#and the two things that stops him from burning everything

[ninisdollie]

summer bummer - jake sim 𓈒ིུ ❤︎

‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ Ⳋ᧙ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

“In which reader and Jake see each other only in the summer, finding themselves between tangled sheets and filthy words. But this year, it’s not just sex anymore.”

‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ❤︎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧ Content: +18MDNI

fem! reader x jake, friends with benefits! to lovers, fingering, dirty talking, unprotected sex, oral sex (f and m rec), riding, multiple positions, spitting, porn with a little emotional plot idk.

word count: 7.0k

hate comments will be deleted and blocked, likes and reblogs are appreciated !!

The field by the lake hadn’t changed, same driftwood benches, same cooler of cheap beer half-buried in the dirt, same old Bluetooth speaker trying its best to fight against the crackle of the fire. A few faces had grown older, a few new ones floated in from the city for the summer, but the rhythm was the same.

You always traveled back to your hometown for vacation, where you could forget about your city girl live, where most of your childhood friends still lived, where you spent the days tanning under the burning sun and drinking margaritas.

You were perched on a log near the flames, cold drink in hand, sweat beginning to bead at the nape of your neck despite the breeze off the water, despite the thin fabric of your short flower dress. Your friends were around you, Jay had brought his guitar like always, Heeseung was already tipsy, throwing rocks into the lake and yelling about something stupid. It was light, fun and meaningless. But you couldn’t stop checking the curve of the dirt road, waiting.

He was coming tonight, you knew it. Jake Sim.

It was never official. Not a relationship or a fling. It was almost like a summer tradition, like fireworks and iced tea and peeling sunburnt skin. You came back every year, and so did he. Like gravity, something written in body. No goodbyes, no promises, just heat and hands and stolen nights that left you wrecked until fall. You’d known him for years at this point, same boy who almost drowned in your parent’s pool at twelve, same boy who kissed you in truth or dare, same boy who knew your body much better than yourself.

The thing is, you barely spoke the rest of the year. A couple likes on Instagram. A birthday text, maybe. But no late-night calls, no long conversations. It was easier that way. If you talked too much, it would start to feel real. If it felt real, you’d both ruin it.

But still, you knew what it meant when you saw his name light up your phone two weeks before summer.

Jake Sim: you coming back this year?

Your fingers trembled over the keyboard.

Me: of course, always.

Because it didn’t matter how much time passed. The second your eyes met again, everything came flooding back, the way he kissed you like he was starving, the roughness of his voice when he begged to stay inside just a little longer, the way your bodies fit like puzzle pieces designed by the sun itself.

You weren’t in love. But it was close enough to hurt when you had to go back to your city every year.

So you both kept a silent deal. You didn’t ask who he fucked in the winter. He didn’t ask if you missed him in the spring. You only cared about the here and now, the sticky, sacred months of July and August. You only cared about sweat-slicked skin and beach towels and his hand gripping your throat like it was the only way he knew how to say I missed you.

Your stomach twisted when you heard it.

Tires crunching over gravel, laughter, car doors slamming.

You didn’t even have to turn to know because you felt it.

He was here.

It had been eleven months, two weeks, and six days since he last fucked you against the wall of your aunt’s bathroom at the end-of-summer party. You’d cried after. Not because of him, but because leaving always felt like peeling your skin off and flying back to a world where Jake didn’t exist.

But now he walked in like he owned the night, as always, that soft and chill aura like he didn’t care about anything in the world. Sun-kissed and cocky, rings on his fingers, black tshirt clung to his chest like it was begging for your attention. Ni-ki was beside him, already tossing a grin toward the group by the cooler, but Jake?

Jake looked straight at you.

The air left your lungs like a punch. You hated that it still did this to you, turned your insides to syrup and your thighs to heat. One look, that’s all it took. You didn’t smile, or wave. Just sipped your drink and looked back like it didn’t matter, letting the breeze wave your hair against your face.

“Finally decided to show up.” Heeseung dabbed him up, but his eyes were still locked on your face.

He stopped a few feet away, slow steps bringing him just close enough to let your body register him, his smell, his shadow, the ghost of his hands already on your skin. His voice was casual when he finally spoke.

“City girl had the time to come this year” he said, the exact same thing he said last summer. The same damn line.

Your lips curved around your drink, glossy and shining under the warm light of the fire.

“I always come, Jake.”

He smiled like he wanted to say something filthy about that. Like he remembered every single time. Then his eyes trailed down your body, slow and intentional because of course he wanted you to notice. You squirmed a bit, flipping your hair over your shoulder.

The fire was crackling between you two. Ni-ki called his name, someone handed you another beer, which you rejected with a smile, Sunghoon yelled something about “going crazy this summer”, but it all blurred. The music was loud, but your heart was louder.

“You look good,” Jake added, voice low enough that only you could hear it.

You smiled softly, tilting your head, took in the curve of his arms, his thick lips, the gold chain glinting at his collarbone, the heat in his eyes.

“I always look good” you whispered back.

He chuckled, stepping back, walking away like he hadn’t just lit every nerve in your body on fire.

But you knew how this would end.

Because he was here looking at you like he hadn’t had a decent orgasm since the last time you moaned his name.

After a few hours, the fire started burning low. People had thinned out, some stumbling back to their parents’ houses, others crawling into tents by the lake or paired off under trees in the dark. The music had died to background static. Your drink was warm and half-full, forgotten in your hand. The air was still thick with smoke, beer, and heat that clung to your skin even after sundown.

You’d been sitting on the edge of a blanket, legs stretched out, staring into the dying embers and the star-full sky, when Ni-ki wandered over, car keys dangling from his finger, hair a bit messy.

“You need a ride?” he asked, voice lazy, smile crooked. “I’m sober, Jake’s coming to.”

You hesitated for only a second before you saw Jake trailing behind him.

One glance from him was enough. That slight tilt of his head, that litlle smile on his lips, the way his eyes dipped down to your mouth just for one second before biting his lips. He didn’t say anything. Just leaned against the side of the car, one hand in his pocket, eyes still on you.

“Yeah,” you said, too quickly. “Thanks, Ki”

Inside, Ni-ki’s father’s truck smelled like weed and cologne and dried lake water. The windows were halfway down, the music low and thumping with bass. You were pressed against the cool leather, the hem of your dress creeping up your thighs with every shift. Jake climbed in right beside you, not even pretending to leave space, it wasn’t even necessary for him to sit besides you, and his thigh brushed yours, firm and warm.

Neither of you said anything.

Ni-ki started the car and chatted from the front, his voice a cheerful hum against the dark. Something about the girls by the cooler. Someone puking behind the dock. You nodded, made a sound of agreement, but every nerve in your body was tuned to Jake. His arm was stretched lazily across the back of the seat, fingertips just grazing your shoulder, his touch already setting your skin on fire. He smelled like smoke and sweat perfume and him. Familiar and dangerous.

“Is school going well?” he asked under his breath, close enough that his mouth nearly touched your cheek.

You turned toward the window.

“Yeah, it’s been nice. You?”

He didn’t answer. Just smiled again and let his hand drop, light and casual, until the side of it was resting against your bare thigh. It wasn’t even obvious. Ni-ki didn’t notice, too busy driving and still talking, and Jake didn’t move. His fingers didn’t trail, just a slight pressure. But it was enough to remind you of every time he’d had you spread out in the back of a car like this before, drunk off each other, reckless and flushed.

The road dipped, and the jostle made his palm shift higher on your leg.

You bit your lip.

“Cute dress,” he murmured. “Little short, though.”

You pulse started to rush, and it was suddenly so hot inside the car. Then his fingers crept under the hem of your dress, brushing the inside of your thigh, higher and higher, until you felt your whole body clench.

“—right? So I told Heeseung not to piss his girlfriend off—” Ni-ki kept talking in the front seat, totally oblivious, laughing at his own story.

Meanwhile Jake’s fingers brushed against the thin cotton of your panties, and exhaled through his nose.

“You wore these for me?” he whispered, dragging one finger slowly over the damp seam, right where you were already pulsing for him. “Or did I get you this wet just now?”

You swallowed hard. Your head hit the back of the seat.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Can’t wait to taste you this summer”

You squeezed your legs shut instinctively, but he just pushed his hand between them, forcing them apart again. His fingers slid beneath the fabric, hot and greedy and slow, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you. His middle finger circled your clit, gentle but focused, rhythm cruelly steady. Your hips twitched. You tried to keep your face blank, heart racing as Ni-ki kept talking about girlfriend drama and god knows what else. Jake leaned back in the seat like nothing was happening, laughing and his friend’s jokes, keeping the conversation, like he wasn’t making your thighs shake under the cover of your dress.

And all you could do was clutch the edge of your seat and pray your breathing didn’t give you away.

“Hey, Y/N” Ni-ki said. “You think your parents will let us throw the pool party this year?”

You could barely hear him, you couldn’t even answer. So you just hummed, but it came out more like a moan, and Jake chuckled besides you because he had two fingers inside you now, slow and shallow, more teasing than satisfying.Every twist of his hand dragged against your sweet spot and pulled a silent scream from your throat.

His lips brushed your ear again.

“You’re so tight, baby. You miss me?” he asked like he wasn’t knuckle-deep inside you, like this was all small talk.

You nodded once, shaky and pathetic, and he smiled.

Ni-ki pulled up in front of your parent’s place, headlights sweeping over the front porch.

“You want us to walk you up?” he offered, turning in his seat.

You jolted, heart hammering.

Jake’s fingers slipped out of you just in time, slow and slick, leaving your panties soaked. He brought his hand to his mouth casually, like he was stretching, and sucked the tips of his fingers clean while staring you dead in the eyes.

“Nah,” Jake said smoothly, voice casual. “She’s good.”

“Y-Yeah, I’m good. Thanks for the ride, Ki.”

But you weren’t. You were literally shaking.

You stepped out of the car on trembling legs, your thighs wet, your panties ruined, and Jake’s grin burned into your memory.

Your parent’s didn’t allow you to host the pool party this year, since the damages of last summer were still ghosting in the house. So Sunoo, being the good friend that he was, offered his pool.

The party was already in full swing by the time you showed up, loud music, wet footprints all over the tile, floats bobbing in the pool, and a cooler full of drinks that had long since lost their ice. The heat was sweltering. The sky was cloudless. And everything felt like it was pulsing with that hazy energy.

You found your friends by the pool, and smiled at them. You slipped off your sandals, dropped your towel on a sun chair, and waded straight into the pool, cool water wrapping around your body like a sigh.

Jake was there too.

He was across the pool, shirtless in red swim trunks, tan skin glistening wet, a beer bottle tipped to his lips as he leaned back against the edge with that lazy, devastating smirk. His hair was damp, curls pushed back, and he had that look in his eye. The one he only wore when you were in the room.

You hadn’t spoken since the night in the truck. Just a few glances, a look across the lake. He was busy this summer too, you knew that, his father needed help in his job, so you weren’t seeing him that often. But you still felt him every second since.

And now, he was watching you float through the water like he already had you pressed up against the pool wall, hand between your thighs, making you come so hard you’d choke on his name.

You kept your face blank, kept swimming. But your heart was going wild.

Everyone else was drunk and loud. Sunghoon was doing cannonballs, Jungwon was begging someone to make more margaritas, Ni-ki was DJing from the patio like his life depended on it, but your whole world narrowed every time Jake’s eyes dragged over your chest, your stomach, the way your bikini clung to your hips.

At one point, you reached for your drink from the edge and felt his presence behind you before you even heard his voice.

“You trying to kill me in that bikini?” Jake murmured, chest brushing your back in the water. His voice was low and close, mouth inches from your shoulder. “Or is this just for attention?”

You didn’t turn around.

“We both know i don’t need to ask for your attention.”

He chuckled, dark and quiet.

“You know i love when you get cocky.”

You don’t even remember who touched who first.

One second, Jake was behind you in the pool, his breath grazing your neck like a threat, and the next, your fingers brushed his underwate, just enough to say now. You didn’t look back, it wasn’t necessary because he followed.

You climbed out slowly, water cascading down your legs, your bikini clinging to your curves like a secret. Jake was only a step behind, eyes locked on the drip of water trailing down your spine. No one noticed, or maybe they did and didn’t care. This was how it always happened. One second, you were mingling, the next, you were gone.

Inside the house, the music got muffled by walls and closed doors. You walked past the kitchen, past the hallway, past the laundry room, and Jake’s hand caught yours. Pulled and turned. He shoved open the bathroom door and you stumbled inside, your back hitting the wall, cold tile kissing wet skin.

Then, his mouth was on yours.

He tasted like alcohol and fresh fruit and he kissed you like a man unhinged. His hot mouth devouring you, breathless and not giving but taking. Tongue deep, wet and sloppy, teeth sharp, pulling your lower lip and sucking it, no space between you. The kiss wasn’t sweet. It was months of repression, of thinking about this exact moment, of remembering how tight you were around him, how loud you got when he hit just the right spot.

Your back hit the wall with a thud, and his hands were everywhere, palming your ass through your bikini bottoms, gripping your waist hard enough to bruise, sliding up your spine to twist in your wet hair and tug your head back, like he was scared you’d disappear again. You felt his hard length beneath the damp fabric of his shorts, grinding into you like he couldn’t hold himself back.

Jake pulled back just long enough to look at you.

“You look fucking unreal right now,” he breathed, eyes blown. “I’ve been losing my mind all fucking year thinking about this pussy.”

His voice was hot and low and filthy, his hand sliding down your stomach, slipping under your soaked bikini bottoms without hesitation.

“You missed me?” he murmured, middle finger dragging through your slit. “Huh, baby? You missed this cock?”

You moaned, too breathless to lie. Head spinning, eyes hazy and brain already shut down.

He grinned like he already knew.

“Of course you did. This pussy was made for me.”

He shoved your bottoms down, let them fall wet to the floor. Then, he dropped to his knees like it was instinct. You barely had time to breathe before his mouth was on you. Tongue hot, fast, messy and desperate. Jake moaned into your cunt like he’d been starving all year. You moaned into your hand and let your head fall against the wall as his tongue licked a wide, greedy stripe up your slit, then circled your clit, sloppy, shameless and relentless. His fingers dug into your thighs in case you’d pull away and he ate you out like this was his last meal.

“God,” he groaned, voice muffled against your heat. “always so fucking sweet.”

You rocked your hips forward into his face, already breathless from how deep he was buried between your thighs. Your pussy dripping on him, pulsing and hot. His hair was damp from the pool, and now from sweat, his working like he was worshiping you.

Your fingers laced through his curls, pulling.

“Jake—oh my God.”

He didn’t stop. Just growled into you and pulled you closer, spreading you wider, tongue fucking into you as if he couldn’t decide whether to tease or devour. Then, his thumb slid up, wet from your slick, pressing soft tight circles against your clit as his tongue fucked in deeper.

You gasped, back arching.

“Jake, please—”

“You gonna come on my mouth?” he asked, almost sweetly. “You gonna make a mess on my face, baby?”

He was smiling against your sex, completely obsessed, like your shaking thighs and broken voice were exactly what he wanted to ruin. Like he wouldn’t be satisfied until you fell apart right here in the bathroom with his tongue buried inside you and your moans echoing off the tile.

You whimpered, trying to hold yourself up, but your knees were already buckling.

“Please, Jake—don’t stop—”

“Oh, I won’t,” he muttered against your clit, voice low and wrecked. “Not until you’re dripping down my chin.”

Then he sucked again. Hard, wet and loud. Totally obscene and shameless, his tongue flicking fast, his thumb grinding into your clit in tight circles, dragging your orgasm out of you like he was starving for it. You gasped, hips jolting forward as heat crashed through your spine and exploded in your belly.

Jake groaned into you, tongue lapping up every bit of your mess like it was his job. His arms locked around your thighs, holding you in place, making sure you felt every second of it, felt how messy you were, how wrecked, how much he loved it.

You came hard.

Your thighs clamped around his head, your toes curled, your hands scrabbling for the sink behind you as pleasure split you in half, hot and dizzying. Your whole body trembled, mouth falling open in a silent cry as your pussy pulsed around nothing, empty but aching, soaking his mouth and chin.

Jake only pulled back when your legs gave out.

He caught you, barely, arms around your waist, eyes heavy and glazed as he looked up at you, his face glistening with your slick, lips red and shiny, hair messy from your hands in it.

“So fucking good” he said, voice ruined.

Then he kissed you again, messy, open, licking into your mouth like he wanted you to taste yourself on him. In one movement, he shoved down his trunks and grabbed your thigh, hiking it up against the wall.

“You ready?” he said, lining himself up and thrusting in all at once, bottoming out. You gasped. “Gonna fuck you just how you like it.”

He was thick and deep and so fucking hard, stretching you open like your body had been waiting for him all year. His length throbbed through your soaked walls, still senstive but still wanting more. You cried out, back arching as Jake buried himself to the hilt, brutal thrusts that knocked the air from your lungs.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, voice low and ruined in your ear. “You’re so tight around me. Like this pussy’s been waiting all year, just for my cock.”

You clenched around him at the words, helpless, already overwhelmed. Your nails dug into his biceps as he held you pinned between his chest and the cold edge of the bathroom counter, his hands gripping your thighs to keep them spread wide open. He moved deep, dragging strokes that made you choke on your breath. His cock hit that spot inside you perfectly, rubbing against your slick, sensitive walls, making you tremble with every push.

Your head fell back, lips parted, completely at his mercy.

“God—fuck, I missed this,” he groaned, hips snapping faster. “Missed how you squeeze me. Missed these pretty fucking sounds. You make me insane.”

He grabbed your hips, slamming you down onto him harder, faster, skin slapping against skin as the bathroom filled with the sounds of filthy, frantic sex, wet, breathless, obsessed. The air inside was so hot, the mirror foggy, your body wet not only with water but with sweat and spit, every inch inside of you burning for him.

You wrapped your legs around him, holding on tight, body jerking with every thrust.

“Jake—oh my god—yes—fuck me, please—”

“I am, baby,” he growled, pounding into you. “Fucking you like you need.”

He kissed you, teeth and tongue and bruising need, before pulling back to spit the next words right against your mouth:

“That’s right. This pussy’s mine when you’re here. Mine to fuck. Mine to ruin.”

A loud groan left his mouth, losing rhythm for a second, driving into you harder now, ruthless, like he wanted to fuck you so deep you’d still feel him tomorrow, his thrusts pounding into your soaked pussy, his body smacking against yours in loud, wet sounds that echoed off the walls. You moaned loud at that, barely holding back from coming again.

“I’m gonna fuck you all summer,” he hissed in your ear, fucking you harder. “Every night. Every morning. You understand?”

His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your swollen, aching clit, rubbing tight circles that helped the pressure on your stomach start to build with so much force.

“You wanna cry on my cock again like you did last year?” he taunted, thumb dragging up to your clit as he pounded into you harder. “Huh? Gonna make a mess for me like a good fucking girl?”

Your body didn’t hold back anymore. You came again, gasping, clenching around him so tight he cursed into your neck, hips jerking as he came with you with a thick moan, hot, deep, full. He spilled inside you so familiar and warm and good, and you whimpered at the feeling. God, you missed it so much.

You collapsed into him, slick and shaking, still pinned to the wall as he caught his breath, mouth dragging across your collarbone like he couldn’t stop touching you.

“God,” he whispered, kissing your jaw. “I’m not letting you go a single night without this dick.”

Jake then pulled out slowly, the loss making you whimper again, and his eyes lost between your legs watching how you dripped him down your thighs, he bit his lip at the view. Then kissed you again, fast but hot, helping you put on your bikini bottoms again, still a bit dazed from the strong orgasm.

“You never do, anyways.”

He chuckled softly, putting his shorts on and hissing at the sensitivity on his cock, then placed a kiss on your forehead, winking an eye.

“Summer’s just getting started, baby.”

The days passed with not much happening. Parties, nights by the lake, fishing, movie nights in someone’s old basement. Almost every night ending the same way, everyone either passed out or going home.

Except you.

And Jake.

It always started with a look. That same look. Then a brush of his hand at your hip while you were helping clean up. Then a muttered, “Come with me,” while the others weren’t looking.

And ended with the two of you tangled in the backseat of his father’s car, windows halfway fogged, leather seats squeaking under the shift of your weight. You straddling him, panties shoved to the side, Jake’s hands gripping your waist tight as you rocked your soaked pussy over the thick, heavy length of his cock. Him fully inside you, buried deep, sweat dripping from his hairline as he hissed through his teeth. The night quiet except for the sound of your skins slapping together.

“Fuck, baby—” his voice was hoarse, raw. “You feel so fucking good. Always so tight for me.”

His nasty words always making you come even harder around his length.

“I’ve been thinking about this since you left,” he whispered, grabbing your ass and helping you move faster, harder. “Jacking off in my room like a fucking loser, imagining you bouncing on my cock just like this. Every fucking night.”

“Every summer,” he whispered. “You’ll always be mine.”

Other times were lazy sundays in his room, after a wild night, makeup still on your face, mascara smuged, but he always told you you looked beautiful that way. The sheets clinging to your bodies thanks to the sweat and the heat, Jake leaning his back against the bedframe, legs parted and you between them.

Still lazy, but hungry.

His cock already hard. Thick, flushed, glistening at the tip like it had been waiting for your mouth since the second he pulled you into the house.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed when you kissed the head, feeling him throb in your hand “You trying to ruin me, baby?”

You smiled, slow and wicked, as you licked a fat stripe up his shaft.

“I thought I already did.”

Jake’s head dropped back against the pillow, his hips twitching when you spat on his length, tongue swirled around the tip again, tasting the salty precum. You took your time, pressing kisses all over, teasing him, dragging your mouth down to his balls, licking and sucking until he was breathing through clenched teeth, abs tensing with every shift of your tongue.

“Shit—fuck” he gasped when you finally wrapped your lips around the head and sank down.

You moaned around him in response, and Jake swore, one hand flying into your hair.

“God, baby—your mouth is so fucking perfect.”

You bobbed your head slow, letting your tongue slide along the underside of his cock, eyes locked on his face the whole time. You loved watching him fall apart, how his brows pulled together, how his lips parted in these breathless, broken moans. His whole body went tight under you, muscles flexing, thighs trembling with every stroke.

“You’re gonna make me come already,” he panted, voice shaking. “You’re so fuckin’ nasty, just—shit—look at you.”

You pulled off with a wet pop, breath hot against his cock.

“Then come,” you whispered, stroking him slow, tongue flicking at the tip. “I want it. In my mouth. On my face. Wherever the fuck you want.”

Jake groaned.

“God, I almost forgot how filthy you are,” he muttered, hips lifting, fucking into your fist as your lips wrapped around him again.

But when you both were drunk, it was even more messy.

Laughing too loud, bumping into the hallway walls on the way upstairs, hands already all over each other before the door even closed.

Jake’s breath hot in your ear, mouth on your neck, his fingers tangled in the hem of your dress as you shoved at his chest, stumbling backwards into the room.

“I fucking want you,” he slurred, lips grazing your jaw, voice ragged. “I want you so bad it’s fucking sick.”

“You always want me,” you whispered, giggling breathlessly as he kicked the door shut and you both tripped into the mattress like lunatics. “You’re obsessed with me.”

He grabbed your wrists and pinned you down into the bed, kissing you hard, messy, open-mouthed, teeth clashing, tongues tangling.

“I am obsessed with you,” he muttered against your mouth. “I think about you all year. Think about your moans, your thighs, your fucking cunt—”

“Jake—”

“I jerk off to the sound of your voice,” he hissed, already yanking your dress up over your hips. “To the memory of you riding me. You fuckin’ haunt me.”

You gasped when he tugged your panties down fast and rough, mouth hot on your throat. He didn’t even wait to undress himself properly, just unzipped, shoved his pants low, pushed your legs open and spat on your pussy like he couldn’t take it one second longer.

“You’re so wet,” he groaned. “Fuck, baby—this pussy missed me, didn’t it?”

He shoved into you in one brutal thrust, no teasing, no warning, just full length, all of him, thick and throbbing, slamming into your soaked heat like he was making up for lost time. And you screamed, legs wrapping around him as he rutted into you without rhythm, just hunger and need.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he panted. “You feel fucking insane. I’m gonna lose my fucking mind—”

His hands were under your ass, lifting you into every thrust, bed creaking under the pressure. His forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged, sweat dripping down his temple.

“I’m gonna fuck you stupid,” he whispered. “Gonna make you come so hard you forget your own fucking name.”

“You already do,” you moaned, nails dragging down his back.

Jake slammed deeper, taking every inch of your insides, pussy walls clenching around himc swallowing him like you were made for him, the room spinning not just from the alcohol but from the heat.

“You want it rough tonight, huh? Want me drunk and desperate, just using this pretty pussy ‘til I can’t even move?”

“Yes—fuck”

“You’re mine,” he spat, gripping your face, thumb sliding into your mouth. “Say it.”

“I’m yours—” you whined around his thumb, eyes rolling back.

He cursed, pulled out halfway, then slammed in again so hard you gasped.

“Say it louder.”

“I’m fucking yours!”

The air was thick with sweat, your bodies slick and tangled, the whole room smelling like sex and tequila and the kind of hunger you don’t come back from.

It was routine, it was habit. It was everything you could ask for. Because Jake didn’t just fuck you, he worshipped your body. Every thrust said mine. Every kiss felt dangerous. Every time he came inside you, it felt less like sex and more like surrender. He knew you so well, knew exactly what to say, where to touch, which speed to use. No other man had ever satisfied you the way he did.

And lately, he looked at you like you were a secret. Like you meant something. His touches were softer, his kisses more tender. He laid on your back and trailed his fingetips in slow circles and hummed songs in your ear.

But it scared you. You knew things with Jake wouldn’t be easy. He lived here, he belonged here, away, moving through calm days and quiet nights. You were different.

You were a city girl, you went to college, went to parties, woke up hangover on your friend’s penthouses.

It would never work. And never seeing him again, that really scared you.

So you kept your feelings tucked behind your tongue, hidden in the back of your throat behind every moan. You kissed him hard and pulled his hair and begged for more, but you never said please don’t fall for me.

Because sometimes, you thought maybe he already had.

And sometimes you thought maybe you had too.

Those thoughts were still consuming you days later, one morning in Jake’s bed.

You could hear the birds outside. The fan humming above. His slow, steady breath against your collarbone. Jake was still tangled around you, warm and heavy, like he’d melted into your skin overnight. His leg between yours. His arm around your waist. His hand—God, his hand—resting just under your breast, like it belonged there.

You wanted to stay there forever. In that golden, sleepy silence. Where nothing had to be said. Where everything could still be just sex and tequila and tradition. Where the feelings hadn’t spilled out yet.

But then he spoke.

“I don’t think I can do this again another year,” he said softly, voice hoarse with sleep.

You blinked slowly. Your body stiffened, but only just.

“What?”

He didn’t hesitate.

“This. Us. Fucking for a month and then going back to acting like we don’t know each other the rest of the year.”

You lifted your head, your heart already thudding in your chest. Jake was looking at you. Hair messy, lips still kiss-bitten, eyes swollen with everything he hadn’t said until now.

“I know we said this was casual,” he continued. “I know that’s what you want. But it’s not casual for me anymore.”

Your mouth parted, but no sound came out.

“I don’t want to wait eleven months to touch you again. I don’t want to only be yours in July. I want to wake up like this every day. I want to know what it feels like to take you out, not just sneak around.”

“Jake…”

“I want to know what it feels like to love you without pretending it’s just about sex.”

That word.

Love.

You sat up, pulling the sheet to your chest even though he’d seen every inch of you a thousand times. Even though he had your come drying on his stomach, your moans still in his mouth.

“Don’t say that, Jake” you said, voice suddenly cold.

“Why not?” he asked, brow furrowed.

“Because this wasn’t supposed to be that. That’s not what we do.”

Jake sat up too, confused, bare chest rising and falling as he tried to read your face.

“You can say everything to me when my cock’s inside you,” he said, eyes narrowing. “But the second I say I want more, you run?”

“I’m not running.”

“Yes, you are. You’ve been running since last summer. And the one before that.”

You stood from the bed, searching for your underwear like it was some kind of armor. The same scary thoughts in your head, the reality of it all hitting you.

“It’s not going to work, Jake. I told you since the beggining”

“No, you told me you didn’t want more.” He leaned forward, voice tighter now. “And I believed you. Until you started kissing me like I was the only thing keeping you breathing. Until you started holding me after like it meant something.”

You paused. Still facing the wall. Too afraid to look back.

“It’s safer this way,” you said quietly.

He laughed, bitter and humourless.

“Safer for you, maybe. But I’m the one who’s been waiting all year like a fucking idiot, hoping this time would be different.”

You turned to him finally, heart in your throat.

“I never asked you to wait.”

“No,” he said. “But you made it impossible not to.”

There was silence for a moment. And then Jake stood too. Naked, wrecked, still beautiful in the morning light. His eyes softer now. But sad. So fucking sad.

“I would’ve given you everything,” he said. “I still would.”

You didn’t answer.

You just grabbed your dress, your phone, and walked out of the room with tears in your eyes and his name like a stone in your throat.

The city felt bigger than usual.

