, voice dipping lower as you high-five excitedly, your palms almost ricocheting off one another.

“God winter you should’ve seen his face,” you laugh, cheeks almost splitting open, “he looked like a big baby throwing a tantrum!”

“Ah I think this is over, right?” she asks excitedly, as she gets out of the parking lot, “they’ll yield or else you’ll drag their reputation through the mud.”

“I think so,” you sigh, resting your head against the seat cushion. “If they’re any smart they’ll know that the general public will always empathize with children. We’ll wait and see,” you grin, pinching her cheeks. “Either way, I’m not letting them take away the orphanage from us.”

“Never doubted you will,” she smiles widely, before elbowing your side, “girls night then? It’s been so long.”

“Yeah, let’s do it!”

You glance at her as she drives, the sun threading between her blonde strands like molten gold. You’ve always found it ironic that she chose the name Winter for herself when she’s the warmest person you know— she’s the saccharine taste of honey, she’s the colors of the sun and the sounds of a joyous summer. She cannot possibly be a mere human. She’s too kind, too patient for the confines of such a flawed label. You suddenly remember her supporting you as you undertake your law classes, working long hours at the bakery near your home to pay for Seungmin’s lessons. You feel her move for you when your body was too weary to even stir.

“I love you,” you suddenly say, your voice a raspy whisper, and she turns to look at you, her eyes softening. “Yah save this for the sleepover.”

The sun has long slipped beneath the horizon, as you talked the night away with Winter, stomachs full of sweetened Soju and laughter on the living room floor. You rest your head on her stomach as she idly runs her fingers through your hair, reminiscing. It doesn’t hurt as much to remember these days.

“So, will you tell me about Chan?” she whispers, and you groan, hiding your face in your hands.

She giggles at your reaction, gently scratching your scalp. “Come on. How was your getaway?”

It takes you a few moments to admit it. Out of joy. Out of fear. “It was the happiest I’ve been in a long while, Winter.”

“You don’t sound happy about it,” she observes, and you nod.

“I’m terrified, because he’s confusing me.”

She’s silent, and you gather your memories—the ones that have kept you afloat for the past week, the ones that have mended some hidden part of your heart, though you can’t say which one. It is too scarred to keep count, but you can feel it, something inside you has healed, something caged within you can breathe again.

“He remembered which coastal city I wanted to visit, something I said on a whim during one of our walks, years ago, Winter” you say softly, as though speaking of his memory would make the universe take him away from you.

“He took me to eat oysters; You know how much I love oysters. He wore every ugly souvenir I gave him,” you giggle faintly before quieting down. You choose to skip over your mother’s piano piece secret. You feel as if you’d desecrate it by speaking of it, like it’s a memory that belongs only to Chan, you, and the sea. “And then… since we had to share a room, we cuddled because it was cold.”

You expect her to tease you, but her voice is gentle as she asks.

“How did you feel?”

You think hard of how you felt. How easy it was to fall asleep near him. How beautiful he looked as dreams wrote themselves behind his eyelids.

“I felt safe. Like I could let go, and he’d be there to catch me.”

“I don’t think he would hurt you. I don’t think he could, even if you hurt him.”

You sigh, straightening up to meet her gaze.

“I don’t want to hurt him, Winter. That’s my issue. And I know I will.”

“Why would you—”

“I’m a bundle of issues, grief, and sorrow,” you cut her off, resigned. “You know that. I didn’t choose to be this way, but I am. I will taint him.”

“What I know,” she says, taking your hands in her own, “is that you are a good person. Your heart is warm and full of goodness, despite everything that happened to you. Grief changes a person, injustice changes them even more. But your heart still overflows with love. That’s something not everyone can say.”

You shake your head, tears welling in your eyes.

“Winter, have you ever found a flower so beautiful? You see it, and its petals are the brightest colors, almost calling to your soul. Would it be right to cut it and take it home? Yes, it might bring you joy for a while. You’d change its water, add vinegar and sugar cubes. But then what? It’ll falter and die early. Because I was selfish. Because I hurt the flower, even though I loved it so much.”

Your voice cracks, and the tears you’ve been holding back are now dangerously close to spilling. She’s quiet for a long moment, and you begin to believe you’ve imagined this whole conversation. But then—

“What if that flower’s only wish is to be loved?”

Sometimes, words feel like a soothing balm coating your wounds. Sometimes, they feel like a dagger suddenly protruding what’s left of your heart. Sometimes they feel like both.

Your phone pings, and you reach for it through a hazy view, grateful for the small distraction.

Except it isn’t.

Jaehyun: Your cherry man just paid for San’s hospital bills.

You frown, and Winter leans over to peek at your screen.

Y/n: What???

Jaehyun: Yeah, he just called me. An anonymous (beautiful) man (with dimples ;) per the nurse’s description) paid for all his mother’s expenses.

Winter stares at you knowingly as your heart does somersaults—throbbing in your chest, in your throat, in your stomach. You feel him everywhere, Chan, like he’s made a home inside you and is now setting you ablaze.

Does he have to be so kind? Does he have to make it so hard for you not to love him?

Somehow, it’s 4 a.m. before you notice, Winter sleeps soundly beside you while you lie wide awake. You can’t stop thinking about Chan. His desire to be seen, his fear of it too. His voice. His warm hands. His soft lips. His heart. His soul.

You slip away from Winter and head to the balcony, a shawl wrapped around your arms. You hesitate for a moment, then press ‘Call’.

“Cherry?” Chan answers instantly, and your shoulders relax despite yourself. Is this what it feels like to be a flower plucked from millions? Cherished. Loved.

“Hi, Channie,” you whisper, and you hear him rustling in bed.

“Are you okay? Where are you? Do you need me to pick you up?” His questions come fast, and you stop him before he can leap out of bed.

“No, no. I just… I wanted to thank you. For what you did for San.”

“Oh, who told you?” he sounds sheepish, timid. “I thought I told the nurse to keep it anonymous.”

“Well, not many men have dimples as pretty as yours.” The words slip out before you can stop them. You don’t hate yourself when you hear Chan chuckling softly, the bed covers rustling with his movements. Does he too chase remnants of your perfume on his pillows? Does he too imagine you laying on his bed once more?

“Well, it’s the least I could do.”

“No, you didn’t have to do that. You didn’t have to take me on that trip, or rearrange your whole schedule to spend a night watching shitty dramas with me. You didn’t have to do any of it. So why? Why do you do these things, Chan?” you ask, breathless.

He sighs softly. “Does it make you happy, Cherry? When I do these things?”

“Yes.”

“Then you have your answer.”

Oh.

The silence stretches, long and endless. Your shoulders hurt from always being cowered, tense. You wish you could ease them down.

“Thank you for making me happy. Sleep well, Channie.” You hang up before he can reply, before he can call you Cherry again. Because it makes you feel like dying. To love Chan in a world where you won’t let him love you feels like the biggest of deaths.

—

Seungmin’s earliest memories have always been of you.

There was a hollow space in his small heart, carved with the dullest of knives, something that pulsed even though he didn’t know who was it far. He knew his parents existed, he remembers his old home, but only faintly. They’d been taken too soon, he didn’t have much to hold on to.

So it was always you and him.

He remembers being a whiny child, crying endlessly because he didn’t understand why the world was so cruel—to him, but mostly to you. It confused him deeply, the way people overlooked your kindness. You were his older sister, his light. Why, then, couldn’t everyone else see you the way he did?

By the time he grew more into his body, into his heart, the tears stopped coming as often. He noticed the way a light dimmed in your eyes every time you tried to console him, and it frightened him. He didn’t know how many lights you had to give, or how many were left. So, he stopped crying.

Seungmin started piecing together truths he didn’t yet know how to speak. He began to understand the sharpness in your voice when prospective parents visited the orphanage, the urgency in your words when you told him to hide in the bathroom. You were protecting him. You didn’t want to be separated from him. It was almost impossible for two children to be adopted at once.

He began to understand why you always came back a bit breathless from talking to the older kids, the ones you strictly forbade him from playing with. Why would blue marks always appear on your arms after those conversations. Why he often heard you crying at night when you believed him long asleep.

And it killed him. There was no other way to describe it, because Seungmin had scraped his knee and lost his parents, and yet it did not hurt as much as it did when you were hurt. So, he tried to be as small as possible, as quiet, he tried to not get sick, to get good grades, to do his bed and yours. He tried to be perfect, so you wouldn’t be burned by him. So you wouldn’t cry when looking at him asleep.

Joy was scarce in Seungmin’s life. And it was all tied back to you. He was practical, even as a child, understanding early that he’d have to work harder than most to make something of himself. But not for personal gain, it was all to repay you for everything you gave him.

Then, one day, he stumbled onto something unexpected—a gift. A cheat code. “You’ve got a beautiful singing voice,” Miss Jeeho told him on his second night at Promise Orphanage. She had caught him singing in the garden. He didn’t like singing in front of other people. He feared you’d be punished for it too. “Have you ever thought of becoming a singer?”

The idea felt like cracking open a window in a suffocating room, a breath of air sweeping through the dust and decay of a crushed life. For the first time, he saw a semblance of dream take shape. He felt hope settle below his ribs, softening the thorns in his chest.

So he researched in the library of his school obsessively on this topic. How to be a singer, how to audition, how to win. He kept it hidden from you in all the years you spent in Promise Orphanage. Only Miss Jeeho knew, and she was kind, he didn’t feel scared sharing his hope with her. He was fifteen when he told you, after a year of relentlesses fighting to gain his custody. “I want to be a singer.”

You froze for a second, and Seungmin hasn’t stopped wondering where your mind went in that moment.

“Will you help me?” he asked, voice burning with resolve. “It pays well. I promise I’ll debut, and I’ll make you proud. And I’ll repay you, for all of it, I swear.”

“What’s this talk of you repaying me?” you said softly, your eyes so kind it made him want to weep. “All of me is for you, Seungminnie.”

Seungmin felt a sharp, throbbing ache in his chest at that moment. There she was, his greatest supporter, promising to back his dream. And yet, he felt hideously worthless, as though merely looking at the mirror would make it shatter.

It was then he named it—the poison coursing through his veins, the thorn lodged deep in his throat—the guilt. He wore that guilt like a second skin, its barbed wires sinking deeper into his soul with each passing year. Did you have a dream, too? Did you abandon your own to make room for him? He should’ve asked what your dream was. He should’ve begged you to keep your heart for yourself.

Seungmin could not rewrite the past, could not save his parents, could not undo his own birth so that you would not carry the weight of him. So, he sought to make up for it. He never spoke of his weariness during practice, nor of the pain, the fear, or the anger that gnawed at him. He only shared the triumphs—him ranking second on the entry competition, his voice praised by the vocal coaches at the company, finding friends that turned into family who genuinely cared for him, and you with time, that he would debut soon, that he has made it.

He spent his first paycheck on you, buying you the heels you’ve been eyeing for a long time, the ones you wore to your first courtroom. He spent the next on you too, and the one after it. He overcompensated for the guilt– gifts, flowers, a luxurious coffee machine, a two weeks retreat fully paid. He grew overbearing too, when it came to your heart, when it came to protecting it, disapproving of every person you chose to date.

He understood after a while that you weren’t looking for anything serious, at least not for now. Your dates seemed to understand this too. But he was afraid that one day you’d fall for someone who’s still looking for fun, who wouldn’t care for your heart like it was your own.

His hyungs would always poke fun at him for his protective nature, but he couldn’t help it. He was terrified for you, terrified that a heartbreak would be the thing to take you away from him.

He still remembers the look on your face when you caught him sitting in the same restaurant as your date. You’d laughed, and he’d felt sheepish under your gaze. “I told him it was a bad idea,” Jeongin giggled, throwing his hands up.

“I don’t like him,” he grumbled and you had chuckled, ruffling his hair, “when do you ever?”

You had then spent the night with him at the dorms watching movies with all his members. It was a normal occurrence for you to hang out with them, his found family, because they too had been touched with your kindness, back when they were all still trainees and you insisted on making them homemade food.

Seungmin knew it was your way of clinging to a normal home, that too killed him a little.

He knew that the members loved you, that they too cared for you deeply. Though they liked to annoy Seungmin by flirting with you. Which made you giggle, so, although he despises it, he still lets it slide.

Which brings him to today.

Seungmin hasn’t seen you since the concert at Kyocera Dome. So, he spammed you long enough for you to finally agree to have dinner in his dorm. Except 3RACHA was there too since they were all working on a song. It wasn’t their presence that weirded out Seungmin. Nor the fact that Han and Changbin took turns flirting with you, turning more obnoxious and loud and making Seungmin wish he could hit them with the plates on the table. Not that.

It was Chan. Who looked tense, jaw tight, his fingers flexing each time they sent a flirty remark your way.

Was he… Jealous?

“Thank you honey,” Han says, blowing you a kiss when you hand him his chopsticks. You giggle and Seungmin buries his face in his hands when Changbin grabs your plate, declaring that he will cut the steak for you.

“She doesn’t like meat cut that way,” Chan suddenly says, taking away the knife and plate from Changbin. Your cheeks blush as if a dahlia blossomed there. Han and Changbin exchange knowing looks.

Okay. What?

“Is there something—” he asks when your phone suddenly rings and he quiets down, swallowing the question with the rest of his beer. That would have been a stupid question, anyways.

“Winter!” you pick up, tone cheerful. Though all the color drains from your face as she speaks, the flower withering and turning into ash.

“W-what…?” you ask, slightly dazed, your hand gripping the table.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “Cherry, what’s wrong?” so does Chan.

Cherry?

“The orphanage…” you say, Chan seems to understand what you’re talking about perfectly. You don’t finish, getting up and running out of his dorm. Everyone gets up on cue following you. “We’ll take my car,” Changbin says.

—

Is it possible to have sinned right before birth? To have done something so terrible you cannot atone for it no matter how much time passes. You accept it, you accept that your star is an unlucky one. You accept that even the most restless waters will always drown you, not carry you. Still, for how long do you have to pay the price, over and over again? Till how long is it no longer justice? Till how long does it become the universe toying with you? Does it think you can’t break? Does it think there is no limit to how much you can take?

Because there is.

You think you’ve reached it now.

Time seems to have slowed down, so much you’re sure five lifetimes have passed between each of your breaths. You know that there must be people screaming, a loud shatter, the sirens of ambulances and firefighters. Still, it’s quiet in your head. Save for a faint ringing, a buzzing, like a swarm of bees has lodged itself within your ear.

The earth is moving beneath your feet, it threatens to split open and swallow you. And you’d let it. You don’t have the nails to dig yourself out. You don’t have the will. You don’t have the hope.

You almost feel like laughing. You’re cursed. Every bit of happiness comes back to haunt you down the line.

It’s hot, extremely hot, and ashy. And you’re before the orphanage but you don’t smell rust. You smell smoke, pungent and bitter. You smell loss. You smell your last hope dying.

The orphanage is burning.

The kids are outside, covered in blankets and hugged turn by turn by the staff— Miss Jeeho, Mister Seonghwa, the cook, the gardener, the teachers, the psychologist, Winter.

The firefighters are trying to control the fire, but it’s spreading rapidly before your eyes, emboldened by the wooden floors and squeaky doors. You are losing your home again. The fire is eating the room you slept in, the kitchen where you learned how to cook, the garden where you caught Seungmin singing to Miss Jeeho. It’s eating the stairs where you sat with Winter laughing, the attic where you hid when existing became too rough.

It’s eating your memories, it’s eating you.

“What’s— what’s happening?” Seungmin stammers, his hand on your shoulder. You feel like kids again, back when the policeman came to your home and found only you and a toddler inside. A kid caring for a kid.

Winter sees you from afar, rushing to wrap you in her arms. You don’t feel her warmth. You don’t feel anything, now that you’re thinking of it. Has your heart bled dry? Finally?

“Cherry,” you hear but you brush the hand away, walking towards two firefighters once only smoke remains. “Who started it? The fire?” you ask breathlessly.

“Why?” they ask, cautious, “do you have reason to believe it was intentional?”

“Who started it?” you repeat.

“It’s too early to tell,” he says, eyes fixed on his coworker, sweat dripping from his brow, his forehead smeared with ash. “Preliminary findings suggest it began in the garden, which is odd, since there’s no apparent cause and no sign of a cigarette. The owner claims no one smokes. We did find what looks like traces of gasoline, but more investigation is needed. It spread quickly towards to the utility room, where there are electric wires. Something, or someone must’ve sparked it, and now it’s out of control.” He sighs, “We’ll call the police.”

You feel it then, a stone that sinks deep within your gut: they burned it. Sun Corporation burned the orphanage because if there is no orphanage then there is no case. They burned the orphanage and you with it.

—

“Would someone tell me what’s going on?” Seungmin grows more agitated the more you remain silent in your apartment. You can tell everyone is looking at you, waiting for you to snap out of your daze. But you don’t know where to begin. You don’t know how this will end.

“Miss Jeeho called,” Winter says softly, reappearing from the balcony. “There’s enough suspicion to begin an investigation. They need my testimony.” Changbin, without a word, stands and grabs his car keys. “I’ll drive you,” he says. She nods in reply.

“Do the kids have a place to go tonight?” Han asks, his voice laced with concern. Winter shakes her head. “No, Miss Jeeho is still trying to figure that out.”

“Alright,” Han says, pulling out his phone. “Let me call the others for help.”

“You have my card,” Chan says, pressing a sleek, cold card into Winter’s hand.

“Text me,” you tell Han, and he nods, following Changbin and Winter out the door.

And then there were three.

“Would you please tell me?” Seungmin asks again, kneeling before you. His voice is quieter now, laced with something you hadn’t anticipated—hurt, confusion. A part of you stirs alive and you sigh, beginning to recount everything— the apartment, the corruption, San, the meeting, the fire— but your voice feels like someone else’s, void, unfamiliar.

“And why didn’t you tell me any of this?” he asks once you finish. There’s raw pain coating his gaze, Seungmin has always been an open book to you.

“I was going to tell you,” you murmur, “once the permit was withdrawn. I didn’t want to burden you with this.”

“But I want you to burden me!” his voice rises slightly, as he stands up, pacing before you. “I could have helped you. I would have stood by you!”

“Seungmin, please,” you breathe, the weight of it all pressing against your chest.

“You don’t always have to carry everything alone. It doesn’t make you stronger, it only makes the pain ten times worse,” he presses his eyes shut, “I wouldn’t have hid something like this from you.”

“Well, you’re not me!” You snap, and he flinches, recoiling like you’ve struck him. You’ve never raised your voice at Seungmin before.

There she is, the person who pushes those who love her away, the person who deserves to be punished.

“I’ll go help the boys,” he softly says, walking out, shoulders slumped. He looks smaller now, like you’ve just hurt the child within him mourning his only home.

“Cherry…” Chan’s voice cuts through the tense silence, and you rise to your feet, instinctively covering your face. “Not you too, Chan.”

“Would you talk to me?” His voice is gentle. “You haven’t said a word in over an hour. This isn’t healthy, I know this must hurt so you shouldn’t keep it all inside.”

“I don’t have anything to say,” you reply, your voice colder than you intended. Please go, you beg. Please, before I snap at you too.

“Just talk, okay? Say whatever comes to your mind. I’ll listen to you. It’ll feel better if you let it all out.”

“Except it won’t!” The words come out harsher than you meant, and you feel yourself spiraling. You’re throwing up thorns, and you can’t stop it. “You don’t always know what’s best for people, alright? You can’t always fix people, Chan! And I can’t be fixed! Talking about it won’t help, keeping it in won’t help, because this is who I fucking am. This is all I’ve known.”

“Cherry, please. You know that’s not what I meant.” His voice is soft, still tender, still trying to reach you.

He still calls you Cherry. He’s still here. You can feel the desperation creeping inside, a bitter realization that they should all run before you curse them too.

“Oh, come on,” you laugh, the sound hollow. It feels like daggers slicing through your throat as you speak. “Don’t you see me as a project to fix? Something to make you feel in control for all the years you’ve lost it?”

“Is this how low you think of me?” he asks, taking a step back, his face a mix of hurt and disbelief. “I never thought you needed fixing.”

“Well, it’s how I felt around you,” you say, the words spilling out like venom. Liar. Liar. Liar. “Like I’m the poor orphan and you’re the knight in shining armor, coming to save me.” He looks like you’ve just slapped him in the face.

Does he hate you now? Does he hate you as much as you hate yourself?

“You know, you should stop punishing yourself, Yn.” He says your name, not Cherry, but your name, plain and flat. It feels like all your little deaths combined in one. “You only have one sin and it’s that you wish to be loved.”

He pauses. You feel as if the world was cracked wide open. You feel as if your soul just splattered before his feet, naked, trembling.

“And I love you. God, I’ve loved you for the past ten years, and I wish you could open your heart just a little bit to see it.”

“What?” you ask, breathless, the words barely leaving your mouth before he turns away, silent. He doesn’t answer. He leaves.

He left.

Your feet move before your mind can catch up, and suddenly you’re running after him. “What do you mean you love me?” you shout, the words raw, desperate. Your chest is heaving, breaths coming in ragged gasps. You’re sure your neighbors are peeking from their windows, watching, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now except him, nothing has in a long time. “What do you mean, Chan?!”

“Forget it,” he mutters.

“You can’t say that and ask me to forget it!” you shout and he chuckles, hand tightly gripping his hair in frustration.

“Has it not been clear? That you’d ask me to get you the moon and I'd fucking die trying. Can’t you see that I’d sacrifice the sun if it means making you happy?”

You back away, tears streaming down your cheeks in an unstoppable flow. No. Yes. No. How?

“N–no, you… You shouldn’t love me.”

“Do you think I haven’t tried?” His voice rises, raw and hoarse. “I’m human too, it kills me to love someone who I know won’t ever love me. But tell me, please, teach me how to pause the throbbing of my heart. Teach me how to silence it when it calls out your name, when it aches because it misses you so much I feel like I’m dying. When there is a void in my soul shaped after your laugh, your smell, your words, how do I—“ his hands land on your shoulders, his forehead resting on the crook of your neck. You can feel the shaking of his hands, you can feel his being unraveling before you.

Your hands curl in tight fists, you are broken, shattered, there is no glue that could piece you back together. Even if gold travels between your shards, it will not make you into something beautiful. You’ll remain a disaster. You’ll ruin him too.

“Look at me.” You shake your head, unwilling, unable to face him. “Please, Cherry, look at me. Even if you’ll leave me right now, please, I— I’d rather you leave while looking at me.”

You bite your lip, choking on the sob rising in your throat.

“Tell me you don’t love me,” he pleads, taking your palm and placing it atop his chest.You can feel the erratic thrum of his pulse, alive and desperate beneath your hand. “Say it. Say you never will. Make me believe it, so this thing inside me will die. Please.”

“I can’t say that,” you whisper. The world offers itself at your feet. “I can’t say that because I won’t mean it.” Your eyes finally meet his, you wonder what he sees in yours. You wonder how someone like him could ever love you.

You lick your lips tentatively, tasting the saltiness of your tears and the cherry of your chapstick.

“Do you know what a bleeding heart dove is? It’s a small pigeon, with a plumage so white and pristine it resembles the first snow. But right in the middle of it, there is a patch of crimson, it looks like a bullet wound Chan, it looks like his little heart is always bleeding.” Your voice cracks like glass, Chan’s eyes soften more than you’ve ever thought was possible. “That’s how I feel, like I always always carry this wound that won’t ever heal. It bleeds and it bleeds and the blood oozes so much at times that I choke with it. I don’t want to taint you with it too.”

“What if I want you to taint me?” His warm palms cradle your cheeks, threads of sunlight brushing against your skin. “What if I want you to change me? What if I want everyone who has looked at me to know that I’m loved by you?”

You smile softly, shaking your head. “That would be selfish of me.”

“Then love me selfishly, love me with greed. Just love me, Cherry. Please, love me,” he begs, his eyes boring into yours. You peer into him, his soul, the sincerity in his offering to you— his heart, so fragile, yet so resolute in loving you.

“You’re so beautiful, Channie,” you gently say, as your palms tenderly cup his cheeks. His eyes flutter closed, tears staining your hands as he leans into your touch, placing his heart right in your hands. “I’d like some time to think of myself as beautiful, too. Would you wait for me? Until I figure it out.”

He softens. “I waited for you for ten years. I’d wait for you for an eternity if I have to.”

A knot forms in your throat. “You’re so sweet, God, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I know you don’t pity me, I shouldn’t have said that. I’m just so overwhelmed and everything spiraled down and I don’t know where to even begin now,” you ramble, and he cuts you off by placing a tender kiss atop your wrist.

“Would you breathe now?” he smiles and your world somehow brightens despite it all. “I'm not mad, alright? And we’ll figure it out together, Cherry. You have us. You always did.”

Your voice is small as you mumble– “Seungmin is mad at me.”

“He’s not. He always wants to protect you so he feels bad when you don’t let him in. You know that.”

You did, of course you do.

You feel a little less ashamed of plucking a beautiful flower out of its soil. You’ll insuflate your own soul in it to keep it blooming.

“Will you stay with me, Chan?”

“Always.”

—

“So, they burned down the orphanage?” Jeongin asks, disbelief thick in his voice as you finish recounting the horrors of the past month.

Your small apartment is packed the day after the fire—Winter, Jaehyun, Miss Jeeho, San, and the boys. Some sit huddled on couches, others sprawl across the floor, leaning into one another. You’ve never known that warmth could become a tangible thing, that it could weave itself around your heart like silk, drip sweetness down your ribcage like rivers of honey. You feel it, despite how harrowing the situation is, because all your friends care. They care for the orphanage like it’s their own.

“Yeah, I’m sure of it,” you reply. “We got a report of a suspicious van speeding off right after the fire started.”

“And remnants of gasoline were found at the scene,” Jaehyun adds, taking a leisurely sip out of his beer. “The police are tracing it now.”

You nod, thinking back to the police chief who happened to be one of your high school classmates. He got promoted and he promised he’d tell you first, if anything happened. “Yeah, the firefighters confirmed that it was arson. Once the police officer gets back at us I’ll file a lawsuit against them.”

“But can you believe the fucking nerve?” Felix scoffs, “I just read their statement: ‘We are extremely saddened by the news of the burning of Promise Orphanage due to faulty wiring. We promise to work side by side with the community to ensure the children are safe and living in better conditions’. Do they think we are stupid?”

“They’re lying,” Miss Jeeho says bitterly. “Trying to save face while they can.”

Hyunjin’s face pales. “This makes me sick,” he whispers. “The fact that they’d endanger those kids just for their agenda…” He trails off, shaking his head, and the room falls into a heavy silence.

“They stopped communicating through emails after you confronted Choi,” San says, his voice tight. “They must’ve realized someone was leaking information. Now everything’s confidential.”

He slumps, defeated, and you reach over to pat his back gently. “It’s okay. I don’t think they’d be dumb enough to discuss arson in emails anyways. We’ll find another way.”

“What about the kids? Are they okay?” Jeongin asks, his brows furrowed in concern.

“They’re doing fine, considering,” Minho answers, nodding toward Han. “Yeah,” Han adds with a soft laugh. “We visited this morning. They’re warm, well-fed, like michelin chef well-fed, we made sure of it, and maybe a little spoiled, we might’ve gone overboard with the toys.” The group chuckles briefly, Minho throwing a pillow at Han’s face before smiling fondly at him.

“But this is all just temporary,” Winter whispers, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears. “We can’t keep them in a rented house forever. They’ll need to be sent to different locations, scattered across the country.”

“Is there really no other way?” Changbin asks, as he squeezes Winter’s shoulder gently.

“Unless we can rebuild the orphanage in record time, then no. It’s all gone,” Miss Jeeho sighs, and you feel the knot in your throat tighten. You’ve avoided looking at her ever since the fire, you can’t bear the sight of raw grief in her eyes, specifically.

“What if we rebuild the orphanage?” Seungmin suddenly asks. It’s the first time you’ve heard his voice during the night.

“We don’t have the funds for that, Seungminnie” you say softly.

“We do,” Chan interjects firmly, “If we all donate, we can raise the money. Start a fundraiser, maybe?”

You see it then, a fickle of hope blossoming in the air.

“You know, it’s not a bad idea,” Jaehyun says, leaning forward. “Media coverage of the case is really strong and it has garnered a lot of public sympathy. I also told friends in media to keep up intense coverage since something big is simmering beneath the case.”

“I can hold a press conference then,” you say, your voice quipping up. “Expose everything, from the beginning and ask for public support.”

“And me,” Seungmin says suddenly, looking up to meet your gaze at last. His voice is steady, but his eyes are tinged with vulnerability. “I want to stand by your side. It’ll help us garner more attention too.”

“Are you sure?” you ask gently. “Are you ready to reveal where you grew up?”

“I’m not ashamed of it,” he replies softly. “It’s because of that place that I’m here today.”

Your heart swells, and tears sting your eyes as you nod. “Alright. Sounds like a solid plan.”

—

You’ve known loneliness long enough to recognize that it doesn’t wear a singular face.

“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. My name is Y/n Kim, and I am the lead attorney representing Promise Orphanage.”

You’ve known the loneliness that slices your bones. That cuts so deep within your marrow you’re unsure whether the sun will rise tomorrow, whether you’ll be even there to witness it. You knew it when you were ten and your parents simply never came back home.

“You are aware that Promise Orphanage has been burnt down last week. A tragedy for our community as this orphanage housed forty children who only have that place to call a home.”

You’ve known the loneliness that doesn’t stab, its sharp tip always remaining at the edges of your soul, as if threatening you, reminding you that it could sink within you at any given moment. You knew it when you were fourteen and Winter shook your hand for the first time.

“I am here to explain that this isn’t due to uncontrollable circumstances. But a crime. The fire did not start hazardously but was intentionally caused. By Sun Corporation, the subsidiary of Gyeongdo Holdings.”

You’ve known the loneliness that doesn’t fill you, but rather sits beside you on a bench. Loneliness that only manifests when you’re surrounded by people who love you, and who you love. And yet, you feel as if you are enclosed in transparent glass, always keeping you at arm’s length from them. Because your heart is different. Because you grieved a lifetime before you were old enough to understand it.

But for the first time in years, you don’t feel lonely.

