#He wrote in my dream journal

[viperpitsfilly]

*Comes into your room with a big watery mess on my face*. I... I had a nightmare about Mr. Ring a Ding. *hic* *sniff* The... The BBC announced that... that there was gonna be new high quality merch for Mr. Ring a Ding.... But when it hit the shelves IT WAS ALL JUST FUNKO POPS!!!!!!

Also among the piles of garbage there was a singular Roblox figure of him???? WHAT????

[koka-mi]

aaaa I just had a dream abt my dad wtfhsnadhjs I didn't like it at all fuuufcukcfuckfuck I'm not supposed to miss him why do I miss him

[nephynes]

RED FLAG MEANS GO ── .✦ lee heeseung x park jongseong

Jay calls you “baby” like a threat. Heeseung fucks you like he hates you. You say you’re confused, but you’ve got both of them on their knees and still keep the door open. Someone should stop you, too bad they’re both in love with the wreckage.

➺ minors do not interact

➺ pairing: jay x afab reader x heeseung

➺ wc: 12k

➺ content tags: SMUT, toxic relationship, manipulative behavior, possessive ex, jealousy, dubcon undertones, emotional whiplash, angst, degradation, praise, emotional manipulation, hurt/comfort, power imbalance, obsessive love, heartbreak, crying during sex, coercion, unprotected sex, unresolved feelings, blurred boundaries, rough sex, aftercare (questionable), guilt, shame, self-worth issues, eroticism as control, reader with poor coping mechanisms, kind of a self righteous slut, complicated ex, trauma bonding, spiraling emotions, unhealthy attachment. NOT PROOFREAD.

➺ a/n: going against all tumblr protocols/norms and posting fics without wips or teasers, let’s consider this my comeback after taking so many BEATINGS. i wrote this with like zero emotional stability and no moral compass whatsoever and i wrote the ending with so much anxiety about my work, i feel so insecure about it but whatever. enjoyyyy and block your ex! reblog and heeseung will appear in your dream calling you angel face

➺ nsfw warnings under the cut

oral (f receiving), rough sex, degradation, threesome, double penetration, hair pulling, mean dom!heeseung, kind of switch!jay, crying during sex, jealousy sex, handjobs, manipulation kink (implied), ass play, saliva for lube (lots of it), power play, coercion themes, sub!reader, possessive behavior, humiliation, slut shaming (not corrected), multiple partners, use of pet names, hand over mouth, spanking, forced positioning, reader cries but doesn’t stop. let me know if i missed any.

Jay's room always smells like wood smoke and something mixed with his cologne and boy musk, but you've grown way too used to it over the years. You're currently stretched out across his bed with your laptop propped against your thighs and your phone in your hand, hovering a finger over a barely there lace slip in your shopping cart. "Is it too much?" you ask, turning the screen toward him.

He barely glances up from where he's messing with his journal on his desk. "It's basically dental floss. You should get it." You snort, clicking to add it to your cart. "How supportive."

Jay turns then, walking back over with a bottle of water in hand, eyes flicking toward the screen like he's expecting more lingerie picks. He drops down beside you, one knee brushing yours, lazy and comfortable and way too familiar.

You scroll through another site, mindlessly showing him crop tops and overpriced boots. He makes stupid little comments until eventually, you lean across him to grab your charger from the nightstand beside him and your tank top slips. Just slightly thin straps sliding down your shoulder, fabric dipping lower than you meant to but it's enough for him to see them. The darkened, wine colored shadows blooming along the swell of your breasts, stark against your skin.

He goes still and you don't even notice at first, you’re too busy trying to untangle the cable, but Jay reaches without asking, curling his fingers under your strap and tugging it down a little more, his eyes sharpening. "You let him mark you up like that? Heeseung?"

You frown a little, brows raising as you glance down at where his hand is still lingering so close to your breast. Then you swat him away, annoyed. "No, Jay. The fucking tooth fairy. Who do you think?"

He doesn't laugh like you assumed he would. He leans back against the headboard, jaw tense, tongue poking the inside of his cheek like he's chewing on something he won't say. You can feel his stare, heavy and unreadable.

You roll your eyes defiantly and turn the screen back to yourself. "I didn't realize I needed to send you a memo every time I get fucked."

Jay scoffs out dry and humorless. "Guess not," he says, "just didn't think you'd still go back to him." He glances at you. "What? I didn't meet up to his standards?"

That makes you snap your head toward him. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"That thing. Where you act like I owe you something."

Jay laughs low under his breath. "You don't owe me shit," he says, "but maybe you could admit you liked it."

You go quiet. Just long enough for him to know he's hit a nerve and now he looks smug, but not in a gloating way, it’s in that I know what gets under your skin and I'm going to sit there and rot it out kind of way. He shifts a little closer, gaze lingering too long on your collarbone.

"You're said we were just having fun," you say, stiff.

Jay grins. "I did."

You don't know what pisses you off more—his smile, or the fact that part of you wanted to hear something else.

You open your mouth to say something, maybe something catty but the buzzing of your phone on his bed interrupts you.

What shitty timing, you think as Heeseung's name flashes across your screen, loud and abrupt in the quiet lull after Jay's last comment. His lips curl in amusement, and he lets out this mocking laugh, like of course it's him. "Speak of the devil," he mutters.

You want to melt into the floor or throw your phone out the window, but instead you sit frozen, watching the screen pulse with Heeseung's name.

Then it goes silent—only for a text to flash up a second later.

Heeseung: you coming or not?

Jay hums, mean. "Such a romantic."

Your stomach drops as he reaches for your phone. "Jay—don't," you snap, lunging forward, but he catches your wrist easily, holding the phone up and out of reach with a bored flick of his hand. You try to grab it with your free hand, but he's quicker, suddenly twisting you around with too much ease, like he knows every way you move. In one slick move, he tosses your phone across the room and catches your arm behind your back, pinning you on the bed.

"Jay!" you gasp, twisting under him.

He leans over you, lips brushing your ear. "You were really about to go crawling back to him again?" His voice is soft but razor-sharp. "After everything he's done?"

His thigh slides between yours, pining you in place. His grip on your wrist tightens a little and you can feel his warm steady breath against your cheek. "Is that what you like?" His voice is rough now. "Being treated like a fucking afterthought."

You try to twist away from him, to say something, but he turns you over and kisses you before you can, with brute force and possession. You can feel the frustration radiating off him as he swallows the sound of your protest. Your heart rate increases and you hate how quickly your body turns against you, how familiar it feels, how much worse it makes it, the fact that it's Jay. The one person who's always known how to get under your skin.

"I just didn't think you were still that easy," he says lowly, right at your ear. "Still letting him fuck you like you mean nothing."

The words sting somewhere deep in you. You try to jerk away from him, but his hand doesn't move. "That's all he does, isn't it?" Jay adds, almost casual. "Fuck you and leave. And you run back like some good little pet."

Your heart's racing faster now and you’re trying to twist harder in his grip.

But he cuts you off by pressing in, his lips brushing your jaw in a cold and measured contact. "You let him treat you like that. But I'm the one you keep in your bed?" He asks. "Don't think that's fair."

You're too stunned to respond and he knows it. Jay releases you just as suddenly as he grabbed you, pulling away like it didn't mean anything, like he hadn't just shifted the air in the room.

He doesn't even apologize, he just watches you with that stoic look in his eyes, waiting to see what you'll do next. His eyes never leaving yours, even as he stands up from the bed.

You're panting, chest rising and falling as you sit back up on the bed, glaring at his retreating figure. He's already halfway across the room, calm like nothing happened, when he says, too offhandedly, "Your mom called me."

You frown, confused. "What?"

He looks at you. "Said you haven't been eating."

Your stomach twists and you shoot up to your feet, face hot with frustration. "You bring that up now?" you snap, breath catching in your throat. "Seriously?"

Jay just shrugs like he doesn't see why you're upset, like it's just another data point he's sliding across the table. "I'm just trying to show you what he does to you," he says simply.

Your jaw clenches. "Don't blame Heeseung for that," you bite out, angrier now. "I had issues with food way before him. You know that."

There's a pause and the air in the room feels way too heavy for how quiet it is.

He doesn't argue this time, he just flops on the bed again and says, "Come here."

You don't move at first, you shouldn't move—in fact you should get your shit and leave his apartment. But his voice is soft and smooth and too familiar, like a trigger your body's been unfortunately conditioned to obey.

You go, as if something tugs you forward, your legs moving even without your consent.

He's sitting on the edge of the bed by the time you reach him, and without asking or saying a word, he takes your wrists and pulls you into his lap, guiding your thighs to straddle him.

You settle there, shaky and annoyed, but too used to the way this goes to resist. His hands settle on your hips, holding you there. "I’m not the problem." he says, looking up at you. "I'm the one who cares, baby."

You stare back at him. At his straight face. At the boy who always knows exactly when to twist the knife.

You don't answer him right away.

Because all you can think of is how this whole fucked up thing between you and Jay didn't even start with care. Not really.

It started with rage.

Two nights after your third breakup with Heeseung.

You'd shown up to Jay's apartment with mascara bleeding under your eyes, your hoodie sleeves pulled over trembling fingers, and that look you always wore when you were ready to swear Heeseung off for good.

Jay didn't say a word when he opened the door. Just stepped aside and let you in. You stormed past him, fuming, fists clenched like you wanted to punch something.

"I'm done," you'd said. "This time I mean it. He can fuck himself—he can rot."

Jay had nodded, slow. "So he said it again."

You broke. Right there on his couch. Hot, angry tears spilled down your cheeks, your voice cracking with how bitter it all tasted. You told Jay everything. What Heeseung said, even what he didn't say and how he always knew just how to keep you hooked.

Jay sat there the whole time—legs spread, arms resting over the back of the couch, like he was soaking it in.

And then he leaned forward, pressing a hand to your thigh. "Let me help." His voice was quiet, measured even. "I could make you feel better? Or…forget?"

You didn't really know what he meant until he dropped to his knees. You definitely didn’t expect the way he grabbed you by the hips, dragged you down until your back hit the cushions of his couch. You didn't expect how gentle he was when he peeled your sweats down, your underwear off. How he kissed the insides of your thighs like they were bruises only he could soothe.

How he said—"Just let me do this. You don't have to think."

And you didn't think, in fact you couldn’t. His mouth was too good—hot, slow and sinful, tongue fucking into your soaked pussy like he was trying to reclaim every inch of you Heeseung had tainted. He moaned when you gripped his hair, when you cried out, "Jay—Jay, I'm—"

You came with your fists in his hair and your mouth slack from the shock of it, thighs shuddering where he’d placed them over his shoulders. You'd never cum like that before, not even with Heeseung.

He just looked up at you, lips wet, expressionless. "Feel better?" he'd asked.

You could barely nod.

But that was how it started and how it didn't stop.

After that night, you kept coming back. You told yourself it was casual, just a physical thing to get your mind off your ex. Jay never made a big deal about any of it, never even asked for more.

Until he found out you'd gone back to Heeseung.

He didn't yell or sulk that day. He just looked at you one morning while you were still naked in his sheets, and said, "So you let him fuck you again?"

You froze, mind scrambling for a lie to give him, but nothing came out.

He didn't press further or accuse you of anything. He stared at the ceiling and muttered, almost to himself,

"I didn't realize you liked crawling back to someone who doesn't even pretend to care about you."

And then he got out of bed.

He didn't touch you for two weeks after that. Not until you caved and showed up at his door at 1am, asking if he hated you. He just gave you that same look and pulled you into his lap like always.

Jay never needed to yell, he only needed you to come back. And somehow you always did.

The memories fade, but Jay's mattress is still beneath your knees and his hands are still coasting lazily over the backs of your thighs, because to him he's always had the right to touch you. He's moved up against the headboard now, taking you with him, dark hair messy from where you yanked it earlier. His eyes pin you in place with calm surface to them but cold calculations rippling underneath.

His thumbs press just above the curve of your hips.

"Promise me you're done with him."

It isn't a question, it's merely a line in the sand. No heat, no coaxing, just the terms of staying right here. Your mouth parts, but no sound comes out. Jay lifts one brow, waiting.

"I...can try," you whisper, hating how small it sounds.

He shakes his head once. "Not good enough." Followed by a slow inhale, an almost disappointed one. "I've cut off half the girls I see for you—stopped answering DMs, stopped returning calls. You know that."

You do and part of you was always stupidly flattered every time a name disappeared from his phone.

Jay's fingers slide under the hem of your tank, thumbs brushing skin. "So here's what you're gonna do." His voice stays level, matter of fact, with nothing pleading or cruel. "You're going to block him. Delete the number. The next time he wants someone to fuck when he's bored, he can call literally anyone else."

You swallow, feeling the air too thick in your chest.

"Say it," he demands, eyes never leaving yours. "Promise me."

You despise your pulse for fluttering and that it feels like gravity tilting the room. But all you manage is a small nod and a softer, "Okay...I promise."

Something in his jaw unclenches as his palms slide up your sides, settling possessively at your ribcage. "Good girl," he says, and it isn't praise so much as confirmation that you've aligned yourself correctly. His hands guide you down until your chest brushes his. "Keep me happy," he adds, voice almost gentle, "and I'll keep making you forget why he ever mattered."

Your eyes flutter shut, equal parts relief and dread. You want to keep him happy. God, you do. Even if it means burning every other bridge until only Jay's hands are left to catch you.

So you kiss him, seal the promise on his tongue, and try not to notice how pleased he sounds when you sigh into his mouth—like he's already sure you'll never break your word.

He laughs into your mouth condescendingly, like he's entertained by you and it knocks the rhythm right out of your kiss.

"Fuck," he murmurs when you bite down on his bottom lip, his hand tightening briefly at your waist. But it's still followed by a chuckle, smug, cruel and lazy. "You're so eager now. Look at you."

You grind down on him, hips shifting instinctively, desperate to make a point, but it only makes him laugh harder. "Aww." He tilts his head, voice thick with derision. "Look who thinks she knows how to ride now."

Your stomach flips as you feel the heat of shame curling with arousal prickling up your neck.

"So precious," he keeps going, hand dragging down the small of your back, right over the curve of your ass. "You kiss like you're starving, but your hips still falters every time."

"Shut up," you mutter, breathless, but it comes out whinier than you want.

"Oh, now you're embarrassed?" His smile sharpens. "Didn't seem so shy when you were humping me just now."

You shove at his chest, but his hands only tighten, grounding you in place, locking your body against his.

"Go ahead," he says, softly now, teeth grazing the underside of your jaw. "Get mad, but prove me wrong, baby. Show me you finally learned how to fuck me properly."

And fuck—he knows exactly what he's doing. His voice, his words, his mouth, all of it designed to crack you open. He drags the shame, defiance and desire out of you like he's mining for gold.

Your hands shake a little where they press to his chest.

But you roll your hips anyway.

Because God help you, you do want to prove him wrong. But when he doesn't move you nearly falter like he predicted, he doesn't help you or even touch you, he's leaned back against the headboard, arms spread uselessly beside your knees, his expression deadpan but his eyes locked on you with sharp, dark, and maddening patience.

You're the one shifting on top of him, dragging your skirt up around your hips with trembling fingers, your breathing shaky as you tug your panties to the side yourself. He doesn't make a sound, not even when you reach down between the two of you to palm him through his sweats, trying to coax his cock hard.

Still, he just watches. You're a private show, meant only for him. Not someone he's touching, but someone he's witnessing, every breath and movement is a performance he can't tear his eyes from.

His dick twitches in your hand, slowly filling, but he gives no reaction—not a moan, not a sigh, not even a shift of his hips. Just that steady gaze that makes your skin burn.

"You won’t help me?" you whisper, a little breathless.

He shrugs, that same frustrating smirk on his lips. "Thought you were trying to prove you could ride me good now."

You glare at him, fingers curling tighter around the base of his cock. You stroke him a little rougher than necessary, but he only raises a brow like he dares you to keep going.

"Come on," he murmurs, voice low, goading. "Figure it out. You wanted to be the one in control, didn't you?"

You press your lips together, swallowing a shaky breath as you line him up, lowering yourself slowly on the thickness of him and shaking just slightly, fingers clutching his shoulders for balance.

You gasp as the bulbous head of his cock slips in. But he just watches quietly like he’s waiting.

And somehow, to you that's worse than anything he could've even said.

You're whimpering, trying to take more of him rolling your hips just right, moving slow and deliberate like you think he wants. Like you hope he wants.

Your hands brace on his chest, your thighs burning already, and you move with every ounce of desperation you can muster—arching your back, biting your lip, trying to look as sexy and confident as you can manage.

But inside, it's sheer panic. Because you know what Jay could have, you know all the other girls he's brushed off for you. All the girls who would've killed to be in your place, bouncing perfectly in his lap, earning his soft praises and smug grins.

What if one of them would've been better? What if you're just…forgettable?

The jealousy twists sharp in your gut. And the need to matter and to mean something to Jay pushes you harder. You grind your hips down with more focus, swiveling just right, clenching around him tight and desperate.

And it finally pulls a real moan from him. It seems so raw and almost involuntary, but your heart stutters in your chest anyway.

You look down at him through your lashes, still rocking your hips, barely breathing. "Am I..." Your voice is shaky. "...doing good?"

Jay's eyes lift to meet yours—half-lidded and blown black, finally trailing his hand up to rest on your waist, not guiding you yet, just holding.

He exhales slowly, like the sight of you ruins him.

"So good," he croons. "So fucking good, baby."

And like that, you feel your whole body light up with relief, pride and maybe even power. Like maybe you’re finally enough for him.

His fingers suddenly tighten around your waist, and without warning he starts moving you himself, bouncing you harder on his cock. It’s not gentle or kind like you had hoped it would be when you’d asked him to help you. No, Jay is using his strength like it's second nature, like he's been waiting for you to tire out just so he could take over.

Your breath punches out of your lungs when your hips are dragged down hard, the thick length of his throbbing cock pushing in deeper than you'd dared to go on your own.

"Jay—!" you cry out, head snapping back, thighs trembling. But he's already covering your mouth with one large palm.

"Shhh," he breathes, lips brushing your cheek as he leans forward. "You're gonna get me a noise complaint, baby."

You can't help the way your eyes roll back, the stretch, the pressure, the depth of him inside you making your body seize with too much sensation. "Mmpfh."

His grip on your waist is absolutely bruising, dragging you down again and again, faster and harder. Your moans go muffled into his hand, your fingers clutching at his shoulders, your body turning to nothing but a puppet in his lap.

And Jay just watches you fall apart with that same infuriating calmness. "Look at you," he mutters. "Didn't even know how to ride it right five minutes ago."

His voice is smug and dirty. "But now? Now you're screaming for it." He says shifting his body a little, just his hands, one still rests at your waist while the other slips off your mouth and between your bodies, fingers seeking out your clit with perfected ease. You gasp when he finds you, the slick sound of your wetness absurd in the quiet of the room.

He presses his thumb just right and you jolt, the sudden pressure driving you dangerously closer to the edge. Your hips start to stutter, rhythm completely lost, but he picks it up for you—gripping your waist and moving you with a strength you'd forgotten he liked to flex. The next thrust is deeper, more brutal, and your head tips back with a cry, body arching into his. "J—ay! Ngh—Y—yes! There! There!"

Jay doesn't let up at all. "You're babbling now," he says, voice like velvet and venom. "What, you getting stupid for me already?"

You try to respond but your mouth won't cooperate, nothing comes out but a broken whine. Your limbs are trembling, your head swimming. He can feel it in the way you're squeezing around him, right on the brink.

Then he leans forward, mouth at your ear, voice a low rasp, "Do it again."

Your whole body slows to the stiff point. You know exactly what he means, exactly what it means and panic flares across your face, just for a second. Then his hand is on your throat, but not to choke you, just guiding you and pressing you gently back down onto the bed. Your back hits the sheets, chest heaving and Jay climbs over you, slow and deliberate, gaze fixed on yours.

You don't have to say a word. He sees the desperate, delirious relief in your eyes now that he’s on top. The smirk that spreads across his face is so mean and satisfied.

"There she is," he whispers, brushing your hair back with mock affection. "Right where you belong."

Then he moves inside you again, and your world splits open. The new angle is different and it’s letting his cock brush something achingly good inside you.

Your mouth opens, forming a silent no, but it's already happening, he's coaxing it out of you with the same rough rhythm, the same maddening meticulousness.

Your body starts to stiffen again as the pressure boils over, and just as you start to panic more. "Relax," he breathes. "Let it happen."

"I said do it again."

Your thighs quake. The wet slap of skin, the slick mess between your bodies—it's so overwhelming, so humiliating, and so perfect.

You choke on a gasp as your orgasm crashes down, blinding and involuntary, and then it happens. You feel it. The heat, the release, the wet flood you tried to hold back.

Jay's eyes light up, fucking triumphant. "Look at the mess you made," he says low, like he's proud of you and taunting you all at once. His hand glides down, wet with you, lifting his soaked fingers to your mouth. "Open."

You do. Of course you do.

He pushes two fingers past your lips, and you suck them obediently, tongue swirling slow even as your chest still heaves from the aftershocks. His eyes darken.

"You like it nasty, don't you?" he mumbles, pulling his hand away with a wet pop, dragging your jaw open with his thumb. "So fucking easy."

He shifts then, the weight of him pressing your legs wider as he strokes himself once, twice, and not gently. He's so hard and even almost angry with it, and it makes you realize he's been holding back, waiting for you to cum first.

He leans forward, teeth at your jaw, whispering, "You want to be used, right? That's what Heeseung doesn't get. You don't need love. You need to be ruined."

Then he pushes deep in again, faster and meaner.

You scream a loud sound you really try to swallow but it comes out anyway.

He doesn't hold back this time, his pace is rougher now, desperate, driven by something darker. He holds your leg up over his shoulder, trying to mark his name into the deepest part of you.

"Fuck," he grits, breath coming hot against your throat. "You're still so wet—squeezing me like you want me to finish inside."

You can't seem to form any sensible thoughts so you just grip his shoulders like a lifeline, head rolling back, another moan choking in your throat.

"Still so tight," he pants, sweat dripping down his temple, his thumb dragging across your spit-slick mouth. "Still...fuck—still letting him fuck you like you're not already mine."

You sob when he shifts your legs higher, deeper now, hitting that spot that makes you claw at the sheets.

"Jay—" it's all you can manage, too far gone to stop him but too full of him to breathe. But it’s not like he's even listening. Not really. He's watching the way you fall apart, as if he's memorizing the proof that he can still undo you this thoroughly.

His hips pulse, the rhythm of them breaking down—he's close. You feel the way his breath goes jagged, the way his arms start to tremble, how his teeth dig into the underside of your jaw before he groans right there, like he's in pain.

"I'm gonna cum," he grits, voice tight. "You want it, don't you?"

You nod frantically, already crying from the sheer overstimulation. He's everywhere—his scent, his voice, the weight of him fucking you into the mattress.

"Say it."

You try, you do really try. "Want it—want you to cum—inside, please, Jay, please—"

And that's what does it for him. He buries his cock inside you to the hilt with a broken sound, hips grinding into you as he cums hard, long and deep, filling you with thick ropes of his cum until you swear you can feel it pooling inside. His whole body jerks, muscles clenching, breath catching at the base of his throat. He stays like that for a long moment, frozen over you, forehead pressed to yours, both of you slick with sweat and sex and something even heavier.

He props himself up on his hands to look down at you when both your breathing slows, but he still doesn’t pull out. He just stares down at you, still inside, his hand sliding up your ribs until it's cradling your jaw.

"Next time you go back to him..." His thumb strokes over your bottom lip. "I'm done with you."

"And if you do...you better make sure I don’t find out."

His voice isn't even loud but it's steady and enough to make your stomach drop. He ignores the look on your face and shifts your panties back in place then gets off you.

Sometime between the kisses he peppered all over your face, the threat and the uber he'd ordered you, Jay had helped you get dressed again, his touch cool and careful, not speaking as he smoothed your hair down and tucked your phone back into your hand like a peace offering.

You're curled up on your bed, thumb hovering over the keyboard of your phone, the half-typed message to Heeseung glowing like a bruise.

you: ok fine. you win. when?

You stare at it too long, not because you're hesitant but because you know you should be. True to your word and your promise to Jay you had deleted Heeseung's number but you hadn't blocked it, and what use was that when you had it memorized.

Jay had looked you in the eye not even an hour ago and basically told you to choose between them. And maybe you'd meant to take it seriously. Maybe.

But then the soft thud against the glass pane of your window that has you blinking and turning you head—changes everything.

And there he is, changing everything. Heeseung.

Climbing through your window like it he would when you first started dating, but it's not with a smile and an embarrassed chuckle like those days, it's with a frown.

He's mad.

You can tell from the second his feet hit your floor, his jaw locked tight, his eyes raking over you with that specific brand of fury only Heeseung has, that’s quiet and cold, but mean under the surface.

His gaze drops to your legs tucked beneath you on the bed, your wrinkled tank, your flushed skin, and something shifts in his expression—tighter, darker.

"Why the fuck didn't you answer my text?" he says, voice low but sharp enough to cut.

You swallow hard. Your phone's still in your hand, the screen glowing with the message you never sent. He sees it.

"I was gonna—"

"Yeah?" He takes a step closer. "You were gonna what?"

You flinch at the heat between your legs cooling too slowly, the sticky ache of Jay still clinging to you. You didn't even shower or change, the drop in serotonin you experienced after leaving Jay's house left you in a rut.

And now Heeseung's standing here, inches away, breathing the same air as you.

He stops beside your bed, looking down at you, and you can't seem to meet his eyes.

Your shame feels loud, you're even scared he can probably smell it on you.

All your fears are validated when he grabs you by the ankle, one strong hand curling around and dragging you down the bed like a ragdoll. You gasp, your phone slipping from your grip as your back hits the mattress edge.

"Don't ignore me," he mutters, but it's distracted now. His hands are already on your thighs, pushing your skirt up. You squirm, legs instinctively snapping shut, but he doesn't allow that, never does. He spreads you open with one rough motion, ready to scold you, tease you, touch you but then he looks between your legs and his hands stop moving.

Your panties are soaked. Still a little askew. You hadn't fixed them right. Hadn't bothered.

You watch his face twist in real time—brows pinching, mouth parting slightly, like he can't seem to believe what he's seeing.

"What the fuck?" he says, low, breathless. "Did you let someone else fuck you?"

Your stomach flips violently. You try to sit up, to cover yourself, to explain, to say something but he grips your inner thigh tighter, forcing you to stay open.

His voice is flat now. "Who was it?"

He blinks at your silence.

And then, without even looking at you, just staring down at the complete mess between your legs, he lets out a laugh. It's not loud, it's not even mean at first, it's actually almost like he's stunned.

"So you're a little slut now, huh?" he whispers.

The word hits you like a punch to the stomach. Your chest caves in a little. Not because of what he said, but because he said it. Heeseung—who's never called you that. Who's always had this unspoken softness for you, even when he was being cruel. Even when he was distant or cold or high out of his mind, he'd never call you out of your name.

"You don't get to say that," you whisper, voice shaking. "We're not even—" You break off, choking on the heat rising in your throat. "We're not together anymore."

"Right," he scoffs, running a hand through his hair. "You just keep my name in your phone. Keep my number on speed dial. Let me fuck you whenever I want. But now suddenly I don't even get to ask?"

"You don't," you snap. Your hands slam into his chest, weakly at first then harder the second time. "Get out. Get the fuck out, Heeseung."

He doesn't budge.

You push him again, as hard as you can, trying to guide him toward the window he so casually crawled through as if things were normal between you two. "You can't just show up here and—and check my fucking underwear—"

That makes him grin. A slow, infuriating grin.

You hate him.

You want to cry.

"You're really throwing a tantrum right now?" he says coolly, dodging your push like it's child's play. He catches both your wrists with one hand, effortlessly holding them in place. "What happened to that little whimpering mess I had in my lap last weekend?"

"Fuck you," you spit, writhing in his grip, breath catching. "You don't get to shame me and then act like you care!"

He just shrugs. "Didn't say I cared."

Then his grip tightens just enough to make you stop squirming. "But I'm not leaving either."

He walks right past you like you're not even standing there, like the argument didn't just happen. He moves with lazy arrogance—shoulders relaxed, hands in his pockets.

You watch, stunned, as he sinks down into your bed, like he's done it a hundred times before. Which in his defense, he has.

He reaches over to your nightstand and picks up your phone. Just grabs it, thumbing through your screen, looking for God knows what, maybe the name of the person he's so sure you fucked earlier.

Your throat is too tight. Your fists clench by your sides, but he doesn't even glance at you, he's sat there, scrolling through your phone and the silence starts to ache.

Then he looks up.

Expression calmer now. "Go shower." He says with a flat and final tone.

You don't move, the twist in your stomach and the ache in your chest from the shame blooming there makes it hard to move. The worst part is that you don't even know if it's from what he said, or the fact that a part of you wants to listen.

"Now," he adds, eyes flicking back down to your phone.

Like you're just some mess he needs to clean up. You do as you're told—of course you do because Heeseung said so.