You stood in the middle of your room in a t-shirt that wasn’t yours—his, oversized and worn-in, somehow ended up in your suitcase, probably from the night you threw up in his lap—sleeves pushed up to your elbows. It smelled faintly of saltwater and sweat and the faded remnants of Jake’s cologne, like a scent memory you were scared would disappear the second you washed it.

Your suitcase was still half-open on the floor. You hadn’t unpacked.

Outside, the city roared like it always did, sirens in the distance, someone yelling two blocks away, a motorcycle growling past, but all you could think about was the way the crickets used to sing by the lake. How the air back there tasted like bonfire and beer and warm skin. How the quiet meant something when it was wrapped around Jake’s voice and his breath on your neck in the dark.

You padded barefoot to the kitchen and poured yourself a glass of water with shaking hands, but your stomach felt like it was folding in on itself.

Everything was fine.

But then you opened your phone.

And scrolled.

And there he was.

Jake, half-naked on the dock, laughing with Ni-ki, holding a beer, dripping wet from the lake. Jake, driving with one hand on the wheel and the other on your bare thigh, sunglasses low on his nose, smirking like he owned the world. Jake, leaning over you in the backseat after Sunoo’s pool party, whispering filth into your mouth while everyone else was drunk and distracted.

Your heart twisted, sharp and slow and sick.

You hadn’t seen him since that morning. Since you ripped yourself out of his sheets and out of his arms and walked away with your pride held like a shield across your chest.

He didn’t come to Sunghoon’s goodbye party, he didn’t come to the last movie night in Jungwon’s basement.

He didn’t text. He didn’t call. He didn’t even look at your story.

And you didn’t reach out.

And now, in the dim hush of your apartment, with the AC buzzing and your body wrapped in his old shirt, the weight of it crushed you.

You slid to the floor, back against the bedframe, phone in your lap, eyes burning.

Because you wanted to be the girl who could let go. The girl who could take the pleasure, take the heat, take the memory, and walk away untouched.

But this time you weren’t her.

This time, you wanted more.

You wanted mornings. You wanted winter. You wanted him.

But you were too scared to say it.

So now you sat in the silence you chose, surrounded by his ghost, with nothing left but a hundred memories that all smelled like sex and regret.

You hadn’t turned on the lights, letting the soft blue glow of the television flicker across the room, even though you weren’t really watching anything. Just letting sound fill the silence.

And then… A knock.

You blinked. Stilled. For a second, you thought maybe you imagined it.

Then it came again.

Three gentle raps against your apartment door.

Your heart flipped. Your chest tightened. You stood slowly, like moving too fast would make it disappear. And when you opened the door…

Jake was there.

In the hallway, under the soft yellow glow of the broken light overhead, hair messy, hoodie half-zipped, eyes rimmed with exhaustion and something worse, like maybe he hadn’t slept in days. Like maybe he’d replayed that morning in his head a hundred times, and it still broke him every time.

“Hi,” he said softly.

You stopped breathing.

He looked… wrecked.

And beautiful. Standing in front of you like he had no idea what he was supposed to say now that he’d actually come.

“I didn’t know if you’d open the door,” he admitted, voice quiet.

You swallowed, gripping the edge of the door like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

“I almost didn’t.”

Jake let out a soft breath. Nodded. Then looked up at you, eyes shining a little too much.

“I had to see you, i booked the cheapest ticket” he said. “I couldn’t just let it end like that.”

You said nothing. Just looked at him, bare, faced and trembling, still holding the doorknob like it was a weapon.

He took a tiny step forward.

“I fucked up. I should’ve let you have your space. I should’ve waited. But I couldn’t. I’ve been losing my fucking mind thinking about you.”

“Jake…”

“No,” he said gently. “Let me say it.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his voice thick now. Full with honesty and feelings.

“I meant everything I said. I meant it when I told you I wanted more. I meant it when I said I couldn’t keep doing this once-a-year bullshit. Because it’s not just summer to me anymore. It’s not just sex. It hasn’t been for a long time.”

Your chest ached. He looked straight at you, no shields, no teasing smile, just a boy standing at the edge of something terrifying, begging you to take a step toward him.

“I’m in love with you,” he said, barely a whisper. “I think I’ve been in love with you my whole life, since the first time i fucked you. And I’ve just been waiting for you to catch up.”

You blinked fast, heart beating so loud it hurt.

“I didn’t know how to… I thought if I said it out loud it would ruin everything.”

He nodded.

“So did I.”

“But it didn’t,” you said, voice trembling. “It ruined everything not saying it.”

Jake gave the softest smile. Sad, but hopeful. Like he still wasn’t sure if you were going to slam the door or fall into his arms.

So you reached for him. You grabbed the front of his hoodie, pulled him inside, shut the door behind him. And when your mouth crashed into his, hot, desperate, full of all the things you hadn’t said, Jake knew.

You were his.

Not just in summer or just in bed.

Just completely his.

[houseofhyde]

Omg maybe a soft moment w manchild Bucky and reader where they are in bed slow touches talking about their feelings and how buckys been after her for so long and how she felt it too and omg.

Maybe not tho bc I might literally die of love resding it

signs in the silence. a manchild drabble.

pairing. bucky barnes x fem!reader. synopsis. fighting off sleep to scrape a little more time together, you interrogate bucky and find out all the things sam told him about you. warnings. mentions of smut/prior sexual activity, bickering, unlabeled relationship, reader being a sore loser (uno is hell on earth when you're losing), fluff, a tiny bit of angst. reader inclusivity. like a single mention of bucky brushing away an invisible strand of hair. wordcount. 2.7k (okay so maybe idk how to only write a drabble, sue me!) hyde's input. bestie, i saw your ask enter my inbox this evening and immediately started writing it, i swear i was possessed into finishing this in one sitting. ik it's not exactly what you asked for but i hope you enjoy reading it! (unedited, we die like real men)

Curtains dance in the wind like billowing ballgowns, lifting and dipping in the arms of the night. Past the window pane, rain reigns the streets below, staining everything beneath the stormy sky. Despite the weather and the ungodly hour, the city is still wide awake and, alongside it, so are you.

“You’re cheating!”

“How am I cheating?” There’s something unfair about how jaw-dropping Bucky still looks like this: cross-legged on the bed, wearing nothing but boxers and tired eyes, and clutching a two-card hand of colourful cards. If he hadn’t just condemned you to pick up twelve, you would reach over and steal a kiss. “I don’t even know the rules to this stupid game.”

“If it’s so stupid, why do you keep beating me?” You’re begrudgingly picking up your dues and struggling to hold the stack of cards in one hand.

As he tries to help you pick up a card that slips off the edge, you swat metal fingers away.

“Begginers luck,” the soldier shrugs, placing down his second last card. “Uno.”

Yellow Seven. Fuck.

“I actually hate you,” you groan, collapsing back against feather pillows.

“You’re holding half the deck, doll,” the ill-will you feel towards him in this moment aside, you can’t help the way your heart gives a little leap at that silly name of endearment. If feelings make fools, you’re leading the pack. “There’s no way you don’t have a playable card.”

Fingertips — flesh, warm and tender with their touch — slide up the back of your calf, hooking under your knee before attempting to tug you closer, down the bed, to where he sits by the edge. Like a child throwing a tantrum, you kick your legs, shaking off his touch.

“I don’t wanna play with you any more,” between the yawn you’re fighting off and the pout that’s taken capture of your lips, you truly are a pitiful sight. The knowledge of this doesn’t stop you from throwing down your cards and making a run for it off the mattress.

Unfortunately, your roommate has the reflex skills of a ninja and, no sooner than your feet touch the ground, his arms grab you from behind and drag you into his lap.

“God you’re such a sore loser,” he mouths against the skin of your neck, trailing his lips over the kisses he already tattooed into your skin hours ago, when the sun was barely setting and he had you pressed against the walls of the shower.

“I am not!” Two fingers pinch at his arm. You quietly delight in the way it only makes him squeeze them tighter around you, biceps straining deliciously on either side of you.

“Are too!” His teeth clamp down on your earlobe, and you have to physically hold yourself back from grinding back into his lap, the burning outline of his semi-hard cock straining against navy fabric heavy on your mind. “Sam even warned me about it.”

Glancing at him from over your shoulder, you find his eyes already on you. It’s something you’re coming to learn about him, quietly and unaddressed, just how attentive of a man he is. “You seriously shouldn’t trust a word that man says. He’s an agent of chaos!”

“Hey, that’s Captain America you’re talking about,” this time, he’s pinching you and, when you squirm, he takes the opportunity to scoop an arm beneath your knees and lifts you both off the bed. “And, according to him, you once bit his sister during a game of Twister.”

“One time,” You hold up a single finger and Bucky leans his head forward to bite it. “And it was only after she nearly choked me!”

After guiding both your hands to grab on behind his neck, your soldier takes away the hand supporting your back and uses it to dust off the sheets. Cards go flying and float onto the ground, and not once does the neurotic voice, that lives in your mind and berates any disorganisation, tell you to care about the mess.

In what world could a mess on the floor be more important than the way Bucky slides you both back down atop the mattress, card-free sheets pooling over your skin as the soldier pulls you into him.

He closes his eyes for all of four seconds before you’re whispering across the pillows.

“What else did Sam warn you about me?”

Blue irises reappear, one by one, and you can see how exhaustion has stitched itself across his face. You feel a twinge of guilt, keeping him awake on a night like this, but you’re selfish and you want every extra second with him you can get.

“He said you were the most intelligent yet incapable person he’s ever met,” his legs bump against yours beneath the sheets as he shuffles a little closer. You meet him halfway, intertwining your limbs in a tangle that’s slowly growing familiar. “Nearly didn’t believe him… Then I saw you for the first time.”

“You two are real mean, you know that?” There is not an ounce of grit behind your voice, just pure unadulterated adoration that a more awake version of yourself would be doubled over, gagging at the sight of it. Stand up, girl! You can almost hear her — you — say. He’s literally just a man! “What was so incapable about me opening the door of my home to the needy, huh?”

The soldier takes capture of the hand you poke against his chest, leading it up the path to meet the soft press of his lips. This is another thing you’re learning, how constant he craves contact, a hand always at your back, or a shoulder bumping against your own, or a head buried in your neck, he’s a fiend for the feel of flesh.

“Who said that’s the first time I saw you?” He challenges.

“Oh.”

“It was months before that. Sam and I, we were hiding out at a black-market art gallery in Madripoor because of… well, that’s not important,” as if he feels the tension bubbling beneath your skin, he dances over the dangerous part of his life, the parts you don’t get to see, the parts that turn him into a single phone call for days on end. “You called Sam, one of those face-clock calls-”

“It’s facetime, grandpa,” you tease him with a smile, reward him with a press of your mouth down into his right shoulder.

“Whatever. Point is, there was a mirror behind him and that’s where I saw you,” vibranium cups its palm around your face and you turn into its touch, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he soothes your cheek. “You were crying, begging for help after smashing your shower door whilst trying to kill a spider.”

“I stand-by the fact that could have happened to anyone.”

“Darling, no it couldn’t,” his laughter shakes his chest and you. It makes you want to dive deeper into his touch, feel his next laugh erupt in your own chest. “No one else would be silly enough to throw a baseball bat at a spider the size of raindrops.”

“It was jumping! And I didn’t have any spray!” You turn away from his touch, only to nestle your face in the crevices of his collarbone. Despite the chill in the air, Bucky’s a furnace against you, sheltering you from the cold. “Tell me something else Sam said.”

“Hmm,” he pauses to think, his flesh arm curling around your back and rolling you into him. He smells like Bucky but, also, you, traces of your citrus bodywash staining him hours after you lathered him in it beneath the flowing waters of the shower. Something curls in your loins, possessive and satisfied with the claim you’ve made on his skin. “That you have an insatiable sweet tooth. Backed it up with a story where he had to pry you out a bakery after failing to get some promotion at work.”

“I still can’t believe they gave it to fucking Frank,” you huff, the bitterness still present on your tongue after all these years. “They ended up firing him within a year after realising that, beneath all that manly testosterone, he was incompetent.”

“Just your type, then?” The bastard muses, effortlessly blocking the hand that’s reaching for his nipple and pressing it flat against his chest instead. You feel his heart, beating a little stronger with each pulse, there's a magnet in your palm commanding it to break free from its ribcage and fly right into your hand. “Sam said you always wanted to learn to bake, but were too lazy.”

“Too busy,” you roll your eyes, though deep down there’s a truth in Sam’s claims. “Luckily, you’re a whizz in the kitchen. And I’m not just talking about when you bend me over the counter and threaten to use the spatula to spank-”

“Why do you think I wanted to learn to bake?”

Reminiscing on your salacious adventures together quickly stops, the moment you take a second to actually think about what he’s saying, what he’s not saying. You’re both good at this game, tip-toeing around a subject you both keep bringing to light yet never fully revealing. There’s excitement in the unsaid, in the quiet touches and unmentioned actions that hint at something you’re both too stubborn to address.

Tonight will not be the night either of you give in and fold.

“Tell me something else,” oh god, there’s a yawn caught in your throat. With difficulty, you swallow it down before the soldier can point it out.

“He never warned me you were so demanding,” you whine in protest into his skin and feel the dance of his hand running up and down your back, an apology that seeps through skin and into your spine. “But he did mention you have awful taste in men.”

The hand on your back slips lower, pressing dimples into the skin at the base of your spine as you push yourself off his chest and come face to face with him. The moonlight is forgiving tonight, granting you the pretty view of his illuminated features. The fondness in his eyes, the curve of his lips, the wrinkles beginning to threaten stains upon his skin, the scars you’ve yet to ask about.

For every imperfection and every inch of adoration, he’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.

Something tugs at your heart.

“The worst taste,” you murmur, bringing your lips down to meet Bucky’s in a kiss that has him exhaling with relief and gripping at your skin tighter.

“Yeah?” He mumbles, stealing the air you exhale. “Tell me, what kind of man merits your attention?”

“The kind who works out every muscle but his brain,” you drag your lips over his jaw, relishing in the scrape of his stubble.

“Hey, I read!” Finally, it’s his turn to feel the sting of offense.

“Typical man, making everything about himself,” you settle back down against his chest, ear pressing close enough to where you can hear the thunder of his heart. “This is about my dream man, Buck, not you.”

“Didn’t you call me your dream man last time I ate your-”

“Anyway, I like the kind of man who listens to both my problems and my complaints, and then does whatever he can to fix things without pressuring me.” Flashback to last week, when you complained about the strap of your bag snapping half-way home only to awaken the next morning to it all stitched perfectly back together.

“You like the considerate kind then,” he whispers, and you swear you hear a twinge of nervousness on his tongue.

“And the kind who makes me feel beautiful with just a single glance at me,” exhibit A stares down at you right now, a shine in his eyes that makes you want to swoon.

“That must be any man,” he brushes a nonexistent hair off your forehead, “I mean, look at you.”

“I also like the kind of man that chases me, even when I’m too focused on what’s ahead to glance back and notice him,” there’s a strange squeeze in your throat as you swallow down a breath, thinking back on all the hints of longing he may have dropped that you’ll never know about.

“That man would still chase you, even if you never looked back,” the way he’s speaking to you and touching you, like you’re a rose petal threatening to fall off its stem, is not helping the lump in your throat. “In case you stumbled and needed someone to break your fall.”

That does you in, sends the first tear falling off your eyelash and landing on his naked chest, while you muster a quiet, “I like the kind of man who calls.”

His hands don’t freeze, and no part of him jumps with shock. Instead, his chest deflates with resignation.

“You know about the mission,” it’s not a question.

It doesn’t need to be, he already knows the answer.

“How?” This, however, is a question he needs to ask.

You shrug into him, refusing to give in to his search for your face as you focus on hiding it in the warmth of his skin, hidden from the look on his face you’re too afraid to confront. “Something just felt… different when I woke up.”

“Like what?” It’s not an accusatory thing, just a simple search for answers from a man who’s trying his best to keep you from falling apart against him.

“Well, you woke me up with your head between my legs-”

“What’s different about that? I did the same on Tuesday, too.

“And then brought me breakfast in bed.”

“You feed me, I feed you, that’s how a-” he doesn’t quite say the R word, but you feel it, in the way he seers a kiss onto the crown of your head, “Is supposed to work.”

“Then there was the three course meal waiting for me when I came home from work,” you still remember the way your heart was stuck between soaring at the sight of him setting the table as you walked into the apartment, and sinking with realisation that your suspicions were definitely true. “If all that wasn’t enough, I could tell from your touch.”

“My touch?”

“It was like… you were trying to memorise me. Not just when we were in the shower, but each time you took my hand across the table and brushed over my shoulder before clearing our plates,” you feel him sinking his fingers over your flesh, a soft squeeze at your hip. “Even now, it’s like you’re trying to hold onto me because you know you have to let go.”

“I just…” He sighs with defeat, not helping his case when he lays another kiss against your head. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“That’s okay,” you lie, for both of your sakes. “It’s not like you’ve not left to go help Sam before.”

“This isn’t before,” you both hate and adore him for the firmness he puts into the statement. “Before was different, we weren’t us.”

As much as this aches, ripping your chest apart to carve out your heart with the bitter truth of Bucky’s life as a hero catching up to whatever safe haven you two have locked yourselves away in, you’ll happily take the pain, the lump in your throat, all of it. There’s no price too high to pay to have this moment, laying in Bucky’s arms and pretending there’s no one in the city but you two, fighting off sleep for a moment more of each other’s presence and leaving fingerprint evidence of one another on your skins.

“You’ll be gone by the time I wake up,” you could get mad at him for not telling you, for the chance he almost took at leaving you another measly note on the fridge. But all you feel is the mutual ache of wanting to put off the inevitable, just a little longer. “Won’t you?”

You feel him nod, feel him squeeze his arms around you tighter, feel your heartbeats start to sync as sleep slowly guides you away from his loving gaze.

“I promise I won’t miss a single call, doll.”

[kandlewick]

janitor yuu au! kalim who is finally able to travel back home for the holidays since he wasn't able to during winter break due to... circumstances quite literally out of his control. jamil is also with him and regardless of the twos still rocky relationship, they're both wiling to have some kind of truce while visiting family.

and now kalim finds himself at a loss as everything he's so used to doing for himself is now being done on his behalf. instead of the same few outfits to rotate through, now he has servants waiting at his beck and call to garb him in a brand new outfit every day, each more luxurious then the next. food is now brought to him, fresh and warm and spiced to perfection but he feels selfish now to admit he misses the way you cooked, with the slightly burned ends and the faint taste of plastic from the tupperware. he misses the familiar fabric of his now worn out cardigan. the close weaving had begun to separate and he had just started being able to fit his fingers through the yarn and it wrapped around his fingers so securely it felt like a warm hug.

he felt selfish here, laying on his fancy bed with the canopy and thick comforter, pillows galore, because despite being back in luxury, he missed the familiarity of the ramshackle dorm and the janitor and grim. he missed having choices. he missed having control.

jamil finds him sneaking out in the middle of the night and he reluctantly follows, his footsteps light as the two of them made their way to the kitchen.

everything was quiet now, the servants having been long dismissed, and kalim felt himself let out a sigh of relief. nobody was there to stop him. with an almost excited pep to his step, he made his way in to the heavily stocked pantry and began his search. he felt bad, but the food that was given to him for dinner was too rich, it made his stomach hurt, and he found that his palette wasn't as fond of fancier food now that he's had the simpler things.

"you're not going to find anything like what the janitor has stored away in ramshackle if that's what you're looking for."

the sound of jamil's voice startled kalim enough that he slammed his head against a shelf. his hands immediately flew up to cradle his skull and he let out a sharp whine. he looked up at jamil with tears in his eyes but brightened when he saw him leaving against the door frame, arms crossed with a familiar unamused expression on his face. kalim was quick to straighten himself to his full height and gave his friend(?) a nervous smile. no matter how jamil felt about him, kalim couldn't help but think of him as his closest friend in spite of everything.

"ah, uhm! i figured!" kalim let out a small laugh. his hands reached to nervously fidget at the loose yarn of his cardigan but found nothing, only the silky smooth fabric of a new shawl over his shoulders. the thinness of it left him feeling exposed. "all the food the servants made was really good but i felt it was a bit too much! ever since i've lived in ramshackle, i've gotten so use to eating—"

"you're so use to eating scraps now that you decided to raid the servant's kitchens to see if you could find something to reassure yourself that you weren't 'becoming spoiled' again?" jamil's tone was icy again, like from back when they argued, and kalim felt himself unintentionally shrinking in on himself. jamil continued, "and then, because you dont know the first thing about anything, you were going to get me to make whatever silly thing the janitor could scrounge up with left over tuna and some eggs so you could sit in the kitchen and eat it up and think to yourself 'wow im such a good person, having learned to enjoy the simpler things in life' all while going back to your room and sleeping like a little baby, safe and cuddled up in your several thousand thaumark sheets, spoiled rotten beyond belief—"

"you're right," kalim nodded, "i am spoiled."

"but i've also learned how meaningless a lot of this is." kalim's shoulders slumped, "did you know that there were servants whose entire job was to make sure my bathwater wasn't too hot or too cold? I didn't," he laughed, "i just thought the water came out perfect every time."

he remembered his first cold shower in ramshackle and how he sneezed and sneezed and sneezed. he remembered how the janitor had made him some chalky hot cocoa to help warm himself up and that it was the tastiest thing he had had all day. he remembers them wrapping him up in several ratty blankets and reassuring him that he would get use to it.

"the first cold shower is always the worst. so is the second. and so is the third. but eventually it will be ok."

"is it ok for you?"

the janitor hadn't said anything then, only offered him a small smile and a shrug before grim stole their attention away from him.

kalim blinked. he was back in the present.

"i spent my whole life having someone do everything for me and i thought that it was normal. that it was ok because i didn't know how to do anything properly and i didn't! but nobody would let me try. nobody let me fail. the only person who ever trusted me with my own choices was them."

"if i even so much as picked up a bread knife, you or some other servant would pluck it from my hands. saying things like, 'oh thats too dangerous for you' or 'don't worry kalim i've got it handled.' and i've suffered because of it!" he looked down at his hands and finally felt a sense of comfort in the cheap, colorful band aids that were wrapped around his fingers. burn marks, cuts, bruises, all things he never got to experience here in the palace or even in his own dorm.

his choices, his own choices.

"i am spoiled, jamil, you're right, but unlike you, i want to change. im tired of having everyone do everything for me. i want to cook my meals and make my own bed. i want to study hard and succeed where i let myself fail because i knew i had you to count on. i want to be able to rely on myself, jamil so if you'll excuse me im going to make a tuna and butter sandwich on stale bread."

[tobiosbbyghorl]

Almost, Maybe, Never. Officially, Finally

Sunghoon never rushed you.

Even after that night when everything cracked open and the truth between you spilled out like soft wounds, he still didn’t expect anything in return.

But you noticed it, quietly.

How he’d say “I love you” in the smallest, simplest ways.

Not in grand declarations.

But in murmurs.

When you were half-asleep on the couch and he brushed your hair away—“I love you.”

When he dropped you off at work and lingered by the car window—“I love you.”

When you were both brushing your teeth and he looked at you through the mirror—“I love you.”

Always with a gentle smile.

Always followed by, “No need to say it back yet. Just wanted to remind you.”

And every time, it felt less like pressure, and more like home.

The first date he planned after the late-night talk was simple.

A weekend drive to the coast.

He packed snacks. Let you play your favorite playlist. Wore your favorite hoodie, even though he swore it was “too soft and not manly enough.” You held his hand on the gearshift, and this time, you didn’t look away when he caught you staring.

You watched the sunset from a cliffside park, your head on his shoulder as the sky melted into soft orange and bruised pink.

And when he kissed you—soft, slow, steady—it didn’t feel like a restart.

It felt like you’d never stopped.

The second date was spontaneous.

It rained all morning. He showed up at your place soaked, hair dripping, holding a bag of pastries and two thermoses of hot cocoa.

You laughed as he stood in the doorway, looking like a soggy golden retriever.

He shrugged. “You said rain made you feel lonely sometimes. I didn’t want today to be one of those days.”

You curled up on your living room floor under a blanket, eating almond croissants and playing card games until the sky cleared.

He looked at you mid-laugh and said it again, softly.

“I love you.”

And you smiled, still quiet. Still not ready.

But you leaned over and kissed the corner of his mouth, and that was enough for him.

The third time felt different.

You were watching stars.

He had taken you to this rooftop planetarium-style place—half outdoor lounge, half telescope observatory. He knew you liked looking at things far away. Said it reminded you how small everything else felt.

He brought you your favorite drink. Memorized your favorite constellation. Pointed it out without needing a guide.

And when you were both lying side by side on the cushioned bench, sharing earbuds, his pinky hooked around yours—

You looked at him, really looked.

He was smiling at the stars. Calm. Completely unaware that your heart had just made a decision.

“I love you too.”

You said it like it had always been there.

Like it had just needed time to bloom.

Sunghoon froze.

Then slowly turned toward you.

“What?” he whispered, stunned—like you had given him the moon itself.

You swallowed your nerves and leaned in.

“I love you,” you repeated, firmer now. “Not because I feel safe. Not because you waited. But because I look at you and I don’t feel like I’m in a halfway story anymore.”

He stared at you for a moment, and then his face crumpled into the softest smile you’d ever seen.

“You sure?” he asked, voice shaking just slightly.

You laughed through your tears. “I’ve never been more sure.”

He pulled you into his arms like he’d been waiting forever—because he had.

Later, in the car, he tucked a sunflower keychain into your hand.

“For your apartment keys,” he said. “Or… ours. Someday. No pressure.”

You kissed him. Not in a rush, not like a fire—but like something that had been burning steadily this whole time.

And when he whispered “We’re official now, right?”

You nodded into his chest. “We’ve been. We just finally said it out loud.”

moments he proves he loves me dearly, everyday, finally.

He brings you breakfast every other Sunday, even when it’s just toast with jam and cold brew from a local cart.

You leave him notes on his mirror when you sleep over. Things like “You brush your teeth too aggressively. But I love you.”

He starts a playlist called “Y/N things.” It’s a mix of every song you’ve ever hummed in his presence.

You cook together, terribly. He sets off the fire alarm. You scream. He kisses you mid-chaos.

He whispers “I love you” when you’re fake-mad at him, and you roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away every time.

You fall asleep wearing the bracelet and one of his old t-shirts, and he tells you you’ve never looked more beautiful.

And for once, you believe him.

Not because he says it.

But because he shows it.

Every day.

This time… it’s not a question.

It’s not a maybe.

It’s not an almost.

It’s yours.

Officially.

Finally.

Fully.

Epilogue — The Best Part Was You

The rain tapped gently against the windows, soft and rhythmic like a lullaby.

Your living room was warm, glowing in golden tones of late afternoon light. The air smelled faintly of vanilla and lavender from the diffuser Sunghoon insisted on refilling every week (“It’s relaxing,” he’d say with a dramatic stretch before snuggling into your lap like a cat).

You were curled up on the couch, two small bodies nestled on either side of you.

Your twins.

Minji—your opinionated little daydreamer, and Jihoon—your curious, gentle-eyed observer. Both six. Both stubborn. Both everything good that ever came from love and chaos.

Minji rested her head on your shoulder, clutching a worn stuffed bunny. Jihoon was playing with your fingers, his lashes fluttering sleepily.

“Tell us again,” Minji mumbled. “The story. About you and Daddy.”

Jihoon perked up. “The one where he broke your heart and then fixed it.”

You laughed softly. “You two really make it sound like a drama.”

Minji blinked up at you seriously. “Wasn’t it?”

You smiled.

Yeah, it kinda was.

You looked down at your kids, your heart full.

“Alright,” you whispered, brushing their hair back. “One more time.”

And so you told it. Again.

About how their dad used to be this hot mess of feelings and fear.

How you were in a “situationship,” as Minji once repeated with perfect pronunciation and absolutely no understanding.

How he broke your heart, and you had to learn how to put it back together alone.

“But then what?” Jihoon asked, even though he already knew.

You smiled, tracing lazy circles on his palm.

“Then he showed up. Every weekend. With flowers, and pastries, and bad jokes.”

Minji grinned. “And he kept saying he loved you even if you didn’t say it back yet!”

“Exactly,” you said softly. “He never stopped showing up.”

Jihoon’s voice was a whisper now, already drifting toward sleep.

“Did you love him then?”

“I think I always did,” you murmured. “But I waited until I was ready. And he waited with me.”

Minji frowned dramatically. “What if you never said it back?”

You looked toward the hallway, where the sound of soft humming echoed from the kitchen—Sunghoon washing dishes, probably dancing a little too.

“Then he would’ve still loved me anyway,” you said. “Because love is a choice you make every day, even when it’s scary.”

You felt movement in your belly—just the smallest flutter.

Not the twins.

Not nerves.

New.

You rested a hand there, instinctively. Quietly. Secretly.

You hadn’t told them yet.

You hadn’t even told him.

But the doctor had confirmed it last week.

Three.

Three hearts now growing in the rhythm of a love story that almost didn’t make it—but did.

Minji tugged your sleeve. “Mom?”

“Hm?”

She smiled sleepily. “I’m glad you chose Dad.”

Jihoon yawned. “Me too.”

You kissed the tops of their heads.

“Me three,” you whispered.

Later that night, after they were tucked in and the house had gone quiet, you found Sunghoon folding laundry in the bedroom—his hair messy, his glasses sliding down his nose.