Not when the people in your life have worked tirelessly with you for the orphanage, for justice, for the children. Not when a room full of journalists hang onto your every word, cameras flashing, questions flying. Your eyes scan the crowd, landing on your loved ones in the back. They nod.

The legal case is airtight. You’ve worked tirelessly with your team to gather the proof—police reports, financial records, surveillance footage. You exhale, steadying yourself, and nod toward the screen.

“We have obtained documentation, in collaboration with the authorities, confirming that a van was seen fleeing the scene moments after the fire started getting out of control. That van was rented by a company in which Sun Corporation holds 45% of the shares. The individual who rented it is also an employee at Sun Corporation, whose identity we’ll keep anonymous. For now.”

Your eyes meet San’s, and he winks—he’s the one who verified the identity, right after depositing his resignation letter at Sun Corporation.

A journalist raises his hand. “Are you saying Sun Corporation committed arson?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. But don’t take my word for it, of course.”

You press a button on the laptop connected to the speakers.

The room falls silent.

Then, the recording crackles to life.

“Are you insane?! I said a warning, not a damn inferno!”

Murmurs ripple through the crowd, cameras shifting toward the speakers as the voice, angry, panicked, continues.

“You idiots lost control of it! The fire department is involved, you know that bitch is going to the police too. Do you have any idea what’s at stake? BILLIONS! I wanted to sue them for neglect and now we are the ones who will lose EVERYTHING! Fix it, or so help me—”

The recording cuts out. The silence that follows is deafening.

Journalists erupt all at once.

“Who is that speaking?”

“Was this obtained legally?”

“Is Sun Corporation under criminal investigation?”

You raise a hand, and a hush falls upon the room.

“The voice belongs to Choi Sungho, CEO of Sun Corporation,” you confirm. “This recording was obtained from a whistleblower inside the company and has been turned over to the authorities. The police are actively investigating Sun Corporation for arson, conspiracy, and fraud.”

You think back to the brunette secretary. You now know her name—Jia. She once dreamed of becoming a lawyer too, but she needed money for her sister’s medical bills, so she had to give up her aspirations. She heard snippets of the conversations authorizing the fire and recorded the aftermath. You know she’s watching this at home too.

“This is not just a case of reckless endangerment. This is a coordinated criminal act, executed for financial gain. Sun Corporation had previously filed for a demolition permit for the orphanage, but the permit was granted under questionable circumstances.”

You gesture toward the documents on every table.

“There is evidence that Sun Corporation bribed city officials to fast-track the permit process. However, because of our legal scrutiny, the project was delayed. Burning a part of the orphanage to argue neglect was their alternative. But as you can see, it backfired.”

More whispers, more frantic typing. A journalist from the back calls out, “Are you pursuing legal action?”

“Yes. We are also working closely with law enforcement to hold all responsible parties accountable, including those within the city council who enabled this corruption.”

You suck in a deep breath, nodding towards Seungmin who was standing behind the curtains, veiled from everyone’s view.

“There is someone I’d like you to meet now.”

He steps forward, taking the mic from your hand.

The camera flashes become incessant as the interrogations ripple from everywhere.

“Is that…?”

“Wait, Kim Seungmin?”

“What is going on?”

“Hello,” he says, voice reverberating around the room. “My name is Kim Seungmin. Some of you may be familiar with who I am, but today, I do not speak to you as an Idol.” A pause. “I am here as one of the children who once lived at Promise Orphanage.”

The cameras shift, zooming in on his face. Jaehyun excitedly signals that the viewer’s count is rising up rapidly.

“I’ve never spoken about this publicly before, but I am an orphan. My sister,” he nods at you, “raised me. My fans may recognize her voice from some of our songs,” he smiles softly, before sobering up. “We moved from place to place, but Promise Orphanage was the only orphanage that felt like home. The only place where we were truly taken care of, where I was allowed to dream, thanks to Miss Jeeho, the director. She’s the one who helped me become a singer. She’s also the one who helped my sister in her fight for my custody.”

He swallows hard, steadying himself.

“This crime is not just about corporate greed. It’s about children who lost their home overnight. And now, they face being scattered across different locations, losing the only family they have left.”

His gaze fixes every camera, every journalist in place. You feel pride swell in your heart, loud and bright and all encompassing.

“We are not just seeking justice. We are seeking solutions. We are launching a legal fund to rebuild Promise Orphanage. We ask for your steady support in holding Sun Corporation accountable and in ensuring that these children are not left behind.”

“Please don’t let this injustice go unanswered.”

He bows deeply. You follow. Cameras flash, a deluge of light and sound.

It’s done, now. The end of the beginning is finally over.

—

Sometimes a month is just a month. Sometimes a month stretches like ten lifetimes crafted solely to hurt you. Sometimes a month slips through your fingers like running water, not yours to keep.

The past six months have been both, somehow.

You spent sleepless nights building the most solid case against Sun Corporation. Exhausting weeks passed before the judge finally struck his gavel against the wood, charging them with arson, criminal activity, bribery, and interference with civilian law. It took the sweat and tears of many to rebuild the orphanage from the charred ground. It took a lot of love to fill its multicolor walls with children’s laughter again— yours, your brother’s, your friends’, the fans’, the general public’s too.

And yet, when it was all over, when you could finally exhale without fearing the consequences of letting go, you were left with a gaping hole in your chest. Void was an insatiable creature gnawing at your heart, void was a creature that sought something you could not name.

That is until Seungmin talked to you.

“Can I sit?” he asks, pointing to the patch of shade near you. You nod, scooting over as you both lean your backs against the freshly planted pine tree. For a while, it’s quiet as you watch Han and Felix, dressed as clowns, playing hide and seek with a group of children at the orphanage’s reopening party.

“They look happy,” he whispers and you smile softly, letting their giggles waft to your ears.

“They do.”

“I never apologized for that night,” he suddenly says, turning to look at you. “When I got mad because you didn’t tell me about the orphanage.”

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” you sigh. “I knew how much this place means to you. I knew this was where you figured out what your dream was. I just… didn’t want to burden you, not when you already have so much atop your plate” you explain, gently smoothing down his bangs. “I guess a part of me still sees you as the little kid I have to protect.”

“You were a child too, protecting me,” he whispers, voice hoarse as he places his warm palm over yours. “You don’t have to protect me anymore. I promise. I’d rather you look after your own heart. Listen to what it really wants.”

Your eyes drift toward Chan. He’s playing guitar for a group of older kids, their small hands clapping to the upbeat melody. His smile is the sun. His smile tastes like the ocean breeze.

“Do you like him?” Seungmin asks softly.

Your breath catches. “What?”

“Chan. I’m not blind. I see the way you look at him. The way he looks at you, mostly.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Why would your happiness ever bother me?” He smiles, and you feel a weight dissolve in your chest. The creature within you perks up at his words.

“Then yes,” you admit, breath hitching. “I like him. So much it terrifies me.”

You speak your feelings for the first time, and yet, the sky does not collapse, the earth does not tremble beneath your feet. It feels almost miraculous— to voice what you long for and not be punished for it.

“Sometimes the things that scare us the most are the ones that make us happiest,” he says. “Because we’re scared of allowing ourselves to feel joy. Because we’ve conditioned ourselves to think we don’t deserve it.”

Tears prick your eyes, and you crack a soft smile. “Look at you, saying such wise things.”

“I’m literally twenty-four,” he deadpans and you laugh, ruffling his hair. “But you’ll always be a baby in my eyes, Seungminnie.”

“All right, all right.” He laughs, pulling you into a side hug. “But would you do it? I know you’ve sacrificed a lot for me, it must have hurt to do so,” you go to interject but he stops you, “Please. Would you listen to your heart for once?”

It takes a week away from everyone to do just that. You return to Gangneung, you walk past the blue houses, you talk to the locals and play chess with the grandpas and drink tea with the kind women at the local market. You twirl barefoot by the waves until salt clings to your skin, you lay on the sand and trace constellations with your fingertips. You sit in stillness. And you listen, truly listen, to the silence between each of your breaths. And then slowly, the melody emerges. Faint at first, like a distant lullaby. Then clearer, insistent, unwavering—stuck on a single note.

Chan.

You’ve never quite known who you were. When personality quizzes asked how your friends would describe you, you hesitated. Funny? Sweet? Practical? What about nothing—an emptiness that expands to swallow you whole? You never knew what to say when interviewees asked about your strengths and weaknesses, the things you’d like to change in your being, the ones you’d like to keep. You felt like a water lily floating aimlessly atop the still water, untethered, with no roots to return to.

But you knew you were a coward when it came to your heart. That you craved love so violently you could cleave the earth open with your ache. You knew that your mind had convinced you that you were cursed, flawed, undeserving.

But for the first time, you allow yourself to simply feel human.

You sit by the waves once more, the endless sea stretching before you. The sun disps slowly beneath the horizon, the clouds are dusted pink. Are they blushing too, at the thought of what you are about to do?

You had asked Chan to meet you on the beach at Gangneung whenever he could free himself, and he did—without hesitation. Seungmin texted you that he left the mid-writing session and jumped into his car with no second thought. He seemed happy, he said. That made you happy too.

“You look different,” Chan observes, and you turn away from the sea. His eyes are kind and you don’t shy away from his gaze, for once.

“Different?” you echo.

“At peace.”

You nod, curling your knees to your chest, resting your cheek against them. He follows suit, his legs grazing yours now and then, grounding you in his presence.

“I’ve thought a lot about what it means to be human,” you murmur. “To soften my heart, to open doors I thought were long sealed. I don’t have all the answers. But I found something.”

“What is it?”

“I found you,” you confess, so softly like you are speaking of a prayer. His eyes widen but you press on. “I weighed in the pros and cons, of what I want, of what losing what I want would cost me. And yet, in all my most horrible twisted scenarios, where you’d leave me heartbroken and bleeding, it still feels worth it. It feels worth it if it means you’d love me for a while, and that I’d love you too.”

He gently tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear, the gesture tender, as all his touches are.

“A while? The only way for me to stop loving you is if my heart stops beating, Cherry.”

“So you still love me?” you ask, a bit shyly, too hopeful.

Chan blinks, then deadpans, “Are we sitting by the sea?”

You burst into laughter, the sound rolling out of you freely. As it fades, you see him—your beautiful Chan—the faint smile lines etching themselves around his lips, the kind warmth in his eyes, the remnants of dimples on his cheeks. He is so achingly beautiful it feels like an axe splitting your chest open. It feels like being born once more.

“I haven’t listened to my heart in so long,” you confess, brushing your thumb against his cheek, letting it trail softly over the corner of his mouth, a whisper against his lips. “But right now, it only wants one thing.”

“I’m yours,” he breathes, lips slightly parted.

There is no one around but the two of you and the sea. Who is there left to pretend for? The play is over. You bow to the sadness. You bow to the grief.

You take a deep breath. You dive into the water. You finally kiss Chan.

You knew that his lips would be as soft as silk, that pressing your mouth to his would be akin to breathing in oxygen for the first time, and yet, you did not imagine it to be this soul-shattering. You did not foresee the fireworks going off behind your eyelids, the bees and the bleeding heart doves singing in your chest, the garden buzzing in your stomach, telling you that you are alive, and that you are loved, at last, and that that is all that matters.

You did not imagine that he would taste like salvation, like honey and cherries and everything beautiful in between. You did not imagine that his tongue dancing along yours would feel like floating atop the sea, warm as sun, carnal like surrendering to your heart’s rawest desires.

You did not foresee that his warm palms would cradle your cheeks, that he would kiss you with the urgency of a starved man. That he would not tire of you, never ceasing, never faltering. That he would lay you on the sand and kiss you till night fell above you both, till your lips are both swollen, tender, and bleeding cherries.

“I love you,” you finally breathe, your heart throbbing all over your body, “I’m sorry it took me so long to see it.”

“Nonsense,” He smiles against your lips. “Even if you only loved my last dying breath, it would still be enough for me.”

—

“So, does this mean I can officially no longer flirt with you?” Han asks, eyes wide with mock horror. Seungmin flicks his forehead in response, and Chan tosses a napkin at him, an amused smile playing at his lips.

“Wait, pause, I can’t believe I lost to Chan,” Changbin pretends to weep, earning a laugh from the others.

“She’s mine,” Chan cocks his eyebrows at them, leaning back on his chair. “Go find yourselves your own partners.”

You are tucked away in a remote town of Japan, a hard-earned vacation after the turmoil you’ve went through the past months. You figured it was the best time to tell the boys that you are dating, only for wave of questions (and indignation, mostly) to immediately crash over you, followed by a group hug that lasted two full minutes, courtesy of Felix.

“Wait, but we liked you first!” Han protests once more, and Seungmin groans, his face contorting in annoyance that borders on anguish. “God, I thought I would be free of this torture.”

“I literally liked her before you guys even saw her,” Chan chimes in with a satisfied grin.

“So you’ve loved her for ten years now?” Hyunjin shouts, raising from his seat dramatically. “Wait this is so romantic.”

“I’m sorry, Jisungie, Binnie,” you tease as you press a lingering kiss to Chan’s cheek.

“Oh my god guys he’s BLUSHING!” Minho shouts, pointing excitedly at Chan. “This is too funny! Channie hyung is so flustered,” Jeongin laughs, whipping out his phone to capture the moment. “Wait, Innie pan over to Seungmin’s face!” Felix claps in pure delight, and you turn to see your brother sulking.

“What? I’m still not used to… this,” Seungmin grumbles, wiggling his fingers in front of you both in exaggerated disgust, but there’s a soft gleam in his eyes. He’s happy for you, only after threatening Chan five hundred times to treat you right, but he’s happy.

“Who wants ice cream?” Chan suddenly asks, not waiting for an answer before he grabs your hand and pulls you away.

“What was that?” you ask once you are out of the house.

“Nothing, I just wanted you all to myself for a bit,” he smiles bashfully, and you giggle, wrapping your arm around his waist. “You’re making it a habit to kidnap me,” you tease.

“Do you mind?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Good,” he grins, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “Also, it’s Changbin and Jisung for you,” he chastises, a big pout tugging at his lips.

“Does Mr. Bang feel jealous when I call them Binnie and Jisungie?”

“Yes, I am. Sue me, I worked day and night to be yours. Day and night and for ten years at that too,” he sighs dramatically and you tip your head back in laughter. Your giggles lull when you see it.

“Are we standing underneath…” you draw out.

“A cherry blossom,” Chan whispers, his gaze soft and full of warmth. His smile is so wide, so radiant, it feels like your soul is buzzing, melting underneath his light.

“This reminds me… Did you fall for me because I gave you a cherry lollipop?” you tease, wrapping your arms around the nape of his neck, his hands instinctively finding your waist.

“Yeah, you must have laced that lollipop with something,” he chuckles, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“What if I hadn’t given it to you? What if we hadn’t met at all?”

He softens, his palms cupping your cheeks gently. “I would’ve found you,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against yours. He can almost taste it, vanilla and bubblegum. “In the streets of Gangneung. As you swam in the sea. In one of your courtrooms… I would’ve found you, my Cherry, and I would’ve loved you just the same.”

What does it mean to soften your heart? What does it mean to open the doors of what you thought was long sealed? The answers didn’t come to you all at once, you found them serendipitously, as you rounded up corners of paths you never thought you’d walk in.

You learned that softness is the greatest act of courage. You learned that to tear down your defenses is the greatest act of rebellion. You learned that love is a patient being, that it is all encompassing, that it heals, but only if you allow it to, only if you let it make a home out of your ribcage.

You learned that being human, unapologetically so, in all of its sorrowful and joyous shades, is to forgive, first and most. To forgive the world, for being sharp at times, for being cruel. To forgive yourself, for depriving your soul of happiness, for doing what you had to do to survive the cold.

To forgive the rust, for walking by your side for a long time. To let cinnamon and pinewood and cherries invade your senses instead, settle upon your sheets and waft into your home. To let the fire within you simmer, to let the anger go, even if it had kept you warm for a while.

For you have the sun now.

You have Chan, and he has you too, at last.

[inkedinshadows]

Helloooo hope you’re doing well 💝💗

I was wondering if you can write for azriel ( from the prompt list) 2 and 4? I think it would be such a cute idea, and you would write it so well (love u)

thanks for ur time!! 💝💝

Life's Bright Side

Pairing: Azriel x f!reader

A/N: I love u too anon, I'm doing well and I hope you are too 🫶🏻 I had so much fun writing this one and it didn't even take me that long bc one thing about me is that I'm a sucker for slice of life 🤭

Prompts: "Baby, I love you, but please go to bed."* + "You're always so cheerful... it's kind of adorable."

Warnings: none, just fluff

Word count: 1.1k

*had to change it to "go to sleep", hope you don't mind <3

Azriel had never understood how you did it.

Your day had been a long one. He hated the Court of Nightmares, but more than that, he loathed seeing you in such a place. His bubbly, chirpy mate didn't belong among those cruel, scheming people.

Yet you never let the occasional visits bother you. While he returned from the Hewn City brooding and in a foul mood, you were the opposite.

He watched as you danced through the room, the dim light catching on the sparkly black dress you were still wearing. You were softly humming a melody to yourself, a simple tune you had picked up yesterday while strolling along the Sidra with him.

A small smile tugged at Azriel’s lips. Even without trying, you always managed to lift his spirits. His shadows were already swaying in time with your song.

He remained silent as he undressed, listening as your humming turned into quiet singing—whispered words he couldn't quite make out, but he was fairly sure you were making them up as you went.

When he looked back up after pulling on his sleeping clothes, your dress had been exchanged for a nightgown and you were perched at the vanity table to remove your makeup. One leg crossed over the other, your foot bounced in time with your tune.

“How do you do that?” he asked, unable to stop himself.

Your eyes met his in the mirror, a small smile forming as you wiped the cotton pad over one eye. “Do what?”

Azriel shrugged, stepping up behind you just as you stood. He wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his chin on the top of your head.

“You’re always so cheerful,” he murmured, meeting your gaze in the mirror again. His lips quirked. “It’s kind of adorable.”

You chuckled before turning in his arms. “Life's too short to be grumpy and pessimistic.” Pressing a kiss to his lips, you added, “You should try it sometimes, my love.”

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. He leaned down to stop your teasing with another kiss, but you slipped out of his grasp and padded toward the bathroom.

“Baby, you're immortal,” he pointed out, following you to lean against the doorframe while you washed your face. “How is life too short?”

“Well, it's not,” you conceded, turning off the faucet. Azriel waited patiently as you dried your face before you continued. “But maybe tomorrow a vase will fall from a balcony while I'm walking underneath it, hit me in the head, and kill me instantly.”

Azriel raised a brow.

“What?” you said with a smile. “You never know. Just because it's unlikely doesn't mean it's impossible.”

He shook his head, but he couldn't stop the slow smile forming on his face. “I'm beginning to think you're crazy. Not cheerful, just straight-up crazy.”

“And it took you this long to figure that out?” You grinned, patting his arm as you tried to slip past him.

Tried, because Azriel caught you before you could, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you flush against him. A sound that was both a laugh and a yelp escaped you as he lifted you without warning.

“Listen,” you tried to defend yourself, though it was hard to speak between fits of laughter. “All I'm saying is that everything has a bright side. We just have to look for it.”

Azriel carried you to the bed, his expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. Gently, he lowered you onto the mattress and leaned over you.

“Oh yeah?” he mused. “So what's the bright side of a vase falling on your head?”

You shoot him an incredulous look. “It made you laugh,” you said simply. “You picked me up and carried me to bed. And now you're on top of me. It’s my favorite position, I'll remind you.”

Azriel’s low chuckle skittered along your skin. “This is not your favorite position, my love.”

You grinned. “You know me so well.”

With a shake of his head, he shifted off you and lay beside you, pulling the blankets over you both as you reached to turn off the lights.

In the dark, you nestled close to him. Your back pressed against his chest, his arms wrapped snugly around you, and you reached down to intertwine your fingers with his. Your thumb traced slow, idle circles over the back of his hand.

“Did it work though?” you whispered into the quiet. “Did I get your mind off the Hewn City?”

Azriel breathed in the delicate scent of your shampoo as he brushed a kiss to your shoulder. “You did. Thank you, my love.”

“I could always give you something else to think about if you need it,” you suggested.

He didn't, actually. But something in your tone—the slight note of amusement, perhaps—made him question what you were up to.

“Is it going to be another one of your ridiculous questions?”

He could picture your smile as you replied, “Maybe. Do you want to hear it?”

Azriel took a deep breath, knowing he would regret it but still curious to find out what you'd come up with this time. “Let's hear it.”

You didn't answer right away. He felt you squirm slightly in his arms and realized you were trying to stifle your giggles. When you finally settled enough to speak, your voice was so pensive that Azriel braced himself.

“If you wake up tomorrow,” you began, “and find out I've been turned into a giant spider, what would you do?”

Azriel sighed. This was his fault, after all. He had encouraged you.

“That's even worse than the last one,” he muttered.

“You said I would make a lovely worm.” You hummed. “But what about a huge spider? Or wait, even better, a Middengard Wyrm?”

His arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer. “Baby, I love you, but please go to sleep,” he murmured, though his lips betrayed him with a faint smile.

Your soft laugh echoed in the silence. “Alright, alright,” you conceded. Azriel thought that was it, until you added, “The question is trickier and you need to think about it. I get it. You can tell me the answer in the morning.”

Azriel rolled his eyes, but his smile was now impossible to hide. You felt it against your skin as he kissed the nape of your neck.

If entertaining your nonsense questions before falling asleep was the price he had to pay to be with you, then he'd gladly endure them again and again just to spend another night by your side.

It was just like you'd said. Everything had a bright side if only he looked for it.

Taglist: @mrsjna @navyblue-eternity @paintedbyshadows @highladyandromeda @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @azrielsmate3 @mollygetssherlockcoffee @mirandasidefics @tinystarfishgalaxy @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @anarchiii @readinggeeklmao @anneas11 @azrielslittleslut @lilah-asteria @aaahhh127 @lorosette @azrielsrealmate @pey2618 @mellowmusings @k8r123-blog @daughterofthemoons-stuff @minnieoo @saltedcoffeescotch @georgiadixon

1k taglist: @onebadassunicorn @thegoddessofnothingness

[starsjulia]

16 going on 28 // leah williamson

a/n : so sorry about my month long hiatus, but i am back!!! and i’ve got you guys some leah x gobby!reader but reader is now carrying leah’s baby! pls let me know if you’d like a part two because i deeply enjoyed writing this one.

warnings : suggestive, pregnancy, reader being a shitbag, and this is so cute i almost cried beavyse i am so single

“We’ve got a problem,” you announce gravely.

Leah groans, face buried back into the pillow. “If this is about the toast being too crispy again—”

“It’s burnt, Leah. There’s a difference.”

Leah peeks at you, a smirk creeping across her face. “You literally asked for it ‘extra golden.’”

“That’s not the same as setting it on fire, is it?” You huff, waddling dramatically back towards the kitchen, belly leading the way. “Honestly, it’s like living with a pyromaniac.”

Leah finally drags herself out of bed, following the trail of muttered complaints. She wraps her arms around you from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder.

“Morning, love,” she whispers, pressing a soft kiss to your neck.

You try to maintain the façade of being very cross, but your face betrays you, lips twitching.

“Don’t think you can seduce me out of my rage, Williamson.”

“Oh, I definitely can,” she murmurs, kissing the spot behind your ear—the spot she knows drives you mad.

You shiver despite yourself, turning in her arms. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re obsessed with me.”

“God, it’s embarrassing how right you are.”

After training, the team lounges around, trying to relax. You waddle into the room, plopping down next to Leah with an exaggerated sigh.

“Leah,” you announce dramatically, “your child is ruining my life.”

Leah doesn’t even look up from her phone. “You mean our child.”

“No, because my child would’ve had better manners.” You rub your belly with mock disapproval. “This one’s clearly yours—rude as hell, keeping me up all night.”

The team snickers, already used to your daily monologues of suffering.

Beth pipes up, grinning, “Didn’t you literally say yesterday that you ‘loved being pregnant’?”

“That was before I sneezed and peed a little, Beth.”

The room erupts into laughter. Leah finally looks up, shaking her head with a fond smile. She reaches over, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re beautiful when you’re ranting.”

You squint at her. “I’m beautiful all the time, but thanks for noticing.”

Leah leans in, her voice low. “Especially when you’re moaning.”

The room goes silent.

“OH MY GOD,” Viv groans, covering her face with her hands. “Can’t we have one conversation without you two flirting like teenagers?”

“No,” you and Leah respond in unison, both grinning like idiots.

You’re both in Tesco, which was Leah’s first mistake because pregnancy has turned you into an unfiltered, walking hazard.

“I want crisps,” you declare, standing in front of the snack aisle.

Leah, already holding three bags, sighs. “Babe, you’ve got enough crisps to feed the whole team.”

“Well, the team isn’t carrying a small human and emotional trauma, are they?” You grab another bag, tossing it dramatically into the cart. “These are for survival.”

Leah snickers, steering the cart like she’s driving a getaway car.

At checkout, the cashier glances at your growing belly. “Aw, when are you due?”

Before Leah can answer, you deadpan, “Oh, I’m not pregnant. I just like snacks.”

Leah chokes on her own spit, trying to stifle her laughter while the poor cashier looks like she’s about to evaporate from awkwardness.

Outside, Leah doubles over, tears in her eyes. “You’re evil.”

You grin, proud. “I keep you entertained.”

She pulls you in for a quick kiss, her laughter fading into something softer. “I keep you loved.”

Your heart squeezes, but you cover it with a grin. “Yeah, yeah. Now carry the bags, I’m fragile.”

Later that evening, you’re sprawled on the couch, Leah sitting between your legs, massaging your swollen feet.

“You know,” she murmurs, fingers kneading gently, “pregnancy suits you.”

You snort. “Yeah? I’m sweaty, swollen, and have heartburn from drinking water, Leah.”

She leans back, her eyes dark with something warmer, deeper. “Still the fittest person I’ve ever seen.”

You arch a brow, biting your lip. “You’re only saying that ‘cause I’m growing your child.”

Leah shifts, her hand sliding up your leg, just enough to make your breath hitch. “Nah. I fancied you even when you were just a gobshite with an attitude problem.”

You grin, pulling her closer until your faces are inches apart. “Well, lucky for you, I’ve still got the attitude.”

She kisses you softly at first, then deeper, her hands cradling your face like you’re the most precious thing in the world.

When you finally pull back, breathless and grinning, you whisper, “Still whipped, huh?”

Leah presses her forehead against yours, her smile soft and full of love. “More than ever.”

later, kettle whistles in the background, but you’re too busy glaring at Leah to care. She’s leaning against the kitchen counter with that smug grin—the one that says she thinks she’s hilarious—while you sit on the couch, belly protruding like a smug reminder of your current, swollen state.

“I swear to God, Leah,” you huff, struggling to adjust the blanket around you, “if you make one more joke about me ‘waddling,’ I’m throwing your protein powder in the bin.”

Leah snorts, unapologetically stirring her tea. “You do realise you’ve married an athlete? Go ahead baby, i’ll get another fifty packs shipped to our door tomorrow.”

You narrow your eyes, lips twitching despite yourself. “Don’t test me. I’m hormonal, hungry, and hot. Triple H—but not the sexy wrestler kind.”

Leah bursts out laughing, nearly spilling her tea. “Triple H? You’re such an idiot.”

“Oh, I’m the idiot? Says the woman who wore her very new very expensive white trainers, which i did tell you was a bad idea, in the rain last week and then acted shocked when they got dirty.”

She walks over, still grinning, and plops down beside you. “At least I can still see my feet.”

You gasp, mock-offended. “I’m growing a human, Williamson. What’s your excuse for that forehead?”

Leah nearly chokes on her tea, coughing and laughing simultaneously. “You’re so mean,” she wheezes, eyes crinkling with affection.

You roll your eyes but lean into her anyway. “Yeah, well, you love it.”

She presses a kiss to your temple, her hand instinctively resting on your belly. “I really do.”

The team is gathered in the lounge of a hotel post match, and you’ve made the grave mistake of standing up too quickly.

“Ugh,” you groan dramatically, gripping your back. “I feel like I’ve aged 40 years in nine months.”

Beth smirks from across the room. “You sound like it too.”

You flip her off without missing a beat. “Didn’t ask for commentary, Bethany.”

The girls burst into laughter. Leah watches, amused, shaking her head.

“I don’t know how you survive,” Beth says to Leah, chuckling.

Leah shrugs, biting back a grin. ”it’s character-building.”

You glare at her. “Character-building? Please. You’re lucky to have me.”

Leah saunters over, wraps an arm around your shoulders, and kisses your cheek. “Yeah, I am.”

The team groans in unison. “Get a room!”

You stick your tongue out like a child. “Jealousy’s a disease. Get well soon.”

Leah wakes up to you standing over her with a look of pure desperation.

“I need ice cream,” you whisper like it’s a life-or-death situation.

Leah squints at the clock. “It’s 3 AM.”

“And the ice cream won’t buy itself.”

Fifteen minutes later, she’s standing in the kitchen, hair a mess, wearing mismatched socks, scooping ice cream into a bowl.

She hands it to you with a tired smile. “Happy?”

You take a bite, sigh dramatically, then look at her with faux seriousness. “You’re lucky you’re fit.”

Leah laughs, leans down, and kisses you softly. “Yeah. And you’re lucky I’m whipped.”

