#and deserved at least a second chance in the finale

[marcuspikegf]

joel miller x single mom! reader

𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐝, 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞

wordcount 2.7k | requests are open | about me + masterlist | harry castillo x singlemom!reader here if anyone is interested....

reblogs and comments are appreciated!!! comment if you want to be tagged! send me asks about this! asks/ideas/anything! inbox is always open :) everyone who reblogs i love you so VERY much

summary: sometimes, living with the grief of sarah and her mother's death haunts him. and one aimless drive leads to meeting a single mother who ran away with her six month old baby. no outbreak au. warnings: like one MENTION of breastfeeding. because...baby... but no actual scenes of it. mentions, but no actual direct scenes of spousal abuse (from reader's husband. NOT joel...joel is a sweetheart.) mentions of death and grief. apart from that? so much fluff. tooth rotting, dentist calling fluff. oldman joel swandiving in love. age gap? joel is 40/50 and reader is 25/30? afab reader. reader's husband is an abusive asshole. authors note: it's 2am....so i'm not just in the baby fever trenches, i've become a lieutenant in the baby fever trench. idk what to tell you i’m actually possessed, hiding behind my hands etc. i think i just want a baby and a big strong man to save me.  i don’t know what to tell you. i give up i’m not strong enough to resist baby fever. i am also not american, i actually do not know anything about america. tbf. reader could be read as an immigrant who is new to the country, if you wish, because that's how it is in my mind. again this is a new style of writing...no capitals just vibes. this might have a continuation...idk pls tell me if this is bad so we can just scrap it. this is so self indulgent.... reblogs and likes and comments and follows are actually just love. joel as we ALL know is a girldad, and deserves a second chance at being a father and a parent again. i've just been yapping to my poor friends about this, and one of them was like "i was having these exact thoughts did i bluetooth them to you" LMAO. i was writing the harry castillo x single mom fic and then this idea jumped into my head, i am a slave to my whims. reader loves her daughter so very very very much. why do i only post in random hours of the night...idk i actually need to sleep more. goodnight readerss

the sun is low in the sky at this time of day, when the orange mixes with the purple of the night. evenings like these are when the loss of sarah and tess haunt his memories, the crash site photos burnt into the back of his eyelids. so he sits in his truck, and drives. aimlessly. he’s too old to wish for better days, the life he had built torn away from his hands. this is the after, and he doesn’t want to think about what is in the after. he drives on the highway at an easy speed, watching the leafy suburbs turn into sand and farm, acres of corn, bales of hay. everything is rougher in small towns, and everyone knows everyone. that’s why he had to leave, couldn’t stand the pity in people’s eyes when they spoke to him. that’s why he moved closer to austin

the contracting company has done well for itself, he wishes he could tell tess that. tell her that they finally made it out, and moved into a cushy house in the suburbs, him and tommy having done well for themselves. 

there isn’t a tess to tell, nor is there a sarah. the house is too big for one man to live in it alone. 

at least tommy has maria to go back to, and there’s something hollow in the pit of his stomach that reminds him that he must have done something truly terrible in his past life, to have him live this one instead. sickeningly lonely, with the sound of the birds to keep company. 

a car sits at the edge of the road. a light blue and unassuming, like it’s just been parked off and left there. it catches his eye, pulling him out of his thoughts. a hint of a pink bow, through the windows. 

he pulls over to the side, concerned, the car doesn’t look like it’s in good shape either, a mirror’s busted and a light broken. he turns off the engine, and steps out of the truck, keyring around his finger as he scans the surrounding area. it’s still evening, still quiet, and still a lonely stretch of road.

“excuse me..?” he calls out, voice as polite as he can manage it to be. rough from being choked up, but still kind. he hears a hesitant step from the other side of the car, and then hushed murmuring in another language. the door closes gently, and he hears shoes on the gravel, and his eyes turn to you. 

he’s never seen eyes as enchanting as yours, caught in the amber sunlight, worried as they keep flicking back to whatever is inside the backseat of the car, and him. he wears a t-shirt, green and worn, with flannel over it. cargo trousers that hold tools and his phone, that pull down his pockets. he can see your eyes narrow, and search him, before they turn wide as a doe, and then back to the backseat.

“excuse me, ma’am.” he will never not be polite, the southern manners baked into him, and he knows he must look a sight right now, but the road is forlorn, and your car does not seem to be working. 

his words make your eyes harden, and you raise a finger to your lips. he must be louder than he thinks he is, “sorry about that ma’am.” he adds, quietly. but whatever damage he was going to do, is done. 

a wail from the backseat, and you hastily open the door, unbuckle something, and pick up a baby from the back seat, rocking it against your body as you shush it gently. you smooth its head with gentle hands, making circles on the back of the little bodysuit with yellow ducks printed on it. 

he presumes that’s what you were looking at when your eyes kept moving to the backseat. a pink bow in your hair, that you gently place in the mop of curly black hair of your child, a baby girl. 

the baby, the girl, quietens down after a few minutes, and she curls up into your arms, pressing against the skin of your neck and chest, exposed by the dress you wear. it’s long, past your ankles, a square cut, with a cute strawberry print. its only then he realises how much shorter you are, he towers over you. your hair pulled back into a low bun, barely any wrinkles marring your face.

you’re younger than him.

obviously, he almost wants to hit himself on the head for coming to that conclusion so late. and somehow your eyes carry something indescribable, something too heavy for someone like you to carry.

the baby squirms in your arms, “you are fine my dear, i love you my dear.” you whisper sweet nothings into her hair, but he doesn’t know who it calms more. 

it’s rude to just keep staring, but he does anyway, he hasn’t seen someone as soft as this since…

you turn your head to babble at your daughter, and there is a purple bruise on your jaw. and his stomach drops to a pit. who could have done that to you? 

“ma’am?” he tries again, and takes a step closer. you flinch back from him, arms wrapping around your daughter protectively. your eyes are as wide as a deer caught in headlights. 

he raises his hands in surrender, no fists, nothing in his hands. just palms facing the sun, and a comforting smile on his face.

you swallow thickly, wobbly on your legs with the adrenaline that is crashing, “my car, it. i think it’s leaking petrol.” you don’t mention the broken mirror or headlights, and he has a feeling it’s the same person who’s given you that bruise. 

he nods once, and then crouches at where the spill of petrol is, the smell of gasoline is obvious as it crouches closer. the tyres look worn with use, a thought flashes through his head, the gasoline cannot be good for the baby. 

strange how worry grips his throat. 

“you can’t drive this, darlin’” he drawls, driving this around could lead to the whole car bursting into flames, killing everyone inside.

he has only known you for ten minutes, and the worry is gripping his throat like a vice. 

“i need to.” you say, so determined in your words. you need to drive this car, keep driving. he can see that you are running. 

“i can drive you to the closest town, get a towing service and a mechanic to look at that.” he wipes his hands on the corduroy of his cargos. 

your baby snuffles in your arms, and your breath hitches. the child you carry in your arms is your world, and the way you look down at her. his heartbeat stutters. 

“i can’t…” you say, gently. like the gentleness is forced, like it has been beaten into you, “i don’t have a lot of money. i’m sorry.” 

the gentleness warms his heart anyway, and he comes a little closer. this time you do not flinch back so hard.

“ ‘s okay.” he says, with a small smile on his face, like he’s trying to be gentle too. he has not been gentle in years. cruel and isolated from the world, he has grown older and not kinder. 

but you, you make him wish to be kind. 

“wouldn’t want to see your baby sit on the side of the road at night.” he adds, and the mention of your child must have worked, because you start walking towards your broken car. 

you open the door with a heavy click, and place your daughter into the child seat. you take the seat out with the handle, and she reaches out to you with her tiny hands, joel gets to see her face for the first time. 

jesus, she can’t be older than a year. maybe even younger. she’s tiny, a life, and has your nose. 

you heave the seat with a huff, and you look thin. like you haven’t eaten well in days. your hands shake holding the heavy carseat, and suddenly he is there, placing a hand over yours as you grip the handle.

“ma’am, look.” he says, all polite again. hopefully the crack in his voice doesn’t give away the fear he’s feeling, the fear that you will drop the seat in your exhaustion, “i got it.”

he takes the handle from you, even if your hands grip it. his hands are so much bigger than yours, and so so much bigger than your daughters as her attention focuses on him. she babbles nonsense as he starts his walk towards the truck, and you hurry behind him.

“can you secure the seat in your backseat?” you ask, and he just gives you a hum in agreement. 

you follow him to his truck, your baby in his hands, under the orange light of the summer evening. 

he keeps turning back, to see if you follow. foolish of him, of course you’ll follow your own damn baby to the ends of the earth and back. your eyes are always on him, constantly watching in the short distance to his truck. 

he opens the door, and you start clearing away the junk in the back seat to make space for the car seat. he can see your eyebrows raise as you see all the tools.

“i’m a contractor.” he mentions, and you frown at him. perhaps english is not your first language. “i build things.” he makes a hammer motion with his hand, and your daughter seemingly loves it. she claps her hands and giggles, and the giggle sounds so much like sarah that his heart might just shatter into a thousand pieces.

“oh, i see.” is all you say, and continue moving the tools from the backseat to the floor, a safe distance away from your daughter.

you are quiet. 

he takes a sharp breath in. 

you buckle your daughter’s seat into the truck, and then look at her for a long while. he recognises the look, it’s one of love, so much love that 

it hurts. 

his heart hurts with the pain, but he doesn’t know if it hurts at the jagged edge of the memories, or of the fear of something else bubbling up in his chest.

suddenly, you unclip your daughter from her seat, and hold her in your arms.

“can i sit at the front with her?” you ask, softly, “i was driving for a while before i…”

“of course.” he says, before he even processes what he said. 

you smile at him, your first real smile. the smile that was directed at your daughter a few times now turned onto him. it makes his insides goo, and his heart thud in his chest faster. he didn’t even know his heart could reach speeds like that anymore. 

sitting into the truck is easy, it feels like something that you three have done before. even if this is the first time you are in his truck. the scent of pine freshener wafts through the air, and he turns the ac on to blow against your daughter’s face. 

her eyes brighten up with the cool wind, and she’s content with playing with the vents, opening them and closing them. you on the other hand, hold her tightly on your lap. but you look exhausted, dark circles under your beautiful eyes. ashen skin, exhaustion in every line of your face.

his eyes linger on the bruise on your jaw, before they turn back to the road. your daughter plays with the buttons of the ac, wind is blowing onto his feet, and then suddenly not. 

“look outside bubba.” you say, delicately, turning her towards the window. the sky is darkening, a beautiful purple, with the moon large and white against the sky. 

your voice is so sweet, it reminds him of tess, of memories buried deep under years.

“see the moon bubba?” you continue, stroking her hair as she rests her head on your chest again, “can you say moooooon?”

“ ‘ooon.” she mumbles, sleepily, face smushing against your chest.

you smile down at her, “yes bubba, moon.” 

“she not speak yet?” his drawl is so gravely, so deep that it almost scares you in the silent. 

“no, not yet.” you answer, politely, and then have the need to add, “but she’s very smart.”

“i can tell.” he nods, eyes on the road again. if tess was here, twenty years ago, holding sarah like that…he would have said “smart like your mama.” 

but this is not tess. this is a strange lady sitting in his truck. and this is not sarah, this is the lady’s daughter sitting on her lap.

“never got your name.” he says, idle conversation.

“i never gave it.” your voice is quiet.

“ ‘m joel, joel miller.” he offers an olive branch, “millers construction? you might have heard of it? i run it with my brother tommy.”

“(y/n).”

you take it.

“and precious there?” he adds, and you laugh, a gentle thing. 

“her father wanted to call her his mothers name.” you say, sullenly, and then kiss her head, “but i…i didn’t want that. her father is not…a very good man.”

you lick your lips, “her name is violet, right bubba? violet’s like your mommy’s favourite colour."

a blank slate, a completely blank slate, full of kindness and nose kisses and where did you run from?

the phone rings, and his brother’s contact photo lights up his phone. it rings, startling your daughter, but he quickly opens it and puts it on speakerphone.

“hey tommy.” 

“hey joel!” his brother’s voice is tinny in the phone, “i was just wonderi’ where you were, did you get back home safe after the job?”

“yeah, no ‘m fine, i promise.” 

your eyes flick between him and the contact photo. you mouth “tommy?” and he nods affirmative. 

“okay well, i’m just checking up on you man. i want to know you’re safe.”

“yes tommy.” he says it like he doesn’t mean it in the slightest, and then a “goodbye.” with more feeling. 

the flashing lights of the town sparkle in the distance, and in these idle words, a town is probably there. 

“no mechanic would be open at this hour.” a cough, as he tilts his head out to the night.

you frown, and and your daughter curls her hand around your finger. 

she needs to feed, and you need to eat. if not for yourself, then at least for her. 

it’s as if he can tell, see something in your expression bounce. “hey, i can get us coffee, maybe some pancakes?” 

and then, a little bit more kindly, “i’m in the suburbs of austin, it’s another fifteen minutes away… i can get you a motel there?”

“i don’t…” you trail off, throat bobbing. “i don’t…” 

the money, you don’t have the money. 

“it’s fine.” 

“it’s really not.” but your daughter is fussing and she’ll cry if she’s hungry. you don’t want your daughter to go hungry all night.

his heart breaks at your daughter’s cries, and he parks the car at a stop, large hands gentle over your shoulders. so much bigger than yours, so much warmer than yours. 

he knows how it looks, a strange man, bigger than you, offering help. but nothing is ever free, and you don’t know what will happen to you or your daughter.

it’s desperation, he can see it written all over your face, in the tears in your own eyes that make them glossy. you grab his fingers with your hand, and tighten it. 

“i’m trusting you.” perhaps those are not the three words every man dreams of, but you with your bambi eyes, it’s as if you hand him the keys of your heart. 

he squeezes your hand back, “thank you.” he doesn’t know what you’re running from. but at that moment, looking at you with your daughter in your arms, he wishes to take those keys, and keep them somewhere safe in his heart. 

your daughter sighs happily, and turns to him with her big eyes. she gives him a smile, “ ‘ooon!” pointing at him.

“that’s not the moon bubba, that’s mr miller.” you correct her.

“joel.” he corrects you.

“joel then.” you nod, and then boop your daughter on her nose. 

“ ‘ooooon!” she repeats, and when you laugh at her single word, he laughs too. he is not too old, that his life is over. not yet anyway.

thank you so much for reading!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1 any comments on this are very much appreciated! my requests and inbox and everything is so open please talk to me about this fic, or any of my other fics!! ok i am going to BED NOW. the 4 hours of sleep last night rlly are catching up to me....

[soupsosa08]

Thank you for writing my Lewis request, I loved it :) He has my heart 🫣

I have another idea if you are up for it :)

The reader (28 again) is his race engineer and Lewis begins to flirt with her, but she is scared how the world thinks of a relationship like this one. But after SPA Lewis decides to ask her out on radio - where the whole World can hear his love for her :)

Greetings :)

𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐞 — Lewis Hamilton X Reader; Fluff

Synopsis: The y/n, is Lewis Hamilton’s race engineer at Ferrari. They’ve been subtly flirting for months, both hiding their feelings out of fear — especially her, unsure how the world would react to a relationship like this. But after a perfect victory at Spa, Lewis decides it’s time. And he asks her out... over the team radio, for the whole world to hear.

Warnings: Fluff; Soft tension; Public love confession; Professional/personal boundary themes; Happy ending

Note: Hi!!!! Welcome back! I absolutely loved this idea, it was so fun to write. I really hope you enjoy it as much as I did :)

masterlist!!!!!

You knew working with Lewis Hamilton would be intense.

What you didn’t expect was how much he’d quietly steal your focus — and maybe, your heart.

At 28, you were one of Ferrari’s most respected race engineers. Smart, calm under pressure, professional. But no telemetry could prepare you for how Lewis said your name, or the way his voice softened when he checked in on you.

“Everything okay there, Y/N?”

“You’re flying, Lewis.”

“Or maybe it’s you that makes me fly.”

You pretended not to hear. Or at least not to feel. But you did — oh, you did.

Still, you knew what people would say. Engineer and driver? The headlines would write themselves: “Conflict of interest,” “She’s only there because of him...”

So, you kept your distance. Even though all you wanted was to close it.

—

Spa-Francorchamps. Wet track. Tense hearts. Lewis was laser-focused.

But he still found time to slip in a line here and there:

“That strategy was yours, wasn’t it?”

“It was.”

“You know I trust you. Even with my heart.”

The final lap came. You could barely breathe.

“Last corner, Lewis. Bring it home.”

“With you, always.”

And he won. Ferrari. Spa. First place.

While the team screamed into their radios, Lewis cut through the noise with a calm, steady voice.

“Y/N, I know the whole world’s listening. But if I don’t say this now... I might never get the chance.”

Everything stopped.

“You think hiding this keeps us safe. But I think showing the world I choose you is the best way to protect you.

So here it is: will you go out with me after this race? Officially?”

It took a few seconds. Your heart in your throat. But finally, your voice cracked through:

“Yes. I’ll go out with you.”

He laughed in your ear, breathless.

“Then this... is the best win of my life.”

—

Later, hidden behind the garage, away from cameras, he found you.

No headset. No walls. Just Lewis. His soft brown eyes holding yours.

“You deserve to be loved out loud, Y/N. Even if the world’s listening.”

And when he kissed you, it was the way he drove:

fearless, precise, and completely, unapologetically yours.

[yorblair]

I don’t like engaging in Tumblr or any online arguments because 9/10 it’s just two people trying to force their opinions on each other. But I will say this once-

I think there is nothing implying anything was up with Jinu abandoning his family (aka if he was manipulated or sth in the scene is wrong) Jinu just abandoned them and instead of staying with them went on to a safe life, he was selfish. He probably could have felt regret and left to look for them abandoning the palace anytime he wanted but he didn’t, that’s not a lapse of judgment depending on how long he remained a human in that place before turning demon, that’s just straight up f my family who cares if they are starving to death. We need to stop excusing bad trash actions of characters we want to like and convince ourselves to like some projected sugarcoated version of them. Jinu was a trash person to his family. Jinu isn’t a full on only trash person, but part of him is. That’s also why he got corrupted so fast. This is why he feels bad about everything. That’s his sin. He has to live with it and Rumi tries to give him a second chance because even trash people sometimes can change and deserve a second chance (not always , but it’s a kids movie so we need to have hope and believe even the most unlikely things can happen as Rumi puts it) . I do not like Jinu less because of these things, I actually find him more relatable and down to earth, he had a choice and messed up, twice, and I like that the narrative didn’t sugarcoat his actions, it portrays them as wrong and inexcusable. They basically had him say “Yeah I did that trash thing and hid that I did the trash thing from Rumi and lied to her and then did a trash thing to Rumi“ but then in the end he switches sides and sacrifices himself. That’s growth. That’s a good message for a children’s movie. Him feeling guilty doesn’t absolve him of his past or current wrongdoings. I have seen this with other dubious characters in other fandoms, sometimes we shouldn’t give characters a pass. His actions being inexcusable doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve a second chance, just that he doesn’t deserve forgiveness for the past. You can live without forgiveness and make sure your future actions are better. Idk if people understand that. At least I see it in that way. And the second time he was going to repeat the same mistake (abandoning his family/Rumi for a safe luxurious life in the palace/in a world where Gwi Ma wins) this time he choses to stay, risk his life and stay by the side of the one he loves aka Rumi. Jinu did for Rumi what he couldn’t for his mum and sister. And that’s so beautiful because it shows how he changed from bad selfish person to a selfless person who finally had the guts to FULLY protect the ones he loves. (And basically the whole world from demons)

Anti Rujinu/Jinu people: Jinu is a bad person

Me: Yeah, no shit, the whole story actively portrays Jinu as a villain and doesn’t shy away from reminding the suit he in the wrong. His actions are never excused.

He gets called out by Rumi, by Gwi-Ma, by HIMSELF ffs for being a bad person.

That’s why the Rujinu pairing is an actual “enemies to (almost) lovers” pairing.

[lokisprettygirl]

Fix You Fix me (Bill Skarsgård! Eric Draven x Female Reader) (Au)

Read Chapter 23 here /Series Masterlist

Chapter 24

Summary : You try to mend your relationship with Eric.

Warning: 18+, smut, Fat shaming, terminal illness, body shaming, manipulation, domestic violence, child abuse, cheating, reader has a spine, emotional abuse, reader's weight will be mentioned because the fic demands it

Note : This reads like an ending, so if I don't continue this anytime soon, this is where it will end. Though i have a plan to continue this, one or two more chapters atleast.

The look of surprise on everyone's faces was evident as you entered Patricia's apartment, by the time you had that whole conversation and breaking down in tears outside of your building with Eric, the guests had all left leaving only Chance, Shelly, Miranda and Stella along with Patricia. Miranda was still there because she had arrived late.

As you entered Patricia gave you a smile, she knew her son had gotten through you at least enough to bring you back.

You hugged her tightly as soon as you approached her.

“Sorry I stormed out like that, you didn't deserve that” you said to her as you pulled away but she just ran her hand through your head and then kissed your forehead.

Eric came in moments later, you turned to look at him before you approached Chance.

“We need to talk about the whole Oh i don't know what Miranda and Eric are upto conversation we had” you said to him and watched as he went pale as a ghost. He blatantly lied to you that he had no idea what they were doing together and you knew that was just a complete lie because Eric must have told him.

“Okay you got me, but hey I just wanted you dumb nuts to get back together.. okay? Sue me” He said to you as he sipped on his margarita, you could tell he was drunk already.

“Well we are not back together.. together..yet” you said to him so he groaned in response.

“Yeah but something has changed and that is enough for me chico” he gave you a smile and you couldn't help but return it.

To be honest, you did feel a hell lot better after that conversation, it was as if you could breathe finally and your heart wasn't breaking under your ribcage anymore every time you tried to take a breath..

“Hey baby..you alright?” Patricia whispered in Eric's ear as he bent down to hug her.

“Yeah..I am..I think” he said to her so she gave him a smile “It's getting late ..do you want to sleep?”

“I have all day and all night to sleep tomorrow, I just want to sit down with you lovely people and just have a good time”

Stella stood up from her chair and walked toward the kitchen “Well then, if it’s a good time we want,” she said, “We’re gonna need more margaritas. Shelly, come help me”

Shelly groaned, but followed her in, muttering something about Stella being a dictator.

You took a seat on the couch, and Eric, after a moment of hesitation sat next to you. You could feel his eyes on you occasionally, and when you finally glanced up at him, he looked away like he’d been caught. It made your stomach flip in a way that felt strangely good.

Chance raised his glass as he looked at you both.

“To reconciliations, second chances, and family” he said, his words were a little slurred.

“You’ve definitely been drinking” Miranda chimed in.

“Not enough to miss the fact that the tension in this room could power a small city” he added, pointing a dramatic finger between you and Eric.

You rolled your eyes as he put you on the spot like that.

“Let it go, Chance.” Eric said to him, his tone was firm.

“No, no, no, I will not let it go. This is what I live for. Real life soap operas. A little heartbreak, tears, sensual dancing, dramatic walkouts..God, you two are delicious”

You couldn't help but face palm as he kept going.

“You’re unbelievable.” Eric shook his head.

“Guilty” Chance responded as he headed to the kitchen.

Eric then got up and made a plate, he took a little bit of everything from the table, then he walked towards you.

“Ummm thanks” you said to him as you grabbed the plate from him. You could feel Patricia's eyes on you both. She wasn't being subtle at all.

“Did you eat?’ you asked him as he sat down so he shook his head.

“Then eat” you said to him as you passed him the fork after taking the bite of that delicious ziki.

“Oh my god this is amazing” you looked at Patrica so she did a little bow down.

“I have been perfecting this dish from 25 years now” You let out a laugh as she said that.

“Uhhh i should get going..i have to be up early tomorrow” Miranda spoke aso Patricia nodded.

“I'll see you for our session tomorrow” she hugged Patricia so Eric got up.

“I'll drop you”

“Oh no please stay and have fun..i brought my car” She said to him so he nodded and sat back down on the couch, not protesting because he didn't actually want to go anywhere at that moment. Once Chance and Shelly left, Patricia said goodnight to you and Eric before she went to her room with Stella.

Leaving you all alone with Eric, all alone.

And you couldn't help but sneak glances at him, he smelled good, he looked good and he had just poured his heart and soul out to you not that long ago, your skin was still buzzing from that synergy.

“So ummm how's uhhh work?” You broke the silence as you took your heels off and got comfortable on the couch. He couldn't help but smile, it was nice, he has missed you alot and he had missed the familiarity and comfort he used to share with you before he ruined it.

“I'm not there..alot..i did get two trainers, they're doing good I guess”

“Broke your no trainers rule huh?”

“I had to”

You shifted slightly to place your back on the couch.

“And how you have been dealing with the..uhh ..you know..”

You asked hesitantly, his smile faltered as he thought about it, he didn't want to think about it, in his mind it wasn't just happening, he wanted her to fight and he didn't want to lose her, not so soon, not when he had just started to give her the life she deserved

“I am ..fine.. I'm not the one suffering” he mumbled softly, his hands were shaking so you put your hand on his, the touch grounded him for a moment.

“You are..just differently. And it's allowed, you are allowed to feel Eric”

He took a deep breath as you said that.

“Enough about me..how are you?” he said so you let go of his hand but then he wrapped his fingers around yours before you would drift away.

“What about me? I'm fine?”