Your bathroom light is too bright, too exposing. You scrub harder than you need to, the soap scalding your skin as the shame now settles thick in your chest. You clean yourself like you're trying to erase something. Like you can.

What if Jay calls? What if Heeseung picks up?

Your mind races as you step back into the room, wrapped in a towel, your hair dripping, your skin flushed from the too-hot water. Heeseung looks up from where he's sprawled across your sheets and laughs, so casually amused.

"That supposed to impress me?" he asks, gesturing to the towel. "Like rinsing off some other dudes cum suddenly makes you clean?"

"Cute," he says, tilting his head. "You look nervous. Is it guilt or just performance?"

"Don't just stand there," he says after a beat, voice slow like syrup, sliding back into his usual apathy. "You think we're gonna cuddle or something?"

You shift uncomfortably, still frozen in place, clutching your towel.

He finally sits up, rolling his shoulders back, spreading his legs and patting the edge of the bed like he's calling a dog.

And somehow, stupidly, your body moves before your brain tells it not to.

You sit beside him, still shaking a little, heart hammering against the wet towel. You don't look at him, and you wish he couldn't see the panic painted all over your skin.

He doesn't touch you.

Just leans closer, nose grazing your ear, voice flat and low.

"I'm not gonna fuck you in the same hole you just gave another guy." He exhales a soft, sharp breath

You jolt, but his hand grips your waist tight enough to make you shut up and stay still. "You wanna make it up to me?" he says, voice so calm it cuts deeper. "Then get on all fours. Be useful for once."

"You know what I want."

The worst part is that you do know and you feel it breaking something open inside you—something ugly and raw and so, so tired.

But regardless of the tiredness, your body still moves.

Because that's what you've always done when it comes to Heeseung.

He shifts over you, his chest grazing your back, towel slipping as he cages you in. His mouth brushes your shoulder in a slow deliberate kiss, laced with the kind of false tenderness that makes your skin crawl. You shiver, more from the pressure than the heat of it.

Then he reaches around and pushes two fingers between your lips.

"Open up for me, angel face." he says, voice low and close to your ear and when you hesitate, his other hand presses down on your lower back, a clear warning. You part your lips, and he pushes the fingers deeper, right against your tongue. You nearly gag, your cheeks heating with sheer mortification. He doesn't move them until your saliva begins to pool around them.

"That's enough," he says, yanking them out and watching a strand of saliva cling between your lips and his fingers.

Without pause, he brings that spit slick hand behind you, reaching between your ass cheeks, spreading you open.

He coats his cock with the spit lazily, intentionally letting you feel every second of the slow glide of his fingers against you. You flinch when he teases the tight ring of muscle, his voice flattening into something amused.

"What?" he asks, tauntingly innocent. "You gave him your pussy. I'm just working with what's left."

You squeeze your eyes shut, thinking of how his cruelty has never sounded this casual.

"You should be grateful," he continues, positioning himself behind you. "Most guys wouldn't want you after that. But me?"

He chuckles.

"I'll still fuck you."

His hand comes up to your throat in a choke. A reminder, as his hips press in slowly, forcing your body to adjust. Your legs tremble, stretched awkwardly on your knees, hands digging into the mattress. You can barely breathe through the sting, and he hasn't even started moving yet.

"You look so pathetic right now." He says, feeling the way the walls of your asshole spasm around him as he pushes in deeper, hot and slick with your saliva and his precum. "Poor you, helpless and weak. You just take me whenever I show up, uhn?"

You squirm in pleasure at his words, nodding, repeatedly moaning words about being his slut and for him to give you his cock, completely forgetting about the promise you just made Jay—like a true whore.

"Yeah?" He taunts you, slipping one hand under you to your tit and pinching your nipple so hard you arch your back at it, arching into him as you feel the pain shoot all the way through you in pleasure. "You're only good for taking my cum, right angel face?"

A gasp rips from your throat when his nails bite down on your nipple again, the sting shooting straight through you. Waves of goosebumps ripple across your skin, relentless, and all you can do is nod harder, desperate to keep up. "Ah—Hee, oh my god!"

"Shhh, isn't your mum home? You want her to come in here and see me fucking your needy hole? See how much of a fucking slut her daughter is?" You shake your head violently but the drag of his cock against your walls and the slap of his balls against your cunt that's dripping onto the bed as you doing otherwise.

His thrusts stay unrelenting, each one a willful reminder that this is only about release, not some sort of reunion. He leans down, mouth beside your ear, the rasp of his breath harsher than the slap of skin against skin.

"This doesn’t mean we're getting back together?" His laugh is cold and cruel, hips snapping forward harder just to hear you gasp. "Keep dreaming. I'll fuck you, but I'll never get back together with you again."

You clench around him, feeling the shame, hurt and sheer pleasure all tangled, and he hisses, the smile in his voice turning near vicious.

"That's it—tighten up like you don’t believe me," he taunts, hand curling in your hair to keep your face buried in the pillow. "We're done, angel face. You're just a convenient hole I'll use when I'm bored."

He punctuates every word with another sharp thrust, voice dropping even lower. "So stop pretending, stop hoping—because when I pull out, I'm gonna walk away, and you'll still be nothing but leftovers in another guy's bed."

You’re nearly in tears at his words, feeling it pooling on your lash line. You’re starting regret breaking your promise to Jay or for not standing your ground and pushing Heeseung out of your window. "Hee—Heeseung, please."

In one swift motion he pulls out and drags you to the edge of the bed and onto your back, pushing in again, completely ignoring your pleas. "Oh fuck! Shit’s so fucking tight—You let him fuck you here?"

"No! N—Never!" your response has him fucking forward faster, pinning your knees to your shoulders as he fucks deeper and rubs his fingers all over your clenching pussy. "You gonna squirt for me like a good girl?"

The sounds your pussy is making are messy and obscene, and when he hooks two fingers inside your pussy and curls them up? You don't stand a chance in the world, you cum hard, body spasming violently as the liquid shoots out of your cunt and sprays his chest and stomach, he laughs at the sight, "Yeahhh, there we go."

It drives him on towards his own orgasm. He thrusts faster and harder, pushing your legs into your chest harder, so hard that all you can do is bask in the pain. Your ass is burning deliciously, your pussy is hot, and your clit swollen as he finally groans and spills inside you. Hot strings of his cum filling your ass, making you keen and moan at the delicious feeling.

His skin is slick against yours as he falls over you, caging you in with your sweat cooling in the dim glow of your bedside lamp. You lie tangled together on the rumpled sheets, the aftermath of your stormy reunion thrums through every nerve of your body. His breathing comes out in ragged gasps as he shifts, body weighted onto you.

His hand drifts across your waist, the pads of his fingers rough where he's still too worked up. He leans in, voice clipped on your neck, every word laced with that familiar sting, "Don't get soft on me now, angel face. I'm not your boyfriend again."

Your heart thumps at the barb because you want him to be. But instead you force the usual shrug, feigning like you don’t care and wincing at the ache between your legs.

"Yeah," you whisper, a little out of breath. "I know."

He presses closer, chest against your spine, and you feel the heat of his body like something too close to a claim for someone who just outwardly said he doesn’t want to be with you again.

"Good," he mutters through a sharp exhale. "Then you know I'm sleeping here. Don't bother moving."

You don't argue, not because you don’t see the need but because you’re far too exhausted and you know damn well he won’t listen to you anyway. You're too used to his cold commands and your quiet yielding, so you let him pull you tighter, you let his arm settle across your ribs.

No kisses or soft words or aftercare, at least Jay had tried to make you look more presentable—smoothing out your skirt and trying to tame your here it’s just the steady thump of Heeseung’s heartbeat against your back and the whir of the street outside your house.

You close your eyes, mind drifting instead to Jay as you try to ignore the not so soothing circles Heeseung’s thumb is rubbing into your stomach.

He'll kill me, you think, eyelids heavy. He said he'd be done if he finds out, he actually said to make sure he doesn’t find out. The worry threads through you, sharp and anxious, but sleep drags you under before you can chase it down.

And for a moment, you're caught between their worlds—Heeseung's cold possession holding you in the dark, and Jay's promise of finality echoing in your head as you drift off.

You wake up to the sound of someone exhaling sharply through their nose, it’s not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh. But it's enough to pull you from the tangle of sleep, your limbs feel heavy and your skin is too warm beneath the sheets. Your body aches, but not sore in the good way, this is in the used up and exhausted way.

There's a dull throb between your legs and the rawness in your throat reminds you that you cried hard last night. For a second, you don't even remember where you are, but then you shift, and the bare skin against yours moves with you.

Heeseung still asleep beside you, with his chest rising and falling steadily. One of his arms is draped across your waist. You're completely naked with sticky thighs and a dull ache between your ass cheeks. The air in your room feels wrung out and the smell of sex is clinging to the sheets.

That same breath comes again and you realize it’s not from Heeseung, so you blink your eyes open.

And Jay is standing above you.

Dressed in sweats and a white tee that clings to him like second skin. His face is stoic, eyes flicking between the shape of you under your blanket and the man lying beside you.

Your heart stops, it actually stops before crashing into a violent rhythm inside your chest.

"Wow," Jay says, voice calm in that terrifyingly low way. "Not even twenty-four hours."

You shoot upright, dragging the sheet over your chest, like it'll somehow undo everything or erase the guilt growing like mold in your throat, threatening to suffocate you. You feel exposed and nauseous, like you could throw up right there in the bed.

"Jay—" you start, voice cracking.

But he just lifts his hand, not even to silence you, just so incredibly dismissively. Like your words aren't even worth hearing.

"Your mum said you didn't eat dinner," he says after a beat, not even looking at you now. "That's why I came. She said she was headed out for the day. Thought I could check on you."

Your stomach sinks. Shame slams into you so fast you have to look away. You want to be so angry at your mother for thinking Jay is so responsible with you but you can’t because he is responsible, especially with you.

Heeseung starts to stir at the sound of voices around him. He blinks up at Jay, completely unbothered. "What the fuck—?"

You can't breathe, not to talk of move. You feel like a child about to be punished, or more like a criminal caught red handed, but worse than all that, you feel absolutely pathetic.

"Is this how you let random guys barge into your room now?" Heeseung grumbles, rubbing his eyes. He squints at Jay. "The fuck are you even doing here?"

You want to scream at him to shut up. You want to cry, as you watch Jay stare into your eyes.

Heeseung sits up slowly, scoffing under his breath. "Get the fuck out, dude."

Jay doesn't budge or even feign like he’s about to. No, instead he plants himself at the foot of the bed—arms crossed, back straight, that unnerving calm carved into every line of his face. His gaze stays glued to you, not even wavering when Heeseung pushes up onto an elbow, blanket slipping low across his hips.

"Get dressed," Jay says, voice quiet but completely resolute. He isn't loud, because remember? he doesn't ever have to be. The authority in his voice is always ice cold and precise.

You scramble at the sheets, fully dizzy with panic, shame and adrenaline. Your hands are shaking so badly you can't tell if you're gripping cotton or fucking air.

Heeseung scoffs, a bark of incredulous laughter. "Who the fuck are you to tell her what to do?"

Jay doesn't still spare him a glance. He just extends a lazy hand toward your dresser. "Clothes. Now."

Heeseung's eyes narrow, confusion dawning into something uglier. "Wait." He sits all the way up, raking his gaze over Jay's face, then yours. "Hold on. Is this—" He points between the two of you, lips curling. "You? You're the guy who fucked her?"

You fathom speaking now, even though he truth is screaming inside your skull, your throat feels cemented shut.

Heeseung lets out another humorless laugh. "Wow. Your so called best friend, huh?" He looks you over, disgust edging his tone.  "You'll really spread your legs for just anyone, won't you?"

The words punch a hole straight through your chest, it has your vision blurring, but you still slide from the bed, clutching the sheet to the front of your body—the ache between your ribs way louder than the ache between your legs.

Jay's jaw flexes, but he doesn't rise to the bait of Heeseung referring to him as just anyone. He still doesn’t look at him. Rather, he turns slightly, exposing his profile to you, creating a corridor of privacy in the room that somehow excludes Heeseung entirely.

"Drawer," he says softly. "I'm counting to ten."

The absurdity of it almost makes you laugh—or sob. You stumble to your dresser, jerk it open, and pull the first t-shirt you find over your head. Your fingers fumble with a pair of panties. You feel Heeseung's stare on your back, burning with hate and disbelief.

Jay murmurs, "Eight...nine—"

You wrench the panties up just as he reaches ten, heart jack-hammering in your throat. Then you stand there, arms wrapped around yourself, sheet puddled at your feet like evidence.

Finally Jay shifts his gaze to Heeseung—slow and intentional with his eyes flat and glacier cold. "Out," he says. One syllable and absolutely nothing more.

Heeseung brims with tension, rising from the bed. "Fucking make me."

The air in your room turns heavy, electric, charged with something darker than anger. You tug the oversized shirt lower on your thighs, cheeks burning, pulse rabbiting beneath your skin. You should tell one of them to leave, you should scream, you should do something. Instead you stand there uselessly with a pounding heart and a twisted gut while the two men who know your body like a map stare each other down over the wreckage of your sheets.

Jay breaks the silence first, voice low. "You promised."

Heeseung lets out a dry laugh, eyes flicking to you, then back. "And? She promised me once too. Didn't stop her moaning my name last night while I fucked her ass."

Your breath catches so hard you think you might faint. You taste shame, guilt and it’s something sour that turns strangely sweet when both their gazes snap to you at the same time, like you're the prize in a game neither of them intends to lose.

"You proud of that?" Jay asks, still calm, but you hear the steel under the words.

Heeseung's smirk widens. "Looks like she is," he says, nodding at the way your knees knock together, the way your fingers twist in the hem of the shirt that ridiculously smells like Jay's detergent and Heeseung's sweat. "Little thing's shaking."

Your stomach flips with equal parts dread and a perverse thrill. Yesterday's memories flash hard behind your eyes, both of them inside your head, under your skin. You know you'll never be able to choose. Because part of you likes this, you like their attention crashing over you from both sides, two tidal waves colliding with you caught in the undertow.

Jay steps closer, toying with your phone in his palm. "Show him you can fucking follow instructions." he says quietly, gaze never leaving Heeseung.

The command sinks into your bones, all too familiar and unraveling. Your lips part but you don't even know what you're about to say or do. But then Heeseung's hand snakes out, catching your wrist and pulling you toward him instead.

"She listens to me just fine," Heeseung declares, fingers sliding to your chin, forcing your head back so you're looking up at him. "Don't you, angel face?"

You swallow, throat tight. A tiny sound, half-whimper, half-yes escapes your lips.

Jay's eyes are blazing when Heeseung shifts you to have your back against his chest. His hand traces a slow, infuriatingly confident line down your stomach, and you flinch at the intimacy of it. You don't even have time to move before Heeseung's mouth is right beside your ear, dragging a lazy kiss against your neck, possessive and smug.

Jay doesn't say anything, but his eyes darken, you see it and so does Heeseung.

"Seriously?" Jay finally mutters, voice low, somewhere between daze and something shockingly hungrier. "You're letting him touch you like that, right in front of me?"

Heeseung just laughs, warm breath skating over your shoulder as his hand slips lower, palming your pussy like he has every right to. "You can't look away though, can you?" he says, eyes fixed on Jay now, goading. "What's the matter? Didn't get enough yesterday?"

Jay's fists curl at his sides but he doesn't move, the tension radiating off of him is palpable. His stare drops to where Heeseung's hand is inside your panties you put on, groping like he's testing ownership.

"You're disgusting," Jay snaps, but his voice is thinner now, less conviction. His gaze is low and lingering.

Heeseung hums. "And you're hard."

That hits Jay like a gunshot and he freezes, nostrils flaring because he is hard.

Heeseung turns his attention back to you, smirking a little. His fingers slip between the folds of your pussy, finding your clit and you whimper, head dropping forward into your hands, embarrassed, but not enough to tell him stop, or enough to make them leave.

"Don't pretend this isn't what she wants," Heeseung says, dragging his lips along your neck. "She's been taking both of us, hasn't she? Plus I don’t really care about her, she just lets me do things other girls don’t."

Jay doesn't answer, but he does step closer. Close enough to see everything and close enough that your skin burns from the weight of both their attention.

"You gonna join me?" Heeseung asks him, too cocky now. "Or you gonna watch with your dick in your hand like a fucking cuck?"

Jay looks at you and the way his eyes soften is the only warning you get before he grabs your chin and kisses you, rough and unrelenting. Now you know neither of them are leaving at least not until one of them wins or they break you.

Heeseung's grip on your waist tightens, but his gaze is all on Jay now, trying to stand behind you like he's bored, like he's not fully hard from just watching Jay kiss you. He lets out a slow exhale, smirking a little as he confesses something that seems to not matter to him anymore.

"You know," he starts lazily, still watching as your tongue collides with Jay’s, "when I was with her...back then? You used to piss me off. Thought you were some kind of threat."

Jay pulls his mouth from yours. "Shut the fuck up."

"But looking at you now..." Heeseung tilts his head, continuing and dragging his eyes lower in a way that makes the air shift. "I don't think I wanna fight you anymore."

There's a beat of silence, something electric buzzing underneath it. You blink, unsure if you heard him right.

"I kinda wanna fuck you instead," he adds plainly.

Jay's lips part slightly, brows drawn in confusion that's quickly swallowed anger or curiosity, you can't truly tell.

Heeseung laughs at Jay’s reaction and then leans in closer to you, resting his chin lazily on your shoulder, eyes still on Jay. His tone drops. "Bet you taste good too," he says, like it's nothing, like he's not teasing the both of you. "Wouldn't mind finding out."

You tense between them, pulse thudding, because you see how this is power, pride...and a pull between them that neither of them wants to admit but both of them feel.

"Fuck off," Jay mutters, but his voice is hoarse now. "That’s not fucking happening."

Heeseung grins, victorious, and kisses your neck again, but slower this time cause he knows Jay is watching.

Heeseung's palm slides possessively over your stomach again while his mouth works a heated trail up your throat—never taking his eyes off Jay. Every flick of Heeseung's tongue feels like a dare thrown directly at the other man, and Jay's control is visibly eroding, his jaw flexed, chest rising faster, fists clenching as though he's deciding whether to shove Heeseung away or drag him closer.

"Getting worked up just watching?" Heeseung murmurs, lips brushing your earlobe, but the words are for Jay. He drags his hand lower across your thigh, slow enough to make you squirm. "Thought you were the one giving orders."

Jay's reply is a dark and unamused laugh. "Keep talking."

Heeseung does—whispers something filthy against your skin, hips nudging his hard clothed cock against your ass until you gasp and he continues to goad Jay.

"Tell me," Heeseung says, voice low as he noses along your jaw. "Is he a good kisser?" His question hums with challenge, and his fingers flex on your hip, reminding you how completely you're pinned between them.

Your pulse thunders. Shame and anticipation collide in your chest, and something reckless slips past your lips, something soft and breathy and meant only for him.

"Why don't you...find out?"

For a beat neither man moves. Jay's eyes flash in shock and something close to resentment, a flare of something hungry. Heeseung's grin spreads, slow and wicked. He leans past you, crowding closer until his breath mingles with Jay's.

The charged silence hangs, but then Jay closes the distance, grabbing the back of Heeseung's neck like he didn’t tell him a moment ago that it would never happen. Their mouths crash together, raw and forceful. You're caught between them, heat bouncing off their bodies, every muffled groan vibrating through your spine.

It's messy and competitive—Jay bites Heeseung's lip and Heeseung answers with a low growl, hand sliding boldly down Jay's side before circling back to squeeze your thigh. You feel the tremor that rolls through Jay at the touch, and pride twists with awe in your lower belly.

Heeseung's grip on your thigh loosens just long enough for him to shove you forward, away from the collision of their mouths. You stumble onto your knees beside the bed, watching as he turns fully to Jay, eyes blazing with hungry curiosity.

Heeseung presses his palm to Jay's chest, sliding it down over his ribs, fingertips tracing the line of his abs. Jay's breath draws sharp, caught off guard.

"Ever been with a guy before?" Heeseung's voice is soft, teasing, every word loaded.

Jay blinks at him. "No," he manages, tone rough.

Heeseung just laughs, soft and smug, thumb brushing over Jay's exposed skin. "That's alright. I'm honored to be your first..." He glances at you, eyes gleaming. "Just like I was hers."

Jay's jaw tics, but he doesn't move away. Heeseung steps in closer, chests brushing, heat rising in the thin space between them. His hand moves higher, curling around the back of Jay's neck, pulling him in again. And this time the kiss is filthier, open-mouthed with teeth grazing and tongues sliding without hesitation.

You're breathless watching them. Jay's hand grips Heeseung's side, uncertain but firm causing the other to groan into his mouth, hands slipping lower to snake between both their bodies to palm Jay’s hardened cock over his sweats. Jay jerks, gasping into the kiss, hips twitching forward in shock.

"Fuck," Jay hisses, pulling back just enough to suck in air.

"Sensitive already?" Heeseung grins, licking his lips. "That's cute."

You press your thighs together, pulse pounding at the sight of them, Jay's cheeks are flushed, Heeseung's calmness is near predatory, and the sheer tension vibrating between the three of you. Your body still aches from the night before, but all you can think about is them.

Heeseung bites his lip, fingers curling tighter around Jay's waistband, tugging it down enough to expose the hardness beneath.

Jay shudders. Heeseung raises an eyebrow. "You hard for me already?" he murmurs. "Or is it for her?"

Jay doesn't answer and it causes Heeseung to grin wider. "Guess it doesn't matter."

And then he spits into his hand, slow and deliberate, before wrapping it around Jay’s dick without breaking eye contact with him.

You swear you feel your clit forming a heartbeat.

Jay takes a sharp inhale he tries desperately to stifle. This is new to him, but his chest tightens either way and his pulse hammers in his throat when Heeseung wraps his spit covered hand around his dick. Everything in Jay screams that he shouldn't want this, that Heeseung is the enemy, but beneath that war, a dark current of arousal is coiling.

Heeseung's fingers pump him slow and sure, eyes locked on his as if he willing him to break. Jay's lips part, and for a heartbeat, he almost moans but he clamps his jaw shut instead, head tilting back so only the curve of his throat shows, as heat floods his face.

His hands twitch at his sides, yearning to grip something, anything. He lifts one to knot in Heeseung's hair, not in anger, but instinct like a desperate plea for more and it makes Heeseung's grin flicker with victory.

Jay's vision darkens at the edges as the pleasure builds, electric and terrifyingly sweet. He fights for control, but his body betrays him when a low groan slips free, startling even him, one which has you trailing your hand between your legs to find some sort of relief.

Heeseung doesn't even glance your way but his voice slices through the thick air like a whip, "Touch yourself and neither of us lay a hand on you."

Your fingers freeze, inches from your cunt, the sight before you too overwhelming, their bodies are close, with tension humming like live wire, and you’re drowning in it, arousal clouding everything else.

A pit of embarrassment forms in your chest. You slowly lower your hand back to the ground with your heart racing.

Jay looks you too now with a dark gaze, you notice his chest rising and falling hard like he's on the edge of saying something—but doesn't.

Heeseung's pace stroking Jay's cock quickens, it turns somewhat relentless, he has one hand still steady at Jay's hip while the other pumps him with confidence. Jay's eyes flutter shut as the pressure builds, you know that look.

"You like that, don't you?" Heeseung says, voice laced with amusement.

Jay's fingers cling to Heeseung's shoulders, body trembling under the rising tension of his orgasm. You watch, breath caught as Heeseung leans in close, lips brushing Jay's ear.

"Look at you—so proud you could handle her, and yet here you are, helpless for me." His thumb presses in right over the phallic tip of him, dragging a trembling, lewd pulse through Jay's cock. It makes Jay's hand jerk, scrabbling at Heeseung's wrist, helpless.

Heeseung smiles knowingly against Jay's skin—slow, knowing. "No hiding," he teases, brushing fingertips over Jay's lower lip until Jay parts them, letting Heeseung trace the wet line. "You don't sound like the tough guy you pretend to be."

You watch Jay try to swallow, try to form a retort, but his voice is gone, it's replaced by a soft, whimpering moan that vibrates through his whole body.

"Go on," Heeseung says. "Let me see what you look like when you cum.”

Jay's head falls back, neck bare, throat exposed. And then it happens, a trembling exhalation, guttural and urgent, as Jay's body shudders and clenches. You see the flush spread across his cheeks, you hear the wet heat of Jay's cum slicking across Heeseung's palm.

Heeseung strokes him through it with a steady hand, letting Jay's orgasm roll through him until the final shudder. Then he slowly withdraws his hand, setting Jay's spent cock free to twitch in the cool air. He watches Jay's chest heave, eyes still closed, mouth parted.

For a heartbeat, there's only the sound of Jay's ragged breathing, then Heeseung's gaze flicks downward, and a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips when he notices Jay still hard, flushed and ready like he hadn't just come undone seconds ago.

"Well, shit," he drawls, low and smug. "Didn't think you had stamina like that."

Jay doesn't respond at first, he just eyes Heeseung up and down, standing firm, his chest heaving with barely restrained unease. But there's a flicker in his eyes of something darker, especially when Heeseung keeps looking at him like that, like he's impressed and still in control all at once.

Heeseung's grins because he doesn't miss the look Jay gives him. He leans in a little, "I wanna know, Jay. You ever fucked her ass?"

That hits. Jay's head snaps toward you, and there's a twitch in his lip, his whole body tensing like he's about to swing, but it's not from shame or shock but something possessive and territorial, and it makes his tone is clipped and bitter when he replies, "No. I haven't."

Heeseung hums in jest, clearly savoring it, but then Jay steps in, crowding his space more with a tight jaw. "You think that makes you better than me?" he mutters, eyes narrowing. "You think that means you get to take what's mine?"

Heeseung raises a brow, not backing down. "You really think she's yours right now?" he says, voice velvet-smooth. "She let me in first. And look at you..." He chuckles as his gaze drops again. "Still acting like you've got any say."

But instead of escalating, Heeseung steps back a bit. A surprising glint of generosity or maybe twisted mischief shines in his eyes. He turns to you, then grabs your wrist, dragging you of the ground effortlessly toward him.

"Come here, angel face," he says, already sitting back on the sheets.

You shake as he guides you to straddle him, already pushing your panties down your thighs.

Jay's confusion flashes at the sight, followed quickly by understanding. His eyes drag across your body as you're pulled onto his lap. The way you're still pliant, already slick, flushed from everything that just happened. You settle over him like instinct, thighs shaking.

Heeseung lays against the bed with his hands spread on your ass, satisfied. "Go on," he tells Jay, like he's giving him a gift. "Or you don't wanna fuck her ass?"

Jay doesn't speak, he just gets on the bed behind you and grabs your hips roughly, eyes never leaving Heeseung's. The tension between them is tangible now, some primal challenge in the air and you're caught right in the center of it—torn and dizzy with it, as Jay pushes you down onto him, every inch of him searing and full of purpose. And all the while, Heeseung just watches cause he likes what he sees.

The sheets are cool under your knees as Jay's hands splay around your ass, guiding you to angle back against him. Every breath from you seems too loud in the sudden hush of your room, it's just the faint creak of the mattress and the muted hum of morning outside your window. Jay's hands are warm against your spine, his skin damp where he's still riding the edge of anger and desire.

Heeseung lounges at the head of the bed and under you, propped against the pillows, dark eyes tracking every twitch in your body and every flicker of tension across Jay's jaw. You're hyperaware of his presence—how his gaze sears like a brand, claiming you even as Jay'sce fingers spread across your waist in their own possessive pattern.

You're pinned between them—straddling Heeseung's lap as Jay lines his spit and cum covered dick up with your clenching hole. Heeseung's hands grip your hips too, trying to keep you in play for Jay, his thumbs digging into the flesh of your ass, forcing you back hard on Jay's cock behind you. You moan out something incoherent, "Oh—! W—Wait! Nggh."

Heeseung's voice is a rasp at your ear with something wicked and out of breath, "Look at you—between two men like some cheap toy." He adjusts himself under you, pulling out his cock from his boxers and gently lining it up with your pussy. "Oh my god! Heeseung wait!"

You gasp, heat roaring through your core as Jay picks up a steady pace of fucking his cock into you and Heeseung pushes his up into your sopping cunt, each stroke makes you push back Jay, the feeling of both of them in your holes has you digging your nails digging into Heeseung's shoulders.

Heeseung chuckles darkly. "You like that, don't you? Two big dicks fucking you?" His grin is jagged, but you can't even look at it for too long because the fullness is so intense you have to close your eyes. "So good! So good!"

Jay's hand finds yours on Heeseung's shoulder, gripping tight, his is palm hot on yours. He doesn't say anything, but you feel the strain in his muscles as he drives his cock into you harder and faster.

Heeseung leans upward, kissing you quickly before shoving his fingers into your mouth. "Ngh! Oh! Goddamit! I can feel your dick through her." He takes his fingers from your mouth and uses the same ones to rub your clit in harsh circles.

"Too much! Heeseung! Jay!"