[tea-writes19]

brother-in-law | b.b.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!parker!reader

summary: your brother peter tries to find you a boyfriend by posting an ad on instagram

warnings: swearing, fluff, suggestive content

a/n: my first smau + fic!!!! based on this fic by the lovely @pomegranatesarchive. fr it’s one of my fav smau’s and I don’t even follow f1😭

liked by mjjones, nedleeds, and others

peterparker: are you a young hot single in nyc? well meet y/n parker, my VERY single sister!! she enjoys cheap pizza, true crime, and long walks through central park! if you’re interested please comment down below…serious inquiries only!

view comments below

yourusername: peter wtf is this?!?

peterparker: I WANT A BROTHER! is that too much to ask for???

yourusername: NO!! JUST NO!! @/mayparker aunt may please take his phone!!

mayparker: sorry sweetie, but pete’s right. you’ve been really lonely and sad looking recently

yourusername: so the solution is to pimp me out?!?

peterparker: i will not be stopped

user1: i’m interested?

peterparker: no, too ugly

yourusername: PETER PLEASE

peterparker: i need them to at least look good in pics

mjjones: pete, y/n is going to kill you

yourusername: the bitch is hiding behind stark😡

peterparker: @/ me next time🤺

tonystark: please don’t drag me into this

user2: not bro literally selling his sister😭😭

user3: this is hilarious!

nedleeds: can you do this for me next?

peterparker: no you talk to people

user4: i’m interested!

peterparker: nah

yourusername: what’s the point if you’re just going to reject everyone?

peterparker: shhhh…let me work

yourusername: 🙄🙄

steverogers: what is happening?

peterparker: mr. america sir! are you interested?? y/n loves history! you’d be my first choice too!!

steverogers: uh no thanks…i’m too busy right now to think about dating

yourusername: not me getting rejected by CAPTAIN AMERICA in front of the world😭

user5: rip

user6: dude don’t you work with literal superheroes? ask them

user7: aren’t half of them married and in committed relationships?

user6: yeah but that still leaves the rest

user8: hey so this is insane!

user9: it’s kinda cute how much he cares about his sister

user9: weird too, but cute

peterparker: @/samwilson @/buckybarnes @/steverogers @/natasharomanoff @/joaquintorres @/mariahill @/wandamaximoff who’s interested?

mariahill: no thanks

samwilson: i’m good

steverogers: i already said no…

wandamaximoff: i’m dating vision so no

natasharomanoff: parker this is weird

joaquintorres: no thanks

yourusername: kill me now

user10: this was rough to read

user11: #savey/n from this torture

peterparker: okay, fine, i don’t care

tonystark: he cares

peterparker: on a completely different note @/buckybarnes i need help with a history essay. can you come over tomorrow?

buckybarnes: 👍

buckybarnes added to their story—>

[captain: what the fuck is a oligodendrocyte?]

story replies

steverogers: peter set you up didn’t he?

buckybarnes: he pulled the history essay thing

user12: omg is that y/n???

user13: peter’s post worked!?!

samwilson: man that kid got you good

liked by peterparker, buckybarnes, mjjones and others

yourusername: photo dump bc i graduate in a week!!!

view comments below

peterparker: no me?

yourusername: you lost post privileges after that stunt you pulled

peterparker: BUT IT WORKED OUT DIDN’T IT?!

user14: 👀👀👀

user15: who’s hand is that y/n!?!

user16: IS THAT ALPINE???

buckybarnes: the only person who can get alpine to cuddle

yourusername: i’m just chill like that😌

user17: HELLOOOO????

user18: fr like wdym peter was successful??

yourusername added to their story—>

[caption: 💐🤭]

story replies

user17: omg omg omg

user18: AHHHHHHHH

mjjones: peter is fangirling

liked by buckybarnes, mayparker, pepperpotts and others

yourusername: i graduated college!!!

view comments below

buckybarnes: congrats doll <3

yourusername: love you🫶🏻🫶🏻

user19: DOLL!?!?

user20: EVERYBODY STAY CALM IT’S HAPPENING

mayparker: so proud of you y/n!!!

yourusername: couldn’t have done it without you!!!

pepperpotts: congratulations y/n!

yourusername: thank you!!

user21: omg congrats!

user22: i feel like a proud parent rn🥹

peterparker: my favorite college grad

yourusername: bootlicker😐

peterparker: i take it back

peterparker: you’re the worst🖕

yourusername: love you too petey

tonystark: congrats kid

yourusername: thanks…now give me a job

tonystark: get better taste in men first

buckybarnes: that’s fair

steverogers: BUCKY

© tea-writes19 do not repost, translate, or copy

thank you for reading <3

[thewulf]

When the Laughter Stops || Jake "Hangman" Seresin

Summary: Request - I was wondering if you could do one with Jake Seresin where him and the reader are co workers (but they liked each other a lot and are idiots) and she flirts with him a lot, like constantly and he mostly just laughs it off but flirt back sometimes, but she suddenly stops one day and is very quiet and he's worried... Read Rest Here

A/N: Gosh I just love Jake. I really hope they make another TG movie with our boy in it <3 Thank you for the request @stuffingbuttsandshit

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Female Reader

Word Count: 3.3k+

T/W : Violation (Not Jake), Talk of Weapons, Talk of break in

Mornings at North Island always started the same way.

Your headset was already on, comms running smooth as you relayed flight data to Mav and the rest of the squadron. You had everything under control because that’s what you did. You were the best at what you did. And you knew it. You didn’t spend years at the Academy and across the country to be mediocre at your job. You were good and you knew it.

Jake Seresin knew it too.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” came the familiar, honey-dipped drawl over your shoulder before he even stepped into the control room. You grinned into your headset. He was right on schedule as always.

You didn’t turn around immediately instead letting the anticipation hang for a second longer before glancing over your shoulder. He was leaning against your desk, arms crossed over his chest, watching you with that insufferably handsome smirk that was as much a part of him as his damn callsign.

“Hangman,” you greeted, flashing him an easy smile. “Looking as sharp as ever. It must really be exhausting carrying around that much charm all the time.”

His smirk deepened as he took you in. “It is, actually darlin’. But I manage.”

You made a show of giving him a once-over. That green flight suit zipped halfway, dog tags resting against the fabric of his undershirt and that confidence oozing from every pore. Annoyingly attractive, you noted. Not that you’d ever admit it out loud. But damn, the man was hot as hell.

“Good thing I’m here to keep you humble,” you teased while tapping your earpiece as the radio crackled.

Jake leaned in slightly, just enough that you caught the faint scent of his aftershave. The scent curled through the air: rich sandalwood, and cedar laced with smoky vetiver and that deep warmth of amber and musk. Dark, refined, and impossible to forget. Just like man who wore it. And who was currently staring a hole in the side of your head.

 “Oh, sweetheart, you don’t wanna do that. What would you flirt with if I wasn’t around?” He gave you a devious smirk as his eyes traced your face.

You arched a brow, lips curling. “Oh, I’d manage.”

He let out a low chuckle, shaking his head like you were something impossible. “Damn shame sweetheart.” This was the rhythm. The effortless push and pull. The game neither of you called by name but both played with unmatched skill.

“Seresin, you done harassing my officer?” Maverick’s voice cut in from across the room with nothing but amusement lacing in his tone.

Jake straightened slightly but didn’t look away from you. “Just making sure my sweetheart starts her day right, Mav.”

You shot Mav an eyeroll before turning back to Jake. “Aw, how sweet of you Jake.” You cooed at him.

Jake hummed, tilting his head. “Sweet’s not usually what they call me, darlin’.”

The way he said it, low and teasing, sent a thrill up your spine. But you didn’t let it show. Instead, you reached for the mission brief on your desk, casually brushing your fingers against his arm as you passed it to him.

“Guess I’m just special then,” you said with an easy grin.

His eyes flickered with something. Something unreadable. Something dangerous. But the moment passed as quickly as it had come.

“Guess you are,” he murmured. His voice softer this time.

And just like that, he was gone, heading out to brief with the others, leaving behind the faintest trace of his presence. You exhaled, shaking your head to yourself. Yeah. This was the rhythm. At least, it had been. Until everything changed.

Until last night.

Until you woke up to the sound of your front door creaking open.

Until you reached for the bedside drawer, heart pounding, breath shallow, fingers closing around the cold metal of the weapon you kept there. The weapon you dreaded ever having to use.

Until you saw him. A dark figure standing at the foot of your bed, a knife glinting faintly in the sliver of moonlight filtering through your curtains.

Your body had moved on instinct, years of training kicking in before fear could fully take hold. The moment you pointed your weapon at him, he hesitated just long enough for you to move. You sprang from the bed, voice sharp and unyielding, ordering him to back off. And then just as quickly as he had come he was gone. Like a wraith in the night.

The cops arrived minutes later but it didn’t matter. He was already long gone, leaving behind nothing but an overturned chair, a shattered sense of security, and the lingering imprint of fear in your bones.

You barely slept after that, sitting with your back to the wall, weapon still gripped tightly in your hands until the sun started to rise.

And now you were here, at work, trying to pretend like nothing had changed. But Jake knew you too well. So, when he walked into the control room, expecting your usual teasing grin, expecting the flirtation that had become second nature between you. He immediately noticed the difference. You were at your desk, headset on, posture stiff, eyes trained on the monitors like they held the secrets of the universe. No smirk, no playful roll of your eyes when he approached. No wink. No greeting.

And that was the first sign that something was very, very wrong.

Jake frowned, slowing his stride. He leaned against your desk, arms crossing over his chest in the same lazy way he always did, waiting for you to acknowledge him. Nothing.

He tilted his head. “Morning, sweetheart,” he drawled, watching for a reaction.

Your fingers stilled on the keyboard, just for a second, but then you resumed typing like you hadn’t heard him. His frown deepened. Okay. Maybe you were just busy. Maybe Mav had you swamped with flight schedules or logistics nightmares. Maybe.

But then he really looked at you.

Your usual fire, the effortless confidence that made your job look easy was gone. In its place was something tight, something controlled. He followed the subtle tension in your shoulders. The way your jaw stayed clenched even as you kept working. Something wasoff.

“You sick or somethin’?” Jake asked, lowering his voice, trying to meet your gaze.

You finally looked at him but the second your eyes met his you blinked quickly and dropped them again. “I’m fine,” you said too flatly. Too rehearsed. With no emotion in the usual boisterous voice of yours.

Jake’s stomach twisted. Bullshit. You weren’t fine. He knew fine, and this wasn’t it. But what he didn’t know was why. For the first time since meeting you, Jake felt the shift. The invisible wall you’d put up overnight, cutting him out without warning. And he hatedit. Where there should’ve been fire, there was only silence.

Jake tried to ignore it at first. Maybe you were just having an off day. Maybe you were tired. Maybe whatever had drained the light from your eyes would pass on its own.

But as the day dragged on, he knew that wasn’t the case. You barely spoke, sticking to clipped, professional responses when you had to interact with him or anyone else. You kept your head down, shoulders drawn in. It was so unlike you. It made his skin itch.

Then, when someone brushed past you in the hallway. Just a casual, harmless pass. You flinched. It was small, barely noticeable, but Jake saw it. And that was all it took. His blood ran cold. He knew that reaction. Had seen it before. And it sent every instinct he had into overdrive.

The rest of the day, he didn’t leave you alone. Not in a way that would spook you, but he made sure he was always nearby, always watching. You barely acknowledged him and that was the final crack in his patience. By the time your shift ended, he was donewaiting.

You had just stepped outside the hangar when he caught up to you. He moved fast enough that you had no choice but to stop. "Sweetheart," he said. And this time his voice wasn’t teasing, wasn’t lazy or smug. It was quiet. Steady. Serious.

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. “Jake, I—”

“Something’s wrong,” he cut in. His green eyes searching your face. “And I need you to tell me what it is.”

Your breath faltered. You didn’t answer right away but the way your gaze darted away. The way your lips pressed together like you were afraid to speak made his stomach twist. He softened, stepping closer, his voice dropping even lower. “Hey. It’s me, alright? Just me. You can tell me.”

You swallowed hard. And then finally your walls started to crack. “I—” You exhaled shakily, like forcing the words out might break you. “Someone broke into my house last night.”

Jake went still.

Your voice was barely above a whisper as you continued. “I woke up and he was just there. He had a knife… I think he would have tried to grab me. But I fought back, I scared him off but…” You sucked in a breath. Shaking your head unbelieving that this had even happened to you. “He ran before the cops got there. They haven’t found him. They won’t find him most likely.”

Jake’s fists clenched. His entire body went rigid. His jaw locking so hard it ached. Jesus Christ. The thought of you alone, terrified, fighting off some bastard in the middle of the night made his vision go red. He wanted to break something. No, he wanted to findthe bastard who did this. But right now, none of that mattered. Right now, you mattered.

Carefully he reached for you. His fingers grazing your wrist before he slid his hand fully over yours. His grip was firm, grounding. Warm.

“Jesus, darlin’,” he murmured. His voice tight, lethal with restrained fury but when he looked at you again all he let you see was the concern. The unwavering steadiness. “You’re safe now, okay? I promise you, you’re safe.” And for the first time all day, your body eased just a little. Just enough.

You weren’t sure who moved first. One second, you were standing there, raw and exposed with your confession hanging in the air between you. The next, Jake’s arms were around you, solid and steady, pulling you against his chest. And you let him. The moment his warmth surrounded you, the breath you had been holding all day broke free in a shaky exhale. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his flight suit, gripping tight, grounding yourself in him. Breathing in the woody scent that always seemed to coat him.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just held you. And God, you hadn’t realized how much you needed it until now. “I’ve got you,” he murmured. His voice a low, steady rumble against your ear. “You’re safe. No one’s scaring you again, I swear it.” You knew his words weren’t empty promises, weren’t meaningless reassurances. They were a vow.

Jake pulled back just enough to look at you, one hand lifting to cup the side of your face. His thumb brushing lightly along your cheek. “You’re not staying at your place alone tonight.” He said with such conviction.

You blinked up at him. “Jake—”

“Not a chance, sweetheart.” The smirk was there, but softer, missing its usual cocky edge. He tilted his head. “You really think I’m gonna walk away after what you just told me? Not a chance darlin’.” Your resolve wavered. You should tell him you’ll be fine. That you don’t need him hovering. But the idea of being alone in that house, of walking through those doors and feeling that fear claw at you again…

You swallowed hard and nodded. “I have a guest room,” you murmured. “You can take the guest room.”

Jake’s smirk deepened. “Whatever you say, darlin’. I’ll sleep on the porch if you want.” You smiled softly. Jake had a way of doing that for you. Charming bastard he was.

Jake didn’t waste a second when he got to your home. The second you stepped inside he was already moving. He checked the locks, testing the windows, making sure every single point of entry was secure. You stood off to the side watching as he knelt by your front door, brows furrowed in concentration as he worked to reinforce the deadbolt.

“You know,” you said while crossing your arms, “I could’ve called a locksmith for that.”

He glanced up, flashing you that signature Jake Seresin smirk. “Yeah, but then I wouldn’t get to prove to you that I’m useful outside the cockpit.” You rolled your eyes but for the first time all day there was the tiniest tug of amusement behind it. And Jake saw it. Reveled in it.

After he was satisfied that your place was Fort Knox-level secure, he finally let you settle. The tension still lingered, though thin, stretched tight under your skin. He noticed it in the way your shoulders stayed rigid. In the way your fingers curled slightly like you were bracing yourself for something.

So, he did the only thing he knew how to do.

He made you laugh.

You weren’t sure when the tension finally started to ease but at some point you found yourself curled up on the couch half-listening as Jake recounted some absurd training exercise where Phoenix had absolutely wrecked him in a dogfight.

“—I swear to God, I had her, I had her, and then at the last second, she pulls this insane move out of nowhere. Next thing I know, she’s behind me, cackling like a damn supervillain and I’m dead in the water.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “I bet she lovedthat.”

“Oh, she hasn’t shut up about it since,” Jake admitted, shaking his head in exasperation. “I’ll never live it down. Worst part is, Mav saw the whole thing. Didn’t even bother hiding the smug look.”

You let out a small laugh and Jake stilled. It was quiet, barely there, but it was real. His smirk softened, something shifting behind his eyes. For the first time ever, he really looked at you. Not just as the woman who sparred with him, who kept up with his banter, who never let him get the last word. But as you. The woman who had been terrified last night. The woman who had been shakentoday. The woman he never wanted to see rattled like that again.

You felt the shift too because your smile faded slightly. Your gaze flickering over his face like you were searching for something. Your voice was quiet when you spoke. “Thanks, Jake.”

His throat bobbed. The muscles in his jaw flexing like he was holding something back. He should’ve said something. Should’ve teased. Should’ve smirked and drawn out the moment. Should’ve eased you back into the comfort of your usual game. But he didn’t. Because this wasn’t the game anymore.

His hand lifted before he could stop himself. His fingers brushing along the side of your face. His thumb grazing your cheek so lightly, so gently, like he was afraid you might disappear if he wasn’t careful.

Your breath caught but you didn’t move away. Didn’t say a word. Couldn’t say a word. And then your eyes flicked down to his mouth just for a second, but long enough. Long enough for him to see it. To feelit.

His pulse kicked hard against his ribs, a slow, building pressure coiling in his chest, in his gut. Jesus. You wanted this. You wanted him. Just as much as he wanted you.

Something cracked wide open between you in that moment. Something unspoken but undeniable. Something that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long it was a wonder it hadn’t boiled over sooner.

Jake’s breath was warm against your skin as he leaned in, his nose barely brushing yours. Giving you the chance to back away if you wanted. He could feel the way you inhaled sharply. The way your fingers curled slightly into the fabric of your hoodie like you were holding yourself back.

His thumb traced the edge of your jaw. His voice dropping to something barely above a whisper. “Don’t thank me, darlin’.”

And without thinking, without second-guessing, without giving either of you a chance to step back. He kissed you. It was slow, like he had all the time in the world to memorize the way your lips felt against his. It was lingering, like he wasn’t sure if this was the first or the last time he’d get to do this. It wasn’t playful. Wasn’t teasing. It was real.

When he pulled back, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward, wasn’t tense. It was heavy with something unspoken. With something waiting to be acknowledged. But instead of speaking Jake just gave you one last lingering look before pressing a softer barely-there kiss to your forehead. A silent promise. A quiet reassurance.

“Get some sleep sweetheart,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

The scent of fresh coffee pulled you from sleep. For a moment, you lay there, disoriented, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through your curtains. Your brain slowly caught up. You hadn’t made coffee. And there was only one other person in your house who would.

Jake.

You pushed back the covers and padded toward the kitchen. The wood floor cool against your bare feet. And there he was.

Jake Seresin stood at your stove pouring coffee into two mugs like he’d done it a hundred times before. His flight suit jacket was still draped over a chair, but he’d changed into the sweatpants you’d tossed at him last night. The fabric hanging low on his hips in a way that was far too distracting this early in the morning. His hair was still messy, slightly sleep-ruffled, and for some reason that made your stomach do something ridiculous.

He looked comfortable here. In your space. Like he belonged. And you liked it. Liked the way it looked. Liked the way he looked. God help you.

At the sound of your footsteps he turned, flashing you a grin. “Mornin’, sweetheart.” He held out a mug. “Figured you might need this.”

You crossed your arms but took it anyway, inhaling deeply before your first sip. Perfect. Of course, he makes perfect coffee, too. “Didn’t take you for a domestic type, Seresin,” you muttered, lifting an eyebrow. Trying your best to look annoyed but you were anything but that.

Jake smirked while leaning a hip against the counter. “You saying you expected me to sneak out before sunrise?”

You hummed, taking another sip. “Wouldn’t have been the first time a Navy pilot bailed on me.”

His smirk faltered just slightly. Just enough to make your lips twitch. “Not my style, sweetheart,” he said, shaking his head. Then after a beat he nudged your elbow. “You slept okay?”

The teasing had softened and the warmth in his voice caught you off guard. You hesitated, fingers curling around your mug, but the truth easily came this time.

“Yeah,” you admitted. “I did. I slept more than okay.” Because knowing he was just a room over made it easy to relax. Jake studied you for a second. His green eyes sharp, thoughtful, like he was making sure you meant it.

Satisfied, he clinked his mug against yours, smirk returning full force. “Good. ‘Cause I make a damn good bodyguard. But I make an even better breakfast. What’s it gonna be, sweetheart? Eggs or pancakes?”

You blinked. “You’re making breakfast too?”

Jake gave you a slow, lazy grin. “Oh, darlin’, you think I’m lettin’ you start your day without a full meal andmy charming company? Hate to break it to you, but you’re really bad at getting rid of me.”

You scoffed while shaking your head. “Unbelievable.”

“Charming,” he corrected, winking.

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips was impossible to fight, “Pancakes. I like my breakfasts sweet.”

He gave you that devilish grin, “Noted darlin’.”

And just like that. That something between you and Jake Seresin shifted. For good.

Jake Seresin/Top Gun: Permanent Taglist (If you'd like to be added to any or all works please fill out the form here: Taglist Sign Up) @loving-and-dreaming @kmc1989 @memeorydotcom @matisse556 @buckylov3r @taygrls @ah-blossom @mamachasesmayhem @hardballoonlove @rosiahills22 @djs8891 @illisea @jessicab1991 @guacam011y @dempy @mrsevans90 @il0vebeingdelulu @hiireadstuff @missxmav @kajjaka @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ryswritingrecord @lostinwonderland314 @xxrougefangxx @greantii @tallrock35 @hyunjinvoid @ahoeforfandomsblog

[morganaawriterr]

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ Chapter 03;

— Your Sweet Love

Synosis: In a marriage born out of convenience and plagued by bitterness, You and Sunghoon find yourselves trapped in a cycle of cold indifference and unspoken resentment. Your quiet strength and tender care begin to reach the heart Sunghoon has so carefully guarded. Slowly, walls built from years of hurt and mistrust start to crumble, revealing a shared loneliness neither had acknowledged. With every tentative step toward connection, your hearts yearn for a closeness you’ve long denied yourself selves, leaving both to wonder if you can build something real from the ashes of your forced bond.

Navigation: Intro - 01 - 02 - 03 - 04 - 05 Pairing: fem!reader X husband!Park Sunghoon Genre: Arranged Marriage trope; Angst; Fluff; Sexual themes; Warnings: cursing, mention of pills (some are drugs); abuse; mentions of blood; sexual content; injuries; heavy themes; juicy tension ;) Music: Listen to 'nevertheless ost' and 'the trunk ost'!! Disclaimer: This story is fiction, and it does not reflect real life in any way. This story is heavily inspired by the kdrama 'The Trunk' on Netflix but with a special twist! Words: 8k - New Chapter Every Saturday!!

A/n: This chapter was hard to write for some unknown reason, but it's literally my favorite!!! It's longer than usual, so enjoy! Also, I want to warn you: this chapter talks about domestic violence and has heavy themes, so be careful. Thank you for all the love and support. It means everything to me <3

The days after your injury seemed to pass tediously slowly. With your wounded right hand, you couldn’t do the usual chores that kept you busy during the day, leaving you stuck in bed or on the sofa. Watching TV and casually scrolling on your phone were all you could manage for the whole week. To you, it felt like you were a helpless princess trapped in a tower, unable to leave or do anything to distract your mind.

Today is Saturday, and it’s the most energetic and busy you’ve been all week. Since it’s the weekend, Sunghoon is at home with you, keeping you company and keeping an eye on you. The morning passed faster than it should have as you tried to help your husband with a quick cleaning of the house. Following your instructions, Sunghoon vacuumed the three bedrooms while you slowly wiped the dust off the surfaces. It was a simple task, but it was all you could do with just one hand. After that, he continued cleaning the kitchen while you busied yourself with the living room.

Once all the cleaning was done, you could feel how wet and sticky with sweat your body was, so you decided to take a quick bath to freshen up. You informed your husband of your plan, and he nodded, making a mental note to shower right after you. The sun outside was bright, casting its warm light through the large windows, bringing a sense of comfort with it. A soft breeze brushed against your skin as you walked to the main bathroom, the open windows refreshing the air.

As you stepped inside the bathroom, Sunghoon decided to lounge in the living room, planning to catch up on the series he had been watching. He threw himself onto the long sofa, yawning from exhaustion as he sank into the comfy pillows beneath him. Though he was focused on the TV, he kept an ear out for you, just in case you called.

In the large bathroom, completely illuminated by the bright sun outside, you began slowly stripping off your clothes. The warmth of the sunlight on your skin made you feel safe. As your clothes piled on the floor, your eyes scanned the tiled room, searching for the plastic glove you had been using on your right hand to help you wash without wetting your injured palm. You spotted it resting near the gold faucet. Carefully, you slid the stiff plastic material onto your hand and secured it around your wrist with a scrunchie, making sure it was tight before stepping into the tub. The bathtub was filling up as you moved, the fog from the hot water clouding the space.

Soon, you're sitting comfortably in the bathtub, the superheated water reaching just below your chest, making goosebumps form on your skin. Your arms dip beneath the surface as you let your head rest against the tub, savoring the quiet moment. After a few minutes of resting, you reach for your vanilla body wash and slowly begin washing yourself, keeping your injured hand in the air to protect it. The atmosphere is peaceful, the warmth of the sun, the water, and the familiar sweet scent relaxing you even further.

When you finish washing your body, you close your eyes and mentally prepare yourself to wash your hair. It’s always a struggle. Because it’s long, it requires a few extra steps to get it back to its natural state, and with only one hand to work with, it’s even harder. You gradually reach for your shampoo, causing little waves to ripple around you, and pour a bit onto the head massager you bought a few days ago to make the process easier.

You’re doing an okay job brushing your scalp when, suddenly, the tool slips from your hand and slides across the tiled floor with a loud thump. You bite your lip and quietly curse at yourself, barely believing what just happened. Your mind races for solutions. Two ideas cross your mind: you can stand up, walk over to retrieve it, and then get back into the water… or you can call Sunghoon for help.

Smiling at the second thought, you shake your head. There’s no way you’re calling him to assist you. Still, your heart starts to speed up at the thought of it—his handsome face peeking in as he hands you the massager, his usual confidence faltering at the sight of your bare skin. Your mind wanders even further, imagining how Sunghoon’s slender fingers could probably do a better job of washing your hair than that stupid tool, reaching all the spots you can’t quite get to.

Knowing that is definitely not happening, you reconsider the first option. You’d probably make a mess on the floor, leaving a large puddle of water as you walked. And worse, you could slip and fall—the tiles get dangerously slippery when wet. You close your eyes again, pressing your lips into a thin line, hating that, for your own good, you have no choice but to call for Sunghoon.

The truth is, you’re afraid of the growing proximity between you and Sunghoon. You’ve become dependent on his "good morning" every day to set the tone for your day. And lately, there’s been a tension between you—subtle but undeniable. Every time you’re close to him, you can feel it, like electricity traveling from his eyes to yours, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Sunghoon has been incredibly attentive and helpful ever since you cut yourself. He’s always around—preparing your meals, helping you grab heavier things, even something as simple as your coffee cup. You’ve started to notice how his touch lingers sometimes. When he holds your hand to help you put on your shoes, his fingers intertwine with yours for just a second too long. His other hand rests faintly on your hip to steady you, a barely-there presence that still sends your thoughts spiraling. With all these thoughts running through your mind, you make a decision.

“Sunghoon!” you call out, hoping he can hear you despite the distance.

Silence. You try again. And again. You chew on your lip, hating how dependent you’ve become on him, hating that he doesn’t seem to hear you. Just as you’re about to get up, there’s a faint knock on the wooden door.

“YN, is everything okay?” Sunghoon asks from the other side, his voice slightly breathless. He was nearly dozing off on the couch when he heard your voice calling for him. Worried, he rushed to the bathroom, ready to help with whatever you needed.

“Can you come in? I need help with something…” you admit, your voice louder, making sure he hears you this time.

Sunghoon hesitates. He doesn’t know what state you’re in, and if he walks in to see your bare body, he’s sure he’ll combust. The urge to touch you, to give in to whatever this tension is, has been driving him insane these past few days.

“Should I?” he murmurs, lower than he intended, his palm sweaty as it grips the doorknob, not quite turning it yet.

“Yes…” you answer. “Please.”

The invisible restraints holding him back snap at the sound of your plea. You always manage to hit his sweet spot without even realizing it, and he hates it.

Slowly, Sunghoon turns the doorknob and steps inside, taking a deep breath to steady himself. As soon as he enters the tiled bathroom, your scent surrounds him, invading his senses and clinging to his clothes. His brown eyes scan the scene in front of him, heat creeping through his body.

You’re sitting in the tub, your body turned toward the door as you lazily rest your head on your hand, your arm propped on the thick edge of the bathtub. Your black hair is soapy and piled messily on top of your head, and for a brief moment, he can’t help but think of how adorable you look. Then, his gaze shifts, catching sight of your right hand covered in a plastic glove. His attention snaps back to your face immediately.

“Why do you have a plastic glove on your hand?” he asks, still standing a few centimeters from the door, keeping his distance.

Your eyes find his, and for a second, you get lost in the deep brown of his gaze, words escaping you. But when he tilts his head slightly, confusion evident, waiting for an answer, you finally look away.

“I can’t get my hand wet,” you explain, closing your eyes as you add, “so I put the glove on so I could take a bath. Is that so hard to understand?” You said frustrated.

“You could have asked for help! It’s not good to keep your hand inside those cheap gloves. Besides, you should be washing that hand too—carefully.” Sunghoon sounds genuinely worried as he speaks, his eyes widening to emphasize his point. His hands move along with his words, gesturing in frustration.

A small smile tugs at your lips as he expresses his concern, and despite your best efforts, the little butterflies in your stomach begin to flutter. He looks adorable like this. Still, despite his words, Sunghoon remains frozen in place, as if his feet have grown roots, keeping him glued to the floor.

“Can you pass me that?” you interrupt, pointing at the black massager lying near his feet. “It slipped from my hand when I was washing my hair.” You gesture with your injured hand while your other arm remains firmly in place, shielding your bare chest.

“Oh—yeah. Sure,” Sunghoon stutters, suddenly realizing that you had everything under control and didn’t actually need his help. It shouldn’t surprise him—after all, you’ve always been used to doing things on your own.

He quickly bends down to grab it and steps forward to hand it back to you. His figure towers over you as he moves closer. You reach out with the arm you were using to cover yourself, stretching to take the plastic tool—but before you can, it slips from Sunghoon’s hands, rolling away once again.

You glance up at him, brows furrowed, ready to scold him. But the moment your eyes meet his, the words catch in your throat, swallowed by the intensity of his stare.

Sunghoon is completely entranced, his brain short-circuiting as his gaze greedily drinks you in. Your wide eyes look even larger as you tilt your head up to meet his, your pink lips slightly parted as you breathe slowly. A warm, rosy blush spreads across your skin—from your round cheeks and pointed nose down your neck and chest.

Soupy bubbles form around the edge of the water as it touches your skin, your breasts exposed. The way your skin glistens under the soft sunlight, the sweet scent wafting from your body, and the sight of your cute little hardened nipples make him lose his mind. Your seemingly innocent aura pulls him in, making it impossible to resist.