“I know I have been a complete jerk to you, i couldn't even be a friend to you- ”

“Eric we don't have to-”

“No but I have to…it's ..i just need you to know that i know how awful and lonely and hurt i have made you feel since that night-” his voice broke as he turned to you, your eyes teared up as well at the sound of his broken voice “I know i have disappointed you and disrespected our friendship, our bond…our love.. and I hate myself for it and I don't think I'd ever forgive myself for it but when I say that i never stopped loving you or thinking about you, not even for a second..then i just need you to believe me okay.. please just believe me when I say that I have always loved you and I'll always love you”

You looked him in the eye before you placed your hand on his cheek and wiped the tear that rolled down. He was hurting, you knew he was, and as much as he had hurt you with his cruel decisions you didn't want to punish him forever especially during a time like this..

“I believe you Eric..I do..i just need some time..that's it.. I think we both do” he nodded as you said that before he grabbed both of your hands between his own and pressed soft kisses on it.

You wrapped your arms around him to hug him because it wasn't just him that needed it at that moment.

“I love you” you mumbled softly so he pulled away to look at you as if he didn't think he deserved to hear it.

“I love you” he mumbled softly so you smiled.

It was nice to hear it after months.

“Can we talk about the drastic weight loss?” He brought up the conversation you didn't want to have so you sighed and leaned back into the couch.

“Do I look different?’

“You look beautiful y/n..you always do, I'm just worried”

“I'm fine”

“How much do you weigh currently?’ you gulped as he said that.

“105 pounds..i know what you are thinking Eric” he placed his arm around your shoulder so you placed your head down on his chest

“Am I wrong though?” You stared into the distance for a moment, not wanting to admit that he wasn't wrong.

“It just kept me distracted, gave me something to obsess over”

He sighed as you said that, you knew he was going to blame himself for this but this wasn't his fault, people turned to alcohol and drugs to cope, this was how you coped.

“No more okay? From now on you are going to eat proper meals, you're not going to starve yourself and you won't spend three hours in the gym 7 days a week okay?” you chuckled as he said that.

“You're going to be my trainer again?” you smiled as you looked up at him so he nodded.

“If you'd let me”

“Okay”

A small smile curved the corner of his mouth as you agreed nonchalantly.

“How are things with your parents?”

“Same old, still not speaking to my mom” he hummed as you said that.

“Did that asshole ex of yours bother you?”

“He calls sometimes, he saw me at the grocery store last week, saw how skinny I had become and probably got hard at the sight’

His jaw clenched at the words but he didn't react, he allowed it to happen, he was the reason you were so close to destroying yourself. He wanted to tell you how Jake was everything that was wrong in this world, but then he had hurt you more than he did and he didn't think he'd ever forgive himself for that.

“Are you tired?” He asked, his voice soft as he trailed his fingers through your hair.

“I have a day off tomorrow” you said as you looked at him so he smiled.

“On a Wednesday?”

“Just figured I'd need it tonight after-” his smile became somber as you didn't finish your words. He knew what you meant, he knew you were going to go back home and cry all night, that's what you'd have done if he hadn't apologised and begged for you to come back to him.

“Stay here tonight..please?” He mumbled softly, making your breath hitch, he didn't want to overstep though. You said you needed time and he was going to give it to you. “Take the guest room, it's yours anyways”

“I can't sleep in this stupid dress-” you chuckled lightly.

“Wear something of mine..come” he stood up and put out his hand for you so you grabbed his fingers and followed him to his room.

His essence enveloped you, you missed his apartment but Eric has been living here for months and this place has become an extension of him. As he reached into his closet you looked around the room, eyes teared up as you found the frame that had you and him right next to his bed, it was taken the night of his competition. Even though he had lost that night, he seemed the happiest he had ever been, the bobblehead was placed right next to it like a shrine.

Sometimes you wished you could have turned back the time somehow, so Patricia never would have gotten the cancer, so he never would have broken your hearts, so you'd not have to worry about losing the woman that mothered you more than your own mother did.

“Y/n” he mumbled as he passed one of his oversized shirts to you, you sniffled once as you took it from him “I'd offer you my pants but you'd drown in it” you chuckled as he said that.

“It's okay i have the shorts on..thank you..” you looked at him as you hugged him again “Goodnight Eric” you said quickly before turning on your heel and leaving the room before you'd break down in tears again.

You stepped quietly into the guest room, after undressing you put on Eric's shirt, it went past your bare thighs. Too quiet. It was too quiet outside but your head was in chaos. As you rested your head on the cold pillow, you pulled the blanket up around your body. Staring at the ceiling you tried to get some sleep but it was futile.

Minutes passed. Maybe an hour.

But sleep wouldn’t come.

The image of that picture frame on his nightstand wouldn’t leave your mind, the way his arm was wrapped around you in it, the way he had looked at you back then like nothing else existed. You remembered that night vividly, you remembered how worried he was when he couldn't get in touch with you. Your throat tightened as you realised that you might have asked for time but deep down you had already forgiven him completely and you realised that no matter what he did, he did it to keep you safe from himself. Stupid, that's what it was but it was him trying to protect you.

Trying to blink back the tears you found yourself getting out of bed. The hall was dimly lit. You passed by Patricia's room and opened it just to watch her breathe for a moment, then you closed it as quietly as you could and made way to Eric's room.

You didn’t knock though, just pushed the door open gently and there he was, shirtless, the blanket tossed haphazardly around his waist, his chest slowly rising and falling with each breath. His eyes opened almost immediately, as if some part of him had been waiting too.

“Y/n?” he murmured, voice low and husky from half a sleep. He pushed himself up on his elbows. “You okay baby?”

You didn’t answer. You stepped into the room, closed the door behind you, and began walking toward him slowly.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked again softly, watching you like he was afraid you would run away if he would move too quickly.

Still, you said nothing. The only sound in the room was the quiet shift of the floorboards beneath your steps.

“Y/n?”

You reached the edge of the bed, his brows curled a little in confusion. He watched your every movement, his breath catching as you climbed onto the mattress , then onto him, your knees straddling his waist, hands resting on his bare chest.

His skin was warm under your palms. Your breath hitched at the touch.. you had missed him and you needed him more than you needed to breathe right now.

You slowly pushed him back down on the bed and then, without a word, you leaned down and kissed him.

It wasn’t soft, wasn't hesitant. It was everything you’d been holding back for months, longing, anger, grief, love, all tangled up into one desperate, burning kiss. Your mouth crushed against his, and his hands found your thighs instinctively, gripping them like he never wanted to let go again.

You pulled back just enough to look him in the eye.

His lips were swollen from the kiss, eyes wide with disbelief and heat, but he didn’t say a word, he didn’t dare. You were shaking, he could feel it, and yet you held yourself above him.

“Dont ever try to keep me safe from yourself, I don't need that, I'm capable of making my own decisions, if I feel like you are hurting me I'll tell you, don't decide it for me, and don't fucking break up with me again because even if you try again.. I'll just reject it”

As a drop of tear rolled down your eyes he brought his thumbs to wipe them away before he rose up and kissed you again, then he flipped you underneath him, his movement urgent and heated.

“Tell me to stop” he breathed. “Please. I’ll stop” he whispered between the kisses, he couldn't stop on his own, he was starving and after months he felt something other than pain and misery and the constant fear he had of losing both you and Patricia. After months he felt something hopeful.

You cupped his face, fingertips brushing over his lips.

“Don’t stop. Please don’t ever stop”

That was all he needed.

His kisses were like feathers this time, along your collarbone, then your jaw, then the curve of your bosom. He treated you like you were fragile, breakable. Like he still couldn’t believe you were here, letting him touch you like this again..

You felt intoxicated, you couldn't even remember when his fingers had slipped under the waistband. You moaned and wriggled as he slowly moved in and out of you.

“Does it feel like a dream to you too?” You mumbled as you made him look at you, a smile on your face as his movement halted. His answer did make your heart skip a beat.

“No..no it's not. It feels like I am awake now”

And when you slept that night, safely tucked in his arm, your naked body pressed against his, you knew that no matter what happens tomorrow and the inevitable insurmountable pain the future will bring for both of you, you knew you won't let go of him. No matter how lost he was you'd find him, no matter how broken he was, You'd fix him. You'd fix him the way he had fixed you.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Taglist @loushaw131460 @wiseyouthinfluencer @purplerainx1 @bloodykisserr @muchwita @mariaenchanted @a-differentbrandof-beans @kikibit @venuslayla23-blog @somedayimagines @sn0wybowie-blog

[satisfactuality]

"oh adaine would be the last of the bad kids to forgive the rat grinders" "adaine would hold a grudge against oisin" "this is why adaine would never help redeem the rat grinders"

all of these ignore the infinitely funnier option that adaine immediately forgives them for everything and just hates them unrelated to their plot to end the world

[rosietrace]

I might get attacked by the Libby/Nash likers but,,,,

I kinda preferred Alisa/Nash 🧍‍♀️ *gets booed off the stage /j /j*

[lunexsparx]

LADS: Sent them LEWDS in public

Summary: The LADS have left you feeling neglected, so you decide to teach them a lesson. What happens when you send them lewds while they're in public? MDNI! (Suggestive, not explicit.) This was a silly piece, and my first "all LADs" fic!

It had been three entire days since your usually-charming upstairs neighbor decided to treat you like you’d committed some unforgivable crime.

And for what?

A tiny, perfectly reasonable suggestion.

All you’d done was gently imply—alright, maybe not that gently—that it might be insanely hot if Xavier wore the Lumierre mask while you did things to him that were definitely, unequivocally illegal in at least six countries.

Instead of pouncing on you right then and there, like a sane person, he'd looked at you with such profound horror you'd genuinely thought for a moment you’d accidentally confessed to murder. Without saying a word, he’d turned on his heel, and left. He actually just left you standing there, mouth open, dignity bruised, libido unsatisfied.

And now it had been three full days of absolute silence.

Three days of radio static—no texts, no teasing smiles across patrol, nothing. He'd even swapped shifts just to dodge seeing you, the dramatic bastard. Last night, you'd even tried peace offerings in the form of his favorite takeout, and he’d ignored that too!

Enough was enough.

Jealous of his own alter ego? That was the most ridiculous thing you'd ever heard. But fine. If Xavier wanted to act like a sulky teenager, you'd make sure to treat him like one.

War was officially declared.

You found him at headquarters, slumped in a chair after your patrol with Tara, looking every bit as miserable as he deserved to be. He was nibbling half-heartedly on a powdered-sugar donut, his posture screaming “pathetic” in a way that almost made you soften—almost.

His eyes flicked upward, briefly met yours, and then darted away guiltily, the tips of his ears turning pink beneath his silver hair. Oh, he was absolutely not ready for the diabolical storm about to descend upon him.

"Hey there, stranger," you purred sweetly, flashing him your most innocent smile. "Thinking hot pot tonight? You in?"

Xavier stared at you like you’d grown a second head, his eyes wide and dark as he slowly drew the powdered sugar-coated tip of his thumb into his mouth, sucking it clean. For one charged, heart-stopping second, you thought he might break—then he yanked his gaze away, finger removed from his lips.

“There’s a... briefing,” he mumbled lamely, shuffling awkwardly toward the conference room door.

Your stomach dropped. Oh, he was really doubling down, wasn’t he?

Fine. If that’s how he wanted to play it, you’d come prepared. You had nuclear-level ammo today, and Xavier didn’t stand a chance.

Game on, Bunny Boy.

You followed him into the conference room, watching with disbelief as he strategically wedged himself between two occupied seats. Seriously?

With a dramatic sigh, you slid into the empty chair directly opposite him. If he thought refusing to look at you would save him, he was tragically mistaken.

The other hunters filed in, and Jenna began her usual monotone spiel about mission updates and statistics. You tuned her out instantly, your entire focus zeroed in on Xavier, whose azure eyes remained stubbornly glued to Jenna, as though looking anywhere else—especially at you—would ignite him on literal fire.

You knew him far too well for that. You knew exactly how difficult it was for him not to glance your way; you could practically feel him sweating from across the room.

Still, not even a single glance?

Well, he’d asked for it.

Carefully lowering your phone beneath the table, shielding the screen from wandering eyes, you scrolled through your collection of explicit selfies from last night. You’d planned these as playful rewards for when he finally apologized, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

And oh, the pièce de résistance.

There you were, wearing Lumiere's iconic costume, the shirt wide open to expose your bare breasts, nipples stiff and tempting. Your hand disappeared suggestively down the pants, fingertips teasingly hidden but clearly busy, eyes glassy with desire, lips parted as if mid-moan. It was raw. It was filthy. It was fucking perfect.

Smirking, you quickly typed your killing blow:

You: If you won’t be Lumiere, then I guess I’ll have to be.

Send.

Exactly five seconds passed between the delivery of your message and the moment Xavier's soul visibly departed from his body.

Across the conference room, Xavier shifted casually in his chair, pulled out his phone like it was nothing—and froze.

For a full second, you swore he stopped breathing altogether.

Then, as though hit by a delayed gunshot, he jolted violently enough that his knee smacked hard against the underside of the conference table.

THUD.

Coffee cups rattled dangerously. A rookie hunter squeaked embarrassingly. Jenna stopped mid-sentence, arching an eyebrow, thoroughly unimpressed.

“Xavier? Everything alright?”

Xavier opened his mouth, managed no sound, then tried again. “Fine,” he croaked weakly, voice cracking like he was thirteen again. “Just—leg cramp. Muscle...spasm. Sudden. Carry on.”

Jenna stared at him, the kind of look that clearly said she wasn't paid enough for whatever this was, before continuing her report without further comment.

But Xavier was fucked, and he knew it. Under the table, his hand fumbled desperately—obviously attempting, and spectacularly failing, to discreetly adjust his hardening cock. His breathing turned shallow, ragged, as though he’d just sliced through a thousand wanderers.

For several minutes you almost broke skin from biting your knuckle so hard, trying not to laugh. You expected to get some sort of reaction, but when it came to Xavier--you didn't expect THAT.

At last, he risked a glance in your direction.

The look he shot you was homicidal—wild, desperate, furious lust etched into every tense line of his body.

You offered him your most innocent smile.

Slowly, deliberately, you tilted your head just slightly.

Bit your lower lip.

Then, clearly and slowly enough for him to read your lips across the room, you mouthed:

“Call me Lumiere.”

Xavier’s palm slammed down on the table with a loud crack, making the rookie beside him choke on her coffee and Jenna stop mid-sentence again.

He stood abruptly—violently—his chair sliding backwards and hitting the wall behind him. “I—uh—emergency!” he stammered, voice strained with panic. “Personal emergency!”

Without another word, he practically sprinted out of the conference room, leaving confused whispers in his wake.

Seconds later, your phone buzzed violently in your hand.

Xavier: Elevator. Now. If you can still walk when I’m done with you, consider it a miracle.

A wicked grin slowly spread across your lips.

He was going to lose his mind when you showed up in the elevator already wearing his mask.

And you absolutely couldn’t wait.

You: Hey handsome. Come home and ruin my life a little? ❤️ Zayne: Saving actual lives, sweetheart. You’ll survive. Probably. You: Survival’s not guaranteed if you keep ignoring me. 😔 Zayne: Drink water. Do stretches. Think loving thoughts. You: My “loving thoughts” involve you naked and tied to a chair, FYI. Zayne: Medical emergency. Gotta go. Stop being trouble. You: No. 😇

You glared at your phone, dramatically collapsing face-first onto the couch with a frustrated groan. The cushions absorbed your grumbled curses, muffling your irritation. How many more nights had to be like this?

Fine. If Doctor Li was determined to pretend you didn't exist, you'd simply make yourself impossible to ignore.

You'd show him exactly what happened when he neglected his duties.

With determination and a mischievous gleam in your eye, you slipped into Akso Hospital, wearing your most convincing “definitely not about to do something reckless” expression. A few polite smiles later, you found yourself safely behind the door of Zayne’s private office.

Perfect.

The white coat hung invitingly from the hook on the wall, proudly embroidered with his name. With a small, affectionate smile, you ran your fingertips lovingly over the stitching. He’d earned every letter there—but he was going to have to earn you now.

You slipped out of your clothes, discarding them neatly on a nearby chair, and draped yourself in the crisp, cool white fabric. Buttoning exactly one button beneath your bust to tease rather than conceal, you placed his stethoscope around your neck, letting the cold metal rest suggestively between your bare breasts.

Then, perched casually against his desk, you carefully spread your thighs—just indecent enough—and snapped a photo.

You: I need a consultation, Doctor. I’m experiencing severe symptoms of neglect. 🖤

Send.

Meanwhile, Upstairs in the Boardroom

Zayne was enduring yet another agonizingly dull briefing on surgical budgeting, politely nodding at appropriate intervals and maintaining just enough eye contact to appear interested.

His phone buzzed softly. A quick glance to silence it, and—

He froze.

The image filled his screen with obscene clarity: You, half-naked beneath his white coat, lounging seductively on his desk. His heartbeat surged violently, blood roaring in his ears.

"—increase the budget allocation for anesthesiology—"

Zayne heard nothing.

His mind was busy unraveling.

"Dr. Li?" the hospital director asked, peering at him over her glasses. "You seem… distracted."

He stood abruptly, chair wobbling dangerously behind him. "Emergency page," he announced, voice crisp and convincing.

He didn’t even bother looking at his pager.

Without another word, he strode out, urgency radiating from him as he practically sprinted toward his office.

He burst through the door—and stopped short.

There you were, a living fantasy: draped across his workspace like an erotic muse, fingers leisurely twirling his stethoscope. You looked outrageously smug and impossibly beautiful.

"Doctor," you purred sweetly, batting your lashes with a smirk, "I've been incredibly patient, but I'm afraid my condition is deteriorating."

Zayne exhaled heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose in mock-suffering. "You," he murmured with exaggerated weariness, eyes shining with reluctant amusement, "are an absolute nightmare."

He crossed the room in three confident strides, trapping you firmly between his arms as he braced himself on either side of your hips. The warmth of his body pressed intimately close, sending sparks rippling across your skin.

"But," he continued softly, voice dipping lower, "you're my nightmare."

Your grin widened, eyes sparkling triumphantly.

He brushed his nose gently against yours, mouth hovering dangerously close. "Now," he breathed, warm and teasing against your lips, "are you ready for a proper examination?"

His hands slid up your shoulders, skillful fingers hooking into the edges of the white coat. With a single swift movement, he stripped it from you, letting it pool loosely at your elbows. You gasped softly at the sudden exposure, your bare skin instantly heated under his heavy, possessive gaze.

He tugged the stethoscope gently but firmly, tightening it just enough to elicit another soft gasp from you. His lips curled wickedly.

"Because, sweetheart," he whispered hungrily, "I’m afraid I’ll need to be… extremely thorough."

Just as his mouth brushed against yours, the door swung open sharply.

"Dr. Li, I just wanted to—"

Yvonne froze mid-step. Her eyes widened comically, mouth falling open in pure shock.

You froze.

Zayne froze.

The three of you stood locked in a perfect tableau: you, nearly naked on his desk; Zayne gripping the stethoscope like a leash; and poor Yvonne wishing desperately she could melt into the carpet.

The awkward silence stretched unbearably—until you broke it with a cheerful, mortifyingly casual, "Hey, Yvonne."

Yvonne sputtered, her cheeks blazing scarlet. "I—uh—meeting—I’ll—clear your schedule, Doctor Li—sorry—!" She whirled around and fled, the door slamming so hard a framed diploma nearly toppled off the wall.

Quiet filled the room once more.

Slowly, you turned your gaze back to Zayne, prepared for irritation or embarrassment in his expression. Instead, what you saw in his eyes made your stomach clench and your knees weaken.

He looked feral.

His eyes were dark with barely controlled hunger, the curve of his mouth twisted into a dangerous smirk. A low, rich chuckle escaped him—broken and beautiful—and then he captured your lips in a fierce kiss that left you absolutely breathless.

When he pulled away, his breath was ragged.

"You," he rasped, voice low and trembling with the effort of restraint, "have absolutely no idea what you just unleashed."

His fingers tangled into your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your face upward, exposing your throat. A startled, eager whimper escaped you as he guided you firmly down onto your knees, the cool metal of the stethoscope tightening once more around your neck, holding you in place, keeping you under his control.

"Now," Zayne murmured roughly, gently tracing your jawline with his thumb, eyes blazing with a promise that sent liquid heat pooling between your thighs, "about your consultation…"

He stroked your lower lip with the pad of his thumb, his eyes heavy and intensely focused on your form beneath him.

"Open wide, sweetheart," he whispered darkly. "Doctor’s orders."

He hadn't even noticed you were there.

Or if he had, he certainly wasn't showing it.

Rafayel moved through the exhibit like a reluctant storm—sharp smiles that didn't quite reach his eyes, quick jokes tossed over his shoulder, and half-hearted acknowledgments to anyone who cornered him. He was the living embodiment of forced politeness, an artist enduring the social equivalent of nails scraping down a chalkboard.

And god, he hated every second of it.

You knew it just by watching him: the tight set of his jaw, the slight twitch at the corner of his eye every time some fawning critic called him "brilliant" or "a visionary." The fake laughter he forced out sounded so pained that you cringed inwardly each time you heard it.

He wasn't here by choice. He was here because Thomas begged him to be. Sweet, desperate Thomas—his manager, friend, and occasional babysitter—had guilted him into playing nice. Apparently, being cursed with raw talent also came with mandatory public suffering.

But still, you had shown up tonight for him.

You'd dressed up, hopeful and ready to support him, a little nervous, and just a touch eager to catch his attention. He'd been busy with this exhibit for weeks, leaving you missing him terribly. A few texts back and forth proved he'd been working himself thin, so your attendance hopefully meant a lot to him. You imagined his face lighting up, maybe an overly dramatic embrace to embarrass you in public, something to make this exhausting night worth it.

But nothing like that happened.

Instead, you lingered awkwardly at the edges, becoming increasingly invisible with each passing minute. Every time you tried to approach him, some insufferable curator or overly-enthusiastic fan intercepted. A handshake here, a selfie there, a monologue about color theory that visibly drained Rafayel’s soul just listening to it.

Your heart sank lower with every failed attempt to reach him.

It felt ridiculous—standing alone, unnoticed, in a crowd full of people fawning over him. The ache settled deep in your chest, frustration twisting alongside a quiet, embarrassed loneliness. You knew he adored you in his own chaotic way, but in this moment, you felt utterly forgotten.

Before your pride could stop you, your hand slipped into your clutch, pulling out your phone. Your thumb hesitated, hovering over the screen.

You'd taken the photo a few days earlier. You’d laughed nervously, painting your body with cheap market paints, giggling as vibrant colors ran together, messy but charming in their chaos. Beautiful hues smeared across your naked skin. A self portrait with loving marks made only for him. You'd planned it as a playful reward for him, a private gift to congratulate him on surviving this night. Something so vulnerable and silly, you just knew he'd affectionately tease you about it...

But right now, it felt more like an act of desperation—maybe even your last chance to salvage your hurt feelings.

You attached the picture, pausing only a second to consider your message before typing something hopeful and just slightly teasing:

You: If only I’d had an artist’s touch when I made this… 🎨

Send.

There. It was done. Now, you could let him have his night. Your stomach twisted anxiously as you turned toward the exit. You wouldn't wait around feeling sorry for yourself any longer. And you absolutely were not going to cry.

Definitely not.

You were halfway to the door when you heard the distinct sound of glass shattering against marble flooring.

You whipped around just in time to see Rafayel frozen stiffly, staring down at his fallen champagne flute, the shattered glass glittering beneath his shoes like fragments of a broken sculpture. His phone still glowed in his hand, the faint light of your photo illuminating his wide-eyed, stunned expression.

For a moment, the gallery seemed suspended in time. Even Thomas stopped mid-sentence, mouth half-open, staring at Rafayel with alarm.

Then Rafayel slowly lifted his gaze, eyes dark with delicious chaotic delight.

He clapped his hands sharply, making several attendees jump. "Alright, show's over, everyone!" he declared with startling cheerfulness.

Music screeched to a stop. Confused murmurs rippled through the crowd. Thomas sputtered helplessly, pushing forward in a panic. "Raf, what are you doing? Are you out of your—?"

"Emergency inspiration, Thomas," Rafayel interrupted smoothly, flashing a grin that promised chaos. "Artist emergency. Clear out these art vultures before I start tossing them myself."

He began herding the stunned crowd toward the doors like an overly enthusiastic sheep dog, casually waving away protests, ignoring horrified gasps, and outright laughing at anyone who demanded explanations.

In a matter of minutes, the gallery emptied completely, leaving you alone and slightly bewildered in the silent aftermath.

Before you could fully process what had just happened, Rafayel stormed across the gallery--intense eyes locked on yours, grabbing your wrist with gentle but firm insistence and pulling you toward one of the large, blank canvases still hanging on the far wall.

"Raf—" you began, but he pressed you lightly against the canvas, caging you in with his body. His breath was ragged, eyes intense and impossibly full as they traced your features with more affection than he'd ever shown you before.

"You," he whispered fiercely, voice low and roughened with barely contained emotion, "are the only masterpiece I've ever given a damn about."

His fingers toyed with the hem of your dress, teasingly lifting the fabric inch by torturous inch. "And clearly," he continued, mouth twitching with a teasing laugh, "you're in desperate need of a professional’s touch.”

It had been a week.

Seven miserable days of cryptic texts, all maddeningly brief and patronizing:

Sylus: Stay in tonight. Sylus: Miss you, kitten. Sylus: Be good.

No calls. No visits. Not even one infuriatingly charming late-night voicemail. Instead, your only visitor was Mephisto—the world’s most judgmental mechanical crow—who showed up at ungodly hours, tapping insistently at your window like he had something important to say but was choosing not to out of spite.