"Sloppy little thing," he snarls. "But Jay'll fix that, huh?" He fucks up into you with renewed determination, the pressure of your orgasm building inside you in a jagged, desperate wave.

Tears sting your eyes as Jay's grunts fill the room. "Hole's so tight—My God."

"She ever squirt for you before?" Heeseung asks Jay, pace never failing, "Yeah," Jay groans, his eyes screwing shut and his head lolling back.

Heeseung laughs. "Yeah? Think you can go faster?"

You hear Jay grumble in agreement as his pace picks up along with Heeseung's and they both brush something delicious inside your two holes. The stretch is impossibly overwhelming, it has you drooling right onto Heeseung's chest.

You're right at the edge of losing control and you know they are too, every nerve ending in your body erupts into a blazing white-hot spark. You can feel the relentless fullness of Heeseung thrusting into your pussy and the deep burn of Jay pushing into your asshole like two currents of pressure that clash inside you, building into one ridiculously impossible wave.

"I'm gonna cum! Hee!—Jay! Gonna cum! Gonna cum!"

In that instant, your vision blurs at the edges, your breath catches in jagged gasps, and your holes clench down around them both. Your hands slam into the headboard as a rush of heat floods outward from your cunt, simultaneously constricting and exploding, like every drop of blood in your veins has turned to molten fire. "Yes yes yes! Use me! Use me!"

Your whole body convulses with Jay's name on your lips, need shooting through every nerve until Heeseung's words pull you back from the edge. "Fuck, that's right—Ugh."

A strangled moan tears from your throat, your back arches, and your toes curl as the wave crests. You're suspended between fierce ache and a blissful orgasm, every inch of you humming with overload.

Time fractures and each of your heartbeats thump in your ears as your orgasm rolls through you again and again with thick surges of bliss that crackle with humiliation and joy all at once. Your vision swims with dizziness, you're so fucking elated and completely undone.

Behind you, Jay grunts grow louder, his own ripping orgasm from him in a raw exhale as he cums into your asshole, continuing to pump himself into you. His hips jerk with every pulse, driving you higher even as you cum. "Oh fuck me."

Beneath you, Heeseung's breath snarls in your neck, with a husky voice. "Cumming!"

You feel his cum spill inside your pussy, so warm and grounding, as his hands tighten on your hips and hold you in place.

You're suspended between them with Jay's and Heeseung's pleasure and yours intertwining in a moment of pure, overwhelming abandon. Your body trembles so hard you think you might shatter, tears slipping free as the last tremor fades.

You feel trapped in their storm of shame, lust, and fear. It has you dizzier and you start to drift, so close to passing out. Your limbs feel heavy and detached, as if you're watching someone else slumped between them. Their bodies surround you so steadily while the world outside your bedroom window carries on oblivious.

Heeseung's breath is soft against your neck, his hand still resting on your hip. Jay's steady weight behind you reminds you of every promise made and every threat whispered. But no one speaks and time thins.

All you can feel is the slow pulse of your heart, the faint sting of tears on your cheeks, and the relentless press of desire still humming through your veins.

Then, almost too quietly to hear, Heeseung shifts, voice against your skin but eyes on Jay.

"I wanna fuck you next."

➺ taglist: @immelissaaa @fancypeacepersona @inawonderfulworld @usuallyunlikelyfox @starry-eyed-bimbo @strayy-kidz @mheretoreadff @bloomiize @xoenhalover @mamuljji @rawwwre @gabrielinhaa @cherrieikeu @niyzu @ieatwon @rialikesbts @lunacrtk @dulcetnostalgia @bussolares @lovel1z @dearestdreamies @kristynaaah @rosepetals09 @c1eod1n3 @kiikiisblog @plumdove @pqrkjyx @tojiworshipper @loverseon

[jkwrites-m]

Daddy Kookie (4)

Pairing: idol!Jungkook x female reader

Genre: childhood lovers to exes to lovers, parents au, smut, angst, fluff

Word Count: 8.9k

Summary: After Jungkook dropped all contact, Y/N was left broken - and pregnant. Seven years later, fate brings them back together.

Warnings: MDNI, Explicit, 18+, smut, angst, abandonment, young (teenage) pregnancy, resentment, guilt, anger, heartbreak, cursing, struggle, co-parenting, growth, comfort, vulnerability, domestic, resistance, hope, long-distance, confessions, secrecy, moving explicit: praising, kissing, riding, oral (f. & m. receiving), unprotected sex, phone (FaceTime) sex, 

A/N: hey friends, myb for the delay! i got sucked into a fic and had to finish reading before posting 🫶

MASTERPOST ♡ MASTERLIST ♡

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The worst part wasn’t the fight.

It was the stillness after.

He didn’t call that night.

Didn’t text.

Didn’t ask if I’d changed my mind.

He picked Eun Ae up like he said he would. Walked her home. Stayed for dinner like nothing had happened. She didn’t notice the way I sat on the other end of the table. The way his eyes barely touched mine.

We were polite.

Almost warm.

But never close.

And that, somehow, hurt more than yelling ever could.

I found myself watching him more than I wanted to.

The way he tied her shoes.

The way he helped her build the puzzle she was obsessed with this week.

The way he folded the laundry and left it in a neat pile on the edge of the couch- not assuming, not asking, just… there.

I missed him while he was standing five feet away.

That night, I called my best friend.

Told her everything.

“I think I’m testing him,” I admitted, voice thick with guilt. “I think I’m waiting for him to mess up so I can say I was right to be afraid.”

She was quiet for a beat.

Then said, “Maybe it’s not about being right. Maybe it’s about being ready.”

I didn’t respond.

Because maybe I wasn’t either.

═══════

I didn’t sleep.

Again.

I sat on the couch after Eun Ae went to bed. Headphones in, notebook open, staring at the same line I’d rewritten six times.

I wasn’t mad at her.

Not even close.

I got it.

She was scared.

I’d made her that way.

And it wasn’t her job to trust me.

It was mine to earn it.

So I wrote her something.

A letter I didn’t send.

A letter I folded three times and tucked inside my bag.

Y/N,

If you say no, I’ll stay. If you say not yet, I’ll wait. If you say never, I’ll still love you from wherever you are. Because it’s not about the city. Or the life. Or the dream. It’s you. It’s always been you. And I would trade all of it to be where you are.

- JK

I left it there.

In my bag.

Because she wasn’t ready.

And I wasn’t going to leave this time.

Not even if she told me to.

═══════

It was just a box.

Labeled “Old Stuff” in fading black Sharpie, shoved in the back of the closet I hadn’t touched since we moved into this place.

Eun Ae found it while looking for her art supplies.

“Mama!” she called from the hallway. “What’s this?”

I dried my hands and walked over, heart already twitching at the sight of it.

The top was half-off, papers spilling out- receipts, baby socks, polaroids, hospital wristbands.

And a journal.

My old one.

From the pregnancy.

Before the nausea. Before the ultrasounds. Before I knew if she was a she.

Back when I was scared of everything.

Back when the only person I wanted to tell had stopped answering his phone.

I picked it up slowly.

Felt the way it still remembered my hands.

Eun Ae looked up at me with wide eyes. “Can we read it?”

I hesitated.

Then nodded.

We sat on the floor, backs against the wall, pages turning beneath fingertips that barely fit across one line of text.

I skimmed, at first.

Then I landed on one.

“Week 13. I think I’m starting to love her. I don’t know how. I don’t know if I should. But she’s mine. She’s mine. And I’ll never let her feel what I’m feeling right now - alone.”

My throat tightened.

Eun Ae leaned her head on my shoulder. “Did you write all of this for me?”

“I did,” I whispered.

She smiled.

Like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Like she already knew.

And in that moment, I remembered every version of myself I thought I’d buried:

The girl who still hoped.

The girl who believed people could change.

The girl who loved Jungkook with her whole heart and never stopped.

═══════

Later that night, when the sky went pink and the apartment went quiet, I found him sitting on the front steps. Hoodie pulled over his head. Knees drawn up. Staring at nothing.

He looked surprised when I joined him.

We didn’t speak for a long time.

Then, quietly, I said:

“I’m not saying yes.”

He didn’t move.

“I’m not asking you to,” he replied.

I took a breath.

Let it sit between us.

Then added, “But I want to think about it.”

His head turned.

Eyes searching mine.

And for the first time in a long time…

He smiled.

Not because he’d won.

But because I’d let him in.

Even if just a little.

═══════

I didn’t tell him.

Not Jungkook. 

Not my best friend. 

Not even myself, really. 

I just waited until the apartment was quiet, until Eun Ae was tucked in and dreaming, until the hallway lights dimmed and the city softened behind the windows. Then I opened my laptop.

The cursor blinked back at me like a dare.

I stared at the search bar for a long time, my fingers hovering, my pulse skittering like it used to when I was younger and about to send a message I couldn’t take back. My heart said don’t. My hands didn’t listen.

Seoul elementary schools for international children.

The results came too fast, flooding the screen with photos of clean white hallways, polished shoes, little uniforms, beaming parents, perfectly translated admissions promises. I scrolled through three websites before slamming the tab shut like it had caught me doing something shameful.

But a minute later, I opened them again.

Maybe I wasn’t crazy. Maybe I was just… curious.

And maybe curiosity was enough for now.

I made a folder on my desktop and labeled it with a single letter: “E.” 

Vague enough to pass, quiet enough to keep. I bookmarked a handful of schools. A few had Korean-English bilingual programs. One had an art curriculum that made my throat ache in a way I couldn’t explain.

I wasn’t planning anything. I just… didn’t want to be unprepared if someday I did.

═══════

The next day, while Jungkook was out with Eun Ae, I did the same thing with job listings. 

Event management companies in Seoul. Nonprofits. One university venue- looking for a program coordinator. Nothing life-changing. Just possible.

When my best friend called that afternoon, she caught the tremor in my voice immediately.

“You sound distracted,” she said.

“I’m not,” I lied.

She didn’t buy it.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

“About what?”

“Seoul.”

I didn’t answer.

“You’re allowed to want it, you know.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know.”

“I can’t do this again,” I whispered.

“You’re not,” she said, her voice soft but sure. “You’re not doing it again. You’re doing it differently.”

That night, I sat with a printed school application on my nightstand. I didn’t fill it out. I didn’t even reread it. Just folded it once and tucked it into my notebook, like something half-forbidden, half-holy. Then I lay back, watching the ceiling blur into dusk, and whispered to no one, “If I were brave, maybe I’d go.”

And something quiet inside me, something I hadn’t heard in years, whispered back:

Maybe you already are.

═══════

I didn’t ask where her head was at.

Not when I picked up Eun Ae that morning. Not when I saw the folded tension in Y/N’s shoulders. Not when she handed over a backpack and a juice box and said, “Have fun.”

There was something behind her eyes- a storm she was still naming. I wasn’t going to push her into clarity. Not this time.

So I gave her space.

And I gave our daughter the kind of day I’d only ever dreamed of giving her.

We went to the zoo again- it wasn’t new, but she liked the giraffes and the flamingos and the way the map made her feel like a pirate. She held my hand the whole time. Told strangers I was her dad with no hesitation, like it was a fact she’d always known.

We ate popcorn on a bench. Took selfies. Bought a postcard that she insisted we mail to “the living room,” because “that’s where Mommy always sits.”

She fell asleep in the car on the way home.

I didn’t carry her in right away.

Just sat there for a few minutes with the engine running, her head tipped against the window, her mouth slightly open.

And I thought about everything I’d missed.

First steps. First words. First fevers. First birthdays.

I would never get those back.

But maybe… maybe I could still make up for them in the ways that mattered now.

Later that night, after I put her to bed and folded the laundry she’d managed to scatter across the floor, I sat at the kitchen table with a blank notebook in front of me.

I didn’t know what I was writing it for.

Maybe for me.

Maybe for her.

Maybe for the woman sleeping behind a door I still didn’t feel brave enough to knock on again.

I wrote slowly.

Carefully.

No edits this time. Just truth.

I don’t want you to choose Seoul for me. I want you to choose Seoul because you believe something new could grow there. I know I broke us. I know I left you with the hardest parts. And even if you never move, never change your zip code or your heart-

I’ll still be here. Still showing up. Still trying to be the man I should’ve been the first time.

JK

I signed it.

Didn’t fold it.

Didn’t leave it out.

Just slipped it into my journal and closed the cover.

Maybe she’d read it someday.

Maybe she never would.

But at least I’d said it.

And sometimes, that has to be enough.

═══════

He lingered at the door.

Not like he was expecting an invitation. More like he was reminding himself not to hope for one.

Eun Ae was already in bed, curled under her blanket with her stuffed tiger tucked beneath her chin. Jungkook had brought her home an hour ago, quiet, calm, soft-eyed.

I opened the door before he could knock.

He blinked, surprised.

I stepped back.

“You want to come in?”

He hesitated.

Then nodded.

Didn’t say a word as he followed me inside.

We moved around each other easily now- like we’d been doing this a lot longer than a few weeks. He set his keys on the counter, pulled off his jacket, and slipped off his shoes.

I didn’t offer him tea.

He didn’t ask.

We just sat.

Side by side on the couch, no TV, no phones, no distractions. The lamp beside us hummed faintly. Outside, the city had gone quiet. A lullaby of sirens somewhere far off.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

I curled my legs under me. He rested one arm on the back of the couch, not quite touching, not quite distant.

Finally, I broke the silence.

“What’s it really like?”

He looked at me.

“Seoul,” I clarified. “Your version of it.”

He let out a breath, almost a laugh.

“Busy. Loud. Fast. Kind of beautiful if you slow down long enough to look up.”

I nodded slowly.

“And your life there?”

He shrugged. “Structured. Pressured. But it’s mine. Even the exhausting parts.”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek.

“I don’t want to lose this,” I said quietly.

“You’re not going to,” he answered just as softly. “No matter where we live.”

I tilted my head, searching his face. “And if I said I couldn’t do it?”

“I’d stay.”

“No hesitation?”

He shook his head.

“None. Because I’m not trying to win. I’m trying to stay.”

The lump in my throat came fast.

I looked away.

He didn’t reach for me.

Didn’t force it.

But his presence was enough, a gravity I no longer wanted to resist.

I leaned against his shoulder slowly, tentatively, and when he didn’t move, I let my full weight settle there. 

The familiar scent of detergent and something uniquely him, wrapped around me like a memory. Jungkook’s presence was a comfort I hadn’t realized I’d missed until this very moment. 

We stayed like that for a long time. 

The silence wasn’t awkward; it was understanding. 

I didn’t cry, though the weight of everything we’d been through pressed against my chest. 

He didn’t speak, but his stillness felt like a question, a plea, a promise all at once. It was as if we were having a conversation without words, our hearts speaking in a language only we could understand.

Eventually, I pulled away just slightly- just enough to see his face. 

His dark eyes were on me, calm and searching, waiting for something I wasn’t sure I could give. But when I looked into them, I saw the same man I’d fallen for years ago, the same man I’d swore away. And in that moment, I knew I wanted him back.

So I leaned in. 

And I kissed him.

It was soft, deliberate, like I was testing the waters of a river I once knew by heart. There was no panic, no tears, just the steady rhythm of our breaths intertwining. 

His lips were warm, familiar, and yet they felt new, like discovering something you’d forgotten you loved. 

His hands touched me like he was still asking permission, brushing my hair back, cupping my cheek. 

My body answered before my mouth could. 

I tilted my head, deepening the kiss, and his hands moved to my waist, pulling me closer. It was as if our skin still remembered what our minds were just beginning to relearn.

We moved together like we’d done this in another life, our bodies falling into a rhythm that felt both ancient and brand new. 

There was no rush, no need to prove anything. Just us, reclaiming what we’d lost.

He undressed me like I was fragile, his fingers tracing the curves of my body with a tenderness that made my heart ache. 

I undressed him like he was already mine, my hands mapping the lean muscles of his chest, the ink of his tattoo sleeve, the piercings that glinted under the soft light of the living room. 

His body was a canvas I knew by heart, and yet it felt like I was seeing it for the first time.

When we were both bare, he pulled me onto his lap, his hands resting on the small of my back. I could feel the heat of his skin against mine, the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear. 

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered, his breath warm against my neck.

I didn’t say anything, just pressed a kiss to his jawline, letting my actions speak for me. 

I shifted slightly, my legs straddling his, and he groaned softly, his hands moving to my hips. There was no urgency, just a slow, sensual exploration of each other’s bodies.

I leaned down, my lips brushing his as I whispered, “Prove it.”

His eyes darkened, and he flipped us, pressing me gently into the couch. “Anything for you,” he murmured, his mouth trailing down my neck, my collarbone, my breasts.

His touch was reverent, careful, like he was rediscovering every inch of me. I arched into him, my hands tangling in his hair, my moans soft and desperate.

But I wanted more. I wanted to feel him, to taste him, to remind myself why we’d been so right once upon a time. I pushed him back, my hands on his chest, and he let me take control, his eyes never leaving mine.

I slid down his body to the floor, my lips brushing his skin as I went. His hands gripped the cushions, his breath hitching when I reached his erection. 

It was thick, hard, and I smiled, knowing exactly what I wanted to do.

I took him in my mouth, slow and deliberate, my tongue swirling around the tip before I took him deeper. His hands tangled in my hair, his head falling back as he let out a low groan. “Fuck, baby,” he muttered, his voice thick with need.

I hummed around him, my hands gripping his thighs, my mouth moving in a rhythm that had us both gasping. 

I pulled away, my lips swollen, my breath ragged. “Your turn,” he whispered, pushing me back onto the couch.

He shifted, his hands guiding me back onto his lap, his mouth trailing kisses down my stomach, my thighs, until he was between them. His tongue was warm, insistent, and I cried out, my hands gripping his hair as he worshipped me with his mouth.

“Jungkook,” I moaned, my body arching off the couch. 

He groaned against my skin, his fingers teasing, his tongue relentless, until I was a trembling mess, my breath coming in sharp gasps.

When he finally pulled away, I was shaking, my body buzzing with need. 

I straddled him again, his hands gripping my waist as I positioned myself above him. His eyes were dark, hungry, but there was something softer there too, something that made my heart ache.

I lowered myself onto him, slow and steady, his hands moving to my breasts, his thumbs brushing my nipples. 

I rode him, my hips moving in a rhythm that had us both groaning, our breaths syncing, our bodies moving as one.

His hands were everywhere, his mouth kissing every inch of skin he could reach. He idolized me, his fingers tracing my waist, my hips, my thighs, like he was memorizing every curve. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice hoarse.

I leaned down, my lips brushing his, my hands tangling in his hair. “Say it again,” I whispered.

He looked up at me, his eyes intense, his hands gripping my hips tighter. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said, his voice steady, certain.

I smiled, a silent answer, and kissed him deeply, our bodies moving faster now, the tension building, the pleasure coiling tight. 

His hands moved to my back, his fingers digging in as he thrust up to meet me, our bodies colliding in a rhythm that felt like coming home.

And then we were falling, our breaths ragged, our bodies trembling, as we came together, our cries mingling in the air. 

He whispered my name like a prayer.

I moaned his like a truth. 

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice breaking, his hands holding me tight.

And afterward, when the silence returned, it wasn’t empty anymore.

It was full.

Of us.

Still us.

Becoming us again.

═══════

I texted him after school drop-off.

Y/N: Can you meet us at the park?

It was simple. No buildup. No context. But he replied almost instantly.

Jungkook: On my way.

When I got there, he was already waiting.

Sitting on the same bench he’d sat on during that first zoo outing. Hoodie pulled up over his head, sunglasses in his hands, a slight fidget in his knee like he wasn’t sure what version of me was about to show up.

I walked over slowly.

He stood.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t assume.

Just looked at me- quiet and still and open.

I took a breath.

“This isn’t a yes.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

“I’m not ready to uproot everything. Not yet.”

“I know.”

“I need time. I need to make sure Eun Ae’s education is stable, that I have job options. I need to know I’m not doing this just because I- ” I stopped myself. Swallowed hard.

He didn’t flinch. “Because you what?”

I shook my head, refocused.

“This has to be about all of us. And it has to be real. Not rushed. Not romantic. Just… right.”

He nodded slowly, like every word mattered more than the last.

“And?”

I looked up at him fully now.

Met his eyes.

And let go of everything I’d been holding back.

“I’ve been thinking,” I said softly. “And I’m willing to try.”

For a second, he didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just breathed.

Then his shoulders dropped.

His hands loosened.

His face cracked open into the gentlest smile I’d ever seen on him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He stepped forward- not to grab me, not to kiss me, just to be close.

“How long do you think you’ll need?”

“As long as it takes,” I said. “A few months. Maybe more. I need to go at our pace.”

He reached for my hand then, slowly, like he was still making sure I’d let him.

I did.

He linked our fingers. “Then I’ll wait. For however long it takes.”

I smiled.

Not because everything was perfect.

But because we were finally starting from the same place.

A place without conditions.

Without ghosts.

Without pretending.

Just two people who loved each other. 

Trying.

═══════

Eight months.

That’s what I gave myself.

Not six. Not twelve.

Eight.

Enough time to find the right job, prepare Eun Ae’s transition, apply for her school, sort financial documents, visas- everything. But not so long that I’d let fear talk me out of it again.

I made a list.

Typed it into my Notes app like it was a grocery run and not the first blueprint of a new life.

Seoul school research

Submit CV to three companies this week

Budget flight options for move window (March?)

Ask Jungkook if his house has a bathtub (non-negotiable for Eun Ae)

I laughed at that last one. Out loud.

Because this time, the future didn’t feel like a trapdoor.

It felt… possible.

And somehow, even more than that, it felt like mine.

Jungkook never rushed me.

Not once.

We FaceTimed every morning and every night. Some calls were full of updates, screenshots, “Can you believe Eun Ae lost another tooth?” Some were just silence. The soft kind. The kind that doesn’t ask for anything.

Some mornings, I woke up before the alarm and reached for the phone already smiling. Other nights, I fell asleep to the sound of his voice reading bedtime stories from halfway around the world.

He made it feel like he’d never left.

Like distance was just a word we didn’t let mean much.

The week I finally submitted three job applications, I didn’t tell anyone at first.

I just closed the tabs.

Let my chest fill.

And cried in the kitchen for exactly six minutes before reheating leftovers and helping Eun Ae with her math homework like everything was normal.

When Jungkook called that night, I didn’t say anything about it.

Just asked how his day was. Listened to him complain about a radio interview and laugh about Yoongi falling asleep mid-rehearsal. Watched his face relax when I told him he still talked too much with his hands.

We said goodnight the way we always did.

Him: “Sleep well, beautiful.”

Me: “Good morning, idiot.”

He grinned at that. Always did.

After I hung up, I walked to the mirror and looked at myself for a long time.

Tired.

Determined.

Not waiting for rescue.

Just building something brave.

Eight months.

And then we’d jump.

═══════

I bought the house three weeks after I got back to Seoul.

Didn’t tell anyone. Not even her.

It wasn’t big. I didn’t want big. I wanted quiet.

It sat at the edge of a park, tucked into the kind of neighborhood people usually outgrew into- peaceful, steady, with clean sidewalks and too many trees. The house had three bedrooms and an attic that begged to be turned into something. The walls were soft yellow. The windows wide.

It wasn’t perfect.

But it felt like them.

I took a photo from the front porch the first night the sun set through the trees just right and sent it to Y/N.

Jungkook: This might be the view from your coffee mug someday.

She didn’t reply right away.

But when she did, it was simple.

Y/N ❤️: Is there a bathtub?

I laughed so hard I nearly dropped the phone.

She remembered.

Of course she did.

I took a photo of the bathroom. Sent it.

Jungkook: Clawfoot. Definitely deep enough for mermaids.

She heart-reacted the message.

Didn’t say more.

She didn’t need to.

I started nesting, even though no one had said they were coming yet.

Bought a tiny desk and set it up under the window in the second bedroom.

Hung a corkboard above it with empty pushpins.

Labeled the WiFi “EunAeStar97.”

I knew it was risky.

I knew I was getting ahead of myself.

But every morning, I made two cups of coffee. Every night, I left the porch light on.

And every time I passed that tiny bedroom, I imagined laughter spilling out, crayon drawings taped to the walls, the faint smell of shampoo and cereal and new beginnings.

The members noticed I was different.

Lighter, maybe.

I didn’t say much about it.

Just said I had a house now.

A little closer to peace.

Namjoon stopped by once. Walked through the space, nodded slowly, then looked at me and said, “You bought this for them.”

I didn’t deny it.

He didn’t ask anything else.

═══════

That morning, I FaceTimed Y/N from the kitchen. 

No shirt, hair still wet from the shower, the good kind of tired in my bones. 

The Seoul sunrise painted the room in soft gold, a stark contrast to the darkness I knew enveloped her world.. 

Her face appeared on the screen, sleepy but smiling, her messy bun and the faint smudge of yesterday’s eyeliner making her look both vulnerable and impossibly beautiful.

“Trying to seduce me in 1080p?” she teased, one eyebrow arched. 

Her voice was thick with sleep, but there was a spark in her eyes that told me she was already playing along.

I grinned, leaning closer to the camera. “Always.”

She laughed, a soft, melodic sound that made my chest tighten. It was a laugh I’d missed more than I’d cared to admit. 

But in that moment, it felt like we were in the same room, her hand brushing against mine, her breath warm on my skin.

“You’re up early,” I said, my gaze lingering on the curve of her jaw, the way her lips parted slightly as she spoke.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she admitted, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Thinking about you.”

My heart skipped a beat. I hadn’t expected that. “I’ve been thinking about you too.” I murmured, my voice low and rough.

The air between us crackled with unspoken desire. I could almost feel her heartbeat through the screen, could almost smell the faint scent of her perfume. 

It was ridiculous, I know, but in that moment, the distance felt like a game we were both willing to play.

“I have to be quiet,” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder as if someone might overhear.

“Good,” I said, my smirk widening. “I like it when you’re quiet.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she propped her phone against her pillow, adjusting it so she could lie down in front of it. The camera angle shifted, giving me a view of her slender frame, the curve of her hip, the way her tank top clung to her full breasts. 

My breath hitched.

“You’re killing me, baby,” I groaned, my hand instinctively drifting south. 

I flipped the camera, showing her my other hand wrapped around my cock. It was already hard, throbbing with anticipation.

Her eyes darkened, her lips parting in a silent gasp. “You’re not the only one,” she murmured, her hand slipping under the waistband of her panties.

I watched, mesmerized, as she began to touch herself, her movements slow and deliberate. Her skin was sparkling in the dim light of her room, her fingers slender and graceful. 

She was a work of art, and I was her audience, her admirer.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” I whispered, my voice hoarse with need. “I wish I was there, wish I could touch you.”

“Me too,” she breathed, her eyes never leaving mine. 

Her hand moved faster now, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. “Tell me what you’d do if you were here.”

I swallowed hard, my grip tightening on my cock. “I’d pin you down,” I said, my voice rough with desire. “Kiss every inch of your body, eat your pussy until you’re screaming my name.”

She moaned softly, her free hand clutching the sheets. “Fuck, Jungkook. Keep talking.”

I did, my words dirty and desperate, painting a picture of everything I wanted to do to her, everything I wanted her to do to me. She was a vision, her body arching off the bed, her lips parted in a silent cry as she came, her fingers still moving in rhythm with her trembling breaths.

“That’s it, baby,” I praised, my own release building. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

She smiled weakly, her eyes fluttering closed as she rode out her orgasm. “Keep going,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

I didn’t need to be told twice. My hand moved faster, my breaths coming in ragged gasps as I imagined her there with me, her lips on mine, her body pressed against mine. 

“Y/N,” I groaned, my voice breaking as I came, my cum spilling over my hand.

She watched, her expression soft and satisfied, as I caught my breath. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice heavy with sleep.

“Always,” I replied, my heart still pounding.

She got up slowly, her movements languid, and pulled on a soft sweater. “I’m going to sleep now,” she said, her voice already slurring with exhaustion.

“Okay,” I said, my gaze lingering on her as she climbed back into bed. “Sleep well, baby.”

I stayed on the line, watching her sleep, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. 

I waited until her breathing deepened, until I was sure she was asleep, before whispering, “I love you.”

The distance still hurt, but in that moment, it felt a little less impossible. She was there, and I was here, and somehow, we’d found a way to bridge the gap, if only for a little while.

═══════

It started with spilled juice on the rug.

Which wouldn’t have been a big deal if Eun Ae hadn’t also had a stomach bug and I hadn’t already been running on three hours of sleep and I hadn’t opened my inbox to three rejections in one morning.

I cleaned it.

Twice.

Then sat on the floor beside it and stared at the fibers like they owed me something.

By the time lunch rolled around, I’d cried once in the pantry, snapped at the delivery guy for ringing the bell three times, and put the dirty dishes in the fridge.

Eun Ae was a trooper.

Even sick, she tried to cheer me up. She scribbled me a card that said “Mommy I love you more than toilet paper,” and offered me half a cracker from her dry-stomach ration pile.

I kissed her forehead, tucked her in, and promised I was fine.

I wasn’t.

When Jungkook called later, I almost didn’t answer.