Sunghoon feels a tingling sensation spread through his body as his gaze travels back to your face—only to find you already searching for his eyes. Maybe he’s touch-starved from being single all this time, or maybe you’ve cast some kind of spell on him. Either way, he wants to touch you, to devour you as if you were the last meal he would ever taste.

“Sunghoon…” You call his name so softly it almost sounds like a needy moan. The truth is, you can feel his desire for you, deep in your bones. He’s a dangerously attractive man—tall, muscular, exuding confidence, and carrying a scent that draws you in like a drug.

“You don’t need to use those gloves ever again,” Sunghoon says, his voice low and firm. He kneels in front of you, reaching for your hand as he gently tugs at the cheap glove.

He does it slowly, carefully—his fingers burning as they graze your wrist, holding your hand still while he peels the glove away. A soft thud echoes in the foggy bathroom as it falls to the tiled floor. As he lingers, his fingertips barely ghost over your wound, his eyes locked onto your palm as if willing it to heal.

Your gaze never leaves his face as he continues his delicate ministrations, completely captivated by the tenderness of his touch. Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth, suppressing the overwhelming urge to kiss him. The thought of his plump lips pressing against yours, finally claiming you, makes your throat go dry.

“Can you turn around and hand me the shampoo bottle?” Sunghoon suddenly says, his voice softer now. “I’ll wash your hair for you. Just make sure you don’t dip your hand in the water—we’ll wash it after so it doesn’t affect the wound.”

His head tilts up, meeting your gaze once again. A small, knowing smile tugs at his lips before he shakes his head, silently commanding you to do as he says.

Breathlessly, you do just that—turning your back to the side of the tub and handing him the bottle of shampoo. This position is perfect. Sunghoon has easy access to your scalp, and you can finally face away from him, trying to regain your self-control, which seems to slip away with every second your eyes linger on his.

Sunghoon’s fingers slowly thread through your hair, gently tilting your head back to keep the shampoo from getting into your eyes. The confidence in his touch makes you wonder—has he done this before? Your mind drifts to thoughts of his ex-lover. Did he often wash her hair like this?

A gentle yet precise massage at the nape of your neck pulls you out of your thoughts, making your breath hitch in surprise. Your eyes flutter shut as you savor the way he works through your hair, occasionally letting out quiet gasps when he seems to hit just the right spot. His skilled hands leave your scalp for a moment as he reaches for the showerhead to rinse your hair. Without a word, you slide forward, creating space so you can tilt your head back, letting the warm water cascade down into the tub.

Sunghoon gulps at the sight before him. Your face is completely relaxed under the stream, water gliding down your hair. His gaze travels lower, catching a glimpse of your breasts—wet, glistening, and perfectly peaked. He exhales heavily, knowing he shouldn’t touch you. But God, he wants to.

Dragging his eyes back up, he checks your hair, making sure it's ready for the next step.

“Which one is it?” Sunghoon asks, his deep voice reverberating through the steamy room—and your empty mind.

You open your eyes slowly, meeting his gaze for a brief second before reaching for your hair treatment.

With a shy smile, you hand it to your husband, feeling exposed yet reveling in the way he stares at you. His gaze makes you feel wanted. Desired. But it also makes your skin burn with unbearable heat.

Sunghoon takes the small pot, scooping out just a bit of the rich formula with his fingertips as you settle back into place, awaiting his touch once more.

Sunghoon holds your hair carefully, applying the hair mask from the middle to the tips, scrunching it lightly—knowing it’s needed for your wavy strands. As his expert fingers work through your hair, your mind wanders again. He knows exactly what he’s doing, making it painfully clear that he’s done this before. More than once.

“How long do we have to wait?” he asks, taking you by surprise.

“Five minutes,” you respond, turning to face him, your lips pressing into a thin line.

Sunghoon reaches for you, gathering all your hair and placing it over your left shoulder, letting it rest against your chest.

“There,” he murmurs. “Like this, it won’t get wet.” His voice is low, almost hesitant, as he feels the heat creeping up his neck and ears under your unwavering gaze.

“Have you done this before?” you ask softly, your eyes never leaving his face.

Sunghoon looks away, as if trying to avoid the question. But he isn’t scared of you anymore. So why not tell the truth?

“Well,” he begins, settling down on the floor and leaning his back against the tub, his face now level with yours. You rest your head on your palm, waiting for his explanation.

“My ex used to come home drunk after going out with her friends. She was always a mess—barely able to move. Sometimes she would even throw up on herself. So I started helping her shower as soon as she got inside the house.”

His once-relaxed expression hardens. His brows knit together, and his lips form a small, displeased pout as he recalls the memories.

You stay silent, unsure of what to say. Sunghoon notices and turns to face you. Your lips are sealed shut, the corners subtly dipping downward. Your eyes, almost half-lidded, stare at your hand as if you’re fighting an internal battle.

Then, finally, your gaze lifts to meet his. In that moment, nothing else exists—just you and him.

Your heartbeat picks up, thudding so loudly you’re sure Sunghoon can hear it. But he doesn’t seem to care. He’s lost in the red flecks of your deep brown irises, in the way your eyes always give away more than your words ever could.

And before he can think, before logic can catch up—his body moves on its own.

Slowly, he leans in.

Your lips part in anticipation, longing for nothing more than to finally taste those plump lips of his—the ones that never seem to leave your mind. You close your eyes, hoping to feel his warmth against yours, but instead, you're met with nothing.

When you open your eyes, Sunghoon is reaching for the showerhead.

Embarrassment burns through your cheeks, and you quickly shift inside the tub, making room for him to rinse your hair once more. You bite your lip nervously as you tilt your head back, careful to keep the water from getting in your eyes.

Each second drags on unbearably as he gently caresses the ends of your hair, making sure every trace of the mask is gone. The air between you feels thick—so heavy you could probably cut it with a knife. Every moment suffocates you, robbing you of breath.

Sunghoon finally turns off the water. You pull your knees to your chest, resting your cheek against them, the sting of embarrassment and rejection making you want to cry.

Once your hair is done, Sunghoon reaches for a small towel hanging by the tub. He dips a corner into the water before looking at you.

“Can I have your hand?” he asks gently.

You let him take your wrist again, watching as he carefully rubs your injured hand, cleaning it with such tenderness it makes your chest ache. Your wide eyes remain fixed on him, feeling every ounce of care in his touch. The weight in your heart grows heavier, your emotions now as clear as water.

“All done,” Sunghoon murmurs with a small smile, turning his head slightly to meet your gaze. You hesitate before making eye contact, but the softness in his eyes eases the feeling weighing you down.

“I’ll be waiting for you in the living room,” he continues sweetly. “The new season of that basketball anime we were watching just dropped. I’ll bring the blanket and snacks.”

Then he flashes you one of those warm, seductive smiles, and it hits you square in the heart. As he walks away, you don’t move—your mind still stuck on the rejected kiss. Sunghoon notices you lost in thought.

“Come on, hurry up,” he says before closing the door, leaving you alone once and for all.

You let out a long sigh that had been caught in your throat and finally stand up, following his orders.

The rest of the evening unfolds exactly as Sunghoon had planned—the two of you sitting on the sofa in the living room, watching anime and eating junk food. You sit in the right corner while Sunghoon takes the opposite side, but at some point, without you noticing, he inches closer and closer.

Your tired eyes scan the room, burning from the bright TV lights, when you suddenly notice Sunghoon asleep, his head resting on your lap.

You don’t remember him moving this close, nor do you recall him falling asleep. But instead of waking him, you stay still for a few more minutes, letting him rest.

It’s amusing to watch him blink awake, immediately staring at you with a confused expression plastered across his face. The moment he realizes where he is, he quickly apologizes and sits up, his cheeks flushing red at the unexpected closeness.

Yawning, you also get up from the sofa and start heading toward your room, eager to sink into the comfort of your bed.

Sunghoon watches as you walk past him, his eyes never leaving your body. A part of him urges him to run after you, to pull you into his bedroom—but he knows that would be crossing a line he could never return from.

So he stays frozen in place like a fool, watching as you disappear into your room, leaving him feeling dizzy and lonely.

“You first,” Sunghoon instructs as he holds open the heavy restaurant door, leaving space for you to pass so he can follow right after.

The restaurant is busy, filled with the sounds of chatter and laughter as soon as you step inside. The rich scent of barbecue fills your nose, making your stomach growl in anticipation.

A friendly woman stands by the entrance, greeting every guest with a warm smile. As soon as she spots the two of you, she quickly leads you to a table in the back of the room. It’s a table for four, surrounded by tall bamboo plants that provide a sense of privacy.

Sunghoon steps behind you, gently helping you take off your coat. Once done, he drapes it over the back of your chair before guiding you to sit. As you settle in, you glance up at him, wanting to show your gratitude for his gentlemanly actions. Your smile is met with his own as he walks around the table and takes the seat across from you.

Hungry, your eyes scan the menu quickly, already knowing what you want to order. Meanwhile, Sunghoon is still considering his choices. Resting your chin on your hand, you take a moment to admire the way his eyes focus so intently.

It’s Sunday, and since it’s yet another sunny day, Sunghoon invited you to join him at his favorite barbecue place. At first, you were taken aback by his request—he had never done this before. But then you remembered the dinner proposal from the night you injured yourself. He explained that this was the same thing, except this time, you’d be eating out instead of at home.

You smirked as you watched him struggle to get his words out, nervousness creeping in as he tried to explain his intentions. His flustered demeanor was endearing. You reassured him that it was a great idea and that you’d love to join him. The moment you said that, he let out a deep sigh of relief.

“Stop staring at me…” he suddenly says, putting down the menu.

“I can’t help it. The way you were shaking just to ask me to come here was so adorable,” you say sincerely. His reaction is sweet again—he quickly avoids your gaze, and you notice his ears turning red.

Sunghoon then calls out your order to the waitress, who gives him a thumbs-up and a smile. Your eyes wander to the large window next to your seat, offering the prettiest view of the Han River. Outside, people stroll leisurely, looking happy as if life regained its meaning with the sunlight. Your thoughts drift to a young couple sitting on a bench, the man handing the girl a bouquet of pink tulips, and it reminds you of Ni-ki and his sweet nature.

But your thoughts are interrupted by a loud, deep voice with a heavy accent. You turn your head to see a tall, brunette guy staring at Sunghoon, his eyes lighting up with joy.

“Sunghoon, it’s you! I haven’t seen you in so long!” he says happily, quickly leaning in to give Sunghoon a tight hug.

“Jake!” Sunghoon calls out, smiling. You notice how your husband’s face changes when his gaze lands on Jake. His eyes seem to sparkle like never before, and the smile on his lips is completely new—adorable.

“Oh, sorry for being impolite!” Jake quickly adds, looking toward you. “I’m Jake, Sunghoon’s childhood best friend!” The brunette bows at you, and you bow back.

“This is YN, my…” Sunghoon pauses, looking at you. “My wife,” he says softly, and the way the words roll off his tongue makes your cheeks turn red.

“Nice to meet you, Jake,” you say kindly, wanting to make a good impression. But despite his smile and politeness, confusion is written all over Jake’s face.

“What happened to Jiwon?” he asks shamelessly, his gaze returning to Sunghoon. Your husband glances at you, looking cornered. His features sharpen as he adjusts his shirt.

“We’re no longer together,” Sunghoon reassures, his brown eyes soft as they meet yours, as if trying to convince himself of that.

“Thank god, man,” Jake blurts out, leaving both of you baffled. “Don’t get me wrong,” he adds, noticing your confused stare, “she used to be a nice girl, but she was crazy as hell.” Your gaze shifts from Jake to Sunghoon. He’s looking at the plate in front of him, his expression weak and sad.

Silence settles for a few seconds, your eyes still glued to your husband’s. Jake seems to sense how uncomfortable the mood has become, and he glances at Sunghoon before speaking again. “It was good to see you, man. I hope we can go back to hanging out together!” He grins at his friend and pats his shoulder.

“If you want, you can sit with us!” you suggest, sensing Sunghoon hasn’t had the chance to catch up with his childhood friend in a while. Sunghoon looks at you, a mix of annoyance and happiness on his face. He’s a little disappointed that he’s no longer alone with you, but he’s also pleased to talk to his friend again.

“Sure, I’d love to!” Jake assures, taking a seat next to Sunghoon.

The conversation that follows is comfortable and fun. Jake starts telling you silly stories from their childhood, his excitement clear in his eyes. While listening intently, your eyes are fixed on Sunghoon. It’s the first time you’ve seen him laugh so openly, his friend’s easygoing nature making him open up a little more. You admire his big smile, so honest and happy, and how his brown eyes almost disappear when he laughs.

“I have to apologize for something, though,” Jake suddenly says, his gaze turning serious as he fully turns to face Sunghoon. “I shouldn’t have listened to her. It was selfish of me, but I really needed that job…” Jake explains, though you and your husband look at him with furrowed brows, clearly confused.

“Jake…” Sunghoon calls in a low voice, shaking his head and closing his eyes.

“No, listen, it’s my fault. I admit it,” the brunette insists, his accent growing heavier. Sunghoon seems to understand what’s going on, but you’re still confused.

“What are you talking about?” you ask, feeling annoyed to be left out.

Jake glances at you, then at Sunghoon. “Jiwon, his ex. She prohibited me from talking to Sunghoon. She said I was a bad influence on him. When I told her I wouldn’t stop talking to my childhood best friend, she threatened me…” Jake explains slowly, watching as your mouth falls open in surprise. “Her dad was the owner of the advocacy agency I worked at the time, and she said she’d get me fired. My mom was in the hospital at that time, and I was helping my dad pay the bills,” he continues, now shifting his eyes to Sunghoon. “I regret it now because I was fired anyway. But I never stopped caring about you, Sunghoon. The guilt was heavy every day. I couldn’t even look at our pictures from when we were younger.”

Sunghoon looks down at his lap, his hands fidgeting as he listens to his best friend, his heart aching at the honesty in his words. When he lifts his head, you can see he’s holding back tears, his sighs trembling as they meet Jake's eyes.

“It’s okay,” Sunghoon assures his friend, patting his shoulder. “You’re here now; that’s all that matters!” He says with a sad smile. Jake pouts cutely before wrapping his arms around Sunghoon’s shoulders, hugging him tightly.

You’re so busy watching that you don’t even realize you have tears in your eyes, tiny and warm. A melancholic smile forms on your lips as Sunghoon glances at you, wanting to show you how happy he is. But the truth is, it’s such a sad situation that you can’t imagine how alone and abandoned Sunghoon must have felt.

Soon, the food is placed on the table, and the two friends get lost in conversation as they grill the meat, the delicious smell making you giggle like a child. Sunghoon, despite engaging in his friend's conversation, never stops looking out for you. He cuts the meat into bite-sized portions so you can easily pick it up with your fork, keeps an eye on your cup to make sure it’s always full, and watches what food you’re eyeing so he can serve it to you.

The time seemed to fly by faster than usual, and soon you find yourself at the entrance of your home. Sunghoon is on his knees, untying the knots in your heels and helping you slip into your fluffy pink slippers. You walk to the kitchen as your husband stays behind, taking off his shoes. Inside the empty kitchen, you go straight to the fridge and grab two beers, planning to head to the living room and relax.

Sunghoon seems to catch on to your plan, so he heads straight for the living room and claims his spot on the comfy sofa. You soon appear, now in comfortable pajama pants and a long t-shirt, your big glasses back on your face. When you realize where he’s sitting, you let out a loud laugh, catching his attention.

“In the middle? That’s new,” you joke, arching an eyebrow at him. Sunghoon gives you a teasing grin and pats the empty space beside him, inviting you over. You do as he gestures and sit by his side, your knee touching his. “What are we watching? There’s no basketball match today,” you ask, glancing at him.

He’s sitting in the middle of the couch, facing you, while his side is turned toward the TV. “Can we talk instead?” Sunghoon asks softly, studying your focused face.

“Sure!” you reply with a smile, turning to face him, your side now turned toward the television. He stays quiet for a few minutes, his thoughts tangled in his mind as he gathers the courage to start talking. Before speaking, his gaze drifts from your face to his restless hands, resting on his legs.

“Jiwon wasn’t always controlling,” he begins, trying to keep his voice steady. His heart aches at the thought of her, now despising how she treated him. Noticing that he wants to have a serious conversation, your expression shifts too—your eyes narrow, and your smile fades away. “At first, she was calm, loving, and patient. She was always there for me, and that’s what made me fall for her. But over time, she completely changed. She became mean and controlling, prohibiting me from leaving the house in certain clothes, and then from seeing my friends. The worst part was how she always made it seem like it was my fault, telling me that I was trying to show off my looks and that I was starved for other women’s attention. I never even thought about anyone else, you know?” Sunghoon asks, finally able to give you a quick glance. “I could only see her.”

Hearing this wasn’t easy. Your eyebrows furrow, and a lump forms in your throat, making it impossible to say anything. When he briefly looks at you, you try to convey how sorry you feel for him with your eyes. You stare into his deep brown eyes so intensely, you’re sure he can see your soul.

“When we got engaged, it got worse.” He paused, catching his breath as it became harder to breathe. “We moved in with my dad because he was so happy I got engaged and was finally ready to learn about managing his company. Since I was always in meetings and dinners with important people, she became jealous all the time. She’d call me ten times during busy meetings. That’s when she started hitting me. At first, it was pushing me with force, then it turned into punches on my shoulders and sides… Eventually, she started slapping me. Every time I didn’t agree with her or wasn’t home when she wanted, she used it as an excuse to hit me.”

Sunghoon seemed ashamed as he spoke, his gaze nervously shifting around the room. But your eyes never left his face. Tears began to form in your eyes as you listened, and before you could do anything, they started rolling down your cheeks. They were silent but heavy, your breathing unsteady, and your hands trembling. You couldn’t even begin to understand the pain and abuse he had endured.

“I started sleeping terribly by then, feeling lonely and depressed all the time. And I had no one. My dad knew everything but acted like he didn’t. My friends stopped talking to me, and my mom…” Sunghoon’s voice cracked as tears began to form in his eyes. “I was upset at my mom. She caught Jiwon hitting me and told me to leave her and make a report to the police, but instead, I got upset at her.” Without realizing it, his tears started to fall too, wetting his warm face.

Without thinking, you reached for him and cupped his face with both hands, forcing him to look at you. That’s when he noticed you were crying with him, sharing his pain as if you were feeling it too. Your small hands tried to stop the tears from rolling down his cheeks, hating to see him this way.

“It’s not your fault, Sunghoon,” you muttered, your voice cracking. “She was abusive and evil, and it had nothing to do with you. You did nothing wrong,” you assured him, staring into his eyes as you spoke, your heart aching as if it were being stabbed.

“I know that…” he added, a sad smile forming in his eyes. “Now, I know that.”

“I’m so sorry you went through all of this,” you added, the tears now falling like a waterfall from your red eyes. It’s so unfair that he had to endure all of this, especially knowing his father was abusive too.

“It’s not your fault. You don’t need to apologize,” Sunghoon said, gently pulling your hands off his face. He opted to hold them instead, craving the warmth of your touch against his cold skin. “I miss my mom so much,” he confessed, his sad eyes searching for yours again.

“I’m sure she misses you too. She loves you so much,” you replied, trying to smile. “I’m sure if you ran to her arms, she wouldn’t question it. She’d just take you in, because after all, you are her son.” You squeezed his hands tightly as you spoke, trying to reassure him with your words.

Sunghoon didn’t say anything else and remained quiet, watching you, completely fascinated by your empathetic heart. If he wasn’t sure of what he felt for you before, he certainly was now. Under your caring gaze, Sunghoon tugged gently on your wrist, silently conveying what he wanted. You bit your lip and hid a smile, then got up and settled between his legs, your back against his chest. Your husband quickly wrapped his arms around your waist and rested his head on your shoulder, inhaling your sweet perfume.

You let him do as he wished, knowing he craved closure after opening his heart to you. And to be honest, it felt good when he held you like this—his embrace was strong and comfortable. As the moon rose in the night sky, you and Sunghoon kept a familiar silence, enjoying each other’s presence.

The next two weeks pass by smoothly. Sunghoon starts eating dinner at home with you every day, always coming to the kitchen with a bright smile and a hungry stomach. You both talk and laugh about the stories he tells you about the company, and the atmosphere is comfortable and familiar. Usually, after eating, your husband helps you clean up and gather the dishes to load into the dishwasher.

Then, the old routine of hanging out in the living room follows, but ever since that afternoon, you and Sunghoon now spend more time together. He typically sits back against the sofa, opening his arms for you to snuggle against his chest and listen to his heartbeat. He then wraps his arms around you or caresses your soft hair, loving how it always smells clean and fresh.

Your hand is finally healed. Last week, Sunghoon drove you to your appointment, and the doctor removed the stitches, telling you to be careful for a few more days. You were so happy to finally be able to do your usual tasks instead of lying around all day. Today is no different. It’s almost seven pm, and Sunghoon must be close, so you finish the last touches on the meal.

Suddenly, your phone starts ringing, the loud music startling you. You check the caller ID and see Sunoo’s name. You almost forgot you asked him for a favor. You quickly accept his call:

“Hey girl, sorry for calling so late,” he greets from the other side.

“It’s okay…” you respond, noticing how hesitant his voice sounds. “Any news?”

“Yeah, that’s why I called.” Sunoo took a deep breath. “You were right. It was her who was giving him those pills. But they aren’t normal sleeping pills, YN. They’re drugs, actual drugs. My dad followed her for a few days and found out that she has a male friend who works at a pharmacy, and he provides her with drugs. He swaps them for the sleeping pills and gives her the bottles like it’s nothing.” As Sunoo explains, you feel your blood start to boil, your body temperature rising as you finally piece everything together. “We can meet another day so I can show you the evidence and explain it better!”

“Yes, of course!” Then, you hear Sunghoon’s car pull into the driveway. “Thank you, Sunoo. Tell your father he doesn’t owe me anything anymore. Sunghoon’s here, I have to go.” Just as you finish speaking, you hear him punch in the passcode and walk inside. Your fingers quickly end the call, and you try to act naturally. It’s hard to control your feelings when you first see Sunghoon. Today, he looks different—his face is serious, and his lips are pressed into a thin line.

You study him carefully, sensing something is wrong. Sunghoon steps into the kitchen without a word, circles the island, and comes close to you. He wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face in your chest, catching you by surprise. Your hands quickly find their way to his hair, and you caress it as you wait for him to speak.

“Today was so stressful.” He whined with a pout on his lips, his eyes glancing at yours. “I feel so irritated, anytime someone talked to me today I was rude.” He explained, now lifting his head and pulling you flush against him, now your head was in his chest.

You inhale his scent, feeling your nerves begin to calm down. “It’s okay, I’m here with you now,” you say sweetly, looking up at him with doe eyes, making him feel like you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

You slowly pull away from him to guide him to the dinner table, then go to take care of the food. The jjajangmyeon is ready, and it smells delicious. You carefully place the bowl in front of him, then do the same for yourself. You sit across from him, and while you eat, you steal glances at his face. Your mind drifts to Jiwon, and you bite your lip, trying to contain the rage you feel. How could she do this to him? In addition to abusing him, she made him an addict. Sunghoon notices the way your face hardens and asks:

“You okay? You seem upset.” He asks while slurping his noodles.

“I’m fine, just frustrated, that’s all,” you explain, your eyes completely avoiding his.

“Frustrated? Like sexually, or in general?” Your mouth opens at the question, not expecting such a bold one. He sure has been a bit more comfortable with you lately.

“Sunghoon,” you call sternly, but your face betrays you as a soft red blush spreads across your cheeks.

Sunghoon doesn’t say anything else, just smirking as he keeps eating, clearly enjoying making you embarrassed. This past week, it’s been harder and harder for him to resist you. It feels like the more he gets to know you, the more desire burns inside him, consuming him every single night.

The rest of the meal is silent, except for the slurping of the noodles. When you’re done, you get up and start gathering your dishes for the dishwasher. Today, you’re eager to go to bed, not feeling very social since Jiwon keeps bugging your mind. Sunghoon soon follows behind you, also picking up his dishes and helping you load them correctly into the machine.

You try to avoid him as much as possible, feeling like you can’t be your usual sweet self. After helping you, he brings his work case to the table and takes out his laptop, wanting to work a little while in your presence. But as you try to pass by him at the table, he suddenly gets up from his chair and bumps into you, causing you to stumble onto the table. His expensive work bag is knocked over and falls open, spilling its contents onto the floor.

“I’m sorry, are you okay?” Sunghoon asks, concerned, his hand reaching out for your face, but you pull away.

“Yeah, sorry I made your stuff fall,” you joke, squatting down to begin picking up everything. Sunghoon follows suit, also gathering his things. That’s when he notices the small picture his ex gave him weeks ago. He tries to grab it, but before he can, your small hand picks it up first.

“What’s this?” you murmur more to yourself, inspecting the picture. You soon realize it’s a photo of Sunghoon and his ex-fiancée, his fake smile giving it away. Then, your fingers flip the picture to find a small bag with two pills inside. “Sunghoon…” you call, dangling the picture in your fingers.

“YN, I can explain,” he says, stuttering, already knowing he’s messed up.

“You better start explaining then,” you add nervously, standing up and crossing your arms. Your eyes are heavy as they stare into him.

“She gave me that a few weeks ago… I didn’t mean to take them, ever. Look—” He says, reaching out to grab the damn photograph. “The tape is intact. I didn’t take anything.”

“How did she give you this?” you ask, your voice rising as your blood starts to boil. You close your eyes, trying to calm your racing heart.

“I met her,” Sunghoon confesses, his head hanging as he speaks, too embarrassed to face you. “It was weeks ago, before you cut yourself. She—she was upset because I stopped reaching out to her, and she asked me to meet her.” He explains, now slowly stepping towards you, his hands reaching out for you. “I didn’t want to go—”

“But you went anyway,” you interrupt, your patience running thin. How could he do this to himself? Torture himself like this? As he gets closer, you step back, not wanting him to touch you right now.

“I went because I wanted to say goodbye to her. I never want to see her again. It was my way of saying goodbye,” Sunghoon explains, his eyes wide as he tries to justify himself.

“Sure,” you add, not believing a single word coming out of his mouth. Not wanting to argue further, you turn your back to him and start walking toward your bedroom. But it seems like Sunghoon isn’t done.

“Actually, I don’t know why I’m explaining myself. You don’t have anything to do with me,” he adds, feeling bitter and rejected as you walk away. His words make you stop. You slowly turn around and look at him.

“Oh, so now I don’t mean anything?” you add, feeling more hurt than angry. You knew he was pent up from work, and it was making him say whatever came to his mind. You weren’t exactly upset at him, but he was there at the moment, and you might have poured everything onto him.

“Wait, I didn’t—” Sunghoon starts to speak, running his hand through his hair. “You can’t tell me who I can meet and who I can’t. It doesn’t matter if I have feelings for you or not!” he adds, starting to feel angry again. “We’re not even together. Who do you think you are to tell me what to do?”

As the last words leave his mouth, they pierce through your heart like a blade, and tears begin to well up in your eyes. The sour truth leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You stare at him one last time without saying anything, your hands shaking and your legs feeling wobbly. A single tear falls from your eyes, but you quickly catch it with the back of your hand, feeling stupid for crying because of him.

Without saying another word, you turn your back to him again and walk up the staircase, avoiding him as much as possible. Sunghoon soon realizes what he’s said and sprints behind you, guilt consuming him. He didn’t mean any of those words. He didn’t even know why he said them. Maybe it was the frustration of the busy day or the way you looked at him, as if you were disappointed in him. To his dismay, as soon as he reaches the top of the stairs, you walk into your bedroom and slam the door right in his face.

And so, he stands by your closed door like an idiot, his head low as he debates whether he should knock and apologize or leave you alone.

Taglist: @grandlightcandy @seokseokjinkim @strxwbloody @enhasunghoonishot @contyynishimura @heewanrik @ranwonbin @leanderexists @lovelyyf @youngheejay @crimson-reaper576 @rikifever @mrsjjongstby @laurradoesloveu @babyboomysweetie @mintchocos-things @nxzz-skz @saphiranishimurashan @ikeupups @yangjungwonnie @xiiaobaoo @itsuen @laylasbunbunny @mellowgalaxystrawberry @firstclassjaylee @questionsdearreader @greeyjre @en-doll @riqomi @lovingvoidgoatee @mitmit01 @miuwonis @aureliaaaa555 @han-to-my-minho @heeweenie @vixensss @ro-diares @hoonvinx @immelissaaa @jiryunn @quilevyt @vrusha01 @kkamismom12 @skzenhalove @theothernads @moonpri @nicoleparadas @fightqueen @heesunghooney @starl0ver4 @jooniesbears-blog @k1arar3 @liixly-blog @kolawnk @mitmit01 @dummyf @tender-is-the-moon

If you wanna be added or removed from the taglist just comment below!

[dollarbils]

i’ll show you how | b.eilish

billie eilish x fem!reader

context. you’ve been hesitant to engage sexually with your girlfriend, billie, but she assures you you’ll be alright.

warnings. smut, praise, fluff, virgin!reader

masterlist

she’d been touchy all day, her intentions clear. she wasn’t subtle with what she wanted and you’d love to satisfy her needs, you just didn’t know how.

“you look so beautiful, baby.” the compliments had been flooding out of her. and not that they didn’t drive you nuts, it was just a silent reminder of your inexperience.

“thank you, love.” she smiled, before joining you on the couch, closing the book you were currently reading and setting it aside somewhere, so that she could straddle your hips.

“billie-” a small protest fell from your lips before she shut you up with her index finger. her lips met yours as she pecked them, again and again, a small smile growing on yours.

“you’re awfully affectionate today, babe.” she giggled at the comment before moving her lips down your jaw, slowly travelling across your neck. you sighed, content, as your hands caressed the curves that blessed her figure.

“calm down, sweetheart.” she commented on your quickened breaths before tugging on your shirt, waiting for your approval to take it off. she soon unclasped your bra, letting your tits spill out.