You hated this.

You missed Sylus with an intensity that bordered on psychosis. You simultaneously wanted to punch him in the mouth for ignoring your messages and pull him close and kiss him senseless for texting back. He was stubborn, distant, and maddeningly secretive—qualities that normally drew you to him, but right now were driving you toward sweet, reckless revenge.

When Mephisto landed again, this time eyeing you from the balcony railing like a gothic hall monitor, you decided enough was enough.

Sylus had left you unsupervised for far too long—and it was time he faced the delicious consequences.

You picked up the sleek black helmet he’d given you weeks ago. Custom-designed, glossy, stylish, perfectly fitted—an extravagant gift he'd tried (and failed) to dismiss as "just something practical." You’d teased him mercilessly about it, delighting in how he blushed faintly at your enthusiastic reaction.

Tonight, the helmet would serve another purpose entirely.

Pulling it on, you stripped off everything else, relishing the cool air and the way goosebumps prickled your bare skin. You sprawled across the bed, posed shamelessly, legs parted just enough to tease, fingers strategically hiding the most explicit details—but only just. The helmet gleamed wickedly, a striking contrast to your exposed body.

You snapped the photo.

With a satisfied smirk, you sent it off to Sylus, accompanied by the provocative caption:

You: Your kitten needs to play. 🐾

Send.

Deep within the heart of N109’s black market, Sylus stood at the head of a long metal table, staring coolly down a collection of men who looked like they'd stepped straight out of a wanted poster. Between them sat a precarious amount of glowing modified Protocores and weaponry—dangerous, volatile, and profoundly expensive.

Negotiations were quiet. Civilized, even, in that uniquely criminal way where civility masked a very real promise of bloodshed.

Sylus’s phone buzzed softly against the metal table. He ignored it, expression unreadable, shoulders loose, hands relaxed as though he had all the time in the world.

It buzzed again. Insistent. Demanding attention.

With a subtle sigh, he flicked open the screen, casually glancing down to silence whoever dared interrupt—

And his world halted.

Your photo filled the display, bold and stunning enough to seize every thought in his head. You sprawled like an absolute vision, sleek helmet shining, bare skin lush and inviting, fingers barely covering the part of you he now desperately wished they weren’t hiding. His breath stopped in his chest as he licked his lips.

The room felt suddenly suffocating.

His energy surged, raw and unchecked, in a way it hadn't in years—and certainly never over something as trivial as a photograph.

The modified protocores, hyper-sensitive to his Evol fluctuations, immediately picked up on the spike.

Then—

BOOM.

An entire weapons crate erupted, shards of protocores and sparks exploding outward in a brilliant shower of chaos. The table overturned. Gangsters screamed and dove for cover. The lights flickered violently, plunging the room into smoke-filled confusion. Someone yelled about assassins, another fired a panicked shot into the ceiling, and Luke and Kieran hit the floor with twin yelps.

"Holy shit, did boss do that on purpose?!" Luke shrieked from behind a smoldering crate.

Kieran coughed and laughed simultaneously, cackling, "Nah, you didn't see that look? He only looks like that when she's involved!"

Amid the destruction, Sylus stood unmoving, ruby eyes still transfixed on the intimate image before him. Smoke curled gently from the scorched edge of his coat, a faint dusting of ash settling into his white hair. His expression remained as calm and impenetrable as a marble statue.

One gangster staggered up to him, pale and trembling, clutching a bloody hand. "What the fuck was that, Sylus? Are you double-crossing us? Was this a hit—?"

Sylus didn't bother replying. He simply tucked the phone smoothly into his pocket, brushed off his sleeve, and fixed the shaking man with a flat stare.

"Emergency recall," he said calmly.

While alarms screamed and half the warehouse burned around him, Sylus turned to Luke and Kieran and said:

"Handle it."

Without looking back at the smoking ruins behind him, Sylus walked away, leaving a roomful of criminals sputtering in disbelief.

At home, you’d fallen asleep waiting for a reply, curled up and still helmet-clad, when the apartment door slammed open so violently you bolted upright, startled and blinking.

Sylus stood in the doorway, looking like he’d just survived an apocalypse—jacket scorched, boots dusty, eyes blazing and utterly unhinged. He kicked the door shut without a backward glance, filling the room with his overpowering presence.

"You probably got someone killed tonight, Kitten," he drawled, voice deceptively mild.

You snorted softly, waving him off with a playful roll of your eyes. "Oh, sure. I'm deadly, alright."

His expression didn't change, though his eyes darkened with intensity that sent a sudden thrill down your spine. He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, a predator approaching prey that hadn't yet realized it was caught.

"I’m serious," he said softly, voice low and edged with dangerous amusement. "Two crates of weapons and Protocores exploded, half the black market nearly burned down, and I'm fairly certain at least one idiot accidentally shot himself in the foot."

You blinked, momentarily uncertain—then burst into bright laughter, your amusement echoing brightly through the darkness of the room. "Oh please," you said, still giggling. "Sylus, that's ridiculous."

He didn’t laugh. Instead, he reached for your helmet, carefully slipping it off and tossing it aside like an unnecessary barrier between you. His hands braced firmly on either side of you, trapping you effortlessly beneath him.

His Evol energy crackled lightly against your skin, prickling warmth everywhere he hovered close, setting your nerves alight.

"You have absolutely no idea," Sylus murmured, nuzzling softly against your temple, his voice dark and gentle as velvet against your ear, "the sheer havoc you wreak inside me."

Your breath hitched, laughter melting into something softer, warmer, undeniably affectionate.

"You came," you finally whisper into his ear. "You could have just texted me back," you teased gently, eyes dancing in the low light.

Sylus’s mouth curved into a faint, devastating smile, his gaze full of quiet adoration—and a promise of retribution. "And miss the chance to watch you try and kill me in real-time? Never."

His lips brushed yours, soft at first, then hungry—like he'd waited years instead of days. He kissed you slowly, deeply, utterly reverent, as though he’d willingly burn the entire world down just to ensure nothing stood between him and you again.

Caleb Xia was known across the fleet as a legendary figure of unbreakable discipline. Colonel Xia could hold his composure through anything—through battles, interrogations, and even prolonged stints in the punishing DeepSpace Tunnel. But tonight, back from yet another exhausting mission and desperate to dismiss his troops and finally collapse in private, Caleb was learning a painful truth:

He had absolutely zero defense against you.

It began innocently enough. Caleb stood stiffly at the fleet’s bustling command center, issuing routine post-mission orders. Soldiers marched up to him in a seemingly endless procession, saluting crisply as they reported their debriefing details. Caleb dutifully nodded, signed off on various datapads, and maintained perfect, ironclad control.

And then his phone buzzed softly in his pocket.

He slipped it out discreetly, expecting another boring update—only to find your name illuminated brightly, demanding his attention.

You: Calebbbbb. Answer meeeee. 🥺

Caleb's lip twitched. He could imagine your tipsy, adorable whine through the text. But professionalism required restraint, so he quickly typed a brisk reply:

Caleb: Working, Pip. Almost done.

But you clearly weren't feeling patient tonight.

Another buzz. Caleb checked his screen discreetly, eyes narrowing as his breath hitched involuntarily at your messages:

You: Working means ignoring me? Rude. I thought you missed me. 😭 You: You're mean, Caleb You: Ever since you joined your big bad secret club, you're no fun. 😔🍷

Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose, half-smiling despite himself. He could practically picture you sprawled on the couch, wine glass dangerously close to tipping onto the floor, cheeks flushed, lips pouting.

God, he missed you.

His jaw tightened slightly, heart thudding a little harder than it should. Caleb opened his mouth to bark a quick dismissal to the approaching officer—but he had no time. The soldier saluted sharply and began a lengthy status report, forcing Caleb to slide his phone back into his pocket with a silent curse.

The buzzing persisted—insistently, cruelly—in his pocket.

Finally, mercifully, he dismissed the soldier, and checked his phone again.

You'd sent a picture.

He quirked a brow and glanced around carefully, subtly angling the screen away from view as he opened the attachment. He regretted it immediately, a strangled noise nearly escaping his throat.

There you were, sprawled out lazily on your bed, cheeks flushed from alcohol and mischief. Wearing that damned red sports bra and matching boyshorts he’d glimpsed on you just once before a few weeks ago, entirely by accident—an image that had haunted his nights since. He'd felt guilty for seeing you in such a vulnerable state, even if it was an accident.

But this? You'd posed deliberately, your bare thighs slightly parted, your body arched invitingly on soft sheets.

He swallowed hard, blinking rapidly as heat surged in his veins. This was not happening. Not now, not here—when he had a dozen soldiers still waiting for dismissal orders.

Another officer marched toward him, interrupting Caleb’s internal panic. Caleb forced his expression into its usual neutral mask, hoping his flushed neck and pounding pulse weren't too obvious. The officer saluted, rattling off data—Caleb heard nothing, his mind racing, pulse hammering between his ears.

He nodded robotically, scribbled a barely legible signature on the datapad, and sent the soldier away with more force than necessary.

His phone vibrated again. A new text.

You: You’re ignoring me again. Baaad colonel. Do I need to try harder?

His heart skipped a dangerous beat, fingers shaking slightly as he tapped back urgently:

Caleb: Pipsqueak. You shouldn't have shown me that--you've been drinking. Caleb: I'm almost done here. Just...Not. Now.

Your reply was immediate:

You: Oopsies. Already took the pic. Too late. 💋

Caleb’s stomach flipped violently. Another soldier approached, and Caleb cleared his throat sharply, bracing himself against the inevitable.

“Colonel Xia, the mission logs—”

“Yes. Fine. Proceed,” Caleb managed, hoping he sounded commanding rather than breathless.

While the soldier droned on, Caleb made the catastrophic decision to open your new photo.

Fuuuuuck. It was…far worse. You’d removed the sportswear entirely, leaving nothing but smooth, bare skin in its place. You lay on your side, a soft, fluffy blanket strategically draped over your hips, teasing him with the faintest promise of what was hidden beneath. The graceful curve of your breasts was perfectly visible, your skin illuminated by warm, inviting lamplight. Your eyes were playful, your lips curved in an achingly inviting smile, as though daring him to come home immediately and do something about it.

Caleb's brain short-circuited entirely.

For several frantic heartbeats, he forgot how breathing worked.

You couldn't possibly have—

He closed his eyes, trying to regain some semblance of composure, but the image was already seared into his memory. Caleb felt utterly gutted—by longing, by frustration, by the fierce and consuming need he’d kept buried for far too long.

Caleb’s mind went completely blank. Every muscle in his body tensed, blood rushing downward at a dizzying speed. He realized, too late, that his breath had hitched audibly.

“Sir?” The soldier was staring at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Caleb coughed roughly into his fist, fighting desperately to regain control.

“Sorry—repeat your last point,” he growled hoarsely, blinking hard. The soldier cautiously continued, clearly worried about Caleb’s strange, flushed appearance.

Caleb’s phone buzzed yet again, ruthlessly relentless:

You: Bet you wish you were home now, huh, Caleb. 😘

The soldier finally departed, giving him one last curious glance. Caleb quickly turned away, leaning over a console to hide his increasingly obvious predicament. If he didn't have his long officer's coat, he'd be laughing stock of the fleet.

He texted frantically:

Caleb: Careful, Pip. When I get home you're going to pay for that.

But your reply destroyed any last shred of his composure:

You: Promise?  You: Btw... My glass of wine wore off a while ago. 🙃

Caleb closed his eyes, gripping the console so tightly his knuckles whitened. His uniform felt unbearably tight, his breathing shallow and uneven. But it wasn't just the sheer boldness or sensuality of your pictures that had wrecked him—it was the raw vulnerability behind your playful bravado.

You'd actually meant it.

After all this time, after carefully dancing around each other, you'd finally risked everything and showed him exactly how much you wanted him. No more teasing. No more pretending. Just your honest, unguarded desire laid bare—beautifully, heart-stoppingly bare—and he couldn't stand another moment being apart from you.

Not now.

“Lieutenant,” Caleb suddenly barked, addressing a startled officer nearby. “Dismiss the remaining personnel immediately. I'll review their reports tomorrow.”

“Y-yes, sir!”

Ignoring the curious, whispered speculations behind him, Caleb strode swiftly toward the exit, doing his best not to stumble in his frantic rush. His heart battered wildly against his ribs, pulse thundering as he vividly imagined exactly how he'd greet you once he finally got you in his arms.

You'd completely unraveled him—and there was nowhere else he'd rather be.

Author's Note:

This was definitely a challenge—but such a fun one! I'm genuinely impressed by all the talented writers who effortlessly create amazing LAD stories. If you enjoyed these little scenarios, please let me know—I’d love to write more! Also, if you have any specific requests or prompts, feel free to drop them in the comments below. Thanks for reading!

[kismetlotts]

call of duty p-links -`◇´-

♡︎ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ᴅᴏᴠᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴇᴀᴛ ♡︎

18/21+, MDNI, mature themes

triggering, upsetting and explicit content below

proceed at your own risk ⬏

Simon Ghost Riley

Riding Colleague Simon Riley and watching his cold, harsh exterior shatter, revealing this broken, needy man beneath who almost submits to tears when you finally lock eyes.

Ex boyfriend Simon Riley who spits on his fingers and stuff them inside you when you beg-plead him to stop stalking you and raping you.

Boyfriend Simon Riley who drags you into a random room at a gathering before fucking you hard and trying to stay quiet, he doesn't care that people are in the other room, he doesn't care that someone could walk in because he needed you there and then.

Hopping into the bath with your roommate Simon because you were way too impatient, you needed him inside you desperately- he can just wash his grimy, sweaty, work-orientated body later.

Taxi Driver Simon Riley who cant help but give in to his sick desires as he hops in the back to fuck you, ripping off that skimpy little dress you were wearing and pulling your hair.

Heartbroken best friend Simon who fucks you in the kitchen after sleeping over your house, relieving some of his post break-up blues and stress with the help of your sloppy tight cunt.

Toxic boyfriend Simon who fucks his cock into your mouth when you wouldn't let him in your pussy, making your eyes water and your body twitch in regret.

Sex deprived Husband Simon who breeds you the moment he returns home, he had been loyal to you while away on deployment and he just couldn't contain himself when he finally had the chance to bury himself in your wet gooeyness.

Toxic Boyfriend Simon who fucks you hard to let off all of his steam, spanking, slapping and hitting your body because he was fucking pissed at you and nothing else could calm him down- you deserved it anyway you fucking whore.

Captain John Price

Boss Price who calls you into his office for some steamy cunnilingus when everyone is packing up ready to go home, lapping his teeth around your clit and diving his wet tongue into your greedy hole- let him have a taste, its the least you can do for your boss.

Birthday-boy boyfriend John who walks into the bedroom to see you all wrapped and tied for him, completely at his mercy in white material-prepped and ready for him to use or disrespect.

Stepdad Price stuffing your hole and leashing you up while your mother is away with work, treating you like some stupid fucking bitch and forcing you to do exactly what he tells you since he is in charge and you abide by his rules.

Older boyfriend John who proposes that the two of you start by doing mutual masturbation, he didn't want to scare his young pretty girl off just yet with how rough he can be and his fingers were already itching to feel the inside of your fresh pussy.

Husband Price who fucks you deeper when you beg for it, pounding into you so hard his eyes are shining with pleasure and legs are aching in tiredness, feeling your wetness drip out and coat his dick filling the room with your heavenly squelches- so wet and so fucking feminine.

Friends with benefits John Price who fucking loves watching your arse shake and jiggle with every thrust, he loved your arse in general and was always happy to bite, eat, fuck, taste and finger it- but nothing beats the tasty sight of your cheeks swaying beneath him as he absolutely wrecks you.

Dads best friend Price who fucks you like an animal in heat, if you had taken a second longer to undress your clothes would be ripped to shreds ad hanging off you with how badly he couldn't wait-he didn't even give a shit your heels were still on because he had waited a lifetime to get inside you.

Toxic Husband John who drags you over his lap and toys with you for his own pleasure, smirking to himself when you cry from his spanks and whimper from his fingers- giving his sweet baby a little treat and punishment at the same time because he couldn't understand which one he liked more.

Step dad Price who is way to desperate for you to cum on his fingers, soak his hand in your cum and just to let yourself go, be taken care of and protected by an older male- who cares if it is wrong or not- he just wants his darling daughter to be happy and calm.

Johnny Soap Mactavish

Stalker Johnny who rearranges your guts fast and hard against your bed as soon as he gets his chance, meaty thick cock ramming its way inside with no care as he shamelessly blabbers on how you are his sweet little dove and that he thanks god for giving him this opportunity- you'll never know how badly he actually wanted his hands on you.

Greedy Hook-up Mactavish who makes you squirt just so it feels better for him, your folds leaking and dribbling with your essence but Johnny only cared about the warmth coating and lubricating his tip, making you so sodden it seemed he was sliding into warm, soft, melted, butter.

Best friend Johnny who proves you wrong when you assume hes lying about being able to make any girl cum by just his fingers, dragging you onto his bed and fingering you steadily, mouth salivating in thirst as he watches your cum propel outwards and squirt all over his sheets.

Perverted Boyfriend Johnny who cant stop himself from sucking harshly on your nipples, mind already engrossed with sick fantasies of drinking your milk, you cupping him in your arms and feeding him gently like the good boy he is for you- you'd never find out though, to you he was just teasing your breasts, sucking, pinching and having a little fun, totally normal.

Step Brother Mactavish who fucks you in his room late at night, the pints he'd had previously making him increasingly more open and confident than usual, his tip hitting the spot you craved it to his gaining a small little spank from you and a whisper to keep quiet- you cant let mummy and daddy hear the two of you.

Childhood Best Friend Johnny who fucks you so hard you squirt all over yourself and him, finally seeing him after so many years and letting him fuck your ass had gotten you so excited you couldn't hold yourself back- Johnny wasn't fucking complaining each squirt that shot out of you made him almost cum- fucking your tight hole on the brink of orgasm, he never would've guessed you were capable of that.

Perverted neighbour Johnny who invites himself in to show you just how trained his tongue is, guiding it all over your thighs and pussy, working you easily and calmly it has your eyes watering in delight.

Simons best friend Johnny who fucks you in Simons bedsheets, thick dick filling you up more than his ever could until your left a collapsed mess in ecstasy, the scent of your boyfriend on the duvet and the groans coming from his best mate sent guilt straight to your stomach but it was already overwritten by pleasure- Disgusting fucking tramp sleeping with other guys and enjoying it.

Kyle Gaz Garrick

Boyfriend Kyle who just wants to feel your soft lips on his monster cock, he would never force you to do anything you didn't want to do and it would be silly to ask you to suck him- but could you please at least spit over the tip or maybe just lick it a little?

Roommate Gaz who cant survive the day without a morning quickie, your arse bouncing right in front of him and hole lustfully swallowing his juicy dick gets him in the perfect mindset for his hard work, morning television roaring in the background as you both chase your orgasms- you don't mind, do you?

Boyfriend Kyle who fucks you as fast as he can the second he hears 'faster' spew from your glossy lips, his stamina and pace unmatchable and sometimes you feel like you're about to explode with how powerful he is, Kyles a sweetheart but he isn't always so soft, slow and romantic- the man can fuck like a king.

Husband Kyle who has an obsession with filling your stomach with his massive cock, seeing the thick outline of himself through your skin deep in your stomach stirred something up inside him, fucking you harder and harder sometimes you bleed from his accidental roughness, it set him alight watching it bulge- made his savage side snap into action.

Konig

Obsessive stalker Konig who watches your window as you shower and finally builds up enough courage to join and fuck you in it one day, picking you up from behind and slipping inside your warm homey hole, drool falling from his mouth and onto your shoulder as you cried, he didn't understand why you were so adamant for him to get off of you and stop making love to you, it was no big deal- if he made you dirty and sweaty again he will just help you wash again.

Step Brother Konig who rapes you while you sleep and accidentally creampies your hole once you wake up and whimper, he didn't mean to cum honestly, he whispers apologies and a long string of worried 'fucks' as he pulls apart your cheeks watching his semen leak out of you- please don't be angry at him.

Boyfriend Konig who makes sure to use three or four of his fingers to stretch you out and prepare you for his cock, its just that big- he will kiss you on the cheek, licking away your salty tears of pain while he fucks his fingers until you, it is only a matter of time until you grow accustomed to the feeling- it will only hurt for a little more you just have to trust him.

Perverted Boyfriend Konig who fucking loses it when he sees you in your cute innocent frilly little panties, not being able to hold back his groans and his cum as he absolutely saturated them, painting them white- it is okay though, he promises to buy you a new pair- only if you let him keep these used ones- for personal reasons of course.

Brothers best friend Konig who selfishly ruts against your clothed pussy at night, breathing heavily and shaking as his precum soaks through the cotton of your panties, the room pitch black from the darkness aside from your lamp and he was supposed to be sleeping next door on the floor with your brother but here he was- sick look in his pleasure-ridden eyes as he looks down at you- whispering for you to just go back to sleep- he promises he wont go inside.

Philip Graves

Boss Graves who spanks your ass repeatedly when you disobey his orders, you work for him and you do exactly what he fucking says- there should be no 'Why's or 'No's it is 'Yes Sir' or else you are staying behind at the end of the day, and trust him when he says he will not be letting you leave until he is satisfied that you have learnt your lesson.

Toxic Boyfriend Philip who honestly does not give a fuck if you are tired or not, he will touch you, eat you, fuck you and rape you if he has to because to be in a relationship with him is an honour that you are taking for granted- he will treat you however he wants- at the end of the day your just a piece of pussy.

Boyfriend Philip who loves your perfect little nipples, he loves squeezing them, pinching them- sucking, biting- you name it and he loves it, he loves when you were silly little tank tops around the house that shows them pointing through and he loves when you let him cum on them- the minute he come face to face with your breasts and nipples, its like the world melts away.

Manipulative, Insane Boss Graves who hates when you crawl away from him and his hard cock- you know you want it, he can see it in your big doe eyes, its fuels him with rage when you cry and threaten to report him if he puts it inside you so he threatens your job back, promising you that if you ever told anyone or reported him that he would come for you and no matter how fast you tried to escape that he would always outrun you.

Husband Graves who upsets you during an argument so he decides to tug your panties down and fuck you in all the ways you love just before bed, his breath hot on your neck and sweat forming under both of your pyjamas from how fast his cock was entering you- the music of your panting and the scent of sex in the air made it safe to say neither of you got much sleep but at least he is back in your good books.

[ivyvenus333]

pervert!choso

a/n: wrote this in a 5 min haze and maybe it should’ve stayed in the drafts…

the day your sex tape got leaked was the worst day of your life. the video spread across campus like wildfire, everyone wanting to see just how miss popular took it.

however, waking up to a text that read, "hey, isn't this the girl you're obsessed with?" might be the best thing that's ever happened to pervert!choso.

he almost cums instantly upon clicking the link, the video stuck on the thumbnail as it loads --a still of some loser's cock just barely poking your entrance. choso's mind goes blank, hand instinctually slipping into his pants as he starts to lazily rub himself.

he had touched himself so so many times to the thought of you. at the thought of the pretty face he saw everywhere around campus contorting in pleasure. it's not like he followed you...just memorized your schedule and your routes to class. he knew where he needed to be and at what time to just get a glimpse of you.

he had never come harder than the night after you finally noticed him, your eyes meeting his and your pretty, plump lips pulling into a polite smile as you walked past with one of your friends. but now he got to cum to the sight of your pussy and the sounds of your moans? yeah, he was done for.

by the time the video finally loads, precum is leaking out of his reddened, angry tip. 4:47 seconds? he can't help but laugh. of course that fucking loser couldn't fuck you as long as he could. as long as he would if he ever got a chance with you.

choso is so so so fucking nasty, jerking his cock to the same speed as the pathetic one digging inside of you. jealousy coursed through his veins at seeing whoever fuck you so hard and so fucking fast. it hurt him, but at least his pretty girl was being fucked so good. he knew it's what you deserved. but he knew that would fuck you infintely better. fuck, it's all he ever thought about.

choso doesn't know how many times he rewatches the video. just that hours must've passed by now because he has lost all fucking feeling in his rubbed raw dick. each time he watches, he chooses something new to focus on with so much intent to memorize everything about you. the way your mouth gapes open as you pant and moan, the way your eyes crinkle shut and flutter open to eye-fuck the camera, the circular motion of your tits bouncing, the way your tight ass squeezes around nothing when you turn around and get fucked in doggy. he just listens to the video a few times, eyes shut and getting off to the sound of skin hitting skin -- your skin. over and over and over again.

his cock won't stop weeping, and he's given up on trying not to make a mess. well, not like he had a choice, he'd just gone through the entire box of tissues he kept on his night stand. it's so dirty, the way his cum drips down his chest and pools in the deep crevices of his abs.

choso inevitably passes out after jerking off for hours. and somehow, his life gets even better when he wakes up. the same friend texted him another link and a message that reads, "part two lol. not as good as the first one :/"

but his friend is wrong, sort of. because this video is from your point of view, with you holding the camera as you're getting fucked. specifically, you getting fucked by the loser who just so happens to have a lip ring, and long raven hair, dark eyes, and tattoos everywhere. someone that looks almost exactly like him. he cums again at the way you spur the loser on with a sweet, sweet "bet he could fuck me better than this."

yeah, he's probably being delusional, but just the thought that you could be talking about him is enough. (you were.)

[tokoyamisstuff]

I know you only write for dilfs usually, but could you make an exception? I'm starved for Invincible content🥺

so many perfectly fine dilfs /gilfs in this series, smh...but for you I'll make an exception. 💌

Variant! Invincible x gn! Reader

Second Chance At Love

...in which another version of Mark invaded your world to claim something he once lost.