The screen lit up with his name - Jungkook - and I stared at it until it dimmed.

Then I picked it up and sat on the edge of my bed, legs trembling for no reason at all.

He smiled when he saw me.

“Hey. Almost thought you wouldn’t pick up.”

“I almost didn’t.”

“Bad day?”

I nodded.

Tried to speak.

Didn’t.

My eyes welled up faster than I expected, and before I could stop myself, I was crying. Not the dramatic kind. Just the quiet, tired kind. The kind that doesn’t have a beginning or end, it just is.

He didn’t interrupt.

Didn’t ask for details.

Didn’t try to spin it into something light.

He just watched me.

Waited.

And when I finally whispered, “I don’t know if I can do this,” he didn’t panic.

He just said, “You don’t have to. Not alone.”

That undid me completely.

Because for years, that’s all I had ever been.

Alone.

Even when I didn’t want to admit it.

Even when I thought I’d made peace with it.

I wiped my face, tried to breathe.

“Why do you love me?” I asked suddenly, not sure where it came from.

His answer was immediate.

“Because you’re you.”

“That’s not enough.”

“It’s everything.”

I closed my eyes.

Let his voice fill the room, calm and steady.

He didn’t solve anything that night.

He didn’t need to.

He just stayed on the line while I lay back against the pillows, and eventually, I fell asleep to the sound of his breathing through the speaker.

And I realized-

Maybe I wasn’t waiting anymore.

Maybe I was already with him.

═══════

I told them on a Thursday night.

I waited until the room felt safe.

It was Yoongi’s place- quiet, cozy, cluttered with comfort. We’d done this a hundred times. Late-night takeout, ridiculous arguments about who stole the last dumpling, J-Hope humming along to background noise none of us were really watching.

But tonight I felt it in my throat. The need to say it. The weight of her in my chest.

So I set my chopsticks down.

And said it.

“I have a daughter.”

Silence.

The kind that swallows the air.

Then Taehyung squinted at me from across the coffee table, a piece of seaweed stuck to his cheek. “Like… you’re raising someone else’s daughter?”

“No,” I said quietly. “She’s mine. Her name’s Eun Ae.”

More silence.

Jimin’s mouth opened. Then closed.

Namjoon looked down.

Yoongi didn’t move.

“She’s six,” I continued. “And she looks just like me. Big eyes. Dimple on the left side. She sticks her tongue in her cheek when she’s concentrating and she calls me ‘Daddy Kookie.’”

Still no one spoke.

“She loves drawing, and stuffed animals, and wildflowers. She’s obsessed with pancakes. She hates socks. She knows I sing for a living, but she doesn’t really care. She thinks my job is just being ‘silly on YouTube.’”

The corner of Jin’s mouth twitched.

“And Y/N…” I paused. Exhaled slowly. “She raised her alone. I left and she did everything without me. She’s the strongest person I know, and somehow she still lets me be part of their life.”

Jungkook, don’t cry. Don’t cry. Not yet.

“I don’t know how to deserve them,” I said. “I’m trying. Every day. But I keep thinking I’m gonna mess it up. Like one bad choice and I’m back to being the guy who blocked her number instead of answering the phone.”

Namjoon looked up.

“And you told her this?”

“I tell her everything now,” I said. “Even when I’m scared. Especially then.”

Jimin pushed his sleeve up. “So what happens next?”

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I asked her to think about moving to Seoul. She said she’s willing to try. So I need to make it safe. I need to make it real.”

Yoongi finally leaned forward.

“You need to tell the label.”

I froze.

“What?”

“They’re going to find out,” he said. “You should control the narrative. Get ahead of it. Tell them before someone else does.”

“And if they don’t want me to go public?”

Namjoon shrugged. “Then you decide what matters more- image or honesty.”

Jin nodded. “You’ve got us. All of us.”

That night, I scheduled the meeting.

═══════

No managers. No buffer. Just me and two senior reps behind a long glass table that made everything feel colder than it should have.

I told them the whole story. Not just the timeline. The heart.

The nights I spent wondering if Eun Ae had my laugh. The way she grabs my hand when she’s scared. The way she calls Y/N “Supermom” and how they make pancakes together every Sunday. I told them I wasn’t asking for approval. Just transparency.

They listened.

Took notes.

Asked almost no questions.

Then one of them said, “Jungkook… we understand. But this isn’t something we can advise you to share with the public.”

I blinked. “What?”

“We’re in a delicate position here. You’re the youngest member. The most visible. Statistically, the most desirable. Releasing news of a child now- ”

“She’s not news,” I snapped.

The rep didn’t flinch. “We’re prepping a new comeback. We’ve been planning toward this moment for over a year. If this story breaks, it won’t just shift your image. It will define it. You will become the father. Not the artist. Not the idol.”

My hands curled into fists.

“She’s not a scandal.”

“She’s not,” the other rep said, gentler. “But your personal truth is not always compatible with brand protection.”

I stood too quickly. My chair scraped the floor like a scream.

“You think I care about brand protection right now?”

“No,” the first rep said calmly. “But we do.”

And that was it.

No punishment.

No anger.

Just strategy.

Just the quiet re-packaging of my life into something marketable.

I agreed to wait.

Not because I wanted to.

But because I didn’t want her caught in the crossfire.

That night, when Y/N called, she looked tired but peaceful.

Her hair was braided to the side. She was lying on the couch in sweatpants, Eun Ae’s stuffed tiger tucked under one arm. There was a softness in her eyes I hadn’t seen since we were teenagers.

I almost told her.

Almost blurted it out- they said no. I tried anyway. I fought for us.

But I didn’t.

Because she was smiling.

And I didn’t want to put the weight of my disappointment on her shoulders when she was just starting to hope again.

“Hey,” she said. “You okay?”

I nodded.

“Yeah,” I whispered. “I’m okay.”

And maybe that was true.

But I still fell asleep feeling like I had swallowed the truth whole just to keep her dreams intact.

═══════

The job offer came on a Tuesday.

It was buried in my inbox between a coupon for 30% off sneakers and a school newsletter announcing a lice outbreak. The subject line was polite. Plain.

[Event Coordinator – Seoul Venue | Offer Letter Enclosed]

I clicked it three times before I really opened it.

It wasn’t just good. It was ideal.

A flexible schedule, bilingual staff, family health coverage, relocation assistance. They’d even included a list of school partners nearby for “your daughter’s transition.”

They knew.

They really knew.

I sat on the edge of my bed for a long time, the screen glowing in my hands.

My first instinct was to call Jungkook.

But I didn’t.

Not yet.

Instead, I walked to Eun Ae’s room.

She was in the middle of dressing her stuffed animals for “airport adventures,” complete with a plastic suitcase and pretend boarding passes drawn in crayon.

“Whatcha doing?” I asked gently, leaning on the doorframe.

“Packing for Korea,” she said without looking up.

I blinked. “You are?”

“Yup. I already told daddy I want to sit by the window. And I’m gonna bring him my drawing of the flamingo with the hairbow.”

I laughed. “He’s going to love that.”

She nodded solemnly. “It’s his favorite animal now. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

Later that night, after she fell asleep clutching the flamingo drawing, I sat at the kitchen table and read the offer again. Then printed it. Signed it. Scanned it back into my email.

The moment I clicked send, my hands started shaking.

Not from fear.

From relief.

We weren’t planning anymore.

We were doing it.

We were going.

I called Jungkook. He picked up before it finished ringing.

“Hey,” he said, breathless. “Everything okay?”

“I have something to tell you,” I said, trying to sound calm.

“Okay,” he said, voice suddenly soft, like he was bracing for a storm.

I looked down at the flamingo drawing still sitting beside me.

Then I smiled.

“We’re coming.”

Silence.

Then a soft exhale.

Then-

“You’re really coming?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “We’re moving. We’ll need a little time- school, housing, all of that. But it’s happening.”

He didn’t speak for several seconds.

Then I heard it. A sniff. Another.

“Hey,” I said, laughing now. “Are you crying?”

“No,” he said, very obviously crying. “Shut up.”

I covered my own mouth, tears prickling.

“We’re not waiting anymore,” I said softly.

He cleared his throat. “No,” he echoed. “We’re coming home.”

═══════

I didn’t cry when I gave my notice at work.

I thought I would.

I thought I’d hand in the letter and immediately feel like I’d cut off a limb, like the floor would tilt beneath me. But instead, my boss smiled softly, hugged me, and said, “You were never meant to stay small here, you know.”

That’s when it started to feel real.

The next few days blurred into boxes and donation piles, phone calls, emails, spreadsheets titled “Move Logistics – Seoul.” I canceled utilities. Sorted through years of receipts and forgotten drawers and memories I didn’t know I’d buried.

Everything was chaos.

But for once, it was the good kind.

Eun Ae wanted to pack everything.

Her shoes, her pencils, her stickers, the rocks she collected from the park last spring. She drew a sign for each box - “Korea stuff!!” with a million hearts. On her bedroom wall, she’d started a countdown calendar with pink stars and crooked numbers.

“Twenty days left!” she shouted one morning over cereal. “That’s less than a month!”

Her excitement made it easier.

So did my best friend showing up with iced coffee and too much bubble wrap.

“You know this is brave, right?” she said as she helped me wrap the last picture frame from our hallway.

“I know it’s terrifying.”

She smiled. “That too.”

The apartment started to look hollow.

The shelves were bare. The rugs rolled. The scent of our lives here slowly faded- replaced with the smell of cardboard and sharpie ink.

I took a break one afternoon and sat in the middle of the living room floor, sweat sticking my shirt to my back, a half-sealed box beside me labeled “Memories: Handle Carefully.”

I looked around.

This place had been everything.

A hiding place.

A womb.

A home when I didn’t know if I’d ever have one again.

And now we were leaving it.

Not because we were running.

But because we didn’t have to anymore.

That night, Eun Ae fell asleep on a mattress on the floor, curled up in a sleeping bag she insisted on using for “practice.”

I kissed her forehead and whispered, “You’re the bravest thing I’ve ever known.”

Then I stood in the doorway of her room and let the tears come.

Soft.

Steady.

The kind you don’t wipe away, because they mean something bigger than sadness.

They mean something’s ending.

Because something better is waiting.

═══════

The call came just as I was trying to fold a fitted sheet back into the drawer that no longer existed.

My phone buzzed against the counter, and I didn’t even check who it was. I just answered with a groan and said, “If you’re calling to ask if I’m emotionally stable enough to pack another box of toddler art and broken crayons, the answer is absolutely not.”

Jungkook’s face filled the screen, grinning like a kid who’d just gotten away with something.

“Well… I was calling to show you this.”

The camera flipped.

I saw a bedroom.

A real one.

Small but sunlit, with pale wooden floors and a big window framed in white curtains. There was a new bed- not too big, just right. In the corner, a tiny desk with a lamp shaped like a bunny. The closet had been left open slightly, and I could see three little dresses hanging up, all way too colorful to be his.

But what broke me was the wall.

A hand-painted mural stretched from corner to corner. Wildflowers- just like the ones Eun Ae always drew. Lavender, daisies, poppies, even sunflowers. All painted with slightly clumsy strokes and beautiful imperfections. At the center was a name in soft brush lettering:

Eun Ae

I covered my mouth with my hand.

“You painted that?” I asked.

He turned the camera back on himself, slightly shy. “It took me a week. I watched three videos and ruined two shirts.”

“You hate painting.”

“I hated not being there more.”

I sat on the edge of the couch, trying not to fall apart.

“I love it,” I said. “She’s going to lose her mind.”

“That’s the plan.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were doing it?”

He shrugged. “Felt better to show you.”

We sat in silence for a few beats. I could hear the cicadas outside his window. The faint hum of his fan. The way his breath hitched like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if he should.

“I miss you,” I said first.

His eyes softened. “I miss you too.”

“I keep waiting to feel… panic. Like this is too much. Like I’m making the same mistake again.”

“Are you?” he asked gently.

I shook my head. “No. I think… I think this is the first time I’m choosing something with hope instead of fear.”

He nodded, eyes never leaving mine.

“I don’t want to screw this up,” he said softly.

“You won’t.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

He turned the phone a little, showed me the living room- now filled with flat-packed boxes, open tool kits, a coffee table he’d clearly put together backwards.

“I’m learning how to do this,” he said. “Not just for you. For us.”

“You already are.”

He smiled, eyes crinkling.

I lay back on the couch and turned my screen so he could see the half-empty room behind me.

“Looks different,” he said.

“It’s happening.”

“I know.”

“Soon.”

“Not soon enough.”

We stayed like that for a while.

No pressure. No plans. Just breathing in each other’s quiet.

He kept the phone propped beside him while he started unpacking the box labeled KITCHEN – MAYBE??

I fell asleep like that, the sound of him humming to himself while putting mugs on the wrong shelf, the screen slowly dimming beside me.

And for the first time in weeks, I didn’t dream of the past.

I dreamed of that room.

Of flowers.

Of home.

═══════

It was supposed to be a junk drawer.

You know the kind- rubber bands, old receipts, maybe a pen that doesn’t work but you’re too sentimental to throw away.

But when I opened it, I found everything I hadn’t meant to keep.

The envelope with my ultrasound photo. Folded, faded, edges curled. A polaroid of me at twenty, holding my belly and smiling like I wasn’t completely terrified. A hospital bracelet with a worn name tag: “Y. L/N — MOTHER.”

And at the very bottom… the photo strip.

Jungkook and me, fifteen, crammed into a booth at the summer carnival. His lips on my cheek in the first one. Me laughing in the second. Our faces pressed together, blurred with motion in the third. The last one- just us looking at each other.

Frozen in time.

Hopeful.

Before the distance. Before the silence. Before the ghosting and the heartbreak and the empty nights filled with baby kicks and no one to share them with.

I didn’t mean to sit down.

But suddenly I was on the floor, that strip of photos in my lap, the others spread around me like evidence.

My chest hurt.

Not in the sharp way it used to. Not the crack. Just a slow, deep ache. A memory of pain.

I should’ve thrown it all away.

That’s what I told myself two years ago.

That’s what I told myself last month.

But I didn’t.

And now I couldn’t.

Because that drawer wasn’t just grief.

It was proof I survived it.

The tears came slowly.

One, then another. Not sobs. Not panic.

Just release.

I ran my fingers over the faded ink of a half-written letter I never sent. One I wrote the night I went into labor, when I still believed if I just kept writing, he might come back.

“I miss you. I wish you could see her. She’s already yours, even if you don’t know it yet.”

I folded it again, placed it back gently.

Then I stood.

Wiped my cheeks.

And grabbed the last empty box in the hallway closet.

I labeled it in sharp black marker:

“For Me.”

Not for storage. Not for clinging. Just a box of everything I lived through.

Everything I earned.

Later that night, I opened my journal.

The same one I’d started the week after Eun Ae was born.

And I wrote:

“I don’t know what will happen in Seoul. But this time, I’m not walking in blind. I’m not hoping for rescue. I’m not waiting to be proven wrong. I am choosing this. With all of it. With eyes wide open.”

Then I closed the cover, sealed the box, and tucked it in beside my suitcase.

═══════

We woke up early. Not because we had to, but because it felt like we should.

The apartment was almost completely packed. Just two suitcases left open by the door, a mattress on the floor, and a bag of essentials for the flight. Everything else was taped shut, labeled, and waiting for movers.

There was nothing left to clean. Nothing left to do.

So we went for a walk.

One last time.

I let Eun Ae choose the route. She picked the bookstore first.

The clerk recognized her instantly- the way kids who read aloud in every aisle tend to get remembered. She gave Eun Ae a free sticker and a hug that lasted two seconds too long.

Next was the corner coffee shop.

I ordered my usual. Eun Ae got the warm vanilla milk the barista always made her even though it wasn’t technically on the menu. He waved goodbye with both hands, said, “I hope your new place has extra whipped cream.”

Eun Ae giggled. “I’m going to Korea!”

He blinked. “Well, in that case… take a piece of our hearts with you.”

She didn’t understand it.

But I did.

Then the park.

The one where I used to push her on the swings until my arms ached and she screamed “higher!” like there was no such thing as falling.

We sat on our favorite bench. She counted the squirrels. I watched the sky.

I remembered the night I’d cried on that bench because her fever wouldn’t break. The morning I’d laughed because she’d pointed at a tree and called it “Mr. Leaf Face.” The first time she ran ahead without looking back and I knew, deep down, that I was doing something right.

We walked home slowly.

Stopped at every crosswalk we used to race across. Said goodbye to the flower shop, the deli, the place where she lost her first baby tooth and asked if the sidewalk was allowed to keep it.

As we rounded the corner to our building, she looked up at me and asked, “Mommy, are we going to miss this?”

I bent down to her height.

“Yes,” I said honestly. “But we’re allowed to miss something and still move on.”

She thought about that for a second.

Then nodded, very seriously.

“Okay.”

Inside, we didn’t talk much.

We packed the last of her crayons. Taped shut the toy box. She added one more heart to the countdown calendar and wrote “tomorrow = adventure.”

That night, after she fell asleep for the last time in our home, I walked room to room with bare feet on bare floors.

Every wall held a memory.

But none of them held me.

Not anymore.

We were ready.

═══════

The alarm went off at 4:00 a.m.

Not that I’d slept much.

Eun Ae had curled into my side all night like she knew we were crossing a threshold. She woke up the second I moved, rubbing her eyes with tiny fists, already smiling.

“Is it time?”

“Almost,” I said, brushing her hair back. “You ready?”

She nodded. “I was born ready.”

I laughed, but my chest ached.

The car arrived just after five. We double-checked the passports. The boarding passes. The suitcase with the flamingo drawing taped to the top like a flag.

The sun hadn’t risen yet when we drove away.

No big goodbye. No music. Just the quiet shuffle of tires over pavement and Eun Ae pointing out shapes in the dark.

“That one looks like daddy,” she said, pointing at a billboard shaped like nothing.

At the airport, everything blurred.

Security. Lines. Announcements overhead. I answered questions automatically. Smiled at strangers. Let Eun Ae pull her own tiny carry-on with stickers on every side.

It wasn’t until we were sitting at the gate, flight number glowing on the screen, twenty minutes to boarding, that I froze.

I had her hand in mine.

My passport in the other.

My heart somewhere between them.

And suddenly, I felt it.

That flicker of fear.

What if I was wrong?

What if it broke again?

What if this was another story where I gave everything and got left behind?

My fingers curled tighter around my passport.

I stared at the gate.

The world outside those windows looked impossibly wide.

Then I felt it.

A tiny hand on my arm.

I looked down.

Eun Ae leaned her head on my shoulder and whispered, “We’re going to Daddy.”

Just that.

No doubt.

No question.

Just faith.

And something inside me cracked.

Not from fear.

But from relief.

Because it hit me-

This time, I wasn’t chasing a boy.

I was joining a man.

Not starting over.

Just continuing what was always meant to begin.

We boarded the plane.

She took the window seat. Pressed her face to the glass.

The engines roared. The wheels lifted.

Clouds swallowed us.

And I thought:

This is the second time I’ve flown into the unknown.

But this time, someone’s waiting.

This time, I wasn’t falling.

I was flying.

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These characters are fictional and do not represent any real-life individuals. Their likeness is used solely for visual inspiration and does not reflect the actual person or their story.

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Posted: 07/04/2025

Taglist: @mar-lo-pap @lovingkoalaface @whoa-jo @kiliskywalker666 @sucker4jeon @annpeachy-blog @kaiparkerwifes @nikkinikj @asyr97 @jjkluver7 @bammbi-jeon127 @kookoo-kachoo @angelsdecalcomania @kayswatanabe@kelsyx33 @tatamicc @llallaaa @chromietriestowrite @k1ll1ngcl0wns @jahnaviii @traumaanatomy @yu-justme @bangtaniess @roseda @xmiaacxio @magicalnachocreator @suker4angst @taetaecatboy @somehowukook @busanbby-jjk @ecomidnight @cuntessaiii @jungshaking @nbjch05 @baechugff @jakiki94 @songbyeonkim @smoljimjim @welcometomyworld13 @marihoneywk @fiddlebiddls @battlingmyowndemons @rinkud @withluvjm @singingjk @ficluvr613 @roseidol @looneybleus @ermno97 @rainandmatcha

[norristrii]

HAUNTED.

“You’ll never get away from the sound of the woman that loved you.” — Torn apart by break up, bound by work, haunted by each other’s voice.

pairing. Max Verstappen x journalist! fem! reader

warnings. angst (happy ending??), Max being a bit of dick, longer than I expected wtf??

babs’ notes. IN THE HONOR OF MAX’S WIN IN JAPAN! this race was well.. something. Guys ik I promised so close to 2 BUT for some reason i wrote chapter 3 & 4 first so it’s bit complicated.. give me time 😭

music. Silver Springs by Fleetwood Mac.

JOURNALISM IN FORMULA 1 WASN’T JUST A CAREER—it was your dream, your passion, the goal you had spent years working towards. The roar of the engines, the adrenaline of race day, the stories waiting to be uncovered in every corner of the paddock—it all fascinated you. So when you finally landed your role, credentials swinging around your neck like a badge of honor, you felt like you had made it. This was where you belonged.

And then, there was him—Max Verstappen. The reigning champion, the so-called “arrogant” and “rude” driver who had built a reputation as much off the track as on it. Everyone talked about Max with a kind of reverence laced with caution, as if he was more of a storm than a man. A force of nature, unpredictable, intense. But the first time you met him, you realized there was so much more to him than the media’s caricature.

It wasn’t arrogance you saw when you interviewed him that day. It was focus, determination, an intensity that burned behind his sharp blue eyes—the kind of intensity only someone who had given their entire life to this sport could possess. His Dutch accent was strong, his words direct and unfiltered, but there was a warmth there too, hidden beneath the layers of his public persona. The kind of warmth that could make you question everything you thought you knew about him.

Max wasn’t just “arrogant” or “rude.” He was confident, unapologetically so, but not without reason. He carried himself like someone who knew exactly what he wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it. Yet, in those fleeting moments when he looked at you, when he softened just slightly, you wondered if anyone else had ever seen this side of him—the side that wasn’t a storm at all but something quieter.

You had gotten closer to Max, much closer than you ever thought you would. It wasn’t just the quiet conversations away from the cameras or the way his sharp blue eyes lingered on you longer than necessary. It was the way he made you feel like you mattered—like you were the only person who could understand him in a world filled with noise and expectations. He ensured you loved him, pulling you in slowly, deliberately, until the thought of him consumed your mind entirely.

You’d slept together more than few times, nights filled with fiery passion and moments of unexpected tenderness that made you believe this was different. That he was different. He didn’t just hold you physically; he held your emotions in the palm of his hand, his touch leaving a mark on your heart you couldn’t erase. For a fleeting moment, it felt real. Like the guarded driver had finally let someone in, and that someone was you.

But then, just as you had allowed yourself to believe, he shattered it. Sitting across from you, his voice low and steady, his Dutch accent cutting through the words you weren’t ready to hear. “I’m not ready for a relationship,” he said, almost matter-of-factly. “I don’t do that... I need to focus on myself and my career.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words crashing over you like cold water. He wasn’t apologetic, not really. To him, it wasn’t personal—it was just the way things were. But to you, it felt like a betrayal, like he had pulled the rug out from under your feet just as you began to stand on solid ground. Wow, you thought, your mind racing to make sense of what had just happened. Maybe you should have expected this.

The signs had been there, hadn’t they? The way he avoided deep conversations about the future, the way his life revolved around the sport he lived for, the way he always seemed just out of reach. You had seen it all, but you chose to ignore it because you wanted so badly for this to work—for him to be different.

Sitting in the emptiness of his words, you realized the truth. Max Verstappen wasn’t yours to hold. He belonged to the track, to the roaring engines and the thrill of victory, to the world that demanded every ounce of his focus and energy. And you? You were just a moment, a fleeting connection that he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—prioritize.

You still saw the day he said those words to you in your dreams. It played on a loop in your mind, vivid and unrelenting, as if the memory itself refused to fade. You could still hear his voice, the exact tone he used—calm, almost detached, like he hadn’t just ripped the ground out from beneath your feet. It wasn’t the words alone that haunted you; it was the way he’d said them, so measured, so unshaken, as if it had cost him nothing at all.

Some nights, the dream would start with the warmth of his touch, his blue eyes meeting yours with a flicker of something you once mistook for sincerity. And then, as if the universe were mocking you, the scene would shift, the same cold words spilling from his lips. “I’m not ready for a relationship.” The sound of it, the finality of it, would jar you awake, your chest heavy with the ghost of heartbreak.

The memory clung to you, reshaped you. It made the F1 paddock—once your dream, your sanctuary—feel suffocating. Everywhere you turned, there were reminders of him. The roar of the engines, the press briefings, the fleeting glances in the paddock… it all felt like too much, like you were trapped in a world where his shadow loomed over everything.

And so, you made a choice. You left. You handed in your credentials, packed up your life, and decided to start over. Football became your refuge—a fresh start, a chance to leave the echoes of Max Verstappen behind. You thought maybe, just maybe, switching to an entirely different world would silence the memories.

But you haunted Max too, probably even more than he haunted you. He wasn’t the type to dwell on emotions—not openly, not consciously—but you had made an impact that he couldn’t shake. Your voice lingered in the corners of his mind, unbidden yet ever-present. He heard it in the hum of the engines, the roar of the crowd, and in the silence of the nights that followed. It didn’t matter where he was—on the track, in a hotel room, or staring at the endless line of questions during an interview—you were there.

When he raced, he was untouchable, focused, pushing every limit. But somehow, even in the middle of the chaos, you would find him. He could almost hear your laugh, the lilt of your tone when you teased him, and the way you called him out in ways no one else dared to. It wasn’t distracting, not exactly, but it was there, a part of him now.

The interviews were worse. Sitting under the blinding lights, fielding questions about his victories, his rivals, his career—it should have been second nature. And yet, all he could think about was you. He’d catch himself scanning the press room, half expecting to see your face, your notebook in hand, your eyes meeting his with that spark that had undone him so many times before. But you weren’t there anymore, and the absence was palpable.

At first, Max explained your absence at the races with small, dismissive assumptions. Maybe you were sick, maybe you’d taken some time off—nothing out of the ordinary, nothing permanent. It was easier for him to believe that than to confront the possibility that your absence had something to do with him. That maybe you’d left because of him.

But as the weeks turned into months, it became impossible to ignore the truth. You weren’t just absent—you were gone. Completely. He found out from someone in passing, a casual mention that you had switched to football journalism. There was no announcement, no explanation, no goodbye. You had just vanished from the world you had dreamed of being part of, the same world where he had selfishly taken you for granted.

It hit him harder than he expected. The irony wasn’t lost on him—not in the slightest. He had done the same to you. He had walked away without giving you closure, without considering how his actions might affect you. And now, you had done the same to him. The emptiness left in your wake mirrored the emptiness he had created in you. It was poetic in the cruelest way.

Max tried not to let it bother him, tried to convince himself it didn’t matter. But it did. He realized it every time he glanced at the press room and didn’t see you there, every time he answered a question about his performance and your voice wasn’t the one asking. The races felt different now—not because the roar of the engines had changed, but because your presence wasn’t there to ground him in something outside of the sport.

Your departure haunted him. Not just because you were gone, but because it reminded him of the way he had treated you. He didn’t know what to do with the guilt, the regret, the quiet ache he felt whenever he thought of you. And maybe that was the real irony of it all—the fact that he had pushed you away only to realize he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Six months later, there you were, standing in front of the paddock gate once again. The world around you felt both familiar and foreign, as if you’d been transported back into a life you weren’t sure you belonged to anymore. The hum of activity, the chatter of journalists, the whir of tools in the distance—it all reminded you of a chapter you thought you’d closed for good. But here you were, holding the very thing that had once been your dream and your curse: your paddock pass.

Your fingers brushed over the laminated surface, tracing the outline of your photo and the bold letters that read Media. It felt heavier than it should have, almost symbolic, like it carried more than just access. This wasn’t just a pass; it was a ticket back into a world you’d deliberately left behind. A world that he—Max—still occupied.

You stared at the gate for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest. It wasn’t the roar of the engines that sent a shiver down your spine, nor the thought of the stories waiting to be written. It was the memory of him, the way his voice had echoed in your mind for months after he’d let you go, the way he had unknowingly followed you into every corner of your new life. And now, you were walking straight back into his orbit.

You spotted Lissie near the media setup, her smile lighting up the moment she saw you. She was one of the few familiar faces you felt truly comfortable with, someone who had been your anchor back when the paddock felt like a storm you were constantly navigating. You couldn’t help but grin as you approached her, the weight of the past six months lifting slightly with the comfort of her presence.

“Y/n!” she said brightly, pulling you into a quick hug. “I was starting to think you’d never come back.”

“Missed me that much, huh?” you teased, the warmth in your tone belying the nerves still lingering in your chest.

“Of course,” Lissie said, her eyes sparkling. “Nobody asks the questions you do.” Her voice was laced with nostalgia, and you wondered briefly if your absence had left a gap bigger than you’d realized.