He looked up and smiled that same old smile.

“Everything okay hun?”

You walked over slowly, rested your hands on his chest.

And whispered, “I’m pregnant.”

The socks in his hands dropped to the floor.

His mouth parted. “Wait, what?”

You nodded, eyes glistening. “One more. We’re adding to the chaos.”

He laughed, then pulled you in so tight you could barely breathe. “I love you. I love you so much it hurts.”

You whispered it back into his collarbone. “I know.”

And this time, when you said it, it wasn’t the end of a chapter—

It was the start of another.

tobiosbbyghorl 2025

[4linos]

when the past knocks 2

seo changbin x f!reader, kim seungmin x f!reader

synopsis: you left to protect your son and yourself. but healing gets complicated when old ghosts return… and one of them still makes you laugh.

genre/warnings: angst, infidelity, emotional manipulation, grief, jealousy, unresolved feelings, slow burn, hurt/comfort.

wc: 16,998.

[when the past knocks part 1]

The morning felt like it had arrived too soon, dragging its weight across your chest, suffocating you with its inevitability. You had barely slept, your mind cycling through the words you and Seungmin had exchanged the night before, the look in his eyes when he saw the texts, the way everything seemed to snap so suddenly, everything falling apart in ways you never thought possible. You tossed and turned, trying to find some comfort in the bed that used to feel like home. But tonight, it felt like a cold, empty void between the two of you.

You had hoped maybe things would be different when you woke up. Maybe Seungmin would be there, sitting on the edge of the bed, tired from the fight but still here, still trying. But no.

The bed was already cold on his side.

You blinked, feeling an uncomfortable lump form in your throat as you pushed yourself up, rubbing your eyes, trying to force your body into action despite the exhaustion that clung to your limbs. The room felt too big, the silence almost suffocating.

You checked the bathroom connected to the bedroom, still expecting to see him there, even though you knew, deep down that he wouldn’t be. But maybe… maybe there would be something. A reason to hope that things hadn’t gone as far as they felt. But the bathroom was empty, and so was the small corner where he had placed his bag the night before.

His things were gone.

The clothes he had brought back with him, the ones he hadn’t bothered to put back in a suitcase, but had just tossed over the back of a chair were no longer there. There was no sign of him at all.

It felt like something heavy and sharp pressed against your chest. Not anger, not even frustration. Just hurt.

You wanted to be angry. You wanted to tell yourself that you should be relieved, that this was for the best. But you couldn’t. You loved him. You still loved him. And despite the lies, the betrayal, and the damage he’d done to you and your son, you couldn’t erase the love. You hated how it still clung to you, how it refused to leave, no matter how broken things were.

You called out for him softly, almost like a question. “Seungmin?”

There was no answer.

You walked downstairs slowly, feeling the weight of every step. You knew your mother would be down there by now, probably waiting with a warm breakfast as she always did. She was still trying to hold things together. You could feel the weight of her expectations, the hope in her eyes every time you walked in, the way she didn’t want to admit that something might be wrong.

When you got downstairs, your mother was in the kitchen, moving around the stove. Roan’s laughter echoed from the other room, a reminder of how normal everything was on the surface. But you felt like you were living in a different world. You cleared your throat, trying to sound casual, but the words still came out quieter than you intended.

“Mom, have you seen Seungmin?”

She paused, turning slightly, her expression unreadable. And then it softened, just a little, though it didn’t stop her from giving you a look. A look that wasn’t judgment, but concern. The kind of concern that mothers reserve for their children when they’re trying so hard to hold everything together, even when it’s falling apart.

“He left early this morning,” she said, a quiet finality in her voice. “Caught him leaving around 4 a.m. Said he had to go into the office today. He thanked me for letting him stay.”

Your stomach turned.

You nodded, trying to pretend it didn’t hurt to hear that. Trying to act like it was fine. “Okay,” you muttered, your voice thin and strained.

But she didn’t buy it. She stepped closer, crossing her arms in a way that told you she wasn’t going to let you off that easy. She studied you for a second, searching your face like she was trying to read some kind of clue.

“What’s going on with you two, huh? I thought you’d be working things out by now. I really thought it was just a bump in the road. After all these years, I figured it would be fixable.” Her voice cracked just a little, and it caught you off guard.

You bit your lip, fighting the urge to just collapse right there in front of her. You felt the weight of everything you hadn’t said. The weight of everything you had been holding back.

And for a brief moment, you almost thought about telling her everything, the truth, raw and exposed. That Seungmin had destroyed your trust, that the marriage was over, that there was no easy fix to this. But when you looked at her, you saw the years of hope, the way she had loved Seungmin like her own son. You saw the way she still believed in the “happy ending” for the family she’d always dreamed of.

You couldn’t break her, too.

So you lied.

“It’s fine, Mom. We’re just… working through things. It’s been tough, you know? But we’re figuring it out.”

She didn’t seem entirely convinced, but she didn’t push either. Her eyes softened, but she couldn’t hide the doubt in them.

“Well,” she said, her voice tightening, “he left early this morning, said he wanted to give you some space. I heard you two arguing last night.” Her voice dropped a little. “You didn’t seem like things were fine then.”

Your heart skipped. She heard you?

But you couldn’t react, not now. Not when everything felt like it was already on the edge.

You forced a smile, shaking your head slightly. “We’re just… having a hard time communicating right now. But we’ll be okay. I’m sure we will.”

Your mother didn’t press further. She crossed her arms and looked at you with that knowing expression. “You’re sure? Because I’ve never seen you like this. You don’t have to keep pretending everything’s fine if it’s not.”

But before you could respond, Roan came bounding into the kitchen, his hair messy from sleep, a bright smile on his face. “Mom! I’m ready for breakfast!”

The moment was over, broken by the sound of your son’s excited voice. And you felt an immediate pang of guilt for lying in front of him, for pretending to be okay when everything felt like it was crumbling.

You forced yourself to smile at Roan, pushing the sadness deep down. “Okay, buddy, let’s get you something to eat.”

But your mother’s eyes lingered on you for a second longer, as if waiting for something you weren’t ready to say. Then she turned and started preparing breakfast as if nothing had happened.

The rest of the morning passed in a haze of motions. You got Roan dressed and ready for school, the conversations were light, forced, and polite. But in the back of your mind, you could feel everything shifting. The truth you weren’t telling. The love you weren’t ready to let go of.

-

The ping of your phone broke the quiet stillness of the morning. You were sitting at the kitchen counter, slowly sipping your coffee, eyes unfocused, trying to drown out the weight of everything. It was too early for this. The morning felt like a battle between the pull of comfort and the sharp sting of everything unraveling around you. You hadn’t heard from Seungmin all day after the night’s argument, and despite your internal pleading not to think about him, your mind had been consumed by him, by everything he was, everything you once had together.

You pulled your phone toward you. The message was from Seungmin.

It was a simple text: “Hey, can I call Roan tonight? I just want to check in on him and hear his voice.”

You stared at the message for a moment, your thumb hovering over the screen. It hurt to even acknowledge that he wasn’t here. You’d been waiting for him to step up, to take accountability, to make things right, but it wasn’t like that, was it? He had left. And now he was giving you space. Space you didn’t even know if you wanted, but were probably going to have to learn to live with.

You couldn’t blame him for needing space. You needed it too. But how do you move forward from this? How do you separate the love that’s still so strongly rooted in your heart from the anger, the betrayal, and the overwhelming sadness? You missed him so much that it physically hurt. But there was so much damage between you two.

You quickly typed a response, something simple “Yeah, that’s fine. Roan will be happy to hear from you.”

Then came the barrage of texts that you hadn't expected, each one coming faster than the last.

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I left early this morning because the argument from last night made me realize we both need space.” The words were clear and deliberate, almost as if he was trying to make himself sound reasonable, calm.

“I’m going to give you all the space you need for now. Whenever you’re ready, we can sit down and talk about what’s going to happen with us… and with Roan.”

A strange, hollow feeling spread through you as you read his words. You hadn’t expected him to leave. It was just too… final. But here he was, sending these texts, acting like everything could still somehow be fixed. And deep down, you didn’t know if you wanted that. You weren’t sure what you wanted anymore.

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you let your phone sit on the table while you mindlessly stirred your coffee. The silence was deafening, and you felt the ache in your chest grow. Was he right? Was space the answer? Could you and Seungmin really talk about the future? And even more confusing, did you want to?

You loved him. You still loved him. That love hadn’t faded, even in the wake of everything that had happened. Even now, despite the anger and betrayal, it felt like your heart refused to let him go.

You hated that it hurt. You hated how badly you still wanted to fix things, to hold onto the family you once had. You wanted to feel that warmth again, the kind that was once so certain between you and Seungmin. You wanted to believe it could all go back to how it was before.

But something had changed. Something else had wormed its way into your mind. And it wasn’t just Seungmin anymore.

Changbin.

His face flashed in your mind, sharp and bright like a sudden storm cutting through the fog.

It wasn’t just that you remembered him. It wasn’t just the memories of the past, of high school, of how he had always been there for you, how he'd always understood you. It wasn’t even the fact that you had spent time with him recently, reconnecting and laughing over old stories.

It was the way you felt now, in the silence after Seungmin’s texts.

The way you smiled at your phone after reading his message. The way your chest felt lighter with every word he sent, the way your thoughts drifted to him and not Seungmin.

Suddenly, you were questioning everything. The connection with Seungmin that you had once believed was unbreakable, it felt less solid now. More fragile. As though it was built on sand.

You hadn’t meant for things to get complicated again. You didn’t want to feel this pull toward Changbin. Not now. Not when everything with Seungmin was already so volatile. But it was like trying to fight the current, your thoughts kept returning to him. To the way he made you feel seen, understood, and even happy. There was no bitterness, no tension, no past mistakes haunting the space between you.

The thought of Changbin now felt like a breath of fresh air compared to the suffocating weight of the relationship with Seungmin.

And it wasn’t just about the past. It was now. You’d spent hours talking to him, laughing with him, reconnecting in ways you hadn’t expected. And even though the friendship was unexpected, there was this undeniable connection. An attraction that had been buried under the weight of your life with Seungmin, but now seemed to bubble back to the surface.

Your thoughts were scattered, tangled between the man you had married and the one who once held your heart, the one who was still somehow here, slipping back into your life.

A sharp ping broke your reverie. Another message from Seungmin.

“I just wanted to remind you that I’m here when you’re ready. For you. For Roan. Don’t shut me out.”

You felt the familiar sting of guilt. You wanted to respond. To tell him that you didn’t know what you wanted anymore, that you didn’t know if you could fix things. But you didn’t. Instead, you set your phone down and stood up.

The pull toward Changbin had unsettled you. You didn’t want to admit it, but you couldn’t deny it either.

The more you tried to push it down, the more it crept up. He was becoming a constant thought. The more you thought about him, the more the idea of Seungmin and what you had with him seemed less and less certain.

You loved Seungmin. You did. But you didn’t know if the love you had was enough to fix everything. You didn’t know if it was enough to erase the years of resentment, the lies, the unspoken words between you two.

And now, a part of you was wondering if it was possible to love someone else, someone who could actually see you. See you in a way Seungmin never had.

You leaned against the counter, feeling the weight of the decision hanging in the air, heavier than anything you had ever faced before. Would you even allow yourself to love again? Would you be willing to take the risk? Or would you bury everything, hoping that time and space would somehow heal the broken pieces of your marriage?

You couldn’t decide. Not yet.

And so, you pushed it all down, Seungmin’s texts, Changbin’s face, your emotions.

But you couldn’t escape the ache, the pull, the uncertainty.

And as the day dragged on, the questions remained.

What would you do next?

The sunlight filtered through the trees, casting soft, dappled shadows over the park as you sat on the blanket, surrounded by a picnic spread. Roan and Yuna were playing on the swings and climbing frame with the other kids, their laughter ringing through the air. It felt like a rare moment of peace, a fleeting escape from everything that had been weighing on your heart for the past few weeks.

But the conversation you were having with Changbin was the highlight of your day, as it always was. Changbin had just finished recounting one of his favorite stories from high school, one that had you laughing so hard you almost spilled the lemonade you were holding. The way he told it, with his wide grin and exaggerated gestures, made it feel like it happened yesterday.

You’d almost forgotten about that time. You and Changbin had been inseparable during those early years, always getting into some kind of trouble. But the one memory that always seemed to stand out was the time he’d tried sneaking into your room late at night, only to have your dad catch him in the act.

Changbin grinned at the memory, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “I thought I was going to be a goner that night,” he laughed. “I was halfway through the window when your dad came storming in like a SWAT team. I don’t even know how he heard me. I thought I was being so sneaky!”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you remembered your dad’s furious face. “You were terrible at being sneaky,” you teased. “I told you not to come through the window. It was too obvious. But you still thought you could outsmart my dad.”

Changbin snorted, the memory still clearly amusing to him. “I swear, I never saw him coming. He just barged in like some kind of ninja. Then he grounded you for a month, right? It felt like a year, honestly. I couldn’t even talk to you outside of school. That was brutal.”

You nodded, your smile widening as you remembered the long, quiet days after that. “It was. My parents were furious when they found out what was going on. They never trusted you after that, especially my dad. He probably still tells that story to anyone who will listen.”

Changbin laughed again, a rich, deep sound that made your heart flutter in a way you hadn’t expected. “I can’t blame him. I deserved it. But I’d do it all over again if it meant I got to hang out with you. It was worth it. Every second of it.”

His words hit you in a way you couldn’t quite explain. You hadn’t realized how much you had missed hearing Changbin talk like this so open, so genuine. He had always been the kind of person who wore his heart on his sleeve, and even though so much had changed since high school, it still felt like you could talk to him without any pretense.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt something like warmth spread through you. A comfort you hadn’t realized you were craving. It wasn’t just the carefree way he talked about the past, or the teasing banter, or even the fact that he was just here, present and sharing this moment with you, but something deeper, something that felt like a connection you hadn’t realized was waiting to be rekindled.

Since Seungmin had left, you had been living in a quiet sort of limbo. Every day had felt like a blur of uncertainty. Your interactions with Seungmin had become limited to brief texts and calls about Roan. He had asked about you a few times, but those conversations were brief, awkward, and mostly focused on logistics how Roan was doing or if he could speak with him. And while part of you appreciated the space Seungmin was giving you to think, it also left a hollow feeling in your chest.

But here, with Changbin, it felt different. You didn’t have to pretend. You didn’t have to act like everything was fine or like you had everything figured out. With Changbin, everything felt like it could be uncomplicated again, just two old friends, reminiscing about the past and sharing laughs without the weight of expectations.

You glanced over at Roan and Yuna, who were giggling as they played tag. The scene felt almost too perfect. You didn’t want to overthink it, but you couldn’t help but notice how nice it was. Roan had been so happy lately. Maybe he didn’t fully understand the complexities of what was happening between you and Seungmin, but he felt secure in the routine you had established.

You turned your gaze back to Changbin, who was still in the middle of telling another hilarious story about high school, something about the time he had accidentally ruined a school play by tripping over the curtain during his big moment on stage. You laughed and shook your head, appreciating the simplicity of the moment. It was a stark contrast to everything else that had been happening in your life lately.

You weren’t sure when things had started to shift between you and Changbin, but now it felt undeniable. The way you found yourself smiling more easily when he was around, the way he seemed to fill the space left by the absence of Seungmin’s presence. It wasn’t that you didn’t still love Seungmin. You did. That love was still buried deep in your chest, like a flickering flame that refused to go out. But what you were beginning to realize was that you couldn’t ignore the fact that being around Changbin made you feel something new, something you hadn’t felt in so long.

You had always thought that after everything that had happened with Seungmin, your heart would be closed off, shut tight. But with Changbin here, with his easygoing nature and the familiarity of old memories, it was like something inside of you was starting to open again. You didn’t know what that meant, or what would come of it, but for the first time in weeks, you felt hopeful even if it was just a little.

The conversation shifted as you both fell into a comfortable silence, watching Roan and Yuna. You could feel Changbin’s eyes on you, but you didn’t turn to meet his gaze immediately. Instead, you focused on the moment, the quiet warmth of the afternoon, the soft rustle of the leaves above, the laughter of the kids echoing in the distance.

When you did turn to face him, he was watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite place like he was carefully considering something. You raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

“What?” you asked, your tone light.

Changbin seemed to hesitate for a moment, his smile faltering just slightly before he spoke. “I’m just glad we’re doing this.”

You blinked, not quite understanding. “Doing what?”

He shrugged, a little sheepish now. “This. Hanging out. It feels good, you know? Like it’s... easy. Like it always should have been.”

You felt something catch in your chest at his words, but you didn’t know what to say. So, instead, you just nodded, your throat suddenly tight. The silence stretched between you both, but it was a comfortable one, a shared understanding that something more was blossoming between you. Something you weren’t ready to name yet, but something you couldn’t ignore either.

And for the first time in a long while, the weight of your life didn’t feel quite so heavy.

-

The atmosphere between you and Changbin shifted subtly when he asked about Seungmin. The once-easy banter faltered, replaced by a quiet tension that neither of you could ignore. Changbin’s voice was careful when he spoke, as if weighing his words before asking.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he began, “but... what happened with Seungmin? If you’re okay sharing, that is. I just... I want to understand.”

He paused, letting the silence settle, as if giving you the space to decide how much, if anything, you wanted to share. You could see it in his eyes, a mix of concern, empathy, and the deep care he always had for you. It made the weight of your emotions even heavier.

You took a deep breath, looking over at Roan as he ran around the playground, his laughter ringing in your ears. He was so full of life, unaware of the storm you were weathering on the inside. You hadn’t realized how much you’d been holding in until that moment, how much had been left unsaid for weeks. Now, with Changbin’s patient gaze on you, it felt like the dam was finally starting to crack.

“I don’t even know where to start,” you said, your voice quiet. You reached for the bottle of water in front of you, your fingers trembling slightly as you picked it up. The coolness of the bottle felt oddly grounding. “I guess... I started noticing something was off about four months ago.”

Changbin’s eyes never left you, his expression soft but expectant. He wasn’t rushing you, but you could tell he was hanging onto every word you said. You drew a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself as the memory unfolded.

“It was subtle at first. Just... little things. He came home one night, and I could smell this strong perfume on him. It wasn’t mine. I tried to convince myself it was nothing, just some mistake. But I knew something was wrong. I never doubted Seungmin. How could I? He’d never given me a reason to, not once in all the years we’ve been together. But that night, I couldn’t ignore it.”

You paused, glancing at Roan again, his carefree joy in stark contrast to the ache you were feeling. You pushed through the tightness in your chest and continued, the words feeling heavier the more you spoke.

“Then, there was this one day, I had to borrow Seungmin’s car because mine was in the shop. I was just picking up lunch for him when I found something, something that didn’t belong to me. A necklace. It had a letter on it. Her initial. The woman he’d been seeing behind my back.”

Your voice caught at the end, but you fought to keep it steady. Changbin’s face had shifted, his brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line, as if he could feel the hurt radiating from you. He didn’t say anything, just nodded slightly, signaling for you to keep going.

“I didn’t want to believe it at first. I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t what I thought it was. That I was just being paranoid. But then... I met her.”

The words were hard to get out, like they had been sitting in your throat for so long, just waiting to spill out. But now that you were saying them aloud, it felt like the weight on your chest was increasing by the second. You swallowed hard, but your throat felt dry.

“I went to Seungmin’s office one day to drop off a file he’d forgotten for him. And there she was. Wearing the exact same necklace. The one I found in his car. And Seungmin—Seungmin introduced us like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t a huge blow to everything I thought I knew about him. It... it hurt more than I could even explain.”

You paused, squeezing your eyes shut, not wanting to relive it but unable to stop the memories from flooding in. The way Seungmin had smiled at you when he introduced you both, like he didn’t even know how badly it would shatter you. How the world seemed to spin out of control in that moment.

“I didn’t know what to do. I was surrounded by his coworkers. I didn’t have the courage to confront him, not there, not in front of everyone. I just—” you stopped yourself, taking another shaky breath. “I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t. But later that night, I heard him on the phone with her. I just... I don’t know. It all started to spiral from there. I couldn’t pretend anymore. I knew what was going on. I knew he was seeing her.”

Changbin’s expression darkened as you spoke, his fists clenched slightly in his lap, clearly frustrated at the whole situation. He leaned forward, his voice low and steady as he spoke.

“You didn’t deserve that, you know?” he said, his words filled with genuine anger. “I don’t know how someone can do that to you. To betray your trust like that. You trusted him. You gave him everything, and he threw it away.”

You nodded, the sting of his words cutting deeper than you expected. You had been trying to hold it together for so long, but hearing Changbin’s words, hearing the sincerity in his voice, broke something inside you. You exhaled slowly, trying to push the tears back.

“I never expected it from him. Everyone always said Seungmin was head over heels for me. And for the longest time, I believed it. I felt it too. He made me feel like I was the only one in the world. But somewhere, somewhere along the way, he fell for someone else. And that was the hardest part.”

Your voice cracked as the weight of that realization settled in. You had loved Seungmin with everything you had. You had built a life together. A family. And to see him so easily slip away from you for someone else felt like the ground had been ripped out from under your feet.

Changbin’s hand reached out instinctively, resting gently on yours. The contact was warm, grounding, and it felt like a lifeline in the sea of confusion you were drowning in. You looked at him, grateful for his presence, for his understanding.

“I can’t believe he did that to you,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your hand in a comforting gesture. “You’re worth so much more than that. You deserve someone who sees you for who you are. Someone who doesn’t take you for granted. And I hate that he didn’t see that.”

The words were a balm, soothing a part of you that had been raw for so long. For a brief moment, you let yourself lean into the comfort of Changbin’s presence. You couldn’t fix the past, and you weren’t sure where things would go with Seungmin, but you felt a flicker of hope for the first time in a long time, and it scared you.

But it also made you wonder if maybe, just maybe, you had been holding onto a broken piece of your heart for far too long. And perhaps it was time to let it go, to allow yourself to heal, to move on.

You didn’t know what the future held. But right now, with Changbin by your side, with Roan laughing in the background, it felt like maybe, just maybe, you could start to breathe again.

You sat there for a few more moments, with Changbin’s hand still resting on yours. The sunlight was warm on your face, and the sounds of Roan and Yuna’s laughter filled the air, but it felt like everything else around you had momentarily faded. You didn’t have to say anything, because somehow, you knew Changbin understood. He wasn’t pressing for more details, nor was he making you feel like you had to explain yourself further. He was simply there, being the kind of person you’d always hoped for someone who didn’t shy away from the hard things but stayed right alongside you when they needed to be faced.

You glanced up at him, catching the way he was looking at you, his expression soft but intense, as if he were silently willing you to let go of the weight you had been carrying for so long.

“I never wanted to be in this situation,” you said quietly, breaking the silence, your voice carrying the weight of everything unsaid up until this point. “But somehow, I ended up here. I don’t even know how to fix things with Seungmin anymore.”

Changbin squeezed your hand lightly, offering you a gentle smile. “You don’t have to fix everything right now. It’s okay to be uncertain. It’s okay to not have all the answers. I think you’ve been carrying the burden of that relationship for so long that you haven’t been able to see what you deserve outside of it. But whatever happens, I’m here for you, okay?”

The sincerity in his words wrapped around you like a warm blanket. You hadn’t realized how much you needed someone to tell you that it was okay to not have everything figured out, that you didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders alone. You had been so focused on trying to keep everything together, on being the strong one for Roan, for your family, that you hadn’t even given yourself permission to feel the depth of the hurt, the confusion, the loss.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath, but Changbin heard it. And that was enough.

For a long while, the two of you just sat there in comfortable silence, watching Roan and Yuna run back and forth across the playground. It felt like the world had, in some small way, started to right itself. Maybe not everything was fixed yet, but for the first time in a while, you could see the potential for it.

At some point, Roan and Yuna ran back to you, both of them breathless and flushed from all the running around. Roan immediately climbed up next to you, his small body pushing against yours as he asked for a sip of your water. You laughed softly, ruffling his hair and handing him the bottle.

“What were you two up to?” you asked, keeping your voice light, your mind momentarily distracted by the sight of Changbin’s easy smile as he chatted with Yuna about something funny that had happened while they were playing.

Roan took a long sip from the bottle before answering, “We were pretending to be superheroes! I was saving Yuna from the bad guys, and she was helping me stop them!” His eyes were wide with excitement, and for a moment, you just let yourself soak in his joy, feeling the weight of your earlier conversation lift just a little bit.

“Sounds like a good time,” you said, smiling at both of them.

As the afternoon wore on, you found yourself feeling a little lighter. The heaviness that had been in your chest wasn’t gone, but it felt less suffocating. You spent the rest of the time at the park talking to Changbin about random things, movies you’d loved, music you’d both forgotten about. Every now and then, Changbin’s eyes would flick to you, that soft, understanding look never leaving his face. You caught it once or twice, and it made your heart ache in a way you didn’t expect.

But you didn’t pull away. You let yourself feel it. The way he was there for you. How his friendship, his steady presence, made you feel like maybe you could take the next step forward, even if you weren’t sure exactly what that step was.

Eventually, the sun began to dip lower in the sky, and it was time to leave. Roan reluctantly agreed to head home, his energy starting to wane from all the running around. You packed up the blanket and snacks, your mind still wrapped in the thoughts of Seungmin, but also the subtle comfort of the moment you had shared with Changbin.

Life with Changbin was easy. Too easy, sometimes. You found yourself laughing more, smiling more, and just... feeling more than you had in a long time. It wasn’t that you were actively seeking a distraction, but it almost felt like everything that had been broken in your life was being patched up with something as simple as a few hours spent with him.

When he texted you, you felt that warm flutter in your chest. It was like a light breeze that made everything feel less heavy, less... suffocating. His jokes, corny as they were made you laugh like you hadn’t in years. And you knew it wasn’t just because of the jokes themselves. It was because of the way he looked at you when he said them, like you were the only one in the world who could possibly get how funny he was, even if his humor was a little goofy at times. And the way he smiled after making you laugh... it was like he was seeing you again, not just the person wrapped up in the struggles of life, but the person who had been buried under the weight of a marriage that had long lost its spark.

You tried not to think too much about it. Tried not to get caught up in the way he made you feel. Because you didn’t have feelings for him, right? That would be impossible. You were still married. You were still living in a home with Seungmin. You still had a son who needed stability. The idea of starting over, of letting go of everything you’d built even if it had been built on shaky ground felt too impossible to entertain.

But the more time you spent with Changbin, the more those lines blurred.

It was the way he noticed you in a way that no one else had. The way he’d listen to every word you said, paying attention to the smallest details, the things you thought no one else would care about. When you helped him with Yuna, making sure she was fed or entertained. It felt natural, like it was just something you were meant to do. And even more than that, Changbin would thank you in the most genuine way, making you feel like your efforts actually mattered. Every thank you, every smile he gave you made your chest tighten in ways you didn’t know you were capable of.

And when you realized he was taking time out of his own busy schedule to spend with you, even when it was just hanging out and talking about random things, it felt comforting. You found yourself looking forward to it. Waiting for his messages, his calls, and the next time you’d get to see him.

But here’s the thing. You didn’t have feelings for him, right?

You would try to convince yourself of that every time your heart skipped a beat when his name popped up on your phone. You would dismiss the way your stomach fluttered when he complimented you, or when he offered to drive you home from the grocery store just because he wanted to spend more time with you. You told yourself it was just friendship. That was all it was. You were still figuring things out with your marriage, still trying to keep everything together for Roan. Everything you had with Changbin was just a distraction, you thought. Nothing more.

But you couldn’t ignore how natural it felt when he was around. The way your conversations flowed effortlessly, the way you could talk to him about anything, even the things you didn’t feel comfortable sharing with anyone else. With him, you could be yourself in a way you hadn’t felt like you could be with anyone in a long time.

The simple truth was, it felt too good. It was too easy. You found yourself grinning every time you saw his name light up your screen. And yet, in the back of your mind, there was this nagging feeling, a voice reminding you that you still had a husband. A family to protect. A son who deserved a stable environment.

So, what was this? What was it that was pulling you towards him?

Maybe it was that, in all the chaos of the past months, he was the one thing that made sense. With Seungmin, everything was complicated, a mess of hurt feelings, betrayals, and unspoken words. With Changbin, it was simple. It was carefree. It was a reminder of who you used to be, the person who had felt loved and wanted, who had laughed without hesitation and smiled without second thoughts.

But you didn’t have feelings for him, right?

You told yourself that again. But this time, it didn’t feel as convincing. You had liked Changbin back then when you were in high school. But that was a long time ago. You were different now. You had a son, responsibilities. Your life was no longer about chasing feelings or fleeting moments of joy. Your life was about keeping things steady, for Roan’s sake, for Seungmin’s sake.

Yet, every time you saw Changbin, that line between friendship and something more seemed to blur just a little bit more. You found yourself wanting to stay in that moment, just a little longer. You didn’t want to leave when he dropped you off after dinner or when you’d walk out of a store and he’d offer to carry your bags for you. Those little gestures made you feel... special. Like maybe you hadn’t lost everything after all.

But you weren’t in love with him.

Right?