Warnings: angst, unrequited love, yandere adjacent, blood, kidnapping, murder, not proofread A/N: I didn't specify which variant, pick your poison

This is it. That’s how you’ll die.

One of innumerable casualties in the wake of this surreal destruction, caused by no one else than the man you were still helplessly in love with. Well, at least the people responsible for this chaos all wore his stupidly handsome face, though the innocence in his eyes despite everything being long since absent in theirs.

You’re cowering in a corner of the nearest safehouse, huddled in there with countless other civilians as you start to reminisce and regret in the face of doom.

Maybe you should have told Mark about your feelings after all. Not that there ever was an appropriate moment to do so, between his relationship with Amber and Eve seamlessly afterwards. Both were amazing women in their own right, and you could never think of comparing yourself to either of them. But damn it you couldn’t even be mad at those wonderful two, even through all your jealousy.

Mark and you had been childhood friends ever since you had moved into the same neighborhood as a preteen. It was a storybook-like friendship that eventually turned into a one-sided infatuation as you grew older, but not wanting to ruin your friendship you cowardly suppressed them until it was too late.

And when your friend's powers finally awakened, you found the perfect opportunity to end this bond once and for all.

You remember it as if it was yesterday: His face, so full of shock and hurt as you broke out in tears and told him you couldn’t do this anymore. It wasn’t a complete lie.

Being this close to a literal hero made you a walking target, you claimed. Even if you as an individual are insignificant in the greater picture, even if villains wouldn’t try and hurt you to get through to him, conflict seemed to follow him everywhere, so you’ll most likely get into harm’s way at some point.

It was a cheap excuse to hide the pitiful truth that you couldn’t stand to see him build a life with someone else. And in hindsight you hated yourself for having done this. Invinc- Mark had gone through so much already, suffered great losses and was carrying guilt that weighed so heavy it astonished you that he hasn’t yet broken down under all the pressure.

And to add insult to injury, you - one of his closest and most trusted friends - abandoned him out of a selfish hurt that didn’t even make up a fraction of what he felt on the regular.

Enough self-pitying. You’re not the victim here.

If – by any miracle – you survive this, the first thing you’ll do is make things right. Contact him immediately, explain yourself, and promise to overcome this silly crush to be a friend he deserves this time.

But just when you made up your mind, a loud, grating noise cut through your pondering…

…and when you looked up, you were horrified to see the view of a bright night sky.

That meant someone had not only found this place, but also effortlessly tore off the rooftop which was made up of strengthened steel.

For the fraction of a second, when your eyes met all too familiar ones, a naive hope inside of you thought it was your Invincible that had arrived, worried for your safety. But the vastly different costume – covered with blood and viscera - reminded you painfully that again it’s just wishful thinking. A dream that would never become reality, no matter how long you refuse to acknowledge it. This world’s Mark is probably fighting alongside Eve right now, not wasting a single thought about you, and you couldn't blame him.

The Viltrumite scanned the crowd for god knows what, his face falling flat as his gaze fell on you. A flash of recognition flickered in his eyes, just to be replaced by an almost predatory glint.

“Found you!” his tone was oddly cheerful, yet sent a shiver down your spine as you could barely perceive him lunging at you with his sheer inhumane speed. You were sure that now you’ll experience pain beyond your greatest imagination, praying he'd make it quick...

...but much to your surprise the impact never came.

Instead you found yourself high in the air, fighting the nausea rising in the pit of your stomach due to the way too fast ascend. Beneath you the outline of the collapsing safehouse became blurred by darkness and distance, the dust driving tears in your eyes even long after the rubble drowned out everyone's screams.

“He’ll drop me” is the only thought present in your mind, feeling tremendously selfish for not caring about the others whose death you just witnessed. Yes, soon this sociopath will make you fall to your death and laugh at your misery like it’s some kind of wicked game.

And you deserved it either way, didn’t you?

Maybe you disappointed Mark in other realities as well. That must be it, that’s the reason he went out of his way just to find you – to get his revenge for you abandoning him in his darkest hour.

Your first instinct was to scream and lash out at him, and yet you knew trying to oppose a force of nature like him was to no avail. So with no other options you cling to your captor like a lifeline.

Clutching the fabric of his costume in tight fists, you hide your face in the crook of his neck, desperately trying to shun out the reality of your situation. Your behavior earns a low chuckle from the villain, who in return wraps his arms a little tighter around you as he carries you through the sky nearly bridal style.

“Don’t tell me your Mark never brought you flying with him?” he asked nonchalantly, as if any of this wasn’t an absolutely terrifying concept for you. Concerned at your lack of response, he slowed down in midair, gently squeezing your sides. “Hey, it’s okay. I got you. We’re almost there.”

You wanted to ask where to exactly, but your voice failed you each time you tried. So you stayed cradled against his muscular chest like this, trying your best to ignore the way you felt his gaze burning into you even though you refused to open your eyes.

“There we are” he announced, carefully letting you down. And still, as soon as your legs touched solid ground again they gave up and you fell to your knees right away. Initially this foreign Mark wanted to help you, to catch you in his arms once again and reassure you that everything was gonna be alright - but upon seeing tears dwelling in your eyes he knew he had to stop himself, hands falling loosely to the sides and balling to fists in mild frustration.

For a while you remained like this, staring at each other in awkward silence while a storm of conflicting emotions was raging beneath.

“You’re safe here” Mark ultimately spoke, and looking around this place really did seem rather peaceful compared to what you've seen in the news. “The others won’t attack rural areas. We were ordered to destroy main cities and crucial infrastructures mainly.”

“By whom?” The question was burning on your tongue but it died right there, because what does it matter? Knowing wouldn’t make any difference since you couldn’t change the outcome anyways. So instead you ask “Why…why did you bring me here?”

You were already dreading the answer as your mind conjured concerning possible scenarios, however the variant merely gave you a confused puppy gaze that almost made you forget the threat he posed.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He sheepishly rubs the back of his head, avoiding your eyes. “I wanted to get you before the others would."

That sounded more like a subtle threat than a honest reassurance.

“Please…don’t hurt me…” you beg and whimmer, overwhelmed by all the recent events. You’re shaking violently, tears now wettening your cheeks. The mere sight of it - and knowing he’s responsible - shatters what’s left of his rotten heart.

“Wha- of course I won’t-" He nervously paces around, wildly gesticulating as if he's struggling to put his thoughts into words - seems like they all do have similarities after all. "Oh man, sorry. You know I suck at comminicating! Shit, I fucked up the first impression already..."

Continuing to mumbles inaudible ramblings under his breath, he grips a pillar so harshly that it's combined to dust, making you shuffle even farther away from him.

“Nonononono, please don’t be afraid of me!" he yells so loud that you wince, and the fact that he keeps making things worse upsets him even more. "I could never hurt you, I swear!"

The man in front of you looks utterly devastated, and you can't put your finger on why that is or what you have to do with it.

After all, you're no one important, especially to him. Right?

At first keeping his distance, he hesistantly approaches you while simultaneously trying to appear as harmless as possible. Hands raised in a placating manner, voice calm and quiet, he whispers "I'm so, so sorry...I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's- it's okay..." you stammer feebly to appease him, your body still paralyzed by fear. A small squeal escapes your throat as you feel his palm stroke your cheek, the blood sticking to his gloves drying on your skin.

The former hero was watching you intently, face contorting through a mixture of relief and despair. But there was something else about him - the Mark you knew never acted like this. It's probably only your imagination, but he's so...

Before you could finish your line of thoughts, he closes the gap between you and his lips crashed over yours in sheer exasperation. You could feel the heat radiating off of him as he pulled you close, the barely contained strenght of his grip both frightening and thrilling.

"Damn...I keep fucking up" he blurts out, an enamored smile playing on his lips nonetheless. "Sorry for...well, this...got a bit carried away."

It was such a bizarre view: Someone possessing an indescribable strenght, unmatched on nearly the whole universe, being reduced to a stuttering, blushing mess in the presence of a pathetic human.

He was still holding you, without any intent to let you go any time soon, blissfully unaware - or rather ignorant - of how insane this whole situation actually was.

"I always wanted more than friendship, you know?" He confessed this so casually, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world - and opposed to all logic you felt your heart flutter at his words. "But in my world I never had the guts to confess...I was too afraid to lose you completely in case you don’t reciprocate."

You shouldn't feel guilty that you briefly thought back about the Mark you once knew, wondering if he ever felt the same, and yet you did. As if you owed the one in front of you right now some kind of loyality just because he was currently pouring his heart out.

No. Stop. What are you doing here? This isn't right!

The man in front of you is a homicidal maniac who did god knows what to his homeworld, and caused mayhem and suffering across the whole globe without any remorse, just to...

...yeah, why exactly?

As if your thoughts were clearly written on your forehead, he tries to explain himself, expression turning somber as he spoke.

"Back at my world I made some mistakes- no. I did so many irredeemable, atrocious things...and I only understood what truly mattered after I already lost it...after I lost you because of my actions. But I won't repeat those errors again, I swear. I promise I'll keep you safe and sound at my side to cherish you forever..."

You shouldn't feel anything but hatred and disgust at his display, yet you couldn't help but pity this forlorn, broken shell of a man that clutched you like a child would cling to their soothing blanket.

"This world's Mark, he...doesn't appreciat you." His eyes were manic, bordering on pure madness and you felt his fingers possessively digging into your flesh just shy of being painful. "But me, I would erase as many planets as it takes if only it meant being able to hold you like this for another day."

This man was truly a wolf in sheeps clothing - a vicious, instable monster that could snap any time shall your reaction not appeal to his delusions. All that's left for you to do is playing the part and hoping that the remnant of his humanity was enough to postpone a horrible fate.

So instead of answering you quietly sobbed in his vice-like embrace, tears mixing with the stains of death on his costume. You felt him rubbing soothing circles on your back, so tender and tentative you wondered just how long it's been since those hands had inflicted anything but pain.

Who would've thought that getting the one thing you had wished for an eternity could turn into a literal nightmare?

[Next Part]

[luslushearth]

Hate sex with Sunday…. (Placed before he becomes harmonious or whatever)

Warnings: Afab reader, overstimulation, degrading, unprotected, creampie, Reader is really vulgar/bratty, Marking

The silent serenity of the room is disturbed by pants, and loud squelches of your growing lust splattering through the air. The only thing muffling your moans is a gloved hand engulfing your lips. Unfortunately for Sunday, you are purposefully trying to be heard by the entirety of Penaconys dreaming visitors. Sometimes, he seems to forget just how much of a handful you are…

You bite his gloved hand, the man pounding into your pussy hissing in pain. Yet, each thrust continues its relentless pace, only slowing to allow him words, an insult (though he calls them ‘critiques’) for you.

“You… I truly… do dislike you.”

“Aww… Haa… Seems like your dick loves me though.” You’re immediately silenced when Sunday burrows your body into the matress, hitting that spot inside you when he thrusts at a particular angle. “Ah…! S-see…? Your dick really does love— Oh…!” Sundays finger works diligently on stimulating your clit, the cloth fabric of his gloves only furthering the sensation. “Maybe….! Maybe not me… But you’re really obsessed with my— Haahh… My— Mm..!” You don’t even have the chance to finish your sentence, Sundays lips finding refuge on yours.

He’s… Never done that before…

You moan into his lips, his thumb still grinding itself into your bud while his other hand plays with your tit, rolling the nub between his fingers.

When you pull away for air, you whisper his name, attempting to ask what it is he’s doing, but you’re stopped again when he dives into your mouth, spit exchanging with each movement. You can feel yourself approaching climax, much earlier than you bet to him you would. Which is horrible, because, that means you’ll essentially be a cocksleeve for him whenever he wishes for the next few months.

He separates his lips from you, smiling at the way a thick trail of saliva connects you two, spit trailing off the side of your mouth. It’s a thrilling site, one that makes him hit that spot in your walls even faster than before. His wings flap to the side of your head, cutting off your vision from anything else but him.

“You… Haah… You truly are a temptress.” All it takes is a finally snap of his hips and your hand flies up to his head, gripping his hair as your walls flutter around his length. Despite your blissful climax, he continues his ministrations slowly even as you cum, further serving your rapture. “It’s why I dislike you so.”

You’re not sure why he hates you so much, but you have no time to think about it, especially when he props himself up. He looks down at your dazed face, a smirk coating his lips. All too familiar.

“Wha… Give me some time to recover you beast— Ahh.. Fuck…!”

“It’s not fair if only you have release. Besides… Haa… You’ve survived… more than one hnngh, haven’t you?” … He plans to wreck the absolute hell out of you. He leans down to your ear, a husky voice escaping him, “You don’t deserve relaxation on the seventh day, so atone for your transgressions.” He props your legs above his shoulder, essentially preparing you to become his own personal cum dump.

“Sunday you little bastard—! Nghh…!” You won’t admit it him, you never will, but that was so hot. Yet again, he might know you think it, especially with the way your eyes roll back in pleasure, the idea of him emptying his seed furthering you thirst.

“I hope you remember that… Haah… promise… I prefer pe… pests at least remain orderly…” his thrusts grow sloppy, words slurring, a sign he’s close. In a last ditch effort of revenge, you laugh at him, tightening harder. You’ll shred his dignity too, even if you have to surrender your own.

He glares at your face, that sneer breaking when he can feel himself coming close, your second climax quickly reproaching. After a few more thrusts, he empties himself, all of himself into your body, not daring to pull out. In turn, your flutter around him once again, squirting at his abdomen, wetting expensive clothes. He allows himself to plug your hole, your fingers brushing through his hair while his face finds refuge in your neck.

“Aww, my favorite sight… the all famed Sunday pathetically weeping at getting his dick wet~ Now, what time do you want me out of here hm?”

“Did an imp like you really believe us to be done?” His hand reaches back to your hips, his grip tightening.

“… What?”

…

You lay on the side of the bed, glaring at the culprit of your current bed ridden state. He doesn’t return the sentiment, a false face of pleasantries returning your feelings.

“I hate you Sunday, whatever your last name is.”

“Hate is strong, I prefer dislike. Take my feelings for you.” He continues to smile even when you swat your hand at him, an attempt to kick him out of the bed.

“Yeah? Well you must’ve really like that huh?! Look at me you bastard!” You lift up the blanket, pointing at your pussy that drips with the multitudes of load he spent inside of you. At some point you lost count, but you know for sure it was more than 7. “I mean, how could someone cum that fucking much?!” He doesn’t answer, tilting his head, beaming. “I’m not even gonna start on all these bites you freak.”

“I see, so you’re saying you’re much to weak to go again?”

You pause. He’s doubting you.

“I could do it again.”

“Are you sure? My, I wouldn’t want to hurt such a frail being—“

“I can fuck you again Sunday, stop being—!” He’s already on you as quick as the words left your throat, your legs wrapping around his hips. He’s lucked out, this part of the dreamscape is emptier than usual at this time.

Unfortunately, you seem to be quite the opposite… You’ve fallen for Sundays tricks once more. Then again, the feeling of his dick rearranging your guts, isn’t as bad as you tell him it is.

[oceantornadoo]

needed to get this out of my drafts, mafia stalker john price x f!reader

when you meet john price at a club, he tells you he's not the right kind of man for you.

"you deserve a normal kind of man, love." you've cornered him in the vip section under the guise of asking where the bathroom was. "who says you're not normal?" he chuckles like you've said something funny. you fiddle with the end of his tie and he lets you, dark eyes noting the tremble in your fingertips. can he tell you're nervous, approaching a man at least ten years older than you?

"someone like that's more your speed." his eyes flick over to a man sitting in the vip section. a typical finance bro, with a blue button down and beige khakis topped with a dark blue vest. you tug his tie, getting his attention back on you. "now you're just being mean." you give him a smile to show you don't mean it. john opens his mouth, but is cut off by his phone buzzing in his pocket. he takes a step back and his tie slips through your hands, the loss of it jarring. john takes the call , turning away so you can't hear what he's saying. it ends in a few seconds as he barks out a quick order. when he turns back, there's a card in his hand.

"call me if you need anythin', sweetheart." it's a business card, just his name and a phone number. you take it gently, running your fingers over the embossed ink. "you're awfully kind for someone i don't deserve." he grunts. if only you knew how long he'd been watching you ever since you started working for one of the many businesses under his protection. a chance encounter while he checked in with the owner, something you obviously don't remember, has turned into obsession. imagine his surprise when you approached him. he has to reward you for it.

"jus' lookin' out for you. promise you'll use it." you nod, tucking into your purse. "i think this is the weirdest interaction i've ever had in a club." he chuckles, then squeezes your waist in goodbye. "told ya i wasn't normal, sweetheart." then john walks away, content to leave you standing with his number in your purse.

you don't use it for four years.

-

"john?"

"evenin' sweetheart. can i call you tomorrow, kinda in the middle of somethin'." you gulped, turning away from the body on the floor. "um," you sniffed, "remember when you said i could ask for help whenever i need it? well," your voice was cracking now, the dry vocal cords rubbing unpleasantly together, "i need it. need you. i made a mess too big to clean."

the hangnails on your fingers were worsening, your nervous picking threatening blood to spill. they were easier to focus on than the loud clock in the corner or the blood seeping through the wooden floor. john had said he'd be there soon, and in your state, you'd forgotten to ask for a time. it was just you and the body, lifeless eyes staring back at you, too scared to venture over there and close them yourself. you ignored the knife in his chest, the angle somehow perfect. a stake to the heart.

someone was pounding on the door, the unfamiliar sound ringing through the apartment. you got up gingerly, hissing at the pain racking through your body, and opened the door. there he was, four years older than the last time you'd seen him. more forehead creases but the same amount of smile lines, the stress seeping through his pores. john's blue eyes searched your face, trailing down your body, pinpointing at the blood splatter on your party dress. took in your shaking hands, the tears in your eyes refusing to fall. then finally, once he determined the blood wasn't yours, he glanced at the body behind you, knife glinting in harsh lighting.

"c'mere, darling." and you went, sobs wracking through your body as he pushed you two further into the apartment. vaguely, sounds of boots permeated through the air, like john had brought a crew of twenty men. you didn't care, too wrapped up in the strength of his grip, the unfamiliar scent of his cologne, spice and comfort. he was petting your hair, kissing your head, chin tucking you further into him.

he thinks with maybe one more accident, you'll be convinced into a wedding of convenience. to protect you, of course.

i actually hated this but it kept staring at me in my drafts.

[inthelow]

BACK TO FRIENDS — min yoongi.

summary: Six months after your breakup, You and Yoongi reunite at a wedding on Jeju Island. As old feelings resurface over one emotional week, you must decide if love deserves a second chance—or if “just friends” will actually work.

pairing: art seller fem! reader x idol! min yoongi.

genre: exes-friends-lovers?, angst, crack, fluff, more angst.

author’s note: a long ass story, so take a coffee and take your time bc it’s a roller coaster. let me know if you like it<3

The ferry touched down with a gentle bump the sand, and you kept your eyes on the window, watching as the Jeju Island coastline rolled by. It was strange—how a place could feel like a breath of fresh air and a held breath at the same time. Jeju was beautiful. It always had been. The sky had been brushed clear blue, not a single cloud in sight. The sea shimmered beneath it like an invitation. Or a warning. You couldn’t decide which yet. But still, like always, a breathtaking place to see and be. Too beautiful, you thought, for a week that promised emotional chaos.

It had been six months since your last visit to Korea, and this time, everything felt louder. The air. The stillness. Your own heartbeat. But coming back— specially to the Island, was like coming back from a long blur of nightmares, finally being able to wake up.

Busan was close, home was close.

Home.

You squinted against the bright sunlight as you stepped out of the small port, pulling your suitcase behind you. The early summer breeze carried the scent of salt and citrus, a welcome change from the thick city air you’d just left behind in France. You adjusted your sunglasses and scanned the supposedly pickup area.

A car honked twice, loud and scandalous as the girl inside left the car on and she left it in the road.

“Y/N!”

You turned just in time to see a blur of black and wild hair fly toward you. Soojin—your best friend since you were ten years old —practically tackled you in a hug before you could even react. You laughed, muffled into your friend’s shoulder, and hugged her back just as tight. Happy to see her again after some time. Even happier to feel that warmth of knowing someone was here with you.

“You’re here! You’re finally here!”

“I am,” you said, pulling back. “God, you’re glowing. You look… like someone who’s about to spend way too much money to promise eternal love in front of a hundred people.”

Soojin rolled her eyes dramatically. “Please. Eternal love is cheap. It’s the matching table settings that are bleeding me dry.” she shook her head. “I’m gonna need you to send me no-less than a 10k check as a wedding gift.”

“Babe, the only thing you’ll be receiving from me is a smile and my hate for making me stand next to you for an hour” you joked.

She burst out laughing, and you did the same. Not because the joke was funny but because you had missed each other.

The two loaded your suitcase into the trunk of the rental car—an absurdly cute white convertible that screamed bride on a mission—before sliding into the seats. As soon as you two pulled out of the port, you took in the vibrant green landscape, volcanic rock walls, and tangerine trees that dotted the island roads.

Soojin was your best friend, ever since you were practically in diapers-or at least that's how it felt. She had known each of your facets and had decided to love you equally, just as you had decided to love her equally. You had gone to the same university together in Busan, she majoring in economics and you in art history. You had been there when she tried to be a dancer for fun, when she decided to be a painter, a singer and a nun— crazy story—, and you had been there she got her dream job at HYBE as an accountant, you were there when she met her husband in company party, you had been there every step. And so was her with you, she was there when you got fired as a waitress for bad service, when you broke your leg trying to do snowboarding, she was there when you got your first art gallery, when you got your dream job in Paris and she had been there for you in every breakup of yours, including the last one.

You were sisters, an unbreakable bond.

“How was the flight?.”

“Exhausting” you nodded. “But I’m really excited to see you and your family so I might push the jet lag for today.”

Soojin smiled. “I can’t believe it’s been half a year since I last saw you,” she said, eyes on the road but voice softening.

“You literally went to Paris two months ago,” you snorted. “I literally had to clean all your shit for two weeks straight.”

“I was being sentimental!” she complained before giving you a side eye, “You’ve been missed.”

“I missed you too” you admitted. “And your family, can’t wait to see your mom.”

There was a comfortable silence for a beat, until Soojin added, almost too casually, “Do you feel weird being here?.”

“Not really” you denied. “It’s home, always. I’m so glad to hear Korean. I was so happy to order food.”

Your friend chuckled and you leaned your head against the window, watching the scenery blur past. “I still can’t believe you are here.”

“Just for the week.”

“Mmhmm,” Soojin hummed, skeptical.

You gave her a sidelong glance. “Don’t start.”

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t have to say anything.”

You two shared a grin, and then Soojin let out a small sigh. “You know he’s going to be there.”

You closed your eyes for a second. “Yeah. I know.”

She didn’t say his name, not yet. It lingered in you like a held breath, you couldn’t say it either, you haven’t been able since you left.

“I thought you’d try to back out,” Soojin added quietly.

You gave a dry laugh. “I almost did. Twice. But I promised you I’d be your bridesmaid when we were twelve, and I meant it.”

“My dream wedding is real now” Soojin reached over and grabbed your hand, squeezing it. “Thank you. For coming. For being here.”

You squeezed back. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Even if the world includes a certain worldwide famous ex-boyfriend?”

“Even then.”

You two laughed again, but you could feel the twist in your stomach tighten.

“It’s been six months,” she said gently. “That’s not nothing.”

You nodded. “I know.”

“You guys ended things… okay, right?.”

“As okay as you can be when you’re breaking your own heart on purpose,” you said, forcing a smile. “It wasn’t messy. It wasn’t angry. It just… didn’t work anymore. We tried, but between the time difference and the jobs and the late-night calls turning into missed calls and stress fights—”

You had talked to her about it, but talking with your best friend was always repeating the same story over and over again, like it was new. It always was, though, specially when talking shit.

“You ghosted him.”

“I blocked him.”

Soojin snorted. “Same thing.”

“It wasn’t out of spite! I just… I needed distance. I knew if I didn’t cut everything off clean, I’d keep going back. Texting. Calling. Wondering. And that wouldn’t have been fair to either of us.”

Soojin gave you a look. “Still sounds like ghosting.”

You groaned. “Fine. Emotionally mature ghosting.” you admitted before shrugging. “But it doesn’t really matter, I know he didn’t try to contact me, it was mostly for me.”

“Ghosting.”

You both laughed again, and Soojin turned the wheel, guiding you down a narrow road lined with stone walls and bright yellow flowers. The sea glimmered in the distance.

“But it was… amicable?” she asked. “Would you be able to see each other again without tension?.”

You hesitated. “It was heartbreaking. But yeah. We didn’t fight it that much. I think he knew I had already made up my mind. And he didn’t want to be the one to ask me to stay.”

“You think he’s still mad?”

“He wasn’t mad, we were literally breaking down. It was just sad,” you said slowly, “Maybe he’s still hurt. But not mad. Yoongi was never the angry type.”

Soojin didn’t answer right away, almost fighting with herself if she should say the next thing: “Minjae says he’s been quiet lately. Like, really quiet. Kept to himself. Didn’t even want to come to the wedding.”

You blinked, a little taken aback. “He didn’t?”

“Nope. Minjae had to basically bribe him with free drinks and guilt-tripping about best-man duties.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

The hotel came into view, nestled along the cliffs with a panoramic view of the ocean. It looked like something out of a movie, all white stone and vines, warm wood and long balconies overlooking the crashing waves. Soojin pulled into the roundabout, a valet already jogging toward them.