“mm, billie.” she smirked against your skin as she bit and nipped the area around your nipple. her hands were resting dangerously close to the waistband of your sweatpants, and when she lowered her face down your stomach, you grew nervous and sat up.

“wait billie..” she raised her eyebrows, and moved closer to you.

“what’s wrong? if you don’t want this right now that’s perfectly fine, baby.” her eyes were wide with concern, a soft smile spread on her lips.

“no it’s not that i don’t want this, it’s just-” you hesitated, slightly embarrassed of your inexperience, knowing she had had plenty.

“babe, if you’re trying to tell me your a virgin, that’s totally okay.” she seemed somewhat amused.

“well yeah.” she pecked your lips when you admitted it.

“that’s so hot, you have no idea.” your collective laughter warmed your heart, a weight lifted off of your chest completely as it eased your nerves.

“are you sure, i mean, i don’t know how to really do anything.” she just smiled, finding it cute that you had the courage to admit your inexperience.

“i’ll show you how.”

“what the fuck!” she had picked you up out of nowhere, bridal style, quite clearly showing off her strength.

“i’m not taking your virginity on the couch.” she replied, pushing her bedroom door open before laying you down gently, on the bed. when she made a move to take of her own shirt she paused.

“you’re sure about this?” she looked for any hesitation on your features.

“yes. i want this. i want you.” she grinned, her hands firm on your hips when she kissed you. she traced your body gently, careful with her movements as if she thought you’d break.

“i’ve been waiting so long for this, baby.” she mumbled against your lips, leaving wet kisses along your jaw. her fingers trailed the skin around your breasts, moving towards your nipples before she paused her actions.

“is this okay?” she asked as if it was the first time she’d touched you.

“bils, you’ve sucked my tits before, this isn’t new to me.” you chuckled and she chewed her lip.

“but it’s different this time.” despite having had the hesitation, she latched her lips on to your nipple, abandoning her tenderness for a moment.

“mm, fuck.” she smiled, continuing what she was doing for a few minutes before kissing her way up your chest, and back to your lips.

“i love you, and if you want me to stop, please tell me.” she was so sweet with her words, her thumbs warming your cheeks as she held your face so softly.

“i love you, and i trust you.” she nodded and rested her forehead against yours, looking into your eyes.

“it’s a trust well placed, baby.” she kissed you again. as if the feeling of your lips were all she could ask for, her mischievous smile making it harder to focus. when she pulled away her lips were plump, slightly reddened and all the more inviting.

“what?” she asked, when she’d noticed you staring.

“nothing, i’m just happy with you.” she dropped her head onto your chest, groaning. her hair tickled your neck, drawing out giggles.

“you have no idea, baby.” her words were slurred as she dragged her lips across your skin. you could feel your nerves growing as she lowered herself closer to your heat.

“relax.” she kissed your lower stomach, looking up at you for approval to remove your jeans. once they were discarded, piled up somewhere along with her top, she admired you, in just your underwear.

“so pretty.” you felt yourself blush, and when she began tracing your thighs, you surrendered yourself completely to her touch. her jewelry contrasted the warmth of her hands perfectly, letting you focus on the feeling.

“billie.” you called softly, her head shooting to find your eyes immediately.

“hm?” she looked like a dear in headlights, awfully scared she’d moved to quickly, making you uncomfortable somehow.

“come closer.” her spooked expression faded as she returned a soft smile, lowering her body onto yours, burying her head in your neck.

“is this okay?” she whispered near your ear, as her fingertips traced the fabric of your underwear, forming a little wet patch.

“mhm.” your head was spinning already, this having been the first time anyone, other than yourself, had touched you like this, seen you this vulnerable before. and when her fingers went past your underwear and into your pussy, your eyes shot open, a silent moan elicited from your throat.

“god, i know they say virgins get wet easily but this has gotta be some kind of record, babe.” her fingers slid through your folds with ease, rubbing against all the right places.

“mm, fuck.” she swallowed the following moans with her lips against yours again as she pressed down on your clit with her thumb, in small and slow circles.

“you’re okay?” she confirmed with you, her face still inches from yours as she circled your entrance, practically waiting until she could pounce.

“more than okay.” she kissed you again, sliding one of her fingers into your tight little hole, your eyes shutting abruptly, your mouth nearly running dry. she eased that feeling with her tongue however, waiting a moment before thrusting her finger in and out, slow and steady.

“you’re so tight, baby. so perfect for me.” her words of praise flew straight to your heat, choked moans and whimpers letting her know she was doing all the right things to get you going.

“need to taste you, that alright?” she moved away from you, and just moments after you nodded a silent ‘mhm’, her breath was on your clit. and when her tongue wrapped around it, already swollen and puffy, she pumped her second finger into your entrance. your hands flew to her head, pulling harshly at her hair, looking for any kind of solace.

“fuck, billie!” you felt your climax approaching quickly, the knot in your stomach no doubt going to burst at any second. and when it did, when you came, everything was forgotten. you’re body arched into her, almost riding her face, and clenching around her fingers as you reached your high.

“oh my god.” your breaths where quick as your chest rose and fell rapidly. she slowly removed her fingers, licking your cum off of them, smirking down at you.

“glad to be of service.” she quipped, lifting herself off the bed, to go and grab a towel to clean you up.

“thank you.” she dismissed the gratitude, mumbling about common decency as she wiped you clean.

“do i get a cake now with the big red strike across virgin?” she laughed, picturing it in her head.

“i’ll throw you a damn party if it means we can do that again.” she smiled, pecking your lips again, the faint taste of your arousal still present.

“it’s a date,” you winked at her and she smiled, “you’ll have to show me how to do that to you.”

this took me AGES i don’t know why, that’s also why you’re not really getting a proper ending or a proofread 🥰

still love you lots though 😘

taglist: @adinda-eilish @ijustlovemaths @sweetcherriexs @jaxon-nathaniel-drake @mybluebossanova @diceroll65 @tothediner @st0nerlesb0 @bilssturns @london-uhmye @bxllxebxtch @tan1shere @babybornbluenow @greenbttrflyy @asterisk-eyes

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae! I was in a car accident yesterday (car took most of the damage, I’m ok other than bruises and sore muscles) and the whole thing has been a whirlwind of insurance and hospital and half asleep crying. I was wondering if I could request James potter x reader for comfort in a situation like that? I’m going through it rn lol hope you’re having a good day :)

Oh I'm sorry lovely! I had a very similar thing happen a little over a year ago, it's sooooo exhausting even when luckily no one is seriously hurt. Thanks for requesting, hope you're having a good/better day too <33

cw: past car accident, no details but talk of general aftermath of police questioning, insurance, etc.

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 799 words

The way James half-jogs up to the automatic doors of the hospital, seeming caught between walking and running, feels like someone is pressing down on the bruise of your chest. You wish you’d called him sooner. 

“James,” you call as he comes in, hating how your voice cuts through the taut quiet of the waiting area. It’s worth it for how his whole self softens when his eyes find you. 

He slows to a fast walk the rest of the way to you, the urgency slowly leaving him—which is appropriate, there is no urgency, everything has happened already—like an engine running out of gas. You stand as he nears, and both of you reach for each other before James hesitates. His hands stop midair, his brow tightening for a moment, before they come tentatively to your elbows.

“Hi,” he says, squeezing. “How bad is it?” 

“For me or the car?” you joke. 

“You.” James is feeling too earnest for joking, it seems. “Well, both of you. But you first.” 

You really thought you’d cry when you saw him. Worried you’d make a whole scene, blubbering and inconsolable, but you don’t seem to have any tears left. It makes sense, you suppose; you’ve cried a lot in the past few hours. First the slow, shaky kind right after getting out of your car, and then a real cry when a police officer had pulled you aside to get your version of events. (It had been embarrassing. She’d been nice about it, though.) Now, you wait for the tears to come, but for all your relief at seeing your boyfriend you feel rather dried up. 

It makes you wish, once again, that you’d called James sooner. You’d wanted to, of course, but you’d been nearly certain you’d be even less capable of holding yourself together if he were there, and there wasn’t much reason for him to be anyways. He was at work and you weren’t terribly hurt, so there was really nothing he could have done while you were talking to the police and the tow company and the paramedics and attempting not to drown in an overwhelm of insurance information. The only thing you really wanted him for was to hold your hand.

“I’m okay,” you say, the necessary preface. “A bit bruised up. My chest got the worst of it.” 

Unconsciously, your hand comes to your sternum as if to demonstrate, gravitating towards the center of the ache. James’ hand follows, seemingly just as thoughtless as it covers your own. He can’t see the bruise, but he makes a low, sad sound anyway. 

His care softens your voice. “They said my neck will probably hurt tomorrow, but it doesn’t yet.” 

“Oh, sweetheart.” James sounds really, truly heartbroken for you. “And the rest, it hurts a lot?” 

You shrug. What’s a lot? You know you could’ve had worse, much worse; still, you could do without that frightening soreness that comes with each breath. 

“It’s not too bad,” you say. “I could still hug.” 

It’s the question he’s been dying to ask, clearly. James’ arms are around you in a second, ardent but still gentle, palms pressing to the high and low points of your bag. It’s a good hug. You melt a little against him. 

James tucks his face into the side of your neck, like he’s trying to get as much contact with you as he can. “I wish you’d called me when it happened.” 

“You were at work.” 

“I’d have left work.” 

“There wasn’t anything you could do. I was fine, I just had to…” a little sigh escapes you, exhaustion creeping in now that he’s here “...talk to people. Insurance and all that.” 

James makes a soft, half-agreeing sound. His thumb strokes the base of your neck. “Still. I could have held your hand.” 

A new ache rises in the back of your throat, coming to join the rest. You wind your arms tighter around James. 

After a few, silent moments, he kisses your neck chastely and loosens his hold. “Ready to go home? Anything else you need?” 

You shake your head. “I’m signed out,” you say, so eager you feel like you could float out the doors. You hope you can entice James to lie in bed with you when you get home. You think you’ll sleep until tomorrow. “Let’s go, please.” 

“Alright, you don’t have to say please, sweetheart.” James curls an arm around your shoulders, pressing a smile into your cheek. “We can go. You need one of those wheelchairs for me to take you out to the car?” 

“Ha ha,” you say drily. “No.” 

“Just checking. Think maybe I ought to ask for one, just in case?”

“James. I will take your car home without you in it.” 

“Alright, lovie, I’m coming.”

[nerdygirlramblings]

Hello! Ive been binging poly!141 and I keep coming back to your writing for my fix (because by now its basically an addiction😅)

I had this idea that the 141 are together with a civilian reader. And civilian reader works in retail, part time, and is mostly at home. Normally, they would be home by the time their boys came home, welcoming them with open arms, a hot plate of food, and time to rest and relax. But this time, the 141 get home early and realize where reader works: Walmart (or equivalent). Reader has been keeping this a secret cause they know its not cute like a coffee shop or cool. Its just their job. And now the most important men in their life know. Im thinking the 141 found out because they went grocery shopping and happened to come across reader or something similar to that.

I work at Walmart and it sucks🥲 thought that maybe something like this might help😅

Tysm, nonny! So happy to hear you like the writing. I hope this does your idea justice. (Walmart doesn't have stores in the UK, but they own ASDA.)

Also, thank you for my first request! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

pure fluff, bad accents (per usual)

Your boys find out you work part-time at ASDA on a random rainy Thursday in March.

You don't really need a job. All four of your lovers are officers with the British army. Prior to you, they all lived in base barracks. Prior to you, they lived fairly Spartan existences. Prior to you, most of their income sat in the bank, quietly accumulating.

They have plenty of money saved up that they love using to spoil you, when you let them. You know that if you asked, they'd give you everything, but you draw the line about asking them for an allowance like some tradwife. You want some pocket money of your own. Thus, the part-time job at the ASDA in town.

You're a people person, good at handling big personalities. You need to be to keep up with your boys. Between John's need for control, Simon's stoic dominance, Johnny's aggressive enthusiasm, and Kyle's blinding charisma, you aren't some shrinking violet. Within a week of your hire, your manager watches how you weather a nasty piece of work trying to demand concessions you aren't permitted to give and immediately puts you in customer service.

You're nearly unflappable in the face of frustrated pensioners and harried parents and entitled young professionals. Over and over, you're the one they call when a customer is going spare. Which is how your boys find out about your job.

They've been deployed for over two weeks, and you have no idea when they'll return. John had originally said they'd be gone for at least a month, so you aren't expecting them home any time soon. However, they'd come home much earlier than anyone thought, and they wanted to surprise you.

You're always so good about making the house feel like a home, with your bright smile and warm laughter, your home cooked food and soft touches in decor. You make them feel like people, not weapons, and they want to return the favor. This last deployment had been hard, and all four of your boys were missing your sweet voice and tender care. They wanted to show you that they loved and cared for you the way you always showed your love and care for them.

It was Johnny's suggestion to prep a meal for you as both a surprise and a thank you. After debrief, they pile into the car and decide to stop at ASDA for everything they need before heading home to surprise you. It's John who causes the code call.

You hear Susan's voice over the store-wide address system. "We could use a little Sunshine in the floral department." That's your cue. You finish with the pensioner at your till as Jacob, your manager, comes over to relieve you.

You take a deep breath and square your shoulders. In your experience, a Sunshine call in floral is a man angry the store doesn't have the fancy arrangements listed on the website. You wish the signage on the site would be more clear that the beautiful bouquets are online orders only. It would save you having to explain why the offers in store are so limited.

You hear him before you see him, smokey voice grumbling, "But if they show the bloody thing on the site as available, you should have it hear." You'd recognize the voice anywhere. He's not angry, not really, but Susan doesn't know that. Add in the sheer size of him, and Simon looming over his shoulder, it's no wonder she called for support.

You have never wanted to walk away from a situation as much as you want to right now, but before you can make an escape, Susan notices you over John's shoulder. Her little wave is enough for your men to notice, and they turn as one to see you coming towards them. Immediately their demeanor shifts. Simon's back sags as though his strings were cut, leaving him loose-limbed. John stands a little straighter, chin up as if to impress you. They've both broken out in smiles, though Simon's are only evidenced by the laugh lines you know to look for. It's only as you get close do they zero in on the badge on your shirt.

"I've got this, Susan," you say to your co-worker. "Jacob's on my till. Can you cover?"

Susan wrings her hands. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay and-"

"They're nothing I can't handle," you tell her, cutting off her worried rambles. There's a cheeky glint in your eye as you flick your gaze at your men. You clap your hands together and say, "Right, let's get this settled, then."

Susan takes one quick look between you and the now slightly less intimidating men and heads towards the front of the store.

Once she's out of earshot, John's face breaks into a frown. "What're you doing here, love?" He glances at your name on your chest again. "You work here?" He sounds almost hurt by the revelation. You can tell Simon wants to reach for you, and the only thing stopping him is you working.

You hear heavy footfalls behind you as Johnny's Scottish lilt reaches your ears. "Och, Cap! Ye said ye'd only be a moment. Gaz and I had a hell of a time getting the trolley on its lift ta find ye. How hard is it to buy bon..." His question dies on his lips as you turn around. "Bonnie?" He, too, sounds hurt to find you working here.

You can see Kyle over Johnny's shoulder, confusion written across his features. This is not how you wanted your boys to find out about your job, if you ever wanted them to actually find out. You thought maybe you'd surprise them with tickets to Hereford FC's opening game in a few months. And if they asked how you afforded them, you could handle this conversation then, but it's out of your hands now.

And as much as you don't want to have this conversation, especially not in the middle of the floral department, you can't stop the wide grin at seeing your boys again, home and whole.

"Hi, boys," you say, opening your arms. Disappointed he might be about finding you here, Johnny's no fool. He immediately steps into your embrace, and the others quickly follow suit. You're swallowed up by the smell and feel of them. The hug lasts one minute. Then two. Then they all slowly step back.

You can see the questions and cut them off before they get started. "I have another three hours before I'm off. We can talk at home, and I'll tell you anything you want to know."

John nods first. He recognizes your tone. You won't let them derail you for answers now, and they would be wasting their breath to try. "You heard the lady, lads. Let's get home."

They start to walk away when you tease, "Captain? Was there a reason you were arguing with Susan about the flowers?"

He halts his steps and turns to you, flush creeping up his neck. He brings his hand up to rub it as he says, "Er, I, we, wanted to get ya something nice, but they don't have the same ones as online."

You melt a little, watching the way your men shift nervously behind their captain. You smile softly and reach over, plucking a bouquet of rainbow poms from the rack. "These are what I usually get for myself when you're away."

John takes them gently from your hand and passes them to Gaz to put in the trolley. "We'll see you at home, love," he murmurs, leaning over briefly to kiss your cheek. Simon kisses the top of your head, fabric brushing your hair. Johnny pulls you in for another bruising hug and kisses your other cheek. Gaz puts his hands on your waist, drinking in the sight of you, before taking your hands in his and kissing your palms.

You watch them leave, wondering how you'll make it through the rest of your shift.

Three hours and fifteen minutes later, you cross the threshold of your shared home to the most delicious scents wafting from the kitchen. After slipping your shoes off next to the piles of boots at the door, you follow your nose back to the kitchen and the spread laid out on the large wood-topped island. There's a roast and mushy peas and mashed potatoes and stewed carrots and battered cod and crisps and spinach all surrounding the flowers you'd suggested, nestled in the vase you love most, the Caithness one Johnny'd bought you on your first trip with them to Scotland.

At the table, your men sit, plates made for everyone, waiting on you. They've changed since you saw them. Gone are any traces of fatigues and tactical gear. Instead they're all in casual civvies, truly home for the first time in nearly three weeks. Simon stands as you come in and pulls out your chair, smile on his scarred lips. "Come sit, doll," he tells you, not quite an order.

You look quickly around. "Let me change," you say, tugging at your uniform top. "I won't be but a minute." You back out of the room before they can stop you. You hurry to your bedroom, pulling your top off as you go. Once behind the door, you slip from your trousers into comfortable leggings and a large jumper, one of Kyle's you think.

By the time you make it back to the kitchen, your men are more than a little antsy. Simon's smile is a little strained, Johnny is fidgeting, Kyle keeps glancing between you and John, and John is staring at you. Your chair is still out. He waves a hand at it, and gently says, "Come sit, love." It's couched as request, but you know a command from your lover when you hear it.

You take your seat at the table. "Listen-" you start, but John cuts you off.

"Are we not providing for ya, love?" You see the hurt in his eyes, how much it bothers him to think he, they, aren't doing enough for you.

"Oh, John, dear, no!" you reply, putting your hand over his on the table. "It's not that at all."

"Then what?" Simon asks.

You look at them all, the expectant faces waiting to hear how they failed you. "I get restless sometimes. I love you, and I love our life. I'm happy to take care of the house and make sure you're all fed after a long day. But I wasn't built for sitting around doing nothing. I like people; being home on my own all day can get lonely. Especially when you're deployed. I also like having my own pocket money."

John opens his mouth, and you know what he's about to say, so you continue. "I know you'd give me any money I need or want, but I like having my money. Money I earned myself." You look around at them, willing them to understand. "It's only part time. Helps me keep a little busy and have a little extra to spoil you and me with."

Johnny is frowning, but you see Kyle, head cocked, looking at you as a puzzle. "I think I understand," he says softly. "You were making you way just fine before us, and you gave up everything for us."

At his words, the crease between John's brow deepens, and you're sure he's remembering the job you had, that you'd somewhat enjoyed, when you'd first met them. You'd been working at RAF Lakenheath, living in a cozy flat in Cambridge, near The Backs, when the 141 had been coming through the base after an op. An injury had put Kyle in the med center for a week, and while he could have been transported to Hereford once stable, Laswell had worked it out for the whole team to have some R&R near the base.

You'd quite literally run into John one day, rushing to your office, after which he suggested lunch as an apology. You quickly became close with all four, smitten with them from the start. In turn, they fell hard for you. They wooed you over the course of several weeks, stopping through Lakenheath on deployments to spend some time with you. Six months in and you were completely gone on all four of them, so when they'd asked you to move to Hereford, you did without ever looking back. But it meant giving up the life you'd led.

Somewhere along the way, your happiness overshadowed all you'd left behind. After a few weeks, being home alone while your men worked started to feel isolating. You liked being a little busy, and there weren't enough projects around the house to keep you busy enough. You'd always been independent, but you didn't want to be stuck in a job with long hours anymore. You wanted to be home for your men. So you'd found the job at ASDA.

Kyle reaches over to where you hand is still on John's. "I'm sorry we didn't ask how you were coping us being gone all day," he says. He looks you in the eye as he continues. "I understand wanting to do something, wanting to be a little busy, and if this makes you happy, then I'm all for it, doll." He gives you a small smile and squeezes your and John's hand.

"Gaz is right," Simon rumbles. "We were so happy to have you here we didn't think about what you did all alone all day." He puts a heavy hand on your thigh, the warmth of him seeping through your thin leggings. "'m glad you have something to keep you from getting lonely."

"Sorry, hen," Johnny murmurs, just above a whisper. "We didnae think a' ye enough." You smile widely at him.

"Johnny, you think of me all the time. This isn't about neglect at all!" You try to catch his eye, but he's looking hard at the table in front of him. "You did nothing wrong, love," you tell him gently.

He looks at you, blue eyes bright. "Ye sure?" You've never seen him this nervous before, and you break a little.

"I'm sure love."

He smiles then, a little smile, but it brightens his face and shifts the mood in the room. You look at John who's been surprisingly quiet this whole time.

He's smiling, but it's a little sad. "I know ya said we didn't do anything wrong, but we feel like we did. We didn't notice you were bored, didn't ask if you were lonely." He flips his hand over under yours and threads your fingers with his. "Yer giving us a gift by not blaming us, and we'd be stupid not to take it, even though it feels like yer giving us an out. Thank you." He brings your hand to his lips and kisses it softly.

"Thank you. I was worried you'd be mad," you admit.

"Never could make us mad with something like this, hen," Johnny reassures you. "I'm sorry we had to spoil your day is all."

You turn back to look at the food on the island. "You didn't spoil my day. You made it. You're home early, and you made such a lovely spread. I think we should tuck in, yeah?"

Simon chuckles. "Point made, doll," he says, scooping a heaping helping of mash onto his fork. The rest take it as a sign to start eating too.

The room is silent save for the sounds of food savored until John pipes up, "Why'd ya come to florals, love? We might have missed ya altogether if not for that."

You giggle. "The sunshine call, John."

"Yeah?" He clearly doesn't understand.

"It's the shop call for a difficult customer. When I'm on shift, it's my job to handle those." You look at each of your lovers in turn. "Seems I've got a knack for dealing with muppets," you tell them with a smirk.

[heartsriki]

ALWAYS YOURS, NEVER MINE ⌇늦은

pairing ᝰ jungwon x fem!reader (?) — featuring.. riki & jay word count: 3k+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ pt. 2, angst, high-school au!, gut-wrenching angst like trust, love triangle, crying, lots of selfishness coming from won, hurt no comfort..., one-sided love.

synopsis — why did jungwon hide rikis love letter to you? (PLEASE READ PART 1)

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊there were a lot of questions/asks for explanations from pt. 1 so here it is! guys lowkey started tearing up I'm so sorry jungwon biases... I couldn't help myself again...

5 months before…

Today was Jungwon’s worst day possible. He hadn’t done as well as he wanted on an important test—not a failing grade, but not perfect either. On top of that, he left his stuff somewhere and couldn’t remember where.

Usually, he was calm, cool, and collected, but right now, he felt helpless. Resting his head on his desk, he let the frustration settle in, feeling like he was slowly being submerged in water—until he felt a slight tug on his hair.

Slowly, he lifted his head, only to see you, your hand still hovering above him. You flinched at his movement, clearly not expecting him to be awake.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I thought you were asleep, and your hair just looked so fluffy—” you blurted, your words tumbling over each other.

Jungwon just stared at you, silent.

You took his lack of response as a reason to keep going. “Anyway—I found this bag and recognized the name. Here you go!” You slung it over the back of his chair, grinning.

He glanced at the bag before looking back at you. You knew him? He didn’t know you.

The silence stretched, and you hummed, shifting awkwardly. He still hadn’t said thank you. You were about to excuse yourself when you caught a glimpse of the paper under his arms.

“Hey, a 75? That’s great! Man, I barely got a 65—you’re so smart. You wanna study sometime?”

Jungwon opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, the classroom door swung open.

“Y/N! We need you in the student council room—the boys are fighting again!”

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. Without another word, you gave him a small wave, flashing a pretty smile before running off.

Jungwon raised his head, staring at the spot you had just been. “A 75 isn’t even good,” he murmured, resting his head back down. “What a weirdo.”

Yet, despite himself, he kept thinking back to that moment. He wouldn’t admit it, but it brought him a strange sense of comfort. He also didn’t even want to imagine what would’ve happened if he had really lost his stuff.

Days passed, and while he didn’t speak to you much, he saw you everywhere. Then, one day, as he strolled through the library, he spotted you working at the front desk.

He lingered behind a shelf, watching as you glanced around before sneaking to the back of the library.

Curiosity got the better of him. He followed.

Turning the corner, he caught you opening a small box, slipping a piece of paper inside. When you turned around, both of you flinched.

“Jungwon? What are you doing here?”

He crossed his arms. “What are you doing here? What’s in the box?”

Quickly, you stretched your arms out, blocking him. “It’s nothing.”

Jungwon smirked, trying to peek past you. “If it’s nothing, let me see.”

Before you could stop him, he had already snatched up the paper. You groaned, covering your face as he read it.

“You were embarrassed over cussing someone out for wearing the same headband as you on picture day?” His grin widened, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I talked about wearing that headband for weeks…” you mumbled, looking away.

For a moment, he stayed silent. And then—he burst out laughing. Full, unrestrained laughter—the kind he hadn’t had in ages.

From that day on, he stayed by your side.

Jungwon was well-known around school. Girls found him handsome, even flirted with him, guys thought he was pretty damn good at sports and cool to hang out with. But because of that pedestal, few ever approached him as a true friend.

You didn’t seem to care about all that.

Instead of just waving at him in the hallway, you ran up to him to rant about your day. Instead of borrowing a pencil and ignoring him for the rest of class, you swapped desk numbers just to sit beside him. Instead of leaving him alone when he shut down, you stayed. Always.

You became his best friend. And he was yours. Thats all he ever needed.

That’s what he told himself, anyway.

February rolled around—the month of love. The halls were littered with Valentine’s posters, the air buzzing with excitement.

Jungwon didn’t think much of it. Maybe he’d just hang out with you that day.

But when he sat down next to you in class, you were grinning at your phone, giggling.

He smiled. “What’s got you so giddy today, huh?”

You turned your screen toward him. “I got Riki’s contact today… look!”

Jungwon’s smile faltered. He glanced at the name on your screen. Ah. Right.

He forgot about your tiny crush on Riki.

Nodding, he turned to the window, pretending it didn’t bother him. But the dull thump in his chest told him otherwise. I guess you’ll be busy that day. How lame.

Later that day, he was on the soccer field when his phone vibrated. Seeing your name, he grinned stupidly and opened the message.

You:

JUNGWONJUNGWONOMG

PLSPLSANSWERLOOKATURPHONE

Wonnie:

Ok what the hell

What is it?

You:

You are NEVER going to believe who just slid into the back of the library.

Wonnie:

Is it Jake again? Poor guy

Maybe Jay? Idk tell me

You:

Nishimura… Riki…

Jungwon stared at the screen.

Riki? Well. It was about time. He had been into you without a doubt.

Scoffing, Jungwon typed back.

Wonnie:

… Fr?

Maybe he confessed to you?

You:

Right, totally.

Jungwon frowned. You could be so oblivious sometimes. To more than one person.

Wonnie:

Think about it.

Setting his phone down, he exhaled sharply. He had a weird urge to see you. Maybe you wanted to talk about it.

He sighed, packing up his things and heading toward the library.

As he neared the back entrance, he spotted Riki slipping out. Their eyes met for a second, but neither spoke.

There was something in that look. Knowing.

Jungwon clenched his jaw and walked past him, slipping inside unnoticed.

Then, his eyes landed on the box.

For a split second, he hesitated. Then, without thinking, he stepped forward.

Glancing around, he reached inside. There were a lot of letters. But he found Riki’s almost immediately—a pink envelope decorated with tiny white hearts, his name written neatly on the front which was uncommon for love letters being left vulnerable in a box.

Jungwon stared at it. “What an idiot.”

Without thinking, he plucked it from the box, turning it over in his hands before slowly opening it.

Inside, a note.

Hey, I don’t really know how to start this. Okay, so… I think you’re really annoying. But for some reason, I like how annoying you are. You’re incredibly nosy, but I don’t mind when you peck at my life. I don’t know when I started to feel this way, but I know how I feel now. I like you. A lot. Too much, actually. If you feel the same, then… I don’t know. You’ll know what to do. You always do. — N.R.

Jungwon exhaled, rubbing his temples.

If you knew about this, you’d be over the moon.

And yet—before he could stop himself—he shoved the letter into his bag.

Why?

He convinced himself it was to toy with you. Something deeper inside knew other wise.

When Jungwon saw you through the student council door, scanning through all the love letters, he felt a soft pang in his chest. You were looking for Riki’s… he knew it.

When he entered, he played it off—laughing, smiling—knowing he had the one thing you had been waiting for this entire year. But when the opportunity came to fess up, he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

When Riki stepped in, both Jungwon and Riki locked eyes. It didn’t even last a second, but the way he looked at him… he knew. He definitely knew that Jungwon had grabbed the letter.

Jungwon excused himself, whispering, “Good luck,” into Riki’s ear. A small part of him meant it. It was more for you.

He walked slowly to the locker room, overthinking about you and Riki. Overthinking about you and himself. What is this? It hurt. It hurt so much.

He was caught off guard by a hand on his shoulder. It was Jay, another friend of his.

“Hey man, where’s your girlfriend?” Jay asked with a knowing grin.

Jungwon blinked, still walking toward the locker room. “Girlfriend? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jay sighed, glancing around before looking back at him. “Don’t play dumb. You know I’m talking about Y/N. Did you confess yet?”

Jungwon stopped, causing Jay to stumble a little. Jay looked at him, puzzled.

Confess. Did he like you? Is that what this is?

That’s what he thought about for the rest of the day.

He liked you.