The sound of your phone buzzing in the dead of night made your heart leap, and for a brief second, you almost let it go to voicemail. It was late, and Seungmin never seemed to understand the boundaries of your new reality, calling you at odd hours of the night, pulling at strings you had carefully kept taut. You knew he’d probably just leave a message, something along the lines of “I’ll call in the morning.” But this time, something in you made you answer it. Maybe it was the guilt. Maybe it was the fact that despite everything, you still cared for him, and you didn’t want to cut him off entirely, even if that meant dealing with the same emotional tug-of-war that had been going on for months.

"Hello?" you said softly, your voice still rough from sleep.

The first thing he said, before even asking how you were, was, "I miss you."

Your throat tightened. You didn’t say anything, couldn’t bring yourself to. His voice had that familiar tone again, that soft vulnerability that used to make your heart ache in all the right ways, and yet now felt like a weight in your chest.

“I’m... I’m laying in bed,” Seungmin continued, his words dragging, like he was unsure of how to say what was on his mind. “The bed we used to share... I wish you’d come back. I miss you so much. And Roan, I miss him too.” His voice faltered, the emotional rawness unmistakable.

You could hear the rustling of sheets on his end, and then the quiet, barely-there sniffle that followed. It hit you harder than you thought it would. Despite all the hurt, despite what he did, you still felt for him. You wished you could hold onto the anger that had kept you steady, but in this moment, the hurt felt like it was leaking through the cracks.

“Are you okay?” he asked after a pause, as though he could sense something in your silence. You couldn’t lie to him. Not now, not after everything.

You didn’t answer immediately. Your mind was racing. Roan. Seungmin. Everything. You had to keep this together for Roan, but the weight of the past few months seemed to press down on your chest.

“I don’t know,” you finally answered softly, your voice distant. “I still don’t know how I feel about being around you.”

“I understand,” Seungmin said, his tone quieter now, almost apologetic. “I just... it’s been unbearable not having you here, not having you around. I miss coming home to you after work, seeing you and Roan. I don’t know how to do this without you.”

The words burned. You wished you could say it didn’t matter, that it was his own fault, that you had every right to shut him out and leave everything in the past. But the truth was, there was still a part of you, however small that ached for what had been lost. You couldn’t help it.

“Well,” you said, unable to keep the bitterness from creeping in, “I’m surprised you’re not keeping her there while I’m gone.”

There was a long pause on the other end. A tense, uncomfortable silence. You could practically hear him swallowing his pride.

“She’s not staying with me,” he finally said, his voice tight, like he was trying to hold back his emotions. “It was just a one-time thing. Please, can we just... let it go already?”

Let it go? How could you? How could you let it go when everything you thought was solid and permanent had been shattered in a matter of weeks? He had let you down. He had let both of you down. But despite everything, you could feel the temptation, the pull to forgive him. To believe that this could be fixed, that the person who had once loved you with so much intensity could still be there.

You let the silence linger. "It’s only been a few months," you said softly. "How am I supposed to let that go when you’ve been with her for who knows how long?"

“I understand,” Seungmin replied quietly. “But I’m telling you, it was a mistake. It didn’t mean anything.”

You didn’t say anything after that. It felt like the same old circular conversation you’d been having for months now. You both had been here before. Neither of you seemed to be getting anywhere.

Then, Seungmin brought up something that stopped you in your tracks. “I was thinking about coming over,” he said, his voice hopeful. “Maybe we can talk. For Roan’s birthday coming up. I don’t want to miss it.”

You immediately felt a knot in your stomach. The thought of him coming over again, especially with everything still so raw felt like the worst idea imaginable. You’d barely made it through the last few weeks without breaking. The idea of facing him in your parents’ house, knowing how much time you’d been spending with Changbin lately, was a mess waiting to happen. You didn’t want to deal with that. But at the same time, you knew he had every right to want to be there for Roan, especially if his son had been asking about him.

You sighed, long and drawn-out, before speaking. “I... I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to come over. Things are still... complicated.”

“I know,” he said quickly. “But it’s for Roan. I promise. I just want to see him. Please.”

You thought about it, your mind running through all the possible scenarios. Your heart wasn’t ready for the confrontation it would bring, but you also didn’t want Roan to feel caught in the middle of it. You sighed again, this time more reluctantly. “Okay. Fine. But it’s only for Roan. Nothing more.”

Seungmin’s voice brightened at that, and for a brief moment, you could almost feel his relief through the phone. “Thank you. I’ll be on the road first thing tomorrow.”

You didn’t respond, only nodded as if he could see you. Your thoughts were a whirlwind, but you managed to keep your voice steady as you said, “Okay. We’ll talk soon.”

You hung up, your finger lingering on the screen before finally setting the phone down. It felt like everything was spiraling again. A part of you wanted to stay angry. You wanted to keep your distance. But another part, the part that still loved him just wanted peace. And that made everything feel even more confusing.

But in the end, no matter what you told yourself, you still didn’t know what you wanted.

Seungmin’s arrival that morning had an almost surreal quality to it, as if the events of the past few weeks hadn’t happened at all. The door swung open with a soft creak, and before you could even react, Roan’s excited voice echoed through the hallway, “Dad!”

Your son came running, his small feet slapping against the hardwood floors, his eyes wide with disbelief and joy. He didn’t know Seungmin was coming, and when your father opened the door, Roan practically flew into Seungmin’s arms, as though no time had passed at all.

Seungmin caught him easily, pulling him in close, his face breaking into that familiar, soft smile that always seemed to melt away the stress of the day. Roan wrapped his little arms around Seungmin’s neck, pressing his face into his father’s shoulder. You could see the emotion in Seungmin’s eyes, how much he’d missed Roan. And despite the anger, the hurt, the chaos swirling in your own chest, you couldn’t deny it. Seungmin loved Roan. That was undeniable.

Your chest tightened as you watched the tender moment unfold. It hurt. It hurt in ways you couldn’t put into words. You had been through so much so much that you weren’t even sure if there was any way back to where you once were. But Roan was always at the heart of it, wasn’t he? He deserved this, to have his father in his life, to feel that love, even if everything between you and Seungmin had become so fractured.

Your mom greeted Seungmin with an excited smile, giving him a quick hug. Your dad followed suit, a warm handshake followed by a slap on the back, as if this was just another visit, another day when nothing had changed. As though everything was still fine.

Then, Seungmin turned to you.

For a moment, there was hesitation in his eyes. You could see him searching your face, trying to gauge your reaction. And then, without a word, he pulled you into a hug. You didn’t pull away. It wasn’t that you wanted him to hold you, but the guilt of pushing him away in front of your parents weighed on you. You didn’t want to make a scene not now, not in front of them.

So you held him back. Just for a second. It was stiff, forced, but you allowed the hug. He kissed your temple softly, his lips lingering for a moment longer than they should have, and you felt the old ache stir in your chest, the one that had never truly faded.

But that wasn’t enough to erase the anger and betrayal. Not by a long shot.

By the time the evening came, you were exhausted, mentally, emotionally. Roan was finally in bed, tucked in with his favorite stuffed animal, and your parents had gone out for a wine night with some of their old friends. The house felt quieter now, the calm before the storm.

Seungmin and you were left alone, with nothing but the thick, unsettled air hanging between you. You sat in the living room, the TV playing softly in the background, but you couldn’t focus on anything. Not the shows, not the quiet hum of the house. All you could focus on was him. Seungmin.

He reached for your hand, the gesture slow, almost tentative, as if he wasn’t sure if you would pull away. But you didn’t. You let him take your hand, and when he pulled it gently to his lap, he reached into his pocket and pulled out something that made your heart drop.

The wedding ring. The one you had left at home, the one you hadn’t worn since the night you packed your things and left.

“Seungmin, no,” you whispered, your voice shaky.

But he ignored your words and carefully slid it onto your finger. You stared at the ring, feeling the cold metal settle into place, and it was like your entire past came rushing back at once the promises, the dreams, the life you thought you’d built together.

You tried to pull your hand away, but he held it there, not roughly, but firmly. You didn’t want to wear it. You didn’t want to be reminded of everything you were still struggling to let go of. But his grip softened as he looked up at you, his expression raw.

“Please don’t take it off,” he said quietly. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make things right.”

You swallowed hard, the anger rising in your chest, but you fought to keep it at bay. “What does that even mean, Seungmin?” Your voice cracked slightly. “What does ‘making things right’ look like? Because right now, just looking at you makes me angry. Every time I look at you, I see her. I hear her name in my head, and it makes me sick.”

Seungmin’s eyes softened, his hand shifting to lift your chin, gently but firmly, so you had to meet his gaze. He didn’t let go of your hand, the warmth of his palm grounding you in a way that felt so intimate, so familiar.

“Look at me,” he said softly, almost a whisper. “Really look at me.”

You didn’t want to. You didn’t want to give him that. But you did. You looked into his eyes, and for a moment, you saw the man you used to love. The one who had stood by you when everything seemed impossible. The one who had held you when you cried, the one who promised you forever.

His thumb gently brushed away a stray tear that had fallen down your cheek, and he took a deep breath. “I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. I hurt Roan. But please, don’t shut me out completely. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything I’ve done.”

The words were like a balm to a wound that had never fully healed. You wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe that he could fix everything, that the man in front of you wasn’t the same one who had betrayed you.

But then, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours softly. It was gentle at first, the kind of kiss that spoke more of longing than of passion. But it lingered. And it hurt. You hadn’t realized how badly you missed his touch until you felt it again. The warmth of him, the closeness you hadn’t had in so long.

Your heart pounded, conflicting emotions swirling inside you. You wanted to pull away, to stop the kiss, to remind him of the pain he’d caused, but something held you there. Something you couldn’t quite define.

When the kiss ended, he didn’t pull away right away. His forehead rested against yours, and his voice was barely above a whisper.

“Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. Just please... don’t walk away from me completely.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. Everything in your body screamed that you couldn’t forgive him, that you couldn’t go back to the way things were. But another part of you, one that still ached for the life you once had with him, wanted so desperately to believe that you could make it work.

But you didn’t know if you could.

“I don’t know what to do, Seungmin,” you said quietly, your voice shaking. “I don’t know if we can fix this. I’m so tired of being hurt by you. I don’t know if I can forget.”

Seungmin didn’t pull away, didn’t argue. He simply held you, his hands gentle on your shoulders, as if he was waiting for you to make the decision for both of you. He didn’t press. He didn’t beg. He just stayed there, waiting for you to decide.

And in that moment, you realized that you were at a crossroads. Your heart was torn between the life you had built and the possibility of something new, something that you weren’t sure you were ready for. You didn’t know if you could ever truly forgive Seungmin for what he’d done. But you didn’t know if you could keep running from him, either.

You pulled away slightly, looking up at him one last time before saying, “I need time, Seungmin. I need more time.”

He nodded, his face softening with understanding. "I’ll wait. As long as you need."

And you didn’t know how long that would be. But for the first time in months, you felt like you had time. Time to figure things out. Time to make the decisions you needed to make.

What came next was uncertain. But for the first time in a while, you felt like you had the space to breathe.

-

The night passed quietly, and despite Seungmin sleeping so close to you, it was a strange kind of tension that filled the space between you two. It wasn’t the same as it once was, the comfort you used to find in his presence. You both respected the silence and the space that now existed, and yet, there was a subtle tension that reminded you of everything that had happened the betrayals, the hurt, and the unresolved feelings. Seungmin didn’t try to hold you or pull you closer. He simply slept close, not intruding, but not exactly distant either. It was almost like a truce, a fragile attempt to bridge the gap between the two of you without truly addressing the distance that had grown in your relationship.

It was almost too quiet. The kind of quiet that made everything louder. Your thoughts. The memories. The pain.

You didn't sleep soundly, tossing and turning for hours as the weight of your emotions lingered. Every time your mind would start to settle, you’d remember something new, something you hadn't processed yet whether it was a memory of Seungmin before everything fell apart or the unexpected closeness you felt with Changbin, the one who made you feel like you could breathe again.

But you couldn’t let yourself think too much about Changbin. Not now. Not with Seungmin here, trying to make his way back into your life.

-

When you woke up, Seungmin was already downstairs, most likely with your parents or spending time with Roan. You were grateful for the space, the chance to take a breath without feeling the weight of him looming over you. You stretched, trying to push back the thoughts that wanted to swarm, but it wasn’t easy. You needed to talk to someone. You needed to hear a familiar voice.

The buzz of your phone broke your concentration, and when you saw Changbin’s name flashing on the screen, your heart gave a little flutter. You hesitated for just a second before answering.

"Hello?" You tried to sound normal, though there was an unspoken layer of tension hanging in your words.

Changbin's voice came through the speaker, warm and comforting as always. "Hey, you up? You wanna do something today?" He sounded casual, like he was just checking in, but there was a slight edge of anticipation that made you pause.

For a brief moment, you felt a flutter of hope, a momentary feeling that you could escape everything that was happening in your life just by being with him. But then reality hit. Seungmin was here.

You sighed softly, feeling the weight of the situation. "Seungmin's actually here. He arrived yesterday morning," you said, trying to keep it light, though you could feel the disappointment creeping into your voice.

There was a long pause on the other end. Changbin’s usual upbeat tone faded, replaced by a soft hum. The sound of disappointment was subtle, but it was there. "Ah," he said, his voice quieter than usual. "I see."

You knew he wasn’t thrilled about the situation. Changbin had been there for you in ways Seungmin hadn’t been in months. But still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that telling Changbin about Seungmin’s sudden reappearance would change things between you two. You didn’t want to push him away.

You quickly tried to change the subject, to salvage what was left of the conversation. "You know, Yuna mentioned wanting to go dress shopping with me recently. I promised her I’d go. And maybe you could hang out with Roan, do some boy stuff together while Yuna and I do that. I’m sure he’d love that."

But before you could say anything more, Changbin cut you off, the disappointment heavy in his voice. "Actually, I just remembered I have something come up. I... I gotta go." His tone had shifted, and you could tell he was trying to keep his words neutral, but there was a tightness there that wasn’t normal for him.

You blinked, feeling a pang of confusion and hurt in your chest. "Oh," was all you could say. You had been expecting something different, perhaps a little more understanding or at least some reassurance that it was okay. But that wasn’t what you got.

"Yeah, sorry. I gotta go," he said, and before you could respond, the line went quiet. The call ended abruptly, leaving you holding your phone in the middle of your room, feeling strangely abandoned.

You stared at the screen for a moment, your heart sinking. That was... different. Changbin had never ended a conversation like that before. He’d always been patient, always made sure you had the last word, always seemed so willing to spend time with you no matter what was going on. But today was different.

You sat down on the edge of your bed, replaying the conversation in your head. Was it something you’d said? Something you hadn’t said? The disappointment in his voice had been unmistakable, and the suddenness of his departure from the conversation stung more than you cared to admit.

Maybe he was just trying to give you space, he knew Seungmin was around, and maybe he didn’t want to make things more complicated. But the sudden shift in tone made you wonder if there was more to it, something you weren’t seeing.

You didn’t know what to make of it. You had spent the last few weeks leaning on Changbin, allowing yourself to laugh, to forget for a moment about all the hurt surrounding you. He had become this unexpected source of warmth, a reminder that not everything in your life was broken. But now, his abrupt departure from the conversation left you questioning where you stood with him, too.

You shook your head, trying to clear your mind. You couldn’t focus on this now. You had too many other things going on. Too many things to figure out.

But as you got up and walked toward the door, heading down to join Seungmin and your parents, the weight of the conversation lingered in the back of your mind. Something had shifted with Changbin, and you weren’t sure if it was something you could fix.

Changbin had been in denial for weeks, pushing down his feelings as best as he could. At first, it had been easier, he told himself that what he was feeling toward you was just sympathy, maybe a lingering sense of care for someone he had always been close to. After all, you and Seungmin were married, and despite everything that had gone wrong between you two, he couldn’t have possibly seen you as anything more than a friend. His heart had already been through too much, and he didn’t think he was ready for anything more.

But then, the last time he saw you, something shifted. He had been watching you laugh, the sound so familiar and comforting, yet different in a way. It wasn’t like before, there was more lightness, more joy in your voice than he had heard in years. The way you had made him laugh, teasing him like you used to back in school, brought back a flood of memories. You were the same person he had once been hopelessly in love with, but time had changed both of you.

That was when he realized it. He had feelings for you again. And not just a little crush either, but something deeper. Something that terrified him.

It had been the first time in years that he allowed himself to feel something for someone other than Sua. His wife, Sua, who had passed away two years ago, and after her death, Changbin had completely shut himself off from the possibility of loving anyone else. He had convinced himself that he would never be able to love anyone like he loved her. That maybe the kind of love he shared with her was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. He had grieved deeply, and his heart had healed in its own time, but the scars were still there. He wasn’t sure if he could open up to someone new without betraying the love he had for Sua.

But then there was you, someone he had known intimately in a past life, someone who had been with him through his teenage years. He had seen you go through so much Seungmin’s betrayal, your struggles, the hurt that still haunted you. He wanted to be there for you in a way he hadn’t been before, but somewhere along the way, the friendship turned into something more.

When you had called him earlier that morning and mentioned Seungmin, it hit him harder than he expected. A tight knot twisted in his stomach. He tried to keep his voice neutral, but inside, something dark stirred a mix of frustration, jealousy, and fear. The thought of you still being so close to Seungmin, still entangled in your past, ignited a deep sense of possessiveness. He had told himself it wasn’t his place to feel this way, but hearing Seungmin’s name, Seungmin, the man who had hurt you, the man who had been the reason for so much of your pain felt like a slap to his chest.

He had been so careful, keeping his feelings to himself, pushing the idea of a future with you aside, but hearing that Seungmin was there, staying with you… it felt like a betrayal, even though he knew it wasn’t. You and Seungmin shared history, a history that Changbin wasn’t a part of, no matter how much he wanted to be. It made him feel small, like an outsider who didn’t belong in the picture anymore.

The moment you mentioned Seungmin’s arrival, Changbin’s chest tightened. He couldn’t keep the disappointment from leaking into his voice. “Ah, I see,” he said, his words soft, almost like he was trying to mask the hurt he was feeling. He had told himself over and over that he wasn’t entitled to your time, that you had every right to make your own decisions, but hearing you talk about Seungmin made him feel like he was losing you, even if you weren’t technically his. It wasn’t just that he was jealous, it was the painful reminder that Seungmin had been your past, and no matter what Changbin felt, he would always be a part of your story.

When you tried to salvage the conversation, suggesting you could still hang out later, Changbin’s mind raced. But the thought of spending the day with you while Seungmin was around felt wrong. It wasn’t just the jealousy, it was the fear that maybe he was too late. Maybe you had already moved on, maybe you still needed Seungmin. And what was he supposed to do with that? He couldn’t compete him, no matter how much he wanted to.

And then, when you mentioned your plans with Yuna, the disappointment hit again. Changbin felt this sharp pang in his chest, this deep sense of frustration with himself. He had been so certain that today could be the day when things felt different, when he could spend time with you, laugh with you, maybe even though he hated to admit it, confess to you how he felt. But now, everything felt out of reach. He couldn’t get a clear moment with you without Seungmin standing in the background, hovering over everything. It was suffocating.

“Actually, I just remembered I have something come up,” he said quickly, almost like he was trying to justify his decision to pull away. He didn’t want to hear himself say it, but the words came out anyway. “I gotta go.”

He hung up before you could say anything else. He didn’t want to hear your voice in that moment, didn’t want to hear you try to make it better. The truth was, he was afraid. Afraid that his feelings for you would never be returned, and that all he was doing was hurting both of you by being around. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with his emotions, and he didn’t know how to even start a conversation about it without ruining everything.

He paced around his apartment, trying to calm himself down. The jealousy, the confusion, it all spiraled. He didn’t want to lose you. He didn’t want to be the guy who stood by and watched while someone else had your heart, but at the same time, he couldn’t push you too hard. You needed space. You were still navigating the wreckage of your marriage, and he wasn’t going to be the one to force you into something you weren’t ready for.

But the thing about Changbin was that he’d always been one to act on impulse, to dive headfirst into the things he cared about. And despite all his fears, he knew one thing for sure, he couldn’t just walk away from you now. The feelings he had were real, and they weren’t going away.

That night, as he sat in his apartment, he stared at his phone for a long time, wondering if he should call you back, wondering if there was any chance for the two of you. He had never been this uncertain before, his heart and his mind at war with each other. What would he do next? Would he try again to be a part of your life, even if Seungmin was there?

He didn’t know, but he knew one thing, he wasn’t ready to let go of you. Not yet.

Seungmin was never the type to make grand gestures. He wasn’t the kind of man to chase after someone or beg for forgiveness with tearful eyes and flowery words. He had always been pragmatic, calm, and a little reserved when it came to matters of the heart. But this, this was different. The reality of the situation, the hurt he had caused you, had cracked something inside him that he hadn’t expected. It wasn’t just about him wanting to fix things for himself anymore. He wanted to fix things for you, for your family, for Roan.

When he arrived back at your parents’ house that morning, a part of him still felt like he was walking on eggshells. His chest had tightened as soon as he saw you, the discomfort in your eyes unmistakable, but what hit him the hardest was the cold distance between the two of you. That had been a wall he had built himself, and now that it was there, he wasn’t sure how to break it down.

But he was trying.

He had to try.

Over the past few weeks, after you left and he stayed in your once shared home, Seungmin had spent sleepless nights replaying everything in his head. The mistakes. The lies. The things he had told himself to justify his actions. The distance between you two, even after everything he did, had never felt so suffocating. It wasn’t just about being away from you, it was about the family he had broken. The life he had destroyed by being selfish.

The realization came when he woke up one morning, staring at the empty space next to him in bed, the weight of his choices bearing down on him. He had been too focused on his own needs and desires, too caught up in what he wanted in the moment, to see the bigger picture. He hadn’t seen how much it hurt you, how much it had affected Roan.

For weeks, Seungmin had convinced himself that you just needed time. That, eventually, you would come around, that the time apart would heal things. But that realization was a punch to the gut. He had to do something, something more than just waiting around and hoping you’d forgive him. He had to show you that he was willing to change, that he was ready to be the man you needed, not just the one he thought you needed.

That’s when he made the decision to come back.

When he knocked on your parents' door and saw Roan running toward him with his arms wide open, his heart cracked a little bit. Roan’s warm embrace, his innocent excitement to see his dad, felt like a slap in the face to Seungmin. He had been so lost in his own guilt, his own shame, that he had almost forgotten about what truly mattered the love his son had for him, the unspoken bond they shared.

Seungmin needed to do right by that.

He smiled as he held Roan tight, but the smile quickly faded as he looked at you. There you were, standing in the background, watching him closely. You looked… different. Stronger, perhaps. But there was still a tenderness in your eyes, an old familiarity that made his heart ache.

He greeted your parents, tried to appear casual, as though he hadn’t just barged back into your life after everything that happened. Your mom greeted him warmly, but there was a trace of hesitation in her eyes. Your dad shook his hand, but there was no attempt to hide the discomfort in his stance. They both said all the right things, but the underlying tension in the air was palpable.

Later that evening, when Roan had gone to bed and your parents had left to visit some friends, Seungmin took his chance. He wasn’t going to let this moment slip by.

He sat down next to you, the air thick with the words left unspoken between the two of you. He reached for your hand, hesitating for a moment before gently brushing your fingers with his.

"I’ve made so many mistakes," he said, his voice quieter than usual, but full of sincerity. "I know I’ve hurt you, and I don’t expect you to forgive me just like that. I just… I need you to know that I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make this right. I can’t lose you, and I can’t lose Roan."

You didn’t pull away when he touched your hand, but you didn’t move closer either. You sat there, silent, processing his words. The wedding ring he had brought with him glinted in the light, and he slid it onto your finger gently, as though asking permission without asking for it.

You stared at it, not sure what to do. The weight of it, the weight of everything between you two, felt so heavy. Seungmin’s eyes searched yours, almost pleading, and for a moment, you almost wanted to believe him. You wanted to believe that he could be the man he promised to be. That he could make things right for Roan. For your family.

But there was still that sharp, raw pain at the center of it all. You still couldn’t erase the image of him with her, the betrayal, the lies. The way he had moved on so easily, as though nothing had ever been wrong between you two.

And still, you didn’t push him away. Maybe because you weren’t sure if you were ready to either accept or deny what he was offering. You didn’t know what the next step would be, but in that moment, you felt an old piece of your heart, the part that had loved Seungmin fiercely, that had trusted him with everything you had, start to stir again.

“I don’t know how to do this anymore,” you whispered, your voice breaking as you spoke the truth that had been buried for so long. “I don’t know how to be with you, Seungmin. I don’t know if we can go back to what we had before.”

His hand remained in yours, warm and gentle. “I’m not asking for everything to go back to the way it was,” he said, his thumb running along your knuckles. “I just want a chance. A real chance to show you that I can be the man you need me to be. The man I should have been all along.”

You looked at him, really looked at him, seeing the vulnerability in his eyes, the same vulnerability that he had hidden for so long. Maybe you could believe him. Maybe, in time, he would prove that he meant every word.

But then, just as quickly as the hope flickered in your chest, doubt filled its place again. Could you let go of everything, everything he had put you through and trust him again?

And just like that, with everything weighing heavily on both of you, Seungmin leaned in. His lips brushed against your forehead first, soft and tender, before he gently kissed your lips.

It wasn’t a passionate kiss, nor was it full of desire. It was a kiss filled with longing and regret, one that carried with it all the unspoken promises that had been left unsaid for too long.

And in that moment, you realized that things weren’t going to be easy. There would be days where you’d feel confused, where you’d question what the right thing to do was. But for now, you allowed yourself to believe that, maybe, just maybe Seungmin was doing everything he could to make things right.

But would it be enough?

Changbin had been a storm of conflicting emotions ever since he heard that Seungmin was back in the picture. At first, he had tried to brush it off, to keep his distance from you so he wouldn’t get too attached, especially when things between you and Seungmin were still so unresolved. But there was something in the way your voice had faltered when you talked about him, something that made Changbin wonder if you were letting yourself slip back into a relationship that had caused you so much pain. He hated the idea of it. He hated how your pain seemed to disappear whenever Seungmin was around, even though deep down, Changbin knew it wasn’t that simple.

Still, he’d kept his distance. He convinced himself it was for the best, he couldn’t risk being the guy who made things messier for you, who stood in the way of your family’s attempts to piece itself back together. But seeing you so quietly accepting of Seungmin’s return, even when you were still hurting, made something inside him twist uncomfortably.

Why should you let him back in so easily? Changbin thought. After everything he did, after all the lies, after hurting you so badly, why let him waltz back into your life like it was nothing?

It wasn’t just about Seungmin’s return, it was about the way he felt for you. The way he couldn’t stop thinking about you when you laughed, when you smiled, when you’d pick up little things for Yuna and Roan, your soft touch, the quiet moments that seemed to stitch the fractured pieces of his heart back together. It was about the tenderness he had developed for you over the past few weeks, the moments when you’d sit together, letting go of the world around you. And it was all crumbling now, slipping through his fingers, because of that damn wedding ring.

Changbin didn’t know why it stung so much, but when he saw it sitting on your finger as you adjusted your hair that morning, it felt like his chest was being crushed in a vice.

His breath caught in his throat as his eyes focused on the ring, the ring he hadn’t seen on your finger yet not even when he reconnected with you. The one that symbolized all the promises you had made to Seungmin, the life you had shared, the family you had created together. It was still there. And it hurt. It hurt to know that no matter how close he got to you, no matter how much time he spent trying to help you heal from the pain Seungmin had caused, he wasn’t the one who held that promise.

For a brief moment, Changbin had considered walking away pretending he didn’t care, pretending he wasn’t feeling the suffocating weight of his own jealousy. But the truth was, he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t lie to himself. He couldn’t act like the wound in his chest wasn’t there.

You’d been through so much already, and here he was, having a hard time even standing near you when the man who had hurt you so badly was back, effortlessly sliding back into your life. That wedding ring felt like an anchor, dragging him down into a pit of confusion and self-doubt.

When you approached him, he forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He turned slightly, making sure to keep his distance, pretending that he wasn’t affected.

“Hey,” you said, a little hesitantly. “Are you okay? I haven’t heard from you since… well, since that phone call.”

Changbin gave a tight-lipped smile, his mind racing. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just been busy, y’know.” He shrugged, trying to make it seem casual. He tried to avoid looking at your hand, but his gaze betrayed him. There it was again, the wedding ring.

He felt his throat tighten.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” you continued, oblivious to the storm brewing inside him. “Are you up for doing something soon? You know. I promised Yuna I’d take her shopping for dresses. Roan’s been telling me that she’s been talking about it nonstop.”

Changbin nodded automatically. He had no intention of ignoring you. It wasn’t that. He just needed to sort through this mess in his mind first. “Yeah, that sounds great,” he said, though his voice felt distant, not quite as bright as it usually did.

You fixed your hair absentmindedly, and that’s when he saw it again, the ring. The diamond glinting faintly in the morning sun, making it hard for him to focus on anything else. That damn ring.

For a moment, he just stood there, staring at it, fighting the overwhelming urge to rip it off your finger, to scream at you for not protecting yourself, for not protecting your heart. He had no right to be angry. He knew that. But his chest was tight with something he couldn’t name, something that felt dangerously close to resentment.

You looked up at him and noticed the way his expression had shifted, a flash of something unreadable in his eyes.