“Ready?” your friend asked as she put the car in park.

“No.”

She grinned. “Too bad.”

You both stepped out, and you looked up at the sweeping building, your heart beating far too fast for your liking. One week. Just one week of rehearsals, dinners, awkward glances, and maybe—if you were lucky —some closure.

Or something else entirely.

The hotel smelled like fresh linen, citrus oil, and sea breeze. The cool marble floors echoed faintly with footsteps and the gentle hum of suitcases being wheeled across the lobby. You stood still for a moment beneath the wide glass ceiling, letting your eyes travel up to the light spilling down from the elaborate chandelier shaped like a cascade of pearls. The reception area was open and warm, with touches of soft wood and hanging greenery that made the entire place feel like some dreamy blend of luxury and comforts, it even had a fountain. Sunlight poured through the tall windows, reflecting on the adorned furniture. Outside, you could just glimpse the blue stretch of sea meeting the horizon, like it had been waiting for you.

Soojin had already raced ahead, calling to the front desk about room keys and confirming details about welcome drinks later that evening. You took your time, trailing your fingers lightly over the polished surface of a console table, breathing in the quiet hum of the hotel.

This was happening.

The clerk handed you a keycard with a cheerful smile and a, “Room 407, Miss,” before Soojin whisked you away with a promise to let you settle before the chaos of pre-wedding events began. You two rode the elevator in silence, both a little breathless from the travel and the sheer weight of anticipation. When you reached the fourth floor, Soojin squeezed your hand again and whispered, “my mom will probably come to see you, don’t mind her.” before disappearing down the hallway to her own suite.

You rolled your eyes with a smirk and walked toward your room.

Your heels clicked softly against the hallway’s muted carpet, patterned with delicate waves in pale blues and creams. The keycard beeped, the door clicked open, and you stepped inside. It was beautiful. Soft ivory walls framed a large canopy bed dressed in crisp white sheets and linen throw pillows. A small balcony faced the ocean, the doors left slightly ajar to let in the salty breeze and distant lull of the waves. On the side table stood a welcome note in gold script with your name, next to a vase filled with white tulips and baby’s breath.

You exhaled slowly, setting your suitcase down by the dresser and slipping out of your shoes. The room was still, almost sacred in its quietness. You walked to the balcony doors and leaned against the frame, letting the wind push gently against your face. The horizon stretched endlessly ahead, and for a moment, you let yourself feel everything.

Six months. That was all it had been since your life split in half. Since you and Yoongi said goodbye. But it felt like a lifetime. You didn’t regret leaving. Not really. The job abroad had been the opportunity you’d worked for all your twenties. And yet, as you stood there now—surrounded by everything familiar but changed—you couldn’t help but wonder if the price of it had been something you couldn’t get back. Everything had went down when you took that job a year ago, everything was too much. But you couldn’t not follow your dreams, not something you did.

There was a knock at the door—three short taps, followed by a longer one, like a secret rhythm from childhood.

You smiled before you even stood up. You padded barefoot across the room and opened the door to find Mrs. Han—Soojin’s mom—standing there with her arms already outstretched and a bright pink sun hat perched dramatically on her head.

“Yah, you little brat!” Mrs. Han declared, pulling you into a tight embrace that smelled like peonies and expensive hand cream. “One year, and I don’t even get a text? What, are we strangers now?”

You let out a breathy laugh, melting into the hug. “I missed you too, Auntie.”

Mrs. Han pulled back just enough to look at your face, cupping your cheeks with both hands. “You got skinnier!,” she frowned. “No one is feeding you abroad? Ugh. I told Soojin you needed someone to follow you with a rice cooker.”

“I’ve been eating fine, I promise,” you said, grinning.

“Hmph.” But Mrs. Han’s eyes were twinkling as she stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. “I brought you something. I knew hotel food would be fancy nonsense. Soojin says your room has a kettle.”

She pulled out a small thermos and handed it to you like it was treasure. “Seaweed soup. I made it this morning. You still like it with lots of sesame oil, right?”

You blinked, then smiled a little too fast, heart tight. “You remembered.”

“Of course I remembered,” Mrs. Han said, setting the thermos on the desk like she’d just blessed the room. “You used to sneak into my kitchen more than my own daughter.”

You laughed as you flopped onto the bed. “That’s because your kitchen always had better snacks.”

“That’s because my daughter has no taste.” Mrs. Han sat at the edge of the bed with a sigh, smoothing down her crisp linen pants. “But you,” she pointed, “you always knew what was good for you.” There was a small pause. And then, casually, Mrs. Han added, “Except when it came to boys.”

You groaned and stuffed a pillow over your face.

“Come on—”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” Mrs. Han said, patting your leg. “I’m not judging. I liked Min Yoongi. Polite, smart, always cleaned his plate. That’s the minimum, but these days? That’s already rare.”

You peeked out from behind the pillow. “That’s your standard? Clean plate?”

“He never made you cry in front of me. That’s already more than your high school boyfriend,” she quipped. Then, a beat. “But he did make you cry when he let you go, didn’t he?”

The teasing tone softened slightly, and you exhaled. “Yeah,” you admitted. “But it wasn’t like that. We just… couldn’t figure it out. The time zones, the jobs, the pressure. It was too much.”

Mrs. Han nodded knowingly, then gave a small shrug. “Love isn’t always about timing, little brat. But if you’re lucky, sometimes it waits for you anyway.”

You blinked. “That was… weirdly profound for someone who once told me to date a dentist just for the insurance.”

“Love and molars, my two areas of expertise,” Mrs. Han said with a wink.

You both laughed again, the moment warm and easy. It was so simple, sitting here, joking like old times. For a second, you didn’t feel like a woman with a weird heart in a wedding hotel full of ghosts. You just felt like Soojin’s best friend, back home with people who loved you.

Mrs. Han, always so close to be yours. She was there when you had your first period, she was there to get you drunk for the first time, she was there when you ran away from home because of your dad and when you went back because you missed him. She was there when he was too busy to take care of you making money to sustain the house. She was there when he died, she hold you when you broke down. She was there every moment, like a mom you never had the chance to met.

“Anyway,” Mrs. Han stood and straightened her blouse. “You’ll be fine. You’re still the prettiest one here. Even Soojin said so, and she’s the bride, so that’s basically a crime.”

That wasn’t true.

“I’ll let her know you said that.”

“No, you won’t,” Mrs. Han pointed at you, like a threat. “Now go eat that soup and put on some blush. You never know who’s going to be waiting at the welcome drinks.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled the whole way to the door as you walked her out.

When she was gone, the room felt softer somehow. Familiar. Maybe not all ghosts were painful.

Some of them just brought soup.

The welcome drinks were held just as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden haze over the gardens of the oceanside hotel. The venue was a sprawling modern hanok-inspired resort nestled along the cliffs of Jeju Island, the kind of place where even the air smelled expensive—salt, citrus, and blooming night jasmine. String lights crisscrossed above the open patio, swaying gently in the breeze like stars strung on wire.

You stepped onto the stone path in a satin slip dress the color of a soft violet, its delicate straps catching the light as you walked. The dress hugged your figure in a way that was effortless—simple, clean, but undeniably elegant. You wore your hair pulled back in a soft low bun, a few strands brushing your cheekbones and neck. A pair of small gold hoops glinted when you turned your head. You’d debated for far too long what to wear—there was something about seeing him again that made everything suddenly feel like a test. But now that you were here, you were determined to float through the night like nothing had changed.

Your heels clicked softly as you walked into the courtyard, already full of chatter and laughter. A waiter passed by with a tray of sparkling wine and you took a glass, letting the cold stem sit in your fingers for a moment before lifting it to your lips. Your nerves buzzed underneath the calm exterior, but you weren’t about to let anyone see that.

“Little shit!.”

The voice came like a burst of sunshine and wind. You turned just in time to catch a blur of navy linen and the smell of aftershave—Soojin’s fiancé, Minjae, wrapped you in a dramatic bear hug that lifted you halfway off the ground.

“Fucker” you laughed, bracing yourself against his shoulder. “Put me down before I spill this on your fancy $20 shirt.”

He set you down but didn’t let go completely. “You didn’t tell me you were coming back looking like a Vogue cover.”

“Stop,” you warned with an amused smile. “You’re just saying that because Soojin would kill you if you didn’t.”

“That too,” he winked. “But mostly because it’s true.”

You looked up at him fondly. Minjae had always been the charming one—effortlessly warm, the type who remembered birthdays and your fish’s name and how you liked your coffee. He and Soojin had been together for almost fours years but it felt like a lifetime already —they always felt like an old married couple, everyone knew they were going to end up together. Specially because Minjae was actually just a good guy, kind and patient for someone like her, loud and anxious.

“You look happy,” you said sincerely, adjusting the collar of his shirt like a sister might. “Marriage suits you.”

He scratched the back of his neck, sheepish. “You think? I still feel like I’m going to trip walking down the aisle.”

“You won’t,” You said. “But if you do, at least you’ll be legally bound to someone who loves you.”

“God, don’t make me cry before the wedding.”

You laughed and sipped your drink again, letting your eyes skim the crowd. No sign of Yoongi yet, but you weren’t going to ask and Minjae since— as a good best friend of him— wasn’t going to say anything. Not just yet.

“Come on,” he said, tugging you gently by the wrist. “Soojin’s been pacing by the wine table waiting for you like a feral cat. She said if I didn’t bring you in the next five minutes she’d start biting guests.”

“That sounds about right.”

You both walked into the heart of the garden together, weaving through small clusters of guests in pastel dresses and pressed shirts. Laughter floated through the air, the kind that felt easy and new. But your pulse still beat a little faster than it should. Because next to your best friend in this sea of celebration and tulle and toast… Yoongi was here too.

And you hadn’t seen him—really seen him—in exactly one hundred and eighty-three days. And you were already too close to them to turn back. Too close to pretend you didn’t seen him.

Your smile faltered. Your gaze had already moved past Soojin—to the figure standing just beside her. Yoongi. He was holding a glass of something golden in one hand, standing just a little too straight, a little too still. He was listening to Soojin joke about the drinks, laughing politely, but you saw it. The moment he noticed you. How his whole body shifted almost imperceptibly, like gravity had just tilted in your direction.

Like he was yours.

He wasn’t anymore.

You four stood in front of each other. Minjae was about to say something trivial to Yoongi and you stood there uncomfortably, feeling his gaze not moving from yours, not really paying attention to his friend. Soojin must’ve felt it too, because she cleared her throat suddenly.

“Uh—we’re gonna… go check on the dessert situation,” she said quickly, grabbing Minjae by the arm.

“What? I—”

“Now.”

They disappeared into the crowd.

You blinked after them, deadpan. “Well. That wasn’t obvious.”

Yoongi stepped a little closer. “Do you think they rehearsed that?.”

“I’d believe it.”

A pause.

You turned to him fully. There it was again—that soft, tight pull in your chest. The one you hadn’t been able to shake since Paris. His face was too familiar. You hated how familiar. You hated that you remembered the exact way his lashes curled, or the way he always had a hand in his pocket like he didn’t know what to do with himself when things got too quiet, too real.

“Hey,” he said finally.

“Hey,” you echoed, and smiled before realizing it might’ve come out too fast, too forced.

You both stood like that for a second, both pretending the crowd around was far more interesting when it was actually too quiet and too out of reach.

“I didn’t know if I’d see you tonight,” Yoongi admitted.

“Why?” you asked. “You think I’d skip this amazing welcome drinks just to avoid you?”

He looked at you, like he knew you better. “You did block me.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it. He had noticed “Touché.”

Another beat passed. You took a sip of your drink, letting the bubbles fill the silence.

“You look well,” he added, after a moment.

“Well?” you raised an eyebrow. “What is that, the diplomatic way of saying ‘I thought you’d look more miserable’?”

Yoongi gave a small, helpless laugh. “Maybe.”

“Maybe I was.” you looked at him, your voice dropping just slightly. “You just didn’t get to see that part.”

His smile faded, but not in a painful way—just thoughtful, a little distant.

“I guess I deserved that.”

“No. You don’t,” you admitted. “Not exactly. It was no one’s fault.”

“But you still blocked me.”

You snorted and he almost smiled. You gave a half-shrug. “It wasn’t for you, I needed to do that for me.”

Yoongi nodded slowly. The conversation stretched, quiet but not empty. People laughed and clinked glasses around, a hum of distant joy that felt oddly far away.

“Did you ever want to call?” he asked softly.

You swallowed. “All the time.”

“I would’ve picked up.”

A silence. You felt your heart clenched in pain, almost too afraid to keep going. Too afraid to say something else, but you didn’t denied him.

“I know.” you smiled, sad and real. “That’s exactly why I didn’t.”

That silence between you both shifted—less sharp now, more familiar, like a bruise being pressed just gently enough.

He ran a hand through his hair. “You look more… grounded now. Like you’ve been breathing different air.”

“Different time zones help,” you said. “Plus, Paris has great bread. Hard to be sad with a croissant.”

He chuckled. “You’re still the same.”

“And you’re still dramatic.”

“Only when provoked.”

You smiled again, then took another slow sip of your drink. Your fingers brushed the rim of the glass. Then you looked up at him, eyes clearer this time.

“So…” you started, teasingly, “friends?”

“Terrible idea” Yoongi’s head titled. “Is that what we’re doing now?”

You shrugged. “I figured it’s the safest option. You’re the best man, I’m the bridesmaid. They are our best friends, we’ll see each other in parties and dinners. And we’ll be around each other all week. It’s either friendship or… cold war.”

“Tempting,” he smirked. “But I’ll go with friendship.”

“Look at us. So mature.”

You both laughed quietly.

Then something in the air settled again—between the drinks and the distance, the words unspoken still hovering just beyond your reach. For now, you would hold this fragile truce.

“Alright, friend,” he said, tilting his glass toward you. His tone almost sounding mockery. “Cheers for that.”

He clinked his glass against yours. Your fingers didn’t touch, but the electricity? Still there, still humming.

The late morning sun was already warming the wide wooden deck of the seaside hotel, where tables were being set with white linen cloths and freshly polished silverware. Bougainvillea climbed the railings and spilled over the corners, their bright petals dancing in the soft breeze. Beyond the terrace, the ocean shimmered in endless shades of blue, lazy and calm.

You squinted as you stepped outside, still adjusting to the sunlight after a rushed morning. The welcome drinks the night before had gone later than you intended— but it was different today. Today was quiet, today was better. You and Yoongi were okay, now you could forget the tension and months of anticipation of seeing him, now you knew it would be okay.

Just friends.

You could be that.

“Finally!” Soojin’s voice cut through your thoughts. “I thought you would sleep through the whole rehearsal brunch and leave me to drown in family politics.”

You waved, still pushing your sunglasses up your nose. “You know I don’t function before ten. I made an effort.” Your voice was a little rude, sleepy. “Now, what the hell is the emergency? I already hate being a bridesmaid.”

“Barely an effort” Soojin looped an arm through yours. “C’mon. We’ve got a crisis. Or five.”

“Tell me someone eloped and we can cancel everything,” you said, jokingly.

“I wish. No, the place cards got shuffled during the windstorm last night. Minjae tried to fix them but now Auntie Hye-sook is seated next to my college roommate who thinks marriage is a capitalist scam.” she groaned.

“That sounds like he did it on purpose.”

You both made your way to a long table stacked with name cards—some organized, many scattered like confetti from a paper explosion. And standing beside the chaos, like he’d been there all morning, was Yoongi next to the groom. Both silently laughing about something. Your breath caught slightly, but you forced your face into an easy smile as he looked up. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, and he had a stack of cards in one hand and a pen tucked behind his ear like he belonged to the wedding staff.

“Morning,” he said simply.

“Morning” you replied.

Silence, a little uncomfortable.

Soojin raised an eyebrow between you both. “Should I leave?”

“I think we should record,” Minjae joked.

Friends.

You were friends now. Not more uncomfortable moments, you had to make your part.

“Please don’t,” you said quickly, giving Yoongi a tight smile. “I need backup in case he starts monologuing about the furniture and alcohol.”

He seemed to notice your intentions, a smirked grew on his face. “Only if you start complaining about the humidity first.”

Soojin backed away slowly, hands in mock-surrender. “Okay. We’re going to… check on the brunch. You two, try not to knife each other with the dessert forks yet.”

“Yeah, sadly we still need you two to be on the brunch later” Minjae pressed his lip together, trying not to laugh.

As soon as they were gone, you glanced down at the cards on his hands.

“You’re actually helping?” you asked.

“Volunteered,” he said. “I was promised mimosas.”

“You’ll do anything for free alcohol.” You titled your head, “you do remember you’re rich, right?.”

“I love free things” Yoongi shrugged. “Especially when it comes with table drama and watching you pretend you’re not annoyed I’m here.”

You gave him a look, lips twitching despite yourself. “I’m not annoyed.”

“No?”

“I’m… cautiously neutral.”

“Big words from the girl who blocked my number six months ago.”

“I already said that was for my healing,” you said, pointing at him. “Don’t act like you were texting me daily.”

He chuckled, and for a moment, a true came out. “You wouldn’t know, would you?”

You both stayed in silence.

You realized, some things will be harder to pretend. You both knew the tension between you wasn’t gone, it had simply been disguised by the daylight, by fake cordiality to survive the weej. Like waves beneath the surface, always there. Always pulling— But you still both worked side-by-side, shuffling names and scanning Soojin’s seating chart. The tension between you crackled—not hostile, but unresolved. Familiar in a way that made your skin hum.

Later something called your attention. You reached for a card, and his hand brushed yours at the same time.

You pulled back quickly. “Okay. Who’s sabotaging my seat? I was supposed to sit next to Soojin.” you frowned. “I don’t want to sit next to Minho, that fucker is annoying.”

“Is that the guy who flirted with you on my birthday last year?” he remembered.

“Yeah” you chuckled. “Minjae sucks at this job.”

“He changed it because he wanted his other cousin to sit next to him” Yoongi explained.

“And I have to pay the price” you clicked your tongue. “Whatever, I guess at least we have mimosas. Right?.”

“It’s just this brunch, you’ll survive” he shrugged.

“I’ll try” you pointed the table. Since we’re finally done. Can you tell Soojin everything is good?. I have a date with two mimosas before surviving this”

Yoongi chuckled. “Enjoy that.”

“Than you.”

Two mimosas later you had to go back.

The brunch terrace overlooked the sea, warm sunlight spilling across white-clothed tables arranged in soft curves along the edge of the hotel’s garden. A light breeze carried the scent of lavender and citrus. Everything looked effortless, magazine-perfect. The weeding would be perfect. You went around some people to say hi, greeting the ones you knew nd having a small chat about what you’d been up to.

After some minutes you decided to take a seat and suffer. Your stomach twisted the moment your eyes landed on the place card at table.

Your name.

And next to it: Min Yoongi.

You stood still for a moment, blinking. No way he had just to change it. Was he trying to create more uncomfortable moments?.

“Surprised?” came a familiar voice at your shoulder.

You turned and found Yoongi, now wearing a light button-down and that same calm, unreadable expression that used to drive you insane.

“You moved the cards,” you said flatly.

He smiled, hands in his pockets. “Guilty. You’re not mad, are you?. You did say you would hate seating with that guy.”

You arched an eyebrow. “And you did all this from the kindness of your heart?.”

“That. And I don’t want to hear Minjae’s brother talk about politics again.”

You snorted softly and slid into your seat. “You’re lucky I already drank two mimosas.”

He took his seat next to you.

After a couple minutes, other guests arrived, filling the seats around you—Soojin’s cousins, a few out-of-town friends, some older relatives. The buzz of small talk and clinking glasses filled the air, but to you, everything seemed to slow just a little with Yoongi beside you. It was strange, how easily he could shift the atmosphere, like slipping into an old rhythm even after months apart.

A waiter appeared behind you two, pen poised over a notepad, taking everyone’s order of the short menu that the couple-to be marry- had chose.

“I’ll have the smoked salmon toast and the fruit platter,” Yoongi said, then—without missing a beat—he added, “And she’ll have the scrambled eggs, the sourdough, no butter, and the grapefruit juice, no pulp.”

You blinked.

The waiter nodded and moved on before you could say anything else. You stared at Yoongi, amused.

“I—what—did you just order for me?”

He looked sheepish for a second, almost afraid. But then he shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. “Sorry. Reflex.”

You shook your head with a half-laugh. “You really just autopiloted my breakfast order.”

“It’s a skill,” he said with a grin. “I take pride in my muscle memory.”

You reached for another mimosa. He did the same, and your fingers brushed on the glass stem. You looked at him. He looked at you.

“Still the best drinks for a brunch,” you muttered with a smile.

He gave a soft laugh. “Nothing says emotional morning repression like champagne and orange juice.”

“Amen.”

You both shared a grin, and you hated how warm it felt. How normal.

He picked up his fork, examining his glass like it was the most interesting thing in the world. “So… Jeju. A week of wedding festivities. Trapped in paradise with your ex. Sounds like a great romcom setup.”

“Oh yeah,” you said, slicing into a piece of quiche. “Especially the part where we will be avoiding eye contact during every group activity.”

He tilted his head. “We’re talking now.”

“Sadly.”

He snorted and you felt a little proud about it.

“I missed this,” he said quietly after a moment of silence.

You didn’t answer at first. Just took a slow sip of your drink, then looked out toward the water. “Don’t get sappy on me, Yoongi. We still have six more days to survive.”

“Right,” he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “We should pace ourselves.”

“Uhm.”

You two lapsed into silence for a moment, the sun warming your faces, the light chatter of the brunch continuing around you both. It wasn’t the same as before—how could it be?—but it wasn’t bitter, either. Just… tentative. Like standing at the edge of something you’ve already fallen from once before.

“You look good, by the way,” he said after a beat. “Healthier. Happier.”

You glanced sideways at him. “You say that like I was miserable before.”

“I say that like someone who knows how hard you worked to get here.”

Your throat tightened slightly, but you pushed the emotion down with a small, practiced smile. “You too. You look… calm.”

“Therapy,” he said with a smirk. “And I bought a rice cooker that changed my life.”

You burst into genuine laughter then, the kind that caught you off guard. The kind you didn’t realize you missed.

“You needed it. Ordering food every single day was killing you.” your voice was softer, less fake. “I’m glad you’re happy. I like seeing you that way.”

His expression changed. And, for a minute, he wanted to tell you how he wasn’t. How he had been dying to see you again, to call you, to touch you, to hear you.

But he didn’t. He nosed slightly before adding in a mockery.

“Thank you, friend.”

You gave him a long look. Something flickered behind his eyes—something unresolved, something still soft.

Breakfast came. And you both felt into silence again.

Nine months ago. Busan.

The room was dim except for the warm, golden glow from the lamp on Yoongi’s nightstand. Rain pattered softly against the windows, washing the city in a blur of light. You lay curled on your side, one hand beneath your cheek, the other resting where your bodies touched under the blanket. Yoongi was still awake beside you, his fingers tracing absent circles on your bare shoulder, like he was memorizing you in real time.

“You’re not sleeping,” he whispered.

“I don’t want to waste time,” you replied, voice soft.

“With what?”

“With you.”

He smiled, eyes still closed. “Cheesy.”

“Truthful.”

You both went quiet for a moment. The silence between you two was never heavy—just full. Full of breath and warmth and everything unsaid. You turned to face him, brushing your knuckles along his jaw.

“I have to fly out next week,” you said quietly.

He nodded. “I know.”

“I don’t know when they are going to let me have another week off.”

“I know.”

You searched his eyes. “I don’t want this to get hard.”

“It already is,” he said. Not accusing. Just honest. “I have a tour next month.”

You blinked and looked away. Your chest tightened in that way it did when you felt the future creeping in—uncontrollable, unkind. The clock ticking down on something that still felt new.

“I could maybe call sick for another week,” you offered, but even as you said it, you both knew it was a lie you couldn’t fully commit to.

Yoongi kissed your forehead. “Don’t do that. Don’t start shrinking.”

You closed your eyes again, trying to breathe through the ache. “I just want to be in two places at once.”

“You want to live the life you’ve worked for and still be in this bed with me.”

“Exactly.”

He smiled sadly, pulling you close. “I get how you feel, it felt easier when you were here in Korea and I was the only one moving around. But now you moved, and I’m so proud of you” he kissed you and you wanted to cry. “Doesn’t matter how long we’re apart. I’d wait, you know. If I had to.”

You didn’t answer.

And neither one of you said it then, but both were starting to feel the quiet truth: that sometimes love isn’t enough. Sometimes timing wins. Sometimes it tears even the strongest things apart. But that night, in the quiet glow of the city, you let yourself believe you were the exception. That you could stretch across continents and work schedules and late-night phone calls and still find each other intact.

That you’d always be able to come back to him.

Present day. Jeju Island.

The sun was dipping low, casting a golden glow over the beachside pavilion where the wedding guests had gathered for an afternoon of games and laughter. Soojin had organized a basketball game to get everyone moving and break the usual stiffness of formal gatherings. You tugged at your two braids, trying not to look too competitive. Your team had already won on volleyball so you were planning on winning this one too.

Except, this time someone decided to join.

Yoongi.

The group split into two makeshift basketball teams on the sand-covered court near the beachside pavilion. Shirts were tied around waists, sneakers kicked off, and everyone was laughing— except you, you were narrowing your eyes across the sand to see him.

“We’re gonna win.” Soojin said next to you.

“We’re not. He knows the game,” Minjae whispered behind her, pointing at Yoongi as he spun the ball casually on one finger.