The drivers started to filter in one by one, the hum of the paddock growing louder with each arrival. There was an electric energy in the air, as there always was after a race, the buzz of victory and defeat still lingering. You stood near the media setup, microphone in hand, mentally preparing yourself for the endless stream of questions, answers, and moments that would play out in front of the cameras.

But he wasn’t there. Not yet. Probably still waiting for his turn, somewhere out of sight. You told yourself it didn’t matter, that you weren’t scanning the crowd for him or bracing yourself for the inevitable moment when he’d appear. Yet, your gaze seemed to wander anyway, unconsciously seeking out the one face you weren’t sure you were ready to see.

It was almost a relief, then, to be pulled from your thoughts by the warm smiles of familiar faces. People recognized you instantly, their expressions lighting up as they spotted you standing there. Drivers, team members, journalists—they all greeted you with nods, waves, and smiles, as though no time had passed.

For Max, the whole day felt off. It wasn’t something he could pinpoint exactly—just a nagging sensation that something was wrong. Or maybe it wasn’t wrong at all. Maybe it was something else entirely. He had gone through the motions as usual, the race, the debrief, the endless stream of questions from his team. But the feeling lingered, gnawing at the edges of his focus.

As he waited for his turn to be interviewed, the noise of the paddock buzzed around him, a familiar chaos that usually grounded him. But today, it felt different. And then, he heard it—your voice. At first, he thought he was imagining it, that his mind was playing tricks on him again. He had heard your voice in his head so many times over the past six months, haunting him in moments he least expected. But this time, it felt more real. Louder. Closer.

He turned his head, scanning the crowd, his pulse quickening despite himself. And then he saw you. Standing there, microphone in hand, interviewing Charles. You were laughing at something Charles had said, your smile lighting up the space around you in a way that made Max’s chest tighten. He blinked twice, as if trying to assure himself that you were really there, that this wasn’t just another cruel trick of his imagination.

“Oh fuck,” he muttered under his breath, the words slipping out before he could stop them. His heart was racing now, a mix of shock and something he couldn’t quite name. Lando, standing beside him, turned his head at the sound of Max’s curse, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“What?” Lando asked, his brow furrowing as he looked at Max. His friend's demeanor was visibly off—nervous, tense, unlike the usual calm confidence that defined him. Max wasn’t even pretending to act normal, and that alone was enough to catch Lando’s attention.

Max’s voice was low, almost strained, as he pointed toward the media area, toward you. “Y/n’s here,” he said, his words clipped, heavy with the weight of realization.

And then, he came walking towards you. The moment you had been trying so hard not to think about was suddenly unfolding right in front of you. Max Verstappen. Of course, you knew he’d been assigned to you for the interview—how could it have been anyone else? Yet, despite your efforts to stay composed, to treat this as just another name on your clipboard, the reality of seeing him again made your heart race.

You gripped the microphone a little tighter, your pulse quickening as you watched him approach. He moved with the same self-assured confidence he always carried, his strides purposeful, his expression unreadable. You forced yourself to focus on the task at hand. You had done this thousands of times before—countless interviews with drivers, each one conducted with the poise and professionalism you had perfected over the years. This would be no different, you told yourself.

But when his eyes met yours, you felt the air shift. It wasn’t the usual tension of a post-race interview; it was something deeper, heavier. His blue gaze lingered on you for a moment too long, and you saw the flicker of something behind it. Was it surprise? Recognition? Guilt? Whatever it was, it left you unsettled.

“Max,” you began, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you. “Congratulations on the race today. Let’s talk about your strategy—particularly during that late overtake. What was going through your mind at that moment?”

Max adjusted the cap on his head slightly, his expression composed but with a trace of thoughtfulness behind his sharp blue eyes. “That late overtake,” he began, his Dutch accent giving his words a distinct cadence, “was about timing. I knew I couldn’t risk waiting too long—if I hesitated, the gap would close, and I’d lose the opportunity.”

Max stood before you, his expression outwardly composed, but there was something different in the way he looked at you. It wasn’t the detached gaze of a driver facing an interviewer, the routine exchange of words that he had perfected over years of answering media questions. No, the way his eyes lingered on you spoke of something more—something unspoken but undeniably present.

As you asked your questions, his voice carried the sharp precision you expected, but you noticed the subtle tremor behind it. It wasn’t enough for anyone else to pick up, but you knew him well enough to see it. With each response, his tone faltered slightly, like he was fighting to keep control over a conversation that felt far from ordinary.

Your gaze met his several times, almost unintentionally, but each meeting brought a quiet tension that neither of you could ignore. His blue eyes held yours longer than they should, breaking away only to wander back moments later. And even as you tried to focus on the task at hand, your own eyes betrayed you, drawn to him in a way that made the air around you feel heavier.

Max’s answers were calculated, yet distracted, as if he were answering out of habit rather than genuine thought. When he spoke about his late overtake, his words stumbled briefly, his gaze flickering back to you as though seeking something he couldn’t put into words. For a moment, you saw the mask slip—the professional veneer cracking just enough to reveal the man beneath it.

The interview drew to a close, your professionalism intact despite the weight of the moment. You lowered the microphone, offering a polite nod. “Thank you for your time, Max,” you said, your voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil simmering beneath your calm exterior.

Max matched your professionalism with his own, nodding briskly. “No problem,” he replied, his words clipped, almost routine. For a moment, you thought that was it—the end of the interaction, the closure you needed to move forward. But the moment was far from over.

As the cameraman turned off the equipment, signaling the end of the broadcast, the air around you shifted. The noise of the paddock faded slightly, the buzz of activity momentarily muted. And that’s when you heard him. His voice, softer now, no longer performing for the cameras.

“Good to see you back,” Max said, his tone carrying a weight that hadn’t been there during the interview. His blue eyes met yours, unguarded and searching, the barrier he’d constructed between you cracking just enough to let the truth slip through. It wasn’t loud, it wasn’t dramatic—it was simply him.

You blinked, caught off guard by the quiet sincerity in his words. For a brief moment, you didn’t know how to respond, your heart betraying your attempt to remain unaffected. But then, just as quickly as the moment came, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd of mechanics and drivers like he always did.

You stood there for a moment longer, the echo of his words lingering in the space around you. “Good to see you back.” It wasn’t an apology. It wasn’t an explanation. But it was something—a fragment of the truth he couldn’t admit outright. And as the paddock buzzed back to life, you realized that he had left you with more questions than answers.

After hours of catching up with colleagues, swapping stories with managers, and fielding countless “welcome back” smiles from drivers, you felt the weight of the day settle over you. The energy of the paddock was as intoxicating as ever, but now, it left you drained, longing for a quiet moment to yourself. Deciding you’d had enough for the night, you packed up your things and made your way out.

The paddock had changed under the cover of darkness. The once-bustling pathways were now quieter, bathed in the soft, golden glow of overhead lights. The hum of activity had dulled to a faint background noise—mechanics packing up for the night, the occasional sound of an engine being tinkered with, the low murmur of voices carrying on the cool evening breeze. The air smelled faintly of rubber and oil, a scent so distinctly tied to this world that it felt almost nostalgic.

As you walked, the click of your shoes against the concrete echoed softly in the stillness. You let your mind wander, replaying moments from the day—the laughter with Lissie, the surprise on familiar faces, and, of course, the interview. His interview. The memory of his quiet “Good to see you back” lingered in your thoughts, stirring emotions you weren’t ready to unpack.

The paddock gates loomed ahead, signaling the end of your night here, but you didn’t rush. Instead, you took your time, letting the calm of the night paddock wash over you. This was a place that had once felt like home and a battlefield all at once. Now, walking through it in the quiet moments, it felt like both again.

“Y/n!” The voice cut through the quiet of the night paddock, freezing you mid-step. You knew that voice instantly. It was one you hadn’t heard off-camera in over six months, yet it still held the same unmistakable weight. Max.

For a moment, you considered ignoring it, considered walking away without looking back. But something—some stubborn, lingering part of you—made you stop. Your feet faltered as your heart thudded in your chest, a mix of emotions crashing into you all at once. You turned slowly, the strap of your bag slipping slightly on your shoulder as you did.

There he was. Max. Jogging towards you, his expression more open than you’d ever seen it. His blue eyes were fixed on you, and even in the dim light of the paddock, you could see the hint of urgency in them. It wasn’t the composed, collected driver that the world saw. This was different.

You stood there, waiting as he closed the distance between you, your breath catching in your throat. You didn’t know what to expect—an apology, a confrontation, or something else entirely. But as the man who had once been so infuriatingly composed now hurried towards you.

“What do you want, Max?” you asked, your voice calm but edged with a slight exasperation as you crossed your arms. You slightly rolled your eyes, watching as he tried to catch his breath. His hair was a little messier than usual, his cap tilted slightly askew, but he didn’t seem to notice. He looked unsure, almost uncharacteristically so, and for a moment, you almost felt bad for him. Almost.

“Uh, well,” he began, pausing to rub the back of his neck—a gesture that immediately gave away his uncertainty. He was nervous, that much was clear, and seeing him like that was both disarming and unsettling. “I just... what made you come back?” he finally asked, his voice quieter than usual, almost as if he was afraid of your answer.

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. A dozen answers ran through your mind, each one more complicated than the last. The truth—that you had come back, in part, because of unfinished business with him—wasn’t something you were willing to admit. Not to him, and not even to yourself, if you were honest.

So, instead, you shrugged, keeping your tone light and detached. “Money,” you replied simply, the hint of a smirk playing on your lips. “They offered me a big amount for interviewing you.”

Max stared at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. You couldn’t tell if he believed you or if he was trying to figure out the truth behind your words. Either way, the flicker of something—disappointment, maybe?—crossed his face before he masked it with a faint nod.

“Of course,” he said, his voice neutral, but there was an edge to it that you couldn’t quite place. He glanced away for a brief second, as though gathering his thoughts, before looking back at you.

“And I also wanted to know how you’re doing,” you said, your voice softening as the words slipped out. It wasn’t rehearsed, and it wasn’t meant to sound vulnerable, but it did anyway. For a second, you almost regretted saying it, the quiet weight of your own admission catching you off guard.

Max’s gaze shifted, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity you weren’t sure how to interpret. His expression wavered, the practiced coolness giving way to something more genuine—something raw. He didn’t speak right away, as though your question had disarmed him, pulled him out of the routine he lived so comfortably in.

“I…” he started, pausing as his hand instinctively brushed the back of his neck. He hesitated, the confident driver who always knew exactly what to say suddenly at a loss for words. “I’m fine,” he finally said, his tone quieter than before, almost uncertain. “I mean, I’m… okay.”

The silence between you stretched, heavy and unyielding. You both stood there, the quiet of the night paddock wrapping around you like a cocoon, amplifying every unspoken word. Maybe you didn’t want to accept it—that he was fine without you. Maybe that’s what made the silence so unbearable.

But then, he broke it.

“Fuck no, I’m not okay,” Max said suddenly, his voice raw and unfiltered, cutting through the stillness like a blade. His words hung in the air, sharp and unexpected, and you felt your breath catch in your chest. He wasn’t looking at you now, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder, as if the admission was too much to deliver while meeting your eyes.

“I miss you,” he added, his voice quieter this time, but no less intense. The vulnerability in his tone was something you’d never heard from him before, and it hit you like a wave, crashing over the walls you’d built to protect yourself.

“I still hear your voice,” Max said, his voice raw and unsteady, the vulnerability cutting through the silence like a knife. He exhaled sharply, as though the words had taken more out of him than he’d expected. “In the car, at home… everywhere.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes momentarily dropping to the ground before flicking back to yours. “I think I was going insane for the past six months.”

The confession caught you completely off guard, your chest tightening at the intensity of his words. You weren’t sure what to say—or even if you wanted to say anything at all. There was no trace of the self-assured, composed driver standing in front of you now. This was Max, stripped down to something raw and real, baring the parts of himself he had always hidden so carefully.

He took a step closer, the light from the paddock glinting off his features as his blue eyes searched yours, desperate for some kind of response. “I didn’t know what to do,” he admitted, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I thought… I thought pushing you away was the right thing. For me, for my career, for everything. But I was wrong.”

What did he expect you to say? This was too much—too much information, too much emotion, all at once. You stared at him, the weight of his words pressing against the walls you’d built around yourself. “What do you want me to say or do, Max? I don’t understand,” you said, your voice steady but tinged with frustration.

He shifted his weight, looking uncharacteristically unsure of himself. “I thought…” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair before exhaling sharply. “I thought maybe you would give me a second chance?”

The words hung in the air, heavy with hope and uncertainty. It felt almost laughable, absurd even, that he would ask this of you now, after everything. But as you looked at him—this man who had always seemed so untouchable, now standing before you with an open vulnerability—you couldn’t bring yourself to say no. Not outright.

You raised an eyebrow, a hint of disbelief flashing across your face. “I thought you don’t do relationships,” you said, your tone measured but carrying a pointed edge.

Max winced slightly at your words, the reminder of his past declaration hitting him like a sharp jab. “I didn’t,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “I thought I couldn’t. But I… I was wrong.”

He looked at you then, his blue eyes filled with something you hadn’t seen in him before—regret, yes, but also sincerity. And for the first time, you realized that the man who had once pushed you away wasn’t the same man standing in front of you now.

You sighed, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on your chest. The words hung on the tip of your tongue, hesitant, uncertain, but impossible to ignore. “Maybe we should try it again,” you said quietly, the admission leaving your lips before you could second-guess it.

Max’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of hope flashing across his face, quickly tempered by a hint of caution. He straightened slightly, his usual confidence replaced by something softer, more tentative. “You mean that?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper, as if he didn’t quite trust what he was hearing.

You glanced away for a moment, your gaze landing on the dimly lit path behind him. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice carrying the weight of everything that had happened between you. “I’m not saying it’ll be easy. I’m not even sure it’ll work.” Your eyes flicked back to his, meeting his steady, searching gaze. “But... maybe it’s worth a shot.”

Max exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly as relief washed over his features. It wasn’t the triumphant grin of a man who always got what he wanted. It was something quieter, more genuine—gratitude, maybe, or the quiet realization of a second chance he never thought he’d get.

“I won’t mess it up this time,” he said, his tone firm but with an edge of vulnerability that made his words feel more like a promise than a declaration. “I swear, Y/n. I’ll do it right.”

You didn’t respond right away, the silence stretching between you as you searched his face, looking for any sign of doubt or hesitation. But there was none. For the first time, you saw a man who wasn’t just saying the right thing—he truly meant it.

© norristrii 2025

[spelledbyreid]

ꨄThe Wish List — S.R

pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (established relationship)

genre: domestic fluff, comfort word count: 725 warnings: none!

summary: The plan was simple: dream out loud. Neither of you noticed when dreaming turned into planning.

author’s note: I clearly have something for written confessions. I’m new to writing on Tumblr and in English (which isn’t my first language), so please be kind. I’m open to suggestions / feedback, as long as it’s respectful :)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨✵୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

It starts purely by accident. You and Spencer were waiting for food at a roadside diner after a long drive — post-case — the kind that leaves you emptied out just by what you saw, regardless of it’s outcome. You were toying with a napkin on the table, pen in your hand. Spencer noticed — of course he did — spinning a pen or folding a napkin provided tactile stimulation, which helps to regulate the nervous system, reduce anxiety, give your brain something to focus on, and—

Things we should do one day:

You scribbled on the napkin and doodled a little star at the corner.

Spencer blinks, shaking off his clinical thoughts, leaning over. “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “Try every pie on the menu. Go see the Northern Lights. Pet a cow. Get lost on purpose.”

“Add ‘attend a meteor shower in the middle of nowhere.’ ” Spencer smiles, going along with your idea.

The next day, Spencer woke to find a notebook on his nightstand—small, soft-covered, with little stars and whales drifting across a navy sky. The cover was painted by you, no doubt about this. He could picture you hunched over the table with small lamp on surrounded by paint, long after he’d fallen asleep. Tucked inside was a note in your handwriting, a little crooked, from a rush, probably, but still so, so yours.

In case the napkin gets lost. I want to keep dreaming with you.

He ran his fingers over the cover, thumb brushing the edge like it might vanish if he didn’t hold it gently enough. On the first page, you’d written the title again, this time in blue ink and underlined twice:

Things We Should Do One Day:

And below, the first handful of wishes—pie tastings and cows and meteor showers—copied from memory. He smiled, softer than he had in days. Then he reached for a pen of his own — a green one — and added:

Read each other’s favorite childhood books out loud.

Have a pet that lives longer than our work hours.

Learn to make each other’s favorite comfort food.

Neither of you noticed how the journal shifted from ideas to intentions. From dreams to plans. “Should” started to be replaced by “will”, and “someday” started to be “soon.”

You hadn’t meant to write anything in particular when you opened the journal. Maybe you were just flipping through already existing notes, maybe to check off something you have already done. Through the pages you saw the usual — learn to make cinnamon rolls without a recipe, take a train somewhere without planning ahead—and paused when your eyes landed on something entirely new.

Marry you.

Your heart stuttered. That was it. Two small words written neatly, carefully. Circled twice — once in dark green, once in something lighter. Different pens. Different days. Which meant he’d thought about it more than once. Yet he hadn’t needed to say it out loud yet—just written down, tucked safe between dreams you’d already made come true and ones you hadn’t reached for yet.

So you picked up your pen — blue, of course — and wrote:

Yes.

You stared at the page for too long, without noticing how the key turned in the lock and the drop of messager bag on the floor.

“I’m home,” you heard Spencer calling from the doorway.

“Missed you,” you whisper, already crossing the room and hugging him tightly. His chin rested on top of your head, and his eyes flickered to the journal on the coffee table.

Spencer didn’t say anything at first, just walked over to pick it up, his fingers brushing over your reply. He looked up slowly, the journal still open in his hands. You gave him a small, soft smile, the kind that said, You already knew, didn’t you? The kind that said, I’ve known for a while, too.

“I didn’t want to rush anything,” he said, almost shyly. “I just… wanted it somewhere.”

You brought a hand to his cheek, feeling his stubble under your fingertips. “It is somewhere,” you whispered, tapping his chest with your free hand. “Right here.”

Setting the journal aside, Spencer kissed your hair — not a dramatic, but warm and gentle kiss. As gentle as your love, as gentle as the future plans your shared journal held.

Thank you for reading ! ♥︎

[tec-a0l]

movies referenced by dylan & eric

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2 days in the valley (1996)

a nightmare on elm street 3: dream warriors (1987)

ace ventura: pet detective (1994)

alien (1979)

alien: resurrection (1997)

dark city (1998)

die hard: with a vengeance (1995)

enemy gold (1993)

event horizon (1997)

from dusk till dawn (1996)

hercules (1997)

independence day (1996)

invasion USA (1995)

natural born killers (1994)

out of sight (1998)

predator (1987)

pulp fiction (1994)

reservoir dogs (1992)

starship troopers (1997)

tales from the crypt: demon knight (1995)

terminator (1984)

terminator 2: judgement day (1991)

the fifth element (1997)

the lion king (1994)

the lost highway (1997)

the lost world: jurassic park (1997)

the rock (1996)

the stand (1994)

tremors ii: aftershocks (1996)

warriors of virtue (1997)

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along with these, eric also wrote out a list of movies in dylan’s 1998 yearbook, though it’s unclear exactly what the purpose of doing so was.

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notable standouts

the lost highway — eric listed this movie as his favorite in a survey, and dylan mentioned it frequently in his journal—including repeatedly drawing a road stretching into the distance with street signs with “5” (a meaningful number to him) “666” or the everlasting contrast on them. additionally, he would add vanishing lines & the everlasting contrast to some of the heart drawings he did, in reference to the movie.

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natural born killers — besides the obvious use of “NBK” by the two, some of dylan’s fashion seems to be inspired by mickey knox’s style—specifically the round glasses and single earring-combo. eric also referenced the line “do you believe in fate?” from the movie in dylan’s ‘98 yearbook.

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the matrix — according to devon adams, she and dylan were supposed to go see the matrix in theaters on april 21, 1999. obviously, that didn’t end up occurring.

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pulp fiction — dylan recreated a scene from the movie in a video made with eric jackson and dustin gorton, along with listening to the soundtrack (specifically flowers on the wall by the statler brothers and surf rider by the lively ones) in the “breakfast run” video filmed with nate.

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resevoir dogs — dylan owned a shirt featuring characters from this film with the words “serial killer” on it. he’s seen wearing it in his 11th grade yearbook photo and in radioactive clothing.

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this subject was requested by @z0mb1eeg1rll! if there’s a topic y’all want me to cover, feel free to send an ask my way :-)

[midnghtprentiss]

yours - jack abbot x f!doctor!reader

a/n: this is for “ a doctor day” which i am so happy to be a part of. it took me some time to think about something cool but i tried my best to work with this prompt. so i really really really hope you enjoy it as much as me. i tried to be subtle about the color cause in my head it means something really bigger. 

a big thank you to @letsgobarbs @ananonymousaffair @clubsoft for creating this project!!!

prompt: The nights feel dull and tasteless without you, I try to get through them but they seem so endless.

color: pink.

word count: +3k

Everything started with an offer for you to go teach at a hospital in London. You were so excited, it was your dream since medical school and you’ve worked hard to experience the things you always wanted. It started small: residency, then you got masters and a doctorate. The job offer wasn’t out of the blue, they were watching your every move, gluing to the details of your incredible brain. 

You loved working at the ED, the adrenaline, the sight of doing something good and to actually do what you loved. You found valuable things there: friends, family and love. You found Jack there. He was your rock, the biggest supporter you could ever get and he couldn’t get in the way of you getting what you always wanted. The moment you told him what they offered he knew being selfish would kill him and letting you go would kill him either. 

The breakup was clean with a lot of tears and feelings. Too many words were said meaning the same thing: you loved him and he loved you more than anyone. 

“Will you miss me?” You whispered, cuddled with him. 

“Every day til you come back to me.” He smelled your hair, pulling you closer. 

So he let you go, even if meant to put his plans on stand by. The house, the ring, the children. He would wait and so did you. 

The day you left was the day he lost himself in his own mind. Jack was quieter, more introspective and a little sadder, Robby pointed out for Dana once. He was still capable of doing his job, of course he was. But you weren’t there to help him, to make funny remarks about him or to share a candy bar when the chaos finally stopped. You weren’t there for him to take you home, in fact, you were making yourself a home somewhere else that wasn’t with him. 

He was terrified of you meeting another person that could easily erase him from your mind. The idea of you marrying someone else haunted him more often than he could admit. He would never forgive himself if the children of another man had the eyes of the girl he couldn’t forget - his girl.

You stopped talking to each other as a silent agreement. It was easy to do your jobs if the anxiety of someone waiting for the call or text wasn’t on your mind all the time. Suddenly three months became three years and the lump in your throat, the knot in Jack’s chest, got loose. 

The countless nights you almost called him to hear his voice or text to know how he was doing, if he was eating, sleeping and trying to be a normal person. Jack almost did the same too. He dialed your number and gave up, he wrote you letters and a journal to inform you about how he was dealing with the distance.

You moved on, made friends, got yourself a home with the things you only dreamed off before and got your shit together. You were a really popular name among the medical teaching. You did some impressive research, amazing experiments and innovations on the field, especially on emergency education, the top of your field. Jack watched you from afar the whole time, he read your papers, he watched your online classes, he did everything to keep you close to him. And he waited patiently for you. 

Pitt was watching you again, they needed someone like you to teach new doctors on the night shift and to take the hospital to the next level, so they offered you another deal. 

You accepted right away. No questions asked. 

Your first call was to Robby and Dana, you decided to let them know you were coming back to work at the hospital again. They were really happy, especially Dana for getting her coffee partner back. You thought about texting Jack, but the uncertain feeling if we ever wanted to hear about you again made you tremble with fear, so you didn’t. Perhaps he already knew you were coming back. 

He did. 

The cold Pittsburg breeze brought back the familiar memories once again. The laughter, the tears, the pain and the comfort. You needed that so bad, you almost didn’t feel the moisture on your cheeks and your heavy breathing. 

Nothing like home, right?

You got into the hospital fifteen minutes before your shift started. You were overjoyed to be there surrounded by so many familiar faces. Princess and Perlah were the first ones to see you, for a fraction of seconds you almost missed their hugs. 

“You are so back! Thank God.” Princess held you tighter, shaking you in her arms. 

“I’m so glad to be back.” They let you go and you went straight to the nursing station, catching Robby and Dana’s attention. 

“I can’t believe my eyes.” Robby’s words made you blush, embracing them. “We missed you here, London.” 

“London?” You questioned him with eyebrows raised. 

“Only the best of us came back, I’m glad you did.” Dana whispered, kissing your temple. 

“I can’t wait to see you making these guys peed in their pants.” 

“It’s going to be a pleasure to make them fear me.” Robby gasped, making you laugh a little louder. 

The nurses joined in for a warm hug and some small talk, even Garcia showed up to see you and you were really surprised to find out she’s literally dating a girl from the residency. She just mouthed you that you talk more later and moved back to the OR. You really missed those people and suddenly life was so much better and lighter. 

He was watching everything from the other side of the room. His heart filled with something he couldn’t give a name right away. You looked different in his eyes. Maybe your hair, your bone structure, your cheeks. He didn’t know. Still the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.  You were there, so close to him and he was paralyzed. Frozen in his own world. 

Jack spent nights imagining how he would react when you come back, how he would take you in his arms and forget the rest about the rest, kiss your face and plead you to not walk away ever again, to make his arms home once more. But you were right there and he lost his ability to move and be a fucking person. 

You caught his eyes and gave him a shy smile. Not going straight to him, giving the time you knew he was going to need before doing something else and besides, you were so involved with the crew that for a millisecond you forgot about the butterfly in your stomach almost making you throw up there. 

He wasn’t ready to talk to you. Not yet. Jack heard the rumors, he knew you’ll be back soon to be in the hospital again. Same shift, same people, different you, different him. He hated the change. At the same time, he needed to have you right over there next to him to make sure you weren’t going anywhere far from him. His mind was racing with millions of things and most of them were about you.

By the time the shift started, you were already with the students, talking about your work and what you expect them to do and learned from you. They noticed how smillish and nice you seem just for the way you lead them through the trauma bay introducing one by one to the team. First Shen, who was too energetic by your return to stop talking and then Ellis, who were all sweet and great with everybody else. Bridget couldn’t keep her hands to herself, hugging you in all the opportunities she had. And then Jack, he was serious the whole time, shaking the students hands and quickly looking at you. 

“This is the night shift crew. If I’m not around you can always ask them for help. Doctor Shen is the sweetest person here but you don’t want to piss him off. Dr. Ellis is an amazing teacher if you want to learn something and I’m pretty sure you want to, again guys, don’t piss her off.” You took a deep breath and looked at him. “This is doctor Abbot, he is the best trauma surgeon here and if I were you, I’ll try to be nice to him, he’s a surprise box to solve problems and rage Dr. Walsh.”

You tried your best to focus on them, ignoring his hot gaze on your face, reading you microexpressions like it was his newspaper. His presence made you overwhelmed enough to stumble in a few words. They introduced themselves to them and led them to the patients they were looking for at night. 

Jack liked the new version of you. Confident, smarter, better. Watching you teach was absolutely incredible, you delivered everything without problems, making these kids really think and understand what took him years to do. The more he looked, the more he wanted to take you home and forget about the three years you were gone. 

“Want a picture, Abbot?” You teased him, leaning against the counter with a tablet in hand. 

“If looking at a pretty thing is a crime put me in the fucking jail.” He crossed his arms, locking your gaze. 

“Good to know your taste hasn't changed.” 

“We’re talking about something really serious and I don’t play about anything that revolves around you.” He admitted, coming closer to where you were. “You were missed around here.” 

“I missed being here too.” Your words sounded like a whisper as he was getting closer. 

“We need to talk.” Jack held your arm, softly caressing your skin. 

“Abbot’s pancakes?” 

“You’re still bossy, wow.” He would do whatever you asked. “Whatever you want, gorgeous.” 

“Asshole.” You dismissed him, going the other way shaking your head. 

The next hours felt like you’ve never gone away for three years. The crew was the same you remembered but better and your tiredness didn’t turn out to be an issue. At 07 am you were pretty awake, the adrenaline was making you excited and you couldn’t stop moving around the room. 

You spent at least twenty minutes explaining about your patients to the day crew before really leaving the ER. It was a great day for you, the familiar taste of doing what you love with people you love made your heart ache with happiness. You were glad to be there again. 

Jack was waiting for you at the parking lot, hands in his pockets and eyes on you. You approached him slowly, stopping a few steps away. He watched your face with a discreet smirk, shaking his head. 

He followed you to your car, making sure you were safe enough to drive to his house - the same one you shared for almost two years. The unease on your chest was making you almost throw up in your car. You parked in the driveway, watching the house from the outside for a while. He was still watching you, he couldn’t stop himself from that. 

The small garden you cultivated was still intact, the pink flowers you loved and a few other plants that weren’t there before. He took care of the garden religiously for you. That was his way of hoping you come back to him. You walked towards the entrance slowly, capturing the details you missed while away. Jack finally put the swing on the front porch, like you planned on doing to make the house seem more cozy. 