“Changbin?” you said softly, stepping closer to him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

He clenched his jaw and nodded, refusing to let his emotions spill out. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.”

Your smile faltered slightly, and you looked at him with concern. He could see it in your eyes, the curiosity, the worry. You weren’t buying it. But he didn’t know how to explain it to you, not without sounding petty and selfish. Not without admitting how much it hurt to see you wearing that ring.

So he did what he always did when things got too complicated, he turned away. He kept his distance.

“I’ve gotta get going,” he said quickly. “But, uh… yeah. I’ll talk to you later.”

Without waiting for a response, Changbin quickly turned on his heel and headed in the opposite direction. He had to get away from you. He had to process this. Because if he didn’t, he might do something he’d regret. Something that would only make everything worse.

He didn’t want to lose you again, not to Seungmin, not to anyone. But he wasn’t sure if he could keep pretending that he was okay with standing in the shadow of a wedding ring that wasn’t his.

Seungmin’s return to your life had been, at best, confusing. But if you were being honest with yourself, you couldn't help but notice the effort he was putting in, even if it didn’t erase the hurt, the betrayal, or the cracks that ran deep. He was trying, and for the first time in a while, it wasn’t just about him. It wasn’t about his comfort or his needs, it was about you, about us, or at least, the remnants of what that was supposed to be.

It wasn’t like it was perfect, far from it. But Seungmin seemed to be realizing, bit by bit, that just saying he was sorry wasn’t going to be enough. He couldn’t just expect you to forgive him, and, for the first time, he was showing that he understood that. That realization, that effort, was enough to keep you tethered to the idea of trying, of giving him a second chance, or even just the space to prove that he was different now.

At first, it felt like he was just trying to go through the motions, just doing what he thought he needed to do to win you back. He brought you coffee in the morning, remembering your exact order, just like he used to. He'd offer little, thoughtful gestures like picking up your favorite snacks from the grocery store or asking if you needed help with anything when he knew you had a busy day ahead. It was almost like he was trying to show you that he could still be the person you had once relied on.

But there were other moments, more subtle ones, where you saw a shift. He’d try to engage in conversations with Roan, or ask if you needed help with something around the house, even if it was the last thing he wanted to do. He’d ask how you were feeling, not in a casual way, but with real concern like he genuinely cared. The way he’d look at you sometimes, with a mixture of apology and longing, made your heart twist.

You hadn’t seen that look in a long time.

It was in the little things too. Like how he started making sure you were included when he was talking about future plans, something he used to exclude you from. It was like he was starting to remember what it was like when you were a team, when everything wasn’t so fractured and distant. When he asked if you wanted to go out for lunch, he didn’t just suggest places that were convenient for him, he picked ones you’d always liked, places that held memories from when things were simpler between you two. He even asked if you wanted to go for a walk in the park, something you used to do when you first started dating.

And then, there were moments when he would genuinely listen, and not just for the sake of listening, but because he wanted to know how you felt, wanted to know if things were okay between the two of you. His eyes would soften when you spoke, like he was processing everything you said, really hearing it. He wasn’t rushing to make things better, or to jump in with excuses, he was just… present. It wasn’t like the Seungmin you had known, the one who’d always tried to fix things quickly with humor or with grand gestures. This version of him wasn’t rushing anything; he was just trying to make sure you knew that you were seen and that you were heard.

You had to admit, even though it made you uncomfortable at times, it made you feel something you hadn’t felt in a long while. It made you feel important again, like you were his priority. That was a feeling that used to come so naturally between you two, but over time, had eroded. The years of work, the growing distance between you two as his distractions took over, it was hard not to feel like an afterthought. But now, in the quieter moments, you could see that he was trying to change that.

There were also moments when he was more physically present. He didn’t just hover; he’d do small things, like picking up Roan from school, offering to help out around the house, or just making sure you didn’t feel alone. When the weather got cold, he’d wrap an extra scarf around your neck before you could even think to grab one, like the old Seungmin who had always worried about you getting sick. When Roan’s homework was difficult, he’d patiently sit beside him and explain it, not even looking at his phone as he usually did.

But the most telling sign was how he interacted with you. In the rare moments when it was just the two of you, when the house was quiet and Roan had gone to bed, Seungmin would sit across from you, his gaze lingering on you a little too long, almost like he was trying to read you. His smile was softer, less rushed, as if he was savoring the fact that you were still there. And for the first time in a while, you could see how much he wanted to make it right. He didn’t just want you back for himself, he wanted you back because he realized what you meant to him, what he’d been too blind to appreciate until now.

You didn’t know how you felt about him, not fully. There were still too many scars. Too many pieces of your heart that were still cracked, still raw. But, somehow, his small efforts, his attempts to rebuild trust were making it difficult for you to completely shut him out. It wasn’t the same. It was never going to be the same. But for the first time, you saw a glimmer of hope, a chance that he might truly be trying to be the man he had failed to be before.

Still, the confusion lingered. How could you forgive him for everything? How could you let go of the pain, the betrayal, when the memories of everything he’d put you through were still so fresh in your mind?

But as Seungmin held Roan close, as he cared for you in the way he knew how, as he showed you, not just told you that he was trying, the doubt started to fade a little. Maybe it was a beginning. Maybe, with time, this could work. Or maybe you were just allowing yourself to hope for something that couldn’t be fixed. It was too soon to know.

But you couldn’t deny that, for the first time in months, you were allowing yourself to consider the possibility of forgiveness. Not for him, necessarily, but for you. Because at the end of the day, it wasn’t just about whether Seungmin deserved it. It was about whether you deserved to heal.

-

When you heard the buzz of your phone, your heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t like you had been expecting to hear from him. After all, the last time you spoke, things had been… well, different. Awkward. You weren’t sure where things stood anymore. And yet, when you saw Changbin’s name on the screen, your thumb moved before your brain could process what was happening. You picked up the phone, trying to mask your nervousness with an air of indifference. It wasn’t easy, but you tried. You didn’t want him to know how much his voice affected you, how it had always affected you.

"Hey," you answered, trying to keep your tone casual, even though you were anything but.

He greeted you warmly, his voice sounding as comforting as it always did, but there was an undercurrent of something you couldn’t place. “How have you been?” he asked, his words soft but genuine.

You paused, thinking about your answer. You could lie and say you were fine, but was that really fair to either of you? Instead, you settled for, “I’m okay.” It wasn’t the truth, not entirely, but it was the answer that didn’t invite too many questions.

“How’s Roan?” Changbin asked next, his voice filled with the same warmth. You could hear the concern in it, and it made your chest tighten a little.

“He’s good, keeping busy with school and his friends.” You didn’t elaborate on the way Roan had been dealing with things, the times he’d asked about his dad or when he talked about how much he missed things being ‘normal.’ You didn’t want to bring any of that up now, not when the conversation was so casual.

“That's good," Changbin said. You could feel a slight pause, like he was taking a deep breath before continuing. “Yuna misses you, you know. She says she only gets to see you at pick-up nowadays. She’s been asking if you and Roan could hang out more, maybe have another playdate. She misses hanging out with you.”

The mention of Yuna made a lump form in your throat. You did miss her, miss the simplicity of the moments you’d shared, before everything had become so complicated. Before life had gotten in the way of your friendship.

You smiled, genuinely, as you thought of the little girl who’d stolen your heart in the most unexpected way. “I miss her too,” you said, and you meant it. “And I miss you, Changbin. It’s been a while.”

You heard a soft sigh from the other end of the phone, and it sounded so much like a mixture of relief and longing that it made your stomach flutter in a way you weren’t prepared for. He didn’t respond right away, but you could tell something was weighing on his mind. He seemed hesitant to speak, and that only made you more curious.

“I wasn’t gonna call,” Changbin said suddenly, his voice a little quieter, almost like he was trying to hide something. “But Yuna’s been talking about you a lot, and I guess I miss seeing you guys too. It just... it’s been a while, and I know things have been... complicated, with everything.” There was that weight again, that familiar heaviness in his tone, like he was trying to tread lightly but couldn't hide the depth of his feelings.

The words “complicated with everything” hit you harder than you expected. That phrase alone summed up everything you’d been going through. It felt like a lifetime ago when everything had been simple between you, Changbin, and your little world. And now? Now it was all a tangled mess of emotions, regrets, and… choices.

“I know, I know…” you started, but you didn’t really know what to say after that. You wanted to explain the mess that had become your life since Seungmin came back, but what good would it do? Changbin didn’t need the details.

But he wasn’t letting the silence settle between you two. His voice came back, a little more hesitant this time, like he was trying to figure out how to phrase what was on his mind.

“Well, I don’t know if you’re busy with Seungmin or what,” Changbin said before trailing off. The mention of Seungmin hit you harder than it should have, and you could hear it in his voice, the quiet edge of jealousy that he hadn’t quite been able to suppress. You knew what he meant, what he was trying to ask without saying it outright. Were you back with Seungmin?

You frowned, your mind suddenly racing. You didn’t understand why he would even bring Seungmin up now, after everything. You had mentioned to Changbin that you and Seungmin were working through things, that you were trying to find some kind of stability for Roan, but it felt like that wasn’t what Changbin needed to hear. It was like he was looking for something different something more, something you weren’t sure you could give him.

Before you could say anything, Changbin continued, his voice awkward and strained, “I didn’t mean to bring up Seungmin like that... It just slipped out. What I meant was, if you’re not too busy, if you have time, maybe you, Roan, and Yuna could hang out with me sometime soon. I—uh, I miss spending time with you, with all of you.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. The words "I miss spending time with you" felt like a punch to the gut. You hadn’t realized just how much you’d missed him, how much he had come to mean to you, until that very moment.

But still, the whole situation felt too complicated. He was asking you to hang out like it was the simplest thing in the world, but for you, it wasn’t simple. Not when you were trying to sort out your life, your feelings, and your priorities. You couldn’t just pretend everything was fine. It wasn’t.

“I’m not sure when, Changbin,” you said slowly, carefully, “but I promise I’ll try to find time. I think Yuna deserves that.”

He didn’t push you. There was a quiet pause before he let out a breath, something between frustration and relief. “Yeah, of course,” he said softly. “I get it. Just... just let me know when you’re free.”

You wanted to tell him you were sorry for not making things easier, for making everything more difficult than it needed to be, but you didn’t. There was no room for apologies, not yet. You weren’t sure if it would make anything better.

The conversation slowly came to an end, neither of you saying what was really on your mind. You hung up, staring at the phone in your hand, thoughts swirling. There was so much you wanted to say to Changbin, so much you needed to figure out before you could even think about doing anything with him anything more than friendship, at least.

But right now, all you could do was try to make sense of the messy feelings, the confusion, and the painful truth: you were still so drawn to Changbin. Even if you didn’t know exactly what that meant for your future, you couldn’t deny the pull. It was always there, lingering just beneath the surface.

And as you sat there, still holding your phone, your mind wandered back to the time when things had been simpler. To when you and Changbin had been on the same page, before everything had gotten so complicated. You didn’t know what would happen next, but you knew one thing for sure: this, whatever it was, was far from over.

-

Changbin felt a momentary calm settle over him after hanging up the phone with you. Hearing your voice again, even if it was through the filter of awkwardness and unresolved tension, gave him a small measure of peace. You hadn’t shut him out, and that was enough for now. It meant he hadn’t imagined it, those weeks you spent leaning on him, laughing with him, feeling like something was blooming between you. He told himself not to hope, but still… a part of him did.

He was lost in those very thoughts, his mind spinning around the images of you and Seungmin, the uncertainty of your feelings, the way you still wore your wedding ring until a familiar, bright voice jolted him back to the present.

“Daddy!”

Yuna’s sweet shriek of joy rang across the school courtyard as she ran toward him at full speed, her little backpack bouncing with each step. He immediately bent down, arms open, catching her as she leapt into him without hesitation. He lifted her with ease, settling her comfortably in his arms, her cheek pressed against his shoulder.

“Guess who I talked to today?” he said, voice teasing and light as he tried to push away the heaviness that had returned to sit in his chest.

Yuna pulled back just enough to look up at him, eyes wide with excitement. “Y/N?” she guessed with a hopeful grin.

He smiled and nodded. “Bingo.”

Yuna let out a high-pitched squeal and kicked her legs in the air with excitement. “I knew it! I told Roan you would talk to her. I told him,” she said with pride, like she had willed the conversation into existence. “Does this mean we can go shopping now? She promised.”

He chuckled softly and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “Yeah, I think we’ll make it happen soon.”

Her face lit up again, and she leaned her head back on his shoulder as he began walking toward the car, his grip on her secure and comforting.

As they made their way through the parking lot, Yuna started chattering about her day, what snack her teacher gave them, how she and Roan played tag at recess, and how Roan had reminded her to not forget about his birthday party this weekend.

Changbin blinked.

The party.

Of course. Roan’s birthday. This weekend.

Yuna’s voice became background noise then, not because he didn’t want to hear her, but because all he could focus on was the sudden realization that he would have to see you again. Not just for a brief moment at pick-up or drop-off. Not a quiet phone call. But see you.

Be around you.

Be around you… and Seungmin.

His chest tightened with that familiar bitter ache, jealousy rising in his throat like bile. It wasn’t fair not to Roan, not to Yuna, not to you, but he couldn’t help it. The idea of standing there, in your parents' home, watching you and Seungmin smile and act like a family again, felt unbearable.

He would have to watch Roan call him “Dad.” He would have to hear your parents praise him. Watch Seungmin touch your back gently or say something to make you smile, and pretend it didn’t make him sick.

Because Changbin wasn’t just jealous of Seungmin having you. He was angry. Angry that he had broken you in such a cruel way cheated, betrayed, and somehow still got to come back into your life like a ghost demanding space.

And yet… you’d let him back in. Even if you hadn’t fully forgiven him, you’d opened the door.

That was the part that crushed Changbin the most.

He shifted Yuna a little higher in his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead to ground himself. Her little hand wrapped around his thumb.

“You okay, Daddy?” she asked softly, peering up at him with curiosity.

He blinked down at her and nodded, pasting a smile on his face. “Yeah, baby. Just thinking.”

“Are we still going to Roan’s party?” she asked, and he nodded again. He couldn’t say no, not when her eyes looked so hopeful. Not when she was so happy at the thought of seeing you again.

“Of course,” he said, his voice low and steady despite the storm inside. “We wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

But as they reached the car and he buckled her in, his mind wandered again to the party, to you, to the way your smile lingered in his mind even when he tried to push it away.

He was happy to see you again.

He dreaded it too.

Because loving someone who’s trying to fall back in love with someone else? That kind of pain was the slow kind. Quiet. Hidden. And it burned like nothing else.

Still, Changbin would go. He’d smile, for Yuna. For Roan. Even for you.

And he’d pretend the ring on your finger didn’t feel like the door shutting in his face.

//

masterlist.

(a/n: who else is #TeamSeungmin 🖐️)

❌proofread

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[nightscythe]

primarchs and their unbalanced love

adapted this request slightly so it wasn't just a sentence and focused more on them. if this didn't meet what you wanted anon, please let me know!

pre-heresy, tw on curze/alpharius for yandere like behaviour // your relationship with the primarch would always be unbalanced because you're just a human. you reach your breaking point and end things.

lion: you’d noticed the looks, sat quietly as another questioned why you were there and the lion chose to glare rather than defend you, seeing it pointless to explain – it had been luther who told you to run far away and never look back, promising that staying within reach of the primarch would never end well for you. he’s stood upon the allure of the fortress, staring down at the people who praised him. loved him, even, seeing the primarch as a saviour to all they knew. though he was never blind to the criticism of the people when it came to him, especially when it’s voiced so clearly to him. he scans the crowd, slowly, taking every face in until he finds you; watching him already, expression numbed, eyes dull, the hint of your soul already faded. he recalls the last words you said to him as your hands clasped gently over his, the universe was not made for our two souls to be together. he’d grabbed your wrist, tried to stop you from walking away from him, but he never got the chance to tell you. then i will strip the universe bare until it allows us to be. instead you saw anger, rage, a vengeance you knew he was capable of, but he never allowed you to see before. his final words were a promise, leave now, before i remind you why the universe wouldn’t allow us to be together. this was his punishment, your eyes finding his whenever he left the four walls he knew you could never enter, a constant reminder of what he never had.

fulgrim: you’d ignored it at first, what some people were willing to do for the primarch, how they’d have killed for him, to be with him, or even just to hear his voice in person – and one person can only overhear so many discussions on how people plan to kill them before they decide a change is needed, even if it hurts more than anything. the seat at the head of his table felt shameful. all eyes on him, wanting, requiring more from him than he was willing to give. he hadn’t looked up from the embroidered and lace-trimmed placemat that his fingers played with in minutes, avoiding the conversation around him. there weren’t many things that could bring him to silence, let alone people. yet you had managed that. likewise, you’d managed to do the impossible and capture the heart of a man made to never have feelings. when he finally looks up from the placemat, eyes darker than before, the room falls to a sharp silence. the only person he can find the strength to look at is you. across the room from him, dressed in the colours he told you looked perfect, though every other part of you was concealed from him. your eyes never leave the floor, even as the silence continues. of course i’m afraid, you had told him when he approached you, cowering from his larger frame. the image was burned into his mind, torturing him each hour. i would protect you from everything, he reassured you, there is not a thing on this earth that could harm you whilst i still live. he can still feel the way your hand slipped out of his as you turned your back to him. from your father? you had asked, voice hollow, from yourself? fulgrim never answered. the room eventually starts to speak again as fulgrim looks back down to the placemat. only then do you dare to look back at him. 

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perty: it was never that you didn’t trust him, but you knew he would never believe that – you’d learnt of what he had done to those who failed him, asked him one too many questions and seen the side of him that everyone had feared but you hadn’t yet seen. he believed he’d ensured that you were erased from every record related to him. believed he’d never see your face again, never hear your voice, embrace your smile, or enjoy your laughter filling the halls. weeks had passed without any part of your presence, and he believed he needed it, yet every step he took his soul felt lonelier than before. he’d thought he’d heard your voice a few times, chased the sound down empty hallways to find nothing but the ghosts of his memories. he believed today was no different when he heard your call from one of the rooms; one which sounded so real it stopped him in his tracks. he waited, listened, wanted to hear more – a wish which was fulfilled within seconds and has him tracking down the source. he almost stumbles through the doorway where the sound is loudest, catching himself on the stone frame but still garnering your attention. you don’t speak, not even as the woman opposite to you bows and offers her apologies. but the longer your gaze is locked, the more his nostrils flare, the tighter his jaw tenses. leave, he tells you, coldly, lest i remind you how quickly i can have you removed for good. you only nod, slowly, stepping back from him quietly and dragging your eyes down to the ground. he waits, watches, hears your voice tell him how you felt unsure of your place within these walls. when you look up to him one last time, he feels the snarl at the back of his throat. if you did not feel safe then, why would you feel safe now? he questions. why would you trust me now? 

khan: you’d watched men die, seen how expendable life was with your own eyes, and seen how quickly he had moved past it, leaving only one thought on your mind – that you must have been just as expendable as everyone else he stood over. the hardest part of all was accepting it. he sat with a handful of his sons around, none daring to look at their primarch who had scarcely looked beyond the spot right in front of him for the past two days. all he did was think. about this, about him, about you. it could never go beyond that though, he never was able to find peace in his own thoughts nor in the conversation with others. but you had come on your own volition, hearing of the primarch’s unusual silence amongst other gossip from the crowds, and when he saw you in front of him, slowly coming to rest on your knees, it was the first time he found the right words to say out loud. you’re wrong about everything, he says, not giving you a moment to speak. you nod, once, though you do not speak. he fills the space between you with more necessary words. i would not make a promise so lightly if i did not know it could be fulfilled. but i assure you, with everything i could offer, that your life will never be in danger so long as i live. your silence is excruciating, the throbbing in his body getting quicker and quicker as he waits for your answer. but it never seems to come. but if you cannot trust me that i will make true on my promise, then i shall not ask anymore of you, but to remember how deeply i cared for you.  

leman: he had tried his best to keep you separate, despite the loyalty his sons offered and how deep their bond went – but when you’d started to understand why he was called the executioner, why his legion was known to be so deadly, and when you discovered everything he had been responsible in the name of his father, you realised that you would never have been spared. his body ached. he’d thrown himself into any situation he could, begged that the all father would bless him with something that could knock him out cold and give him some breathing room for just a few moments. every single one of his thoughts was about the same thing. doubt. of himself, of his capabilities, of anything he had ever considered a strength. each time raised his weapon and bared his teeth, your words took over his mind. you will never be enough. his mind falls silent to what you had actually told him. you do not have it in you to stand up to your loyalties over a mere human. you could not betray everything you know, everything you stand for, just because they disagree with me, or do not want me, or think i am unworthy. he didn’t want you to be right about it. and as he stood there, broke another man’s bones without even thinking, he realised he still couldn’t argue against you. the thump of a body hitting the ground forces him to tear his sight back to reality, focus shifting from the cheers around him, to the man laying before him, to your eyes at the back of the room, never looking away. you would never be unworthy, he’d told you before, a sentiment still felt, i wouldn’t care what anyone said about you, it is only me who gets to decide if you are worthy to be at my side. you’d smiled softly then, just as you are now. only until someone tells you i can’t be. 

dorn: you had gotten used to all his quirks, you’d grown to love it over time, and it was nothing in particular that had pushed you to your limit other than time – when you looked at him one day, you allowed yourself to wonder for too long what it might look like if he stopped loving you, and there was no space at his side for you. it took him longer than usual to process your words. far too long, in fact, because by the time he’d looked up to you, you were already walking away, your bow in his direction and a mumbled apology lost within his conscious thoughts. he watches you walk away from him, only taking a few steps towards you when you near the end of the long room, but freezing immediately when you turn back to him, only looking over your shoulder. you should know that i will always love you, you tell him, sigh leaving your lips as you turn to face the exiting doors once more. you take a step, slower than before, and that’s when he decides to finally speak. i will try harder, he promises, moving towards you again, whatever you need from me, say the word, i will do it. because i… he stops, both his words and his movements. you turn back to him again, this time fully, lips gapped and eyes clouded. his jaw tenses for just a moment as he finds the words, knowing already that they weren’t enough. i would do anything for you, to consolidate the love i have for you. won’t you let me have that chance? you shake your head slowly; you’ve already told him it was out of his control. won’t you at least let me try? he asks again. it wouldn’t have mattered, even if you did. not many things in the world made him feel powerless, other than you. 

curze: there was always whispers of what he was capable of, always a forgotten story of what he had done before, and you’d still fallen into his charm with open arms – realising soon that the real enemy within was the legion he had also grown to hate, but that didn’t mean you were able to leave . the room was cold, dark. everything he loved to have, especially seeing as you’re sat on the floor in the corner, wide eyes watching him with your knees pulled into your chest. he can’t help the way a grin creeps back onto his face as he approaches. did you miss me? he asks, gently, stopping only a foot or so away from you. he crouches down to your level, reaching out a hand to trace over your own. he sighs, content as you don’t pull away from him this time. i thought of you every moment. i wondered if you were thinking of me too. he leans forward, face closer to yours, hand reaching for your chin when you try to look away. i made a promise to you, my little dove. do you recall? he waits, though never expects an answer. not when your lips are quivering, body shaking. he only smiles, reaching around to drape his cloak over you as if it was the cold causing your reaction. i promised you that i would make this work. that you would never need to leave me, that you did not need to fear for anyone near me any longer. and where are we now? another silence falls between you. one enjoyed, revered. you’re with me, and you’re safe from any harm. he’d chosen to ignore himself in that equation, though. 

sanguinius: despite his sweetness, how he touched you as though you were the softest feather, you knew what followed behind him – when you became a target as well and realised that your life was in danger unless you were always at his side, you knew it had reached its limit. it never mattered that he’d commanded armies, that he’d survived impossible feats, that he was beloved by the imperium and treasured by all as the great angel that was impossibly perfect in all ways. something inside of him had broken, snapped clean in two as the weight of every emotion fell to him at once, overwhelming him beyond anything else he had felt. don’t walk away, he called, halting your steps with the tone of his voice alone. you turned, slowly, faced by his figure that approached you far quicker that you could ever run. is my love not enough for you? do you desire more? every part of me is yours already, yet you still choose to leave me? his voice shakes, words falling rather than being spoken. he drops to his knees before you, never reaching for you, yet begging with eyes that were bloodshot and shattered. i could protect you from anything this universe has to offer, he affirms to you, hands clasped together, i would stand before anything in existence that posed you harm, but that is not enough. he feels the corners of his eyes prick with a feeling unknown, and only then does he reach for your hand and bring it to his cheek, his own hand placed over your own. tell me what more i must do to prove to you that this isn’t a mistake. 

ferrus: his obsession with perfection had sat with you for far too long – you were human, weak, easily killed and willed away, so you knew that one day he’d turn you into something he considered stronger, better, even if he didn’t realise what he was doing. he’d found himself alone far more often since you’d gone. sometimes when he reached for tools on his bench, he expected to feel you instead, sometimes he’d hear the door open and look expectedly as if you were the one walking through the door. though it never was you; not your hand reaching for his when he was trying to do something else, not your cheerful greeting as you approached him. your missed presence was something he understood, but with each day that passed he only wanted to isolate himself more from others too. it all reminded him of you. especially those words that tormented him the most. i am just another weakness that will need correcting. he slams down his hammer harder than before, the sound running your voice straight out of his head. he could have told you that you weren’t a weakness. he could have denied it entirely, but he knew it would be a lie. others could perceive you as such, others would look upon the human at their primarch’s side and wonder why. instead, all he told you was that he wouldn’t correct you, not when he saw nothing for him to change. he let you go, let you walk out of the last space where you felt any safety around him, without telling you what he truly felt. you were already perfect, he speaks to no one, unable to find the strength to continue his work, i never wanted to change a thing about you. though he knew at the bottom of his heart that he may have needed to. 

angron: his mind fracturing wasn’t something you had no awareness of, and you believed that somewhere along the way you had been able to help – but the time he had killed another in front of you was the turning point, even if you claimed it was the whole legion. he had seen the way you always approached corners with caution, how you kept your voice quiet, how seeing you when doors were locked from the outside world was entirely different to having you stand amongst a crowd of people who claimed their support for him. it was his naivety or arrogance that led to ignorance each time, opting to let it pass without issue or never ask what caused it. not until you’d told him, quiet with him for the first time since he knew you, avoiding eye contact and hiding yourself when he drew near, that it was all too much for you. it could never happen, he tells you, pleading as he approaches you, i would never allow a soul here to touch you, to even look at you without welcome. he didn’t understand it fully still, how you believed such harm could come from those around him. or perhaps he did now, and again it was ignorance in the way. what is worse is that you did not come to me about this before, that you waited until the very end to speak a word of your worries and gave me no time to fix them. he sighs, still intent on changing your mind, ready to wage a war in your name if he had to. as he approaches you, reaches his hand towards your shoulder, he notices the way you flinch away. his brows furrow, eyes drifting to his hand before falling on you again. he didn’t understand, because he never realised the extent of it all. it is not just them, he speaks quieter than before, realisation a slow but heavy hit, you find reason to fear me, too.

rob: it wasn’t a quick realisation, but something that built with time; he was never committed, despite what he claimed to feel, and he never reciprocated past your hidden meetings away from the world he lived the rest of the day. he wasn’t mindful of how long had passed since he’d made his way outside to feel… something. he wasn’t sure what he needed, but staring at screens and seeing your reflection, sitting in thrones and wondering if you would approach him, it wasn’t helping. he remembered the last time you stood beside him, watching the stars quietly, you both enjoying company more than anything. but in a moment he wished to declare something forbidden in the eyes of many, you’d looked up to him with the most delicate of smiles and carried their views. this cannot continue, you’d whispered, softly, echoing the thoughts that had first crossed his mind, if i could make a wish for anything, it would be for this, for us, but… he’d reached for your hand before you could continue, noticed the way your eyes became glassy. let me make that wish come true, he’d offered, as sincere as he could be, it will not be easy, but i will make things as they need to be to ensure that this does not need to end. your privacy, your safety, it will be kept through every moment, i can ensure you as much. your smile began to fade as you answered, i don’t wish to be hidden, not at your detriment. he wishes he’d have tried harder, stopped you from walking away, or just confessed to you that this was more than just affection. it was never a detriment, not for someone i love. perhaps you’d hear his unspoken words when you looked at the stars, too. 

morty: he’d never changed, and you had loved it for him once, until you understood that mercy had never been something he wanted to offer, nor would learn to – and it reminded you that he was someone to be feared. he’s stood in a doorway watching you. hasn’t moved in minutes, maybe longer, never letting his eyes go further than just past where you’re sitting. if he moved, if he spoke, if he dared to even breathe every part of him would shatter in the reality that you had brought to him. no asking, no talking, just the simple words that he trusted you to never say to him, because you’d always promised him that he was enough. please try to understand, you say gently, eliciting nothing more than a scowl in response, i’m worried, i feel fear just treading the ground around you, afraid someone may take it the wrong way or see me in a different way to how you see me. he looks down from your eyes for merely a second, just long enough for everything inside to crumble. do you not think that’s selfish? he doesn’t move closer, doesn’t try to approach you. do you not think that you could have tried harder, just for me? his chest burns as you look away from him sorrowfully, but unlike him, you never look back. it never ceases to amaze me how similar all you humans are. he still doesn’t turn, even as his words turn sour. do you not think i worry too? i see your vulnerability, i consider it with every decision i make, every step i take, and you still wouldn’t believe that was enough. his laugh is bitter, a frail cover for the emptiness within, something only you had been able to fill, and seal away by a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep. go, but know that if i ever see you again, you will be treated no differently than everyone else, then you will truly know fear.  