“Yeah, we’re losing. That fucker always win in this” you muttered. He caught you looking and offered a little smirk and a wave. “You see,” you scoffed. “He knows exactly what he’s doing.”

Minjae handed you a red bandana to tie around your wrist. “Relax you two. It’s just a game.”

“Tell that to the human highlight reel over there,” you mumbled.

“I’ll destroy him.” your friend whispered and you snorted.

The whistle blew, and the game started.

For the first few minutes, it was manageable. You managed to dodge around players and even scored once—though Yoongi made a show of clapping slowly, which earned him a sharp glare. He was pulling your strings, stressing you. The fist few minutes he expend it showing off, playing around you, almost touching your face and sometimes even pushing you softly so you couldn’t touch the ball.

But as the game picked up, so did Yoongi’s energy. He weaved through his defense like he was barely trying, tossing quick passes and launching three-pointers with that maddening ease. You huffed and sprinted to intercept a pass, only for the ball to bounce off the rim and slam—hard—into your face. It had happened to quickly.

The world blinked out for a second. Your both hands flew to your eye.

“Oh my God—y/n!” someone shouted.

“Hold on—move!” Yoongi was already running over you, screaming at someone.

You blinked rapidly, that one eye already watering. “I’m fine,” you muttered, though your voice was shaky.

He stood in front of you, hands moving around you to get a better view of your face. “You’re not,” he said. “You’re holding your face and swaying like a drunk flamingo.”

“I’m not swaying,” you snapped, still cupping your eye with one hand. “And did you do that on purpose?”

Yoongi stared at you, dumbfounded. “What? Of course no!”

“You’re out here acting like we’re in the NBA finals—”

“Okay, okay,” he interrupted, holding up his hands. “Let’s get you ice before you accuse me of attempted murder.”

You hesitated, glancing back at the group who stood up making sure you were okay. You showed them a thumbs up, giving Soojin a glare when she smiled slightly when Yoongi grabbed your hand to lead you across the sand and into the cool, shaded hallway of the resort building. The noise of the game and laughter faded behind you.

Inside the lobby, the air conditioning hit your skin like a blessing. Yoongi guided you toward a small side room near the concierge area where an ice bucket sat beside a drink station. He grabbed a cloth napkin and wrapped a few cubes in it.

“Come on. Sit.”

You dropped into the cushioned bench by the wall “This sucks.” you muttered, “If I have a black eye for the wedding I will murder you.”

Yoongi kneeled in front of you. “I didn’t meant to. I got too much in to it. Also, why were you standing just down the rim?.”

“Oh, it’s my fault now?” he snorted and you frowned. “I forgot how good you were at basketball.”

His face became softer “Here,” he said, holding it out the ice to you. “Press it gently. You’re already turning purple.”

You took it with a small wince. “Wow. You sure know how to make a girl feel pretty.”

He smirked. “What can I say? Honesty first.” You rolled your eyes, dabbing the ice gently over your left eye. “Should I apologize again, or are you going to accuse me of targeting you in cold blood one more time?”

“I’m still considering pressing charges,” you muttered, adjusting the ice. “But I’ll let it go if you admit you were showing off.”

Yoongi raised an eyebrow. “I was definitely showing off.”

You peeked at him through one eye. “I knew I was right.”

“Unfortunately.” He gave a slight shrug. “There’s something about competition that gets me in trouble.”

You snorted. “And here I thought you were a reformed man.”

Yoongi laughed under his breath. “Only partially. The other part’s still an idiot.”

You smiled at that, leaning back against the wall. Your eye still throbbed, but the cold helped. And somehow, sitting here with him — alone, out of the reach of your friends and the pressure of the week — felt strangely… nice. Familiar, in a way that made your chest ache a little.

“I can’t believe you hit me in the face,” you said eventually.

“I didn’t mean to!,” he exclaimed , dramatically defensive. “The ball ricocheted off the rim. Physics did that. I’m innocent.”

“You threw it hard enough to break sound.”

“It was a bounce pass!”

You squinted at him. “You’re lucky I didn’t cry.”

“I would’ve carried you off the court like a tragic princess.”

You gave a small laugh, shaking you head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you laughed,” he pointed out, grinning.

“I’m concussed. My judgment is impaired.”

That made him laugh again — a real one, quiet and warm. He dropped onto his feet across from you, elbows on his knees as he looked over.

“So… are you really okay?” he asked, tone a little gentler.

You lowered the ice. “Yeah. Just sore. I’ve taken worse.”

Yoongi’s jaw twitched, like he wanted to ask more but didn’t. A beat passed.

“You still have that thing,” he said, nodding toward your eye.

“What thing?”

“That look you get when you’re trying to downplay something. This like—” He squinted at you. “—stoic but slightly annoyed face.”

You stared at him. “I do not have a face like that.”

“You absolutely do.”

You snorted. “Maybe I wouldn’t make that face if people weren’t hitting me in the face.”

“Fair point.”

Silence stretched again, but not uncomfortable. Just quiet. Charged in the way things get when words don’t cover the air between people who know each other too well. Outside, someone shouted about water bottles. The game was still going, the world still moving. But in here, everything felt still.

“I forgot how easy it is to talk to you,” you said suddenly, needing to get it out of your system.

Yoongi blinked, eyes full of sentiment, something you couldn’t read just yet. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Even when you’re being a smug basketball menace.”

He smiled at you. “You forgot?”

You looked down at the ice in your hand, voice going lower, vulnerable. “I had to. For a while.”

There was a beat. He didn’t push, didn’t ask for more. But you felt the way he was looking at you — really looking — and your throat tightened.

“I missed this,” he said quietly. “Not—this, like, you getting injured. But… us. Talking like this.”

Your lips curled slightly, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Me too.” You nodded, looking at him with less tension. “I’m glad we can do it again. I like being friends.”

There was a puse, he looked at you, restrained. And then he chuckled, almost sarcastically. “Right. As friends.”

You both sat in it for a moment. Neither reaching. Neither pulling away.

“Should we go back?” you asked softly, after a beat.

“Eventually,” he said. “But I’m not rushing. You’re injured. Needs proper recovery time.”

You smiled, just a little. “So this is your guilt talking.”

Yoongi shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe I just like the excuse.”

That made you look over, your eyes meeting his. Something caught there. Not heavy, not quite flirty — but warm, soft. Meant to do. And he held your gaze for a second longer than he should’ve.

And you let him. Just a for second.

Then you stood, pressing the ice pack back to your face. “Alright. Let’s go. But if someone throws the ball at me again, I’m suing.”

Yoongi stood up too, brushing imaginary dust from his shirt. “Fair. I’ll be your lawyer. I’ve watched Suits twice.”

You rolled your eyes and walked past him, but as you did, he fell into step beside you — like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like it had always been.

13 months ago. Busan

It had been raining all day.

Not the dramatic kind of storm that clashed against windows and roared down rooftops, but the soft, persistent drizzle that blurred the city into grayscale. Outside their little apartment, Busan looked washed-out and sleepy. Inside, it was warm. Still. You lay curled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket that had seen better days, your legs tucked beneath you. A book rested open on your lap, but your eyes had wandered long ago. The smell of ginger tea and instant ramyeon drifted in from the kitchen.

Yoongi was at the counter, his back to you, hunched over two bowls of steaming noodles. He was wearing one of your sweatshirts — the navy one that said “Korea University” even though neither of you had gone there — and it hung loose over his frame. His hair was messy, damp from his earlier dash to the convenience store.

You watched him in silence for a moment, your heart full in that inexplicable way it got when life slowed down enough for you to feel it.

“You’re not using enough sesame oil,” you said lazily.

Yoongi glanced over his shoulder. “You’re lucky I didn’t buy triangle kimbap and call it a day.”

You smiled. “I would’ve forgiven you.”

He brought the bowls over and handed you one, then sat on the floor in front of the couch, leaning back against your legs like he always did.

“I like days like this,” he murmured, poking at his noodles. “No pressure to go anywhere, no calls, no pretending we’re not tired.”

You were waiting for one call. One important one. One that would change your life.

You rested your chin on the top of his head. “You pretend you’re tired all the time.”

“And you think it makes me look cool,” he said with mock seriousness.

“I think you’re annoying,” you replied. But your fingers were already running through his hair, soft and absentminded.

You both ate in silence for a bit, save for the occasional clink of chopsticks or the muted sound of rain tapping the windows. Your book slipped to the floor, forgotten.

After a while, Yoongi tilted his head up to look at you. “Marry me.” You laughed — not because it was a joke, but because of how casual he made it sound. He grinned. “What? I’m serious. We could run a ramyeon shop and live above it. You read books all day, I burn things in the kitchen. Perfect.”

It was stupid. One, because he wasn’t going to quit music anytime soon. Two, because you weren’t going to leave a good job opportunity just to marry a man.

So you rolled your eyes, but your hand paused in his hair. “What if we burn out?”

“Then we burn out together,” he said. And even if he hadn’t meant it entirely seriously, the way he looked at you — quiet, steady — made your chest ache in hope for a moment. A life that could happen if you believe it enough. But it really was a throwaway line. A rainy-day joke. But something about that moment, the warmth, the way time slowed down and wrapped around you two — it stayed.

You would remember that day long after it ended. When it was all too quiet. When you were too far apart. When it rained again.

Present day. Jeju Island.

The late afternoon sun dipped low over Jeju, casting a soft golden glow across the open garden of the resort. Rows of white chairs had been set up in front of an arched trellis woven with greenery and pale peonies, still half-wrapped in ribbon and waiting to be fluffed for the ceremony. The ocean lay behind it all, quiet and calm in the distance, the breeze bringing in the scent of salt and citrus.

You shaded your eyes as you took it all in, standing near the edge of the setup with a plastic cup of iced tea in one hand. You had drank already four mimosas so now you were trying to keep it classy and not ruin the rehearsal dinner.

Everything was perfect — painfully so. And chaotic in the best way.

Soojin was rushing around barefoot in a white linen sundress, waving a clipboard and yelling lovingly at people to “look alive! This is a WEDDING, not a kindergarten play!” Minjae, ever the calm to her storm, just grinned and trailed behind her with two paper fans and a backup itinerary folded in his shirt pocket.

“I’m starting to think you’re her personal assistant” you joked as Minjae approached, his shirt slightly wrinkled, sleeves rolled up, and face flushed with heat.

“You think she’d survive this alone?” he said, bumping your shoulder lightly. “She’s making the planner cry. You’re next if you’re not careful.”

You laughed. “I’m not afraid of Soojin. I’ve survived summer exams with her.”

“You say that, but she’s already assigned you a speech,” he added with an innocent shrug.

“I know, she texted me about it three weeks ago in all caps. Then again last night just to ‘remind me gently,’” you said, air quoting. “I think she means to ruin me.”

“Just keep it short and emotional, or long and mildly embarrassing. Either way, she’ll cry.”

You both turned to watch Soojin adjusting someone’s boutonnière like her life depended on it. You both loved her dearly.

“I’ll be the one crying,” you muttered. “Or maybe I’ll black out halfway through.”

“She’s counting on the emotional damage. Speech isn’t for her — it’s for the drama.”

“Of course it is.”

Minjae smiled and nudged you again before slipping off to join the group by the arch. You lingered a little longer, sipping your tea, watching the bridal party rehearse their positions. There were bridesmaids and groomsmen practicing where to walk and when to pause, some of them slightly tipsy from the welcome drinks earlier.

And of course, there he was.

Yoongi stood off to the side, helping one of the groomsmen fix his tie. He was in a light white button-down, sleeves rolled, dark pants. Easy, confident, that effortless kind of handsome that still made your stomach twist a little. He didn’t look at you — not yet. And that made you feel oddly braver.

Soojin finally spotted you. “Y/n!” she called, hands in the air. “Let’s go, your practice moment of fame is coming.”

You chuckled and made your way over, the grass soft beneath your sandals. You passed the rows of chairs, imagined them filled with people — all dressed up and whispering about the speeches, the love, the vows.

The rehearsal continued in a blur of laughter, corrections, and Soojin almost tripping on her own excitement. You went through the motions, standing in your place as bridesmaid, watching Soojin and Minjae exchange teasing glances as they practiced the ceremony part. The joy between them was palpable, infectious. You found herself smiling so much your cheeks hurt. And later, when the sun began to slip below the horizon and people scattered for drinks or rest to the bar inside, you stayed a little longer — staring at the altar, picturing what you might say the wedding day.

You didn’t want to overthink it. You wanted it to be honest. From the heart. But somewhere beneath that, there was something else tugging at your chest. A different kind of ache.

You wondered if Yoongi would be listening closely. If he remembered the promises you never got to make.

The light from the rehearsal garden faded into twilight as the bridal party funneled inside, trailing laughter and the scent of wildflowers and sun-warmed grass into the resort’s lounge bar. Inside, warm lighting pooled over polished wood floors, the soft hum of conversation and glass clinking filling the space. Someone connected a phone to the speaker system, and a slow, summery playlist began to drift into the air.

You stepped up to the bar, still slightly flushed from the rehearsal. Your hair had loosened from its clip, and you reached up to re-pin it absentmindedly as you waited for your turn to ask for a drink. Soojin was holding court near the back of the room, seated between two cousins and already halfway into her cocktail.

“Whiskey soda, please,” you said to the bartender. You didn’t look around much. There were too many familiar faces and only one you weren’t sure how to handle.

“Didn’t peg you for whiskey,” came a voice beside you — not loud, but close enough to make you glance.

Yoongi stood just a step away, not looking directly at you, more like reading the chalkboard list of drinks overhead.

“That’s because I was the one who did the pegging.” Yoongi blushed furiously when the bartender choked, trying to give you your drink. You accepted the glass with a nod and turned toward him. “Too much?”

“Yep, change the subject.”

You snorted and nodded. “How was the rehearsal for you?.”

“Chaotic. But it’ll be beautiful tomorrow.”

Yoongi relaxed. His lip twitched, but he didn’t push it. He ordered a beer and leaned slightly on the bar, arms crossed over his chest. You both stood in silence for a moment, letting the bustle of the party crowd fill the quiet between them.

“I don’t know how Soojin hasn’t collapsed,” you muttered, scanning the room. “She’s been running off pure willpower and white wine.”

“She thrives on this,” Yoongi said. “Didn’t you tell me she used to plan fake weddings in middle school?”

You snorted. “She made me be flower girl for three different scenarios.”

“That tracks.”

Another pause settled. Not awkward, not quite easy. Just… there.

You glanced around the bar again. “Kind of loud in here.”

Yoongi turned to you, like had been waiting for that comment. “Wanna steal a bottle and head down to the beach?”

You considered it for a second — the party noise, the steady ache behind his eyes, the fact that everyone already seemed two drinks ahead. “Yeah,” you said, quiet but sure. “Okay.”

He grabbed a pack of soju from the counter behind the bar, raised an eyebrow at the bartender, who just gave a wave like he’d seen it all before. You two slipped out through the side doors with barely a glance back.

The night air was cooler now, brushed with ocean breeze and the faint scent of the pine trees that grew along the shore. The resort lights shimmered behind as you two walked across the wooden path toward the beach. You took off your sandals when the sand began, letting it shift beneath your toes. Yoongi held the pack of 4 bottles loosely in one hand, his other shoved into his pocket, like it didn’t weight.

“Still can’t believe they’re getting married,” you said eventually, your voice carried by the rhythm of the waves.

He nodded. “It suits them. Somehow. Minjae’s steadiness, Soojin’s chaos… it balances.”

You let out a small laugh. “Years ago I couldn’t imagine Soojin being anyone’s wife.”

“You’d be surprised,” Yoongi said. “She started yelling at me to moisturize the second I walked in.”

“That’s her love language.”

A beat.

Yoongi glanced at you sideways. “You nervous about your speech?”

You let out a long breath. “Terrified. I have no idea what I’m going to say. I lied and said I already wrote it, I’m sure she knows I haven’t.”

“You’ll figure it out,” he said, handing you a bottle. “You always do.”

You took it from him, unscrewed the cap, and sipped. The ocean whispered in front of you. You both didn’t say anything for a while. Just walked toward the edge of the shore, shoulder to shoulder, letting the sound of water and wind speak for you two. You two sat down where the sand dipped gently toward the shoreline, just far enough from the tide. The stars above were beginning to stretch across the sky, and the moon hung low and pale over the ocean like a watchful eye. The pack of Soju bottles rested between you both, half-buried in the cool sand.

You curled your knees to your chest and took another small sip before making a disgusted face.

“Still hate the original Soju,” you muttered, he smiled .

“I only brought it because I figured you’d complain.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you.”

You two sat in comfortable silence for a while. The waves rolled in, unbothered by the awkward tension that still hovered faintly.

“You remember when we went to Jeonju that weekend?” Yoongi asked suddenly. “Right before you left.”

You gave a dry laugh. “When the guesthouse lost our booking, and we ended up sleeping on that sagging couch from the 80s because you thought paparazzis were following us?.”

“Exactly,” he said. “And the ajumma kept insisting I was your husband.”

You snorted. “Because you called her ‘eomma’ by accident.”

“I was nervous!”

You laughed then, a genuine one, tilting your head back. “I’d forgotten about that.”

“No, you didn’t. You brought it up every time someone said the word ‘husband.’”

“Well, it’s a top ten moment of our relationship!”

Yoongi chuckled and took another sip. “That was a good trip.”

“It was,” you agreed, quieter now. “I didn’t think about work once.”

“Until the morning we left, and you answered three emails in bed” he pointed out.

“Okay,” you said, elbowing him lightly. “Let’s not rewrite history to make me look like the villain.”

“You were always working after Paris,” he said, not accusing, just stating. “Even when you were supposed to be on vacation with me.”

You didn’t say anything right away. The truth settled in the air, not heavy—just honest.

“I think I was afraid of stopping,” you said finally. “Like if I slowed down, I’d realize I wasn’t good enough for them and I had already leave everything, couldn’t risk it.”

Yoongi nodded, understanding . “And I think I was afraid to ask you to.”

You didn’t look at each other. Just kept your eyes on the sea.

After a while, two more bottles down, you asked, “Do you still go to that bar near your old apartment? The one with the bad lighting and weird jazz playlist?”

He laughed. “Sometimes. They still make that horrible cucumber cocktail you loved.”

“It wasn’t horrible.”

“It tasted like shit.”

You smiled again, soft but real. “I missed this.”

“What, your terrible drink opinions?”

“No,” you said. “You— talking like this. I missed us. Not the romantic stuff. Just… us.”

Yoongi nodded, feeling the same. “Yeah. Me too.”

A sharp breeze swept in, making you shiver. You rubbed your arms and side-eyed him. “You forgot to bring a jacket for me, didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t planning on walking a mile down the beach,” he said. “But you’ve always been dramatic.”

You smirked. “And you’ve always been underprepared.”

He shrugged. “You’re the one who chose to date me.”

You rolled her eyes, then nudged him with your shoulder. “Well. You had a nice face.”

Yoongi grinned. “You’re not wrong.”

The moon was high now, casting a silver glow over the water. The air smelled of salt, woodsmoke, and faintly of flowers from the hotel garden and there were no more bottles of Soju.

“It’s weird being back.” you said later.

“I figured,” Yoongi said. “First time in how long?”

“Six months, since we—” You cut yourself off, then shrugged. “Anyway.”

Yoongi didn’t press you. Instead, he said, “The guest rooms are nicer than I expected.”

“Still pretending you’re not bougie?”

“I’m selective.” He raised an eyebrow. “But how is Paris?”

“Incredible most of the times,” you nodded. “I make a lot of money and I met a lot of great people. I also pretend I don’t miss rice and convince myself an espresso and a cigarette is enough for breakfast.”

“The European life” he nodded. “Mrs. Han said you were skinnier and you haven’t been taking care of yourself.”

You snorted. “I know, she came with soup and had been feeding me with anything she can every time she sees me. I know I’m going to gain weight if I stay longer than a week with her.”

“She cares for you.”

“And I do for her.”

“Good.”

A wave broke further up the shore, scattering foam toward your feet. You didn’t move. Your throat felt tight. It felt different the shift, the change of tension. You wanted him with you like this, always.

You pulled your knees closer, resting your chin on them and looking at him softly. “I think we’re doing the right thing.”

“What?” his voice came soft, kind.

“Being friends” you whispered, intimate. “I like having you in my life.”

He looked at you, eyes with no spark and a nonchalant look that almost felt like an attack. But he didn’t tell you how he really felt. He nodded and smiled. “I like you in my life too.”

A long silence passed between you. Not heavy, not angry—just filled with the ache of what you were too late to change. Of what you had lost. Now maybe a new beginning.

Then you reached out, pointing out at his expression. “You still overthink everything.”

He sighed “And you still drink too fast, even drinks you don’t like.”

You held up the empty bottles, wiggling it. “We’re out.”

“Good.”

“Boring.”

He laughed and you stood up, brushing sand off your clothes. Yoongi rose too, stretching slightly, brushing his hands clean. You two stood there, both watching the tide a little longer before turning back toward the hotel.

“You wanna sneak in through the garden path?” he asked, gesturing toward the side.

You raised an eyebrow. “Still avoiding crowds?”

“You still know me.”

You did.

You both started walking, shoulders close but not touching, steps in sync even without meaning to. Behind you two, the sea whispered to the shore. In front of you two, the lights of the hotel flickered softly like stars that had settled down to rest.

Friends.

Six months ago. Busan.

The front door clicked shut behind you, and for a second you stayed there. His apartment was the same as when you left. A few more takeout containers stacked near the trash. One of your scarves still draped over the back of the chair. You just stood there in the narrow hallway, shoes and coat still on. You hadn’t been in this apartment in two months, but it still smelled the same. Soap, coffee, his cologne — the quiet scent of home. You missed this, you missed him. Your heart clenched and you wanted to cry immediately. Everything felt so wrong, so broken.

Home.

“Hey,” Yoongi’s voice came from the living room. Warm, surprised. Hopeful.

You turned the corner and saw him standing there in sweatpants and an old t-shirt, hair still damp from the shower, like he’d wanted to look casual but not like he hadn’t tried. His eyes lit up when he saw you — just for a moment. Then they dimmed, like he remembered. Like he knew why you were there. He did, he felt it. It had been coming since too long ago. Since you left.

“Hi,” you said, soft.

He crossed the space between you two quickly and wrapped you in a hug before you could resist. And for a second — for a cruel, aching second — you let yourself melt into it. Into him. His arms were strong and warm and familiar. You had dreamed of this. Waking up in this apartment. Waking up next to him. Waking up thinking everything could be better. Thinking that everything would be okay.

You pulled back too fast for his liking.

“You want tea?” he asked, like it was any other night.

“Yoongi.” Your voice, almost breaking.

He paused. Then slowly nodded. “Right.”

He knew.

“I’m sorry—”

“I thought maybe you’d come back for good,” he said after a minute.

Your heart dropped. “I didn’t mean to give you false hope.”

“So you’re just here to say it’s over?”

“I’m here to do it right. To not end it over the phone and disrespect you, not like a coward.”

“We were cowards the minute you left,” he snapped, suddenly.

You blinked, startled. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, voice rising. Choosing anger over sadness. “You left, y/n. You packed up your life and went to Paris like it was that simple.”

“It wasn’t simple,” you said, trying to stay calm and understand his anger. “You know it wasn’t.”

“You didn’t ask me to come with you.”

“And would you have come?”

“Yes.”

You laughed — bitter and broken. “Don’t lie to me now.”

“I’m not lying,” he said, raising his voice. “You didn’t give me the chance. You just made the decision on your own.”

“I waited for you to say something!” you shouted, rising your voice too. “You were too busy with your label, with your tour schedule, with everything else—”

“I was working, Y/n!. Music was my dream!”

“I know your dream matters,” you said, breathless, angry tears filling up your eyes. “But so does mine. I got that opportunity and I took it. You would’ve done the same.”

He turned away from you, hands on his hips, head bowed. “I would’ve figured out a way to make it work. I wouldn’t have given up so easily.”

“You think I gave up easily?” your voice cracked. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been? Every morning waking up alone. Working late just so I wouldn’t feel the silence in that goddamn apartment. I missed you in everything. My first opening. My birthday. When I got sick and nobody knew how to make my stupid soup—”

“I sent flowers.”

“I didn’t want flowers!” you screamed. “I wanted you!”

He stared at you then. Both of you breathe hard, like you’d just run miles to get here.

“I was there a thousand times” he kips formed a pout, his eyes forming tears. “I was waiting for you to come back,” he said, barely audible.

“And I was hoping for you to visit more.”

“I didn’t want to hold you back.”

“And now we’re here,” you whispered.

Yoongi looked down before falling to the floor. He put his elbows on his knees and rubbed his face in pain, sobbing. “I can’t— I love you.”

“I love you too.” You cried, kneeling in front of him. Your tears were running now. “That’s what makes it worse.”

He put his hands down and looked at you. His tears running down his face. Yoongi’s face twisted. He brushed a tear from your cheek, but you turned away. It hurt too much.

“Don’t leave.”

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, crawling back like the words were a slap. “Why?— I love you.”

“I don’t want this.”

“Then stay.”

You looked at him. His eyes were red now too. His voice was cracking. And for the first time, you saw that he wasn’t angry — he was breaking.

“Yoongi,” you said, your soul breaking too. “If we keep going like this, we’ll hate each other. We’re always fighting, we didn’t talk for a week.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. He just looked down, like not seeing you could make the ache in the room go away. You gaze at him, broken, tired. Watching the man you loved try not to fall apart more.

And then — the quietest heartbreak — he whispered, “I would’ve waited for you.”

You closed your eyes. Breath hitching. “I know.”

