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ihyuka · 3 days ago

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Of regrets and other tells | Choi Soobin

summary: Soobin has been building his acting career for years. Sacrificing his time and personal life in more aspects than one, holding onto a broken heart for over 5 years, and perpetually wishing his past relationship didn't end the way it did. Now, he's gotten an imminent return to his hometown thanks to a wedding, the high possibility of seeing his ex (Very possible because she's the groom's sister), and oh, it turns out the groom doesn't know he ever dated his sister. A recipe for disaster

word count: 11.5k

pairing: soobin x female reader

warnings: exes to lovers (sort of), brother's best friend, taehyun is our matchmaker bec he adores his friends, yeonjun is oblivious, tiny bit of angst, soobin is a sweetheart, they're Overthinkers, smut, cunnilingus, fingering, cute and soft love making, unprotected sex, they have feelings for each other, reader can be nasty at times (soobin isn't doing any better tbh), huh, i hope i'm not forgetting something☝️

note: happy valentine’s day! 💕 welcome to my blog!

this idea has been sitting in my drafts forever, so i’m really excited to finally bring it to life today. i’d love to hear your thoughts in the comments (and please be nice—this is my first time posting 🫣).

i hope you enjoy this story! it’s slightly inspired by those classic early 2000s rom-coms we all love. also, english isn’t my first language, so please excuse any mistakes—i’m working on improving!

Soobin doesn’t know what to do with himself.

The first glance had him intrigued. The second? Addicted.

Here’s the thing—he’s known you all his life. He was always the kid befriending older guys at school, constantly seeking the company of those ahead of him. He loved it. Until, of course, life happened. One by one, his friends left for university, leaving him behind for one last year of high school. It wasn’t all bad, though—because that’s when he met you.

Yeonjun’s little sister. A friend of his. Someone his age who helped him adjust to a new social scene, introducing him to people and boosting his confidence. You were always there. Always helping. And now? Now he hasn’t seen you in years. He has a life in Seoul. He’s moved on.

Or so he thought.

Because the moment he sees you in that red dress, smiling, radiant, otherworldly—he realizes something painful and undeniable.

He’s so fucked.

And worse? He’s dated you before.

He’s so, so fucked. Yeonjun is going to kill him.

Soobin is hyper-aware of his surroundings.

He always is. It comes with the territory of being a high-profile actor. He’s gotten used to sneaking around, blending into crowds, avoiding unnecessary attention. Weddings in South Korea, though, are practically public events. The worst place to hide. He’s trying to be subtle—maybe if he stands still long enough, he’ll blend into the walls.

“Hi?”

He freezes. He knows that voice anywhere. Familiar, warm—like home. And like regret.

It’s you.

It’s ridiculous, really. He’s standing there, towering over everyone, wearing sunglasses in the middle of December, looking every bit as awkward as he feels.

“Um, hi?” His voice comes out strained, awkward. God, why can’t this be easier? “How have you been?”

What a stupid question. He hasn’t seen you in five years. You both took different paths, built your lives apart. He dated you for two months, so why does it feel like he can’t breathe now that you’re standing in front of him?

“Good.” You smile. “Let’s not make this weird, shall we? It’s been a long time.”

You’re so over him.

And he’s regretting everything.

“Okay,” he says softly. “I’m glad you’re doing okay.”

And just like that, you’re gone. Someone calls your name, and you walk away.

Fuck.

That’s the only thing running through your mind, too.

Why did he have to be this attractive? You had a plan. Approach him, make small talk, prove to yourself you were over him. That was it. But the second you saw him? Plan out the window. He looked unfairly good—taller, broader, blonde. Blonde. What kind of sick joke was this?

And thankfully, mercifully, he didn’t notice the way you reacted.

God, you’re so fucked.

Soobin tells himself he’s fine.

He gave his speech as best man. He made people laugh. He shared embarrassing photos of Yeonjun for everyone’s amusement. He did his job.

But now? Now he’s pissed.

And he knows he shouldn’t be.

You aren’t his. You haven’t been his in years. Even if you were, he doesn’t own you. He understands that—logically. But watching some guy dance too close to you, hands lingering where they shouldn’t—his instincts are screaming.

He knows that look. The same one he’s giving you now. Hunger. Want. Need.

Maybe the guy is your boyfriend. Maybe he isn’t. All Soobin knows is that he hates him.

“Why aren’t you dancing with her if you want her so much?” Taehyun’s voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts. Ever the straightforward one, Taehyun has had the front-row seat to Soobin’s misery for the past five years.

“I don’t deserve her.” The words come out bitter. Regretful. “I broke her heart.”

“Maybe. But she still wants you to try.” Taehyun doesn’t hesitate. “She’s dancing nonstop with Jihoon, but everyone knows he’s chasing her, not the other way around. This isn’t like her. She’s doing this because of you.”

Soobin swallows hard.

“Besides,” Taehyun adds casually, “she told Yeonjun about you two this morning.”

Cold dread washes over him. “What?”

Taehyun shrugs. “I overheard. You know that tree in front of their house? They were talking there.”

“So what did he say?” Soobin asks, voice barely above a whisper.

“No clue. I had to get to work.”

Soobin groans. “How do you just drop information like that and leave?”

“Because I trust you’ll figure it out.” Taehyun smirks. “Now go get your girl. She’s drunk, and she looks done with that guy.”

Soobin didn’t think it through.

You were drunk, and all he wanted was to get you somewhere safe. A chair—that was the plan. That should have been enough. But then you whined about wanting your bed, and Yeonjun, in a rare moment of brotherly responsibility, decided Soobin was the best person to handle it.

“The party’s ending soon, and I’m leaving for Japan tomorrow,” Yeonjun had said, handing you over like you weren’t his problem anymore. “Just drop her at her apartment.”

And that’s how Soobin found himself here—standing in your building’s dimly lit hallway at an ungodly hour, praying to every higher power that no one was following him. The last thing either of you needed was for the media to sniff this out.

Not that he was worried about himself.

It was you. You, who deserved a normal life. You, who had worked so hard to distance yourself from him, from his world. And yet, here you were, tangled up in his orbit again.

And here’s another thing: you’re just as bad as Yeonjun when it comes to alcohol. Soobin knows this. He also knows you have a soft spot for that fruity soju, the kind that creeps up on you before you even realize you’ve had too much. And he knows you’re probably going to feel sick soon, which is why, in the worst decision he’s made today, he stays.

You’ve been awake for an hour now, your body heavy with the aftermath of last night. The alcohol is gone, drained from your system, but the discomfort lingers—hunger gnawing at your stomach, the stale aftertaste of regret coating your tongue.

You should get up.

You should get water.

But the thought of stepping into an empty apartment makes your chest tighten.

The memory of his hands—gentle as he guided you to bed, careful as he removed your shoes—lingers. He was being nice. That’s all. He was being nice.

God, you still like him.

Five years, and you still haven’t gotten over a man. Two months were all it took for him to ruin you, to make every fleeting touch feel like a shock to your system. You’ve tried. You’ve moved forward. And yet, here you are, terrified of facing an empty space because for a moment—just a moment—he had been here again.

Your breakup had been your fault.

You tell yourself that, over and over.

You were young—barely nineteen, selfish, and desperate for attention. Soobin was chasing his dream, working himself to the bone between university and his company’s relentless trainee schedule. He had asked you to understand. He had begged you to wait. But you got tired. You fought. And the cracks in your heart never quite mended after that.

Soobin has only slept for four hours before deciding he should leave something behind for you—a quiet, impersonal gesture. Some homemade food. A note about how busy he is, how he can’t stay, but he hopes you feel better.

That’s the plan.

And that’s what he’s thinking as he stands in your kitchen, stirring ramen—the closest thing to homemade comfort he can manage.

But then you appear.

The dress from last night is gone, replaced by something that barely qualifies as pajamas. Soobin freezes, spoon clattering against the pot.

December. It’s December, and you’re walking around like this?

Jesus Christ.

“Hi,” he says, clearing his throat. “I made ramen. I hope you’re hungry.”

You don’t answer right away, moving past him to grab a glass of water. He watches as you take a slow sip, the silence stretching between you.

Then, softly, “I’m sorry. For last night.”

Soobin shakes his head. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I do,” you insist. “I can handle my alcohol better now. You didn’t have to do all this.”

“But I wanted to.” The words slip out before he can stop them. Too honest.

You pause. Then: “Add an egg. They’re on the top shelf.”

It’s not quite an acknowledgment. Not quite forgiveness. But you move to set the table for two without another word, and Soobin understands. He’s staying.

There are things that need to be said.

And it’s not safe for him to leave. You know that. The cameras follow him everywhere. You’d never risk him like that—not after everything.

“It’s done,” he says, bringing the pot to the table. “But I should—”

“Don’t,” you cut in. Your voice is steady, decisive. “The cameras could be outside. Stay.” A pause. Then, softer, “Besides… we need to talk.”

Easier said than done.

The ramen sits between you, steam curling into the air. Neither of you moves to eat.

Soobin watches as you fidget with the edge of your sleeve, pressing the fabric between your fingers like it’s something to hold onto. It’s a nervous habit—one he remembers all too well.

You’re the first to break the silence.

“So… How have you been?”

It’s a ridiculous question. Too small for the weight between you. Too casual for two people who haven’t spoken in years.

Soobin exhales, forcing a small smile. “Busy.”

That much is obvious. His face is everywhere—billboards, magazine covers, TV screens. He’s the one people stop in the streets, the one whose name is whispered in admiration or envy.

But you nod like you don’t already know, like you haven’t seen his face staring back at you from the glossy pages of magazines while waiting in line for coffee.

You reach for your chopsticks, stirring the noodles absently. “And… are you happy?”

That question lands heavier. He doesn’t answer right away.

He should say yes.

He should tell you that everything worked out, that he got everything he wanted, that all the sacrifices were worth it.

Instead, he looks at you—the way you avoid his gaze, the way your fingers tremble slightly before you curl them into a fist—and he tells the truth.

“I don’t know.”

Your breath hitches, but you recover quickly, schooling your features into something unreadable.

You look away, pretending to be focused on your bowl. “I thought you would be.”

Soobin swallows. “I thought you would be, too.”

That gets you. Your fingers tighten around your chopsticks, but you don’t say anything right away.

Soobin leans forward slightly, watching you carefully. “You left first,” he says, quiet but firm. “I waited. I called. And then, one day, you just weren’t there anymore.”

You let out a slow breath, finally meeting his eyes. “And if I had stayed?”

The question is quiet. Almost a whisper.

Soobin blinks. “What?”

“If I had stayed.” You search his face like you’re looking for something—confirmation, maybe. Closure. “Would anything have changed?”

The answer sits heavy on his tongue.

Would it have?

Back then, he was young and hungry, chasing a dream he wasn’t sure he’d ever catch. He was terrified of losing you, but he was also terrified of failing—of choosing wrong, of looking back one day and realizing he had given up too much.

And you—God, you just wanted him. Not the future version of him, not the one he was still trying to become. You just wanted the boy who used to walk you home, the one who held your hand under the table, the one who promised to love you even when things got hard.

Soobin looks at you now, older, sharper, still devastatingly familiar.

“I don’t know,” he admits.

You let out a soft, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Me neither.”

The room settles into silence again, but this time, it’s different. Softer.

Soobin watches as you finally take a bite of your ramen, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment at the warmth.

And maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s too late.

But for the first time in five years, you’re sitting across from each other, sharing something that feels dangerously close to peace.

And maybe, for now, that’s enough.

“You should go.”

The words taste like regret the moment they leave your lips.

Soobin stills. His chopsticks pause midair before he lowers them onto the table with agonizing slowness.

His eyes meet yours, searching. “You really want that?”

You inhale sharply, willing yourself to hold his gaze. “Yes.”

A lie.

But you say it anyway, because it’s easier than admitting the truth—that his presence is unraveling you piece by piece. That sitting across from him like this, pretending there isn’t history between you, is torture.

Soobin exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “Right.” He pushes his chair back, standing. “I should’ve known.”

He’s hurt. You can see it in the tight set of his jaw, the way his fingers twitch at his sides. And it makes you want to take it back—swallow the words down and tell him to stay.

But you don’t.

You stay seated, gripping your hands together in your lap as he walks toward the door.

He hesitates.

For a moment, it feels like the universe is holding its breath.

Then, his voice—low, steady. “Why do you always do this?”

Your head snaps up. “Do what?”

“Push me away.”

You freeze.

Soobin turns, expression unreadable. “I don’t get it. You let me take care of you. You let me stay. And now you want me to leave?” He lets out a bitter chuckle. “Is this a game to you?”

Your stomach twists. “No.”