magnus: you knew of his power, understood what he was capable of, never once feared for your life around him – but the whispers in your dreams telling you to move on only became louder, and so did the vision of your death at his hands. the only room he can sit in without memories beginning to haunt him is one you never touched. a small room that had been filled with old books and relics, now cleared so he could sit inside and feel freedom for five minutes of the day. your absence caused him more pain that he could admit to, let alone handle, but he had forced himself to leave you to the peace you wanted in the hopes that maybe you’d understand what it was like without him. his allocated five minutes of freedom are over before he hopes and he’s forced back into the emptiness that the rest of tizca brought him. as he walks the halls, he replays fragments of your words to him. i do trust you, beyond anything, but this is far bigger than just you or i. he’d contemplated the consequences of giving everything up. you could not prevent fate, even if you wished to. but he would always try. love was never meant to exist between us. those words stop him completely. his hands are curled into fists at his side, breathing deepening to the point where he can barely feel reality around him. he doesn’t have time to realise what’s changed, not until he can feel you with him, presence alluring as he feels your discontent, your sadness, filling every crack of time and space between you both. he’s not there, not physically, but he sees you turn to him as though you know he’s there. let me try to make it work between us, he asks, quietly, never expecting a return. it never could work, you answer, we were not made for each other. 

horus: of course there was talks about it, you’d heard of the intention to make him warmaster the second it had reached prying ears – and it was in that moment, you realised you could never stay with him. the feeling didn’t sit right with him, not when he knew you were right there yet entirely untouchable to him. he could bring planets to heel, he could crusade in the name of his father, but he couldn’t convince you that love was enough. it had sat on his mind for days as he tried to come up with a speech to change your mind, have you fall to your knees and accept him like he always wanted. the speech never came, the opportunity to approach you never manifested, not until he saw you speaking with a face he didn’t recognise within the grand hall one evening. weeks of stewed emotions and feelings seem to hit him at once as he approached you, ending your conversation as another person bowed to him. i don’t know how to change things, he tells you, honestly, eyes never leaving your own despite how they dart around the room. if i couldn’t convince you then, i won’t be able to convince you now. but that doesn’t change how deeply my love burns for you. he doesn’t care if others heard, but he knows you do. so tell me how i can make this work. what do you need from me?  you can’t answer him immediately, swallowing hard and breaths quick. you open your lips just a little, then shut them once more, looking down to the ground. he knows your answer; you’ve told him before. i need you to not be you.  

lorgar: you had been warned by many, knowing the threat you posed to their regime, knowing that you had taken the primarch’s attention away from what should truly matter – and revenge was promised. he believed this was his punishment. he had let his devotion slip and focused his attentions elsewhere, and his reward was replaced with a love that could never be returned. he kneels at an altar as his eyes fall shut. immediately he’s tormented by the ghost of your hands on his skin, pressing over his shoulder, skimming his chest; or your lips pressed softly against his neck. then he hears the echoes of a whisper, what was left of your presence in his world. i could never love another as much as i love you. his lips curl at each word. he’d replay it a thousand times over and over, never to be sick of the sound. but then it falls eerily silent, his mind pushed to another time he had tried so hard to hide. you cannot love me, you’d told him, words cutting through any remainer of the faith he held, not in the way that i love you, not in the way that anyone could love you. he opens his eyes, darkness of the room around him a greeting he wished never came. but your words don’t stop. your life has never been decided by you. he can feel how you sat in his lap and whispered it to him. i was never to be part of your life. i’ve become a variable that they cannot control. if i stay… you had never finished, but he knew. he’d watched you walk away, he’d reached out his hand to stop you but never called. was it better this way? he asks, call to the void ignored by all around him. do you truly believe love is only dictated to me? his world may have been controlled by others, but what he felt for you. 

vulkan: an offhanded comment was made, not by the astartes, not even by anyone close to the primarch, but a serf who was yet to know their place – and though it should mean nothing, the mention of your humanity is a harsh reminder of how separate your worlds were. the silence looming through the room was unnatural. if anyone had entered his private chamber, they’d have known he was mourning; not someone lost, but something gone. quietude was a welcomed guest around him for some time, the only break offered being a forced schedule or something he wished to not attend. but he knew his duties were not to be missed. do not think for a second i doubted you, he recalled you telling him, stood no more than a few feet from where he now sat. your love is true and i know that, but i also know that you are more than i could ever be. he hated how all he did was listen. how he agreed; how he let you walk away from him with little more than a kiss to the back of his hand and a request of a promise for him to try to understand. he did, somewhere beyond the depths of his emotions, but he also knew that to him, you were everything. you would never see that though. you would never have believed him when he told you that he would make sure your authority matched his, that no one would ever stand up to you or question your place. in every other lifetime we’d have found each other, he’d spoken quietly the last time he felt your warmth, i’d have given all of those away to have a chance to be with you in this one. 

corvus: you’d first noticed the way his attention seemed to always divert to you, but the moment you watched him make a mistake because of you, it was obvious your time at his side was limited. at first he was worried you’d be able to feel his presence. he wondered whether you’d see him in the corner of your eyes, hear his footsteps you knew so well, understand that your shadow wasn’t the only thing that had been following you this whole time. he shouldn’t be here, he should have given you the space you wanted and left you to what you had chosen, but the temptation was far too high for him to ignore it. whether you were doing the simplest tasks or something he chose to pay no attention to, he wanted to see it. he wanted you. and he truly thought he had gotten away with it, that his cover in the darkness of night and shadows was enough to keep him hidden away, prevent you from noticing the fear that lurked beyond. but as he turned into the alley where you had walked only moments ago, it was your smaller frame that stopped him with a hand held up to his chest. this only proves my point, you say to him, glare harsher than he expected, this is what i was afraid of. he only reaches for your hand to take it off him, chest already filled with anticipation and regret. i promised you your safety, he tries to tell you, his excuse meaningless. it was never that which you cared about. you were caught off-guard by a mere human in pursuit of me. the longer i’m around, the more of a danger you are to yourself. he never said you were wrong. he just didn’t want to admit you were right. 

alpharius: you’d found the collection of information that the alpha legion had on you, and believed there was no way you could ever live your normal life again – but you hadn’t stopped to consider if it really was the legion you were at risk of. watches you closely, head tilted slightly to the side. your happiness has faded, he can see it in the way you carry yourself so rigidly, tensing whenever anyone comes near. he sees the way your eyes scan the room like you’re waiting for something to surprise you; someone to be there that you were trying to desperately to avoid. he feels the smile falling onto his lips as he begins to approach, cautiously, truly believing that his surprise would be welcomed. as the room fell silent, you froze, and the grin that manifested on his lips only grew. are you okay, my love? he asks, hand on your back, tensed under his touch. you didn’t look to him, but he could feel all your attention on him already. i must applaud you on how convincing this all was. i did truly think that you had left. no one would dare question him, no matter how much fear was in your eyes. when you told me you were leaving, i’ll admit i was worried. but that i remembered that everything you said to me, how you were worried of what my father would do, or what my legion may say, or what my brothers might have done to you… it was all wrong. he reaches for your cheek, turning you to face him. his thumb ghosts your skin. he hums gently as he breathes in. it was an interesting way to test me, i will give you that much. perhaps not even a test of my loyalty, but this connection between us. i just wonder, my love, when did you realise that the only person you needed to fear was me?

i am getting on top of requests i promise, i've been very distracted with both catching pokemon and the nameless king, whose love i have rediscovered through nightreign, but the corvus fic is almost done ^^

[imnotjustreadingg]

Taste like home

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (y/n)

Genre: Slow-burn romance, hurt/comfort (a little), fluff

Word count: 1855

Summary: Bucky slowly began to open up to Y/N, the only one who treated him right since the beginning

It was late autumn when Bucky Barnes first walked into the Avenger's communal kitchen and found you dancing barefoot on the tile floor, humming a tune too old for someone your age to know. He stopped in the doorway. You didn’t hear him at first, too focused on stirring something in a pot that filled the air with the scent of garlic, onions, and roasted tomatoes. The sleeves of your sweater were pushed up to your elbows, and your hair was pulled back in a loose, hurried bun. Music played faintly from your phone, Billie Holiday's voice filling the room. Bucky hadn’t heard her voice in decades. It stopped him cold.

You turned when you finally noticed him and offered a warm smile, like he wasn’t the former Winter Soldier, like he wasn’t the man who still woke up screaming at 3 a.m.

“Hey,” you said casually, as if you'd been expecting him all along. “You hungry?”

He hadn’t meant to stay, he only came down for some water. Something about the scent of real food, not just protein bars and green sludge Steve always pushed at him, had drawn him like a memory he couldn’t quite place.

“…I guess,” Bucky replied, voice cautious.

You smiled wider, reaching for another spoon. “Come here. Try this.”

He hesitated before stepping forward slowly. He looked down at the steaming red sauce you’d been tending. You lifted the spoon and gestured for him to lean down. He did, reluctantly. The moment the flavor hit his tongue—sweet tomatoes, basil, a hint of wine—it was like a small explosion of warmth in his chest. He blinked.

“You okay?” you asked softly.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Just… tastes like Sunday.” Your brow furrowed, confused but not pressing. “Well, sit. You’ll love the rest of it. I made fresh pasta too.” He sat.

Two weeks later the kitchen became your shared space. No one really commented when Bucky started lingering near the stove when you cooked. Or when you started making extra portions without asking. The others were too busy with missions or tinkering in labs. You and Bucky found peace in something simple: food, and the quiet moments that came with it. He learned you were a telekinetic, but still preferred to use your hands when chopping vegetables. That your mother was Italian, and your grandmother had taught you to cook by feel, not recipe.

“You’re the first person I’ve met who uses touch as much as I do,” Bucky said one night, holding up his metal hand after you accidentally brushed it while handing him a fork. “Most people… they flinch.”

“I don’t flinch from people I trust,” you replied easily, your gaze soft but steady.

He looked down at the pasta. “You shouldn’t trust me.”

“I think I should be the judge of that.”

The others began to notice how close you were getting. Natasha, the first one to notice, raised a brow the first time she saw you slide a plate toward Bucky before sitting down yourself. Then Steve gave a small smile one morning when Bucky accepted a homemade croissant from you, still warm, and mumbled a quiet, “Thanks, doll.” Even Tony—who’d taken the longest to accept Bucky after everything—commented dryly, “Barnes smiles now? Must be the apocalypse.”

But no one said anything more, because it was clear Bucky was healing. Slowly, but meaningfully. And you were a part of that.

One night, in the quiet of the kitchen, it was past midnight and Bucky found you sitting on the counter, knees drawn to your chest, eating leftover risotto straight from the container. You looked up at him sheepishly.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you said, covering your mouth.

He nodded, understanding. “Me neither.”

You held out the spoon. “Want some?”

“Do you ever wonder if you’ll feel normal again?” he asked after a while with hoarse voice, accepting the spoon.

“No. I don’t think I will. But I’ve found things that make the pain quieter. This place… the people. You.”

Bucky’s eyes met yours, shadowed but open in a way they never were before. “You make it quieter for me too.”

You reached for his hand. He didn’t pull away.

When the winter turned into spring by March, Bucky knew the names of every spice in your cabinet. He could make your grandmother’s marinara by memory, though he never did unless you were in the room. He said it didn’t taste right without your voice in the background, humming old jazz songs. One afternoon, he asked if you wanted help making gnocchi. You raised a brow in surprise.

“I thought you hated the dough part,” you said.

He smirked. “You said it was about the feel, right?”

So you taught him. Your hands brushed often his cold vibranium fingers, surprisingly gentle as he pressed and rolled the soft potato dough.

“I like cooking with you,” he said quietly.

“I like everything with you,” you replied, not even trying to hide it.

His smile was small, but real. And that night, for the first time, he kissed you. It was hesitant, reverent, as though he couldn’t believe he was allowed this kind of softness.

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

The kitchen smelled like espresso and warm pastry when you walked in, rubbing sleep from your eyes and wearing one of those oversized sweaters Bucky always secretly stared at. Steve and Sam were already seated at the counter, each with a massive mug of cappuccino in hand and chocolate croissants on their plates, flaking golden crumbs onto the marble surface as they laughed about something you couldn’t quite catch. And then there was Bucky. He sat stiffly, a spoon resting in a bowl of sad, pale porridge that looked like it had been steamed directly from a 1943 army ration pack. No butter, no sugar, no fruit—just bland, flavorless mush. You blinked, baffled.

“Bucky,” you said cautiously, stepping closer. “What… what is that?”

He glanced up, caught off guard by your question. Sam froze with a croissant halfway to his mouth, and Steve went suddenly still, eyes flicking to Bucky with quiet concern. Bucky gave a sheepish shrug, avoiding your gaze. “Oatmeal.”

“That’s not oatmeal,” you said, inspecting it like a suspicious lab sample. “That’s punishment.”

He chuckled humorlessly. “It’s healthy.”

You crossed your arms, not buying it. “And?”

Steve opened his mouth, but Sam subtly nudged him, eyes warning. They both fell silent, watching their friend closely. Bucky sighed. “My—uh, this girl I used to see… she said I was getting soft. Around the edges.” You froze, the words sinking in like stones in water. “She got on me about my diet. Said I needed to cut sugar, carbs, everything. So… I did.” He stirred the sad porridge absently. “She’s not around anymore, but I guess the habit stuck.” The silence that followed was heavy. Steve looked down at his cappuccino like it had betrayed him. Sam grimaced, muttering, “That’s rough, man.”

But you?

You didn’t say a word.

You turned, calm as ever, and reached for the salt shaker. Without hesitation, you sprinkled a few generous shakes into the porridge—too many to be accidental.

Bucky stared. “Y/n—?”

“Oh no, how careless” you said pretending to be sorry.

“This,” you gestured vaguely at the bowl like it had personally offended you. “This is self-inflicted oatmeal prison.”

“I didn’t ask you to—”

“I know you didn’t,” you said gently, already pulling out ingredients. “But I want to.”

“But—”

You raised one hand without turning around, a subtle shhh gesture that shut him up faster than Hydra trigger words. He watched as you moved with confident ease—whipping together flour, eggs, cocoa, and melted chocolate like you were born doing it.

The griddle hissed. The room filled with the warm, intoxicating scent of chocolate chip pancakes—real ones, thick and buttery, the kind meant to heal.

Steve and Sam exchanged a look behind you. It was unspoken, but clear: She’s the one.

Sam smiled into his mug. “You know, I suddenly feel spiritually connected to this pancake intervention.”

Steve chuckled softly. “She’s got good instincts.”

When the first stack was done, you slid the plate in front of Bucky, topped with a pat of butter and a drizzle of maple syrup. You said nothing. Just nudged it toward him and went back to the stove to flip the next batch.

Bucky stared at it for a long moment.

“I don’t deserve this,” he muttered.

You glanced back at him, soft but firm. “Maybe not. But you need it.”

His chest tightened.

He took a bite.

It was warm. Sweet. Comforting. Real.

And in that moment, Bucky didn’t know whether it was the food or the fact that someone cared enough to fight for his breakfast, but something in him cracked open. He looked at you, standing barefoot at the stove, hair messy, humming off-key, and he smiled for the first time that morning. Steve caught it and nudged Sam with his elbow. Sam grinned, eyes twinkling. “He’s so gone.” And Bucky? He didn’t even deny it.

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

The tower's rooftop garden bloomed in july, and Bucky surprised you by waking you at sunrise.

“Come on,” he said, a mischievous light in his eyes you hadn’t seen before. “We’re cooking outside today.”

You blinked sleepily. “What?”

He handed you a basket. “I found tomatoes. Real ones. They’re perfect.”

So you went together, you made bruschetta, grilled vegetables, and the simplest pasta dish he could find.

You sat on a blanket under the morning sun, eating and laughing when Bucky got olive oil on his nose.

“You’re different now,” you said, watching him.

“I feel different,” he admitted, watching you back. “Like I can breathe. Like I deserve to.”

You leaned in and kissed him again. “You do. You always did.”

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

You were soaked from a mission gone wrong. Bucky helped you strip out of your wet gear, wrapped you in a towel, and pulled you into the kitchen. The power was flickering, and you were shivering. Without a word, he made you soup. Just like you’d shown him. It was clumsy, slightly too much salty but you ate every bite, heart aching with something tender and strong. He sat beside you, his hand on your back, his eyes dark and full of something fierce.

“I love you,” he said, like a vow. “Not just for the food. But because you made me want to live again.” You cupped his cheek, tears warm on your face. “I love you too, Bucky. You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to stay.”

“I will,” he whispered. “As long as you’ll have me.”

They would say Bucky Barnes, the man who once lived as a ghost, found his way back to life through you.

And he’d say it started with a spoonful of tomato sauce.

But you knew better.

It wasn’t the food, not really. It was the way you saw him—broken and whole, lost and found. And how you loved him, quietly, patiently, until he learned to love himself, bite by bite, day by day.

Blaze

0 notes

[papervenom]

✩ chapter nineteen: prefects' bathroom ✩

summary: your fourth year starts with the return of the triwizard tournament— and a relationship with cedric diggory that should feel steady, but doesn’t. when harry’s name gets pulled from the goblet, everything shifts. the trio starts to crack, and being with cedric only adds to the tension. you’re sure about how you feel , you love him. but someone else is pulling for your attention, and it’s getting harder to ignore. a slow-burn, character-driven take on goblet of fire, told through your perspective

chapter warnings: 18+. smut (penetrative sex (m/f), bathtub sex, praise kink, dirty talk, possessiveness, very loving sex, soft aftercare), rita skeeter, canon-typical angst (cho confrontation.)

word count: 10.3k

INSATIABLE MASTERLIST⋆˙⟡

January 21st, 1995

We'd been back at Hogwarts for two weeks now, and every trace of Christmas had been wiped clean. The garlands were gone. The twinkling lights had vanished. In their place was that strange grey weight January always seemed to bring, like the air itself had thickened, pressing into the stone walls and sinking into our bones.

The halls felt colder, darker. Quieter.

It settled over everything, an ache in the atmosphere— damp and dull and unmoved.

The dorms were the worst.

The windows leaked cold, the corners smelled like mildew, the kind that crept back this time of year no matter how many scouring charms someone used. The scent of damp parchment lingered in the air, tangled up with the musty staleness of old socks and wet wool. It clung to everything.

It was good to be back. Still, the mood had shifted.

The holidays were over.

No more sugared puddings. No more Weasley twins detonating enchanted crackers over breakfast. No more sneaking kisses with Cedric under the mistletoe. No more evenings curled up in front of the fire with Ginny and Hermione, tucked under shared blankets, gossiping like our lives depended on it. 

It was all gone now, and in its place was coursework. And pressure. And that cold reality that came every January like clockwork.

Pages and pages of it.

Ancient Runes, a three-foot Transfiguration essay, and Snape's ridiculous demand for three more feet on bezoars. As if we didn't have anything better to do with our lives.

The only thing that stopped me from flinging my books off the Astronomy Tower was the promise of Hogsmeade weekend, the first one of the new year.

I'd bundled myself up in cozy winter clothes, wrapping that familiar black-and-yellow scarf tight around my neck. The same one Cedric had wrapped there after our first night together at the Burrow. It still smelled like him, cedarwood and amber and something warm and permanent, like home.

He'd insisted I keep it. Said it looked better on me anyway.

Most of Gryffindor was already scattered around the common room, slouched across couches, tangled in scarves and boots, waiting for the day to start properly. The fire crackled low in the hearth. The smell of smoke and damp wool drifted through the air. Everyone was bundled up and restless, like we were all waiting for something to snap us out of this midwinter trance.

I was curled up alone near the fire, legs tucked under me, Crookshanks making slow, deliberate biscuits into my thigh like I was the only thing worth kneading. The common room buzzed quietly in the background, but my head was somewhere else, drifting through the past two weeks, half-listening to the argument unfolding across from me.

Harry groaned from the couch, his body thrown dramatically over the cushions, looking like he'd lost a duel to gravity.

Hermione was mid-rant, of course.

"You've had weeks to figure it out," she said, tone clipped. "And now you're acting like the second task is years away. It's not."

"I've got until the twenty-fourth," Harry argued weakly, dragging a hand through his hair.

"That's in, like, five weeks," I muttered.

Hermione scowled. "Exactly. And the way you're going, you'll blink and it will be here, and you'll still be standing there with your mouth open and that egg screaming at you."

She had a point. February 24th had started feeling closer now that the holidays were behind us. Before, it lived in some foggy space after Christmas. Now it was looming. And Harry still hadn't figured out a thing about that bloody golden egg.

Back at the Burrow, I'd heard it enough times to haunt my dreams. Every night, Harry would drag it up to Ron's room, crack it open, and sit there listening. Waiting for it to sound different. It never did. Just the same shrill wailing, like thirty musical saws crying out at once. It scraped under your skin, got in your head. 

I'd tried to place the sound. Tried to think of anything I'd heard like it before. But there was nothing. It didn't sound like anything.

I'd even walked in on Harry once, just sitting on the floor with the egg in his lap, yelling at it like it might shut up and give him a real answer.

It didn't.

"But it might take weeks to work it out!" Hermione snapped. "You're going to look like a complete idiot if everyone else knows the clue and you don't. Maybe you should stay behind today. Figure it out while you've got the Tower to yourself."

"Leave him alone, Hermione," Ron cut in. He wasn't even looking up, just picking at a loose thread on the couch cushion like it had personally offended him.

Harry glanced over at me. "Did Cedric figure it out?"

I shook my head slowly. "He hasn't mentioned anything."

Which wasn't untrue.

His silence said enough. I'd seen the way his fingers kept drifting toward his tie lately, the nervous habit he always fell into when something was weighing on him. He hadn't said a word about the egg, but I'd caught him doing it more than once this week.

I started straightening it for him before he could, smoothing the silk down without being asked. He never said anything when I did, but he always relaxed after. His hands would fall away. His shoulders would let go of whatever they'd been holding.

So no, he hadn't said it was bothering him. But I knew it was.

You wouldn't guess by looking at him. On the outside, he was the picture of calm and collected. Polished. Golden-boy-champion energy. But he didn't need to say anything out loud.

I could see it anyway.

Fred and George wandered past just as Harry opened his mouth again. Clearly eavesdropping, they veered over without hesitation, each one dropping onto either end of the settee I was lounging on.

Crookshanks gave a grumpy meow and launched off my lap, clearly aggrieved by the sudden intrusion.

Both twins were smirking down at me like they'd been waiting for an excuse.

"I bet you've been keeping him very distracted," Fred said, waggling his brows.

"You little minx," George added, nudging me.

I rolled my eyes, cheeks warming. "Shut up."

It wasn't even worth pretending. More than half the school already knew about me and Cedric, and I hadn't exactly been subtle the night of the Yule Ball. And for the ones who missed that, the quickie on the train had filled in the blanks. Subtlety had left the station weeks ago.

Hermione, sitting across, shot both boys a sharp look, the kind that could probably curdle milk. She muttered something about "crude commentary" under her breath and went right back to glowering at Harry.

We were just getting to our feet when a soft chime rang through the common room, the bell that signaled the start of our Hogsmeade visit.

Students whooped and clapped. The low buzz of conversation spiked instantly, turning animated and loud as everyone scrambled to gather their things. Scarves were adjusted, boots stamped, bags slung over shoulders.

We filed through the portrait hole in a jostling blur of excitement and chatter.

Waiting just on the other side, like he'd timed it perfectly, was Cedric.

He leaned against the stone archway, cheeks flushed pink from the cold, his cloak hanging open like the temperature didn't bother him at all. His eyes found mine immediately, and the smallest smile curved at the corners of his mouth.

"Top shagger," Fred whispered as they passed him, clapping him on the back.

Cedric didn't flinch. Just offered a polite nod, eyes flicking down to the scarf still wrapped around my neck. His scarf.

When our eyes met again, everything else dimmed.

"Thought we could walk down together," he said, voice quiet, like it was just for me.

Like this really was a date, not a freezing, school-sanctioned field trip layered in thermal socks and Hogwarts-issue gloves.

Still. I liked the way he said it. Soft. Intentional.

Hermione greeted him first, giving a polite nod andtucking her hands deeper into her sleeves. Harry managed something that resembled a smile. Ron didn't even blink in his direction. The performance was almost impressive at this point.

The snow hadn't let up much. It still covered the grounds in a thick layer, the kind that crunched and collapsed under your boots. The sky hung low and dull above us, stretched in grey like wet paper. Every window we passed was fogged over, condensation trailing in slow lines down the glass. The castle looked like it was holding its breath.

We passed the Durmstrang ship on our way to the gates, its hull slick and dark in the still lake water.

Then a flicker of movement caught my eye, up on the deck.

"What the hell," I muttered.

Viktor Krum had stepped out barefoot and shirtless, wearing only a pair of threadbare swimming trunks. His skin looked nearly translucent in the winter light, a pale blade against the slate-grey water. He barely hesitated. Just stretched his arms once and dove off the side of the ship— clean, sharp, and gone beneath the surface in an instant.

"He's mad," Harry breathed.

"It must be freezing," Ron said, staring.

"It's January!"

"It's colder where he's from," Hermione said, a little quieter. "He told me the Black Sea in winter makes this look mild."

I glanced at her, catching how she was defending him without even realizing it. Her voice had softened the way it did when something mattered, even if she wasn't ready to say why.

I smirked. "He told you that, did he?"

Hermione's eyes snapped to mine too fast. Her cheeks flushed pink.

Back at the Burrow over the holidays, late one night in Ginny's room, buried in blankets and half-tipsy from Firewhiskey, Hermione had told us everything.

They'd kissed.

At the top of the marble staircase, just after the Yule Ball. She'd whispered it into the dark like it was a secret too delicate to say out loud.

"He just leaned in," she'd said, her fingers tangled in the hem of her pajama top. "And it was... it was nice."

Ginny and I had squealed. Proper squealed. We buried our faces in pillows to muffle it, but it didn't help. Hermione had blushed all the way down to her collarbones. She told us they'd exchanged a few letters since. Nothing romantic, just sweet. Book titles. Little thoughts. Quidditch scores.

Both too awkward to say what they actually wanted.

It was almost tragic.

And it was absolutely our responsibility to push her toward him again.

Now, watching Viktor resurface in the middle of the lake like some kind of folk legend, I made a mental note: we weren't letting her talk herself out of this again. Not when she still blushed like that.

"He's really nice, you know," Hermione added after a pause. "He's not at all like you'd think, coming from Durmstrang. He said he likes it better here."

Cedric and I exchanged a look.

"You should go say hi when we get back," Ced offered, voice light but knowing.

Hermione shook her head instantly, pulling her scarf tighter.

We didn't press it.

Yet.

The path gave way to the slushy High Street, cobblestones half-lost under dirty snow and salt. The scent of baking drifted out from somewhere— warm sugar, cinnamon, vanilla.

And still, the stares started.

I felt them the way you feel wind shift. Heads turned. Eyes narrowed. Boys elbowed each other. Girls scowled. The kind of attention that always came too fast, too loud.

After being intimate with Cedric, I didn't think it could get worse. But it had. If I had to guess, it was because I felt different. More sensual. Confident. Something had changed in me, something others clearly picked up on. The boys had more trouble containing themselves. And the girls? They didn't bother hiding their bitterness.

It was worse this time.

A Ravenclaw boy actually winked. Another mouthed something I didn't want to hear. I tightened my hold on Cedric's hand.

He squeezed back without looking. Like it was automatic.

"You okay?" he asked, voice low.

"I'm so over being looked at like this", I muttered.

His gaze swept the street once, slow and deliberate. "Let them look. Anyone crosses a line, I'll sort it."

"They're not exactly being subtle."

"They're not exactly worth your time."

I knew he was right. But part of me wanted to turn around and head back to the castle. And I knew Cedric picked up on that, too. We looked at each other, no words, just the kind of quiet communication that had been happening more and more lately. I was still amazed by how easily he could read me.

He paused a beat. Then added, softer, "Let's stay a little longer, yeah? I want to ask Harry a few things about his egg."

I nodded, grateful that he wanted that conversation and deciding not to let anyone ruin my weekend.

Soon, Cedric and Harry were deep in quiet conversation as we made our way around the village— careful, cryptic talk about the egg and the task ahead.

Hermione and I walked a little ahead, arms linked, our boots crunching through packed snow. Ron trailed just behind, scowling down at his own feet like they'd personally betrayed him. Clearly still peeved about Cedric's presence.

I didn't pay him any mind. I was used to it by now, his sulking, his silence. The way he turned passive-aggressive into an art form anytime Cedric was around.

I was just glad Cedric didn't either.

Harry was the first to speak up as the village buzzed around us.

"Wanna head to the Three Broomsticks?" he asked us. "I could use something warm."