He liked you.

He liked you. You. You. You.

He fumbled on the field, spaced out during conversations, and excused himself from after-practice hangouts.

When he got home, he immediately went to his room, throwing himself onto his bed and sighing at the ceiling. The moment of peace was interrupted by a vibration in his right hand. He brought his phone up to his face and saw your contact. You always called him after his practice.

He answered, bringing the phone to his ear. “Hey.”

“AHHHHHHH, Wonnie! You won’t believe it! He likes me back! Isn’t that crazy? For some reason, his love letter went missing—some weirdo took it. But he confessed to me!” you squealed from the other line.

He smiled a little at your happiness, ignoring the heaviness in his chest. “That’s great Y/N… You guys dating now?”

“Actually, we’re taking things slow. He blabbed about needing to take care of something first.”

That made Jungwon sit up. “Take care of something?” he asked.

“Yeah. No clue, but it doesn’t bother me. I’ve been waiting long enough—I can wait a little bit more.” You smiled to yourself.

Jungwon thought. Riki didn’t need to take care of something. He needed to take care of someone.

“I’m sure it’ll happen soon,” Jungwon said, trying to sound reassuring.

You sighed at his words. “Thanks, I feel like the happiest girl in the world.”

Jungwon didn’t respond to that. “I’m pretty tired from practice. Talk to you later?”

“Oh! I’m so sorry, Wonnie! Of course—sleep well, alright?”

“…You too.”

And with that, he hung up.

Jungwon stared at his phone, the call screen fading to black as the weight in his chest settled in. His fingers curled around the device, gripping it tighter than necessary.

He likes me back!

Your words replayed in his head over and over, each time pressing harder against the part of him that had only just realized the truth.

He liked you.

And now, he was too late.

Jungwon exhaled sharply, tossing his phone onto his bed before running a hand down his face. The ceiling blurred in his vision as he lay back down, feeling—what was this? Emptiness? Regret?

He wanted to be happy for you. He was happy for you. You were his best friend. That’s what best friends did. They supported each other, no matter what.

But then why did it feel like his heart was being squeezed in a way that left him breathless?

Riki still hadn’t officially asked you out. That was something, right? But Jungwon knew it wasn’t for the reason you thought.

He needed to take care of someone.

Jungwon scoffed to himself, letting his arm drape over his eyes.

Riki knew. He definitely knew.

And now, Jungwon had a choice to make.

Does he let this be? Pretend his feelings didn’t exist, swallow them whole, and stand by your side like he always had?

Or does he do something about it?

His fingers twitched at the thought, but deep down, he already knew his answer.

Jungwon had never been the type to back down from a challenge. But this—this wasn’t some game. This wasn’t a competition he could win just by trying harder, running faster, pushing himself more.

This was you.

And if anyone deserved to be happy, it was you.

Even if it wasn’t with him.

“Pass it!” Jungwon yelled across the field.

He had been practicing all morning, through breaks, and even during lunch. Soccer was his escape—the only thing that drowned out the noise in his head.

But that peace was shattered when he spotted a figure standing by the benches near his stuff.

Riki.

He stood there, arms crossed, gaze steady. His expression was unreadable, but Jungwon knew exactly why he was here.

Jungwon hesitated for only a second before calling for a break. With a deep sigh, he jogged over, wiping sweat from his forehead before sitting down on the bench. He didn’t look at Riki, just grabbed his water bottle and took a sip.

Riki sat beside him, wasting no time.

“Do you know what happened to my letter?”

Jungwon glanced at him from the corner of his eye, then turned his gaze back to the field. “Why are you asking questions you already know the answer to?” His voice was flat, expression unreadable.

Riki exhaled through his nose, nodding slightly as if he expected that response. “Why?”

Jungwon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You know the answer to that too.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. The distant shouts of players and the sound of cleats against the field felt worlds away.

Finally, Jungwon sat up, patting his thigh before standing. “Is that it? I’m pretty busy.” He nodded toward the field, crossing his arms.

Riki stood too, this time meeting Jungwon’s gaze head-on. His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it.

“However you feel, take it out on me. Not her, she cares for you.”

Jungwon clenched his jaw.

Riki let the words linger before turning on his heel and walking away.

Jungwon watched him go, fingers tightening around his water bottle. His chest felt heavy, like something was pressing down on it, suffocating him.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply before kicking the bench. It barely moved, but it was enough to make his frustration bubble over.

Why did Riki have to say it like that? Like he was some selfish idiot who didn’t already know that? Like he didn’t already hate himself for it?

With a forced breath, he shook his head, pushing everything down, just like he always did. He had a game to focus on.

Without another glance at the benches, he jogged back onto the field, forcing himself to get lost in the only thing that still made sense.

A week after that encounter with Riki, Jungwon found himself in your room. He was doing homework while you sat beside him, pouting at your phone. He glanced at you and smiled.

“What are you grumbling about?” he asked.

You sighed, putting your phone down and continuing with your work. “It’s nothing…”

Jungwon raised a brow. He had never seen you this down before. “What? Tell me. You always tell me what’s wrong,” he pushed.

Pouting, you looked at him with puppy eyes. “It’s Riki… It’s been about a week, and I haven’t seen him or heard from him. Do you think he ghosted me?”

Jungwon stiffened. He had overheard from some guys that Riki had gotten into serious trouble with his parents and now had to work overtime at his part-time job. He sighed, looking at you. You were so obviously heartbroken. Should he tell you?

Or should he be selfish?

This was his chance. He could win you over. He could show you that he was here. That he would always be here.

He gulped, staring back down at his work. He was selfish—just for a moment. But then, he heard a broken sniffle come from you. His eyes snapped to you, watching as you tried to dry your tears, a fake smile on your face as if pretending everything was okay.

His heart dropped. Did Riki really mean that much to you?

Jungwon quickly moved next to you, guiding you to rest your head on his lap. Your cries softened as he gently patted your head, just like he always did.

He looked down at you—your eyes shut, your breathing slowing, the tension in your body fading. And then, softly, he spoke:

“I overheard that he got into some pretty big trouble and is working overtime at his job. He probably didn’t want to trouble you with that stupid mentality of his.”

Your eyes shot open. You turned your head, looking up at him. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really.”

In an instant, you shot up, grabbing your jacket and shoes. “Gosh, that jerk. Where does he work? I’m gonna give him a piece of my mind. Text me the address?” you said, pacing around the room.

Jungwon watched you, unable to find the right words. He wanted to stop you.

Before you could rush out the door, he stood up and grabbed your wrist. You looked up at him, confused. “Wonnie? What is it?”

“I—uhm.”

This was it. He should tell you now. If he didn’t, it would kill him. But as he looked at you—eager, desperate to see Riki—he exhaled and let go.

“Take your umbrella. It’s raining.”

You smiled, running past him to grab it. “Thanks! Leave whenever you want! And don’t forget to take some leftovers home!”

And just like that, you were gone.

Jungwon stood frozen, staring at the empty space you had just occupied. Slowly, his eyes wandered around your room.

The walls covered in posters. The notebooks scattered on your desk. The lingering scent of your perfume.

It was all so familiar.

His mind filled with memories—the time you both got front-row tickets to your favorite band and shouted while holding hands, the nights he stayed up to bring you food when you were sick, the first time you hugged him while crying into his chest.

And yet, despite all those moments, despite everything he had done for you… he never came to terms with his feelings.

A tear slid down his cheek before he even realized it. He wiped at it absently, staring at his damp fingers in disbelief.

Then, without warning, the tears came faster.

He sucked in a shaky breath, trying to stop them, but his chest tightened, and his knees buckled beneath him. He collapsed onto the floor, hands gripping the fabric of his pants as silent sobs racked his body.

It was too much.

The love he had buried.

The longing he had ignored.

The pain of watching you run to someone else.

He had lost you.

And the worst part?

You were never his to begin with.

[melosliving]

im not sure if you did this yet BUT HEAR ME OUTTT, what if reader played in a movie with both aaron and kelvin and they are doing a interview together and they both discreetly see reader fidgeting with her hands and dress and try to secretly stop her and then after the interview is over they talk to her about it because its been going on for a minute…

Let me cook girl 😎 thanks for your request baby ❤️❤️

aaron pierre n kelvin harrison jr x actress!reader

you’re a nervous little thing…

warnings : dissociation

Press days are nothing new. You’ve done this a hundred times before—same routine, different city. Bright lights, velvet chairs, a round of staged laughs and knowing glances. Kelvin cracking jokes, Aaron making effortless comebacks, you sitting between them, playing the perfect balance to their chaos. It’s familiar. Easy.

But today, something feels off.

You’re aware of the cameras, the energy of the room, the way your dress sits against your skin—but it all feels distant, like you’re watching from somewhere outside yourself. Your hands won’t stay still, fingers brushing over the fabric of your dress, tapping against your knee, pressing against your rings. The voices around you sound far away, the world slightly out of sync.

Then you feel something. Aaron shifts beside you, the movement so small it’s barely noticeable, but suddenly his knee is pressed lightly against yours. But it his his hand that makes you aware of what you were doing. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t make a show of it, just lets the warmth of his hand seep into you like an anchor.

A beat later, Kelvin exhales through his nose, almost like a sigh, and leans back in his chair, arms resting on the armrests—but one of them, the one closest to you, brushes against your own. The weight is barely there, just the slightest pressure of skin against skin, but it’s intentional.

You breathe in slowly, focusing on that—on them. On the way their presence feels steady, how they’ve closed in around you just enough to remind you that you’re not drifting alone.

“You good?” Kelvin’s voice is low, casual enough that no one else would catch the concern tucked beneath it.

You nod, just once. He doesn’t push. Neither does Aaron. But they don’t move away either.

The interviewer shifts in her seat, oblivious. “So, let’s talk about the chemistry between you three, because it’s insane in this film,” she says, laughing. “Was that something you had to work on, or was it natural?”

Aaron tilts his head slightly, smirking. “I mean, that’s all her. I think she is what makes us look and feel so real.” He nods in your direction. “She makes it easy.”

Kelvin hums in agreement. “Yeah, don’t let her fool you. She’s got people thinking we were actually in love out here.”

You huff a small laugh, trying to shake the fog in your head. “You two were just as bad.”

Aaron turns toward Kelvin with a knowing look. “I did catch you staring a few times.”

Kelvin scoffs. “Excuse You, you were the one looking at my mouth every other scene.”

Aaron raises a brow. “Because you wouldn’t stop licking your lips.” Kelvin gestures toward you. “Well, she kept whispering in my ear, so how was I supposed to focus?”

You blink at him. “That was literally in the script.”

Aaron exhales dramatically. “Didn’t have to say it like that, though.” Kelvin hums. “Yeah, some of those lines felt… personal.”

You shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You two are ridiculous.”

Aaron grins, shifting slightly so his elbow just barely nudges against yours. “And yet, you keep coming back.”

Kelvin leans in, voice dropping just enough that only you can hear. “You okay now?” You nod again. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Kelvin holds your gaze for a second longer before leaning back. Aaron doesn’t say anything, just taps his fingers lightly against your knee once—brief, barely noticeable—before returning his hand to his lap.

The conversation moves on, but the weight in your chest feels a little lighter. The moment the cameras stop rolling, Kelvin turns to you.

“You been doing that a lot lately,” he says, voice quieter now, more serious. Aaron is watching you too, brow slightly furrowed. “Spacing out like that.”

You hesitate, fingers grazing over the rings on your hand again. “It’s nothing. Just happens sometimes.”

Kelvin tilts his head. “You telling us that, or yourself?” You sigh, pressing your lips together. “Both ? I’m fine.”

Aaron doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he reaches out, smoothing the fabric of your sleeve, his touch light, absentminded. “You don’t have to go through it alone, you know.”

Kelvin exhales, shaking his head. “Yeah. Next time, just tap one of us or somethin’. Let us bring you back.”

You glance between them, their expressions soft, steady, patient. You nod. “Yeah.”

Aaron studies you for a second longer before giving a small, satisfied nod. Then, because he can’t not do it, he smirks. “Or, you know, you could just sit next to me all the time. Let me hold your hand before you start floating off somewhere.”

Kelvin scoffs. “Here he go.”

Aaron shrugs. “I’m just sayin’, I’m right here—”

Kelvin rolls his eyes. “And I’m right here. Not you trying to steal my shine,”

Aaron smirks, leaning in slightly. “Yeah, but she likes me better.” Kelvin huffs out a laugh, then turns to you, expression playful. “Is that true?”

You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “I’m literally leaving.”

Kelvin grins. “Nah, we’re takin’ you to get food first.” Aaron hums. “Yeah, you definitely need to eat.”

You sigh, but there’s no real protest. “Fine.”

By the time you check your phone, Twitter is already spiraling.

“Kelvin and Aaron subtly closing in around her when she started dissociating… I need a moment.”

“No one’s talking about how Aaron just naturally reached for her hand without even looking? Hello???”

“Kelvin whispering ‘you okay now?’ with that serious look??? SIR, PLEASE.”

“They’re so soft with her but still manage to be the most unserious men alive. It’s unfair.”

@ melosliving 2025

[earthchica]

my lady, my love

aaron pierre x black, fem! reader {actress}

summary: On your press tour in New York, you eagerly anticipate reuniting with Aaron in London. Despite your friendly connection with your co-star during interviews, your playful banter raises Aaron's jealousy when he sees a recent interview.

warnings: explicit smut 18+, jealousy, makeup sex, unprotected, light daddy kink, breeding kink, long-distance, dirty talking, boyfriend/girlfriend, actor/actress, not real life, original characters, use of Y/N, words: 6k

Note: hiii, back to writing. Part 4 is here, I hope you enjoy it.

chapter one - chapter two - chapter three

As you reached the halfway point of the press tour, you began counting down the days. You and Aaron have kept in touch, texting and FaceTiming whenever possible.

You miss him so much, and this is your first experience with a long-distance relationship. Aaron is still in London while you finish your last few interviews and photo shoots in New York.

However, once you're done in NYC, you're going to London, and you'll finally get to see him. The thought fills you with excitement. You could hear your co-star Noah across the hall as you sat in the little dressing room.

The next few interviews started out chill, with you and Noah sitting side by side, with smiles on your faces. The next interviewer leaned in, clearly trying to stir the pot.

“So, tell me about the chemistry between you two! It’s palpable on screen,” she said, eyes gleaming excitedly. Noah looked at you with that playful grin.

“Oh, it’s undeniable. I mean, we vibe, you know? Just look at her!” Noah gestured to you dramatically, making you giggle.

“She’s like the perfect co-star, and I might even say… the perfect girl,” he added

You shot him a teasing smirk, leaning back in your chair. “Aw, thanks, Noah. But don’t get it twisted now! I’m taken, you know?” You winked.

“What? No way, who’s the lucky guy?” The interviewer replied, feigning shock. You leaned closer, lowering your voice as if it were a deep secret.

“Good girl never tells,” you giggled, delivering the line with sass. The interviewer laughed.

The rest of the interview flew by in a blur of laughter and lighthearted banter. By the time it wrapped, you felt more at ease, the earlier anxiety melting.

You and Noah exchanged a quick hug before parting ways, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful for his friendship. He always knew how to make things feel lighter.

After a few solo interviews, back in your hotel room later that evening, you took a deep breath and took a shower. Afterward, you changed into some comfortable clothes and ordered room service.

Once settled down on the bed with your phone, you dialed Aaron's number, a smile spreading. However, it went to voicemail. You knew it must be around 10 PM in London, so he should still be awake.

So you tried again, but unfortunately, it didn't work. You then texted him. "Hey baby, just finished my interviews for the day. I miss you. Call me back when you can. I love you!"

As you waited for a response, you felt a pang of loneliness and began to wonder if Aaron was just too busy. You decided to go to bed and catch a quick flight to London tomorrow morning to surprise him.

-

Seven hours later and ten minutes later, you made it to his apartment around 2:00 PM; you texted him to see if he was home before knocking on the door.

Aaron opened the door wearing sweats and a hoodie. He was slightly happy and surprised to see you, but he looked like he had a little attitude.

“Hey,” Aaron said, his voice flat, as he stepped aside to let you in. You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to read his expression.

“Hi, baby,” you replied softly, stepping inside. The apartment smelled faintly of tea and old books, just like you remembered. You set your suitcases down by the door and turned to face him.

“I missed you,” you added, your voice trembling slightly.

Aaron sighed, running a hand through his face. “Yeah, I missed you too,” he said, but there was a hint of something else in his tone—something that made your stomach twist.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep the mood light. “Are you okay, baby?” you started, hoping to ease into whatever bothered him.

“So, I saw the interview posted today.” Aaron’s eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Oh, you did! That’s great. Really great, right? um, which one?” You blinked, taken aback by his tone.

“Don't act like you don't know! All that flirting with Noah? Really?” Aaron said with a frown.

Your jaw dropped.

“Wait, hold up. You’re upset about that? Aaron, it was just playful banter! You know how interviews are—it’s all for the cameras. Noah was just playing around, and I clarified that I was taken!” you said, raising your eyebrow.

Aaron raised an eyebrow, his expression unmoved. “Playful banter? No, love, that was more than that. You were giggling, smiling all over his face like you had a whole thing going on. And don’t even get me started on how he looked at you.”

You stepped closer, your hands reaching out to touch his arm, but he didn’t budge.

“Aaron, come on. You know me better than that. Noah’s just a friend; that’s it, nothing more. I love you, and I want you only. I’m sorry I made you feel like that.”

Aaron took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling slowly as he looked down at you. His eyes softened just a fraction, but the tension still hung heavy.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pressing your body against him. “Let me make up to you; let me remind you exactly what you are to me," You said softly.

In a searing kiss, you crashed your lips against his, pouring all your frustration and desire into it. Aaron gasped, allowing his tongue to sweep into your mouth.

You felt his anger melted away as heat flooded his body. "I miss you so damn much, you know that," You murmured against his lips as his hands roamed your body hungrily.

A low moan escaped Aaron's lips as you deepened the kiss, caressing the back of his neck.

"I missed you too," Aaron breathed, his voice rough with emotion.

"But please don’t do that, baby. I can't stand seeing you like that with someone else."

"I know," you whispered, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes. "You're the only one I want, Aaron. The only one I need."

Aaron nodded, his expression softening even more, and you pushed him towards the couch, your hands firm but gentle. He stumbled back, his eyes widening in surprise, but he didn't resist.

You got on your knees in front of him, your hands sliding up his thighs, massaging the tense muscles there. "Relax, baby," you murmured, your voice low and soothing.

"Let me take care of you."

Aaron leaned back against the couch, his breath hitching as your hands worked their magic. "Love!" he groaned, his voice thick and low with desire.

"You always know how to make me feel better."

You smirked up at him, your fingers teasing the waistband of his sweatpants.

"That's 'cause I know what you love," you purred, sliding your hands under the fabric and taking hold of him. He hissed sharply, his hips jerking involuntarily as you began to stroke him slowly, firmly.

"Aaron," you whispered, your breath hot against his skin as you leaned closer. "I love you so much, baby. You know that, right? You’re my everything."

Aaron moaned softly, his hands gripping the edge of the couch tightly. "I know," he managed to say, his voice trembling.

"I just… I can’t help it sometimes. I see you out there, shining like a damn star, and I get scared. Scared someone’s gonna take you away from me."

You paused momentarily, looking up at him with pure adoration. "Nobody is taking me away from you," you said firmly, your voice steady and full of conviction.

"You got me, Aaron. Always and Forever."

Aaron let out a shaky breath, nodding as he gently cups your face with his massive hands. "You promise?" he whispered, his voice raw with vulnerability.

"I promise," you said, your eyes locked onto his. Then, with a sly smile, you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against the tip of his dick as you spoke.

"But right now, I wanna make it all melt away, baby. Just focus on me and how good I will make you feel," you added.

Aaron groaned, his head falling back against the couch as you pressed a soft kiss to the sensitive head of his dick.

"Shit," he muttered, his fingers tightening in your hair. "You always know how to drive me crazy."

You chuckled lowly, your breath hot against his skin. "That’s the plan," you purred before taking him into your mouth slowly, savoring the way he twitched and throbbed against your tongue.

You swirled your tongue around the tip, teasing him relentlessly, making him squirm beneath you.

"Fuck," Aaron hissed, his hips bucking slightly as you sucked him deeper. "You’re so damn good at this."

You pulled back slightly, letting him slip out of your mouth with a wet pop. "You like that?" you asked, looking up at him with a mischievous glint.

"Like it?" Aaron groaned, his voice rough and desperate. "Baby, I love it. You got me out here losing my mind, and you're not even done yet."

You smirked, fingers tracing the vein along his length, making him shiver. "Oh, I’m far from done," you whispered, your voice dripping with promise.

"You think I’m just gonna stop when I got you lookin’ like this? All hot and bothered, tryin’ to hold it together? Nah, big daddy. I’m about to take you to a whole ‘nother level."

Aaron’s breath hitched as you leaned back in, your tongue flat against his shaft as you licked him from base to tip. He cursed under his breath, his hands gripping the couch so tight his knuckles turned white.

"You play too much," he muttered, but there was no real complaint in his tone—just pure, unadulterated need.

"Oh, I’m dead serious," you shot back, your lips wrapping around him again as you took him deep into your throat. This time, you didn’t hold back, bobbing your head rhythmically, your hand working in tandem with your mouth to drive him wild.

The wet sounds filled the room, mingling with Aaron’s heavy breaths and the occasional curse that slipped past his lips.

You could feel him trembling beneath you, his thighs tensing as he fought to keep himself from losing control too soon. But you weren’t about to let him hold back—not afternoon.

"Tell me how it feels, big daddy," you murmured, pulling back just enough to let him feel the cool air against his slick skin. Your eyes locked onto his, dark and hungry, as you waited for his response.

Aaron’s chest heaved as he struggled to find the words. "Feels… feels like heaven," he finally managed, his voice strained and thick with desire. "Like you’re tryna suck my soul out through my dick, love."

You grinned, your tongue darting out to lick a slow, deliberate stripe along the underside of his shaft.

"Good," you purred. "That’s exactly what I’m aiming for. I want you to forget everything but me and this moment. Just focus on how good I’m making you feel."

He groaned, his head falling back again as you took him back into your mouth, this time deeper than before. Your throat relaxed around him, and you could feel the way his body jerked in response, his hips instinctively thrusting up into the warmth of your mouth.

Your hands moved to grip his thighs, holding him steady as you worked him over with a rhythm that was both relentless and intoxicating.

The sounds he made—those low, guttural moans and breathless curses—were music to your ears, driving you to push him even further.

"You always taste so amazing, Terry," you murmured, your voice muffled but still dripping with that same sultry tone. "Like you were made just for me. You feel it too, don’t you? How we fit together like this like it’s some kinda cosmic shit."

Aaron’s hands were in your hair now, tangling in the curls as he tried to keep himself grounded.

"Damn, yes, I feel it," he growled, his voice low and raw. "You got me out here feelin’ like I’m floatin’; keep goin’, baby. Don’t stop."

You didn’t need to be told twice.

Your mouth worked him over with a fervor that left him gasping, your tongue swirling around the head of his dick before plunging him back into the heat of your throat.

His grip on your hair tightened, sending a shiver down your spine as you felt the tension building in him, his body coiled like a spring ready to snap.

You pulled back again, letting him slide out of your mouth with a wet pop, and then you stood up, your eyes never leaving his. "You want this pussy? because I want your dick," you asked, your voice low and teasing as you slowly began to peel off your clothes.

Aaron’s eyes widened as he watched you, his breath hitching in his throat. "Yes, love," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "You don't gotta tell me twice."

You smirked, taking your time as you took your shirt, letting it fall to the floor in a heap. Your hands moved to the waistband of your pants, and you slid them down your legs with deliberate slowness, stepping out of them one foot at a time.

Aaron’s eyes were glued to your body, his gaze hot and heavy as he took in every inch of you. "Fuck," he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. "You’re fuckin’ perfect. How did I get so lucky?"

You grinned, feeling satisfied at how he looked at you. "Maybe by fate," you purred, climbing onto the couch and straddling him.

His hands immediately went to your hips, gripping you tightly as you shifted forward, your pussy hovering just above his throbbing dick.

You could feel the heat radiating from him, the way his breath hitched as you teased him, letting your folds brush against the tip of his length.

"You feel that?" you whispered, your voice dripping with seduction as you ground down just enough to make him groan. "That’s all for you, baby. This pussy’s been waitin’ to feel you inside me for weeks."

Aaron’s hands tightened on your hips, his fingers digging into your skin like he was trying to keep himself from losing control.

"Quit playing, love," he growled, his voice rough and desperate. "You are gonna drive me crazy sittin’ up there like that. Put that pussy on me already."

You smirked, leaning down so your lips were just inches from his ear.

"What’s the matter? You can’t handle a little tease?" you purred, your breath hot against his skin as you rolled your hips again, letting him feel just how wet you were for him.

"You want this pussy so bad, huh? Tell me how bad you want it."

"Shit," he hissed, his hips bucking up instinctively as he tried to get closer to you.

"You wanna know how bad?" Aaron growled, his voice thick with need.

"I want it so bad I can’t think straight. I want it so bad it’s all I see when I close my eyes—this pussy, this body, riding me like you own me. I want it so bad I’d beg if you don’t give it to me right now. So quit playing and let me feel you, girl. Let me feel that heat, that group wrapped around me. ‘Cause I’m about to lose my damn mind up in here." Aaron moaned.

You bit your lip, holding back a moan as his words sent a rush of heat straight to your pussy.

"That’s what I love to hear," you whispered, finally lowering yourself onto him, inch by torturous inch. You gasped as he filled you completely, the stretch and burn to ignite every nerve in your body.

"Oh goodness," you breathed, your head falling back as you adjusted to him. "So big...you feel so good inside me."

Aaron groaned, his hands gripping your hips even tighter as he guided your movements. "Fuck, baby," he rasped, his voice strained. "I miss this pussy. Always so wet, so tight for me."

You moaned softly, your nails digging into his shoulders as you started to move, riding him with slow, deliberate rolls of your hips.

"You like that, Aaron?" you purred, your voice dripping with sweetness and sin. "You like how this pussy grips you? How it’s all yours, just for you?"

Aaron’s eyes fluttered shut briefly before he locked his gaze back on yours, dark and hungry.

"I love it, baby fuck, I love it," he growled, his voice rough and low. "This pussy is all mine, it's mine, nobody else can handle it like I do. Nobody else gonna make you feel like this."

His hands slid up your sides, thumbs brushing over your nipples, sending a shiver through your body. "You know that, right? This pussy belongs to me. Tell me it's mine."

You arched into his touch, your breath hitching as he teased your sensitive peaks. "Mmm, yes, it is," you whispered, grinding down harder on him, making him groan deep in his chest.

"All yours, baby. Only you can make me feel this good." You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, "Only you can make me come so hard I forget my own name."

Aaron’s grip tightened around your waist, his fingers digging into your dark-brown skin as he pulled you closer, his breath hot and ragged against your neck.

“That’s right, baby,” he growled, his voice thick with desire. “You gonna scream my name louder than ever before. Ain’t no shame in it, either. Let the whole damn world know who you belong to.”

His other hand tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make you gasp, your body trembling with anticipation.

“Shit, Aaron,” you whimpered, your voice breaking as his teeth grazed your collarbone.

“You're gonna wreck me, huh? Gonna make me forget everything but you?” Your hips moved faster now, riding him with a desperate rhythm, each thrust sending waves of pleasure coursing through you.

You could feel him throbbing inside you, his length hitting all the right spots, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

Aaron’s lips crashed against yours in a fierce kiss, swallowing your moans as his tongue explored your mouth. When he finally pulled back, his eyes were blazing with intensity.

“Damn right, I am,” he muttered, his voice rough and commanding.

“I’m gonna ruin this pussy for anybody else. You ain’t never gonna want nobody but me forever. You hear me?”

His hands moved to your ass, gripping you tightly as he thrust up into you, his movements hard and relentless.

“Yes, Aaron, yes!” you cried, your voice rising with each powerful stroke.

“Only you, baby, it’s only ever been you!” Your nails raked down his shoulders as you clung to him, your body trembling with the force of your desire.

“Fuck, I’m so close, Aaron. I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna fucking cum!”

“That’s it, love,” he urged, his voice a low, guttural growl. “Cum for me. Let me feel that tight little pussy squeeze the soul outta me.” His thrusts became even more intense, each one driving you closer to the brink.

“No holding back. You give me everything you got, you hear me?” Aaron added.

“I can’t—I can’t hold it,” you sobbed, your body arching as the first wave of your climax crashed over you. “Oh fuck, Aaron, I’m cumming, I’m cumming!”

Your cries echoed through the room, your body convulsing as you shattered around him, your pussy clamping down on his big dick with a vice-like grip.

Aaron’s breath hitched, his own control slipping as he felt you come undone beneath him. “Fuck, baby, that’s it,” he groaned, his voice strained with the effort to hold back.

“You feel so good, so fucking good. You take all of me, huh? You take this dick like you were made for it.”

You could barely form words, your mind a haze of pleasure as you rode out the waves of your orgasm. But Aaron wasn’t done with you yet.

He lifts you and lays you at the corner of the couch, pinning your wrists above your head as he hovers over you and slams back into you; his pace is brutal and unrelenting.

Your back arched off the bed as he pounded into you, each thrust hitting that sweet spot deep inside you that had you seeing stars.

“Aaron!” you screamed, your voice raw and desperate. “Please, don’t stop! Don’t ever stop!”

“I'm stopping ‘til I fill this pussy up, baby,” Aaron growled, his voice thick with desire.

“You want that? Do you want me to nut deep inside you? Make you feel every drop?” His hips snapped forward with a force that had you gasping, your body trembling beneath him as he drove into you with a rhythm that was both punishing and intoxicating.

“Tell me how bad you want it.”

“So bad,” you moaned, your voice a desperate plea. “I need it, Aaron. I need you to fill me up and remember who I belong to. Please, baby, I can’t take it anymore—I need you to cum in me!”

Your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, pulling him deeper as your nails dug into his back, leaving marks that only fueled his intensity.

“That’s my girl,” Aaron muttered, his breath hot against your ear as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your dark-brown skin with softness and admiration.