“Then what is it?” His voice rises slightly, frustration seeping through. “Because I don’t know what you want from me, and I don’t think you do either.”

Your heart pounds. “I just—” You stop, exhaling shakily. “It’s not that simple, Soobin.”

“It could be.” His gaze softens. “If you let it.”

You shake your head. “You don’t understand—”

“Then make me understand.”

The words cut through the air between you, heavy and full of something you’re not ready to name.

You swallow, feeling exposed. “I don’t want to need you,” you whisper.

Soobin’s expression shifts. He steps closer. “Why?”

“Because it’s dangerous.” Your voice shakes. “Because I’ve spent years trying to forget what it felt like to love you, and every time you’re near, I realize I never really stopped.”

Silence.

Then, Soobin exhales sharply. “You think you were the only one?”

Your breath catches.

“I tried,” he admits. “I tried moving on. I tried pretending you weren’t the best thing that ever happened to me. But it never worked.” His voice drops lower, more vulnerable. “You never left me, _____. Not really.”

You feel yourself crumbling, breaking open under his words.

“So tell me,” he continues, stepping even closer. “Do you really want me to leave?”

You open your mouth—

But the answer is already written all over your face.

And Soobin sees it.

Slowly, hesitantly, he lifts a hand, his fingertips ghosting over yours on the table. “If you tell me to go,” he says softly, “I will.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, inhaling shakily.

Then—

You flip your hand over, letting your fingers intertwine with his.

“You should stay.”

Soobin exhales, like he’s been holding his breath for years.

And this time—

He does.

Soobin stays.

Neither of you says much after that. The weight of your confession lingers in the air between you, delicate and fragile, like glass that could shatter at any second. But neither of you runs.

Instead, you sit there, sharing ramen in comfortable silence, the steam curling between you like something unspoken. His fingers, warm and steady, never fully leave yours—not gripping, not demanding, just there. A quiet promise.

You don’t sleep much.

Even after the bowls are empty, after he insists on washing the dishes, after you both linger in the doorway of your bedroom—uncertain but unwilling to let go—you just lie there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet hum of the city outside.

Somewhere in the other room, Soobin is asleep on your couch.

Or at least, you think he is.

You don’t have the courage to check.

By the time morning comes, you’re still lying in the same position, arms curled under your pillow, the weight of last night pressing down on your chest.

You should get up.

But then—

A soft knock at your door.

You inhale sharply, heart stuttering.

Then, his voice, groggy, uncertain. “Are you awake?”

You swallow. Your fingers curl into the sheets.

You shouldn’t answer. You should pretend you’re asleep, give yourself time to think. But your voice betrays you before your brain catches up.

“Yeah.”

A pause. Then—

The door creaks open.

Soobin stands there, sleep-rumpled and unfairly attractive in the dim morning light. His hoodie hangs loose on his frame, his blonde hair a tousled mess. He looks softer like this—less like the untouchable actor everyone knows, and more like the boy you once loved.

Still love.

He hesitates, fingers gripping the edge of the doorframe. “Can I…?”

You nod before he can finish the question.

And just like that, he steps inside, quiet, careful.

The bed dips under his weight as he sits at the edge, close but not too close. He rubs a hand over his face, sighing.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he admits, voice low.

You exhale, shifting onto your side to face him. “Me neither.”

A small, tired smile flickers across his lips. “Figures.”

Silence stretches between you, but it’s not uncomfortable. It’s just… there. Something old and familiar. Something neither of you knows what to do with.

Then, softly—

“Did you mean it?”

You freeze.

His voice is careful, like he’s afraid of the answer.

You know what he’s asking.

You could lie. You could say it was the alcohol, or the moment, or the past clouding your judgment.

But you don’t.

“Yeah.”

Soobin exhales, shoulders sinking like he’s been carrying the weight of that answer for years.

Then—hesitantly, slowly—he lifts a hand, brushing his fingers against yours on the sheets.

And this time, you don’t pull away.

Not when his fingers trace over your palm. Not when his touch lingers, warm and sure.

Not when he whispers, so quiet you almost miss it—

“Then don’t make me leave.”

The air between you is thick, suffocating. The moment you told him to stay, the balance shifted. The door remains closed, the walls pressing in, the weight of years apart and the lies you’ve told yourselves coiling tighter and tighter.

Soobin doesn’t let go of your hand. He doesn’t pull away, but he doesn’t move closer either. He’s waiting. For what? For you to give in? For you to push him away again?

You don’t know. But you know this: you can’t breathe.

He exhales sharply, like he’s been holding back words he doesn’t trust himself to say. “I don’t know how to do this with you.”

“Do what?” Your voice barely makes it past your lips. Your fingers twitch in his grip, and that alone has his jaw tightening.

“Pretend,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing against the pulse point of your wrist. His voice is quiet, careful, but there’s an undercurrent of something dangerous. “Pretend that I’m okay. That seeing you doesn’t do something to me. That I haven’t spent the past five years wondering if you ever thought about me, too.”

Your breath stutters, but you force yourself to keep looking at him. “Soobin—”

“I should hate you.” His voice is steadier now, but his grip on your hand betrays him. Tight, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away again. “Do you know that?”

You swallow. “I know.”

“I tried.” He lets out a sharp laugh, bitter and tired. “God, I fucking tried.”

“So did I,” you whisper. “I tried forgetting you, too.”

His fingers tighten around yours. “Did it work?”

“No.”

The word sits heavy in the air, and for a moment, neither of you move. The ramen has gone cold. The room feels smaller. Your heart is a hammer against your ribs, and still, he doesn’t let go.

Then, his eyes flicker downward—just for a second. To your lips.

And that’s when you do it.

You rip your hand from his and step back, breathing uneven. “This isn’t fair.”

Soobin looks at you like you’ve just torn something out of him. “No. It’s not.”

You turn away, hands trembling as you grip the edge of the counter. “We’re not kids anymore. We can’t just—just fall back into whatever this is.”

“What is this, then?” His voice is lower now, rough, frayed at the edges. “Tell me. Because I think about you, and it makes me fucking sick how much I still—”

He stops himself. He presses his lips together so tightly it looks painful. He takes a deep breath, then another. But it doesn’t help. You can see it. The storm in his eyes. The anger. The longing.

You shake your head, pushing down everything clawing its way up your throat. “You should go.”

“No.”

You whip around. “Soobin—”

“No.” He steps forward, and this time, you’re the one who freezes. He towers over you, his presence burning into your skin. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to pull me back in just to push me away again.”

His voice drops lower, dangerously soft. “I stayed away for five years. I did what you wanted. I let you go. And now you tell me to stay, and then you tell me to leave?”

You close your eyes. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

He exhales sharply. Then, after a long pause, he whispers, “Neither do I.”

Another silence. But this one is different.

You open your eyes, and he’s right there. Close enough to touch. Close enough that you can see the way his lashes tremble, the way his fingers curl into fists at his sides like he’s physically holding himself back.

And you can feel it—

The breaking point.

It’s coming.

His breath catches. His fingers flex against the fabric of his hoodie, knuckles whitening like he’s barely holding himself back.

His silence is unbearable, but you don’t know how to fix it.

So you move before you can talk yourself out of it.

Slowly, carefully, you reach for his hand, mirroring the way he was holding you. Just a brush of your fingertips at first, testing, waiting—until he lets out a shaky exhale and turns his palm over to catch you.

Your fingers intertwine again, the simplest thing in the world.

Soobin's voice is hoarse when he speaks. "Tell me what you want."

"I don’t know," you admit. "I don’t know if I can do this again. If I can survive losing you twice."

Something flickers in his expression—something raw, breaking.

"I never wanted you to lose me."

"Then why did it feel like I had to?"

Soobin squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over the ridges of your knuckles. His voice is unsteady when he says, "Because I was scared. Of ruining things. Of choosing wrong."

"And now?"

Now.

Soobin doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he lifts your joined hands, pressing his forehead to the back of yours like he’s trying to ground himself. You can feel the unspoken words vibrating against your skin, seeping through his touch.

Now, he's still scared. But more than that—he doesn’t want to lose you again.

His lips part, breath warm against your skin. "I think I've been in love with you this whole time."

Your heart stops.

Then—before you can overthink it, before logic creeps in and tears this moment apart—you let go of his hand.

Only to reach for his face.

Your fingers thread through his hair, pulling him in, and before you can fully process what you're doing, your lips brush against his.

Soft. Tentative.

The moment you start to pull away, Soobin makes a sound—low and desperate in the back of his throat—and suddenly, he's kissing you like he's afraid you'll disappear.

His hands are warm when they cup your face, tilting your head so he can deepen the kiss, so he can drink you in like he’s been starving for you.

And maybe he has.

Maybe you have, too.

The past and the present blur together, all the years apart collapsing into this one unbearable, impossible moment.

And when you finally break apart, forehead resting against his, breaths mingling in the quiet night, you realize something terrifying.

Loving him was never the problem.

It was surviving it that scared you.

And now?

Now, you're not sure you care about surviving at all.

Soobin can’t stop kissing you.

It’s reckless. Messy. A raw, consuming need that shakes through him, leaves him breathless, leaves you breathless. His fingers dig into your waist like he needs something to hold onto, something to tether himself to reality, because this—this doesn’t feel real. It feels like something forbidden, like something he shouldn’t have, but is taking anyway.

It’s crazy. It’s physically impossible for him to stop.

And you don’t want him to.

Your hands are in his hair, tugging, nails scratching lightly against his scalp, and he shudders. His lips press harder, deeper, stealing the air from your lungs, but you don’t care. You’d let him. You’d give it to him.

Then you whimper. Just the softest, neediest sound—one you didn’t mean to make, one you probably don’t even realize you made.

How dare you.

Soobin groans against your mouth, low and guttural, and suddenly, his hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your sides, pressing you closer, closer, like there will never be enough space between you to satisfy him.

"Please," you breathe, and it’s wrecked.

His lips hover just above yours, his forehead resting against yours as he exhales sharply. His eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, but there’s something else, something deeper—like he’s drowning in you and has no desire to come up for air.

"Fuck," he mutters, his voice rough, strained. Your name follows, dripping from his lips like a prayer. "You need to stop making those sounds." He swallows hard, his jaw clenched. "Unless you want another thing."

Another thing.

You shiver, your fingers curling around the fabric of his hoodie, barely keeping yourself grounded.

But Soobin doesn’t stop. His lips keep finding yours between words, between breaths, and god—he kisses like he’s never going to get the chance again. Soft, then rough, then soft again. Like he’s caught in between worshipping you and ruining you.

And then you moan.

A real moan. Not soft. Not restrained. A full, broken, breathless moan.

And that’s it. That’s the end of his control.

Soobin curses under his breath, something low, something desperate. Then suddenly, he shifts—presses you down, his body covering yours completely. His hands, once hesitant, now move like they have a purpose, sliding up, gripping, mapping out every inch of you like he’s memorizing it.

His lips are everywhere now—your jaw, your throat, your collarbone—hot and lingering, teeth grazing, tongue soothing.

"God," he breathes against your skin. "You don’t—" He presses another kiss just beneath your ear, his voice unraveling. "You don’t get it, do you?"

You can barely think, barely form words. "Get what?"

"How long—" He exhales sharply, his breath fanning against your skin. "How long I’ve wanted this."

Your chest tightens. "Then why—"

"Because I was a fucking coward," he admits, voice thick, raw. His fingers tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are unreadable—too many things crashing together at once. Lust. Longing. Something deeper. Something dangerous. "But I can’t be, not right now. Not when you’re—"

You kiss him before he can finish.

Because you don’t want to hear whatever doubt lingers in his words. Not now. Not when his body is so warm, not when his lips taste like regret and longing and every single thing you’ve ever tried to suppress.

Soobin groans into your mouth, deep and ruined, and it sets you on fire.

And the worst part?

You know this won’t be enough.

It never will be.

"Stop moving," Soobin growls against your neck. His voice is low, strained, barely holding together. His lips are hot where they press into your skin, and his hands—god, his hands—grip your waist like you’re something fragile, something he’s trying so hard not to break.

But you don’t make it easy for him.

You shift again, just the slightest movement, but it’s enough. Enough for him to tighten his grip, enough for him to press his hips just a little closer, enough for his breath to come out sharp, ragged.

"Or what?" you ask, breathless, teasing, your voice tinged with something dangerous.

You know exactly what you’re doing.

His eyes flick up to yours, dark, heavy, filled with something that makes your stomach flip. And it’s only then that you realize just how close his face is to yours—how you can feel every unsteady breath he takes, how the heat between you feels unbearable, suffocating in the best possible way.

Your lips are swollen, kiss-bruised, and when his gaze drops to them, his jaw clenches.

"Or you’re going to regret it," he murmurs, voice rough, thick with a warning you know he fully intends to follow through on.