Cedric agreed before I could say anything, and I nearly pouted. I'd been selfishly hoping for time alone with him, even just an hour. But I understood. They were trying, both of them. And with the second task closing in like a storm, sitting down somewhere was probably smarter than wandering the streets collecting stares.

The Three Broomsticks was packed, as usual. Warm and loud and crowded, thick with the smell of butterbeer and roasting meat. Scarves were draped over chairs. Steam rising from mugs. The windows were fogged, the floor slippery with melted snow.

We pushed through the crowd toward the bar and placed our orders with Madam Rosmerta, who barely glanced up, she was juggling at least five drinks at once, her wand flicking wildly between trays. We lingered off to the side, waiting, pressed in tight among clusters of other students doing the same.

Cedric stood just behind me, close enough that I could feel the light touch of his arm against mine, hear every word when he leaned in to make some quiet joke under his breath.

Hermione nudged me suddenly, tilting her head toward the mirror behind the bar.

"Doesn't he ever go into the office?" she whispered.

"Who?" I asked, following her gaze.

"Bagman."

I looked.

Ludo Bagman sat hunched in the far corner, talking to a group of goblins. He looked twitchy— nervous. His hands moved constantly in tight little gestures, like he was trying to talk them into something they weren't buying. The goblins sat stone-still, unimpressed.

"He looks rough," I said.

"Same as he did after the Dark Mark," Harry muttered.

Before we could say more, Bagman looked up. His eyes flicked toward the mirror, landed on Harry, and he froze.

"In a moment, in a moment!" he said to the goblins, already standing.

A second later, he was cutting across the pub, far too cheerful for someone who'd just been cornered by a goblin negotiation.

"Harry!" he said brightly. "Been hoping to run into you! Everything going all right?"

Harry blinked. "Fine, thanks."

Bagman's eyes scanned our group, lingering too long on Cedric, then me, then Hermione and Ron.

"Oh, hello, Cedric... Miss (Y/L/N)... Miss Granger, Weasley," he said, like he was trying to remember if we counted as important. "You don't mind giving us a moment, do you?"

Cedric, Ron and Hermione looked at me. I gave a little shrug.

Just then, our drinks slid across the bar. We grabbed our mugs and peeled off without a word, leaving Harry behind as we moved to a table near the frosted windows. The cold from the glass seeped through our coats. Cedric pulled out a chair for me like it was second nature. Before he sat, he leaned down and kissed the side of my head.

My chest ached a little at that.

We'd barely settled, hands still wrapped around warm mugs, when the front door swung open behind us with a gust of cold wind. Snowflakes blew in with it, scattering across the floor before melting instantly. A group of Hufflepuff boys spilled into the pub— laughing, loud, their hair dusted in snow and cheeks flushed from the cold. Their voices rose above the steady din, cheerful and carefree.

One of them spotted Cedric almost immediately and lifted a hand, waving him over.

Cedric's eyes flicked to me. "I'll be back, alright?" he said softly, his hand brushing my knee. "Promise."

I nodded. He kissed my cheek and headed over to them, slipping into their orbit with a kind of practiced ease.

I watched him go, trying not to sulk about it.

Tried not to feel like the whole table had dimmed without him there.

He gave them his full attention— nodding, laughing, listening, though I could tell he was still watching me out of the corner of his eye.

I turned away, sipping my butterbeer. The whispers were starting again.

Girls, mostly. Clustered in groups. Heads together. Eyes flicking toward me.

Some weren't even whispering. They were just staring. Like I was something rare and strange and possibly cursed. Like I was going to explode.

I looked down into my drink.

"What's that about?" Hermione muttered, eyes tracking a cluster of Ravenclaws across the room.

"I don't know," I said.

But I did.

I felt it. Something was coming.

Fred and George chose that exact moment to swoop in, cutting clean through whatever Bagman had been saying to Harry. They cornered Bagman with matching grins and a very pointed reminder about the World Cup bet he still hadn't paid back. Before long, they had him squirming in his seat. He stammered a few half-hearted excuses, then bolted, muttering apologies as he hurried out the door. The goblins followed right behind, their expressions unreadable.

Harry returned to our table, looking vaguely annoyed. Cedric was still across the room.

Ron looked up. "What did he want?" 

"He offered to help me with the golden egg," Harry said, already bracing for the reaction. 

Hermione's head whipped around. "He what? He's a judge! That's completely out of line— Dumbledore would never approve. He's supposed to be impartial!"

"I hope he's offering Cedric the same help," I muttered.

"He's not," Harry said quietly. "I asked."

Ron scoffed. "Who cares if Diggory's getting help?"

I shot him a look, sharp and silent.

Hermione, ever the diplomat, tried to shift gears. "Those goblins didn't look too friendly. What were they even doing here?"

"Looking for Crouch," Harry said. "He's still sick. Hasn't been in."

"Maybe Percy's poisoning him," Ron said, smirking. "Figures he'd think that's the fast track to promotion."

Hermione gave him her best do-not-joke-about-death face.

"Funny, goblins going after Crouch," she said, stirring her drink. "They don't usually work with the Department of International Magical Cooperation."

"Thinking of starting a new cause, Hermione?" Ron teased. "S.P.U.G.? Society for the Protection of Ugly Goblins?"

I smiled into my cup.

"Ha, ha, ha," Hermione said flatly. "They don't need protection. Haven't you been listening to Binns about the goblin rebellions?"

"No," we all said at once.

Hermione huffed, but before she could launch into a history lecture, Cedric returned.

His expression was soft, but serious.

"(Y/N)," he said, "can I talk to you?"

I blinked. "Now?"

He nodded. "Just for a minute."

I stood, suddenly aware again of all the eyes in the room. This time they weren't just curious. They were cruel.

Someone near the bar snickered.

Outside the booth, Cedric reached for my hand. His fingers were gentle. Steady.

"Cho's saying things," he said quietly, scanning my face. "That you used Veela magic. That it's why I dumped her."

My stomach dropped.

"She practically enchanted him," someone said nearby, loud enough for us both to hear.

Cedric's jaw tensed. "I won't let them speak about you like that."

I swallowed hard, but before I could respond, the pub door opened.

And my stomach dropped again.

Rita Skeeter had just walked in.

She was impossible to miss.

Banana-yellow robes, heels clicking like warning bells, and nails painted an eye-watering shade of pink. Her eyes darted around the pub— quick, sharp, and twitching, landing on me almost immediately. Then flicking away. Then back again.

Her photographer trailed behind her like a trained parasite, camera already half-raised.

She wasn't even trying to be subtle.

She stopped by a Ravenclaw girl, touched her hair like she owned it, smiling, whispering something. But her eyes never left me.

That smile curled wider.

I felt the nausea rise in my throat.

"I need to find Cho," I muttered to Cedric, barely hearing myself over the blood pounding in my ears. "Before this gets worse."

Cedric's grip on my hand tightened. "Whatever you need," he said, soft and sure. "I'm with you."

We returned to the table. I downed the rest of my butterbeer in a single gulp. Cedric's hand pressed into the small of my back as I sat, his touch grounding.

"You okay?" Hermione asked, brows pinched. "You look nervous."

I didn't answer. Couldn't.

The whispering had stopped.

Now they were just staring.

Rita's Quick-Quotes Quill was already scribbling beside her like a smug little ghost.

"She's talking about me," I said quietly. "Cho started a rumor, I used Veela magic on Cedric. I guess it's spreading."

Hermione's mouth fell open. "You're joking."

"I wish I was."

Harry shifted beside me, already slumping. I could tell he'd clocked Rita the second she walked in. His whole posture changed, the kind of defeated slump you only see in someone who's been burned before.

The last time he'd mentioned Cho, he sounded hopeful. Said she'd been writing. She'd gone skiing with her family over break, nothing weird, nothing hostile. Just space.

But this didn't feel like space anymore.

This felt like sabotage.

The crowd shifted again.

Rita was gliding toward us.

Her photographer raised the camera like he'd been waiting for a red carpet cue.

Cedric slid closer to me. His arm draped protectively across my shoulders. I leaned into him without thinking.

Hermione went stiff beside me. Ron's jaw clenched.

"Trying to ruin someone else's life again?" Harry said suddenly, cutting the air like a blade.

Heads turned.

The room fell into that hush only a good confrontation could bring.

Rita's eyes lit up. "Harry!" she said, beaming. "How lovely! Why don't you come and confirm some comments made about your American friend," she added, her gaze flicking to me like I wasn't sitting right there. Like I was just another name to slot into an article.

I opened my mouth, rage rising like heat, but Harry beat me to it.

"I wouldn't come near you with a ten-foot broomstick," he said coldly.

A few people laughed. Rita's eyes blinked behind her jeweled glasses.

"Our readers have a right to the truth, Harry. I am merely doing my—"

"Is that what you're calling it now?" I cut in. My voice was syrupy sweet. Mocking. "Funny, I always thought you just printed whatever bullshit got you off."

The pub went still.

"Answer the witch," George called from the corner, grinning. "You don't want to see a Veela upset."

Even Madam Rosmerta froze mid-pour, amber mead spilling over the rim of a tankard and soaking her fingers.

Rita's smile faltered for half a second. Then she straightened it again, snapping her Quick-Quotes Quill to attention.

"How about an interview, then?" she said, eyes turning on Cedric now. "Handsome boy. Triwizard Champion. Tell me, what's it like being enchanted? Or better yet, what's it like dating someone with... unusual influence? Would you say it's been hard to think clearly lately?"

Hermione stood so fast her butterbeer nearly spilled.

"You horrible woman," she said, voice shaking. "You don't care, do you? You'll say anything, twist anything, just to get a story."

"Sit down, you silly little girl," Rita scoffed. "Don't talk about things you don't understand. I'm a professional, sweetheart. I've heard worse than this. I know things that would make your hair curl, not that it needs it."

I stood, fists clenched, ready to lunge.

But Cedric was already pulling me back.

"Let's go," Hermione said through gritted teeth, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

We left, together. All five of us. And every pair of eyes in the pub followed.

Harry glanced back as we reached the door. Rita's Quill was already scribbling at lightning speed.

"She'll be after you next," Ron muttered to Hermione as we stepped into the cold.

"Let her try," she hissed. "First Harry. Now (Y/N). She's not getting away with it."

I didn't say a word. I couldn’t if I wanted to.

My jaw was clenched so tight it hurt.

The wind stung my cheeks. But it wasn't the cold making me tremble. It was the shame, the heat of it. The rage. Knowing my name was already halfway to becoming some snide, pun-riddled headline.

I didn't want to cry in front of everyone. Not now. Not after all that.

"I'll meet you back at the castle," I muttered, stepping away from the group.

"Wait, are you okay?" Ron asked, surprisingly gentle. "You look—"

But I was already moving away from them.

Cedric followed.

He caught up without saying a word, crouching a little so we were eye to eye. He always did that, made himself smaller to meet me where I was.

I stared at the cobblestones between us.

"Where would she be?"

He didn't need to ask who I meant. His eyes scanned the square, sharp and quick.

"She likes Madam Puddifoot's," he said after a beat. "Used to drag me there."

I didn't respond. Just turned and started walking fast. Boots crunching through dirty snow, shoulders tight, heart hammering.

A group of boys leaned against a shop wall, laughing too loud. One of them saw me and called out, "You can enchant me anytime, (Y/N). I won't fight it!"

Cedric stopped in his tracks.

"Say that again and see what happens," he growled. Loud. Cold. Commanding.

The boy froze.

We kept walking.

I didn't speak. My jaw ached from how hard I was clenching it.

If I hadn't been so furious, I might've found it hot.

When we reached the tea shop, I spotted her immediately, Cho, sitting with a group of girls near the foggy window. Her posture was perfect. Her hair fell in neat, silky waves. Her scarf matched her lip gloss.

She was laughing.

Like nothing had happened.

Like she hadn't just kicked this whole mess into motion and wiped her hands clean.

I pushed the door open. The little brass bell above it jingled softly.

Cho looked up. Her expression shifted instantly, smile gone, brows lifted, eyes narrowing like she hadn't expected to see me again, much less like this.

"What do you want?" she asked, not even pretending to be polite.

"I need to talk to you," I said, steady. "Please."

She scoffed. "Why?"

"Because I'm asking."

She held my gaze for a second, then stood. One of her friends leaned in to whisper something, but Cho didn't respond. Her eyes flicked past me, to Cedric just behind, silent and watchful.

I turned to him. "Can you give us a minute?"

He hesitated, just a blink, but nodded and stepped aside to let us pass, his hands in his pockets.

I opened the door again, a small gust of cold air curling around us as we stepped outside. 

Cedric just inside the shop. He didn't sit or move far, just stood near the window, where he could see everything. Quiet. Present. Watching.

Cho and I sat down on the little bench just outside, across from each other. The chill bit through my coat. Everything felt sharper out here, colder. More exposed.

Cho sat like she had a wand to her spine. I could see the tension in her jaw.

"What did I ever do to you?" I asked quietly.

She didn't answer.

"I thought you and Harry were getting on," I said, keeping my voice even. "Cedric and I were happy for you."

Her eyes dropped.

"If you're not over Cedric, fine. That's your business. You two can talk that out. But don't drag Harry into it. And don't drag me into it."

Her throat bobbed. "I'm sorry," she said, voice tight. "About Harry. I didn't mean for him to get pulled in. He didn't deserve that."

I waited.

"But I'm not lying," she whispered, staring at her hands. "That's how it felt. Cedric and I... we were getting close. He invited me to his house. I was going to meet his parents."

She sniffed. It was quick, angry. "Then he just... got distant. I didn't know what I did. I went out with Roger. I flirted with Harry. But it wasn't the same."

Her eyes filled. She blinked hard, fast, but it was no use.

Tears started falling, quiet ones. No dramatics. Just wet cheeks and a broken kind of silence.

And the ache in my chest bloomed.

Because if it had been me, if Cedric had just turned cold, pulled away, I'd be wrecked, too. 

It would've ruined me.

Without thinking, I reached out and touched her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," I said. And I meant it. "But Cho... you can't say things like that. My life's already turned upside down lately. I'm only just figuring out what I am. Fleur's been helping me, but... do you think I like this attention?"

She looked at me, really looked.

"I get harassed," I continued. "Girls glare. Their boyfriends stare. I feel guilty for just existing sometimes. For being... visible."

I swallowed hard.

"Like I'm some kind of monster. Like just walking into a room means I'm trying to steal something. I get looked at like I'm calculating. Manipulative. And I'm not. I never wanted any of this."

My voice cracked slightly. "I can't change what I am, but people act like I chose it. Like I'm using it. Like I'm dangerous just for being looked at."

Cho nodded, slowly. Her eyes flicked to the scarf around my neck.

The bell over the door jingled again.

Cedric stepped inside, cautious. His eyes went to me first, then Cho.

"Hi, Cho," he said.

She quickly wiped her eyes, blinking hard. Her voice was barely there.

"Hi, Cedric."

He stepped closer, slow. Careful.

"I didn't leave you because of anything you did," he said softly. "And I wasn't enchanted. I wasn't tricked. I just... wasn't the same person anymore. Things shifted for me, and I didn't know how to say it without hurting you."

He hesitated, then added, "Maybe this is all my fault. I should've been honest sooner. I should've communicated better, instead of letting you guess. I'm sorry, Cho. You didn't deserve that. Any of it."

His voice stayed steady, but there was guilt in his eyes. "I never meant to leave you with doubts."

He glanced at me.

Something in his expression softened, like he was seeing me all over again, not just as the person Cho had been comparing herself to, but as the girl standing there, still holding her breath through the aftermath.

My heart skipped.

Cho's eyes followed his, and I saw it— how it landed. How it confirmed everything she'd been afraid of.

She sniffled again, then ducked her head, wiping under her eyes with the edge of her sleeve. Her voice was small, uneven.

"Sorry," she murmured, not quite meeting my gaze.

She stood and turned without waiting for a response, her shoulders tight as she walked back into the shop. Her friends looked up, watching her rejoin them like nothing had happened, like she hadn't just cracked open in front of us.

I stayed where I was, stunned by the weight of it all.

Then Cedric moved. Quiet, certain.

He reached out, took my hand in his, and held it like it meant something. Like he needed the contact too. His fingers laced through mine, warm and steady, and for a second, I just let myself breathe again.

"I'm proud of you," he said softly, barely above a whisper.

And I believed him.

I stayed there for a moment longer, hand still in his. The cold didn't feel quite as sharp with him standing close, steady as ever.

Then he gently tugged me forward.

"Come here," he said, pulling me into his arms.

I let myself fold into him, face pressed into the front of his coat. He held me like he meant it, one hand at the small of my back, the other smoothing up and down my spine in slow, even strokes.

"You okay?" he asked quietly.

I nodded against him, even if I wasn't sure. "Getting there."

We stood like that for a while, the tea shop's noise fading behind the glass, the cold wrapping around us but not sinking in.

Eventually, we started walking back toward the castle, boots crunching through the slush. Our hands found each other again without thinking.

I let out a breath and glanced up at him.

"Well," I said dryly. "That Hogsmeade trip was ruined."

He smirked, stopping mid-step, and reached into his coat pocket.

"Hold on," he said. "Got you something."

He pulled out a slightly crumpled paper bag and gave it a shake. "Fudge. From the tea room."

I blinked. "You bought me fudge in the middle of all that?"

"I had a feeling you'd need it," he said, grinning like he knew exactly what he was doing.

He reached in, pulled out a cube, and held it up between two fingers.

"Say ah."

I rolled my eyes, but leaned in.

He popped the piece into my mouth, eyes bright with that playful look he got when he was proud of himself for making me feel better.

I giggled, the fudge melting instantly on my tongue— warm, sweet, and stupidly perfect.

༻✦༺

The library was quieter after sundown. Most students were still in Hogsmeade or dragging their feet back from it, which left the corridors hushed and empty.

Cedric and I had claimed a table in the far back corner, half-hidden behind a crooked brass globe and a leaning stack of Divination books no one had touched in decades. We hadn't planned to stay long, but we'd sunk into the quiet. One small lamp glowed at our table, casting everything in soft gold. It lit the scattered pages between us, the curve of his knuckles, the lines of his face, warm and sharp all at once.

He was helping me study. Or trying to.

One of the perks of being a Triwizard champion was professors cutting you slack. The rest of us? No such luck.

Cedric sat across from me, scribbling something on my Arithmancy chart with neat, looping handwriting. He was left-handed. I hadn't realized that until tonight. He held his quill a little funny, crooked between his fingers like he was still figuring it out after all these years.

I was supposed to be reading.

I wasn't.

My textbook lay open in front of me, but the words had long since blurred into meaningless lines on the page. My eyes kept drifting, inevitably, shamelessly, to him.

Cedric sat across from me, bent slightly over my notes, brows drawn in concentration as he read. His quill moved steadily, the scratch of ink a soft, constant rhythm in the hush around us. He didn't seem to notice I'd stopped pretending.

I had my chin in my hand, elbow propped on the table, just watching him. The slope of his nose. The way his bottom lip curled slightly inward when he was thinking. How his hair kept slipping into his eyes, and how he never bothered to push it away, just leaned in closer to the parchment like the rest of the world didn't matter.

He looked calm here. Peaceful in a way that felt private, almost fragile. Like something only I got to see.

Not the boy on posters. Not the one whispered about in corridors or watched too closely in the Great Hall. Not Hogwarts' Golden Champion.

Just Cedric.

Mine.

He caught me staring and raised an eyebrow, a small curve of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"What?" he asked, voice low, teasing.

I blinked, tried to look innocent, but the grin was already tugging at my lips. "Nothing," I said, drawing it out. "You're just... really nice to look at."

He leaned back in his chair, slow and deliberate, arms crossing over his chest like he was preparing to interrogate me.

"I knew it," he said, mock-offended. "You're using me for my looks."

I snorted. "Please. I've been using you for your notes too."

He gasped like I'd wounded him, hand pressed to his chest. "Unbelievable. Objectified and exploited. Is nothing sacred?"

His smile finally broke through as I tried not to laugh, my cheeks already too warm to hide it. I reached across the table for the parchment he'd just written on.

He grinned and held it just out of reach, arm raised casually like he was playing keep-away with my sanity.

"Cedric—"

I swatted at him, but he only leaned further back, smug and entirely too pleased with himself.

Then, without warning, he stood. Walked around the table in that slow, easy way of his. And dropped the parchment right in front of me.

Before I could say anything, he leaned down and pressed a kiss just behind my ear, light, warm, and maddeningly precise.

My breath stuttered. The air between us shifted.

He didn't move away.

He leaned in again, closer this time, and his voice dropped just enough to make my stomach tighten.

"You know," he murmured, "you're not helping my concentration either, looking like that."

And then he kissed me.

Not on the cheek. Not a tease. A real kiss, slow and warm and entirely consuming, like he had nowhere else to be but here, with me.

His mouth moved to the corner of mine, then lower, brushing the curve of my jaw.

I tried to exhale like a normal person. "Not everyone gets exam extensions, Diggory."

"Mmm," he hummed against my skin, his lips trailing down my neck.

Still kissing. Still completely uninterested in studying.

"Ced."

"Hm?" He sounded occupied— intentionally so.

His fingers brushed my thigh under the table, feather-light, almost teasing. I turned toward him, trying to glare, but it didn't quite land.

"You're distracting," I muttered.

"You're beautiful when you're flustered," he said, like it was just a fact.

I narrowed my eyes. He looked entirely unbothered.

"We could take a break," he offered, nudging his nose along the line of my jaw.

"I haven't even made much progress."

He tilted his head, lips just shy of my skin. "We can finish it later."

And the way he said it— low, certain, lazy with intent, made it very clear that studying was no longer the priority.

"I've got an idea," he said, voice low now— careful, like he didn't want to startle the moment. "Only if you want to. But... there's a place we could go. Warm. Quiet. Somewhere we can stop thinking so hard for a little while."

He paused, then added with a small smile, "Worth hitting pause for. Promise."

I looked at him, skeptical. Not because I didn't trust him— I did, completely, but because I still had homework waiting in front of me. Things to finish. Things to worry about. The responsible choice was to stay and study.

But then again... I was dying to spend time with him.

Curiosity tugged at me, quiet but persistent. And underneath it was something else, something gentler. I wanted him to breathe. To forget about the tournament for a minute. I knew how much the second task was eating at him, even if he didn't say it out loud. It showed in the way his hands fidgeted, in the tightness of his shoulders he kept trying to hide.

He must've seen it in my face, because he didn't push. Didn't explain or try to sweeten the offer. He just waited.

Then, gently, he kissed the corner of my mouth. Not rushed. Not trying to change my mind. Just reminding me he was there. Steady.

"Could help us both relax," he murmured.

I hesitated another beat.

Then slowly, I started closing my books.

He reached out without a word and started helping, gathering my parchment into a careful stack, slipping quills and folded notes into my bag with that quiet focus he always had when he was trying to make things easier for me. His hand brushed mine once, and something in me stilled at the touch. Not because it startled me, but because it felt purposeful. Gentle. Reassuring in a way nothing else had been all day.

I stood before he could say another word.

"Lead the way."

We moved fast and quiet through the castle, keeping to the edges, through narrow stairwells and winding back halls, places only someone who knew the building like a second home would think to use. Cedric didn't hesitate once. I followed without needing to ask where we were going.

A few portraits muttered as we passed. One winked.

Fifth floor.

We stopped in front of a tall statue, Boris the Bewildered, still looking very much bewildered, his top hat on backward, arms frozen mid-gesture like he'd just forgotten what he was doing.

Fourth door to the left.

Cedric didn't explain.

He just stepped forward, leaned in close, and whispered something to the thick oak door.

"Pine fresh."

It creaked open.

And I stepped into heaven.

The Prefect's Bathroom was marble from floor to ceiling, sleek and shining, the white and gold catching the light from a floating chandelier that swayed ever so slightly overhead. The glow was soft and amber-toned, reflecting off the polished surfaces like candlelight. Everything gleamed like it had been scrubbed by hand just minutes before. No dust. No trace of anyone else.

The centerpiece was impossible to miss: a massive sunken bath, wide enough to swim laps in, rimmed with hundreds of ornate, jeweled taps. They glittered like gemstones in the low light, sapphire, emerald, amethyst, ruby, each one promising something strange and lovely if you dared to turn it.

Curtains hung from high, frosted windows, pulled just enough to let in the blue tint of moonlight. A soft mist drifted across the tiled floor, curling lazily in the warm air. The scent hit me next— vanilla, lavender, and something sweet I couldn't name. Like spun sugar or warm honey. Something meant to make you forget everything else.

Fluffy towels were stacked in neat piles, thick and inviting. Above them, a large stained window of a blonde mermaid snoozed in a shell-shaped chair. Her hair floated up and down as she snored, rising and falling like sea foam on a tide.

I took a few slow steps in, completely stunned.

"Merlin," I breathed.

Cedric grinned behind me. "Told you it was worth sneaking out for."

He set his bag down near the towels, and I caught a glint of gold inside, the egg. Its surface shimmered, catching the light in a quiet flash.

I knelt by the bath, curiosity pulling me in, and twisted a few taps at random. The pipes rumbled softly. Water poured in from three directions at once, one stream fizzed with pink and blue bubbles, another released violet steam that smelled like ripe plums, and a third spilled in thick golden foam, glittering and silky, like it had come straight from a dream.

I stared, then looked over my shoulder at him. "You're seriously allowed to use this?"

He shrugged, "Perks of the badge."

I shook my head and turned back to the bath, a smile already tugging at my lips. Everything felt lighter now. Warmer. Like the weight of the day had started slipping off the moment I stepped into this strange, hidden world.

Cedric handed me a towel, his fingers brushing mine. His eyes held mine for a beat longer than necessary— checking in, making sure I was still with him, still okay.

I was more than okay.

Then he started undressing.

Calm. Unrushed. Just a quiet rustle of fabric, the soft scrape of buckles and buttons undone with ease. His uniform fell away layer by layer.

Before I joined him, I dug through my bag and pulled out my Discman, tucked beneath books and parchment like a little secret. I flipped it open, slid in Cedric's CD, and hit play.

Music crackled through the tiny speakers. A sweeping overture, haunting and familiar. Opera House by Cigarettes After Sex. The intro bloomed through the steam, velvet-rich and echoing, as if the marble itself carried the sound.

Cedric glanced over, amused. "This one ours?"

His voice was soft, but his eyes were already hazy, already fixed on me, and said something else entirely.

I just smiled, slow and deliberate, feeling that flicker of power rise in my chest. 

He turned back to the bath and adjusted the taps again, testing the water with a sweep of his hand, making sure it was perfect for me. Water rippled golden, bubbles heaped like clouds, and a steady rise of vanilla-sweet mist curled over the surface like breath. It was nearly overflowing now— lush, glimmering, decadent.

His eyes then tracked me like I was gravity itself as I started to undress peeling off my clothes slowly, feeling the room's warmth curl around my skin as I did. The air buzzed softly, thick with steam and candlelight and the faint, sugary scent clinging to the mist.

Seductive, in control, sure of the way his gaze followed every move I made,I stood at the edge of the bath, completely bare now, skin flushed from the warmth in the air. 

One hand rested lightly on my hip, the other brushing back a damp strand of hair. I moved with intention, slow and fluid, stepping into the water like it was a stage and I knew exactly what I was doing to him.

The heat wrapped around my legs first, then higher, silken and golden. Bubbles lapped at my thighs. I sank deeper, every motion smooth, enticing, deliberate.

He didn't speak.

Didn't need to.

The look on his face, hungry, reverent, already wrecked, told me everything.

The heat sank into me instantly, wrapping around every inch of bare skin like silk. Like I was being held. I let out a soft sigh, eyes fluttering closed as the tension in my body eased.

Behind me, Cedric moved, slow and sure, crossing to me through the water and wrapping his arms easily around my waist, pulling me back into him.

I melted.

It was hard not to. 

His chest was warm against my back, solid and steady, the heat of his skin seeping into mine. Water beaded along his collarbones, gliding down the lines of his body, catching the light as it traced muscle and bone. Every angle of him looked sculpted, deliberate, like the bath had been built to make him look this good. His arm tightened around my waist, drawing me closer, and the movement alone made my breath catch.

His hands found my hips, fingers moving in slow, grounding circles, warm and firm, his thumbs brushing the curve of my waist with just enough pressure to make my breath catch. Every pass of his touch sparked heat that unfurled low in my belly, steady and sure, like he was drawing me back into myself, coaxing tension out of my spine with nothing but quiet reverence.

It wasn't just grounding, it was claiming, soothing and sinful all at once.

No rush. Just touch.

My head tipped back against his shoulder, and his mouth found my neck, just a brush at first, light enough to make me shiver. Then firmer. Slower. He took his time.

"Better than studying?" he murmured, lips grazing my skin between words.

I hummed, smiling despite myself. "Slightly."

He laughed— a low, soft sound that rumbled through his chest and settled into mine like a second heartbeat.

Then he turned me in his arms.

The water shifted with us, sloshing gently, bubbles clinging to our skin like silk. My knees bumped his beneath the surface. I moved without thinking, straddling him, drawn in by gravity or something stronger.

His hands slid to my hips again, fingers curling tight, anchoring me as he pulled me fully against him.

The kiss started slow.

Intentional.

Like he was memorizing the moment.