“Taking this dick like a fucking queen. You love this shit, don’t you? Love feeling me stretch that pussy out; make it mine.” His thrusts became erratic, his control slipping as he felt his own climax building.

“You gonna take every last drop of this nut, huh? Gonna let me breed that tight pussy?”

“Yes!” you cried, your body arching against his as the heat between you both reached its peak.

"Breed me, Aaron. Make it so I can’t forget what you did to me." Your voice was a ragged whisper, trembling with need as you felt him swell inside you, his dick throbbing with the promise of release.

"That’s it," he snarled, his hands gripping your hips hard as he pounded into you, each thrust hitting deeper, harder.

"You’re gonna feel me for days, baby. Every time you move, every time you sit down, you’re gonna remember this dick splitting you open."

His voice was a low growl, possessive and raw, sending shivers down your spine.

Your head fell back, a keening moan escaping your lips as he hit that perfect spot inside you again and again. The pressure was building, your body coiling tight like a spring ready to snap.

"Aaron, I’m so close," you gasped, your fingers clawing at his shoulders as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm you. "Then cum for me," he demanded, his voice rough and commanding.

"Cum with me as I fill you up. Let me feel that pussy milk every drop out of me." His pace quickened, his hips slamming into yours with a force that had you crying out, your body trembling on the edge.

And then it hit you—a wave of pleasure so intense it felt like you were being torn apart and put back together all at once. Your body convulsed, your walls clenching around him as you came hard, your screams muffled against his shoulder.

Aaron groaned, his hips stuttering as he followed you over the edge, his dick pulsing deep inside you as he emptied himself, his release hot and thick as it filled you to the brim.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice hoarse as he collapsed on top of you, his body still shuddering with the aftershocks of his orgasm.

“You feel that, baby?” He asked, pushing his cum in and out as he kissed you then, his lips claiming yours with a hunger that left you breathless, his tongue sliding against yours as he poured every ounce of his desire into that kiss.

You moaned into his mouth, your hand on the back of his neck as you kissed him back with equal fervor, your bodies still connected as you both rode out the last waves of pleasure together.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were dark with satisfaction, a smug grin tugging at his lips as he looked down at you.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice low and possessive. “All mine.”

You lay there, spent and trembling, your body still humming with the intensity of what had just happened between you. The air was thick with the scent of sex, the room silent except for the sound of your heavy breathing.

Aaron shifted slightly, pulling you closer so that you were lying on his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he held you close.

“That was…” you started, your voice trailing off as you struggled to find the words to describe your feelings.

“Perfect,” Aaron finished for you, his voice filled with a quiet satisfaction. He kissed the top of your head, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back as you lay there, basking in the afterglow.

“You’re so perfect.”

You smiled, your eyes closing as you let yourself relax in his arms, the warmth of his body enveloping you. After a few minutes of lying there, tangled in each other and breathing.

Aaron finally shifted, his hands sliding down your back. “C’mon,” he murmured, his voice still rough but softer now, laced with affection.

“Let’s get cleaned up.”

-

You and Aaron got dressed in some casual clothes, and Aaron got some food delivered. You two were eating and chatted about what’s been going on despite your little argument earlier.

“So,” you said, leaning. “You know that movie premiere tomorrow night?” You paused, biting your lip to hide the sly smile creeping onto your face.

“I was thinkin’… maybe you could come with me. As my date.”

Aaron’s fork froze mid-air, a piece of food dangling precariously as he turned to look at you, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Really?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, but there was a hint of playfulness there too. “Are you sure you want that? I mean, I’m all for it.”

You smirked, leaning closer to him, your voice dripping with confidence.

“Oh, I’m more than sure. Let ‘em talk. Let ‘em get jealous. Let ‘em know I’m yours, and you’re mine. But…” You paused for effect, your eyes locking with his.

“We’ll still keep it private between us. No need to give ‘em all the details.”

-

You and Aaron got dressed in some casual clothes, and Aaron got some food delivered. You two were eating and chatted about what’s been going on despite your little argument earlier.

“So,” you said, leaning. “You know that movie premiere tomorrow night?” You paused, biting your lip to hide the sly smile creeping onto your face.

“I was thinkin’… maybe you could come with me. As my date.”

Aaron’s fork froze mid-air, a piece of food dangling precariously as he turned to look at you, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

“Really?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, but there was a hint of playfulness there too. “Are you sure you want that? I mean, I’m all for it.”

You smirked, leaning closer to him, your voice dripping with confidence.

“Oh, I’m more than sure. Let ‘em talk. Let ‘em get jealous. Let ‘em know I’m yours, and you’re mine. But…” You paused for effect, your eyes locking with his.

“We’ll still keep it private between us. No need to give ‘em all the details.”

Aaron’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smirked, setting his fork down on the edge of his plate. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, his expression thoughtful.

“Alright, so you’re saying… you want to take me to the premiere. As your date. And we’re keeping it private but still making it clear to everyone else that we’re… together.”

He paused, his gaze never leaving yours. “And you’re okay with that? With everyone knowing, even if we’re not broadcasting the details?”

You nodded, your confidence unwavering. “Why wouldn’t I be? We’re adults, Aaron. And what we have… it’s worth it. Besides, I think it’s time people know that you’re off the market.”

Aaron chuckled, a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. He pushed his chair back and stood, walking over to you with a slow, predatory grace.

“And who’s going to make sure I stay off the market?” asked, his voice low and teasing as he leaned down, his face inches from yours.

You grinned, your heart pounding in your chest. “Oh, I think I can handle that.” Before you could say another word, Aaron’s lips were on yours, warm and firm, sending a wave of heat through your body.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as the room around you faded. All that mattered was the two of you, lost in the moment, the world outside melting into nothingness.

-

The following day, Aaron lay sprawled across the bed, his bare chest rising and falling with each slow breath, the sheets tangled around his waist.

You sat on the edge of the bed, watching him sleep, a smile playing on your lips. The memory of the previous conversation hung in the air like a promise, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of excitement for what the day—and the night—had in store.

“Morning,” Aaron mumbled, his voice husky with sleep as he stirred, stretching his arms above his head.

His eyes fluttered open, locking onto yours with a warm, sleepy grin. “What time is it?”

“Almost Noon,” you replied, caressing his forehead. “But we’ve got a full day ahead of us. Thought we could make the most of it before tonight.”

Aaron sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Sounds like a plan. What did you have in mind?”

You stood, walking over to the wardrobe where you’d laid out clothes the night before.

“I was thinking we could spend the day out. Maybe walk along the South Bank and grab some food at Borough Market. Just enjoy the city together before the chaos of the premiere.”

Aaron’s face lit up with interest as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Sounds good!” He said, getting out of bed butt-naked, and you laughed, smacked his ass.

“Sounds good!” He said, getting out of bed butt-naked and you laughed, smacked his ass.

“Cheeky little-,” Aaron muttered, though the grin on his face said he didn’t mind one bit. He grabbed the towel off the bed and wrapped it around his waist, his confidence as naked as his body.

“You better stop playin’ with fire, yeah? Or I’ll have to take you back to bed.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool, but the heat in your cheeks and the smile on your face told on you. “Please, you’re the one who’s been sleepin’ in till noon. If we don’t get movin’, we’ll miss the whole day.”

Aaron smirked, sauntering over to the bathroom.

“Blame me, innit? Had a right proper distraction last night.” Steam curling up, he flicked on the shower and stepped inside without closing the door.

“You comin’ in or what?”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. “You think I’m fallin’ for that? We’ve got plans, remember? You’re not gonna derail ‘em with your… distractions.”

“Suit yourself,” Aaron called back, his voice muffled by the water.

“But you’re missin’ out. Could’ve been a right nice way to start the day.”

You shook your head, chuckling as you turned away. “You’re such a liar. You’d have us late and miss the whole market.”

“True, yeah,” Aaron admitted, his voice carrying over the water. “But it’d be worth it, wouldn’t it?”

You didn’t respond, but the thought lingered as you went to get dressed. By the time Aaron came out of the bathroom, his face dripped, and his skin glowing from the shower.

You were already halfway through your coffee, scrolling through your phone for the day’s itinerary. Aaron padded over to you, water droplets clinging to his chest as he leaned in to kiss your head.

“You know I’m just takin’ the piss, right? I wouldn’t actually make us late.” Aaron said, drying himself off.

“Sure you wouldn’t,” you said dryly, not looking up.

Aaron laughed, grabbing the other cup of coffee you’d poured for him. “Fair enough. You know me too well.”

Once he was dressed—looking effortlessly sharp in a simple black tee, jeans, baseball cap, and sunglasses—you both set out into the crisp air.

The South Bank was alive with energy, the Thames glinting in the sunlight as you walked hand in hand. The smell of street food hit you when you turned the corner near Borough Market, and your stomach growled in anticipation.

“Love, I’m proper starvin’,” Aaron said, squeezing your hand. “What’s the plan? You better not be thinkin’ we’re just window shoppin’.”

“Relax,” you said, smirking.

“I’ve got your back. There’s this one stall I saw last time I was here that I’ve been dying to try once I visit here again—it does the best jerk chicken and proper Caribbean vibes. And don’t even get me started on the halloumi fries.”

Aaron’s eyes lit up. “Halloumi fries? Now you’re talkin’. Let’s go find this place before I waste away.”

You led the way through the crowded market, weaving past stalls selling everything from handmade jewelry to fresh flowers. The air was thick with the smells of spices and grilled meats, and the sounds of vendors calling out to passersby mingled.

“Ah, there it is,” you said, tugging gently on Aaron’s hand as you spotted the stall between a vintage clothing stand and a bustling flower shop.

The sign read “Kiya's Caribbean” and the aroma of allspice and thyme wafted through the air, mingling with the hum of reggae music playing softly from a portable speaker.

Aaron’s eyes widened as you approached the stall, and his stomach growled audibly. “I can smell the magic from here. Let’s get in there before they run out.”

The vendor, a cheerful dark brown-skinned woman with a warm smile, a gold hoop in her nose, and long beautiful locs, greeted you both with a hearty.

“Y’ello, darlin’! What can I get for yuh today?”

“Everything, please,” Aaron said, not missing a beat. “But especially that jerk chicken. And don’t be stingy with it, yeah?”

She laughed, her voice rich and melodic. “Oh, you’re a bold one, ain’t ya? Alright, let’s set you up. For good measure, jerk chicken, rice and peas, plantain, and a side of fries.”

“And halloumi fries,” you added, nudging Aaron. “Don’t forget the halloumi fries.”

“Course not, sweetheart,” she said, winking. “I gotchu.”

As she worked her culinary magic, the grill sizzle and the rhythmic chopping of fresh herbs filled the air. Aaron leaned against the stall, his arm brushing against yours, and you couldn’t help but smile at how at ease he was, chatting with the vendor like they were old mates.

The first bite was divine when she handed you both a loaded tray. The jerk chicken was tender, the spices perfectly balanced, and the halloumi fries—crispy and creamy inside—were absolutely perfect.

You closed your eyes, savoring the flavors, and Aaron laughed, nudging you playfully. “Told you it’d be worth it,” he said, his mouth full. “You’re in your element, innit?”

You opened your eyes, catching the glint of mischief in his. “Shut up and eat your food.”

The rest of the afternoon was a blur of laughter, music, and the electric energy of the market. You wandered through the stalls, picking up a few trinkets.

Earrings shaped like tiny palm trees, a bracelet with a small charm of the Jamaican flag—and even stopped to watch a group of dancers performing to a live drum circle.

At one point, Aaron pulled you into the crowd, spinning you around with him until you were both breathless and laughing. The music was infectious, the rhythm pulsating through you like a heartbeat.

For a moment, it felt like the whole world had narrowed to just the two of you, lost in the moment's joy.

As the sun shone, you found yourselves at a small riverside spot, sharing a bottle of fresh water and watching the boats glide.

Aaron leaned back on his elbows, his eyes half-closed as he soaked in the view.

“You know,” he said, his voice low and thoughtful, “days like this… they’re the ones that make life feel proper special.”

You smiled, twirling a strand of your curly hair around your finger. “Yeah,” you agreed quietly. “They’re the ones you remember.”

He turned his head, his gaze meeting yours, and for a moment, there wasn’t a single thing to say. The world just… was.

And in that moment, it was enough.

TAGS @writingsbytee @notapradagurl7 @ellemelaninbeauty @cocooned-butterfly

[revelboo]

I'm in love with Metroplex because of you 🫵. This man, I just can't...Thank you for your work! It's all beautiful. It really made me happy in a difficult moment 💗

I’m glad my writing could help! Metroplex has been a fun storyline to write, though I was really intimidated by the request when I first got it. Had no idea how to make it work

I Can Feel You Pt 18

Metroplex x Reader

• “Little city speaker.” There’s a weight against you and you sleepily look up at the familiar pulse of his spark high above you. Imagining that it’s the same rhythm as your heartbeat as impossible as that is. One drone’s head is laying on your belly, the other two at your sides, arms draped across you like warm, living weighted blankets. And you have no idea which one he’s speaking through, unable to tear your eyes from his spark. From that mesmerizing light and warmth.

• “Is that an official title?” One of the Autobots had joking called you that once. And you’ve felt purposeless for so long among the Autobots. Too little to help anyone, only getting in the way. But you’d helped Metroplex. Want to continue to help him, to be his voice since he’s still reluctant to talk to anyone else even through his drones.

• “A Titan needs his city speaker,” he replies, reaching with Six Gun’s hand to cup your cheek. “His voice.” Doesn’t want anyone else to fill that role, only you. And it lets him keep you close. Keep you safe. Isn’t sure how much you know about Cybertronians. Has anyone explained about their sparks to you? About spark bonds? Doubts it, but isn’t sure how to broach the subject. How to ask even more of you than you’ve already given him. It seems so greedy, but he can’t stop thinking of it. Wondering if you’d accept all of him. “I need you.”

• Heart warming at words, you feel Scamper shift against you. Resting his chin on you and looking up your body. It’s a funny feeling knowing this is him. All three drones Metroplex. And that you’re inside him at the same time. Feeling the words you want to say right there on the tip of your tongue and your own uncertainty holding you back. Know that he cares for you, but also that he’s ancient. That your life is probably a blink to him and that fills you with an aching sorrow. Because that must be so lonely. Hound has once told you that Metroplex was the last surviving Titan. That’s what makes you want to say it. To make sure he knows. “I love you.”

• For a moment he loses the connection to his drones, so startled by your words. Because it’s what he’d wanted, but hadn’t dared hope for. Knows everything about him must be so strange and unsettling to you, but you’ve stayed by him all along. Kept reaching out and trying to help him again and again. And those words mean everything to him. Wrapping all three drones around you, holding you the only way he can. “I love you, too, little one.” Wants to bond you so badly, but doesn’t want to rush you. You have time now to get to know each other, though he already knows you so well.

Previous

[enhaniki-san]

Nishimura Riki as your classmate that's in love you.

warnings: smut, nsfw, cursing, etc.

♱ student!reader who is a mean girl and delinquent but classmate!ni-ki thinks he might be into it.

♱ classmate!niki who keeps on showing up wherever you go.

"what the fuck, niki? do you have a tracker on me or something?" you asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

he replied, "it's just a coincidence." shrugging casually. "don't flatter yourself."

"bullshit." you shot back, crossed arms. "you're always popping up where i least want you."

♱ classmate!ni-ki who's very attentive to you and even though he never actually said it, he's making it painfully obvious how much he likes you.

when the teacher had finally decided to do something about your constant tardiness, you ended up sweeping the dusty classroom floor where ni-ki spotted you.

"what do you want?" you asked when you heard his footsteps. you turned to face him, resting your hands on the broom handle.

he replied, "i'm just going to wait for you."

you rolled your eyes and turned back to your task. "don't you have something better to do?"

"hmm, not really." he stepped into the room, "i think this is more fun."

"watching me clean? oh you've got a weird definition of 'fun'."

he didn't answer. he simply stood there, watching you and even though he is silent, ni-ki's presence was still distracting.

you felt tired suddenly and with a huff, you glanced over your shoulder.

"ca-can you help me?"

the words left your mouth quietly before you could stop them, you instantly regretted it. "my god..." you thought. you weren't used to asking anyone for help, let alone ni-ki's.

your cheeks burned slightly as you turned away. "nevermind..." you said, turning to focus on the floor again.

ni-ki stepped forward and took the broom from your hands without a word.

"hey-"

"i got it." he said, cutting you off. he started sweeping like he'd been doing it all his life and within minutes, the dirt pile you'd been struggling with had already doubled in size.

you stood there awkwardly, unsure what to do or feel with yourself. "you don't have to do everything..."

"you asked for help, so i'm just being thorough." he said, making you flustered.

you turned away and muttered, "thanks, i guess."

"no problem." he replied, still focused on sweeping.

you couldn't help but steal a glance at him. his sleeves were rolled up slightly and his hair was bouncing with every movement.

ni-ki looked so…

and before you could finish that thought, he dusted his hands off with a satisfied smile. "done. anything else you want me to do?"

what is he, a butler?

you stared and blinked at him, unsure how to respond. finally, you shook your head. "no... that's it."

"good." he said, walking past you to put the broom away then he leaned close to you making you step back. "next time, just ask me from the start. you know i don't mind doing stuff for you."

"are you genie?"

"jinny? who's that jerk?"

"the genie from the movie, you idiot..."

ni-ki laughed awkwardly. "ahh the one from movie."

♱ classmate!ni-ki who gets jealous easily when a guy approaches you.

"hey." a voice called. you looked up to see a guy from another class approaching, smiling easy and confident. "do you wanna partner up for gym?"

"ni-ki! here!"

you turned and saw ni-ki standing with a group of guys with a soccer ball in his hands. he was staring at the guy beside you and without hesitation, he launched the ball. not towards his friends though but directly at the guy's head.

the ball smacked into the back of his head with a satisfying thud, cutting off whatever the guy was about to say.

"ow! what the hell?" the guy turned around, rubbing the back of his head as niki jogged over, faking innocence.

"sorry, bad aim." ni-ki said, though the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips said otherwise.

the guy said something under his breath before walking off, leaving you staring at ni-ki in disbelief.

"seriously?" you asked, shaking your head.

ni-ki shrugged, completely unapologetic. "yeah, so what?" he asked.

you rolled your eyes, kicking another rock as you walked away from him.

♱ classmate!ni-ki who keeps asking you to go to school everyday that you actually started showing up little by little and going in early didn't seem so bad anymore, and not to mention, you're grades were starting to improve too.

you handed back his notes then ni-ki adjusted your tie, his knuckles were brushing against your chest.

suddenly, ni-ki glanced at his watch then cupped your face gently. "i gotta go before someone sees me hanging out with a bad girl." he teased, grinning while anticipating your reaction.

you raised an eyebrow, scoffing. "oh, so you're embarrassed to be seen with me?"

his lips curled into a smirk, "i'll kiss you in front of everyone if you want." he said, adding a laugh.

you eyes widened, heat started to rush to your cheeks. flustered, you pulled his hands away. "you just said-"

"i'll see you later!" ni-ki interrupted, spinning on his heel with a playful grin before sprinting off, leaving you standing there, completely stunned.

"that guy..."

♱ classmate!ni-ki who teases you about your handwriting but secretly keeps every note you've ever written for him.

♱ classmate!ni-ki who kept asking to copy your homework, but it's actually just an excuse to check if you did it right.

♱ classmate!ni-ki whom you unexpectedly started making out with, one night while studying at your house.

and when he stood and stretched after, you accidentally looked at his pants where his dick were straining against the fabric, making a tent on his sweats.

you quickly whipped your head away. but ni-ki noticed and laughed as he walked towards the bathroom. "yeah, but i promise it's nothing you can't handle."

♱ classmate!ni-ki who seems to be really patient with you.

you wandered through the library then you spotted niki sitting by the window. his head were leaning back against the seat, eyes closed and looking so peaceful.

your heart ached slightly. you sat down quietly beside him, trying not to disturb him.

and as if sensing your presence, ni-ki's eyes fluttered open. a small smile formed his lips as he shifted, putting his arm on the back of the seat behind, welcoming you. then, without a word, he rested his forehead against your shoulder.

"i missed you." he murmured, his voice were low and sleepy.

you swallowed hard, heat creeping up your neck and cheeks. "what happened the other day…" you began hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper. "did you tell anyone?"

ni-ki lifted his head slightly, his expression turned into worry. "no, of course i didn't."

"good…" you muttered, letting out a shaky breath you didn't realize you'd been holding.

he smiled faintly and rested his head against your shoulder again, his hand grabbed yours, caressing it, as if reassuring you.

"i- it's not a big deal, right? niki?" you asked.

ni-ki's jaw tightened for the briefest moment, his outward calm masking the storm that's happening inside. maybe it's just making out but the truth? he's been thinking about it nonstop, replaying every detail in his mind and it gave him more clarity just how much he likes you... and that he had probably stroked his dick thousand more times since that day.

but he wasn't about to let you know that.

"no." he whispered, his lips brushing close to your ear, "it's not."

you turned to him, your eyes lighting up with relief. "great! thanks…"

before he could respond, you stood abruptly, brushing your skirt down. "well, i've got to go now. see you!" you said, smiling while giving him a quick wave.

ni-ki watched you go, his hand still resting on the seat where yours had been moments earlier. he sighed confused, running a hand through his hair.

"yeah, sure." he muttered to himself, half-heartedly returning your wave. his eyes watched you until you disappeared from view, and then he leaned back in his chair, the ache in his chest stronger than ever.

♱ classmate!niki who uses your birthday as his phone passcode.

♱ student!reader who's slowly getting more conscious and aware about how popular ni-ki is, but he's yours.

you went back to class where you notice girls were chatting together. "niki asked me to wait for him after class!" a girl squealed nearby, her excitement cutting through your thoughts.

your ears perked up liked a dog then stepped closer to eavesdrop.

"do you think he'll ask you out?" another girl added.

you scoffed audibly, unable to help yourself. the sound drew their attention and you froze as their curious gazes landed on you. blinking awkwardly, you mumbled an apology and quickly walked away.

you: are you busy after class?

you: are you going somewhere with someone?

ni-ki: oh, right. i'm just going to talk to the new class representative. like an orientation thing.

ni-ki: i can cancel, though.

you laughed loudly and shook your head.

you: no, no! don't cancel. we can hang out later.

later, the two of you were lounging on your couch, the TV playing in the background. ni-ki had his head resting on your lap, scrolling aimlessly on his phone but after a while, he sat and he set it aside. you could feel him staring at you.

"what?" you asked, not bothering to look away from your own phone.

he didn't answer immediately, instead he gently moved your hair to the side. his fingers were brushing lightly against your neck.

"stop." you muttered, still scrolling.

ni-ki chuckled softly. "i don't want to."

sighing, you set your phone aside as well, giving him an exasperated look. "why the hell do you keep doing this?"

"doing what?"

"i don't know, maybe the flirting, doing everything for me, following me around-"

"oh, i thought you already knew." ni-ki interrupted.

"knew what?"

"that i like you." he said casually, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

you blinked, taken aback, before scoffing. "how can you say that so casually…" you muttered under your breath.

he smirked at your reaction. "what? it's true. i thought you knew."

"i know that! but i just never heard you actually say it until now." you replied, your voice quieter than before.

ni-ki sat up slightly, cupping your face in his hands and forcing you to meet his gaze. "i like you, y/n."

you turned your head slightly. "i- i said i know that… you don't have to repeat it."

his lips curved into a mischievous smile. "you shy?"

you pushed his hands away, cheeks flushed. "i'm not!"

ni-ki didn't buy it, a chuckle escaped his lips. he reached down and grabbed one of your thighs, effortlessly pulling it over his lap.

"i bet you're going to stop being like this once i become your girlfriend." you mumbled.

he shook his head with a smirk. "hmm, i don't think so."

"rea- really?"

he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. "yes," he murmured. then, his arms wrapped around you. "come closer."

you scooted closer to him, your heart pounding as he tilted his head, capturing your lips in a series of soft, gentle kisses. slowly, the kisses deepened, his hands sliding to your waist.

your hands clutching the fabric of his shirt as his lips trailed down your jawline, every touch of his lips on your skin made you shiver.

breathless, ni-ki paused, his lips hovering over yours.

"you're hard." you said.

he kissed you again, deeply before pulling away slightly. "it's okay."

"but i want to..." you whispered against his lips. ni-ki smiled, reaching down and with a slow, deliberate motion, pulled his pants down, revealing his erection that's pulsing with anticipation.

he felt a rush of heat as your eyes locked onto him, the intensity in your gaze sending shivers down his spine. he reached out, cupping your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw.

his cock throbbed when he felt your fingers around it, light as feathers, stroking his hard length.

ni-ki's breath hitched as you lowered your head, your lips following the path your fingers had taken. "that's good..." he groaned out as you took him in your mouth. the sensation was electrifying, sending waves of pleasure crashing through him. your head bobbing up and down, gagging each time his cock hit the back of your throat.

he gripped your hair, his fingers tangling tightly in the soft strands causing slight pain you chose to ignore.

"yes, just like that." he managed to gasp, breath catching in his throat while arching into your mouth as the pleasure became overwhelming. ni-ki shuddered, a deep guttural sound escaping him, hips bucking wildly as he came, a hot burst of release flooding your mouth.

cum started to drip in the corner of your mouth, "don't let it out." he said, wiping the remains as he watched you swallowed it like a good girl, your eyes locked on his.

you sat beside him with a smirk playing on your lips. "you're a freak."

ni-ki chuckled at your remark. "for you."

you started making out again, the kiss charged with the afterglow of what had just happened. then you felt his hand slip down, stroking his member, which was already starting to stiffen again.

"you're still hard..."

"i know, right?" ni-ki groaned, looking so needy. "can i put it inside you?"

a/n: the only way i could write these days lol

please read Nishimura Riki as your boyfriend

read part-timers!niki x reader

read part-timers!niki x reader part 2

read snitch - reader x niki

read touché - niki x reader

read touché - niki x reader part 2

read exes - niki x reader

[writhyv]

⋆｡°✩ jake pulls you into a kissing booth

would you kiss me? | sim jaehyun x male!reader

pairing: jake x male!reader genre: fluff words: 1.8k notes: my first jake fic! honestly wanted to write about him for a long time because he's one of the first guys i saw from enha ... he just has that hot popular kid vibe ... i HAD to make this ... AAAAA ALSO SHOUOUT TO @kaiyunsim! THIS ONE'S FOR YA BRUH

Your days at school began like any other student's. Each day was a repetitive cycle of subjects you had to endure until the semester ended. You had memorized these lessons long ago, yet still found yourself sitting in class, trying to absorb the material. It was exhausting, but deep down, you loved the thrill of academics. School was a place of peace for you, a welcome escape from home, which felt far away. It was a place you cherished, filled with the laughter of friends and the buzz of youthful dreams.

However, if you could choose to be anywhere else, it certainly wouldn't be your school, especially not during the school's founding celebration fair. To make matters worse, your friend had signed you up to help out at your class's assigned booth — the kissing booth.

You rested your head against your hand, manning the busy booth with an aloof gaze. It wasn't that you disliked helping; it was just that you hadn’t volunteered for this. You watched the chaos unfold around you, the energy of the fair buzzing like a live wire. Everywhere you looked, students were laughing, playing games, and enjoying the festivities. But here you were, stationed at the kissing booth, a reluctant participant in this social spectacle.

"Thanks again for helping out!" a classmate chimed in, trying to lift your spirits. His bright smile was infectious, but you only managed a half-hearted nod.

"Ugh... it’s not like I had a choice. Joey signed me up before I could protest," you replied, rolling your eyes.

"Joey did? She's a riot!" your classmate laughed nervously, glancing at you. Your glare silenced him. "Oh! I mean... she's just so... um, enthusiastic, right?"

"It’s for fun!" Joey interjected, crashing into the conversation, her energy palpable. The other student bolted away as if he had just seen a ghost.

"Aren't you allowed to have fun, Mr. President?" Joey turned her gaze to you as she held her hands onto your shoulders.

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. Making friends in high school was challenging enough, but when people clung to you like they were your lifeline, things got complicated. Joey had always stuck to you like glue. As you grew to tolerate her presence, she introduced you to 'normal high school things'—experiences you had only read about in books or seen in movies. You felt like you could only refuse her so many times before she'd throw a tantrum.

"Again, it's ACTING president. I've only been called that since the new semester started, okay?" you corrected her, a hint of frustration creeping into your voice.

"Yeah, right. You'll definitely win again if you ever run. It’s your calling!" she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"That’s why I can't be here," you said, standing up, feeling the weight of tiredness settling on your shoulders.

Joey grabbed your arm, pulling you back down. You knew this would happen, but it never hurt to try and escape, right?

"Hey! Not again!" she sighed, exasperated. "You've only been here for two hours! I promised you food, right? Just help out at the booth."

You shot her a glare but couldn't keep the corners of your mouth from twitching upward. "Fine, but I can’t promise I won’t try to escape again. It’s exhausting watching people come in and out of this booth."

Joey looked where you pointed, a smirk growing on her face. "Why? Curious about what happens there?"

You shot her an incredulous look, but she only saw the red flush creeping across your cheeks.

"What?" she defended, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Ding ding ding?"

"No one’s interested!" you exclaimed, covering your face in embarrassment. Joey just laughed, the sound ringing like music in the chaos around you.

"Sure! It isn’t a big deal. Not at all~" she sang, and you couldn’t help but feel a bit of warmth at her playful attitude.

As you chatted with Joey, a commotion erupted nearby, followed by a wave of cheers.

"Aahh! It's the soccer team!"

"The boys! The boys!"

The crowd erupted as the campus soccer team made their entrance, radiating an undeniable charm. With their impressive recent state champion title win for the nth time, and their unrealistic and striking looks, they were the stars of the event. You could see the excitement in the air, students gushing over their favorite players, the thrill of being close to someone so admired.

One of them, clearly the leader, locked eyes with you and bit his lip. "Hey~" he called out, confidence radiating like a warm sun on a cold day, having brushed his hair back, a gesture that seemed to send the crowd into a frenzy.

You blinked, looking to your side. "Uh... who are you talking to?" You felt your heart race, unsure if he was really addressing you. "Me?"