But you don’t stop.

Maybe you want to push him. Maybe you want to see what happens when he snaps.

So you shift again, just the tiniest bit, your knee brushing against his thigh, your fingers ghosting over the fabric of his hoodie. Innocent movements, but not really. Not when his breath stutters, not when his fingers twitch against your waist like he’s barely holding himself back.

"Soobin," you whisper, and you don’t even know what you’re asking for, but you can feel the shift in the air between you. Heavy. Charged. Unforgiving.

His hand moves suddenly, gripping your chin, tilting your face up until there’s nowhere to look but at him. His thumb brushes the edge of your bottom lip, and his breath is uneven, his restraint hanging by a thread.

"Do you even know what you’re doing to me?" he asks, his voice low, almost desperate.

And before you can answer, before you can even think, his lips are back on yours.

But this time, it’s different.

This time, it’s not just desperate—it’s deliberate. It’s slow, like he wants you to feel every second of it, every inch of the way he kisses you, the way he presses against you.

Like he’s trying to prove something.

And maybe—just maybe—you’re about to find out exactly what happens when you push him too far.

You moan again.

It’s soft, wrecked, the kind of sound that makes his restraint snap like a thread pulled too tight.

The heat between you is suffocating. You’re burning, aching, every nerve in your body hypersensitive to the way Soobin touches you—like he needs to, like he has no choice.

His breathing is ragged, uneven, his grip on you tightening as if you might slip away.

"Fucking hell, ___," he rasps, voice dark, rough, filled with something dangerous. "Be clear. What do you want now? What do you fucking want?"

His forehead presses to yours, his lips ghosting over your mouth but never quite kissing you, torturing you with the distance. His fingers dig into your waist like he’s barely holding himself back.

"You," you whisper, the word breaking apart in your throat. It’s desperate, needy. You don’t care.

Something shifts.

Soobin exhales sharply, a curse slipping past his lips before he finally—finally—loses the control he was clinging to.

His mouth crashes into yours, rough, insatiable, as if he’s been starving for you and is only now letting himself feast. His hands roam your body, urgent but reverent, like he’s trying to map out every inch of you, trying to commit this moment to memory.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, to drink you in. His pupils are blown wide, his lips swollen and glistening.

"I shouldn't be thinking about you the way I do," he murmurs, his voice almost unsteady. "You make me so fucking crazy."

His lips trail down your neck, hot, open-mouthed kisses pressed into your skin, each one sending a shiver down your spine. His teeth graze your collarbone, and your breath catches.

"That red dress you wore yesterday—fuck." His voice is barely controlled, like the thought alone is unraveling him. "At your brother’s wedding… you have no idea what you did to me."

His hands slide lower, skimming the curve of your waist, gripping you like you belong to him. His mouth follows the path of his hands, kissing, tasting, worshiping.

"You were always beautiful," he breathes against your skin, voice thick with something deeper than lust. "You always were. But yesterday... yesterday, you were fucking stunning."

He pulls back just slightly, his breath hot against your chest. His hands settle over your ribs, thumbs grazing sensitive skin, just barely there, just enough to drive you insane.

And then he stills. Waiting.

"Can I touch you here?" he asks, his voice lower now, raspier, the last shreds of his restraint hanging by a thread.

You shudder. There’s no hesitation.

"Yes."

It comes out breathless, desperate.

The second the word leaves your lips, his hands move—slow, deliberate, fingertips dragging over your skin like he wants to savor every reaction, every tremor that runs through you.

Like he wants you to feel every single second of it.

Soobin takes his time.

He isn’t just exploring you—he’s worshiping. Every inch of your skin is sacred under his touch, and he treats it like something to be memorized. His fingers drag over your ribs, featherlight, teasing. His lips trace slow, reverent paths down your collarbone, pressing kisses that feel more like devotions.

"I'm gonna take these off, okay?" he murmurs, fingers slipping beneath the straps of your bra.

You can only nod, breathless, as he peels the fabric away, eyes darkening at the sight of you. He exhales sharply, almost in disbelief, his hands hesitating like he needs a second to take it all in.

"These are so pretty," he whispers, voice rough. His fingers graze over you, barely there. Then firmer. His thumb flicks over one peak, and you shudder. "Fucking missed them. So much."

His lips replace his fingers, hot and wet and needy. He sucks, licks, nips—his mouth working you over like he's making up for lost time.

"God," he groans against your skin, his voice half-wrecked. "They didn’t look this full before."

The moan that leaves your lips is absolutely shameful—high-pitched, desperate, almost embarrassing. But you don’t care.

Soobin definitely doesn’t care.

He groans at the sound, his grip tightening as if he's trying to steady himself. But then he does it again—scraping his teeth lightly against you, his tongue soothing over the sting, sucking just enough to make you whimper.

"Shit," he breathes, voice shaking. "You're too good. Too fucking good."

He looks up at you, eyes burning. And then he does it again.

And again.

Until you're nothing but gasps and shivers and pure, unbearable need.

"Please," you whimper, your voice barely more than a breath. "Please."

Soobin’s lips hover just above your skin, his breath warm against your cheek. He doesn’t move, doesn’t give in. His fingers dig into your waist, keeping you still, keeping you desperate.

"What do you want, sweetheart?" His voice is low, teasing, thick with something dark and knowing.

"You."

His lips quirk up slightly. "But you have me right now, hm?" His tone is deceptively soft, but there’s something else underneath—something dangerous.

"You know what I mean," you say, almost frustrated.

He tilts his head, pretending to consider. "No, I don’t," he murmurs. "Tell me."

Your cheeks burn. Your entire body burns. But you say it anyway, voice shaking with need.

"Please, I want you inside."

Something in him snaps.

"Oh? Me?" He pulls back slightly, just enough to look you in the eyes, his own gaze dark, unreadable. "The man you wanted so bad to leave?"

Your nails dig into his shoulders. "Fuck you, Soobin."

He laughs, a low, breathy sound that vibrates against your skin. He leans in, his lips brushing your ear.

"Ah, yes, babe, I’m fucking you," he whispers, his voice dripping with wicked amusement. His hands tighten their hold on you. "And you’re gonna take it—every inch—because you know damn well that you’ve been mine just as much as I’ve been yours."

His words send a shudder down your spine, a delicious ache curling in your gut.

"Mmm," Soobin hums, dragging his hands down your sides, his touch maddeningly slow. "Should I take my time with you... or not?"

Your body is burning, aching. You can’t take it anymore.

"Just do it," you snap, your voice needy, desperate.

He chuckles, tilting his head, dark amusement flickering in his eyes. "That eager, huh? Then help me out, baby." His fingers toy with the waistband of your shorts. "Take these off. Let me see that beautiful body of yours—fully naked."

Your fingers shake as you push them down, the cool air against your exposed skin doing nothing to cool the fire raging inside you.

"This is unfair," you mumble, looking up at him. "You’re still dressed."

That’s all it takes.

In one smooth motion, Soobin pulls off his shirt, then his pants, and finally, his boxers. He doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t tease. He just stands before you—bare, unashamed, strong.

And big.

Your breath catches in your throat. God. It’s been a while since you last saw him like this, but—oh, wow. Yeah. Big. He was always like that.

Your mouth parts slightly, your thighs instinctively pressing together.

He catches it. Of course, he catches it.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he leans down, pressing his mouth to your ear. "Speechless?" he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "Missed me that much, baby?"

His hands find your hips, gripping them firmly as he pulls you flush against him. Skin to skin. Heat to heat.

"You have no idea," you whisper.

You moan when he dares to tease you, his fingers ghosting over your aching heat, his breath hot against your skin. It’s unbearable.

Your patience snaps.

"Fuck you, Soobin," you nearly growl, frustration dripping from your voice. "Why the fuck—just please."

He looks at you, amused, entirely too in control. He loves this. Loves watching you unravel.

"Poor, desperate thing," he muses, tilting his head like he’s savoring every second of your frustration. "So fucking needy. Do you want me that bad?"

Your face burns. Humiliation and desire mix in a dizzying cocktail, but you can’t lie.

"Yeah," you admit, barely above a whisper.

Soobin hums in satisfaction, his hands gripping your thighs, thumbs smoothing circles against your heated skin. "Mmm, I think I should have my fun first," he murmurs. Then, without another word, he drops to his knees before you, eyes dark, pupils blown wide with hunger.

His breath hits you first, warm and teasing, and then his voice—low and devastating.

"Has this sweet little hole missed me?"

Before you can even react, he licks a slow, deliberate stripe up your center, sending a violent shudder through your body.

You cry out, hands flying to his hair. Oh, god. No, no, please—oh, don’t stop.

And then you lose it.

Soobin devours you, his mouth hot and greedy, tongue working you like he’s been waiting for this moment forever. The wet sounds, the low, satisfied groans he lets out against you—it’s filthy, overwhelming. His grip tightens, pressing you further into his mouth, making sure you feel every movement, every flick of his tongue.

"Let me worship this pussy," he groans against you, his voice muffled and rough. "It’s been too fucking long."

Your back arches.

"Fuck, you taste even better than I remember." His lips press against your thigh, only to return to where you need him most. "Mmm, let’s take our time with this, babe. Some good, long foreplay, yeah?"

You can’t help it—you start moving, rocking your hips against his face, desperate for more friction, more of him. The pleasure is too much, too overwhelming, and you barely register the strangled sound Soobin makes as you grind down against his tongue.

"God," you whimper, your breath hitching. "I’m—"

His fingers tease at your entrance, slow, lazy, completely unbothered by your urgency. "What? Gonna cum already, babe?" His voice is muffled, drenched in amusement, lips slick and glistening from you. "Mmm, you really are needy, huh?"

He presses a teasing kiss against your thigh before slipping a finger inside, just barely, making you jerk.

"Bet that boyfriend of yours doesn’t give you shit," he murmurs, voice laced with something sharp, something possessive.

"I don’t—" You gasp as he pushes in deeper, a single finger stretching you open just enough to make you shudder. "Fuck, fuck," your head tilts back, eyes rolling as he adds another. "I don’t have a boyfriend."

That makes him pause. You feel his smirk against your skin before he speaks.

"You don’t?" He croons, curling his fingers just right, making your whole body jolt. "No wonder you’re this fucking desperate. God, you needed this, didn’t you?"

"Soobin—"

"Wanna cum, babe?" His breath is hot against your core, his fingers still working you open. "Say it."

"Yeah," you pant, gripping at his hair, hips still rolling instinctively against his hand.

"Mmm," he hums, withdrawing his fingers just enough to make you whine, just enough to leave you aching. "Let’s edge you a little first."

"No—fuck you," you snap, your voice dripping with frustration.

His low chuckle sends shivers down your spine. "You get so fucking mean when you’re horny," he muses, pumping his fingers in again, slower, teasing. "I like this coming from you."

And then he presses his tongue against your clit again, and all coherent thoughts disappear.

The coil in your belly winds so tight, so unbearable, that when it finally snaps, it sends you spiraling.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—" your voice breaks, and your entire body trembles as the pleasure crashes over you in waves. Your thighs clamp around his head, fingers tangling in his hair as you convulse, lost in the euphoria of it.

Soobin groans against you, feeling everything—the way your walls pulse around his fingers, the way your body shudders under his grip, the way you completely come undone for him. And fuck, it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

But he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t dare stop.

He laps at you, drinking in every drop, his tongue relentless as he works you through the high, dragging it out, making your legs shake. His hands tighten around your hips, keeping you still, keeping you his.

"Soobin—oh, god—" Your voice is hoarse, wrecked, but he doesn't let up. His tongue flicks over your sensitive clit again and you jerk, body twisting, overstimulated and desperate.

"You taste so fucking good," he groans against you, voice thick with hunger. "Missed this. Missed you."

You whimper, pushing at his head, your body twitching, too much, too much—

But Soobin just smirks against your trembling thighs, eyes dark, voice husky.

"One more," he murmurs. "Give me one more, baby. I know you can."

When you come again, it blindsides you. You weren’t lying—it was too much, your body was too sensitive, but somehow, it still betrays you, still obeys the relentless pleasure he’s forcing on you.

The orgasm rips through you, fast and hard, stealing the breath from your lungs. It’s overwhelming, all-consuming—your thighs quake, your back arches, and your hands claw helplessly at the sheets, at him, at anything to ground yourself.

And then—fuck.

A rush of wetness spills from you in pulsing waves, leaving you breathless, wrecked.

Soobin stills for half a second, then groans, long and deep, as if you just gave him the most precious gift. His hands tighten on your thighs as he watches, completely mesmerized, watching how your body gushes for him, soaking his mouth, his chin, the sheets beneath you.