Present day. Jeju Island.

The sky was a dusky gradient of purple and peach as the last light dipped below the ocean. Lanterns swayed gently on strings overhead, casting a warm golden glow across the courtyard garden of the hotel. Tables had been arranged in a circle, with candles flickering between scattered polaroids of Soojin and Minjae through the years. Laughter echoed into the night air, glasses clinked, and the scent of grilled food drifted softly through the breeze.

Soojin and Minjae had decided — predictably — to throw their bridal and groom showers together. “Why would we want to be apart?” Minjae had said earlier with a shrug, grabbing her fiancée hand and flashing her engagement ring like a weapon of joy.

It had been you and Yoongi’s job to plan it. You two had become in impromptu party planners, after Soojin cornered you with a, “You two used to throw the best birthdays. It’s basically fate.” So now you stood near one of the long tables now, smoothing down a blue linen tablecloth while Yoongi adjusted the playlist from his phone. A jazzy cover of a 2000s R&B song filtered out of the speakers, soft and upbeat.

“She’s going to cry,” you said, arranging a little handwritten place card in front of Soojin’s seat.

“She’s already cried. Twice,” Yoongi replied, not looking up. “Third time’s the charm.”

You smiled, your fingers brushing over a childhood photo of Soojin stuck in the center of a candle arrangement. “I can’t believe she’s getting married tomorrow.”

“Minjae’s already looking nervous,” he said, glancing toward the couple across the courtyard.

Minjae was sipping from a beer bottle, looking oddly pale for someone so tanned. Soojin was holding court with two aunties and laughing in full volume.

“He’s going to cry during the vows,” you said knowingly.

“I bet he cries before she even walks in.”

“I bet you cry before the end of the night.”

Yoongi turned to you with a mock-serious face. “Why would I cry?”

You gave him a knowing look. “Because you pretend you’re nonchalant but you’re actually a really soft, romantic—”

“And emotionally well-adjusted person?”

“Sure. That.”

“Shut up.”

The teasing fell away for a brief moment, replaced by something gentler as your eyes met. There was a stillness in it, an ease that had started to return between you two over the past days. Not quite old love, not yet new. Just something tender hanging in the in-between.

“I like this,” you said after a beat, looking out at the party. “I like seeing them happy. I like being here.”

“Me too.”

Before you could say more, Soojin waved you both over from the firepit, gesturing wildly like she was pulling invisible ropes. “You two! Party planners! Come sit with the royalty!”

You and Yoongi made your way over, settling into the low wooden chairs around the fire. Soojin immediately leaned her head onto your shoulder, her wine glass still balanced perfectly in her other hand.

“I love you,” she mumbled.

“I know. I love you too.”

Minjae grinned across the flames. “I’m pretty sure she just said that to me earlier.”

“She means it more now,” you deadpanned.

“Hey,” Yoongi said, taking the bottle opener from Minjae and cracking open a cider for Soojin. “To the start of a new page of love.”

Soojin lifted her glass. “To the best wedding party ever.”

Minjae raised his. “To friends who know us better than we know ourselves.”

You clinked yours last. “To being able to walk to the altar tomorrow.”

They all laughed.

The conversation eased into memories, jokes about how Minjae once thought Soojin’s little sister was her daughter, or how Yoongi spilled champagne at their engagement party and then tried to play it off with a dance move. The fire snapped gently. Laughter drifted out into the wind.

And later you glanced at Yoongi while the others chatted, catching the way the firelight softened his features. There were lines around his eyes now — maybe from stress, maybe from smiling. He was leaning back in his chair, relaxed in a way you hadn’t seen since before everything. Before the distance. Before the silence.

He looked over at you at the same time.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you said, smiling. “You just… look happy.”

Yoongi tilted his head. “I think I am.”

You didn’t say anything back, but something about the moment stayed in your chest like a held breath.

Soojin sighed dramatically. “I don’t want tonight to end.”

Minjae reached over to squeeze her hand. “It won’t. We’ll remember this.”

You hope you all will.

You had fun that moment of the night, between friends and family you remember why Korea was your home, why you love it so much. A reminder of everything that made you, you.

The bridal shower had been a success. Soojin was tipsy and glowing, carried off by Minjae a good thirty minutes ago with one shoe in hand and her veil tied around his neck like a cape. The rest of the guests had wandered back to their rooms in twos and threes, arms slung around shoulders, voices loud with inside jokes and win. The place was littered with the soft remains of celebration. Empty glasses perched precariously on every ledge. Candles flickered low, melted to wax puddles, and someone’s forgotten shoe sat like a monument to the chaos of the night. Music still drifted from a speaker someone had abandoned hours ago—faint, warbly, and a little offbeat.

The night was a success. The guests were already— at least most of them— gone.

You wandered toward the pool barefoot, holding your heels in one hand and the last of your drink in the other. Your cheeks were flushed from laughter and cocktails, and the salt-sticky wind swept your hair into messy waves. The moonlight glazed the surface of the pool like silver syru.

And then you saw him.

Floating on his back in the water, shirt half unbuttoned, and—of course—with his tie tied around his forehead like some warrior of lost feelings—was Yoongi.

You barked a laugh before you could stop it. “Are you dead?.”

Yoongi cracked one eye open and grinned, lazy and slow. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite bridesmaid. Care to join the drowning club?”

You perched on the pool’s edge, dipping a toe into the water. “You know, that tie on your head is a crime against fashion.”

“Thanks. I was going for ‘annoying drunk guy at a wedding.’ How am I doing?”

“Impressive. Truly suits you.”

He flipped onto his stomach, treading water closer to you. “How much have you had tonight?”

“Enough to tolerate you.”

He shrugged. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“How about you?” you asked. “How much have you had?”

He held up four fingers, paused, then added a fifth with a shrug. “Somewhere between reckless and philosophical.”

“Dangerous zone.”

“Only if you’re not here to supervise me.”

There was a beat of silence. Just the ripple of water, the chirp of night insects, and your shared drunkenness stretching out into something that felt both familiar and dangerous. And Yoongi stood in the pool, almost touching your leg, looking at you.

“You’re still wearing that stupid tie,” you said, before tearing that tie from his forehead and putting in on the side.

“You liked this tie,” he protested. “You picked it out for your birthday last year.”

“I liked it when it was on your neck and not trying to strangle your forehead.”

He smirked, pulling himself to the edge near you. “You’re still bossy.”

You glanced at him sideways. “You’re still a mess.”

“Coming from the woman who insists on wearing six-inch heels to a beach wedding.”

“I look good.”

“That you do.” He hissed, like it was something wrong. “Sorry. Am I allowed to say that?” he added, trying to shrug it off with a lopsided grin, “I mean, we’re friends now, right?”

There was a sharpness to the word. A bite under the drunk smile. You stiffened, only slightly, but Yoongi caught it.

You gave him a look, your voice low. “Don’t say that like it’s a joke.”

He looked at you for a moment, something tightening behind his eyes. “It is a joke.”

You blinked.

“No—”

“I never wanted to be your friend, y/n,” Yoongi said, and now his voice wasn’t playful at all. “I didn’t come here to laugh across brunch tables or talk about weather in Paris, I hate it. I didn’t come here to pretend to be your friend when you know I can’t.”

Your heart thudded. “Yoon…”

“I didn’t let you go because I stopped loving you. I let you go because you told me to. Because you wanted something bigger, and I didn’t want to be the thing that held you back…”

You stood up suddenly, water sloshing as you pulled your legs from the pool. Yoongi was quickly to leave the pool too, grabbing your wrist so you wouldn’t go, so you would look at him.

“Don’t do this now,” you said, letting go of his hold and grabbing your shoes like a shield. “Not here.”

“Why not? We’ve been doing this fake smiling thing all week. Let’s just say it.”

You could see him now. He stood in front of you, wet and mad. Almost too mad to cover his sadness from you.

“I didn’t leave you. I left the country. I left for a job I worked my whole damn life for—”

“And you didn’t think we could make it work?!” his voice became louder.

“We tried! For six months we tried!” you exclaimed back.

“You didn’t try. You planned your future without me in it. You made every decision like I was already gone.” he spat it out, furiously trying to contain his tears, trying not to break again.

“That’s not fair.”

“But it’s true.”

You laughed bitterly. “Coming from you? You think I didn’t notice how easy it was for you to be gone all the time too? You were always on a set, on a shoot, chasing your next project.” you shook your head “. So only you can be the one who has to follow his career?.”

“So now it’s my fault you walked away?”

“No. But don’t stand there like you waited around with your heart in your hands. You moved on too.”

“Not from you. Never from you.”

That stopped you. It winded you, it hurt you. But you hated that he wasn’t able to understand that no one of you could break your job to be with each other, it was too much. A sacrifice that wasn’t not necessary, not worthy to lose.

“This a lost fight—”

“I still love you, y/n,” he interrupted, quieter now but no less raw. “Even when I try not to. Even when you sit next to me and laugh like none of it happened. I still want you, I still break for you.” Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. There were too many words stuck in your throat. He formed tears in his eyes. “And I hate that,” he added, voice breaking. “I hate that I can’t stop loving you.”

You stepped back, your heart breaking for the second time with him.

“We can’t make it, I don’t want to hate you.”

“I don’t know what to do” he sobbed. “I don’t want to lose you— I don’t want you to leave your job, I don’t want to leave mine but… ” his tears ran down his face. “I can’t stop loving you, I don’t know how to.”

“Then don’t make this harder, Yoongi.”

You two stared at each other. Neither moving. Both wrecked.

Then you turned, without another word, walking barefoot back toward the hotel, your shoes swinging at your side like anchors. Your heart breaking for the second time in the worst way. When he couldn’t see your face, you let tears fall down.

And Yoongi stood by the pool, dripping, shaking, watching you go.

Again.

The soft morning light filtered gently through the curtains, casting a calm glow across your room. Outside, the distant hum of the island waking up carried through the open window — the steady crash of waves, birds greeting the day, and the faint murmur of voices starting to prepare for the celebration ahead. You sat quietly on the edge of your bed, staring at the delicate dress laid out before you. The fabric shimmered softly in the light, but your mind was tangled in a knot of uncertainty and regret.

This day was supposed to be simple—joyful, even. A celebration of two lives joining together. But for you, it was anything but simple.

You thought about the past months, the decisions that had led you here, and the quiet spaces between memories that seemed impossible to fill. The distance, the missed chances, the silent breaks in conversations. The ache that came with knowing some things just couldn’t be fixed—no matter how much you wanted them to be. No matter how much you wanted for things to be easier, life to be kinder.

I still break for you.

I hate that I can’t stop loving you.

Your breath caught at the thought of Yoongi—not because of what you shared, but because of what couldn’t be. The timing, the circumstances, the lives you two built apart. It wasn’t just about wanting someone; it was about the weight of everything that stood in the way. The compromises, the sacrifices, the tangled webs of responsibility and love and fear. Everything that couldn’t be sacrificed for love

You shook your head softly, as if trying to clear the fog clouding your heart. Maybe some stories aren’t meant to have perfect endings. Maybe some loves aren’t meant to last forever…

A gentle knock on the door pulled you from your reverie.

“Little brat. Are you awake, or are you hiding from the madness that’s about to start?” Mrs. Han’s warm voice floated through the door before coming in, closing the door behind her.

She entered with her usual grace, her presence comforting like a soft hug. She had been a part of your life for as long as you could remember—more like family than just a friend’s mother. Her kindness was something you leaned on now more than ever.

You chuckled softly. “Neither. Just trying to figure out how to squeeze years of love and Soojin’s past into one page of speech.”

“Ah, I remember those days. You can add a the time Soojin accidentally locked her heel in the hotel bathroom of you guys prom party and we had to rescue her like some sort of awkward fairy tale rescue party.”

You laughed, the memory vivid. “And also how you tried to bribe the staff with those ridiculous snacks you smuggled in.”

Mrs. Han grinned. “Hey, desperate times call for desperate measures. But those were good times, weren’t they?”

“Yeah,” you said, smiling softly. “Simple, even if chaotic.”

The room quieted, the playful mood gently giving way to something more tender.

Mrs. Han sat beside you on the bed. “You know, y/n, I’ve watched you grow up more than you realize. From scraped knees to scraped hearts.”

“Oh, no. You’re getting emotional” you complained when you received a punch in your head. “Sorry, go on.”

You looked up, your smile slowly fading as you saw the woman in front of you looking more softer, more motherly.

“I see so much of myself in you,” Mrs. Han continued. “Strong, stubborn, but with a softness you try to hide. You’ve been through a lot… and love—love hasn’t always been kind.” You swallowed, the weight of unspoken things settling between you two. Your throat tightening and the same goes to your heart. “I want you to know,” Mrs. Han said quietly, “I want you to find a love that doesn’t hurt. A love that lifts you up, not drags you down. A love with no difficulties that break your heart.”

You shook your head slightly, a bitter laugh escaping. “Sometimes I wonder if that kind of love even exists. Or if it’s just a story people tell.” you grimaced. “At least, Soojin found it.”

“Love can find you in different ways. But even if I want you to find a love without difficulties— for some people… fighting for them, between all, is worthy.”

“Sometimes love is not enough.”

Mrs. Han reached over, gently taking your hand in hers. “I see you, y/n. And I see the walls you’ve built. But walls can come down. You just have to believe there’s something better waiting on the other side.” Her voice softened, full of genuine care. “I don’t just say this as Soojin’s mom—I say it as someone who loves you like a daughter. You deserve happiness. You deserve to be loved without conditions.”

Your eyes glistened, and you nodded slowly. “I want to believe that. I really do.”

She smiled, squeezing your hand. “Then start with this day. No matter what happens, let it be a step forward. You’re not alone.”

You took a deep breath, the knot inside you loosening just a little. You glanced at the wedding notes on your bed, the speech you had to give soon.

“I should start working on this,” you said softly.

She stood, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “You got this. I’ll see you later.”

You nodded and Mrs. Han left the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and the promise of a new chapter waiting to unfold.

A little later you find Soojin.

The soft rustle of fabric and gentle clinks of jewelry filled the bridal suite as you knelt beside Soojin’s chair, carefully fastening the intricate buttons along the back of her wedding gown. The delicate lace shimmered in the afternoon light streaming through the window, and Soojin sat still, trying to calm the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. Minutes away from walking to the altar.

“You’re glowing,” you said, brushing a loose strand of hair behind Soojin’s ear. “Are you nervous?.”

She smiled, a mix of excitement and jitters flickering in her eyes. “Terrified. And thrilled. And… overwhelmed. But mostly I just can’t believe this day is finally here.”

You grinned. “I remember when you dragged me to that weird art gallery on a whim. Who knew it’d lead us here?”

Your friend laughed softly. “Yeah, you were so suspicious of that artist. Said his paintings looked like he painted with his eyes closed.”

You laughed along. “Maybe I was just jealous. You always had better taste than me— and this was my career.”

The two shared a warm smile, a quiet comfort in their years of friendship.

Soojin’s eyes softened. “Thank you for being here. For everything. Even when I was a bridezilla.”

You nudged her playfully. “Hey, you were only a little bridezilla. I think I’ve earned honorary bridesmaid of the year.”

“You really did.” Soojin’s laughter echoed through the room, light and free.

As you stood to grab the veil, you caught Soojin’s gaze and felt a sudden rush of affection. “You’re going to be amazing today.” you immediately said. “You’re the most beautiful bride ever.”

Soojin reached out, squeezing your hand gently. “I love you”

Your best friend was getting married.

The sun was beginning its slow descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of warm apricot and soft lavender. Gentle waves whispered onto the shore, their rhythmic hush mingling with the quiet murmurs of guests gathered on the sand. White chairs were arranged in neat rows, facing a simple wooden arch draped with flowing white fabric and delicate wildflowers, framing the endless stretch of ocean beyond.

At the altar, Minjae’s eyes glistened with tears even before Soojin appeared, the weight of the day pressing gently on his shoulders. His hands trembled slightly as he straightened his tie, but his smile never wavered. Soojin approached with a radiant smile, her bare feet leaving faint imprints in the sand. She reached your side and squeezed your hand reassuringly. Despite the warmth of the evening sun, a cool flutter of nerves danced in your chest.

You stood behind Soojin, toes sinking slightly into the cool sand, the salt-kissed breeze playing with strands of your hair. The distant cry of seagulls and the soft chatter of the guests felt both grounding and surreal, as if time had slowed just for this moment. The officiant’s voice rose softly over the sound of the waves, speaking of love, trust, and the promise of a shared future. When it came time for the vows, the world seemed to hush.

Soojin’s voice was steady but tender, filled with heartfelt sincerity. “I promise to be your anchor when the seas get rough, and your wings when you need to fly.”

Minjae’s voice broke as emotion overwhelmed him, but he pressed on, “I vow to walk beside you, through calm and storm, and cherish you with every breath I take.”

Their eyes locked, filled with love so palpable it seemed to ripple through the air. The officiant smiled warmly, then stepped back.

Minjae took Soojin’s hands, leaning in close. “With this kiss, I give you all I am.”

They were so cheesy you wanted to throw up— Instead, you teared up.

Their lips met softly, the ocean breeze carrying the moment across the shore, a perfect seal on their promises as the sun dipped lower, casting golden light across the sand.

They were married now.

As the sun disappeared fully beyond the horizon, soft fairy lights strung between driftwood posts began to glow against the deepening dusk. The reception area, nestled just above the beach on a wooden deck, was transformed into a dream of golden lights, soft linen, and sea breeze. Long tables were arranged under a canopy of stars, adorned with glass vases full of wildflowers, flickering candles, and handwritten name cards tucked into seashells. Lanterns swayed gently above them, casting delicate shadows across smiling faces.

You sat at the table, next to Mrs. Han, still in your bridesmaid dress, hair slightly windswept, cheeks sun-warmed and flushed. The atmosphere buzzed with laughter and the sound of clinking glasses, the occasional cheer from a table, the comforting clatter of shared meals being passed around. Soft jazz hummed from the speakers, and the scent of grilled seafood and fresh herbs floated through the warm night air. Soojin and Minjae sat at the middle, holding hands under the tablecloth, whispering and smiling at each other like no one else existed. You couldn’t help the way your chest tightened a little watching them—proud, moved, and perhaps just a little haunted.

The emcee tapped the microphone again and announced, “And now, a few words from our lovely bridesmaid—and lifelong partner-in-chaos—Y/n.”

Ah, shit.

There were cheers and claps as you stood, smoothing your dress, cheeks flushed from the wine and the lingering emotion of the wedding. You picked up the mic with a slightly exaggerated sigh and narrowed your eyes playfully at Soojin. Soojin, already shaking her head in anticipation, whispered something to Minjae that made him grin.

You cleared your throat dramatically. “Hi, I’m Y/n. For those who don’t know me… I’m sorry. For those who do— I’m sorry too.”

There was a few chuckles around. You shrugged.

“I’ve known Soojin since we were nine. And by ‘known’ I mean I once hit her square in the face with a dodgeball during gym class. To be fair, it was an accident. But she still came to school the next day with a swollen cheek and two friendship bracelets. That was the moment I realized Soojin was either an angel… or slightly mentally challenged.”

The room erupted in laughter. Soojin groaned, covering her face with both hands.

“She’s been my person ever since. I mean—we’ve lived through it all together. Our emo phases, terrible group projects, my first heartbreak, her first heartbreak—though that one lasted all of three days because he couldn’t spell her name right in texts.”

Soojin shouted through her laughter, “I told you not to bring that up!”

“Oh I’m just getting started.” you winked. “She also once dragged me on a blind double date where my date turned out to be gay. He came out right after kissing me.”

The crowd laughed, but slowly, your tone shifted.

“But through all of that—and I mean all of it—Soojin never wavered. She is, without question, the most loyal, fiercely loving, and quietly brave person I’ve ever met. She has this way of making you feel safe, even in chaos. And when Minjae came into her life, it was like… she finally got a taste of the safety she always gave others.”

You looked at Minjae then, and your voice softened more. A knot in your throat.

“Minjae came along. And somehow… it was like he’d always been part of our lives. Like he knew the rhythm of us already. He slotted in like the missing piece. And I knew, when I saw the way he looked at her—and how she let herself be looked at like that—that she was safe. That he would love her not just when it’s easy, but when it’s hard.”

Soojin cleaned her tears and you pouted a little.

“I’m glad you’re the happiest when you’re with him.” you nodded. “And I know people love to talk about love as something wild and passionate and filled with drama, but honestly? The most beautiful part of what they have is how easy it feels. How steady. How natural. Like they’ve been choosing each other in every lifetime before this one. And I just want to say,” you added, glancing at the your best friend, “I’m so proud of you. For opening your heart. For letting someone in. And for letting me be beside you today, like I always promised I would.”

A quiet beat passed. Your voice broke slightly, but you held on. A breath. A glance at both of them, beaming now, tearful.

“To Soojin and Minjae,” you said, lifting your glass. “To choosing each other—every day, every version, every mess. May you always find your way back.”

Everyone lift their glasses.

“Also— If you do anything wrong I will literally rip your balls out, Minjae.”

The crowd burst into laughter one more time as glasses clinked and you handed the mic back. Soojin was already wiping away tears. When she reached for you in a hug, it was tight, long, and full of everything you’d survived together. From across the reception, you caught Yoongi’s gaze. His expression was unreadable—but his eyes were soft. And still, somehow, knowing.

Now it was his turn.

The host tapped a glass and invited the next speaker up. When Yoongi stood, straightening his black linen jacket, a round of light applause followed. He smiled—genuine but a little nervous—and took the mic.

“Hi everyone,” he said, his voice warm. “I’m Yoongi. Most of you know me as Minjae’s best friend—and Soojin’s reluctant wedding planner assistant.”

Laughter bubbled across the tables.

“I’ve known Minjae since our second year of high school, where he convinced me to skip class with him for the first time by promising there would be free food involved. There wasn’t. But I stuck around anyway.”

More laughter. You sipped your wine, watching him, trying not to smile too widely.

“We’ve been through it all—bad haircuts, worse relationships—” he glanced pointedly at the groom, who gave a mock glare, “—and somehow, along the way, he went from being that guy who stole my fries to someone I call family.” His tone shifted, softening. “Seeing him today, looking at Soojin like she’s the only person in the universe… it reminds me that love isn’t always loud or dramatic. Sometimes it’s just quiet certainty. Choosing someone over and over, even when life gets messy. Especially when it gets messy.”

He hesitated just a beat.

“And… for some of us, sometimes love doesn’t work out the first time. Or the second. But you keep believing in it anyway. Because when you’ve seen it… when you’ve felt it… it stays with you.” His eyes flicked briefly to you—just a flicker—and moved on. He raised his glass. “To Minjae and Soojin—may your love be the kind that stays. The kind that holds fast, even when life tries to shake it loose.”

Always, good with words. A lyricist.

“Cheers!”

The guests echoed him, glasses raised in the warm night air.

Your hand was still curled around the stem of your wine glass, your heart louder than the music now. You didn’t look at him, but you felt the weight of his words settle in your chest like something old and uncomfortable, something hurtful.

A love that holds fast.

The night had settled like velvet over the sea, dark and warm, humming with the low rhythm of waves and laughter from the wedding reception still going strong behind. Fairy lights strung through palm trees glowed gold against the inky blue sky, and the clinking of glasses and soft music carried from the terrace where the dinner was winding down into dancing.

You slipped away quietly, barefoot now, heels hooked by the straps in one hand as you walked down a narrow path toward the darker edge of the beach. Yoongi’s speech had gone better than everyone thought it would. Too well, maybe. Everyone had cried. Even Soojin’s dad, who famously hadn’t teared up since 1987. You hadn’t expected the hollowness that crept in afterward, though. The way your chest felt both full and aching. It wasn’t sadness exactly. Just… weight.

You stood still near a quiet bend of the shore, letting the wind cool your cheeks, eyes on the soft roll of the tide. The party felt distant now, muffled like a memory.

“You always did like a dramatic exit.”

You didn’t turn, but a faint smile curved your lips. “I thought I earned it tonight.”

Yoongi stepped up beside you, his tie finally removed, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, his shoes left somewhere behind. He looked relaxed—at least on the surface.

“You did,” he nodded.

“Speech of the night” you commented. “You made everyone cry. Me included.”

“I think I made myself cry.”

That made you laugh, and finally, you turned your head to look at him. He was watching you, but gently this time. Not with the fire from the pool, not with the quiet ache from earlier in the week. Just… him. Familiar and careful.

“It was that good.”

He kicked at the sand lightly with one foot. “I wanted to say sorry. For the other night. The yelling. The drama. Not really my usual vibe.”

You snorted. “What, drunk poolside confessions aren’t in your brand?”

Yoongi smiled, then turned serious. “I meant what I said, though. Just… maybe not like that.”

“I know.” you nodded, your fingers curling tighter around the heels in your hand. A beat passed between you two, quiet and heavy. “I’ve been thinking about it,” you said softly. “About us. About why it didn’t work.” He didn’t move, but you felt the shift in the air. “We tried,” you continued. “We really did. But it just… hurt, all the time. When we were apart. When we tried to force time into places it didn’t fit. And I don’t want to resent you. Or have you resent me for chasing something we can’t hold.”

Yoongi’s jaw flexed slightly, but he didn’t interrupt. Because he knew what you meant. The last couple months of your relationship had been fight after fight, downfalls. It was dying.

“I used to imagine us older,” you whispered. “Still trying to match time zones and canceling dinners and waking up next to an empty pillow. That kind of love… it starts to rot when it’s always a race.”