“I thought it would be nice to sit here sometimes to watch the neighborhood.” He mentioned and opened the door for you. 

The inside was the same you remembered. The picture frames, the decoration. He changed some furniture but the rest looked the same. He still kept the picture of you two above the fireplace with the same flowers you used to put there. In your heed, when he did those things brought him some hope to believe you were coming back to him.

“You still buy the flowers?” You asked, turning your face to look at him. 

“Every wednesday at the farmers market.” He nodded, walking to the kitchen. 

Everything looked the same, like you never left. Even the cinnamon smell you absolutely loved lingered in the air. 

The kitchen was absolutely your favorite place in the house. You got to spend hours sitting at the table doing your shit or just baking whatever came to your head, sipping tea and being loved. Jack had the perfect vision from the living room when you were in the kitchen. He never told you but he had a lot of pictures of you sitting there existing like you’re the only God he believed. 

He served you some coffee and went back to the other side of the counter, putting the ingredients to do the pancakes you asked. The comfortable silence was pleasant, reminding you of the morning you shared in the same way: him doing the breakfast and you enjoying the view. 

“How was London? Last time I heard you were the chief of the trauma department there.” Jack was trying his best to avoid the topic he needed to talk about. 

“It was good. Cold, rainy and absolutely no pancakes.” You joked, crossing your arms over the table. “I had a good time, did things I only dreamed of, taught a lot of people and got to travel a bit.” 

“You traveled? Where did you go?” He seemed interested. 

“I went to visit Greece, did a tour around Italy with a couple of friends, my nephews came to visit me during winter and we went skiing in Switzerland.” You sipped more coffee, smiling at the memories. “I went to a safari, Jack!” Your words slipped in a funny way and he recognized how happy you were. “You would’ve loved that.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.” Suddenly he stopped in his tracks to finally watch you. 

You appeared relaxed, leaning against the chair, hair messed in a bun, jacket already off and barefoot. Looking like an absolute dream. Like the love of his life. 

“I missed you, you know? A lot.” You admitted, looking away from him. “I almost called you so many times and never had the courage to do it.” 

“I would’ve picked on the first ring.” He chuckled, mixing the ingredients trying to not stare for too long. “I wrote you some letters and a journal.” 

“You did?” Jack nodded, making you smile larger. “I may have taken some pictures of things and places that reminded me of you and kept them on an album to give to you. I hope you enjoy the crazy selfies and the endless comments on the people.” He laughed, picturing the scenes. 

He took his time to finish the pancakes, putting them on the table and sitting across from you with his cup of coffee. The dynamics between you haven’t changed at all, he still knew what you needed before you asked and you still read his face with ease. 

“I thought I had lost you forever.” Jack declared, making you stop. “The day I let you go was the worst day of my life, I felt so powerless and selfish. I couldn’t be the reason you give up your dreams because they were in you before I was present in your life and being the motive of your unhappiness was going to kill me.” You felt your stomach drop. “The nights feel dull and tasteless without you, I try to get through them but they seem so endless. The night shift sucked without you there, our bed was cold, I barely slept thinking about you.”

“The idea of you finding somebody else and deciding to marry and have children.” He didn’t continue and you held his hand. 

“Jack, I am yours and yours only.” You squeezed his hand. “I spent a few weeks crying before bed, wanting to run back to you. The day I went on that plane I left a piece of my heart with you. The life we were building, the plans, the marriage, the children.” You mumbled with tears, chuckling. “Never crossed my mind doing those things with anybody else. It’s always been you and it’s always gonna be. Besides, European guys are not that attractive.” His jaw tensed and you burst out laughing. “I’m just messing with you.” 

“I hate this.” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head. 

“Whatever you say, honey.” You winked, giggling under your breath. 

“Does this mean we can start over?” He asked, holding your gaze. 

“Always, Jack.” You smiled. 

That’s how after breakfast you ended up moving back to your place. The countless boxes with your stuff, bags filled with clothes and your favorite book collection around his living room. You were tired but nothing like the feeling of being home with him. Jack sent you to sleep a while later, finding you curled in his side of the bed, holding his pillow to smell his scent. 

He enjoyed the quietness of the morning to go through the album you made him. Pink cover with some shells and his name in gold letters. On the first page he found a small note you wrote. 

“To Jack.  I hope you know I thought about you a lot and these memories are an extension of my endless love for you.  Love, your girl.”

He couldn't contain a smile with the note, sighing as he passed to the next pages. The first real picture was you outside the hospital in London, bright smile, fearless, beautiful as ever. The note under the picture made him giggle, flushed.  

“You wished me good day before I took this. It was in fact a good day ‘cause I imagined you with me all the time.”

He kept passing the pages, amused by the great photos and the small remarks that sounded too much like you. His favorite was one of you sitting at the safari cart, wearing a pink cap, caressing a giraffe with one hand and with the other showing the necklace he gifted you a few years ago, the largest smile he’d ever seen, eyes shining and cheeks red from laughing. A look he recognized damn well. What made the picture even better was the small text. 

“I was in the safari in this. When theguide was tooking the picture the fucking lion roared next to the cart, almost peed my pants. Definitely not like Lion King, Disney lied to us. The cap was a gift from a child at the village I visited, he said it was to protect me and I truly believed in his words. The necklace is to represent you with me there and the giraffe, well, I’m in love. You would’ve loved this trip. I want to come back with you. Honeymoon maybe?”  Love, your (not so) wild girl.” 

He saw fragments of yourself, a version he was glad you enjoyed while doing the things you loved and still think about him so highly. He didn’t deserve you. Jack would never admit that you’re the light of his life, the shining star that guides him home every time he feels lost. 

You were exactly where you’re supposed to be. 

In his life, in his home, his bed, laying in his sheets with your favorite pink pajamas, being absolutely his. 

[viperpitsfilly]

Had a dream last night where a new episode of Doctor who was released in which the next anomaly the 15th doctor had to deal with was a slot machine that would suck up people who lost (Or their soul I think?? Like the entire person would vanish but when the machine would suck them up their body's would glow). The machine had old timey animatronic facial features, he kinda looked like the Pizzacam from Chucky E Cheese. Anyways when the doctor finally arrived to the establishment where the slot machine was, him and Belinda tried to see what was up with it. They couldn't figure out much at first since it would just repeat a hand full of lines it was programmed with, implying it was nothing more than an old machine. Finally the doctor asked Belinda to give it a try. When she lost the machine was just about to get her but then the doctor stopped it. When that happened, all of a sudden a hand broke out of the slots as a familiar voice said "Naughty naughty!". And Mr. Ring a Ding popped out of the machine AND THEN MY STUPID ALARM WOKE ME UP WHY????? 😭

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

˖✧ Through my eyes

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Summary: Karen explains Mary and Arthur's story to you. Saddened, you're convinced you could never compete with her until the man in question proves you wrong. ✦ Warnings/Tags: Self-depreciation from both sides, kissing, comfort, fluff. Reader has been with the gang for a year. Use of Y/N. ✦ Words: 3k ✦ a/n: This is the answer to this ask by the lovely @crystalofmoon19. I really hope you'll like it, dear! And thank you for your support, you've been really sweet to me and my work! As always, I got carried away and wrote way too much. And as always, please reach out to me if you spot any misspellings. Also idk why I made this in Colter, guess I just feel way too hot rn and want some fresh snow + Arthur's coat is perfect for comfort. Credits. Arthur's pic is from my playthrough. Other pics are not mine found them on Pinterest. AO3

“And in the end, she rejected his proposal, then a few months later, sent him a letter telling she was marrying some wealthier gentleman!”

Your mouth hangs open in the air. Karen’s words enter through your ears and create a nice little nest for themselves in your brain. You had no idea. No idea Arthur had been this close to being married. That their relationship had been so strong, that, according to hearsays, he had reached his lowest after their break up, drunk most part of the day, fighting the rest of the time, obnoxious to everyone, even Dutch and Hosea.

“Y/N? You’re okay, there?” Karen asked you, disappointed her big reveal had left you reactionless.

You focused your gaze back on her. Her blonde hair is softly litten up by the setting sun, her breath exhaling a puff of steam as she breathes. Colter is a cold place, and it probably felt even colder because of the morose mood of the gang. You suddenly remember you’re supposed to be shocked. You are, of course, but in a very bad way. Not in an “Oh my God, I can’t believe this Karen, so much gossip!” kind of way.

How could you ever compete with that?

“Yeah, I’m alright. God, I had no idea so much happened between them.”

“Oh, trust me, it was definitely his biggest love story. Never saw him get into someone else after her. Not even Mary-Beth! Could you believe that?”

No, you couldn’t. You weren’t sure why but every word from Karen felt like an enormous stone falling into your belly and dragging you deeper and deeper into the sea. Your silly little crush on Arthur, when you first joined the gang a year ago, had turned into a way stronger attraction. Denying it at first, you had little by little let your emotions win, cherishing every moment with him, thanking Dutch for assigning both of you to the same missions, loving the quiet evenings where he would just sit next to you around the campfire to scribble in his journal while you would do your little hobby on your own. Silent most, but enjoying each other’s company, and so, so peaceful.

More than your emotions, you even had let your imagination take the lead, dreaming about a selfish future with him, seeing it every time he would give you a smile, or laugh at one of your jokes. A happy Arthur, relieved from his obligations, enjoys life's simplest joys. A house, a garden. Maybe a dog, considering he had loved having Copper. A marriage even. And why not a child? If he would feel ready. Something in you was telling you he would be a good father.

But now, you felt like this dream was rotten, condemned.  Like a broken match. The fire, the very thing it’s designed for,  not being able to be lit. Would never be lit. A wasted potential.

You tried to continue your gossiping chat with Karen, voice light but gaze elusive as you peeled the potatoes you were supposed to prepare while discussing, tedious tasks often ended up less difficult this way when you were working with the other girls. But behind your seemingly normal smile and hollow words, a haunting thought was hanging on to you as strongly as a rock trapped in a thousand-year-old iceberg. 

Arthur never fell in love again after Mary Linton.

Night had definitely fallen on the frozen mountains. After your endless vegetables centered-chores, you had helped Mr. Pearson turning them into a decent meal, his incessant blattering about the Navy giving you some sort of distraction. During dinner and after though, once you didn’t have any goal or job left to do for the day, your conversation with Karen came back into your wandering mind, her speech playing again and again like a used gramophone record.

Never fell in love again...

Sitting at one of the corners of the big cabin you had been sleeping in for the past few days along with the girls and some other gang members which mainly served as a common space, you were looking outside by a dilapidated window. A frozen World spread out before your eyes, every inch of surface covered in snow and ice, the landscape ending up looking like it was coated with a thick strange substance —dark blue colors Queen of this gloomy, misty horizon.

Arthur had returned from a very busy hunting day with Charles. Thanks to them, meat had been added to the vegetable paradise of a meal, resulting in a better-than-usual supper. He should have felt cheerful, but his mood wouldn't lighten. 

He had spotted you from across the room, noticing the hurtful absence of your smile on these sweet lips of yours. Smile he secretly loved. Lips he secretly fancied. 

Hesitating for a long moment, debating with himself, a self-depreciative rambling turning in his head like a well-oiled motor, he had ultimately decided to join you and investigate. Something pretty important must been bothering you, because loosing your usual little grin and eating your plate all by yourself really wasn't in your habits.

Approaching you, his boots and spurs clicking and stomping before you could see him, he plants them in front of you, standing there while his eyes lock on your face.

“Miss Y/L/N? Is everythin’ okay?”

“Oh, Mr Morgan. Yeah, don’t worry. Everything is great.”

He doesn’t believe you and honestly, you wouldn’t have convinced yourself either. And Arthur is a stubborn man. A stubborn, and caring one. He leans against the cabin's old creaky walls, on the other side of the window.

“Come on, don’t lie t’me girl. Everyone noticed you’re not in your right mind.” He honestly doesn’t know about everyone, but he surely did. His words are accompanied by a small, polite smile.

“I don’t think… I don’t think you’re the right person to talk about it.”

Arthur’s entire body froze. The hands he had on his belt as always when he was comfortable, flew to his chest as he crossed his arms, his thick winter coat folding with difficulty. His encouraging smile flattened, his brows pleating in a harsh frown.

“Erm… Alright, I get it. I won’t bother you, I guess.” 

Without loosening his arms, he pushed himself from the wall, taking a step to leave you some space. You couldn’t have missed it. This change of behavior, the hurtful expression he had displayed, as if he was truly pained by your words. Disappointed, maybe even shameful to have thought he could help you at all. He was just a sad, ugly bastard, after all.

You felt like you could hear all of it from where you were, and see it in the shadow that had taken his face and the gigantic mass that seemed to have fallen on his shoulders.

No, you didn’t want this. Didn’t want him to feel like that because of you and your stupid feelings, or your own dark thoughts.

“Wait, Arthur!”

He turned around the second you talked again.

“I’m sorry it’s just…” You sigh and look at him with an uncertain expression, knowing your next words were going to be risky. “It’s about you and Mary Linton…”

His eyes turn into two literal plates, his mouth slightly opening in outer astonishment. This was really not what he had in mind. You could have been sad because of a hundred logical reasons, the death of Davey and the loss of Sean and Mac, the complete fiasco of Blackwater, the hundred of dollars lost, the terrible and tough conditions of the Grizzlies plunging everyone into an unbearable cold and a threatening famine.  Not mentioning Hosea’s alarming coughing, Dutch’s mysterious decisions, and Micah as a whole.

But you, out of all these things, were worried about Mary.

Once his eyes had grown as round as they could, they got back into an interrogative expression, the wave of surprise over.

“Wha’…?! How d’ya even know ‘bout her?”

“Karen speaks a lot when she’s bored…” You briefly explained, trying to sound detached.

Arthur rolls his eyes to the Heavens. Of course, folks talked, and you had to know about it all at some point. But this wasn’t ideal at all. He would have preferred to tell it to you himself, at a time he would have felt comfortable doing so, with his own words. He didn’t want this to change anything between the two of you.

“And erm… What exactly bothers ya?”

You open your mouth to speak, but your words are jammed. Explaining that you feel jealous of what the both of them had shared would just come down to confessing your feelings for him plain and simple. 

You felt completely stuck. 

He’s right there before your eyes, the very source of all your worries and your every joy. Looking at you with those confused blue eyes, wondering what is happening in this pretty head of yours. But the words still won’t come out.  You feel more and more powerless, and instead of a sound, your eyes take over to get something out of your body, slow and sad tears filling them like a lonely glacier fills a mountain lake on its own.

Arthur’s usual frown furrows, his wrinkles more visible, contrasted by the shadows from the warm lights of the fire. Suddenly, his internal melancholic speech shuts down, as if the view of a single tear streaming down your cheek were absolutely intolerable to him. No worries nor anxious self-restraints crosses his mind —it’s now only instinct. He sees you crying. He has to help you. This is as easy as that.

His right hand reaches to you by itself.

It feels warm but coarse. This big, big hand on the side of your face.

“Oh, Y/N. Don’t waste those pretty tears for a sour-faced idiot like me.” His thumb gently wipes the drops of sadness that had overflowed from your two delicate lakes. “Come on, les’ jus’ talk about this somewhere quiet.”

Arthur gently uses the hand he had on your cheek to wrap it around your shoulders, solid arm gently pushing you up. He then leads you through the door, other members throwing curious gazes at the both of you.

But he doesn’t care. His priority, right now, is your well-being, and some privacy to allow him to finally whisper things in your ears he should have a long time ago. Not in front of everyone. Not with the other men looking at your sparkling eyes, and listening to the change in his voice he knew would crack, his usual intimidating persona crushed into a million pieces with only the sound of your own. Or with the other girls hearing the oh-so-important words he had to say. No. You would be the only one to witness this. 

He had brought you to the barn where the horses were kept. The snow was falling lazily, a few flakes passing through the holes in the dilapidated roof. The place is enveloped in a heavy silence, as if it was muffling every sound coming from the outside.

Once Arthur had closed the big wooden doors behind you and before he could do anything else, you finally burst.

“I shouldn't cry, I’m so sorry Arthur, I just… She looked like an incredible woman, so beautiful a-and distinguished, and me well… I'm just… me.” Your eyes fell to your feet. You like everything was coming out of you all at once and you couldn't contain it anymore.

“Stop it.” 

“How could I ever mean something to you? You've been with her for so long and even proposed to her and… and never fell in love again after her and…”

“Stop it, Y/N!”

Arthur cut your blabbering panic by pulling you against him. He held you so tightly you were almost crushed by his powerful arms, but it felt so good. Like he was holding together all the little pieces of you that had cracked, melting them with his warmth and molding yourself again with it.

“Now you l’sten to me, sweetheart. I don’t want ya to say things like this ever again.”

The sudden use of the pet name soothed your heart immediately. You buried your face into the furred collar of his big winter coat, the hairs tickling your nose. There, you can feel a little bit of his bare skin, your cheek finding shelter against it.

You stopped talking.

You just wanted him to continue to. His deep voice seemed to come directly from the inside of his chest, and you could feel it vibrating before actually hearing it.

“Ya know I’m no… Am no poet or, or good with words like Dutch…” He started, visibly unsure of what he was going to say. He’s relieved he had initiated the hug, this way, with your face in there, you couldn’t see his. The worried expression it was carrying, like a burden. “But lemme tell ya just how much I care about ya. Oh, my sweet girl.” 

This is it. He tries not to but his low tone begins to tremble. It’s so strange. It feels like forever since that happened for the last time.

“Yeah, Mary has been a real’ important part of my life, I won’t lie to ya. But it was so long ago, gorgeous. So long ago.” 

He knows he won’t shed a tear. He never cries. But his hands shake. His vocal cords vibrate in a vulnerable, softer, and higher-pitched quaver. His body tenses, heart as fast as if racing with a million wild horses galloping in the Great Plains. Even if his words couldn’t explain just how much you meant to him, you could have guessed by how you were affecting his entire flesh.

“Ya know what? It’s true. Our story ended badly. I never fell in love again after her.”

You sigh, more tears wetting your face and his blue coat, this truth so hard to swallow.

“Until that morning, when I saw you brushing Boadicea’s mane; your hair all covered in hay, the brightest smile I ever had the chance to witness on that sweet face o’ yours. That day, I knew my stupid foolish heart had done it all over again.”

You let out a single chuckle mixed with tears and emotions, so relieved. Even when you felt like you were at your lowest, he succeeded at making you smile.

“Grimshaw had forced me to groom all the gang’s horses to “get used to camp’s work”. Must have looked terrible.” You remembered with a smile, details of your first encounter with Arthur flooding your mind.

“You looked like a goddamn Angel, honey. T’was like the sun was shining jus’ for ya. Jesus, I knew it was too late for me.”

You pulled back from him just a little, enough for you to look at him in the eyes, but not for him to let go of you. Now that they had found you, his hands, still slightly quivering, refused to let go, their place on your back and behind your head feeling so natural and right. Your eyes behave the same way as them but with his face. He looks so moved that you have to pinch yourself internally to make sure you’re not dreaming this whole thing; never in your life you had seen him like this.

“I love you too, Arthur.” You confessed back to him, fingers cupping his cheeks in a delicate touch.

You had to stand on your tiptoes to reach his face, but his arm helped you, your lips gently discovering themselves, brushing against each other in a soft and shy caress. Even if both your mouths were chapped by the biting cold, it was the most gentle kiss you had shared in your life, a satiny embrace that left you completely dreamy and light-headed.

The snowflakes silently swirl around the both of you, Nature the only witness of your souls melting into each other.

Opening your eyes again after this moment out of time, you're met with the happiest smile Arthur ever had on his face. He looked like and idiot in love, and you were sure you looked exactly the same.

“Please darlin’, don’t ever compare yourself to her ever again. What’s in the past stays there. And I wanna have a future with you.”

Your dreams sprang back straight from your heart to your mind. The visions you had about the both of you were more alive than ever, reinforced by his own needs shared with yours.

“You’re sweet, you’re funny, you’re so smart and stunningly gorgeous. And, you wan’ a proof?” He playfully asks you, taking his hat off his head, a thin layer of snow falling from it.

Turning it over, he carefully pull a piece of paper out, hidden between two leathered segments in the inner part of his hat. His cut and reddened fingers unfold it and he gives it to you, his big smile turning into an embarrassed and sheepish one.

It’s a sketch of you.

You’re mesmerized by the details of it, the blades of hay messily tangled in your hair, the sparkling in your eyes, the exact clothes you were wearing that day. This smile, you’re more than certain he drew it way more beautiful than it really is. Arthur even had added some lines traced from your head to the end of the paper, as if you were the Sun itself and were emitting your own light.

This was impossible this was the same person as you, her beauty was too radiant and fascinating.

But no matter what you thought about yourself, seeing his work curled your lips in the exact same way as yourself on the drawing. With snowflakes replacing the twigs, you had turned into the living recreation of it. Arthur laughed when he noticed, and realized just how much he had loved you and continued to since that morning from a year ago. He bent towards you to put a small kiss on your forehead.

“Arthur it’s… It’s beautiful.” You find it difficult to find another word, speechless once again. 

You also had no idea of how talented at drawing nor attracted to you he was. This day definitely was full of surprises. You chuckled fondly before taking a last look at your portrait and giving it back to your lover. But Arthur’s large palm wrapped around your hand.

“No, please, keep it. This way, you’ll always remember how you look through my eyes.”

More tears threaten to escape your own, even though those were a direct extract from the immeasurable happiness you were experiencing.

“And... Now that I don’t have to hide myself while sketching ya, I’m going to draw lots of new ones.”

tagging: @a-court-of-valkyries Thank you for reading all of this! Also, I didn't know this was a thing but if ever you want to be tagged in my works too, let me know! It would be my pleasure.

[eddieisashifter]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐆? — MY MARAUDERS REALITY

this is a brief tour of my bag in my maruaders era hogwarts dr! this bag has been with me though literally everything and she's only holding on due to mending enchantments I put on her when I first started to notice her descent. some of the stuff in her is...probably less than legal. but hey! snitches get stiches, alright? inspired by this post by @chaaistained and this one by @hrrtshape!!

my trusty messenger bag that i carry literally everywhere with me. you wouldn't catch me dead using just my pockets to carry all my shit. she's basically a staple of my appearance. anyway, let's open her up!

BUT FIRST——THE DECOR!

✦ my pinback buttons! the "kind hearted degenerate" was stolen from Sirius' patch jacket (I think he let me take it), the "cult leader" was a gift from barty because of course it fucking was, and the other two my sister, eden, and I found just outside of diagon alley (we fought over who got to keep them. I won, obviously. so, i display them proudly, she hates it).

✦ i also have my prefect pin stuck onto the strap of my bag because it's so much better to have on there than my robes. no one's gotten mad at me so whatever.

✦ the dice keychain was stolen from eden's room. I thought it was pretty and she hasn't missed it so

✦ the froggy keychain I found in a muggle shop and needed immediately. I may have a secret obsession with froggos, my friends may or may not be very aware of this fact. he also might be cursed, I swear I hear him ribbit when it gets quiet.

✦ the other keychain I found half-buried in a public park. no idea where it came from or how it got there.

ONTO THE POCKETS! my bag has four pockets on the outside, two that close and two that are just slots on the side. they're all full of shit.

LEFT FRONT POCKET

this pocket is entirely full of trash. literal trash. some of it is cute notes from my friends and such, but the other half is actual trash. I say I'm going to use it to junk journal, I don't. It just sits there in the pocket, unused. I refuse to clean it out.

but the notes!

✦ three fortunes from three fortune cookies that I got on three separate occasions at three different restaurants. — the first "you have the ability to see the bright side in things, do not lose that ability" I got on an outing with my family. it was a rough time all around and the whole dinner was tense, but getting that fortune just reaffirmed my belief in aiming for the best, even when it's unrealistic, so I kept it. — the "your love of music will be an important part of your life" I got on one of my first real dates with sirius. I already knew he dreamed of being a musician, so I took it as a sign we were going to work out. and well, it was correct. — finally, the "whatever you want to do, do it. there are only so many tomorrows" fortune found me when I was wrestling with my feelings. I hadn't intended to fall for remus, but I had. I didn't know what to do. but, I took this as a sign to just go for it and be true to my feelings. It worked out. so I kept it as a reminder, like I did with sirius' one.

✦ "I'll let you drag me to hell if it means you'll hold my hand" note that sirius passed me one day in the middle of class. like that wouldn't make me insane in public. stupid dog.

✦ "kind of a pretty boy, isn't he?" note that I found dropped on the ground in divination. when I picked it up, some girl turned beet red. amusing, really.

✦ "we are all haunted houses" note that I wrote on the corner of a notepad and tore out. I found it at the bottom of my bag weeks later. I cant for the life of me remember what I was talking about, though I think I was onto something.

✦ "not everything has to make sense. let it go. choose peace." note that was written at the top of one of my papers for divination class. professor was far too done with my constant questioning of why things worked the way they did.

✦ "just make it exist first, you can make it good later" sticky note that I wrote to stick onto my writing desk to try and help ward off my perfectionism. It remained there for years until I accidently knocked it down and it refused to stick up again. so, i shoved it into my bag with the others.

✦ "the memory is unclear but the feelings remain" written on a blank polaroid photo. barty accidently took a picture as he dropped my camera. evan wrote the words on the picture that came out. I think he thought he was being poetic. I kept it regardless.

✦ "I think you're afraid because we get along so well. I think it scares you." one of the notes sirius taunted me with in our rivals phase of our rivals to lovers arc. torn in two and carefully taped back together.

✦ "dear me, don't fall back into old patterns just because they're familiar. love, me." letter written for an assignment. that 'write a letter to your younger self' writing prompt nonsense? I didn't want to do it, so I wrote the first thing that came to my head. still got an O though.

✦ an unopened letter. the front says "open when fate decrees it". that trelawney girl got a cheshire smile when I picked it up. I've had it for five years.

✦ also a train ticket from my very first year of hogwarts

✦ other trash in this pocket includes: a to-do list that says "1. ace your o.w.ls, 2. take over the world", at least four salazar slytherin trading cards, a receipt from the record shop in hogsmede, a punch card from the three broomsticks with ten punches in it (I probably should use it at some point), a scrawled list of hexes that barty copied from the restricted section of the library, and a note I passed to reggie that says "do me a favor, kill your brother" that he threw back at me with a scrawled "NO." underneath.

RIGHT FRONT POCKET

the snack pouch, basically. if I'm hungry, this is where I'm reaching.

✦ a chocolate frog that's probably melted slightly with how long it's been in there. I think barty gave it to me on the train ride. it's probably still good, right?

✦ raven chocolates that are literally better than any wizarding candy, trust.

✦ jelly slugs because gummies are the superior form of candy

✦ also chai teabags because you never know when you might need it (also because I'm picky about my chai)

SIDE POCKETS

LEFT SIDE POCKET

✦ my round sunglasses that are basically my staple.

✦ the swiss army knife that eden has a matching one of. i enchanted it so that the blade doesn't grow dull. honestly, much better than a wand half the time, but don't tell anyone I said that.

✦ vampire pill box that has enchanted ibuprofen. thank you dorcas my love. one of these does 10x the effect as a regular without the damage to your internal organs or risk of an overdose.

RIGHT SIDE POCKET

✦ a crocheted chanel rose made for me by evan's sister, pandora. it's hella impressive actually.

✦ my trusty vivienne westwood lighter. used to be my mom's, I took it from her purse as a well rebellious thirteen year old. it also has a matching cigarette case that I also stole. i was having my kleptomaniac era. there is also skull bandages tucked inside the case.

INTERIOR POCKET

where i keep all the loose things that would get lost in the bottom of my bag otherwise.

✦ tiny bottles of banned potions that dorcas made for me. I make sure to keep the corks on very tightly.

✦ a jar of human teeth. no, I will not explain where I got them.

✦ jars of bones. not human (yet).

✦ intricate jar, full of enchanted, basically holy, water. for all your banishing needs. never summon anything you don't know how to get rid of.

✦ a jar of salt. for the same reason. also salt.

✦ tin of tiny candles for on-the-go spellwork because you never know when you might need it.

✦ tiny clay charms of tarot cards also made by pandora. she passed them to me in divination. she never did tell me why. they are pretty cute though.

MAIN POCKET

✦ a leatherbound journal full of all my secrets. jinxed, obviously. possibly with some that I would get in trouble for casting. their fault really for trying to snoop. includes detailed plans of world domination, lists of hexes and curses ordered by their usefulness, recounts of possibly prophetic dreams, and lists of very good numbers

✦ poetry journal for my midnight poetic ramblings. not jinxed, not yet. also includes my casebook recounts of strange romantic feelings, complete with red string.

✦ my trusty wand. black walnut and dragon heartstring, 12"

✦ a lace fan for when it gets far too hot to be legal. because I can't be sweating not in style

✦ a very illegal time-turner hidden inside a matchbox. I probably shouldn't have told you that I have that.

✦ a vintage comb that I call my tactical comb.

✦ my leather bat-wing wallet. one of the most important things in this bag

✦ my black makeup pouch that mary poppins would envy.