“Holy fuck.” His voice is thick, raspy, wrecked. "Look at you, baby." He doesn’t miss a single drop, drinking you in like he’s been starving for you, eyes dark with pure, unfiltered lust.

You whimper, trembling, overstimulated beyond belief. “Soobin—fuck, I can’t, I—”

He shushes you, pressing slow, deliberate kisses to your inner thighs, letting you feel the way his lips linger. His hands caress your shaking legs, soothing and possessive at the same time.

“You can,” he murmurs against your skin. “And you did.” His voice drips with pride, with something dangerously close to reverence. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

And then, with a wicked smirk, he licks his lips, tasting you all over again.

“Think you can give me one more, sweetheart?”

“No”

Soobin chuckles, low and deep, the sound vibrating through the air between you. His hands trail lazily over your trembling thighs, teasing, never staying in one place long enough to satisfy.

"No?" He mimics your weak protest, tilting his head as if he’s actually considering giving you a break. But the smirk playing on his lips says otherwise.

Then he sees it—sees the way your eyes keep flickering downward, dark and hazy, locked onto him. The way your breath hitches just slightly at the sight of his cock, thick and hard, standing between you.

“Mmm, we should let this body rest, shouldn’t we?” His tone is soft, almost pitying, but there’s a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “You’re so sensitive, all worn out, we should stop—”

He pauses, trailing a teasing finger up your inner thigh.

“But,” he drawls, watching the way you squirm, “the way you’re looking at me right now? Fuck, sweetheart, you’re practically salivating.” His voice drops lower, rougher. “You know you’re trouble, don’t you?”

Your breath stutters, but you shake your head weakly. “Mmm… no.”

His eyes darken instantly. “Liar.”

You swallow, voice barely above a whisper. “Want you.”

His grip on your thighs tightens.

You’re relentless now, pleading, your voice thick with need. “I really want you.”

Soobin hums, his fingers skating dangerously close to where you need him most, barely there, teasing. “Didn’t you just say you needed a rest?”

You nod, breathless. “Yeah…”

He raises a brow. “So what happened?”

You whimper, arching into his touch, impatient. “I—fuck—I want you,” you admit, your voice trembling with desperation. “It’s been too long. Please.”

Something in him snaps.

A slow, wicked grin spreads across his face as he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and heavy.

“You want me that bad?” His voice is dark, full of something you can’t quite name.

You nod rapidly, your whole body begging for him.

He chuckles again, low and satisfied, pressing a soft, teasing kiss against your jaw.

“Then, baby,” he murmurs, “you better take what you asked for.”

And just like that—despite the way your body trembles, despite the way you're still reeling from the last two orgasms that left you oversensitive and dazed—he enters you.

It’s slow at first, agonizingly slow, as if he’s savoring the feeling of stretching you open, of feeling you take him inch by inch. Your breath hitches, a gasp spilling from your lips at the fullness, the overwhelming sensation of being filled.

But then he snaps.

A sharp inhale, a guttural curse under his breath, and all that patience vanishes. His grip on your hips tightens—no hesitation, no holding back.

"Gotta fuck this pussy like she deserves to be fucked." His voice is rough, wrecked, tinged with something possessive.

He drives into you, deep and unrelenting, his hips slamming against yours with a force that makes your head spin. The room fills with the obscene sound of skin against skin, the wet, messy proof of just how much you need this, how much you need him.

Your hands claw at his back, nails digging into his skin as he pounds into you, dragging you closer, forcing you to take every inch. Every thrust sends a new wave of pleasure tearing through you, unbearable and yet not enough.

"So fucking tight," he growls, watching the way your body swallows him whole, clenching around him, greedy. "Like you were made for me."

You can't even respond—your words lost to the moans and cries spilling uncontrollably from your lips.

His hand grips your jaw, forcing your eyes to meet his. "Look at me," he commands, voice dark, dangerous. "You feel that? Hm? You feel how deep I am?"

You nod weakly, barely able to think.

"Good," he grits out, snapping his hips even harder. "Because I'm not stopping until I ruin you."

He does ruin you. Completely.

The sound of it—wet, obscene, filthy—fills the space, each thrust echoing between the walls like a symphony of pure sin. Your body is a mess beneath him, pliant and wrecked, reduced to nothing but sensation, but pleasure.

And Soobin devours you.

His lips find every inch of your skin—your neck, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat—leaving open-mouthed kisses, sucking bruises that will linger long after this moment. His hands roam, gripping, kneading, worshiping. Every touch is possessive, claiming.

Your only response is to take it. To surrender to the way he stretches you, fills you so perfectly. It’s been too long since you’ve felt like this, since you’ve felt this full, this good.

"You feel that, baby?" he mutters against your jaw, his voice thick with lust, his thrusts sharp and punishing. "This is what you’ve been missing. What no one else can fucking give you."

You moan—a broken, desperate sound.

"Say it," he demands, his fingers slipping between your bodies, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves and pressing down hard.

You jolt, eyes rolling back. "You," you gasp. "Only you—fuck—no one else."

He groans, burying his face against your neck as if the admission undoes him. And then he snaps, fucking into you like he wants to make sure you’ll never forget this, never forget him.

"I'm gonna fucking cum," you practically scream, your voice breaking, body trembling.

Soobin chuckles, low and taunting, never slowing his ruthless pace. "Oh, poor baby," he coos mockingly, his fingers slipping down between your bodies, finding your clit with wicked precision. He presses down, rubs slow, lazy circles—just to watch you squirm.

"You wanna cum that bad?" he murmurs, voice dripping with amusement, eyes dark with something feral. "So fucking desperate. Look at you—shaking. You can’t even take it, can you?"

You whimper, your fingers clawing at his back, his arms, anything you can reach. It’s too much, too good, too perfect. Your body is fire, every nerve on the edge of combustion.

"So needy for me," Soobin groans, leaning down, his lips brushing over yours. "But you know I love it when you beg, sweetheart. So why don’t you be a good girl and ask me for it?"

Your pride and sanity shatter.

"Please," you gasp, wrecked and mindless. "Please, Soobin, let me cum. Please—"

"That’s my girl," he growls, and then he rubs harder, fucks you deeper, until you break—until you fall apart around him with a sobbing cry, your body seizing, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave.

And Soobin watches it all, drinking in every second, every sound, every tremor of your body as you unravel beneath him.

It takes him a few seconds—just long enough to watch you come undone beneath him, to feel your walls flutter and clench so tightly around him that his restraint snaps like a frayed wire.

A deep, guttural groan rumbles from his chest as his hips stutter, losing rhythm. His fingers dig into your waist, hard, holding you still as he buries himself to the hilt.

"Fuck—" he rasps, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as he spills inside you, the heat of it making you shudder. He pulses, each wave of his release drawn out by the way your body still clenches greedily around him.

He pants against your skin, his breath hot and uneven. "Shit," he mutters, pressing absentminded kisses against your jaw, your cheek, anywhere he can reach. His hand slides up your side, lazy, possessive. "You feel so fucking good—"

You're still trembling, body sensitive, spent, but you turn your head, catching his lips in a slow, messy kiss. He groans into it, hips rolling shallowly, like he can't stop, like he’s still savoring every aftershock.

Neither of you move for a long moment. Just the sound of your mingled breathing, his weight pressing you into the mattress, the warmth of his release still deep inside you.

Then, finally, Soobin exhales a small, breathless laugh against your skin.

"Yeah." He nuzzles into your neck, voice lower, softer now. "You're mine."

You smile, breath still uneven, body still trembling. "I always was."

Soobin exhales sharply, like the words hit him somewhere deep. His arms tighten around you, pressing your body closer, unwilling to let go just yet. He kisses you—slow, lingering, almost tender now. Like he’s sealing something between you.

You don’t remember falling asleep, only the warmth of his body wrapped around yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, the way his fingers lazily traced circles into your hip until everything faded into darkness.

You wake up to sunlight slipping through the curtains, golden and soft, warming your skin. The bed smells like him—clean and musky, something uniquely Soobin. His arm is still draped over your waist, heavy and possessive, fingers curled slightly like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

You shift slightly, your body sore in ways that make heat curl in your stomach. That definitely happened.

A low, sleepy hum comes from behind you. "Mmm, morning." Soobin’s voice is rough, thick with sleep. He tightens his hold, nuzzling into your neck. "Where do you think you’re going?"

You let out a soft laugh. "Nowhere."

"Good." He presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder, his lips warm and slow, like he’s savoring the moment. "Stay right here."

You roll over to face him, and god—he looks unfairly good in the morning. Tousled hair, drowsy eyes, lips still slightly swollen from last night. He blinks down at you, then smirks. "You look wrecked."

"Whose fault is that?" you mumble, stretching.

"Mine." He grins, completely unapologetic. "And I’d do it again."

Your cheeks heat, but before you can reply, Soobin rolls on top of you, caging you in effortlessly. His weight is comforting, his bare skin warm against yours.

"What are you doing?" you ask, even though you already know.

"Making sure you don’t regret it." He brushes his nose against yours, voice still thick with sleep, but his hands are already moving, slow and teasing. "And if you don’t, then I think I have some unfinished business with you, sweetheart."

It’s practically lunchtime when you and Soobin finally decide to leave the bed. Your body aches in the best way possible, but more importantly—your stomach aches for actual food.

You call for delivery, and right in front of you, like fate, they drop off food from your favorite restaurant just a few blocks away. Perfect.

Soobin busies himself preparing the table, setting out plates, pouring water into glasses, smoothing out the tablecloth like this is something the two of you do all the time. Like he belongs here. Like this isn’t completely new and terrifying.

Everything is so domestic, so effortless—it almost scares you.

You watch him for a moment before blurting out, "Soob, you’re truly an idiot."

He freezes mid-reach for the utensils, turning to look at you, confused. "Huh?"

You inhale sharply, then murmur, "We didn’t use protection last night… or today."

Soobin’s eyes widen. "Fuck." He looks absolutely stricken, like the realization just knocked the air out of his lungs. "Oh my god, I was too focused on— I mean, I was so into you that I just—fuck."

You cross your arms, watching him spiral.

"Babe, I swear, I’m clean." His voice is urgent now, panicked. "I got tested two weeks ago—I think I still have the document on my phone. You can check—"

You can’t help it—you laugh. "Lucky for you, I’m on birth control."

Soobin sags in relief, pressing a hand to his forehead. "Jesus." Then, his expression shifts to something more serious, his brows knitting together. "This is a thing for two—I should have been more responsible. I’m sorry."

You step closer, poking his chest. "Damn right you should have been."

His lips quirk into a sheepish smile. "I’ll make it up to you."

You raise an eyebrow. "How?"

Soobin leans down, voice dropping, teasing, "Well… I could start by feeding you before you get grumpy."

You roll your eyes but let him press a kiss to your forehead anyway. The moment should feel awkward, heavy even, but instead, it feels warm. Familiar.

You don’t even think before you say it. The words just spill out as you sit across from him at the table, food untouched between you.

"We need to talk."

Soobin looks up immediately, jaw tightening like he’s already bracing for the worst. His fingers tighten around his chopsticks, but he doesn’t interrupt.

Before you can even gather your thoughts, he exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Before you say anything, I know." His voice is quieter now, a little rough. "I know how hard it was for you back then."

You open your mouth, but he keeps going.

"Babe, I didn’t pay attention to you."* His eyes flicker with regret, dark and heavy with memories that still linger between you. "And I am so sorry. But I didn’t have the time back then—I had just made it into university, and I was juggling a full-on trainee schedule. I barely had a second to breathe."*

He looks down at his hands like he can barely stand to face you.

"At the time, I didn’t understand why you made such a fuss. I thought you were overreacting. But looking back… fuck, I was selfish. I was spending fourteen hours a day training, barely sleeping, and the little time I had left, I should have given to you."

His voice cracks, and when he looks up, his eyes are shining with something raw. "You were at university too, just as busy, and still… you made time for me. You always made time for me. You’d cook my meals, check up on me, make sure I ate something even when I got home at 2 AM—and I took you for granted."

Your heart clenches painfully.

"I will always be deeply sorry for that," Soobin continues, his throat bobbing as he swallows. "I should’ve been better. I should’ve been there for you like you were for me."

His hand reaches out across the table, tentative, fingers brushing against yours.

"But I never stopped loving you. Not even once."

Silence stretches between you. The weight of his words sinks into your skin, deep and unshakable.

It would be so easy to let that be enough—to fall back into him completely, to pretend the past doesn’t matter.

But it does.

So you take a breath, steadying yourself, and finally, finally, you start to say everything you’ve been holding in for years.

"You really hurt me, Soobin." Your voice is quiet, but steady. "I don’t think you ever realized how lonely I felt back then. It wasn’t just that you were busy—it was that I felt like I didn’t exist to you anymore."