The guy grinned, stepping closer, and you could feel the heat radiating from him. "Oh definitely. You're really adorable up close, huh?"

You rolled your eyes, convinced this must be one of those pranks online. But he didn’t back down; instead, he moved closer to your ticket table, his presence both thrilling and intimidating.

"Ahem ... To purchase a ticket for the booth, please ensure you have your partner with you. All pairs come first," you stated, reading the fine print from the paper in your hands, trying to maintain your composure.

"Good then." He flashed you his ID. "Jake Sim."

"Jake Sim," you repeated, scribbling his name down. "Who would you be taking to the kissing booth?"

You looked behind him as his members stood still. "One of them?" You snickered.

"Kissing booth?" Jake's eyes widened in surprise, who seemingly haven't heard you talk for that second. "This isn't just a regular dating booth?"

You sighed, feeling an exasperated laugh bubble up. Of course, it isn't. The dating booth idea was scrapped due to budget constraints, leaving this more intimate alternative. There wasn't anything you can do at that point, even though you were the council's ACTING president.

"Yes."

"Shoot..." Jake checked his breath, a sudden look of concern washing over his face. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his sudden panic.

You laughed lightly. "Mint?"

He shot you a look, as if to say don’t look at me right now.

"Huh? I'm good!" he declared, spraying some fresh mist into his mouth. "See? Nothing happened." he smirked, spreading his arms wide, clearly trying to charm you.

"I still can't give you a ticket," you replied firmly, crossing your arms.

"Why?" he pressed, a playful challenge in his eyes.

"You have no partner—"

"I can take you with me, can't I?" he cut in, blunt and straightforward, his eagerness palpable.

It felt as if time had frozen. He looked at you with eager anticipation, and you could only respond with confusion, your heart fluttering unexpectedly.

"Me?" you stammered, flustered. "You can't possibly think of me as—"

Suddenly, you heard a whirlwind of chaos behind you, like a storm brewing in your booth.

"Two dollars, and he's yours!" Joey shouted, tossing you toward Jake with a mischievous grin.

"That's more like it!" Jake said, handing over the bills to Joey and waving goodbye as he led you toward the booth.

"Thank you for the donation!" Joey called after you, her voice fading as you felt your heart racing faster than ever.

"Two dollars?!" you exclaimed, shooting a death glare at Joey, who simply smiled and waved goodbye, leaving you feeling wronged yet slightly amused.

"Trust me! You’re worth more than that!" she whispered dramatically, retreating into the crowd.

You felt your blood boil at the suddenness of it all, yet something else stopped you in your tracks. It was as if time had paused again, leaving only the two of you in this moment filled with tension and unspoken words.

"This is ridiculous," you mumbled, avoiding Jake's gaze. Beads of sweat trickled down your forehead, and you wiped them away with your hands, feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping up.

Jake laughed, drawing closer, his presence overwhelming and oddly comforting.

"What?" You looked at him.

"I'm just trying to understand why you don’t want me kissing you," he said with that playful grin that made your heart skip a beat. "I mean, everybody wants a piece of me."

So bold?! You rolled your eyes at his audacity. "What an airhead you are..."

Airhead? I thought people liked confident guys. Jake pondered, trying to maintain his charming facade.

"Heh. Am I an airhead?" he scoffed, a playful smirk on his face. "Isn’t it just because I know what I like?"

"Ugh." You mimicked your friend's signature sassy move. "Do NOT tell me that."

Am I already screwing this up? Jake’s mind raced, unable to keep up with his facade crumbling under the pressure.

"Can’t we just enjoy this moment between us, babe?" Jake said, leaning in and pressing his hands beside your head. Your eyes widened in shock, and you felt your heart hammering in your chest.

That's it, look flustered… please? Jake thought desperately, a hint of vulnerability breaking through his bravado.

You stared at him, disbelief washing over you. He was already making a move with something as cringeworthy as this? And calling you by such a boring pet name? You couldn't even imagine the other ridiculous things he might do. Maybe he would—

KISS YOU?! In a blink, his lips met yours, soft as a cloud brushing against your skin.

In that instant, something snapped within you. You tried to push him away, but he only deepened the kiss, and you felt something strange sliding between your mouths.

"Hey!" you exclaimed, trying to pull away.

"What—"

"A tongue?!" you gasped, staring at him, bewildered. Jake chuckled, clearly enjoying your reaction, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"What? I’m not doing anything," he smirked, knowing full well what he was doing.

"You snuck that devilish tip of your tongue into my mouth!" you accused, covering your face as heat rushed to your cheeks, embarrassment flooding your senses.

"Oh come on, you liked it," Jake teased, his confidence unwavering.

Did you? He wondered, feeling a mix of hope and doubt.

"That’s it! You had your time!" you declared, storming away, embarrassed and flustered. "Enjoy, then get lost!"

As you walked away, you shot one last glance over your shoulder, throwing out something Jake never thought he’d hear directed at him.

"Weirdo..." you muttered, shaking your head in disbelief, a mixture of confusion and exhilaration swirling inside you.

Jake stood there, feeling like a lost puppy searching for its owner. The thrill of the kiss lingered on his lips, but the sting of embarrassment washed over him.

Somewhere on campus, you could almost hear his loud screams of agony.

His friends rushed over, concern etched on their faces. "Hey, Jake!" a couple of teammates called, finding their captain lying on the ground, kicking his feet in shame.

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!" Jake screamed again, all his efforts feeling wasted, his face buried in his hands as if he could hide from the world.

"Oh my god, he’s breaking down..." Joey remarked, stepping into the booth. She quickly closed the curtains, glancing at the curious onlookers, knowing too well the rumors that would fly around.

"Shh! People will get the wrong idea about our booth! This is NOT a screamo booth; the main stage is down by the garden pavilion."

Jake grabbed one of his larger teammates, his eyes wide with despair. "He looked at me like I was DIRTY!!!" he cried, trying to wipe away his tears, but failing miserably.

"Are you ... crying?!" Joey exclaimed, her eyes wide in disbelief.

"Yes, I’m crying!" Jake declared, wiping his face in a panic, his emotions spilling over.

"Captain, your image—"

"Who cares!" Jake slumped back down, defeated. "He probably thinks I’m a loser at this point... What gives?"

A heavy silence blanketed the booth, the weight of the moment pressing down on him.

"It’s not like it’s the last chance you’ll ever get, you know cap?" one teammate said, trying to console him, though the words felt hollow in the air.

"But..." Jake murmured, his confidence wavering.

Another teammate stood up, raising his fist in determination. "You’re Jake Sim, our all-powerful soccer team captain! You can do anything!"

Jake slowly lifted his gaze, intrigued by their words, the fire within him beginning to reignite.

"And you can make up for it!" his teammates urged. "Then you’ll get that chance!"

He considered his situation. If he could somehow make up for what he did with you, it would earn him some serious brownie points, right? Maybe then he'd finally get the chance to ask you out.

"Okay!" Jake declared, standing tall and raising his fist triumphantly. "I’ll try better this time!"

"That’s the spirit, Captain Jake!" his teammates cheered, ending with a loud burst of laughter, their camaraderie lifting his spirits.

"Ugh... you guys are hopeless." Joey facepalmed, shaking her head in disbelief as she tried to suppress a smile. "Whatever... that’s not my business..."

As the fair continued around them, Jake felt a newfound determination swell within him. He couldn't let this moment define him; he had to make things right. With a deep breath, he plotted his next move, ready to win you over, one awkward attempt at a time.

I really wanted to make Jake someone who tries too hard to get someone's attention, only making himself a pitiful sack of potatoes by the end of the ordeal. DONT WORRY he should be able to get the guy right ...right?!

hope you guys enjoyed it! please like, comment, or reblog~

my masterlist!

made by writhyv.

[alsofoundinpeas]

Two Sides of the Same Coin

Summary: Y/N is an international pop star, adored by millions—and maybe a little too adored. When a deranged stalker, obsessed with her every move, begins killing those close to her, the BAU steps in. Derek and Spencer are assigned as her bodyguards, tasked with keeping her safe until the stalker is caught. Trapped inside her house, none of them are happy about the arrangement, but tensions rise as they struggle with cabin fever—and a growing attraction they can't ignore.

CONTENT WARNINGS: 18+!! MDNI!! This fic is intended for adult audiences. Reader is kind of a cunt but only because she's extremely upset/disturbed by the situation. Mentions of stalking/violence related to the case (not excessive or graphic I promise!!). Oral (both m and f receiving), fingering (f!receiving), overstimulation (f!receiving), crying during sex (f only and it isn't from pain I swear), spit-roasting, protected PinV sex, spanking, mix of praise and degradation. Mean Dom!Derek x Bratty Sub!Reader x Soft Dom!Spencer.

Pairing: Derek Morgan x fem!reader/afab!reader x Spencer Reid

A/N: Basically think the Lila situation but on steroids LMFAO I really enjoyed having you guys vote for the fic and I may do it again soon :') I'll admit, I really enjoyed writing this and stepping out of my comfort zone a bit! I truly hope you guys enjoy this and if you do, please like, reblog, and consider following! <3 Thank you and I love you all!! :)

"You’re fucking joking."

The room was heavy with tension, everyone at the table shifting uneasily as Y/N’s words hung in the air. The meeting had only been underway for 45 minutes, most of which consisted of questions directed at her, trying to gather any information that might lead the BAU to her stalker. When it became clear that she had no idea of anyone who would want to leak her private information, the next bombshell dropped: she'd be stuck at home until they caught the person responsible.

Y/N’s manager, Anna, shoots Hotch a wary look as he clears his throat, his stern gaze never leaving Y/N. "At this moment, it’s a serious safety risk for you to leave your house—not just for you, but for anyone seen with you in public. As a result, SSA Derek Morgan and SSA Spencer Reid will be assigned to stay with you for your protection, and they’ll handle any errands you need until we can apprehend your stalker," he explains once more.

Y/N scoffed, her gaze briefly shifting to Anna before locking back on Hotch. "Really? So... not only am I being stalked by some fucking maniac because someone sold my information to the press, but now I’m trapped at home with two strangers? Two men I just met—what, thirty minutes ago?"

Derek and Spencer both sat up straighter, their expressions hardening as their lips pressed into thin lines. Neither of them was thrilled about the plan. They both insisted to Hotch that their skills would be better used helping the team, not playing babysitter for someone who clearly resented the arrangement. Hotch protested that they could still help from her house while also ensuring her safety, effectively shutting down any further arguments.

"We know this isn’t what you want, hun, but it’s either this or more innocent people—maybe even you—get killed," Anna urged, her hand resting gently on Y/N’s shoulder, offering what little comfort she could.

As much as she hated to admit it, Y/N knew Anna and Hotch were right. But that didn't mean she had to like it. The idea of her stalker thinking they had any control over her—believing she’d cower to some deranged loser who killed innocent people—sickened her.

"We’ll do everything in our power to track down whoever’s behind this," Hotch promised, his voice firm. "Once they’re caught, you’ll be able to go back to your normal life."

"Yeah, because everything’s going to feel normal after being stalked by a murderer," Y/N muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She sighed, her gaze flicking around the table before landing back on him. "Fine. Whatever. Thank you. Anna can show them to the guest rooms. Are we done here?"

The meeting concluded once the rules for her quarantine were set and the safety of her family and friends had been addressed. She was to remain in the house at all times, contact with anyone would be made through a burner phone to prevent her stalker from intercepting any personal devices (which Garcia was already examining for any clues about the leak), and her loved ones would be under close surveillance by the local PD, who had already been notified of the situation.

Once Y/N had stomped up the stairs, Anna took the time to show Morgan and Reid around.

Y/N's house, for a pop star, was surprisingly modest. She didn’t have a sprawling mansion or an army of staff catering to her every whim—just a personal chef (whom she paid very well) and a groundskeeper to handle the lawn care. Anna explained that, even though Y/N was one of the biggest names in pop music, she was incredibly grounded and more down-to-earth than anyone she’d worked with, not to mention fiercely independent.

"No offense, but I’m not exactly picking up on this ‘down-to-earth’ vibe you’re talking about,” Morgan grumbled as Anna trailed behind him and Spencer toward their SUV.

Anna chuckled, nodding as she watched the men grab their bags. “Like I said, that girl is as independent as they come. She’s just frustrated because this situation strips her of that independence and probably makes her feel helpless—which isn’t something she’s used to,” Anna said quietly. “Give it time. I’m sure she’ll ease up on you.”

The next few days quickly showed that Anna couldn’t have been more wrong.

Rather than easing up on the pair, Y/N had begun acting as though they didn’t exist. The only time she left her room was to collect whatever meal Vinny, her chef—an affable older gentleman—prepared for everyone, and to chat with him briefly while he cleaned up before heading out for the night. When she did speak to either of them, it was curt, often laced with sarcasm, and was usually a request to leave the house, which was always met with a hard no.

A week passed with no progress on the case and only a handful of awkward interactions. Spencer knocked on her door several times, offering dinner or a chance to play board games with him and Derek, but each time she turned him down. Morgan stopped pushing as hard to get her to talk. He kept telling Spencer that if she wanted to throw a fit over them risking their lives to keep her safe, so be it.

As the second week dragged on with no significant progress on the case, tension started to build among everyone. Y/N’s remarks had escalated from sharp, sarcastic comments to full-blown arguments—mostly with Derek. She no longer confined herself to her room; instead, she began strutting around the house in the most revealing outfits she could find, knowing full well they flustered Spencer.

With Vinny handling the grocery shopping and Y/N’s house fully stocked with everything they could need, there was no real reason for Reid or Morgan to leave for the so-called errands Hotch had mentioned to get a break from her. Spencer had read and re-read every book he brought with him, unwilling to touch the ones Y/N had. Derek spent most of his time in the home gym or on the phone with Garcia and other team members, eager to contribute from afar.

As for Y/N… well, she was beyond tired of being cooped up in her room all day and decided it was time to take matters into her own hands.

The door creaked softly as Y/N peeked her head into the dark hallway, wincing at the sound before freezing. She held her breath, straining to hear any sign of movement in the house. It was late—just after 11:00 p.m.—and she silently hoped both agents were asleep.

After hearing nothing, she carefully tiptoed down the stairs and into the living room. Just as she was slipping her shoes on by the back door, the light suddenly flickered on, startling her so much she almost lost her balance. Spinning around, she found Spencer standing there in his pajamas, watching her with a wary expression, his face showing signs of exhaustion.

"What exactly are you doing?"

Y/N pressed her lips together, exhaling sharply through her nose as she shifted on her heels. “I… um, I was just going to run to the store. I’m out of—” She faltered, scrambling for a convincing excuse. “—shampoo! Yeah… and I didn’t think it was worth waking either of you up to grab it for me.”

Reid sighed, shaking his head. "Y/N, you know you're not supposed to leave the house, no matter what. Are you really willing to risk your life over a bottle of shampoo?"

"I wouldn’t be risking my life!" Y/N snapped, throwing her hands up in frustration as she stepped away from the door. "It would take thirty minutes tops."

Derek, already awake, had overheard the quiet argument from his room. Curious, he got up and headed down the hall toward the kitchen, pausing to listen. Spencer muttered something else, but it was too soft for him to catch.

Y/N rolled her eyes, releasing an exaggerated sigh before fixing Spencer with a glare that had him swallowing hard. She stepped forward, her chest brushing against his as she tilted her head up. "I’ve been in the public eye since I was seventeen, Doctor. I think I can handle a trip to the store on my own. I’ll even wear a disguise. I just want out of this fucking house," she hissed.

“I get it, Y/N. I really do. But there’s a psychotic stalker targeting anyone who even looks your way right now. We can’t take that risk.” Spencer’s voice was gentle, but his stance was unyielding. Despite how… intimidating she could be, he wasn’t afraid of her.

Morgan rounded the corner, an eyebrow raised as he took in the scene—Y/N and Reid practically nose to nose. He’d caught what she said from the kitchen and decided it was time to step in. “Y/N,” he barked, crossing his arms and leaning against the back of the couch. “Quit giving the kid a hard time. The answer’s no. Not happening, princess. Deal with it.”

Y/N tilted her head, her glare still fixed on Spencer. “And what exactly are you going to do about it? Punish me?” Her voice dropped low, dripping with mockery as she finally turned her attention to Derek, a daring glint in her eyes.

Derek’s eyebrows lifted, a humorless chuckle escaping him that sent a shiver down her spine. He pushed off the couch and closed the distance in two long strides. His hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and yanking her away from Spencer, his voice dropping into a low growl in her ear.

"Maybe I should. Maybe we both should."

Heat surged to Y/N’s cheeks as she glanced up at him, still pressed against his chest after stumbling into him. She swallowed hard, caught off-guard by the dangerous glint in his eyes. Neither of them looked away, both stubbornly refusing to back down.

“What?” Spencer sputtered, his voice laced with incredulity as he finally broke their heated stares. His eyes flicked between them, wide with shock. “Absolutely not! That’s beyond unprofessional—and completely inappropriate!”

"And at what point during this entire babysitting gig has she been professional or appropriate?" Morgan challenged, releasing his grip on Y/N's wrist to throw his hands up in exasperation.

Reid hesitated, opening his mouth to respond, but the words failed him.

"Exactly," Derek said triumphantly. "She’s been a complicated, hard-headed smartass from the second we stepped through that door—" He gestured toward the door with a pointed jab of his thumb. "—and she’s the one who asked for it. I say we give her exactly what she wants."

Spencer gnawed at his lower lip, his expression torn as he grappled with not only the moral implications of what was being offered but also the idea of his best friend and colleague seeing his dick. He shuddered at the thought, then turned his gaze to Y/N, who stood frozen, her expression one of shock—as though she hadn’t considered this could actually happen. "Is that… is that really something you want us to do?"

He couldn’t believe he was actually entertaining the idea. But Morgan wasn’t wrong… she’d been a pain in the ass the entire week they’d been stuck with her. And, despite the attitude, she was undeniably one of the most attractive women he’d ever laid eyes on. Besides, fucking one of the world's most famous pop stars certainly wasn't the worst thing that could happen to him while on a case.

Y/N glanced between the two of them, her gaze flickering before she nodded slowly. "Uh… yeah. It is," she admitted, her voice quiet and subdued—completely at odds with the mouthy, brazen woman she’d been all week.

She couldn’t deny that both of them were devastatingly attractive, and maybe if the circumstances were different then she would have enjoyed their company. It was the fact that they were so good at their jobs that agitated her, successfully keeping her trapped in her own house. As much as she loathed being stuck indoors, she had to give credit where it was due—they were doing everything they could to keep her safe and make her lockdown more bearable. Maybe she had been a bit too hard on them…

"Then go up to your room and wait for us on your bed," Derek ordered lowly. "Naked," he added.

The second she was out of sight, Spencer turned to Morgan, eyes wide with disbelief, and followed him into the kitchen. "Are we really going through with this?" he whispered, pacing back and forth as Morgan sifted through his wallet.

A shameless smile graced his face as he pulled out two condoms, tossing one toward Reid before shrugging. "I am. If you're uncomfortable, you don’t have to do anything. Seriously, kid. No pressure," Derek murmured, his tone reassuring as he noticed the hint of insecurity in Spencer’s expression.

Spencer flinched as the item flew toward him, stumbling back slightly before he crouched to grab the foil packet from the ground, shaking his head.

"It’s not that I don’t want to! I just—Hotch would kill us if he found out, and—"

"Then he won't find out. Simple."

Derek’s voice was calm, the complete opposite of Spencer’s nervous energy. He started toward the stairs, glancing over his shoulder at Reid with a smirk. "You coming, or what?"

Spencer breathed in deeply, releasing the tension with a sigh before nodding and trailing behind him toward Y/N's room.

Spencer wasn't a complete stranger to sex, having had a few short-term relationships that had always fizzled out due to the erratic nature of his schedule. But he didn't have nearly the experience Morgan had. He'd also never had a threesome, something he knew for a fact Morgan had participated in more than once thanks to his ability to overshare and desire to make Reid as flustered as he possibly could.

Derek stopped outside Y/N’s door and turned to Spencer. "Hey," he said softly, drawing the younger man’s attention. "Quit overanalyzing. I can practically see the wheels turning. Just follow my lead, okay? I know you’re a quick learner."

Spencer huffed out a small laugh. "I’ll do my best," he murmured, rolling his shoulders in an attempt to loosen the tension in his muscles.

Morgan clapped a hand on his back reassuringly, grinning. "If it helps, I promise my focus won't be on your dick if that's what you're worried about."

Reid shoved him with an annoyed groan, rolling his eyes as Derek stifled his lighter. Once he composed himself, he opened the door, leading the way into Y/N's dimly lit room. The sight before them had Morgan stopping dead in his tracks, causing Spencer to stumble into his back with a quiet grunt.

There before them, splayed in the middle of her bed, was Y/N. She'd listened to Morgan's instructions, having stripped completely bare. Her fingers traced leisurely up and down the inside of her thigh, and there was a coy smirk on her face as she glanced up at them.

"Finally," she sighed, sitting up as they began to strip out of their clothes. "And here I was thinking I was about to have to take care of myself."

Derek arched a brow, tossing his shirt to the floor. Spencer followed suit, lifting his hoodie over his head and letting it fall to the ground. Y/N watched eagerly as more and more of their skin was revealed, deepening the aching need throbbing between her legs.

"You sure you wanna keep running that mouth of yours?" Morgan chuckled, reaching down to shove his sweats down. The sight sent a thrill through her body as she let her gaze wander down his torso, landing on his hardening cock. Her breath hitched as he wrapped a hand around it, stroking himself once before stepping forward.

Spencer froze as he watched Derek round the bed, tossing his condom onto her nightstand before kneeling on it behind Y/N. His fingers lingered on the waistband of his plaid pajama pants, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't help but stare as she shifted up onto her hands and knees, wiggling her ass enticingly in Morgan's direction as she kept her heated gaze locked on him.

"I'm sure—"

Her words were cut off by a yelp, her body jolting forward as a sharp smack sounded through the room. Reid's eyes widened, his cock twitching in his pants reminding him that he was supposed to be taking them off. He quickly sprung back into action, hurriedly stepping out of them.

"Since you're so sure..." Derek mocked her. "Then he'll just have to fill that pretty mouth up until you can use it to be nice."

He motioned for Spencer to move in front of her before pushing the back of her head down, leaving her propped on her elbows with her ass in the air and her head near the edge of the mattress. His hands rubbed up and down her sides, massaging gently as he settled behind her. "If you need us to stop, you just tell us, princess. Got it?"

"Got it," Y/N whimpered softly before another sharp smack landed on her ass. She cried out, savoring the slight stinging left behind from the motion.

Spencer's hand landed on her shoulder, stroking gently before guiding her chin up, waiting for her to lift back up onto her arms. His thumb traced her lower lip almost reverently before he stooped down to meld his mouth to hers in a hungry kiss. The moan that rumbled in her throat only spurred him on, and his tongue prodded at the seam of her lips briefly before he broke the kiss, straightening his back.

"Come on then, sweetheart," Spencer murmured breathlessly, reaching down to grab himself before tapping the flushed head of his cock against her bottom lip. "You heard him."

Y/N's tongue poked out to circle the tip before she moved forward, wrapping her lips around him. A groan slipped from his mouth as she worked her way down his length, adjusting herself to the feel of him in her mouth. She was honestly surprised when she got her first look at both of them—they were big.

Morgan waited until she found a steady rhythm to let his fingers drift down to her pussy, swiftly thrusting two inside of her. Her surprised cry was muffled by her mouthful, and he smirked, cocking his head as he began a brutal pace. "Huh? What was that?" He taunted, palming her ass cheek. "Couldn't hear you over all that gagging you're doing."

Spencer brought a hand up to cup her face as Y/N continued sucking, stroking his thumb along the indention his cock was causing against her cheek. The whine she let out around him was pitiful, but fuck did it feel good. He fought the urge to thrust forward into the warmth of her mouth, letting her keep a pace she was comfortable with.

"It better have been an apology," Derek continued, curling his fingers to stroke the rough patch of nerves inside of her that had her shoving her hips back into his touch. "You certainly owe us one. Doesn't she, Reid?"

Spencer chuckled breathlessly, nodding in agreement. He rested his free hand on the back of her head, keeping the pressure light enough to where he wasn't pushing down but enough for her to register the feeling. "She definitely does," he murmured.

“Then it's settled," Morgan hummed, pulling his fingers out of her dripping core. "Say you’re sorry to us, princess,” he demanded, landing a harsh slap to her ass.

Y/N let out a muffled cry around Spencer’s cock, gagging slightly as the movement pushed her forward. Spencer gently tugged her off of him, groaning at the line of spit drawing a bridge between his flushed head and her swollen lips. He looked down at her expectantly, stroking her cheek as he waited patiently.

“I-I’m sorry!” Y/N sobbed, looking up at Spencer with watery eyes.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d say she almost looked sweet with her flushed cheeks and pouty lips. But he did know better, and he knew that her being such a brat was exactly what landed her here.

“You behave and I promise I’ll take care of you, sweetheart,” Reid murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head before guiding her mouth back onto his cock.

Morgan chuckled darkly from behind her, massaging the tender skin for a moment before reeling back and landing another sharp hit to the same spot. Y/N's noise was stifled by the thick cock currently stuffed down her throat, effectively gagging her in the most erotic way. He repeated the motion, his eyes locked on the way her ass rippled underneath his palm.

"You better be thankful he's here, pretty girl. If it were up to me, you wouldn't be cumming at all tonight because of how you've acted."

That prompted a low whine from the back of her throat, causing Spencer's hips to jerk forward and a whimper to slip from his lips as the vibrations caused pleasure to sear through his veins. Taking it as encouragement, Y/N continued bobbing her head along his length, fighting against her gag reflex each time she took him deep into her throat. It was needy and messy, the sight of her spit dripping down her chin and her smudged mascara enough to make Spencer throw his head back and squeeze his eyes shut so he didn't cum down her throat.

While Y/N was distracted, Derek had reached for the condom he'd set down on her nightstand and slid it on. He shifted behind her to line himself up at her entrance, running the head of his cock up and down her slit before pushing forward.

She instantly keened at the sensation of him filling her up, her mouth hanging open and letting Spencer's length slip out as her eyes squeezed shut.

"Shh, that's it," Reid cooed, stroking her cheek gently with one hand while fisting himself with the other, pumping himself slowly. "You're doing such a good job, sweetheart. God, you're so beautiful."

"Fuck—" Y/N cried out, her body rocking from the brutal pace Derek set.

“I didn’t tell you to stop, princess,” Morgan grunted between thrusts, reaching up to shove her head back down on Spencer’s cock. "And you better not fucking cum."

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she began to bob her head once more, her moans muffled and blended with theirs. She could feel her arousal dripping down her thighs, a physical reminder of how turned on she was from letting the two agents sent to protect her use her, her pussy clenching around him at the thought. The pleasure coursing through her was overwhelming as Derek began to stroke her clit in time with his thrusts, taunting her even further with the orgasm she couldn't have yet.

It didn't take long for Morgan's hips to stutter, ramming into her for a few more thrusts before he emptied everything he had into the condom with a shout. Y/N's body trembled with exertion as she fought her climax with every ounce of willpower she had, wanting to prove to both of them that she could be good. Reid wasn't far behind him, shooting ropes of warm liquid down her throat as he groaned her name over and over, his hips bucking into her mouth sloppily. Morgan rode out his high with a few more weak thrusts before slipping out of her, landing one final slap to her ass with a tired grin.

"I think she's learned her lesson from me," Derek chuckled, gathering his clothes and slipping them back on. "Have at her, kid."

Y/N let Spencer's softening cock slip free from her lips, her chest heaving and face flushed as she fought to catch her breath. The sound of the door closing prompted her to look up at him, her eyes blurred from tears. Spencer smiled softly, moving to hover above her on the bed.

"You did—" Reid kissed her lips tenderly. "So, so good, sweetheart," he murmured as his lips trailed down to her breasts, a soft gasp falling from her lips as his tongue swirled around one of her taut nipples before sucking it into his mouth. "And now—" His words were muffled around her skin. "I'm going to make you cum—" He pulled away, blowing softly on the pert bud before switching to the other. "Over and over and over."

Y/N arched into his touch, tangling his fingers into his hair as his lips moved down her body. "Please," she whimpered, spreading her shaky legs to make room for him.

Spencer took mercy on her, latching his mouth onto her clit and suckling gently before lapping up her essence in slow, hard strokes. A guttural groan fell from her lips as he began to devour her, his own needy moans against her skin pushing her that much closer to her already devastatingly close orgasm. Her hips began to rock against his face as her grip on his hair tightened, incomprehensible babbles of his name leaving her over and over as the pleasure in her stomach coiled tightly.

All it took was the feeling of his tongue prodding against her entrance for her climax to seize her. Wrecked cries filled the room as she thrashed beneath him, her head falling back against her pillows as he continued working her through it.

True to his word, Spencer made her cum another two times after that before finally relenting, pressing a sticky kiss to her forehead before trotting off down the stairs to grab her a water bottle.

When he returned to her room, he gently coaxed her into sitting up and drinking, rambling softly about the importance of hydration after intense physical activity. Too drained to say much, she offered a weak smile and murmured a quiet thank you before handing the bottle back. She then curled up against her pillows, surrendering to the exhaustion pulling at her—but not without asking him to stay.

The next morning, when Morgan and Reid got the call that the stalker had been arrested, they exchanged a small, knowing grin before heading off to share the good news with Y/N. And when she slipped her number into their pockets with a casual "hit me up if you're ever in town" while hugging them goodbye… well, Hotch didn’t need to know about that, either.

Continued A/N's: This took a bit longer to post than I originally planned because I kept coming back to add more whoops I'm so sorry for the delay!! But I hope you guys enjoy it and of course please feel free to let me know what you think! :) <3

REMINDER: I do not give permission for my work to be re-uploaded to any other platforms (c.ai, Tiktok, ao3, etc.) under any circumstances. If you'd like to translate my work, then please just ask me before doing so. I know it sounds whiny, but I (as well as many other fanfic writers) spend so much time on these and it's genuinely not okay to take credit for work that isn't yours. It's insulting and completely unnecessary. If I do see my work uploaded anywhere without explicit permission, I WILL say something.