✦ my heavily annotated copy of "scottish fairy tales" that I've had with me since my first year of hogwarts. I think there's more notes and highlights than actual text. and the notes are more journal entries than actual annotations.

✦ tiny bird scissors I stole from madame pomfrey. they're for sewing. I don't do much sewing. but I can chase sirius around with them, threatening to cut the stitches on his patches. it's very amusing.

✦ an extra lighter, clipped onto the inside of my bag, just in case my trusty one ever breaks. so far, it hasn't.

✦ a special edition of the strange case of dr. jekyll and mr. hyde, my favorite book of all time. this edition was a gift from reggie, who knows my love of it.

✦ a fountain pen for my sudden bursts of inspirational musing. enchanted to never dry of ink and never need to dip it. I stole it from my older brother, alastair. I can't help it, he makes such good enchantments.

✦ a fancy flask. yes, of course there's alcohol in it. what did you take me for, a lightweight?

✦ vivienne westwood gloves for the colder months, an enchanted lining to keep your hands at the perfect temperature, not too hot and not too cold.

✦ the box of my trusty tarot cards. they always seem to call me out. they also have a bit of an attitude. typical.

✦ a coin that's engraved with "one more chapter" on one side and "go to bed" on the other. for very important dilemmas regarding my sleep schedule. do I ever listen to it when it lands on "go to bed"? no, of course not. don't tell me what to do.

WALLET

✦ my galleons. the wallet is linked to my vault at gringotts so I don't run out of money, because that would be embarrassing.

✦ photos of my friends and I. i know, I know, very sentimental of me. — photo of dorcas and eden from one of the slytherin common room parties — a photo of me, barty, and dorcas with a mall santa. he looks like he's being held hostage. — photo of me playing chess with dorcas (off camera) while barty lounges across the bed, pouting because he lost to me minutes ago. — photo of evan, me and reggie at one of our families' stupid summer galas. having friends makes them more bearable. — photo of evan and me from one of the royals' summer outings — photo of me and barty on a late-night hogsmede outing — photo i took of dorcas at one of the slytherin common room parties as we dared her to chug her drink

✦ an id, so people know who I am. as if they didn't already, pfft. it is also fake.

✦ spare condoms. enough said.

MAKEUP POUCH

✦ my signature black lipstick. can't go anywhere without that beauty. enchanted for long-lasting wear. the touch-ups are hardly necessary, but it does make people look at my lips~ also enchanted with love magic so when he kisses me he thinks I'm god. (I think that might make it illegal, but who's gonna snitch anyway?)

✦ tinted chapstick for dry lips.

✦ a spare eyeliner pen, because none of my looks would be complete without eyeliner.

✦ a knife inside a lipstick tube. just incase one knife wasn't enough. also great to scare the shit out of your friends with

✦ extra mascara, also for touchups.

✦ a black nail polish. also for touch ups. though, usually not my own. barty can never seem to keep his nail polish from chipping for longer than a day.

✦ cannabis and rose roller perfume. in case my aura isn't addicting enough. enchanted by dorcas with glamour magic, obviously. she's literally a goddess.

✦ my chanel compact mirror that also answers most of my questions. "mirror mirror in my hand, what's the answer to question #6?"

✦ a vivienne westwood claw clip that I stole from my older sister, morgaine. she's so damn uptight all the time and she's still freaking about about losing this clip. it's all I can do not to laugh aloud.

✦ a shit ton of hair ties and bobby pins just strewn throughout the pouch. I'll lose all of them eventually.

[arthurmorganswh0re]

A Quiet Life

about: you're arthur's muse for a quiet evening at camp. then he catches himself dreaming of a life that couldve been. tags: mostly fluff, slight angst, dreams, wishful thinking wc: <1,000 an: i wrote this about a full figured woman with brown hair and eyes because i want more representation of women with my body type! hope you enjoy!!!

Evening settled slow over camp, casting long golden fingers through the pine branches and dappling the worn tents and wagons in the kind of soft, forgiving light that made everything feel a little less harsh. The kind of light that made a man want to sit still and just… watch.

Arthur Morgan leaned his shoulder against the cool bark of a tree just off the main path of camp, half-hid in the shadows. His journal lay open in his lap, the familiar worn leather comforting beneath his rough fingers. A stub of pencil tapped lightly against the page, as if impatient.

But Arthur wasn’t drawing yet.

He was looking. Searching.

Across the camp, just near the fire where Miss Grimshaw usually held court, you sat on a low wooden crate, back to the setting sun, head bent, a shirt spread across your lap like a map. Mending. Needle flashing between the fabric, steady, efficient. Your hands moved with purpose, graceful, but sure, like you’d done this a hundred times over.

Arthur squinted a bit, watching as a lock of your dark brown hair slipped forward from the loose knot at the back of your head. It curled slightly at the ends, just brushing your shoulders. You huffed, frustrated, and pushed it back without missing a stitch. Brown eyes narrowed in concentration, mouth tugged into a small line of focus. You weren’t smiling, but you weren’t frowning either. You were just… in your own world.

You always looked like that when you were working. Quiet. Peaceful.

Content.

Arthur’s chest tightened, sudden-like. He didn’t like that feeling, not much. Made his jaw clench. He looked down at the blank page in his journal, muttered something low under his breath, then pressed pencil to paper.

The first few lines came slow, tentative. The curve of your back as you leaned over the shirt. The slope of your shoulders. The way your dress, soft, worn cotton pulled snug across your full figure. He tried not to think about how his eyes lingered there, how he appreciated the roundness of your hips, the way your chest moved just slightly as you breathed. That weren’t proper. Not for him to dwell on, anyhow.

But still… he stared a little too long.

He sketched the set of your face, the roundness of your cheeks, the curve of your nose. He gave special care to your eyes, those warm, earthy brown eyes that always seemed like they were looking through people instead of just at them. Even if they didn’t meet his often.

Your hair came next, that tumble of loose strands and gentle waves and curls. He made sure to sketch how a few wisps clung to the sweat along your temples—real detail, honest work. He wasn’t trying to make you picture perfect. Just real. Just… you.

Arthur paused, looked up again.

You shifted, rolling your shoulders, stretching a little with a soft groan like you’d been hunched too long. The way your body moved was natural, un-self-conscious. He caught himself admiring the way your arms looked strong from years of lifting and working. Not delicate, no, but something better. Real strength. Womanly. Comforting.

His pencil moved quicker now, like it had a mind of its own. He added the shape of your hands, the way your fingers curled around the fabric. He shaded the patchwork shadows cast by the firelight dancing along your figure, letting it frame you in warmth.

Then, near the top of the page, where he sometimes scribbled names or little notes, he paused.

He didn’t write your name.

He just wrote: "Camp, Evening. Mending."

Plain and simple.

Arthur stared at the sketch for a long time after he finished it. His gut felt strange, tight and warm all at once, like he’d swallowed something that didn’t sit right. But he knew better. He wasn’t sick. Just… stirred, maybe.

He knew you were beautiful. He thought it every damn time he looked at you. But it wasn’t the kind of thing a man like him admitted haphazardly.

So instead of words, he closed the journal, slid it back into his satchel, and stood slowly.

He watched you a moment more, just a heartbeat, before heading toward his bedroll, pretending like he’d just been walkin’ through.

He never said a word about the drawing.

But that night, when he lay on his side, journal tucked in his saddle and the soft hum of camp drifting in the air, he didn’t dream about shootouts or past regrets like he usually did.

He dreamed of those brown eyes and that soft smile.

He fell into sleep slower than usual, like his mind refused to settle. The hum of the crickets and crackle of the campfire blurred into a low lullaby, and the smell of pine sap drifted in on a cool breeze.

And when sleep finally did come, it brought you with it.

At first, it was the camp, but softer somehow. Dream-washed. Firelight flickered like candle glow, the shadows less sharp, the cold bite of the evening replaced by a warmth that didn’t come from the fire. You were there, sitting across from him, not mending now, but laughing, your head tilted back slightly, that brown hair of yours falling in soft waves and curls around your cheeks. The dress you wore was different—lighter, something with little flowers stitched near the neckline. You looked comfortable. Happy.

Arthur found himself leaning toward you, elbows on his knees, heart thudding slow but heavy. His voice felt thick in his throat, like it always did when he hesitated.

“Y'er real beautiful, y'know that?” he asked, in that low, gravelly drawl of his. Hesitant. Honest.

You blinked, caught off guard. Then smiled. A slow, warm, crinkling-at-the-corners kind of smile that made him feel like maybe the sun had decided to rise just for him. You didn’t laugh at him, didn’t scoff or look away like he feared. Simply smiled. And that was more than enough for him.

He chuckled in the dream, rough and sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck like he always did when nerves got the better of him. You reached across the space between and touched his hand--soft, steady fingers against scarred knuckles.

That’s when the dream shifted.

The camp disappeared, and he saw flashes of another life--a different one.

A little log cabin tucked in the trees, smoke curling from the chimney. Not fancy, but sturdy. A garden out front, your herbs and vegetables growing in neat rows. He saw himself chopping firewood, shirt sleeves rolled up, sweat beading on his brow, but there was no pressure behind the work. Just peace.

Inside, there was light. Warm walls, a table with two chairs, dishes drying by the basin. He saw you at the stove, hair tied back with a faded red kerchief, humming a tune while stirring something rich and warm in a pot. The smell of stew and fresh bread filled the place.

Then another flash. Your hand in his as you walked into town, skirt brushing his boots, the two of you laughing at some dumb thing he’d said. People looked at you like any other couple. Normal. Settled. You didn’t have to look over your shoulder anymore. Neither did he.

Then he saw himself brushing hair from your eyes by lantern light, kissing your forehead while you leaned into him by the fire. And later, falling asleep with you curled against his chest, your body warm and real in the dark.

He dreamed of children, though he didn’t see them clearly--just heard the patter of little feet, the echo of laughter through the woods. He saw you carrying a small blanket over one shoulder, turning back toward him with that same soft smile.

He felt it all. The ease. The quiet joy. The belonging.

But even in dreams, some part of Arthur knew it wasn’t real.

The dream faded, the log cabin dissolved and the warmth slipped from his hands like smoke, he saw himself standing outside in the snow, watching that little home from a distance, as if it belonged to someone else. Someone better. Someone who hadn’t done the things he’d done.

You stood in the doorway, silhouetted in firelight, calling to him. Reaching out. But he didn’t move. He just watched. Hand at his chest. Heart heavy because he couldn't run to you like he wanted. His feet cemented to the floor around him.

Then he woke, breath caught in his throat, the stars above him too bright, the makeshift pillow beneath his head too hard. The fire was down to embers, and camp was still. Quiet.

He stared up at the sky for a long time.

He would never say the words aloud. Would never tell you he dreamed of a cabin and soft smiles, of calloused hands brushing yours, of a future wrapped in flannel and wildflowers.

But in his journal, tucked behind the sketch of you mending that shirt, he wrote:

"A quiet life, if I could. With her, maybe I would’ve tried."

In the morning, he left a fresh spool of thread and a new needle by your tent, without a note.

[galactic-magick]

The Handsome Assistant: Viktor x Reader

Summary: You keep running into the handsome Dean's assistant, whom you find you have a lot in common with. You develop quite the crush, and things get a little messy when your friends find out about him.

Words: 3.2k

Warnings: some implied suggestive stuff, alcohol use

Author's Notes: Set before Season 1 Act 1. Just a warning, this is probably the most heavily self-indulgent of my Viktor fics so far. I’ve had ideas bouncing around my head for a long time about who I’d be if I lived in the Arcane universe, and I eventually just ended up taking inspiration from what I do in real life. So basically Reader works in human services and is similar to a social worker. I tried my best to write it in a way that makes sense even if you’re not familiar with that field.

Also, the roommate/friend characters are based on my besties irl, one of which is also my beloved tumblr mutual @ohboi , who has been dealing with my nonstop Viktor obsession for a long ass time now so shout-out to them lol. I wrote you living your dream in this fic as a way to apologize <3

-

It’s exhausting dealing with the powers of topside. There’s no sense of urgency here, no drive for real progress. You’ve attended meeting after meeting, maintaining composure every time they tell you your mission isn’t a priority, or that it will take decades to implement.

All you want is to help the struggling children in the Undercity. It’s what you’ve dedicated your life to, studying human services and psychology at the Academy and building your own grassroots group with a few others from your graduating class. You primarily advocate for better education, as the schools down there barely get any funding. The council doesn’t want to hear it, though, as it’s much easier to forget about the citizens below their feet.

It frustrates you beyond belief, especially since the first chunk of your life was spent in the Undercity. You lived the stark contrast between the two cities yourself, being granted countless more opportunities once your family moved to Piltover. It was sickening, and you felt so guilty with your new privileges when your friends back home still had none. But without those privileges, you wouldn’t have been able to attend the Academy and give back.

You resist the strong urge to scream after another failed proposal with the council. You prepared all of your points for weeks, fact-checking everything and making sure your ideas were plausible. The budget and statistics you wrote out projected exponential progress for both cities, as focusing on the new generation of Zaunites would encourage the next great minds and likely lead to collaboration on mutual issues. But of course, the council is not ready to contemplate such a future.

There was one factor that wasn’t usually there, though, a handsome young man sitting beside Professor Heimerdinger. He was furiously taking notes the entire meeting, looking back down at his journal anytime you made eye contact with him. Out of all the councilors, Heimerdinger seemed the most open to your ideas, but without a majority agreeing to cast a vote to actually change policy, nothing would happen.

You walk back down the long hallway, noticing someone in your peripheral vision.

“I’m sorry the council remains so stuck in their ways,” he says. “Trust me, I understand how hard it is to hold back your anger towards them.”

You turn your head, seeing the young man from earlier, “Who are you?”

“Viktor. I’m assistant to the Dean of the Academy,” he replies, leaning on a cane. “I quite liked your ideas. I think they could work.”

“I know they would work.”

You sigh, quickly realizing you’re projecting your feelings onto this stranger.

“Sorry,” you correct yourself. “I just don’t understand how they can just not care about the suffering down there. I’m from the Undercity, I’ve seen what’s happening there firsthand, and it’s only getting worse.”

Viktor’s eyes widen a bit, “I’m from the Undercity, too.”

“You’re from the Undercity and you’re the personal assistant to Heimerdinger?” you question, a bit shocked at the prospect.

“It’s really not that big of a deal, but yes.”

“What do you mean, not a big deal? I’ve never even met anyone else from the Undercity who got into the Academy.”

“I suppose we are a rare breed,” he says. “I imagine I never saw you there due to our differences in studies.”

“Most likely,” you shrug. “None of my classes were in the science halls, assuming that’s where you were.”

He smirks, “What makes you assume I studied science?”

“You just have that look about you.”

He laughs, “Well, you’re right. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised someone well-versed in analyzing humanity read me so quickly.”

“Don’t worry, you’re still mostly a mystery to me. I can’t read minds or anything,” you flash him a genuine smile.

There’s a beat of silence before he speaks again.

“I need to get back to my lab, but I do hope we cross paths again. I’ll certainly discuss your proposals more with Heimerdinger as well.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

He leaves in the opposite direction, his cane tapping the floor.

What an interesting twist of fate, meeting someone like you.

-

The second time you run into Viktor is at an Academy party a couple months later, something you both likely would’ve skipped if you could. It’s somewhat a recruiting event for new students, and several alumni were asked to represent their fields of study. It’s not that you mind talking with prospective students, but you know you’ll have to hold back a lot of your true opinions when doing so. If you go off about how the curriculum doesn’t cover enough about the issues in the Undercity, you’ll surely get a reprimand from your former professors. You could lose several connections and investors in your organization as well, something you’re not willing to risk. Instead, you keep a smile on your face, engaging in conversation politely and answering questions.

You notice Viktor sitting at one of the far tables, his eyes darting around the room. He has several contraptions set up, and occasionally people come up to ask him about them. He lights up when he speaks, his face making the cutest expressions.

You notice yourself staring, quickly turning your head towards something else.

That sconce on the wall looks nice, doesn’t it?

As the event slows down and the crowd shuffles out, you pack up your things and head to the door, glancing back at Viktor’s table for a moment. He’s looking right back at you, and your heels swivel promptly to go see him.

“Hey,” you say, shooting him a smile. “Nice to see you again.”

Shit, was he this handsome the first time you met him?

“You as well,” he nods, gathering up his own things scattered in front of him. “Did you find anyone to join your program?”

“A few, yeah. You?”

“Several. More than I expected.”

He huffs, soon realizing all of his tech and science displays were not going to fit in the one cart that was left.

“I can help you carry your stuff, the science wing isn’t that far from here, right?” you offer, shifting your things under one arm and grabbing some of his things with the other.

“You don’t have to do that,” he protests, but you’re already propping open the door and gesturing him to come along with a head tilt.

“I really don’t mind. Come on.”

You help him put things away in the different classrooms and offices, careful not to break anything. You’ve never been in this side of the school before, and it’s set up quite differently than the usual classrooms you were in. There’s much more going on than a usual lecture hall, tools and chemicals you don’t dare touch lining the perimeter. Viktor thanks you for your assistance as you finish getting everything in place, and you once again prepare to go your separate ways.

“Wait—” he says before you leave, pulling out his journal and flipping through it. “I wrote down a lot more notes that might be helpful for your project, I’ve been thinking about it a lot.”

He hands over the open page for you to read, and your jaw drops. It’s so detailed, every proposal you had broken down to its smallest pieces. He even laid out the budget and resource use and everything it would take to not only build and fund better schools in the Undercity, but also work on housing and overall infrastructure. He even has some theories scribbled on how to keep the air cleaner and fix problems with the fissures.

You can’t believe he’s been thinking about you and everything you said for all this time since you last met.

“Viktor, this is amazing.”

“I know it still may not convince the entire council, but I found your ideas quite inspiring. I hope my calculations can be informative.”

“They certainly are,” your fingers hover over the written words and numbers. “Thank you, Viktor.”

“Of course,” he grins. “I look forward to seeing what you accomplish.”

-

You find yourself running into him a lot more often after that, “accidentally” walking by each other’s offices at least once a week and talking long beyond what you probably should while working. Your soul feels so in tune with his, a phenomenon that surely shouldn’t be happening with someone you haven’t known very long.

Your conversations quickly progress to topics non-work related, his curiosity blooming with every little thing you share with him. Most days after work you simply can’t stop talking to each other, causing you to get home later and later until your roommates start to get nosy.

“I really have to go, Viktor,” you laugh, glancing at the clock that reads three whole hours past the end of your shift. You’ve been chatting about embarrassing Academy stories, reminiscing on both the stark similarities and differences between your experiences.

His eyebrows raise. “Shit, is it really that late?”

“Yeah,” you grab your bag with a sigh. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

-

“You already work too much overtime as it is! What’s so important that you have to stay late every single day?” one of your roommates, Eli, probes, clearly unsatisfied with the half-truth answers you’ve given so far. You don’t really want to tell the full truth just yet, that you’ve been talking with the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen, and you don’t experience the passage of time whatsoever when you’re around him. That would sound ridiculous, especially since absolutely nothing will ever come of it. He’s a wonderful colleague, but you’d be foolish to ever expect anything more.

“There’s just a lot to do,” you finally say.

“You need a break, that’s what you need to do,” they emphasize. “How about we go down to The Last Drop tomorrow night? It’s been a while since we’ve seen our friends down there.”

You nod, “Alright, I’ll try not to stay late tomorrow.”

“You better not.”

They glare at you jokingly, and you let out a laugh and exhale of relief.

-

You finish up your notes for the day, whipping your head back and forth to check if the coast is clear. You know yourself and your own weakness—you certainly won’t get out of here on time if you run into Viktor for even a second.

But of course, like clockwork, his familiar tap on your leg with his cane greets you moments later, your heart fluttering to a discomposing degree. Him coming to see you is a routine now, and despite your promise to your friends you are aching to talk to him. You haven’t had a proper night out in months, why is it so hard to just leave?

If any of your racing thoughts are visible on your features, Viktor certainly picked up on them.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just...long day,” you reply. “But my roommates are taking me out tonight, maybe that will wake me back up.”

“I won’t keep you long, then—”

He’s cut off by Eli calling your name, jaw dropped as they come towards you down the hallway.

“I knew there was something you weren’t telling me!” they chuckle in disbelief. “Working late my ass.”

“I was literally on my way home!”

“I just wanted to come check!”

Your face grows hot. It isn’t abnormal for your roommates to visit you at your job every so often, bringing you important documents you forgot at home or bringing you a treat on your birthday, but under the current circumstances you’re a bit mortified.

They reach out their hand, “I’m Eli, Y/N’s roommate. Who do you think you are?”

“Viktor.” he shakes it, surprisingly not appearing phased by their directness.

“Interesting,” they look him up and down, then turn to you. “So, he’s coming with us, right?”

“Oh, um...I didn’t ask—“

Viktor can’t help but smile at your flustered face.

“If I’m invited, I wouldn’t mind joining.”

-

“I can’t believe you.”

Mumbling under your breath, you enter The Last Drop. Viktor told you he’d meet you there in about an hour, which thankfully gives you some time for some drinks to numb your nerves.

“Look, I honestly don’t know why you didn’t just tell us about him. He seems like a good one.”

“It’s not like that,” you correct them. “He’s not into me like that. We just work on some projects together, that’s all.”

You order a drink from Vander at the bar, gulping it down a little too quickly.

“That kinda night, eh?” he laughs, pouring you another one before you have to ask.

“Yeah.”

You have a few more drinks and shots with your roommates and old Undercity friends, your mind and body entering such a daze that you almost forget Viktor is meeting you there later. You play games together and get teased about some of your adopted topside ways, and you even get back at Eli by pushing them to talk to Sevika, who they ogle at quite literally every time you come to this bar with them. It’s the kind of night where you can be free and careless, temporarily leaving your problems behind in favor of bad decisions.

You have to do a double take when you finally see Viktor arrive. He’s changed out of his Academy uniform, now dressed much more casually and much more like a Zaunite.

“It seems I’m a little late to the fun,” he observes.

“We’re just starting!” you beam, the drunk giggles taking over you.

“How many have you had?”

“I don’t know, like 7 or 8 maybe,” you shrug.

He lifts his cane against you and steers you away from the bar, shaking his head, “I think you’re done for tonight.”

“Fine,” you roll your eyes. “But not because you told me to, because I don’t want to throw up.”

He stays close to you while you stumble back to your friends’ table, chuckling at the slurred introductions you give him. They all accept him into their games and conversations instantly, and you quickly find out Viktor can handle his liquor a lot better than you. He puts all of them to shame, and they love finally having decent competition.

Your friends all whisper their approval to you throughout the night, even though you’ve repeatedly reminded them that nothing is going on. Although, you’re not really helping your case by zoning out every few minutes on his face.

“You have pretty eyes,” you say, staring until you realize what you just said out loud.

“That’s very kind,” he responds hesitantly. “But I’m sure your vision is a bit...tainted.”

“Alcohol doesn’t change color perception, dumbass.” you retort. “Besides, I’m sobering up a little.”

“Well then,” he smiles. “Thank you.”

You sigh, taking a sip of some water and glancing around the room. The bar is close to closing, and most of your friends have left.

“Have you seen Eli recently? I haven’t seen them in a while.”

He snickers, “You didn’t see them go in the back with Sevika?”

“They what?” you jump out of your seat. “Oh they’d better tell me everything.”

“I’m sure they will,” he laughs. “Do you need someone to walk you home, then?”

“Probably. Who knows how long they’ll be.”

-

The buzz has worn off quite a bit now, so thankfully you’re not tripping all over nothing and further embarrassing yourself. Viktor’s beautiful glow in the moonlight is more than enough to accomplish that, your gazes prolonging far longer than they should.

“Thank you for coming tonight, it was fun,” you say, fumbling for your apartment key in your pocket. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that, though.”

“Don’t apologize. It was very amusing.”

“Good.” you exhale. “Just ignore anything weird I said, okay?”

“I’m not sure that’s possible,” he smirks. “Now get some sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

-

Sleep is certainly what you get, and the next morning before work is full of a head-pounding hangover and chaotic conversation. Your roommates Eli and Chanthou can’t stop laughing about everything that happened, and naturally you’re very nosy about the Sevika situation. Eli tells you every little detail of course, giddy and in disbelief that they managed to make-out with her all night.

“So? Are you guys going to get together again?” you ask on the edge of your seat.

“I hope so.”

“Looks like you both got what you wanted last night,” Chanthou adds.

“Guys, he just walked me home. That’s all.” You’re getting a little annoyed with the constant reminders that your little crush is not, in fact, reciprocated.

“You...don’t remember?” she looks at Eli, then cocks her head at you. “About halfway through the night you were all over him. We just assumed you guys finally confessed.”

You didn’t think you drank enough to blackout, but you definitely don’t remember whatever they’re talking about. Besides, if you really were doing that, why didn’t Viktor say something once you were sobered up?

And what, now you have to see him in the office today, having no idea what you said to him?

“Oh, fuck, guys. What exactly did I do?”

“I don’t know what happened after I went back with Sevika, but before I left you were sitting on his lap on the couch and playing with his hair—”

“WHAT?”

“Wow, you really don’t remember, do you?”

You groan, wishing you didn’t have to go in today. You have a couple important meetings though, so you’ll have to power through. You take some painkillers and grab your things, praying for the first time that you can get through the day without seeing Viktor.

-

Your headache refuses to lessen its throbbing for your entire shift, making the work you usually enjoy completely miserable. You snap at one too many co-workers and find yourself staring at the clock desperately. Why did you agree to drinking on a weeknight again?

Just as you dreaded, you run into Viktor outside, too obviously waiting for you to pretend to ignore him.

“Hey…” you avoid looking into his eyes. “How come you didn’t say anything about what really happened last night?”

“I...wasn’t sure you’d remember,” he confesses. “I suspected you blacked out when you said you didn’t remember seeing Eli leave. And I wasn’t sure you meant what you said anyway.”

“Please, Viktor. Just tell me what I said. All my roommates told me was I couldn’t stop touching you, which I am so sorry about—“

“N-No, don’t be. Everything was consensual, I assure you.” his face flushes. “You just told me you have feelings for me, that’s all. I was going to tell you last night too if you hadn’t said it first.”

Your eyes widen at his words, your heart threatening to leave your chest.

“But it seems you don’t remember, so I can still count this as making the first move, hmm?”

Shivers race down your spine as Viktor leans in, his fingertips grazing your cheek. His lips meet yours softly, your eyes fluttering shut as he presses deeper. His hand remains holding your face when he pulls away, scanning your expression for your reaction.

“I guess the feeling is mutual,” you chuckle, still a bit breathless.

“Quite so, darling.”

-

More Author's Notes: I have a bad habit of getting drunk around guys I like irl bc I literally can’t handle being around hot people sober so that's the inspiration for that situation lol. Also, a part 2 to this is already in the works, it'll be set during Act 1 and probably parts between 1 and 2.

[angelrins]

° ˖ ➴ a little confession ⭑ nagi seishiro ༉ ‧ ₊ ˚ .

you had a set of rules for yourself — to prevent heartbreak, to avoid unnecessarily wasting time and energy on someone who didn’t deserve it, to not lose your friendship — and because you were so, so afraid of rejection, to not be seen differently.

especially by nagi seishiro.

you even wrote them down, in the back of your journal, like if you gave them shape, you could give them power.

the rules (a work in progress):

rule #1: do not fall for nagi. because if you do, everything will change. and you like the way things are — even if it hurts.

rule #2: don’t overthink the little things. he texts you back fast. he shares his food. he remembers random things you say. it doesn’t mean anything. don’t let your heart get ahead of you.

rule #3: no physical contact that lasts longer than necessary. you’re not allowed to melt when he lays his head on your shoulder or falls asleep next to you during movie nights. friends do that too.

rule #4: stop daydreaming. he’s not yours. he won’t be. this isn’t a romance drama. thinking about what-ifs won’t make them real.

rule #5: do not tell him how you feel. ever. you can survive unrequited love. you cannot survive losing him.

your list of rules was simple and straightforward. easy enough to understand. but no one told you how hard they’d be to follow. because from the very beginning, when you made that list, you had already broken rule number one. and there was no reversing it.

he’s asleep beside you now. sprawled out like a sleepy cat, with one arm flung across your blanket, the other curled close to his chest. soft snores. hair in his face. completely at peace.

you try not to look at him, but you failed. you sigh quietly and stare at the ceiling.

“you’re so annoying,” you whisper. “laying there like that. breathing like that. existing like that.”

he doesn’t move. doesn’t flinch.

“i swear, you make it so hard to follow my own rules.”

still nothing.

you glance over at him and pull the blanket up a little higher, just to give your hands something to do.

then, you added softly, “sometimes i wish i could hate you. would’ve made everything easier.”

you hesitate. your heart’s already in your throat. might as well go all the way.

“you probably don’t even like me back.”

“…i do.”

it’s so quiet, at first you think you imagined it.

but then he shifts, turning onto his side, his face now half-buried in the pillow. his voice is low, drowsy, warm with sleep.