He flinches, like the words hit him straight in the chest.

"I’d wait for you. Every night, I’d wait. I’d cook you something, even if I knew you’d barely touch it. I’d leave you messages, even if I knew you wouldn’t answer until hours later. And I told myself it was fine. That I could handle it. That I was just being selfish for wanting more of you."

You shake your head, swallowing the lump in your throat. "But it wasn’t fine. And I wasn’t selfish. I just wanted to be with you."

Soobin grips your hand tighter. "I know. I know, and I was a fucking idiot. I don’t think I really let myself see how much it was affecting you. I was so focused on surviving every day that I just… I don’t know. I thought you’d always be there. And that was unfair of me."

He swipes a hand down his face, exhaling shakily. "I can’t change what I did back then. I can’t undo the times I hurt you. But if you’ll let me—if you still want this—I swear I’ll spend every day making up for it."

Your chest tightens.

The truth is, you never stopped wanting him.

And maybe that’s the most terrifying part of all.

You squeeze his hand. "I’m still scared, Soobin. I don’t know if things will be different this time."

"They will be." His voice is firm, certain. "Because I’m different. And if you give me the chance, I’ll prove it to you."

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you watch the way his fingers tighten around yours like he’s scared you’ll slip through them again. You watch the way he looks at you—like you’re something he refuses to take for granted ever again.

"For the record," Soobin starts, voice quieter now, steadier, "my career will not be a problem anymore."

Your breath catches, but you let him speak.

"I don’t want to hide you. I never did, and I won’t—not unless you’re uncomfortable with how public it’s going to get. If you are, then I swear I’ll respect that. But me? I will always stand for you."

His fingers tighten around yours, warm and firm, like an unspoken promise.

"I will always be there from now on." His voice wavers just slightly. "I should’ve been there before, but I wasn’t. I don’t deserve you after all the ways I hurt you… but I love you, and I want to make you so fucking happy, babe."

A lump rises in your throat.

"You’re the only reason I keep working so hard," he continues. "Every day, I push myself so I can prove that it was all worth it. But the thing is… none of it means anything without you."

Your heart stutters.

"I have everything I ever dreamed of, but I don’t have the one thing I want most." He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your knuckles. "You."

The word sinks deep, heavy with meaning.

You exhale shakily, watching him. Soobin—your Soobin—who once felt like a memory you had to let go of, is here, right in front of you, holding on like he’s terrified you’ll slip away again.

"Do you mean it?" You ask, voice barely above a whisper.

His brows furrow like the question physically pains him. "Of course I do. I’d never say it if I didn’t."

You hesitate, searching his face for any sign of doubt, any hesitation. But there’s none. Just unwavering determination, just love—raw and unshaken.

Soobin lifts his free hand, cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin. "Give me the chance to make it up to you. Let me prove to you that I can be the man you deserve."

You don’t realize you’re leaning into his touch until your eyes flutter shut.

And then, all of a sudden, Soobin is kissing you.

It’s not rushed, not desperate—just sweet, meaningful. The kind of kiss that says more than words ever could. His lips press against yours with a quiet reverence, like he’s savoring the moment, memorizing the feel of you. Like he’s afraid of letting go.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t go far. His forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

"Could you be my girlfriend?" His voice is barely above a whisper, hesitant, hopeful.

Your eyes flutter open, meeting his gaze—soft yet so intense, like he’s holding onto every second.

"I can make my company release a statement," he murmurs, pressing a lingering peck on the tip of your nose. "They can say that I’m very much taken. That I belong to you."

Your breath catches, but Soobin isn’t finished.

"I have an event coming up—a fancy, over-the-top party, filled with industry elites, idols, actors, CEOs. Everyone who’s someone will be there." He swallows, brushing his fingers down your arm. "I can introduce you to the world."

Your heart pounds.

"You don’t have to," he adds quickly, searching your face for any sign of hesitation. "I know this isn’t easy, and if you don’t want that kind of attention, I’ll keep us private. But I don’t want to hide you. Not anymore. I want everyone to know that you’re mine, and that I—" He exhales shakily, eyes glistening with something raw. "That I’m yours."

Your lips part, but words don’t come.

Soobin doesn’t rush you. He just waits, watching you like your answer is the most important thing in the world. And to him, it probably is.

You take a breath, steadying yourself as Soobin watches you with hopeful, expectant eyes. The weight of his words lingers between you, thick with meaning, with promise.

"Yes," you finally say, your voice soft but sure. "I want to be your girlfriend."

Soobin's entire face lights up, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly, like he's grounding himself in the moment—like he can’t believe this is real.

You exhale a small laugh, shaking your head. "I don’t love the attention, and I know the media follows you everywhere... but if you want to release the statement, you can. I just—" You hesitate, chewing on your lip. "I don’t know about the party though."

His eyes search yours, carefully gauging your comfort. "We don’t have to go," he assures you, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles against your palm. "I don’t want you to feel pressured, babe. If you’re not ready, we’ll do things your way. The world can wait."

You smile, warmth blooming in your chest. "You’d really be okay with that?"

Soobin chuckles, tilting his head. "I waited this long to have you again. What’s a little more waiting?"

His words make your heart clench, and before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning in, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that’s soft, full of quiet gratitude.

Soobin sighs into it, his hands finding your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. "God, I love you," he breathes against your lips. "I’ll do this right this time."

And you believe him.

When Yeonjun finds out, it’s messy.

There’s yelling. A lot of it.

"How the hell did this happen, and I didn’t notice?!" Yeonjun practically explodes, his voice bouncing off the walls. His expression is a mix of pure disbelief and mild betrayal, his hands flying through his hair like he’s on the verge of losing his mind.

Then, in the middle of his outburst, realization hits. His mouth clamps shut, and his face shifts from outrage to something quieter—understanding.

Of course, he didn’t notice.

He wasn’t here.

He was studying in the U.S. when everything went down. He missed it. All of it.

His gaze flickers between you and Soobin, and for a long, drawn-out moment, it’s impossible to tell what he’s thinking. Then, without warning, his eyes lock onto Soobin’s with a silent threat—If she ends up hurt, I’ll make sure you regret it.

Soobin swallows thickly.

But then—almost unexpectedly—Yeonjun smiles.

It’s not exactly a warm, welcoming grin, but it’s something. A reluctant acceptance, maybe. A begrudging fine, but if you screw this up, I will personally end your life.

Soobin lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, tension leaving his shoulders.

And then it clicks.

A memory. A conversation. Something that doesn’t make sense.

His brows furrow, and he turns to you, completely thrown. "Babe... that day at the wedding… did you say something to Yeonjun about us earlier?"

You blink at him, confused. "Huh?"

"Taehyun told me he overheard you talking to Yeonjun about us.*"

Your face scrunches in confusion. "That never happened."

Soobin freezes. "What?"

"I never talked to Yeonjun about us before everything happened. Not at the wedding. Not before it. Never."

The realization crashes down like a ton of bricks.

"He probably lied to you," you murmur.

Soobin’s eye twitches.

Oh.

Oh, he’s gonna kill Taehyun.

And then, after that, he’s going to buy him one of those weird torture-looking gym machines he’s always obsessing over. That’ll shut him up.

Thank fucking god for Taehyun.

Let me know what you think about this hehe :D

#txt fanfic #soobin smut #txt smut #txt au #txt x reader #soobin x reader #txt #tomorrow x together smut #choi soobin smut #txt soobin #txt ff #soobin ff #soobin #tomorrow x together #kpop ff #kpop fanfic

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th3mrskory · 2 days ago

Text

Chapter 9: Across the Divide

Pairing: Original fem!Reader x Origins!Logan Warning: angst, fluff, 18+ MDNI, SMUT, explicit language, loss of virginity, handjob, fingering, oral (female receiving), unprotected p in v, missionary, creampie.

A/N: If Chapter 8 was a punch to the gut, this one is… well, let’s call it an attempt at first aid. Sort of. Have you ever watched two people try to fix something in the worst possible way, only for it to somehow work because they don’t know any other language but this? Yeah. That.

Consider this a little Valentine’s Day treat. Twisted, messy, and completely them. Read when you’re ready. And yes, my inbox is still open for any and all reactions.

Word count: 7 k

© th3mrskory. don’t copy, translate, or use my works in any form with AI, ChatGPT or any other automated tools. I only share my stories here, so if you see them posted elsewhere, i’d appreciate it if you let me know.

The yard had grown quiet as the other workers moved further into the forest, leaving Logan to finish stacking the last of the wood alone. The sharp bite of winter hung in the air, his breath clouding in front of him with every exhale. The solitude was welcome—at least, that’s what he told himself.

But the silence didn’t stop the memories.

“You don’t owe me anything.”

Logan clenched his fists, the words circling in his mind like a relentless echo. He grabbed a log from the pile and slammed it onto the stump, the impact reverberating through his arms. The ax swung down, splitting the wood clean in two.

“I’m sorry for coming unannounced.”

He knew better than to hope for steady ground, better than to let himself believe he could hold onto something good. With Evelyn, it had felt different—like maybe, just maybe, he could carve out a life that didn’t feel like running or regret.

Now, it felt like a mistake.

The kiss he’d seen replayed over and over in his head, each time cutting deeper. It wasn’t just her ex he was angry at, though the smugness on the bastard’s face made Logan’s blood boil. No, most of the anger was for himself—for being stupid enough to think he could be enough for her.

The crunch of boots on gravel pulled him from his thoughts. Pete and Rick approached from the truck, their faces drawn with concern.

“You alright, Howlett?” Pete asked, his voice cautious but probing.

Logan didn’t look up, hefting another log onto the stump. “I’m fine.”

Pete and Rick exchanged a glance, the kind that said he’s definitely not fine.

“Look,” Pete began, leaning on the tailgate. “You don’t want to talk about it. But you’ve been going at this woodpile like it owes you money. Maybe take a second to breathe?”

“I don’t need a breather,” Logan said flatly, his tone daring them to push further.

Rick, quieter but no less perceptive, stepped up beside Pete. “You don’t have to talk,” he said after a pause, his voice measured. “But if you keep bottling it up, it’s gonna come out sideways.”

Logan didn’t respond, his focus locked on the ax as he brought it down with enough force to split the log cleanly.

Pete let out a low whistle. “Man, whatever’s eating at you must be big. I’ve never seen you like this before.”

Logan finally stopped, leaning on the ax handle and leveling Pete with a glare. “I said I’m fine.”

“Sure, sure,” Pete said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “But if you keep this up, there won’t be any wood left in the yard for the rest of us.”

Rick sighed, folding his arms across his chest. “Look, Logan. I don’t know what happened with Evelyn, but if she’s got you this twisted up, maybe she’s worth hearing out.”

Logan’s grip on the ax tightened, his jaw clenching as he stared at the ground. The truth in Rick’s words cut deeper than he cared to admit.

“Not my place to butt in,” Pete added, though his grin said otherwise. “But if you’re spending this much time stewing over it, she’s probably thinking about you, too.”

Logan shot them both a sharp look, then yanked the ax from the stump and turned toward the forest. “Leave it alone,” he muttered, stalking off into the trees without another word.

Pete waited until Logan was out of earshot before muttering, “Yeah, that went well.”

Rick shrugged, grabbing the thermos from the truck bed. “He’ll figure it out. He always does.”

During the course of the next couple of days the rhythm of the yard was the same, but Logan’s presence felt heavier. He worked harder than usual, his focus razor-sharp, but the tension in his frame was impossible to ignore.

Pete and Rick kept their distance this time, their occasional glances filled with concern.

By midday, Logan had thrown himself into another project, replacing a broken tool rack near the shed. His movements were precise, his jaw set in determination. But even as he worked, his mind wandered—back to the driveway, to Evelyn’s face when she saw him, and to the kiss that had shattered something inside him.

The guys noticed, but they didn’t say a word. Pete started a fire near the edge of the clearing, his usual jokes subdued. Rick passed by with a nod but left Logan to his thoughts.

By the time dusk fell, Logan was still at it, the hammer in his hand swinging with a force that bordered on reckless.

Tension seemed to follow him wherever he went, and his coworkers gave him a wide berth, exchanging knowing glances but keeping their distance.

The others gave him a wide berth, the tension in the yard thick enough to cut with a blade. Midday, the office phone rang, its shrill tone breaking the monotony of the worksite. Rick wiped his hands on a rag as he stepped inside to answer.

“Yeah, this is Rick,” he said, leaning against the desk.

“Hey, it’s Mary,” his wife’s voice came through the line, light but concerned. “Thought you’d want to know—I saw Evelyn back in town. She was at the general store this morning.”

Rick raised an eyebrow, glancing out the window toward Logan. “That right?”