He looked out at the ocean, then down at the sand, then finally back at you. “I know,” he said quietly. “I hated being so far and feeling like I wasn’t doing enough. I hated feeling like I was losing you in inches.”

Your throat tightens, you swallowed hard. “It’s not about love,” you said. “That’s the thing. There was never a moment I didn’t love you.”

His voice was quiet. “Still?”

You paused. “Don’t ask me that.”

Yoongi let out a slow breath. “I won’t.”

The waves rolled in, curling white foam at their toes.

“So,” you said after a moment, “we go back to friends?.”

He looked at you, eyebrows raised. “Terrible idea.”

You laughed, the sound catching somewhere between sad and sweet.

“But maybe we keep… being kind to each other,” you offered instead. “No expectations. No plans.”

“Just here,” he said. “Now.”

You nodded. “Now.”

He gave you a small, sad smile. “You were always better at the endings.”

You met his gaze fully, for once without flinching. “That’s because I never really believed in them.”

The night stretched around you two, quiet and vast. Neither of you moved. Neither said goodbye. Not really wanting to

You love him, so much.

The night ended. And the wedding was over.

The petals had blown off the sand, the lights taken down from the trees. What was left of the celebration was about to be pack into cars, hug into photos, or wave away on the morning ferries. The week felt like a strange dream now.

The sky was still a soft lavender when you stepped out of your room, suitcase wheels clicking softly on the stone path. The scent of salt lingered in the air, clinging to your coat, your skin, your memories. The resort was hushed, heavy with the kind of quiet that follows a celebration too big for words. Most guests were still asleep. A few scattered sandals lay forgotten near the pool. Fairy lights still blinked weakly from trees, tired from a night of laughter and vows and late-night drinks.

You thought you had made it out without running into anyone. That had been the plan—no big send-off, no watery hugs or over-promises. That’s how you left for Paris, except Soojin decided to do a big goodbye party even after. But you hated that, you were sure you were going to see each other again so you didn’t need those kind of celebrations— maybe actually afraid of having your hear too vulnerable. You were good at that kind of thing, leaving. They all knew it. Even Soojin had just texted you a series of crying emojis and a blurry selfie the night before, maybe already knowing you were going to leave without telling her.

But as you turned the corner toward the reception, you spotted a figure on the bench by the fountain in there. Minjae. Tie loose, hair messy, cup of vending machine coffee in hand.

“Seriously?” you muttered, pausing in your tracks. “You’re up?”

He looked up and grinned. “You’re not sneaky, little shit.”

You rolled your eyes and dragged your suitcase closer, sitting down beside him with a sigh. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Minjae took a long sip from his cup before extending it to you. “We had bets going that you’d ghost us before breakfast. Soojin owes me ten bucks.”

“Tell her to pay you in snacks. You need to eat something that isn’t from a machine.”

You huffed, grabbing the coffee to take a sip. You made a disgusting face and he grabbed the cup back to him dramatically. “This is gourmet caffeine.”

“This is shit.”

You two sat for a quiet moment. The fountain trickled gently beside you. Somewhere, a bird called. The island was waking slowly, like it didn’t want to break the spell of the wedding just yet.

Minjae nudged you with his shoulder. “You doing okay?”

You nodded. “I think so.”

“You looked happy this week. Not just wedding happy. Like…” He waved his hand vaguely. “Warm.”

“You’re getting weirdly poetic in your old age.” you smiled faintly.

He sighed. “Must be all that married life hitting me already.”

You snorted, looking over at him. “You and Soojin… you looked perfect yesterday.”

He softened. “We’re not perfect. But we choose each other. That’s the magic trick, I think.” You blinked, then looked away, swallowing a knot in your throat. Minjae continued, quieter now. “I know things with Yoongi are complicated. I’m not here to lecture. Just… I’ve known him a long time. And I’ve never seen him look at anyone like that.”

You kept your eyes on the floor, quiet, thoughtful.

“I know,” you said eventually.

“He’s not great at saying it. But he doesn’t really hide it either.”

You smiled sadly. “We loved each other.” Minjae nodded, letting the silence stretch. “But love doesn’t always mean it works,” you added, more to yourself than to him.

“No,” he agreed softly. “But sometimes it just needs a different kind of time.”

You turned to him, eyes glassy. “You’re really pulling out the wisdom this morning.”

“I had three bottles of champagne and two hours of sleep. I’m basically a monk now.”

You laughed, wiping under your eyes with the sleeve of your coat. Minjae stood and offered a hand to help you up. “Come on. Before you make me cry and embarrass myself in front of the wedding staff.”

You took it and stood. “Tell Soojin I love her. I’ll see her next month.”

“You better text her later or she’ll send death threats.”

You smiled before punching him away to the hallway. Just before he left, Minjae leaned in with one last word.

“For what it’s worth… he never stopped.”

You didn’t answer. Just gave a small nod because you knew. Because it was the same for you.

Minjae raised a hand in farewell and you watched him go down the hallway to his wife, your best friend. Your heart full of too many things to name.

You walked away, doing your check-out before leaving. You stood at the edge of the hotel lobby, your bag slung over your shoulder, passport tucked into the worn paperback you’d brought but never read. Your flight back to Busan was in three hours. From there—Paris. Your other life. The one that had kept moving even when your heart had hesitated. But it was yours. Life was going to move in Korea too.

You wouldn’t know much about Yoongi. Soojin and Minjae would be going to her honeymoon in Bali. Everything would be back to normal, a normal in Korea that didn’t belong to you anymore—

A voice behind you interrupted the quiet, your thoughts.

“You’re early.”

You turned.

Yoongi stood with his own small bag, hair still damp from a shower, wearing a soft sweatshirt and the tired look of someone who hadn’t slept much. He looked… normal. But then again, he always did when your heart was spinning.

You offered a small shrug. “I didn’t want to say too many goodbyes.”

He walked up beside you, adjusting the strap on his shoulder. “You didn’t say mine.”

“I figured we already did.”

Yoongi looked at you, head tilted. “We did?”

A bell dinged behind you. Somewhere inside, some noises, a car horn echoed. The island had started to breathe again without the wedding buzz. It felt slower. Quieter.

A beat.

He took a few steps closer, his shoes dangling loosely. “I meant what I said. The other night.”

You exhaled slowly. “I know.”

“I wasn’t trying to trap you with it. I just… I needed to say it.”

You nodded. “And I needed to hear it.”

He searched your face, every line of you a memory. Your lips, your eyes, your hair tangled in the way you always used when you were nervous.

“Paris is far,” he said.

You smiled sadly. “Seoul isn’t close either.”

“I meant the space between us,” he murmured. “Not the cities.”

You let out a breath. “I lied, I’m not good at endings.”

“I know.” A long pause. Not uncomfortable—just full “I booked the same ferry as you,” Yoongi said casually, glancing toward the hotel.

You looked up, surprised. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he echoed.

The corners of your mouth twitched. “So you’re stalking me now?.”

“Reflex,” he teased gently, and that line made your heart twist in that familiar, stupid way.

A car stopped in front of you two, Yoongi looked at you. And it took you a minute before nodding. You two walked side by side to the car waiting. No dramatic declarations. No begging. No fighting. Just silence that said more than noise could.

When the engine started and the hotel faded behind you two, neither looked back.

The sea passed quietly beside the road.

“Have you been working on anything new?” you asked softly after a while.

“Yeah. A couple demos,” he said. “I keep starting things and not finishing.”

You smiled faintly. “Sounds familiar.”

Yoongi chuckled under his breath. “I might finish one now.”

You turned to him. “You should.” Another pause. “If you’re ever in Paris again…” you started, then stopped.

Yoongi turned to you. “Yeah?”

You didn’t say anything at first. Then—just: “There’s this café near the river. You’d hate the coffee, but you’d love the view.”

He smiled. “Text me the name.”

“Maybe I will.”

“Don’t make me beg.”

He looked ahead again, sun starting to crest above the low hills as the car reached the port. The ferry was already docked, people boarding slowly.

As you both stepped out together, he still held the door open for you.

“So friends?” you said lightly.

Yoongi looked at you, unreadable for a moment. And then a knowing look sparkled in his eyes. Because he knew what you were doing. And he did, he knew you. He just knew.

“Terrible idea.”

But you smiled.

And he smiled.

And neither of you walked away.

first yoongi fic with an open ending

literally wanted to be perfect because hes my bias and it’s the first time i write about him so - again - if you see any mistakes NO YOU DIDNT.

please let me know if you like it >_< and if you finish it because i know it was long as hell

nothing is accurate to koran culture so don’t address me 😓🙏🏼

thank you for reading<33

[oppopotamus]

The other hashiras have been noticing that sanemi has been less agressive the past few days and they start to wonder not knowing that sanemi gets his stress fucked out of him whenever he's home by his hubby that was married assigned to him by kagaya 🙀😽

Can be a Req if you feel up to it!!

first time seeing bottom sanemi truthers out here

De-stress

omg this was so yummy thank youuu

Warning: NSFW, spanking ig?, rough-ish sex,

"Haven't you noticed?" Mitsuri whispers in Obanai's ear, they were eating lunch together, watching from afar as Sanemi was training.

"What do you mean?" Obanai asks, raising one of his eyebrows, Kaburamaru sitting lazily on his shoulder.

"Sanemi, of course! He's been so... normal," she says, sounding completely confused even at her own words.

Truthfully, Sanemi has been a lot more normal lately, or at least a lot nicer. He didn't yell or scream so much, unless somebody actually deserved it, which was pretty rare.

All the Hashira have noticed, it was extremely obvious since Sanemi was just so... polite.

Nobody knew why, except for Sanemi and his husband, of course.

Any time Sanemi was home, he enjoyed his time with his husband, he adored him so much... at first he didn't, considering Kagaya had practically forced them to get married, 'it would be good for you' is what Kagaya said to Sanemi, Sanemi disagreed at first but eventually gave in and accepted.

He quickly fell deeply in love with you, much to his, and your, surprise.

Now, he had just returned from a long mission, he had been gone for about two weeks until he was finally able to return home.

The second he walked inside, he let out a sigh of relief as he saw that his husband was already home from his own job.

"(Name)..." Sanemi muttered as he dropped his blade and kicked his shoes off before practically collapsing into your chest.

"Hello to you too," you said with a small chuckle, almost immediately wrapping your arms around Sanemi, placing a kiss on the top of his head. "Miss me?" you joked.

"Missed your dick, yeah..."

You let out a surprised laugh at Sanemi's vulgar words, not at all expecting them. "Wow, you really did miss me, huh?"

"Mhm," was all Sanemi mumbled, snuggling impossibly close to your chest, as if he were trying to melt into you.

"Okay, okay, come on," you said, holding Sanemi tightly as you walked him backwards to the couch. Sanemi fell back onto the couch and looked up at you.

For the rest of the night you two simply snuggled on the couch together, doing nothing more than relaxing and spending time together. It was completely peaceful until the next day when you woke up to Sanemi angrily yelling in the kitchen.

"What the hell going on right now?" you asked as you stepped into the kitchen, looking Sanemi up and down as he angrily shouted about something as he searched through the kitchen cabinets.

"What?" he snapped, spinning around to face you. "Oh, only the fact that I have another fucking Hashira meeting and I can't find my fucking sword!" he shouted, his own hands gripping his hair and tugging it in frustration.

You sighed and walked up to your husband before grabbing his waist and spinning him around, then bending him over the kitchen countertop.

"Wha- get the fuck off of me!" Sanemi shouted angrily, squirming in your grip in a weak attempt to break free. "Not a chance," you began, holding onto the back of his head with one hand, keeping him squashed against the kitchen countertop.

"You need to calm down, and don't you worry, I know exactly how to help you relax."

It wasn't much later when Sanemi was still bent over the kitchen counter, now naked with you pinning his hands behind his back as you fucked in and out of him, his moans and cries filling the room.

"Mm- ufgh... t-too- too m-much...!" he called out, his voice broken and needy as tears of ecstasy spilled down his cheeks, his eyes rolled back into his skull.

You huffed and tightened your grip on his wrists which were held down by your right hand, your other hand on Sanemi's shoulder, keeping him in place.

'U-Umph..! P-Please!!" he cried, his body being pushed back and forth against the countertop with each of your thrusts, the edge of the countertop pushed against his stomach uncomfortably, but he barely noticed it, his complete attention was on the rough, unforgiving thrusts as you pounded into his tight hole.

You let out a breathless laugh, your thrusts getting slightly sloppy as you got closer and closer to your climax. "Haah- you love it rough, dirty boy," you groaned and removed your hand from Sanemi's shoulder to spank his ass, watching the flesh jiggle.

"Ngh-!" he whined and his thighs trembled at the spank, it hurt, but he loved it, it was so hot to him whenever your hand came down on his ass.

"Mph- m' g-gonna come-" he whined, his fists clenching and unclenching with each thrust. "Yeah? Gonna come for me, baby doll?" you asked, earning a quick nod from Sanemi.

"P-Please... lemme... tell- tell me-" he began, getting cut off with a loud moan as you gave a particularly hard thrust, he couldn't even finish his sentences anymore.

You knew exactly what he wanted, or needed rather. "Come for me, baby," you ordered, giving him permission to come, to which he eagerly did, cum spurting from his cock and onto the kitchen counters. You followed not long after, finishing in his tight little hole, filling him up just how he liked.

Sanemi had finally calmed down once again.

[orphicsun]

Cowboy Ellie x fem! reader

Warnings: Sexual content (soft sex + oral sex + nipple play + hickies), cheating, reader is mostly neglected by her husband.

Word count: 1.6k

Ellie was no stranger to pretty women who were lacking in attention, their husbands much too blind to even appreciate the beauty of the the feminine curve of a woman's hip, or the sensitive junction between their shoulder and the base of their neck. No, those country boys were so entitled to blows and lasting 30 seconds inside of a woman who should be worshipped for hours. She was no stranger, yet Ellie was floored when she first laid her appreciative gaze upon you, and her most hateful scour upon your husband.

You were like any cowboy's dream, in your gingham sundresses and skin she could only imagine to be as soft as the skin of a peach; she wanted to devour you until your content was dripping down her chin, she wished not to hear a crisp bite from you but instead a deep, moist mouthful of you that she could savor on her tastebuds.

Perhaps, that is why she immediately snatched the opportunity to do so when you came crying to her about your (rather hideous, in her respective words) husband just not being able to treat you right. He'd come home everyday late from work, had female contacts in his phone you were scared to open, and worst of all (a detail you so casually slipped as if it were nothing), he couldn't make you cum.

Ellie was a friend of yours and you confided in her about all of this, how in the beginning of the marriage, he would fuck you, get his nut, and then fall asleep with his back facing you.

"No aftercare?" She would ask, sounding incredibly offended.

"Aftercare?" As if you had no idea what that even was. Oh, you poor thing..

That was only the first half of the incredibly hard-to-listen-to story you told that night. Your marriage was not a long feat, only three years; yet in that span, he went from at least trying to make an effort and sleeping with you to maybe asking for a blowjob once a week. The gall this man had, Ellie thought to herself. If she could, if you would let her, she'd march right up to that asshole with the intentions of setting him straight. Only, she didn't ask. She was selfish, and her mouth got her in trouble.

She leaned further into you. Her eyes were hesitant, but there was something past just simple care there that was clear as day. That man didn't deserve you. He didn't even deserve a second chance, but she wasn't going to let you leave with nothing.

"I know how to please a woman better than he ever could."

And upon much tension, upon your widening eyes but pitifully desperate acceptance, she'd finally have you and give you the night you deserved to have.

Ellie didn't rush you or ask for more than you'd give. Instead, she ghosted over your skin where your husband probably had never even cared to worship. The warm of her breath hit over your pulse, soft lips delivering warm pecks over it. She lingered to count each beat of your heart, how it raced underneath your soft skin.

She licked her sun-chapped lips and leaned in, halfway on top of your body so that she could tease you with the low rasp of her voice,

"Does he kiss your neck?"

Your next breath was but a hitch. "No."

"Do you like it when I kiss your neck?"

"Yes."

Ellie decided that answer, that soft but eager affirmation needed to be rewarded. Her soft pecks flourished into sloppy, open-mouthed kisses all over your throat, over the curve of your shoulders, and near your collarbone. From there, she lavished hickies over the bone and relished in your breathless, encouraging sounds. She pulled back, granting herself a whine from your lips that she'd like to kiss.

"Does he mark you up real nice like I just did?" Her drawl was thicker when she was losing herself in the act of pleasuring a deserving woman.

"I wish he did," you admitted quietly, as if you were ashamed.

Ellie rubbed over your sides soothingly, leaning in to kiss your cheek. "Ain't nothin' wrong with wanting it, darling." Then, she had an idea.

"Anything else you wish he did?"

You looked nervous to admit it, swallowing and nodding. Ellie was a patient woman, and she knew that sometimes it was hard to be open and vulnerable about what it is that a person wanted.

You only whispered it, quickly to get it over with. "I wished that he'd...go down on me."

Ellie wasn't expecting the sudden forwardness, she hadn't even kissed you. However, you were probably needy. Poor thing, all pent up after years of dealing with guys who didn't give a damn about your own orgasms or even emotions like she could, if you were truly hers. She could move things along, however.

"Would you like me to?"

You nodded quickly like a bobble-head, something she found to be endearing, but craved your voice.

"Say it for me, darlin'."

"I want you to go down on me."

Ellie was a bit flustered with that sentence, one she had been dreaming of you hearing just the night before. Her freckled face had a nice, red glow to it.

"May I kiss you first?"

Your lips were like tulips, soft and delicate. You tasted like whatever chapstick you wore, something sweet like candy but artificial, not that she minded much. She'd taste your real flesh soon enough.

Ellie didn't rush the kiss or harshly rip your clothes off. Instead, she let your lips linger against hers, sharing oxygen and exchanging spit. Ellie tasted like chewing tobacco with a hint of something much like vanilla. Her tongue against yours anything but harsh or gross, in fact a sensation you wished to feel forever. That was not the sentiment with your husband, however; he tended to kiss you like he wanted to nibble on you, not devour you or savor your taste.

When she felt satisfied with the kiss, she pulled away to trail down your body. Her lips suckled on the stiff peaks of your nipples once your shirt and bra were peeled off, mumbling just loud enough for you to catch, "pretty, so pretty for me."

Her mouth did not leave your chest to venture lower, instead taking its sweet time to kiss upon the fat there, savor the pebbled skin of your areolas, and let her teeth graze but not bite down. You needed sweetness, TLC. You didn't need anything more than that right now.

Ellie was a tease, and let you writhe underneath her, legs already parted and awaiting as she made her way down your belly, tongue swirling over the soft skin.

Her teasing was more worth it than all of the nights with your husband combined into one nightmare. This was like a dream you wished to never awake from.

She did throw your panties on the floor in a bit of haste, but with your clit and moistened folds, she took her time to taste. Like the skin of a peach, she peeled you back, parting your lips with her tongue to coax a gasp out of you. Her hand didn't force your legs apart, you seemed to have yourself spread enthusiastically wide enough for her. She took advantage of that, using a free hand to intertwine fingers with yours, struggling to not smile when you squeezed.

"Ellie.." you breathed when she circled your clit with her tongue, not denying you long with a soft suckle to the swollen bud.

Ellie devoured your pussy like it was her family's peach cobbler, tongue relentless and moans sporadic. Each time she got too much into her head about how perfect it all was, the way she could feel the fat of your thighs gazing or squeezing her head, she'd let out little hums of bliss or louder, vibrating moans when you cried for her. Though she liked to enjoy her meal, the difference between Ellie and your husband was that she did not pull away after less than a minute to roll over. Ellie did not stop until you came, legs quivering as you squeezed her palm hard, wave after wave of pure bliss passing through your body.

She laid with you in arms, drawing patterns on your warm skin. You were still vulnerable, soft and breathless, but Ellie had no plans on even pulling away for a second.

"Did you enjoy yourself?" Her voice was softer, a sweet sound with a lull to it that made you sleepy.

"I did, but I don't know what to do now."

Ellie sat up, but continued to rub soothingly on your back. "What does that mean?"

"It's just.." You sighed, conflicted. "I don't want to go back to my husband after that. I don't think I could handle it, not after everything you made me feel." More than just physical sensations and the orgasm, Ellie had stirred something within you.

"That's okay. We'll figure it all out, okay? Just lay here with me and let me take care of you. You deserve that, at least."

You nodded and let Ellie hold you.

Within her own thoughts, she knew that this could end badly, not just for you or your husband, but for even her. You were still a married woman, and you had just figured out a whole new side of yourself that she couldn't fully help you with. However, she did know that she would be here to kiss you when your husband wouldn't, and she had no intentions of pulling away when things got tough. For now though, she'd just appreciate your warmth and the trust you had in her for the night.

[afterglowsainz]

we used to have more pt. 4 | oscar piastri, pato o’ward

part 1 part 2 part 3

pairing: oscar piastri x reader, pato o’ward x reader

summary: where a talk in a hotel room and a work trip to mexico make things clear for you

fc: different girls from pinterest

warnings: mentions of toxic relationships

a/n: ahhh sorry it took me a while to post this! but finally here it is the last part of this mini series that i loved creating <3 thank you so so much for supporting it the way you did, all the comments, reblogs and likes meant the world to me while writing it💗

—

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and others

yourusername home sweet home

tagged lissiemackintosh

view all comments

username dry ass caption

username girlie is NOT happy to be back

username y/n i know you wanted to stay in america but you can at least act a little bit more excited to be back 😭

username the fact it was sunny all weekend and she posted a pic of the only HOUR of rain is diabolical

declanmurray you can at least pretend

yourusername i’m not contractually obligated to

username pls 😭

username idc she’s down MOTHER IS BACK

oscarpiastri happy you’re back! ❤️

username chat when the guy you’re off and on for years says he’s happy you’re back how to do you react?

username ohhh but we’re having THE fashion icon that is y/n again at the paddock i cannot complain

patriciooward have fun!

yourusername <3333

username pls the way she ignored oscar so severely 😭

liked by yourusername, milesbaldwin and others

patriciooward can never say no to a side quest

view all comments

username NORBIIII 🥰

username every photo was whiplash after whiplash

username incredibly cute and incredibly hot

username don’t push girls

username i am that cookie actually

username i need him in a way that’s concerning for feminism

yourusername boys 🥹

patriciooward miss you!

username no they are my parents

username oscar i was rooting for you but now … i’m not so sure

liked by patriciooward, maxverstappen1 and others

yourusername the prodigal son returns home 🇲🇽

view all comments

username omg is this a hard launch??? what is this !!!

username patoooo 💖

username the way you can see everything about her posting changed since she arrived in mexico

username is it wrong to assume it’s because she’s with pato again? 😩

username pato and y/n in mexico is everything

username ohhhh oscar reaaaally fumbled this time

username nahhh im being delusional thinking oscar still has an opportunity (pls y/n give him a chance 😩)

username well, at least she’s posting again 🥳

patriciooward ☀️

yourusername ☀️✨✨💫

liked by indygossip, f1wags and others

f1gossip indycar and mclaren’s reserve driver patricio o’ward was seen last night having dinner and sharing a kiss with f1 community manager y/n y/l/n

it has been rumored for a few years that she was on a relationship on and off with mclaren’s oscar piastri, but it was never confirmed as the driver kept going back to his exgirlfriend

view all comments

username not oscar catching strays 😭😭

f1gossip 🤷🏽‍♀️

username honestly i can’t be mad about this. she deserves someone who makes her happy and pato obviously likes her. they look good together 💗

username THAT SHOULD BE MEEEE

username someone check on oscar 😩

username watch him go back to his exgirlfriend after hearing the news 🙄

username genuinely hoping he doesn’t do that otherwise he’s just reinforcing y/n’s decision of moving on

username anddd that relationship CANNOT be healthy, for either of them

username i knew they were together from day one, y’all were just blinded by oscar

username because they’re meant to be 😭😭

username in another life perhaps!

liked by yourusername, lissiemackintosh and others

patriciooward favorite place with the greatest company ❤️

view all comments

username ahhh the masters of hard launching i’m so here for this

username THE DRESS

username i don’t know if i wanna be pato or y/n in this situation

username okay don’t rub it in 😭

miguelsossa where’s my photo creds for the second one? 🤨

patriciooward 📷: miguelsossa

miguelsossa thanks it means a lot make sure to pin that comment so everyone can see

username pls why did i thought y/n and pato went out without the whole gang 😭

declanmurray HAH don’t make me laugh

milesbaldwin we do leave them alone sometimes

patriciooward …

lissiemackintosh 😮

username speechless at this

username i’m sure pato is a saint because dealing with y/n’s friends must be a handful 🙏🏽

yourusername beautiful 🤍

patriciooward how’s the weather now? :)

yourusername warm enough, you?

patriciooward clear skies

username STOP THEYRE SO CUTE 🥰

liked by georgerussel63, exgirlfriend and others

oscarpiastri happy place ❤️

tagged exgirlfriend

comments for this post have been disabled

—

taglist; @heavy-vettel @a-beaverhausen @astroniii @chunkpiboli @theonottsbxtch @eclecticcreatorweaselsalad @charli123456789 @stopeatread @coriyaps @nina-or-anna-or-nora @ninasw0rld @loveelylani @marauders-wife @dramallama9 @mxdi0 @piastrigate @ladyoflynx @prudyhoo @idkwtdwml123 @southernbaguette @ellelabelle @emryb @fastfactory @comicalivy @seasonswinter @no-144444 @lunamelona @saachiep81 @nataliambc @patis643 @softtina @chemiru @obxstiles @eiaaasamantha @youre-on-your-ownkid @wcnorris @hwalllllllelujah @soleilgrec