“like you,” he mumbles. “back.”

and just like that, he’s out again. already asleep, not a care in the world. you weren’t even sure if he was actually awake.

meanwhile, your soul has left your body.

you sit there in stunned silence, mouth open, eyes wide, heart absolutely losing it in your chest.

you stare at him.

then at the ceiling.

then at your hands.

then you silently scream into your palms, fists curling in your hair in disbelief. your brain short-circuits. every thought fizzles into static.

what the hell? what the hell was that?

“nagi seishiro, you cannot just say that and go back to sleep—” you whisper-yell, hands tugging at your hair, like you can pull the memory out by force. “what do you mean ‘i do’? weren’t you asleep?”

but he’s dead asleep again. blissfully unaware. probably dreaming about some snack or video game.

you collapse back onto the pillow in disbelief.

he likes you.

he said it.

and now you’re wide awake.

completely and hopelessly stunned.

© angelrins ; dividers by doll-fairy

[gigiii1sblog]

KISS ME LIKE A SECRET 001

Warnings: mature content, cheating, fluff, sexual content, 2 year age gap, 18 & 20 and more

Chapter One: He Was Watching

Y/N:

Nathan always had three best friends. The triplets. Nick, Matt, and Chris. I don’t remember a version of my childhood that didn’t involve them stomping through our front door, throwing open the fridge like it was theirs, collapsing onto the couch like they owned the place. And maybe, in a way, they did.

They were loud. Reckless. Intimidating and magnetic and impossible to ignore. Two years older, and the kind of boys girls wrote about in their journals except I didn’t have to write about them. They were in my house every single day.

Nick was always the easiest one to talk to. He was the only one who really saw me growing up. Kind, careful, and quietly funny, with a soft voice and big blue eyes that were always watching people a little more closely than anyone else. He told me he was gay when I was fourteen, crying under our porch like the secret was swallowing him whole. I didn’t even flinch. I just held his hand. That’s the kind of bond we had unspoken and permanent.

Matt was the quiet one. The observer. Gentle and shy and always lingering just outside the spotlight. He never said much unless he felt safe, but when he laughed really laughed it lit up the whole room. He was sweet. Thoughtful. The kind of guy who remembered your favorite candy and left it on the counter without saying a word. He liked silence, and I liked that about him.

And then there was Chris.

Chris, who asked to many questions. Chris, who smirked instead of smiled. Chris, who made fun of Matt’s awkward silences and always had a cocky comment ready for Nick’s playlists or Nate’s new haircut. Chris, who was all lean muscle and stupid swagger, with a jaw sharp enough to cut glass and blue eyes that felt like they could burn holes straight through your skin. He was loud, flirtatious, magnetic, and infuriatingly beautiful.

He also never looked at me like I mattered.

Growing up, I was just the background. Nate’s little sister. A gangly kid in oversized shirts with chipped nail polish and juice-stained lips, tucked in the corner of the room with a romance book while the triplets played Xbox and dunked on each other in the backyard. I don’t even think Chris knew my middle name. I was invisible.

But even then, even at seven, I noticed him.

I noticed the way his voice dropped when he was serious. The way he’d bite his lip when he was trying not to laugh. The way he moved like every room bent a little to make space for him. He made my stomach twist, even when I didn’t know why. He made me feel something.

He never looked at me. Not the way I wanted him to. Not until now.

Because this summer? Everything’s changed.

I turned eighteen in August. Got a job, started partying. I traded my baggy clothes for tight tops and lose but fitting pants enough to show my curves. Makeup. Drinking and even smoking. Confidence I didn’t have before. I stopped looking away when he walked in a room. I stopped being afraid of his eyes.

Now, I hold them.

I know how to talk softer when I know he’s near. How to laugh just loud enough. How to stretch in the kitchen when he’s sitting behind me, watching like he’s not supposed to. And the thing is he is watching now.

That look I used to dream about? The one where he sees me not as Nate’s little sister, not as the kid on the couch, but as a girl? It’s real. It’s in the way his eyes linger when I pass. In the way his voice goes quieter when he says my name. In the way his gaze drops to my lips before snapping away like it burns him.

And I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t want that from him.

Especially not when I have Josh.

Josh is sweet. Reliable. Safe. He brings me flowers. Says “good morning” before my alarm even goes off. He calls me pretty and means it. My parents love him. Nate does too. He’s the kind of boy you bring home. The kind who always says the right thing. The kind who doesn’t watch me like I’m a secret he wants to keep.

When Josh kisses me, I smile.

When Chris looks at me, I forget how to breathe.

I know it’s wrong. I know it’s a line I’m not supposed to cross. But this summer?

It’s not about being good.

It’s about being seen.

And Chris?

He’s finally watching.

The arrival: The Pool

CHRIS:

The second we pulled into Nate’s driveway, it hit me, summer. Sticky heat, the buzz of cicadas, and that smell of chlorine and cut grass that clung to every memory from when we were kids.

I stepped out of the car, already tugging off my hoodie, and there it was home. Or close enough. Nate’s place had always been our second house, mostly because his mom treated us like we were her own. Me, Matt, and Nick spent more summers in this backyard than our own growing up.

Matt yawned behind me, sleep-mussed and quiet like usual. Nick was halfway up the porch already, calling out for Mrs. Y/L/N like he always did.

And then she walked out.

Y/N.

And everything fucking stopped.

I hadn’t seen her in almost a year. Not properly, anyway. The last time I was here, she was still that scrawny, barefoot kid with chipped nail polish and tangled hair, always curled up somewhere with a book too big for her hands.

This? This was not that.

She walked out of the back door like she owned the sun. Tight black bikini. Tan skin. Jet Black hair. Hips that swayed like she didn’t even realize. And a glittering silver belly piercing that I couldn’t stop looking at if I tried. I swear to God, my jaw clenched so hard I thought I was gonna crack a molar.

“Oh my, god” Nick muttered next to me, eyebrows lifting, “is that—?”

“Yep,” I cut him off. “That’s Y/N.”

His grin went crooked. “You okay, man? You look like you saw a ghost.”

I didn’t answer. Because I wasn’t sure what the hell I saw. Just that it made my chest tight and my palms ache.

Then Nate stepped outside and yelled, “Triplets are back, bitches!”

She looked up, saw me—and smiled.

Not the kid kind. Not the hey-remember-me kind. The kind that said I see you seeing me.

I swallowed hard.

We were so fucked.

Y/N:

I heard them before I saw them, laughter spilling out of the driveway, car doors slamming, sneakers on pavement. The triplets were back. Just like every summer. And I told myself it was fine. I had a boyfriend now. I was chill. Grown. Untouchable.

But when I stepped outside and saw them standing in the sun, especially Chris, it felt like the ground tilted.

He was taller. Broader. His jaw was sharper, and his shirt was tight across his chest, and when his eyes landed on me, they stuck. For the first time in my entire life, he really saw me.

And I could feel it.

I pretended not to notice, even though my skin buzzed under his stare. I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, tilted my head just enough to make my necklace slide across my collarbone, and smiled.

Then Josh came outside.

“Hey, babe.” He kissed my cheek and wrapped an arm around my waist. “These the triplets?”

Chris looked away first.

“Yeah,” I said. “Guys, this is Josh. My boyfriend.”

Nick was the first to smile, friendly as always. “Nice to meet you!”

Matt nodded, quiet and polite. “Nice to meet you, man.” eyes flickering toward me once before going right back to the ground.

Chris?

Chris just stared at Josh’s hand on my hip like it was a personal offense.

He gave a tight-lipped smile, then said, “Cool.”

That was it.

We all headed to the backyard after that. The pool was already open, the sun blazing, and I could feel the way Chris’s gaze dragged across my back when I peeled off my cover-up.

My bikini was black and small and very intentional. My mom would’ve killed me. But Chris? His jaw flexed. His eyes dipped lower than they should’ve. And when I dropped into the pool, letting the water splash up over my stomach, I made sure he saw the belly piercing catch the light.

Josh cannonballed in next to me. Chris didn’t move. Just sat on the edge of the pool, legs dangling in the water, watching me like he was trying not to.

It was torture.

And God, I loved it.

CHRIS:

Matt and Nick were off grabbing drinks. Nate was busy setting up the speaker. And I was stuck on the edge of the pool, trying not to stare at her, Y/N like a pervert.

She floated on her back like she didn’t have a care in the world. Water lapping at her waist, that goddamn belly ring glinting like a dare.

Her boyfriend was splashing beside her, calling her “babe” like he owned the word. And she laughed, but it was fake. Too high-pitched. Too practiced.

I knew her laugh.

And that wasn’t it.

I watched the way her fingers dragged over the water. The way she arched her back every time she moved. I knew what she was doing.

And it was working.

Because every inch of me was screaming to touch her. To pull her under and see if she still smiled underwater like she did when she was ten. To make her forget that guy’s name.

And I couldn’t.

Because she was Nate’s sister.

Because she was eighteen.

Because she had a boyfriend.

And still, I watched.

Because this summer wasn’t about rules.

It was about everything we weren’t supposed to want.

And fuck, I wanted her.

Y/N:

Josh fit in better than I expected.

Nick instantly clicked with him, of course he did. Nick liked everyone. But Matt surprised me. He was quiet, but he actually laughed at Josh’s dumb stories. They even bonded over some obscure sci-fi show I didn’t know Matt liked. The kind of easy, golden-hour bonding that made everything feel warm and soft and… safe.

Chris sat in a lawn chair a few feet away, sunglasses on, silent and stretched out like he was bored out of his mind. But I could feel him watching. The way you feel thunder before it breaks. I saw his jaw tighten when Josh handed me my towel. When Matt offered to grab me a soda and Josh said, “I got it, man,” with a smile.

I kept pretending not to notice.

And then Chris spoke.

“You remember when Y/N used to have that imaginary boyfriend named.. what was it? Captain Bubbles?”

I froze mid-sip.

Nick burst out laughing. “Oh my God, yes. And he lived in the bathtub.”

Matt covered his mouth, shaking his head. “You used to draw him with, like, six-pack abs and gills.”

Josh grinned at me. “No way.”

My face was on fire, but I didn’t flinch. I set down my soda, leaned back, and locked eyes with Chris.

“Still better than the girls you used to sneak into Nate’s basement at thirteen. What was that one’s name? Katy? The one who cried because you couldn’t find her mouth?”

Nick choked. “No way.”

Matt actually laughed out loud.

Chris dropped his sunglasses down his nose, eyes narrow and dark. But I just smiled sweetly. “Captain Bubbles was a gentleman.”

Josh nudged me. “I like him already.”

I flipped my hair off my shoulder and didn’t look at Chris again.

But I could feel it.

The shift.

He thought he could humiliate me, reduce me back down to that little girl with imaginary boyfriends and glitter stickers on her notebooks.

But I wasn’t her anymore.

And he knew it.

⸻

CHRIS:

Okay. So maybe that wasn’t my proudest move.

Dragging out Captain Bubbles like a weapon? Low blow. But watching her laugh with Nick and Matt, and worse, Josh like she belonged there now? Like she was one of us?

It made something in me snap.

I didn’t expect her to throw it back like that. She used to blush and stammer when we teased her. Now she hit back, clean, sharp, and without blinking.

And when she smiled?

It wasn’t innocent.

It was deadly.

I sat there, sunglasses on, heart pounding like a fucking teenager.

She wasn’t Nate’s little sister anymore.

And she wasn’t scared of me.

I should’ve left it alone. But I didn’t.

Because I didn’t like watching her fit in too well.

Especially with them.

Especially when I wanted to be the one making her laugh like that.

CHRIS:

The sky was bleeding orange by the time I slipped away from the pool. The others were still out there, Nate and Nick tossing a football with Josh, Matt dozing with a book in his lap, and Y/N…

God.

She was stretched out on a towel, glowing in the gold light, laughing at something Josh said like her whole body smiled when she did. It made me feel sick. Or something close to it.

I sat on the back steps alone, beer dangling from my fingers, trying to get a grip. My skin was still warm from the sun, but I couldn’t stop the chill that sat in my chest. Watching her like this knowing it was a fucked-up kind of torture.

She was eighteen. Barely. I was twenty.

Two years.

That was nothing, right?

But when you’ve known her since she was seven, when you used to help tie her shoelaces, when she had braces and cried over Disney movies, it’s not just time. It’s history. It’s how I should see her.

But I didn’t.

Not anymore.

She moved different. Spoke different. She looked at me like she was unafraid of what she might find and that scared the hell out of me more than anything else.

I took a slow sip of the beer and closed my eyes.

And then I heard the door creak open behind me.

Nate.

He dropped down on the step beside me with a groan and stretched out his legs. We sat in silence for a minute, listening to the low hum of the music and the distant splash of someone diving into the pool.

“You good?” he finally asked.

I nodded, but it wasn’t convincing.

He glanced at me sideways. “You’re quiet.”

“I’m tired.”

He snorted. “You’re never tired.”

More silence. The sky deepened into violet. A mosquito buzzed too close.

Then Nate said, “You’ve been looking at her.”

My heart stopped.

I turned, but he wasn’t even looking at me just staring straight ahead at the yard.

“Who?” I asked, even though I knew.

He raised an eyebrow. “Come on.”

I looked away. Took another sip. My fingers clenched tighter around the bottle neck.

“She grew up,” I muttered.

“Yeah. She did.” His voice was flat, unreadable. “It’s freaking me the hell out.”

I laughed, tight, hollow. “Yeah. Same.”

Another long beat.

“I know she’s not a kid anymore,” Nate said carefully. “And I’m not stupid. I saw the way she looked at you today.”

My lungs tightened.

“But she’s my sister, Chris.”

There it was.

Not a threat. Not yet.

Just a warning. A reminder. And the weight of it sat heavy on my chest.

“I know,” I said, voice low.

“I trust you,” Nate added, like that meant more than anything else.

And that? That hurt worse than anything.

Because I wasn’t trustworthy. Not when it came to her.

Not anymore.

The Bonfire:

Y/N:

The fire snapped low between us, embers glowing like tiny secrets in the dark.

I stayed behind after everyone had gone in for food or drinks or whatever excuse they’d made. I wasn’t hungry. I needed air. Space. Something that didn’t feel like pretending.

I sat back in a lawn chair, oversized hoodie swallowing my frame, his hoodie, not that he knew. My bikini bottoms clung to my hips underneath, legs tucked up beneath me, skin still warm and damp from the pool. The smell of chlorine, firewood, and sunscreen lingered in the thick summer air.

I lit the joint with steady fingers, the flame catching on the second try. I pulled in slow, feeling it fill my lungs, then exhaled toward the sky. The smoke curled upward, slow and sleepy, like it had nowhere to be.

The first hit always settled something in me. Loosened the tight grip in my chest.

I barely noticed the footsteps until they were close.

Chris.

Of course.

He didn’t speak right away just sauntered into view, hoodie pulled over his head, swim trunks slung low on his hips like he didn’t care how much skin he showed. He dropped down into the chair next to mine, stretched out like he owned the place, and glanced at the joint between my fingers.

“Didn’t think you smoked,” he said, voice thick with amusement.

I didn’t even look at him. “You don’t know me.”

Chris chuckled, low and quiet, and reached into his pocket. “No. I guess I don’t.”

He pulled out his own joint, thicker than mine, twisted neat like he knew what he was doing, and lit it without another word. The silence between us buzzed.

I took another hit.

He watched.

“I saw you with Josh earlier,” he said eventually, exhaling slow. “You guys always that… couple-y?”

I shrugged. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Chris smirked. “Nothing. Just didn’t take you for the hand-holding, matching-shoes, golden-retriever type.”

I side-eyed him. “You don’t like him.”

He lifted a brow. “Didn’t say that. I just think it’s funny.”

“What is?”

“That you’re trying so hard to convince everyone you’re into him.”

I froze.

Chris didn’t press. Just took another drag and passed me his joint without looking. I blinked at it, then took it hands brushing briefly, heat flaring in my chest.

“You’re full of shit,” I said finally, exhaling smoke.

Chris grinned. “Maybe. But I’m not wrong.”

The fire popped softly between us, the only sound besides the occasional chirp of crickets and the faint bass of music coming from inside.

Then he leaned back and stretched, hoodie riding up, his abs flashing in the light. “You’ve changed, you know.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” His eyes dragged slowly over me lazy, not subtle. “You used to follow us around like a little puppy. Now you’re out here stealing my hoodie, smoking my strain.”

I rolled my eyes. “I didn’t know it was your hoodie.”

His grin widened. “Didn’t stop you from wearing it.”

I handed his joint back, fingers grazing his again. Slower this time.

He held it between his lips, gaze fixed on mine. “Still got the crush?”

I nearly choked. “You’re insane.”

He blew smoke toward the stars. “What? You think I didn’t notice? Back then you couldn’t even talk to me without turning red.”

I stayed quiet, heat blooming behind my ears.

“I was fifteen,” he added after a beat. “You were what, like—twelve?”

“Thirteen,” I corrected, defensive. “And it was a phase.”

Chris looked at me like he didn’t believe a word of it.

Then: “If it was a phase, why are you still looking at me like that?”

I blinked.

He smirked again, like he lived for catching me off guard. Then he leaned back and closed his eyes, like he hadn’t just lit me on fire from the inside out.

Before I could respond, before I could even catch my breath the back door creaked open.

Laughter. Footsteps. Voices.

Nate stepped out first, carrying drinks, Matt right behind him, quiet but smiling. Nick trailed behind, already rambling about something. And Josh, Josh was last, eyes lighting up when he saw me.

“Babe,” he said, walking over. His hand landed on my shoulder, warm and casual, fingers curling into the hoodie like it was his. “You okay?”

I nodded. “Yeah. Just hanging out.”

Chris didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Josh bent down and kissed my cheek. I let him. But I didn’t feel anything.

Across the fire, Matt sat down silently, eyes flicking to me and Chris, reading everything without saying a word. Nick kept the mood light, tossing another log on the fire and cracking a joke about ghost stories. Nate stood behind the chairs, sipping his drink, watching us too carefully.

And the tension? Still there.

Flickering in the smoke. Crawling beneath my skin. Settling between me and Chris like a storm cloud with no rush to pass.

This summer, I could feel everything shifting.

And Chris? He wasn’t looking away anymore.

End of the Night:

Y/N:

The fire had burned down to glowing coals, the kind that pulsed low and orange like they had a heartbeat. The air was cooler now, the kind of late summer night that clung to your skin and made your thoughts louder. Most of the group had drifted back inside Matt, Nick, Josh, Nate leaving just me and Chris.

Again.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Just leaned back in his chair, long legs stretched out, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His jaw flexed as he took another hit from the joint we’d passed back and forth like something shared and dangerous.

“I forgot you used to be quiet,” he said eventually. His voice was soft but smug, the kind that carried even through silence. “Like, really quiet. You’d sit in the living room when we were over and just… watch us.”

I didn’t respond right away.

Mostly because I did remember.

I remembered hiding behind a book I wasn’t even reading, just so I could glance at him without getting caught. I remembered the way he never looked back.

“You were loud enough for all of us,” I muttered finally, flicking ash off the side of the porch.

He smirked. “I always thought you were just shy.”

“I wasn’t shy,” I said. “I was smart.”

That made him laugh. Low and lazy. He took another drag and exhaled toward the sky.

“So… what changed?” he asked. “You’re not exactly quiet anymore.”

I didn’t know how to answer that. Not without telling the truth.

That I used to stay up thinking about him. That I used to wonder if he’d ever notice me the way I noticed him. That I’d spent entire summers trying to convince myself that what I felt was just a phase.

So instead, I shrugged. “People grow up.”

“Yeah,” he said, eyes flicking over me slowly. “You definitely did.”

My breath caught, but I covered it with a laugh. “You sound surprised.”

He looked at me for a long moment. Firelight flickered in his eyes, warm and unreadable.

“I am,” he admitted. “I didn’t think you’d… turn out like this.”

“Like what?”

But he just shook his head, like saying it would cost him too much.

“You never told me,” he added suddenly, a bit quieter.

My stomach flipped. “Told you what?”

“That you had a crush on me.”

I blinked. “I never did.”

His mouth curved into something almost cruel. “You’re lying.”

I tilted my head. “Then why didn’t you say something?”

He paused, his cocky edge flickering into something almost unsure. “Maybe I thought it’d go away.”

I stared at him, heart pounding, the silence stretching between us like thread pulled too tight.

“It did,” I said quietly.

He didn’t look away.

Didn’t smile.

Didn’t argue.

But the corner of his mouth twitched just once. Like he knew I was lying now, too.

And that was the worst part.

He didn’t say anything after that.

Didn’t smile, didn’t laugh it off like he usually would. He just looked at me, really looked at me, and the silence between us felt like it could set something on fire.

And maybe it already had.

I stood up first, wrapping the sleeves of my hoodie around my hands to hide how cold I suddenly felt. Or maybe it wasn’t the cold at all, maybe it was just him. The way he watched me. The way he always watched me now, like he was trying to find pieces of a girl he’d ignored for years.

I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t have to.

As I walked toward the house, I could feel his stare on my back. Heavy. Reluctant. Like he wanted to stop me but didn’t know how.

Or didn’t think he should.

And maybe I wanted him to. Maybe I wanted him to say something else, anything to keep me there.

But he didn’t.

So I kept walking.

Inside, the lights were too bright, and Josh’s voice was already cutting through the kitchen. He looked up when I walked in and smiled like nothing had changed.

But it had.

Something had cracked wide open out there by the fire, and even if no one else saw it, I felt it. I felt it in the way my skin still burned. In the way my heart still raced. In the way I couldn’t stop thinking about the way Chris had said my name.

Like he’d only just learned how to say it.

And somewhere behind me, outside, he was still sitting in the dark.

Letting me go.

Even though we both knew—

He didn’t want to.

CHRIS:

She didn’t look back.

I watched her hoodie pull tighter around her frame as she disappeared into the house, smoke still curling from where we’d passed the joint back and forth like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t loaded with everything we didn’t say.

The second the door closed behind her, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. My jaw was locked so tight it ached.

That should’ve gone differently.

I told myself I was just messing with her, just teasing, same as I always had. But somewhere between the way she held my gaze and the way she said “It did,” I felt something shift. Something small, but permanent. Like the slam of a lock on a door I hadn’t meant to open.

She used to follow me around like a shadow. Always quiet, always watching, like she thought I didn’t notice. But I did. I always did. And I told myself she’d grow out of it. That it wasn’t serious. That she was Nate’s kid sister and it didn’t matter.

But it mattered now.

Now she was eighteen. Grown. Smoking my weed in the hoodie I threw over her shoulders earlier that day without thinking, legs curled underneath her like she didn’t know what it did to me.

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, staring at the dying fire. I could still taste the strawberry gloss on the joint. Still hear her voice when she said she never had a crush.

Bullshit.

But maybe that’s what scared me.

Because if she never told me, if she kept that secret all these years, what else was she keeping?

And why did I want to know so badly?

The screen door creaked again behind me. I thought it might be her, coming back out. Maybe to say something else. Maybe to make me say something I couldn’t.

But it was just Nate.

He stepped down the porch stairs with two beers in hand, flipping one toward me without warning. I caught it, popped the cap, nodded in thanks.

He plopped into the chair across from me with a heavy sigh, stretching his legs out and leaning back like he didn’t have a single worry in the world.

“She’s being quiet tonight, huh?” he said, nodding vaguely toward the house.

My chest tightened. “Guess so.”

He cracked a grin. “Josh probably wore her out. Kid talks more than Nick.”

I forced a chuckle and took a long drink, the beer cold enough to make my teeth ache.

“Hey, I’m glad she found someone good,” Nate added, completely oblivious. “You know how picky she is.”

I stared into the fire again.

Yeah. I knew.

Nate didn’t notice the way my knuckles had gone white around the bottle. He didn’t notice the way my knee was bouncing under the chair. He didn’t know what just happened ten minutes before he walked out here that she sat next to me, high and flushed and honest, and told me something I’d never expected to hear.

That I hadn’t been the one watching all these years.

She had.

And I missed it.

“Josh is cool,” I said finally, swallowing the burn in my throat. “He’s… nice.”

Nate laughed. “You sound so convincing, bro.”

I smirked without humor.

He stretched, cracked his neck, and yawned. “Alright, I’m gonna head back in. Nick’s already halfway into a s’mores coma. You coming?”

I shook my head. “In a sec.”

“Don’t get too sentimental out here,” he teased as he walked away.

And just like that he was gone.

I leaned back in the chair, beer bottle resting against my knee, firelight flickering against the trees.

She never told me she liked me.

And now, I wasn’t sure what was worse:

That I didn’t know back then.

Or that I did now.

ooouuu the tensionnnn is crazy.. I hope this is clear and make sense let me know if it’s hard to understand please!

@izzylovesmatt @riggysworld @amiraisafreakokaysorry @ansteeze @pair-of-pantaloons @kitty-meow-meow44

[ashthesalamipiece]

hi can i make a request for dad izuku? where he had like 5 sons with reader and reader is in her last pregnancy-the doctor said this one was also a boy once again crushing the dreams of izuku having a daughter (he loves all of them equally) fast forward to the labour- turns out the baby aint a boy but a girl all the 5 elder brother and izuku-plus reader are shocked I just want their reactions to be comedic i love the way you write these types of scenarios thank you and you dont have to do this if you are busy :)

Enjoy♡

---

Pink-Splosion

For the sixth time, Izuku sat in a stuffy ultrasound room clutching your hand like he was preparing to take the Pro Hero Licensing Exam again.

“Congratulations,” the doctor smiled. “It’s a boy!”

Izuku's soul left his body.

Not because he didn’t love his five little menaces—he adored them. But deep down, he had hoped this time... this time... the pink aisle would finally be for him.

You, ever the realist, patted his thigh. “Try not to cry in front of the technician again, sweetheart.”

Izuku, through a pained smile: “I’m just happy to be involved.”

---

Fast Forward: Labour Day (a.k.a. Chaos Prime)

You were on your seventh contraction, yelling things like “I’m never letting you TOUCH ME AGAIN!” and “WHY DOES THIS FEEL LIKE PUSHING OUT A TANK?!”

Izuku, wheezing, tried to whisper affirmations while getting his hand mangled: “You’re doing great! You’re my hero! Ow ow OW—”

Finally, the baby was born.

Silence.

The doctor blinked. The nurse blinked. The baby blinked (maybe?).

Doctor: “Um… well… congratulations! It's a… girl!”

Izuku: Buffering...

You: “...Huh?”

Doctor, smiling nervously: “Yes, she has… all the correct parts. It’s definitely a girl.”

Izuku.exe has stopped working.

He fell to his knees. “I—I HAVE A DAUGHTER?! THIS IS REAL?! I DIDN’T DISSOCIATE FROM EXHAUSTION?!”

You: “You fainted when I gave birth to Minato. This time you almost fainted from happiness.”

Izuku was already clutching the baby like she was made of literal starlight. “Pink socks. Pink gloves. PINK HATS. HER NAME WILL HAVE FLOWERS IN IT.”

---

At Home: Operation Baby Girl Reveal

The boys were seated on the couch like five little goblins.

Katsuo (10): The ‘I-read-medical-journals-for-fun’ firstborn.

Daiki (8): Wears three band-aids on each knee for “aesthetic.”

Ren (6): Puts his shoes on the dog.

Itsuki (4): Constantly sticky.

Minato (2): Speaks in shouts.

Izuku entered holding the baby swaddled in a pastel blanket. “Alright boys… meet your new baby sister.”

All five: “SISTER?!?”

Katsuo: scans the baby with older sibling precision “Are you sure?”

Daiki: “Wait, like… not a brother with long eyelashes?”

Ren: “Can we return her? Is there an exchange policy?”

Itsuki: “Does she come with snacks?”

Minato pointed at her and yelled, “THAT’S A SMALL GIRL!”

Izuku: “Minato, yes, that is the definition of a baby girl.”

Katsuo: “We were promised a brother.”

Daiki: “We had plans. Ren was gonna teach him how to fight pigeons.”

Ren: “I WAS GONNA MAKE HIM A CAPE.”

You, from the couch: “She can wear a cape. You all wore capes. That’s how we got banned from the local grocery store.”

Izuku: “Boys, listen. This baby girl is your little sister. She’ll look up to you. Protect her. Teach her good things.”

Minato: “Like throwing shoes?”

You: “NO.”

---

Later That Night

Izuku was in the rocking chair, eyes misty, daughter snoozing in his arms.

“She’s perfect,” he whispered.

You: “I know.”

The boys were all piled at the door watching like meerkats.

Ren, awed: “So that’s what pink looks like in the wild.”

Katsuo wrote in his notebook: “Sisters = not a myth. Noted.”

Daiki, quietly: “She better not steal Mom’s snacks.”

Minato: “I NAME HER BEAN.”

Izuku: “We already named her, buddy.”

Minato: “HER SECRET NAME IS BEAN.”

And so, little Bean Midoriya entered the world, backed by five overprotective, semi-feral brothers and a dad who’d already bought a pink carrier, glitter pacifiers, and was caught whisper-singing lullabies about how her Quirk would probably be the most beautiful thing in the universe.