“She looked... well, not great. Like she’s been through it. Thought Logan might want to know.”

Rick thanked her and hung up, stepping back outside with a purposeful stride. Pete caught his eye as he walked toward Logan, who was hunched over another stack of wood.

“What’s the news?” Pete asked.

Rick ignored him, stopping a few feet from Logan. “Hey, Howlett,” he called out, his tone even.

Logan didn’t look up. “What?”

Rick hesitated, then said, “Mary saw Evelyn in town this morning. Thought you’d want to know.”

Logan froze, his hands stilling on the axe handle. For a moment, it looked like he might respond, but then he shook his head and resumed working.

“Good for her,” he muttered, his voice flat.

Pete stepped forward, frustration evident in his expression. “Don’t be an idiot. You’re hurting, and so is she. Go talk to her.”

Logan’s grip on the axe tightened, his knuckles white. “I said I don’t care,” he snapped.

Pete sighed, throwing up his hands. “Alright, fine. Be stubborn. But don’t come crying to us when it’s too late.”

Rick shot Pete a warning look, but Logan didn’t seem to hear them anymore. He swung the axe down with a force that sent the wood flying, the conversation over.

When the day finally ended, Logan climbed into his truck, his body aching from the nonstop work. The drive home was quiet, the hum of the engine the only sound to fill the cab.

As he pulled onto the dirt road leading to his cottage, his headlights illuminated a familiar vehicle parked in his driveway. Logan’s chest tightened, his hands gripping the steering wheel as he slowed to a stop.

It was Evelyn’s truck.

For a long moment, he sat there, staring at it, his mind racing. A part of him wanted to get out, to see her, to hear whatever explanation she had to offer. But the memory of that kiss, of her ex standing so close to her, was a wound that hadn’t stopped bleeding.

With a sharp exhale, Logan put the truck in reverse and backed down the road.

He didn’t look back.

The next day Logan was halfway to the kitchen when he noticed the Polaroid resting on the mantle—the one Evelyn had taken of herself.

He stared at it for a long moment, his chest tightening as he reached out to pick it up. The sight of her smile—the carefree warmth in her eyes—brought a lump to his throat he couldn’t swallow.

A sudden knock at the door jolted him from his thoughts. He hesitated, his grip on the Polaroid tightening as he listened.

“I know you’re there, Logan,” Evelyn’s voice called softly from the other side. “Are you done running away from me? Please... let me explain.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, his gaze fixed on the photo in his hand. He didn’t move.

“Logan,” she tried again, her voice trembling. “I’m not leaving until you hear me out.”

Still, he didn’t answer.

The minutes stretched on, the silence heavy and suffocating. Eventually, Evelyn exhaled shakily, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry. For everything. For not stopping him, for not calling you first. I never wanted to hurt you. Please believe me.”

When the sound of her footsteps receded, Logan finally let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He sat down heavily, the Polaroid still in his hand as the weight of the past few days pressed down on him like a boulder.

They didn’t speak for a week after Evelyn’s return. The silence between them was deafening, but neither seemed willing to bridge the gap.

The logging yard was alive with the rhythmic sound of axes striking wood, the hum of engines, and the occasional crack of a tree falling in the distance. Evelyn’s truck rolled into the gravel lot, its tires crunching softly against the frozen ground. Her heart pounded as she parked near the edge of the clearing, unsure if she had made the right decision by coming here.

As she stepped out, the cold air nipped at her cheeks, her breath visible in the chill. Her gaze scanned the bustling yard until it landed on two familiar figures standing near the truck bed—Rick and Pete. They noticed her almost instantly, exchanging a quick glance before Pete raised a hand in greeting.

“Miss Evelyn!” Pete called, his tone warm but tinged with curiosity. He closed the distance between them, wiping his hands on his flannel shirt. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Everything alright?”

She hesitated, shifting on her feet as Rick joined them, his expression more reserved but just as welcoming.

“Is Logan here?” she asked, her voice quieter than she intended.

Pete and Rick exchanged another look, this one heavier.

“He’s around,” Rick said carefully, his arms folding across his chest. “But this probably isn’t the place for whatever conversation you’re looking to have.”

Evelyn’s shoulders sagged slightly, the weight of the last few days catching up to her. “I’ve been trying to talk to him,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “I went to his cabin, but... he wouldn’t see me.”

Pete winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “He’s been... well, let’s just say he’s not exactly himself lately.”

“He’s hurt,” Rick added bluntly, his gaze steady on her. “You can see it in the way he’s working—pushing himself harder than he should. Whatever happened between you two, it’s eating him alive.”

Evelyn swallowed hard, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I didn’t even—” She stopped, her breath hitching as she tried to gather her thoughts. “I never wanted to hurt him.”

Rick’s expression softened slightly, and he nodded. “I believe you. But he’s got his walls up right now. It’s going to take more than just words to get through to him.”

Pete stepped closer, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “We’ll talk to him. Try to get him to see reason. But you’ve got to give him a little time, alright? Let us handle it.”

Evelyn nodded reluctantly, the knot in her stomach tightening. “I don’t want him to think I don’t care,” she said softly.

“He knows,” Pete assured her, his voice surprisingly gentle. “He’s just too damn stubborn to admit it right now.”

The drive back to the cottage felt longer than usual, the winter landscape passing by in a blur. Evelyn’s mind raced, replaying her conversation with Pete and Rick. Their words had given her a small measure of hope, but the weight of uncertainty hung heavy in her chest.

By the time she reached home, the familiar sight of the cozy cottage brought a semblance of comfort. She slipped inside, the warmth of the woodstove embracing her as she shed her coat and boots. Her gaze drifted to the basket of unfinished crochet pieces sitting by the couch.

With a deep breath, Evelyn settled herself down, picking up the half-finished sweater she had started weeks ago. Her hands moved methodically, the repetitive motion of the hook and yarn soothing her frayed nerves.

Hours turned into days, and the rhythm of her life resumed, though it felt emptier than before. She spent her mornings tending to small chores around the cottage, her afternoons lost in her crafts, and her evenings staring at the quiet phone, willing it to ring.

She wanted to give Logan space, to let him come to her when he was ready, but the silence was agonizing. The weight of waiting gnawed at her, and though she tried to keep herself busy, the ache of missing him lingered.

“He knows,” Pete assured her, his voice surprisingly gentle. “He’s just too damn stubborn to admit it right now.”

It wasn’t until a rainy evening, as Evelyn was driving home from a fair out of town, that their paths crossed again. Logan’s truck was idling at an intersection, his expression unreadable as their eyes met through the windshield. Without thinking, she pulled over, her tires skidding slightly in the mud. She threw her truck into park and jumped out, the cold rain immediately soaking through her coat as she ran toward him.

“Logan,” she called, her voice barely audible over the downpour.

Logan slammed on the brakes, his truck skidding slightly before halting. He stepped out, his gaze finally meeting hers, his eyes shadowed with a mix of anger and hurt. Rain plastered his hair to his forehead, drops clinging to his lashes as he looked at her.

“What the hell are you doing?” he growled, his voice low and sharp.

“I’m trying to fix this,” she said, her voice trembling. “I can’t stand how things are between us right now.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, his hands clenching at his sides. “Maybe things are better this way.”

“No,” she said firmly. “They’re not. I know you’re angry, and you have every right to be. I’m not letting you leave again. Not without hearing me out.”

“I’ve heard enough.”, he spits out.

Evelyn steps closer, her voice rising over the rain.“No, you haven’t! You think you know what happened, but you don’t! That kiss—it wasn’t me. I didn’t ask for it. I didn’t want it.”

Logan’s jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing.“Didn’t look like you were pulling away, either.”

“I froze! I didn’t know how to react. But the second I saw you, it was over. I didn’t care about him—I care about you.”, she said looking at him.

He let out a harsh breath, looking away. “Doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change what I saw.”

“No, it doesn’t,” she admitted, tears mixing with the rain. “But it doesn’t mean I didn’t care about how it would hurt you. I love you, Logan. Do you hear me? I love you. And I’m not letting you push me away because of one stupid mistake.”

Logan’s breath catches, his usual walls crumbling under the weight of her words. For a moment, he just stares at her, the rain streaming down his face, a flicker of something raw crossing his face. “Don’t say that,” he muttered. “Don’t say it if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it,” she said, her voice breaking as tears mixed with the rain streaming down her face. “I love you, and I’m sorry for everything. For not stopping him, for not calling you first. I never wanted to hurt you, Logan. Please believe me.”

For a long moment, they stood there in the rain, the tension between them crackling like a live wire. Finally, Logan closed the distance, his hands cupping her face as he kissed her—desperate, hungry, and filled with all the emotions he’d kept bottled up.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads resting together, Logan exhaled softly. “I love you tooI’ve been alone a long time,” he murmured. “I don’t know if I know how to do this... but I can’t lose you.”

Evelyn smiled through her tears, her hands still cradling his face. “You’re not going to lose me, Logan. We’ll figure it out together.”

The rain continued to pour around them, but in that moment, it felt like the storm had finally passed.

Logan’s eyes searched hers, and without another word, he leaned in again, capturing her lips in a kiss that was deeper, hotter, and filled with all the longing he had tried to suppress. His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.

Evelyn responded with equal fervor, her fingers threading through his rain-soaked hair, her lips parting to meet his urgency. The rain continued to pour around them, but neither seemed to care. Each kiss was hungrier than the last, the heat between them undeniable despite the cold storm.

Logan’s hands slid up her back, strong and steady, anchoring her as their kiss deepened. When she pressed against him, he let out a low, guttural sound, his restraint slipping. His lips left hers, trailing along her jaw and down her neck, his breath hot against her skin as her head tilted back, exposing more of her to him.

“Maybe we should—” Logan murmured against her neck, his voice rough and uneven.

“Get out of the rain?” she finished breathlessly, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth despite the tension crackling between them. “Yeah. Before we end up with pneumonia.”

They broke apart reluctantly, the air charged as they hurried to his truck. Once inside, the doors slammed shut, the rain pounding against the roof providing a steady rhythm to the silence that followed.

But the moment was far from over. As soon as the doors were locked, Logan reached for her again, pulling her onto his lap. Their lips collided once more, this time with an unrestrained passion that made her shiver. Her hands roamed over his chest, the damp flannel clinging to his broad frame as he held her tightly, his fingers gripping her hips as if he couldn’t bear to let her go.

Their movements grew more heated, her hips grinding down against him instinctively as their breathing quickened. Logan groaned, his head falling back against the seat as she moved again, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through both of them.

“Evelyn,” he rasped, his voice thick with desire. “If we don’t stop now…”

She paused, her forehead pressing to his as they both struggled to catch their breath. The weight of his words hung between them, but neither made a move to pull away.

“Then let’s go,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the flush rising to her cheeks.

Logan’s hands tightened on her waist, his amber eyes dark with emotion and something deeper. “You sure?”

She nodded, brushing her lips against his once more, softer this time but no less certain. “I’ve never been more sure.”

Without another word, Logan gently lifted her off his lap, his touch lingering as they adjusted themselves. He started the truck, his hand finding hers as they drove through the rain, the tension between them simmering and unresolved—but not for much longer.

The rain hadn’t let up by the time Logan pulled the truck into the clearing by his cabin. The headlights cut through the downpour, illuminating the weathered wood of the small structure nestled among the trees.

Logan killed the engine, turning to glance at Evelyn. Her cheeks were flushed, her damp hair sticking to her neck and temples, but she was staring at him with an intensity that sent a pang through his chest.

“Come on,” he muttered, stepping out of the truck. The cold rain hit him immediately, but he barely noticed as he rounded the vehicle to her side.

Evelyn climbed out, wrapping her arms around herself as the chill seeped through her already soaked clothes. Logan’s hand pressed gently against her back, guiding her toward the cabin. The touch was firm but protective, his warmth cutting through the cold.

Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of pine and faint smoke. Logan flicked on a single lamp, its amber glow softening the shadows in the small space.

“Go shower,” he said gruffly, already shrugging off his wet flannel and hanging it on a hook near the door. His voice softened as he added, “Don’t want you catching a cold.”

Evelyn hesitated, watching as he bent to stoke the fireplace. The orange flames roared to life under his practiced touch, casting flickering light over his broad shoulders and damp hair.

“What about you?” she asked quietly.

“I’ll dry off,” he replied without looking at her. “Go on. Bathroom’s down the hall.”

She lingered for a moment longer, the warmth of his care sinking into her even if his tone was brusque. Then she nodded and disappeared down the hall.

By the time she returned, the cabin was bathed in a cozy glow. Logan had shed his wet clothes, now dressed in a clean pair of jeans and white t-shirt. He was seated on the couch, his head resting against the back, eyes half-closed as he warmed himself by the fire.

Evelyn paused in the doorway, her heart stuttering at the sight of him. He looked so unguarded, so human, a stark contrast to the stormy, gruff exterior he so often wore.

She was wearing one of his shirts—soft and slightly oversized, the sleeves pushed up over her elbows. Her hair was still damp, and her cheeks held a faint blush.

Logan’s eyes opened as she stepped into the room, and they darkened when they landed on her. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the quiet between them carrying all the weight of what had happened that night.

She crossed the room and climbed onto his lap, straddling him without hesitation. Logan stiffened slightly, his hands instinctively resting on her thighs, but he didn’t pull away.

“Evelyn…” he began, his voice low, almost a warning.

“I just want to be close to you,” she whispered, her hands finding his shoulders. “Is that okay?”

Logan’s eyes softened, the tension in his body easing as he exhaled. “Yeah,” he murmured, his hands sliding up to rest on her waist.

She leaned forward, her forehead pressing gently to his. They sat like that for a moment, the crackling fire filling the silence. Logan’s hands moved to the small of her back, pulling her closer, and she sighed softly, her fingers trailing along the curve of his jaw.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he said, his voice rough but sincere.

“I know,” she replied, brushing her lips lightly against his. “But I want this. I want you.”

Logan’s breath hitched as her hands slid beneath his shirt, her fingers grazing his skin with the kind of deliberate, maddening slowness that made his muscles tighten. He caught her wrists, holding them still against his chest as his amber eyes locked onto hers, dark with a mixture of frustration and desire.

“Evelyn,” he rasped, his voice low, like gravel, as though her name alone was enough to unravel him. “Don’t push me unless you mean it.”

Her lips curved—not into a smile, but something softer, something steeped in the kind of certainty he wasn’t sure how to face. “I mean it,” she whispered, her words quiet but carrying the weight of all the times she hadn’t said them before.

Logan’s grip on her wrists loosened, his hands sliding up her arms and pulling her closer as if he couldn’t help himself. He lowered his head, his forehead pressing to hers, their breaths mingling in the stillness of the room. The only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the faint storm still raging outside.

“Do you know what you’re asking for?” he murmured, his voice raw, thick with the effort it took to hold himself back.

Her response was immediate, her fingers curling into his shoulders as she tugged him closer. “I’ve waited long enough,” she said, her voice steady despite the way her heart was racing. “Haven’t you?”

The question landed like a punch to his chest. Of course he had. Every glance, every touch, every moment she’d been close enough to feel but not touch—it had all been building to this, wearing him down piece by piece. And now, here she was, not just asking but demanding, her presence overwhelming in a way that left him powerless to resist.

“Damn it, Evelyn,” he growled, his voice barely a whisper as his hands slid to her waist, pulling her flush against him. His lips captured hers with a ferocity that surprised even him, the kiss deep and unrelenting, years of restraint and denial crumbling in an instant.

She responded in kind, her hands threading into his hair as if she couldn’t get him close enough. Her hips shifted instinctively against his, drawing a low groan from deep in his chest that sent a shiver racing through her.

When he pulled back, it was only far enough to press his forehead to hers, his breath ragged as his hands tightened on her waist. “If we keep going…” His voice was strained, his words a warning that came too late.

Her gaze locked onto his, unwavering. “Then we keep going,” she said simply, her voice soft but resolute. Her hands drifted down to the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward in one fluid motion.

Logan let her strip it away, his chest rising and falling heavily as he studied her. His hands hovered at her sides, hesitant, even now. “You sure?” he asked, the question a bare whisper, almost lost in the space between them.

Her answer was to close the gap, her lips brushing his with a gentleness that sent his control spiraling. “I’ve never been more sure,” she murmured, her voice steady even as her fingers traced the faint scars across his chest.

Logan groaned softly, his hands finally moving, sliding up her sides with a reverence that made her heart ache. When he kissed her again, it wasn’t hurried—it was slow, deliberate, as if he was trying to commit every second to memory.

Without a word, he shifted, lifting her effortlessly and carrying her the short distance to the bedroom. He set her down carefully, his hands lingering at her hips as he stood over her, his chest rising and falling with the effort of restraint.

Her hands reached for him again, pulling him down until he was hovering above her, the weight of him grounding her as much as it electrified her. His lips found hers, his kiss deepening as his hands explored her body with a mix of hunger and care.

When her hips rolled against him again, drawing another guttural sound from his throat, Logan pulled back just enough to meet her gaze. “If we’re doing this,” he said, his voice a growl softened by something deeper, “I’m not letting you go.”

Her lips curved, her fingers threading into his hair and tugging just enough to make him groan. “Good,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion and desire. “Because I don’t want you to.”

Logan’s eyes locked onto hers, the raw heat in his gaze making her pulse race. He crushed his lips to hers, the kiss no longer gentle but searing, desperate, as though he couldn’t get enough of her.

Her hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as he pressed her back into the bed. The weight of him was intoxicating, his strength overwhelming yet controlled, as if he were holding himself back by sheer will alone. She wasn’t having it. Her fingers slid down his chest, nails skimming the taut muscles before finding the button of his jeans. With a flick of her wrist, she popped it open, dragging the zipper down with deliberate slowness, savoring the sharp inhale he couldn’t suppress.

Logan growled against her mouth, his breath hot and uneven as he broke the kiss to bury his face in her neck. His teeth scraped against the sensitive skin, a teasing bite that made her gasp and arch into him.

Logan’s hands, large and rough, gripped the hem of her shirt and yanked it upward, pulling it over her head in one fluid motion. The garment fluttered to the floor, forgotten, as his eyes roamed over her, dark with hunger.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice a low, gravelly murmur, tempered with a tenderness that made her chest tighten.

Her cheeks burned, her nerves tangling with her desire. “I… I want to,” she whispered, her fingers gripping the edge of his waistband, but her voice trembled despite her conviction. “I just—”

Logan silenced her with a kiss, this one slower, deliberate, as if he were savoring her. When he pulled away, his thumb brushed over her cheek, his expression a mixture of hunger and restraint. “You don’t have to rush anything,” he said softly, his forehead pressing against hers.

Her heart thudded at his words, and she nodded, her fingers trailing up to his chest, where his heartbeat was steady and strong beneath her touch.

Logan’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles, his hands moving to her waist, steady and sure.

Her hands trembled as she reached for him, sliding over his chest and down to the waistband of his jeans. “I want to see you,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Logan grinned, the expression almost feral, but there was a softness in his gaze as he stood to strip off his jeans and boxers in one smooth motion. When he returned to her, he moved slower, his body warm and solid as he pressed against her.

“Touch me,” he encouraged, his hand guiding hers to explore the ridges of his chest and the lines of his muscles. The heat in his voice was laced with reassurance, and the way he watched her, patient and unhurried, made her boldness grow.

Her fingers mapped his skin, her touch tentative at first, but when he groaned, low and deep, she felt a thrill she couldn’t ignore. “Like that,” he murmured, his hand sliding down her thigh to pull her closer, his touch igniting sparks along her skin.

She tentatively grabbed hold of his thick and veiny penis, wrapping her fingers around him. Logan inhaled sharply at her touch, his jaw tightening momentarily before his expression softened. He placed his hand gently over hers, guiding her movements with slow precision.

"Just like that," he murmured, his voice low and husky.

Evelyn’s blush deepened, but she didn’t pull away, her curiosity outweighing her hesitation. She watched his face, captivated by the way his brows furrowed slightly, his lips parting as she followed his lead. Her movements were clumsy at first, uncertain, but Logan’s patience never wavered.

"Good," he whispered, his voice laced with encouragement. "You're perfect."

The praise sent a shiver through her, and she felt a growing confidence in her actions. Logan leaned down, kissing her deeply, his hand sliding from hers to cup her cheek once more, anchoring her in the moment.

“Logan,” she breathed, her voice shaky but filled with trust.

"May I?" he asked, his fingers toying with the delicate fabric of her panties.

Evelyn nodded, her breath catching as he began to slide the garment down her legs. His eyes never left hers, even as he rid her of the last barrier between them. Once she was bare beneath him, Logan took a moment to simply look at her, his gaze reverent.

Logan let his hands smooth over her thighs slowly opening them up, her arousal glistening in the low light of the room.

“Don’t be scared”, he whispered as he lowered himself coming face to face with her sex. “You smell so good.”, he said, nuzzling the skin of her inner thigh.

Logan peppered kisses over her mound and inner thigh’s, whie his hand snaked up to grab hold of her right breast and gave it a good squeeze.

Logan gave a kiss to her clit eliciting a moan to erupt from deep within. He took that as a sign to keep going, the hand that was on her breast trailed down her belly and stopped when it came in contact with her pussy. His index and pointer finger lowered down to her glistening hole collecting her arousal and spreading it around. Evelyn gasped and his tongue ran a single long line across her slit to her bud,making her shiver at the foreigner feeling.

“Logan…” she moaned.

“Tell me what you want.” he answered, his breath fanning over her hole.

“More of that, please.”

He took her plea as an incentive to keep going. His tongue replaced his thumb, slowly circling her clit and occasionally dipping it to her hole.

Evelyn's legs closed instinctively around his head as her moans became incrinsingly louder.

“Feel good?” he asked rhetorically.

She nodded looking down at him and biting her lip.

His index finger started to circle her hole as his tongue remained focused on her clit, carefully dipping it in, until his hand came in full contact with her pussy.

Evelyn moaned at the intrusion but welcomed it. Logan started to slowly pump it in and out, creating a steady rhythm.

Evelyn started to moan softly, and at that Logan decided to add another finger.

“Oh God…”she moaned as his fingers pumped easily in and out of her.

Her hand clasped around his arm as he began opening her hole “Logan…”

He positioned himself above her, continuing to pump his fingers. He licked her lips and gently bit her bottom lip pulling it slowly.

Evelyn, taken over by the overwhelming feeling, grabbed hold of his arm.”Logan…”, she moaned.

Logan could feel her walls tightening around his fingers and incresead the spead,making sure to stimulate her clit with his thumb.

A loud moan erupted from Evelyn as she came hard.

Content with this work, Logan retrieved his fingers from her hole and, staring at her eyes, sucked his fingers clean.

“So good,” he said as he laid between her legs.

Evelyn blushed at his words and pulled him in for a kiss. Logan laid his hips over hers, allowing for his manhood to come in direct contact with her pussy. As the kiss grew hungrier, their hips started to move, creating friction, allowing for moans to erupt on both ends.

Logan, without breaking the kiss, pulled his hips back, allowing for him to line himself with Evelyn's entry. He began to slowly push in, feeling the resistance slowly ease.

Evelyn gasped in his mouth, as she felt him bottom out.

Logan rested his forehead on hers and intertwined their fingers above her head.

“How are you feeling?”he asked, looking for any sign of discomfort.

“Full,” she said breathlessly.

He shifted his hips slightly, giving her time to adjust, his hand caressing the curve of her waist to steady her. Evelyn gasped again, her legs instinctively wrapping around his hips as her body adjusted to the stretch and fullness.

“Let me know if it’s too much,” Logan said softly, his voice carrying both reassurance and patience.

“I just… I need a moment.”she replied breathlessly, her cheeks flushed.

Logan nodded, leaning down to kiss her forehead, his lips lingering there. He stayed still, allowing her to acclimate to the new sensation. His fingers remained intertwined with hers, their grip grounding her in the moment.

When Evelyn shifted her hips experimentally, a soft sigh escaping her lips, Logan took it as a sign to move. Slowly, he began to withdraw before easing back in, his movements controlled and deliberate. He watched her face closely, his sharp eyes scanning for any trace of discomfort, but all he found was awe and the growing haze of pleasure.

Evelyn’s breaths came in short gasps, her lips parting as she met his thrusts tentatively at first, then with increasing confidence. The connection between them deepened with every movement, the air heavy with shared vulnerability and trust.

“You’re doing so good,” Logan praised, his voice rough yet tender as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, his lips brushing her skin.

Her hands tightened around his, her head tilting back into the pillows as soft moans spilled from her lips. “Logan… oh, Logan…” she whispered, her voice carrying a mix of astonishment and need.

He groaned at the sound of his name on her lips, his pace quickening slightly as he felt her relax around him. Their bodies moved together, finding a rhythm that felt as natural as breathing. The heat between them built steadily, the tension mounting as every thrust brought them closer to the edge.

“You're so tight and wet- Fuck” he rasped, his voice thick as he pressed his forehead to hers once more.

Logan's hand left hers to brush a strand of damp hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her flushed cheek. “I got you baby,” he whispered, his tone reverent.

One of his hands made its way down, and Logan began circling her bundle of nerves.

“Yes! Oh, my God, yes!” Evelyn cried as her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders for stability, as she felt herself overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.

He smiled looking at her. “Look… Look at how good we fit together - shit” he moaned.

Evelyn looked down, and was amazed at the sight, his thick and veiny member covered in her slick going in and out of her, the motion creacting a creamy white ring at the base of his manhood.

“Logan,” she said moaned.

Logan speed up, the sound of slapping skin feeling the room.

“It's okay baby, let it happen.” He leaned down and kissed her with a bruising force.

Evelyn moans filled the room.

She looked deep in his eyes and took hold of his hair.

She tugged on his hair as she came hard around him, the bed beneath her shaking.

Logan growled as his tip bumped into her cervix, the extra lubrication helped him dive even deeper.

“Sh-it!” He cursed as he felt her walls contracting around him urging his release.

Logan moaned deeply as his penis throbbed, spilling his seed deep inside of Evelyn’s velvety walls.

The new sensation made her eyes roll to the back of her head. It was something so deeply intimate and messy.

Logan collapsed on top of her. They were still both breathless as he lifted his head and looked at her.

“You okay?” He asked breathlessly as placed a soft kiss on her lips.

Evelyn smiled against his mouth, her arms still wrapped loosely around his shoulders. “More than okay,” she murmured, her voice carrying a mix of awe and teasing.

He smiled gently, lifting himself off her, to pull out his member from her. He growled at the sight of their conjoined release coming out of her achy hole.

Logan laid beside her, his chest rising and falling in time with her soft breaths. Evelyn rested her head against him, her hand splayed over his heart as though it belonged there. The warmth of her body pressed into his, and he tightened his arm around her, pulling her impossibly closer.

Her eyes fluttered shut, her breathing evening out as sleep began to claim her. Logan let his fingers trail lightly along her back, his touch lingering, savoring the moment.

For a long while, he simply stayed there, listening to her breathe, feeling the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

Eventually, his own eyes began to grow heavy, his mind and body at ease in a way he’d never thought possible. With Evelyn tucked safely against him, he let himself give in, falling into the pull of sleep.

Together, they drifted into a deep, dreamless slumber, tangled in each other’s arms, exactly where they were meant to be.

Chapter 8

______________________________________________________________--tagging some amazing people that showed interest on my previous post (if you don't want to be tagged please let me know):

@coocoocachewgotscrewed @latinapiscess @littlebunnybigheartfics @themareverine @pandapetals @logansbaby @the-quick-red-fox @throwmethroughawindow @ifyouseethisnoyoudont22 @galacticglitterglue @whos-nin1

@thisismajortom21 @may-vol-6 @Oh-basic @sarahbarbosa22 @luvpalepinkjazz @irish-pooka @yologans @equilight @lxrxvsp @h4nluv @uncannywolverine @thesecretlifeofmo @mystifiesjdmtcw @socisse @thickynicky547 @peculiarpiscess @tezooks @greenturtlegirl @greenbearplaidbow @eummm @benispunk @th8mz @jounal3sports @alsoprettyinpink @softepiloguemylove @manicandobsessive @b-y-3-n @blahkateisdone @karencaribou @sidkneeeee @theworstwolvie @dis-plus-fanfic-reblog-writes @lunellas-library @pedroscurls @britttzy267 @aliensfeltmyjoy @steviebbboi

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wildymoon · 18 hours ago

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Why Hotguy (Probably) Isn't Possessed: A DDVAU Post

.... Or at least why it would be a bit biased to say that is the case right off the bat just cause the blorbo said something you really didn't like.

(NOTE: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR DDVAU) (Also the images I've used are all from the comic, go take a look either on Tumblr or Webtoons)

Part 1: Would This Face Lie To You?

Yes. Because everyone has the capacity to lie, and Scar canonically has a silver tongue. Look at 3rd Life and try to tell me otherwise. I will laugh at you.

But the difference is framing. In 3rd Life and nearly everywhere else this silver tongue of Scar's is used, it's in a silly white lie way at best and simply to win a game at worst. Hell, even in other works I've seen it's primarily used to benefit others, not himself.

For this reason (among others that vary from person to person that I won't elaborate on here cause that's complicated), it becomes much easier to believe that Scar here isn't acting normal. He's tapping into his cunning side with much more ruthlessness than we're used to seeing from him normally, and thus we grasp for any other option. Not only that, but the Motherspore Incident gives us the perfect excuse for his behavior, especially with what is said at the end.

Was the target truly Grian, or were they trying to get at Hotguy? We won't know for sure until later, but the idea of him getting possessed is something for the copium to take advantage of, and as such it does so.

(Even for me. I have almost an entire two-monitor screenshot in which I copypasted almost every detailed Hotguy face to analyze and make a decision based on the expressions compared to the latest volume. This I will get into in the part dedicated to his expressions and why they matter for both sides of the argument.)

Either way, assuming someone who is known for using that silver tongue of his to get what he wants isn't doing that of his own free will, even if it feels unkind or out of character at first glance, isn't exactly the smartest thing.

Part 2: The "Pragmatic" Approach Is Not Kind

Aka, "local utilitarian explains the logic behind being a dick in this scenario", or "devil's advocate except the supposed devil is just a blorbo getting into real blackmail".

So, let's first consider Hotguy's primary options for how he could've taken that interrogation, and their effects. I'll list these in order of action taken against Grian for simplicity's sake:

Leave Grian alone entirely. At first, this looks like the best option. Grian needs time to heal, and Hotguy just barging on in like that is stressful at best for someone who'd just been told he got possessed and tried to kill people. But this temporary peace would come with consequences. With no one to tell the public otherwise, Grian would likely get arrested for hiding his status as a mutant from the government. So this one is simply not worth it.

Reason with Grian. This is the option most likely expected from Hotguy before the page rolled around. It gives him a chance to exercise the softer side of his silver tongue a bit more, and is a significantly less aggressive way of trying to get the information he needs to protect the public. The issue with this is that Grian is not cooperative. He does not like Hotguy very much, and definitely would give as little information as he possibly can to what is basically a cop. "Everything you say can and will be used against you," and all that jazz. He's also pretty much immune to Hotguy's charm, so being niceys won't change that. Essentially, no matter what way he goes about it he's going to have to deal in something that Grian actually cares about.

Blackmail Grian. This is the choice Hotguy made, and he didn't sugarcoat it very much either. I'm thinking the reason he did could be related to how he knew simply reasoning with Grian wouldn't work; had he really gone in with the honeyed words, Grian would've told him to cut the bullshit even sooner. This, while more visibly putting Grian in a spot of bother, isn't actually that much more dangerous for him than the other options. I've already explained why the first option actually sucks, and the second option relies on Grian trusting Hotguy (which he doesn't). It also gives Hotguy two things simultaneously: information (his priority), and keeping his friend out of jail (so long as he cooperates, which he has). The second thing may or may not be important to him, but it's still an added bonus. This is the option in which Hotguy is guaranteed to get the most information about the incident.

Turn Grian in immediately. If you hadn't realized there was a worse option than 3 then surprise! There is! This is the option that I believe would actually be out of character for Hotguy. Even if he wanted Grian imprisoned for whatever reason, his priority would still be to get information, nothing else. And there's no guarantee Grian would tell absolutely anything in custody, let alone anything about the incident. It would take potentially blackmailing him here to do it, and that feels like a step too far. Hotguy only needs information, and he knows stigma too well to truly take part in it, especially if it probably won't net him what he needs. So, not that option either.

In all, Hotguy's choice was the only one that could truly get him the yield he wanted: information on the attack in hopes he could prevent any further ones. Do I think he went too far? Yes. Absolutely. He should've stopped with his threats the moment he stopped asking actual questions about the incident. There was no reason (in my opinion) to continue with them.

But for the most part, I believe this isn't a man possessed, just a cop seeking intel. Speaking of.....

Part 3: "Duty"

Sorry guys, superheroes funded by the government are technically cops. This makes Hotguy a cop. Your blorbo is a cop.

In all seriousness, Hotguy does in fact have a job, and as such it is his duty to protect the citizens of the city from the bad and such, blah blah blah. This includes Grian, since he was possessed by the bad and not the bad itself (as such that makes him a victim).

The question, however, remains. "How best does one protect an entire city?" I've answered this already with Hotguy's highest priority in the interaction with Grian: information. To get this information while protecting the most citizens, he must threaten or harm at least one no matter what he does. Because simple threats harm the least, his answer is to threaten two for the sake of maximizing the future harm reduced.

It is, once again, a utilitarian stance on things. But if your goal isn't to be strict to the rules, that's how choices should be made: Not with biases, but with thought given to all options and all those affected.

Now, does his duty state he should be that much of an ass? No, but I already went over this. "He made the best overall choice but he should've been more considerate." It doesn't get much simpler than that.

Part 4: Expression And Tone - The Other Argument

Here we go. This is what originally inspired the making of this post, as an argument for the side that claimed Scar was possessed.

The reason behind it? I'd noticed a significant shift in Hotguy's expressions even without going through each individual page. As someone who cannot read body language for shit usually, this was a pretty significant indicator that something was wrong for me.

Upon further inspection and reflection, this isn't quite the cause for alarm I'd thought it was, but it's still one of the better arguments for Scar being possessed so I'll elaborate.

Before the Motherspore Incident, each of Hotguy's expressions that were close enough to the camera to be drawn properly showed at least one eye through his visor. There is exactly ONE exception to this in my eyes, and even that one can fit in with my claim here: Hotguy's action shot in Chapter 7.

Here, the panel is big enough that if it was any regular panel it would likely show his eyes, but the visor is too small to really draw good eyes for the panel here, not to mention it would probably take away from the composition. But that's not what's important here; that honor goes to the fact that this is the only instance of a bigger panel in which Hotguy's eyes are not shown.

.... Up until Motherspore, that is.

Here, this makes sense: The eye in the first one would get in the way of the text, and in the second one his hair is covering his visor. The third is an action shot, similar to the one in Chapter 7. These make sense.

But then... something shifts once the fight is over and Hotguy carries Grian out. Once he reaches the outside, the amount of times we see his eyes, his expression? TWO.

Both are heavily simplified, with specific intent on making his expression clear on a small panel, but in every other panel from that point on in the chapter show him with the visor covering his expression.

And that's when we get into Chapters 14 and 15. This is when the shift becomes obvious. Instead of all his expressions on large enough panels showing at least one of his eyes, instead we're given almost the exact opposite.

This is the only. I repeat. The ONLY larger panel in which both his eyes are shown (when he has the visor on) since the end of Motherspore.

It's almost the only panel in the entirety of the chapter like that, but there's a singular smaller panel here with both his eyes:

That's it. Everything else has the way his expressions interacting with his visor the exact opposite way from the entire rest of the story so far.

This is why I thought he was, in fact, possessed at first. It was such a dramatic change that, when you don't consider the other reasons why this could be the case, it feels wrong. It feels like he could be possessed.

Especially if you consider this as related to it:

It just feels, if you compile everything together and build that argument, as something that could be plausible.

Plausible, not guaranteed. But plausible nonetheless.

But what could go against this? The tone.

Because, before Motherspore, this whole thing had a much more lighthearted tone. Hotguy had a much more lighthearted tone. Then he has to handle Motherspore. Then, the public, after a fight that made him require backup (true backup, unlike what we see from Cuteguy).

He puts on a mask to the public. That's what happened at the end of Chapter 13.

And then again, when facing Grian. He cannot slip up, cannot let Grian notice who he is or even consider it. He puts on a mask to ensure he can get what he wants safely. That's why we only see his eyes open behind his visor the one time, when Grian cannot look at his face.

He's taking a page from Cuteguy's book, in a way. Not the newest trick in any book, but I figure y'all'd like the connection.

Part 5: In Conclusion

Is Scar possessed? No, probably not. There's always a chance, but it's more likely that everyone got a bit blindsided by the cutthroat way Hotguy handled interrogations.

Remember that characters can make bad or mean decisions! Even if that character is meant to be a good guy, they still can make these choices, mistake or not. Sometimes, it's the best decision they can make. And sometimes, they just went about it in a way they probably shouldn't've.

Either way Hotguy's going to pay in spades by however Cuteguy's going to handle meeting him again, probably.

Bonus: All those copypasted Hotguy faces, for your enjoyment and my going bonkers insane

(There are no notes written down here because I am bonkers on the level that my brain moves too fast to type it all down.)

(ONCE AGAIN, the images I've used are all from the comic, go take a look either on Tumblr or Webtoons)

#wildyspeaks #longpost #ddvau #ddvau hotguy #desert duo vigilante au #ddvau grian #ddvau theory #this took me 4 and a half hours to finish guys #please read it I nearly forgot my homework for this #going to pass out now methinks #nini y'all #ddvau spoilers

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