But it deepened almost instantly— greedy, consuming, the kind of kiss that stripped away the rest of the world. His mouth moved over mine like he'd been starving for it, each kiss laced with the kind of urgency that came from nights spent dreaming and days spent holding back. 

Yet beneath the hunger was a tenderness that made my chest ache, like he was trying to say everything he couldn't put into words, needing me to feel it in the way his lips moved against mine, deliberate and careful, aching with all the things he'd been holding back too long.

My fingers tangled in his damp hair, pulling him closer.

The heat between us coiled tighter with every pass of lips, every breath we shared. His hips rolled beneath me, slow, deliberate, maddening in the best way.

I gasped softly against his mouth.

And he kissed me deeper. 

Like he was hungry for it. 

Like this was the only thing tethering him to reality. 

And I kissed him back with the same wild need— mouth hungry, fingers pulling at his locks, thighs squeezing tight around his waist when he ground up into me with a slow, sinuous roll of his hips.

He swallowed my moan, deep and breathless, then chased it with his tongue, brushing against mine with a slow stroke that sent sparks down my spine. I was dizzy with it already, drenched in heat, soaked in want.

Then lower, his lips dragged down my neck, tongue tasting salt and steam, teeth grazing the soft spot beneath my ear that made my whole body flinch.

"Fuck, you sound so good," he rasped, voice low and filthy against my collarbone as his mouth kept moving downward. He worshipped every inch of skin he passed, hot breath and open-mouthed kisses leaving wet trails that had me squirming under his touch.

He paused just enough to look at me, eyes dark with want, water dripping from his lashes. His hands slid to my thighs under the bubbles, thumbs drawing slow, teasing circles that made my pulse thunder.

"You okay?"

I nodded fast, breathless. "More than."

That smile, the one that always undid me, spread across his face. Sin incarnate.

He kissed down my chest next, reverent and greedy all at once, taking his time, dragging his tongue along my skin. My fingers tangled in his hair again, tugging just enough to make him groan low against my breast.

Then his hand slid between us— no hesitation, just firm, practiced fingers finding where I was already throbbing for him. He circled once, twice, then pressed, slow and rhythmic. I choked out a sound, clutching at his shoulders.

"You're always like this for me," he muttered, mouth brushing back up toward mine. "Dripping. Needy. Fucking perfect."

I whimpered, biting my lip hard, as he found the exact pressure that made my thighs tremble.

"Tell me baby," he moaned. "Tell me you're mine."

"I'm yours," I gasped. "Yours, Ced. Always."

He made a sound, half-groan, half-growl, and lifted me like I weighed nothing. My back met the cool marble of the bath wall, water sloshing around us. One hand guided himself to my entrance, the other cradled my spine like something precious.

And then—

He pushed into me.

Slow. Deep. Stretching me wide, filling every inch until my breath caught and my fingers dug into his arms. He stayed there for a moment, buried to the hilt, forehead resting against mine as we both fought to breathe.

"Fuck," he whispered. "You feel unreal. So tight around me. Like you were made for me."

I nodded, jaw slack, eyes fluttering. And then he started to move.

Measured at first. Smooth thrusts that rolled through me like slow waves— each one deeper, heavier, more deliberate than the last. His hips rocked against mine in a rhythm that made my eyes roll back. His mouth hovered near mine, catching every whimper, every curse I tried to swallow.

"That's it, baby," he murmured. "Take it. Just like that. Fuck, you're gripping me so good."

I arched into him, nails raking down his back. The water lapped against our skin, thick with the scent of sweat and steam and sex. Music still played faintly in the background, but all I could hear was the wet slap of his hips and the desperate sounds he dragged from me.

He angled his thrusts slightly, hitting that spot inside me that made me jerk and cry out.

"Right there?" he asked, breath hot against my lips. "You want more of that?"

"Yes! Yes, Cedric, please—"

He gave it to me.

Harder. Deeper. Each stroke driving me closer to that edge but never letting me tip. My thighs shook. My back scraped softly against the tile. His hand found my throat, just enough pressure to ground me, and he groaned at the way I clenched around him.

"You're so close, aren't you?" he murmured, voice low and full of awe. "I can feel it, how your body's trying so hard to hold on for me."

"I-I don't want to yet—"

"Then don't. Hold it for me. I've got you. I could stay buried in this perfect little pussy forever."

He slowed, just a fraction. Long, dragging thrusts that let me feel every inch of him. His hand slipped between us again, fingers finding that perfect rhythm, synced with every movement of his hips.

I was shaking, sobbing his name.

"You're doing so fucking good for me," he whispered, voice rough with need. "Taking me so deep. Look at you, baby. My good little girl. Fucking gorgeous. All mine."

The pressure built again— hotter, harder. I felt like I was unraveling, held together only by the way he moved, the filth he whispered, the way his mouth claimed mine between every breath.

"Fuck, you feel so good, so perfect around me," he groaned, thrusts deeper now, voice wrecked. "My perfect girl. Can't wait to feel you cum, to feel you milk every drop out of me. Gonna fill you up so good, make sure you know who you fucking belong to."

And I broke.

The orgasm tore through me like lightning, sharp and endless. My body convulsed around him, every muscle clenching as I screamed his name into the mist. Cedric held me through it, hips stuttering as he followed with a deep, strangled groan, spilling inside me with a full-body tremor.

We collapsed into each other, panting, water rocking around us in slow, lazy ripples. My legs were still wrapped around him. My fingers dug into his back like I hadn't realized I was holding on so tightly. Every nerve in my body felt rung out, trembling, soaked in heat and something heavier, something holy.

I couldn't move. Didn't want to.

He held me through it, arms banded around my waist, one hand splayed against the curve of my spine like he was anchoring me to this moment. To him. His chest rose and fell beneath mine in steady, shallow swells, the rhythm of his breath syncing with mine as the aftershocks ebbed away.

He pressed soft, open-mouthed kisses along my temple, down to the damp curve of my shoulder, then lower, his mouth brushing the hollow of my collarbone like he was still tasting me. Still claiming me.

"Holy fuck," he whispered, voice rough and reverent. "You're going to kill me."

I laughed, hoarse and breathless, the sound barely rising above the shifting water.

Then he kissed me again softly, lips brushing mine like a benediction.

The bubbles had started to fade, collapsing in clusters around us. Steam drifted above the surface like mist over a still lake, curling and catching in the dim candlelight. The chandelier above us swayed gently with the warmth, casting gold across his skin, turning the droplets on his chest into liquid fire.

I tucked my face into the curve of his neck, breathing him in, soap and sweat and something sweeter, something that felt like him alone. 

His hand moved slowly on my back, drawing soothing circles, grounding me even now. His other arm wrapped fully around my waist, holding me there like I belonged, like I was home.

His cheek pressed to the top of my head. A hum rumbled low in his chest, soft and content.

"Definitely better than studying," he murmured.

I giggled, the sound slipping free before I could stop it, muffled by the curve of his neck. My whole body felt weightless and heavy all at once, boneless, satisfied, wrapped in warmth that went deeper than the bath. I could've stayed there forever, skin against skin, his breath soft against my temple, the water cradling us like a lullaby.

And so we did.

Tangled and trembling. Wrapped around each other while the world outside the tiles and steam and candlelight fell away.

Eventually, I stirred. Not because I wanted to, but because I remembered why we were here in the first place. We'd come to take Cedric's mind off the egg, to give him a break from the weight of it all, but watching him now, submerged and searching, I felt a sudden urge to help. Maybe if I looked closer, really studied it, I'd see something he missed. Something we both had.

"You brought your egg, right?"

He hummed against my shoulder. Nodded.

I shifted slightly, dragging my fingers lazily through the water. "Can I see it?" I asked, soft but curious.

Cedric groaned, playful, dramatic, not bearing to be away from me for a minute. But he was already leaning in to kiss my temple, warm and quick, like he couldn't help himself.

Then he waded away from me through the slowly cooling water, and I watched him go— watched his muscles shift under the candlelight, droplets tracing the clean lines of his back and shoulders. 

When he reached the edge of the bath, he bent to his bag and retrieved the golden egg, cradling it carefully in both hands like something sacred.

Even now, it gleamed like treasure, round and ornate and pulsing faintly with magic, its seams glowing gold beneath the softened light.

He brought it back to the center of the bath.

Instead of opening it himself, Cedric handed me the egg.

Carefully.

Like it might bite.

I took it with both hands, surprised by its weight. It was smooth and cold against my palms, surprisingly dense for something so beautiful. I turned it slowly, inspecting every curve, every etched detail. Gold glinted under the candlelight. I squinted, trying to see if there was some kind of writing hidden along the seam, some tiny mark or rune that might explain what it held.

Cedric watched me from across the bath, arms resting on the edge, his gaze calm but attentive, curious, amused, a little wary.

Without thinking, my thumb brushed over the small, almost-invisible screw at the top.

And I turned it.

The egg cracked open with a click.

And instantly, it screamed.

The sound tore through the air like a curse— high and piercing and shrill, like a banshee let loose in a cathedral. I flinched violently, nearly dropping it right there. Cedric winced, jerking upright, hand half-lifting out of instinct.

Even the mermaid in the stained-glass window behind us clamped her hands over her ears, her face twisting in disgust.

Panicking, I let go.

The egg slipped from my fingers and vanished beneath the surface with a soft splash, sinking like a stone into the golden water. The moment it disappeared, the screeching stopped, cut off as if someone had slammed a door shut on the sound.

The silence that followed was deafening in its own way. We sat still, breath caught in our throats, both of us blinking, the echoes of the screech still ringing in our ears.

Then, faintly, from somewhere below, the water began to hum.

Not with the sharp, violent wail from before, but with something deeper. Lower. Sadder. A sound that shimmered beneath the surface like a secret waiting to be heard.

A melody.

It tugged at the edges of my awareness, strange and sweet and aching, as if the bath itself had shifted into a portal. I turned toward Cedric, wide-eyed. His gaze met mine at the same moment. We didn't speak, didn't have to. The realization passed between us in a heartbeat, silent and charged.

He inhaled, deep and calm, and then he slid beneath the water.

One fluid movement, shoulders rolling forward, arms slicing down. Focused. 

I didn't think. I just followed.

The moment I dipped beneath the surface, the world changed.

Sound warped around me, soft and strange, muffled like a dream. Cedric's body moved ahead of me, shimmering in the golden light that filtered through the bubbles. He was already at the bottom, crouched over the glowing egg, hair floating like silk around his face, his fingers braced against the marble floor.

And then I heard it.

Truly heard it.

The melody was no longer just a hum, it had taken shape. 

A song, woven from currents. 

It filled the water like light, glowing with a magic that wrapped around my limbs and spine and heart, sinking deeper with every note.

"Come seek us where our voices sound, We cannot sing above the ground, And while you're searching, ponder this: We've taken what you'll sorely miss.

An hour long you'll have to look, And to recover what we took, But past an hour, the prospect's black, Too late, it's gone, it won't come back."

I stared, wide-eyed, the last notes still ringing in my bones. The water shimmered with the echo of the song, golden bubbles drifting upward like they too had heard something sacred.

Cedric burst through the surface with a gasp, water streaming down his face in rivulets, his chest rising and falling fast. His hair was slicked back, eyes bright with something wild, triumph and disbelief wrapped into one.

"Did you hear that?" he asked, panting, voice low and electric.

I nodded, stunned. "We have to tell Harry."

He blinked once, then his whole face lit up. It was like watching sunrise happen all at once. His smile spread quick and wide and completely unguarded.

Then he laughed.

Not a chuckle. Not a polite little puff of air.

A full, loud, triumphant laugh that echoed off the marble like celebration.

And before I could react, he lunged forward, wrapped both arms around my waist, and lifted me out of the water. I let out a yelp, half squeal, half laughter, as he spun us in the center of the bath, droplets flying everywhere, bubbles sloshing over the edge in glittering heaps.

"Cedric!" I shrieked, holding tight to his shoulders, laughing so hard my sides hurt.

He kissed me, fast and breathless and smiling against my lips. Then again, slower this time. A kiss that said thank you. That said we did it. That said I can't believe I get to share this with you.

"I could kiss you forever," he whispered, forehead pressed to mine.

My smile softened, heartbeat still wild. "You just might get to."

And there it was again, that grin that broke through clouds. He looked at me like I was the whole reason the bath still glowed. Like the clues, the pressure, the looming second task, none of it could touch this. Not tonight.

Because right now, it was just us.

Wrapped in candlelight and steam, glowing water lapping at our skin, the echoes of an ancient song fading gently into silence.

The mystery had begun to unravel.

But in this moment, we weren't thinking about what came next.

We were just standing in the middle of it, laughing, soaked, kissed breathless and weightless.

And I knew, without question, I'd remember this night for the rest of my life.

♱ ����𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 ♱

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[camficdiner]

May I please get [1.1] [2.5] [3.4] [4.3] with the Only One Bed trope? Thank you so much!

☕️ Cam’s Fic Diner — Order 043

🍒 Thank you for your patience, angel — this one needed time to simmer and ruin lives properly. We went from fake dating to Luke Hughes scarred for life, and I wouldn’t serve it any other way.

💬 “Room for Two”

✨ Description and prompts:

– Character: Jack Hughes

– Prompt: fake dating at a wedding → only one bed (honeymoon suite)

– Word Count: 1.6k

– Type: fluff + slow burn + corruption kink smut + comedic aftermath

⸻

🛼🍒✨🧁

Luke bailed on the wedding at the last second. Work, school, something about flights. He texted you last-minute:

can you take my place? Jack needs a +1. just be cool.

You knew Jack, of course. Luke’s older brother. NHL player. Ridiculously hot in that boyish way that made you roll your eyes whenever he got too cocky.

You weren’t close, but you’d crossed paths enough. Joked around at family things. Talked shit about his music taste. He once told you your eyeliner was dangerous. You never forgot it.

So when he messaged you himself and said,

“Hey. You still in for the wedding? I’ll owe you.”

you replied:

“Sure. But I’m ordering room service on your tab.”

“Deal.”

⸻

He picks you up in a sleek black suit and a grin that makes your stomach twist.

“You clean up nice,” he says.

You smirk. “You say that to all your fake girlfriends?”

The wedding is beautiful. Garden lights. Outdoor ceremony. Jack’s hand on your lower back feels way too natural.

You sit beside him at the reception. Eat off his plate. Dance once, then twice, then three times. People take photos. One of them calls you “the cutest couple here.”

Jack just says, “Don’t correct them.”

By the time the music winds down and you’ve kicked your heels off, you’re buzzing. From champagne. From the lights. From the way he’s looking at you now like something’s shifted.

⸻

You don’t expect the room to look like that.

Rose petals. Dim lights. A massive bed with silky white sheets. Two flutes of champagne already poured. A heart-shaped mirror over the headboard.

“They gave us the honeymoon suite,” you say.

Jack blinks. “Of course they fucking did.”

You both laugh.

Then stop.

Then laugh again — a little nervously.

“You can sleep on my side if you want,” he says softly.

You glance at him.

He’s already watching you.

“Okay.”

⸻

You drink. Sit on the bed. Your thighs touch. The room smells like citrus and something clean.

You lean against him without meaning to.

He doesn’t move away.

He turns his head.

“You looked really good tonight,” he says. Voice lower. Rougher.

“You’ve said that before.”

“This time I mean it.”

You turn. Your knees brush.

He stares at your mouth.

You say:

“Kiss me.”

He does.

⸻

The kiss deepens quickly. You straddle his lap, tugging at his jacket. He groans when you press your hips down, pulling your dress up over your thighs.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

He pushes you back onto the bed, hovers over you, kissing your throat, down your collarbone. Your dress slips lower.

Then he stills.

“Wait.”

“Have you…?”

You shake your head. Nervous. Breathless.

His voice breaks.

“You’re a virgin?”

You nod.

“Fuck.” He closes his eyes. “Are you sure you want this?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m gonna take my time. Gonna show you everything.”

He kisses you slow. Strips you gently. Talks you through every touch.

His hands on your thighs. His mouth between your legs.

You arch when he sucks your clit, moan when he praises you.

“So sweet. So wet already.”

“Doing so good for me.”

“Let me show you how good this can feel.”

You gasp when he finally pushes in — slow, deep, one hand on your hip, the other cradling your cheek.

“You’re so tight, fuck. You were made for me.”

“No one else gets to do this. No one else will.”

You cling to him. Whimper his name.

He fucks you gently, then deeper. Says your name like a promise.

You come first, then he follows, trembling, forehead pressed to yours.

After, he holds you. Strokes your back.

Whispers:

“You’re not just Luke’s best friend anymore.”

⸻

You fall asleep on his chest. Still naked. Warm. Safe. His arm wrapped around your waist.

You don’t hear the door open.

Jack does.

“What the fuck.”

You sit up too fast. Yell. Grab a sheet.

Luke’s frozen. In the doorway. Mouth open. Eyes wide.

“LUKE?” you squeak.

“You SAID you were fake dating,” he says, voice cracking.

Jack doesn’t even flinch. Just rubs his eyes.

“Yeah, well. This part’s real.”

“Are you naked under there?”

“Don’t make it weird, man.”

“I’m leaving. I’m never speaking to either of you again.”

“Tell Mom I said hi,” Jack calls after him.

You fall back into the pillows, mortified.

Jack just pulls you back onto his chest.

“Told you he’d find out eventually.”

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

dark lord im haunted

i dont even care about loz, WHY ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT RN IS YOUR GRAVITY FALS LOZ AU

i read the comments and the idea of stan and ford just. Infinitely reincarnating. One doomed to die and other to kill that one.

im feral about this FORD JUST HAVING TO KILL STAN AND THEN BE LEFT ALONE WITH NOTHING BUT A BODY TO HOLD. FIDDLEFORD WHY DID YOU LET THE RUMORS GO ON FOR SO LONG

and like there is no other way this couldve gone, because the way everything was, NO ONE wouldve helped stan. Ford will probably think about ways this couldve been solved in the 10 years but the thing is, no one woulve helped stanley

maybe if he had a support system, maybe then his death wouldve been avoidable. BUT LITERALLY EVERYONE HATED HIM, AND AS FAR AS HE KNEW SO DID THE FORDS (neither did anything about the rumors)

plus 10 years with bill, even as just a voice wouldve been shitty. and adding burn scars and public resentment? he basically was isolated

all of his card were laid out in front of him, and the only way for him to win in any capacity was just that, get killed by his own brother

AAAAAAAAAAAAA FERAL ABOUT THIS. BITTING, CLAWING, SCREAMING (affectionate)

Glad i could spread the worms!

In my mind, the reason the Fords didn't stop the rumors was a combination of being young and traumatized, trying to wrangle the kingdom together, and not knowing how bad it had gotten until Stan was back and they looked around to see the hatred in everyone's eyes. For Fiddleford he was pro Stan enough that nobles trying to curry his favor during the turbulent times would either not mention Stan, or would down play their own feelings so the King wouldn't catch on. So right up until Stan showed up again he knew there were rumors but thought they were just background, not serious grumblings and not what everyone thought actually happened. For Ford the kingdom was just a sound board for his own dark thoughts. He'd grumble about Stan, someone would grumble with him, and then Ford would feel like his feelings were being vindicated and go into grouchy rants about Stan which just fueled the fires, even if in Fords mind he was just venting. Fords not political enough (despite being raised in a castle) to realize what his words were doing to Stan's reputation, he was just bitter and was happy to have willing ears that agreed. Then he saw how Stan was received and on one hand felt it was deserved but he was also horrified by how violent the reaction was. Sort of 'saying things out of anger and not realizing the impact they have' kind of thing. Fiddleford didn't make an official announcement of what happened due to inexperience, trying to manage a kingdom that had just been through a crisis, and not realizing it was something that needed to be done, as he'd told people his side of the story unofficially and thought that was enough.

Here's this for you :)

Stan held his brothers sword to his chest, sure and steady. All his brother has to do is push it forwards, and everything will finally be fixed. Ford will finally do what Stan took from him, all those years ago.

There are two ways this story could go.

In one Ford stares deep into Stan's eyes, searching, looking for a sign that this was a trick, a sick prank. Some unfunny attempt at humor gone wrong.

All he sees is his brothers expecting gaze, waiting for him. Sees the yellow grow and creep, erasing the warm brown of their childhood away. Black making its way across Stan's face, and if he doesn't do something soon this moment will end. Billl will regain control, and he won't be as willing to let Ford drive his sword through his heart as Stan is.

Stan's asking him to do this. For the first time in ten years, Stan is asking Ford to be the hero, and its the worst thing Ford could ever do.

But its Stan. His brother, his twin.

His best friend.

The trembling stops as Ford closes his eyes. Water pools in the corners as he grits his teeth, adjusts his grip, and shoves the sword forwards with all the strength the goddess has blessed him with.

Stan doesn't even scream, just grunts as the sword goes through flesh, digs in deeper and deeper and Ford yells at the top of his lungs and drives a sword through his own brothers chest until he can't do it anymore. Not because of his grip or waning strength, but because he's driven the sword all the way through, and its hilt won't let him go further.

It's a killing blow, no way to have missed.

Ford let's go of the hilt and grabs Stan's collapsing form before he can topple to the ground. He's whispering something as the blackness fades and chips away, eyes brown and light in them fading. Ford guides his brother to the ground, one hand cupping his head and the other clutching his cloak as all signs if Bill disappeared, as the sword went from a demonic nightmare to glowing dull grey. It didn't regain the light of its blessings, and the pommels eye was closed instead of gone.

Fiddlefords master piece would never- could never be used as it was supposed to again. It was a vessel of evil, had been tainted by Bills touch.

Just like Stan.

Ford choked on his tears as he stared down at the still smiling face of his brother. A blow like this- straight through the heart, where Stan had guided it, it was- there was-

Stan was dead before Ford could find a breath to scream.

He could hear Fiddleford say something, but the ringing in his ears drowned out the words as a heaving sob worked its way out of him, face damp and whole body shaking. He couldn't lay Stan flat with the sword sticking out, so in one quick rage filled move he grabbed the hilt, slid it out, and threw it to the side.

"Stanley," Ford whispered, looking into his brothers eyes. No clever spark twinkled there, no mischievous glint or hardened glare.

Just brown. Brown and lifeless.

He didn't know how long he laid there, crouched over his brothers body. He gently closed Stan's eyes, then brushed away any lingering signs of corruption. The blackness was gone, his arms both human, and what teeth poked out of his still smiling mouth were flat.

Like this, it looked exactly as it should. A man grieving over his dead brother.

Eventually arms pulled him away, and he screamed and thrashed as Stan's body was covered and hidden behind a wall of bodies. Fiddleford's voice cut through the noise, and he turned to see his friend, standing tall and face stained with tears. His mouth was moving, but Ford couldn't make out the words.

All he could hear was his own heart, strong and beating like Stan's would never be again.

Time blurred and the world grayed. They laid Stan to rest back at their small home village, on the cliffs overlooking the sea. He had a distant memory of them coming here, long ago when the world made sense.

Stan would like it.

It wasn't long after that the whispers started. Ignorant folk, talking about how evil Stan must have been, how lucky they were no one was hurt.

How thankful they were that the Hero was there to deal with him so swiftly.

It only took Ford overhearing such talk once for them to learn never to speak of Stan in front of him. Not with such poison. Not with such disdain.

Stan was a hero after all.

Ford was just his brothers murderer.

As time went on and Fiddlefords announcement did little to sway public opinion, Ford found that he could no longer find it in him to care for the troubles of Hyrule. Its evil was vanquished, and every forest and town was filled with his brothers ghost.

He needed to leave. To find someplace where people wouldn't look at him with hope and pride. Find somewhere that needed a man who could wield a sword, could face the dangers ahead and never flinch.

So one night, a year after he'd killed the last Hero of Hyrule, he drove the Master Sword into its pedestal for the next Hero to find, turned around, and left, taking what was quickly becoming known as the Blade of Bill with him.

He said no goodbyes and left only a single note to the one person who really needed to know where he was going.

Stan would get lonely while he was away, but it was fine. They'd see each other again sooner or later.

Stanley Pines was born the younger twin of Stanford Pines, in an era of peace. They were as thick as thieves, running through the forests and fields of their home.

Life was perfect, except for the voice in the back of his mind that whispered at him to kill his brother.

Then they grew, and as they did Stanley found he knew things he shouldn't. Knew secrets others hid, knew monsters others hadn't seen.

Knew how to make them bend to his whims.

Knew he had to die.

Knew Stanford had to be the one to do it.

Stanley Pines was born the twin brother of Stanford Pines, and-

Stanley Pines was born the older twin of Stanford Pines and-

Stanley Pines was born the twin of Stanford Pines but-

They were separated-

They drifted apart-

They were pitied against each other-

-in the beachs, darting through the surf-

-over the dunes, feed sure in the sand-

-up and down the mountains, stumbling into each other by chance-

-and one day Stanley Pines realized he needed to die by his brothers hand, or he would unleash a demon that would ravage the land.

Stanley Pines stared once more at the blade in front of him. A screaming voice yelled at him to draw it from its red scabbard, to finally start what he'd been waiting to do since time began. It writhed and clawed for control, urging him to start the slaughter. Stanley shoved it away, picking the dusty blade up and attaching it to his belt.

Stanford wasn't ready to kill him after all. Stanley wouldn't draw the sword until he knew for sure his twin of a thousand lifetimes had the strength to push it through. It was risky grabbing it so soon in the cycle, but circumstances had lead him here, and he knew from experience leaving it behind once he found it always led to worse odds.

"Shut it why don't you," Stanley said, rolling his eyes at the twin screaming from Bill and the blade, "you act like we haven't done this a hundred times."

With that he turned and left the crumbling temple behind. He'd left a good trail for Stanford to follow, and he didn't want to get caught too early. Best to hold off until he'd planted more seeds of his betrayal, get the Hero's blood boiling. Stanford always had an easier time the longer Stanley waited to draw the blade after all.

This time would be no different.

In another Ford does not close his eyes, cannot look away from his brothers accepting face. Cannot stop himself from looking deeper and deeper, from trying to find some evidence that he doesn't have to do this.

Stan watches as Ford's eyes harden, and his smile grows. Its getting hard to focus, hard to hold back the tide of a demon's mind. But now Ford is ready, and this'll all have been worth it.

He's learned his lesson, he's ready to make amends.

Which means the moment Ford reaches forward to pry Stan's human hand off the Master Sword, Stan's smile twitches, and his control starts to slip.

"What- What're you doin'" Stan says, words slurring slightly and stuttering as Bill claws his way back towards the front of their mind, "Ford-"

"I won't." Ford snaps, voice clipped and eyes bright with the light of determination, "I won't kill my own brother. I'll find a way to save you Stanley, I'll rip Bill from your body if its the last thing I do. I'll-"

"We'll." Fiddleford cuts in, stepping forwards, eyes just as determined as Fords, "This is our fault. We shoulda never let this get as bad as it did. I'm sorry Stanley."

And thats the last thing Stan hears, As Bill tears him away and shoves him back. Their body jerks forwards, Ultra Master Sword swinging down where Ford was standing a moment before. His brother and the King have retreated slightly, and Ford is yelling, Hero's Spirit glowing brightly at the words, but Stan- He can't-

He can't hear what his brother's saying.

Stan feels the heavy weight of Bill crushing his mortal spirit, and Stan rages as much as he can. He forces their swings to go wild, slides their feet out of alignment, makes them lose their balance. If Bill thinks Stan was screaming before, then what he's doing now must be the commands of the greater spirits themselves.

It's one thing to let Ford kill him, its another horror entirely to see his body get used to kill his twin. This wasn't supposed to happen, Ford was supposed to drive the sword through, to use the rage Stan had been fanning since their reunion to power through and trample whatever bonds they might have had.

Bill was never supposed to have a chance.

Instead, due to Fords stubbornness, Stan was watching as Bill's corruption spread across his body. Saw glimpses of his transformed body when Bill turned to follow Ford's movement, saw his worn travelers clothes warp and change into the demons preferred black and yellow noble's apparel. Saw pitch black and gleaming pauldrons manifest on his shoulders in the corner of his eyes, sharp and engraved with demonic symbols. Matching greaves kicked at Fords rolling form when his brother got too close, and then Stan's other hand came to grip the Ultra Master Sword, clawed and black, golden lines flickering as Bill completed his takeover.

Ha! Bills voice rang out in their mind, even as he said something else, something taunting based on Fords expression, out loud, Thought you could pull one over on me did you!

BILL! Stan thought snarled, clawing and writhing at the demonic spirit crushing his own, I WON'T LET YOU-

Won't let me what, kill little Fordsy here? Bills laughter rang out in their shared mind, each cackle a stab as Stan's meager control was wrenched out of his nonexistent hands, I'd like to see you try and stop me. Now shoo, your screaming is only entertaining for so long.

The weight of Bill's spirit became unbearable, and Stan yelled out for Ford, his brother's determined face the last thing he saw before the world went dark.

He wasn't asleep, not with the way he was aware of himself. There was a distant feeling of sensation, sounds muffled and far away, flashes of scenes come and gone too fast to make sense of. At one point he was struck with the knowledge that his hand was wrapped around something delicate, and he used what little power he had to loosen his fingers and drop whatever they were holding.

The burning rage that filled Bill was a triumph, even as the demon pushed Stan further into wherever he was. Something sharp and not there dug into his not thereness, like the demon was grabbing his spirit and digging his claws in. It made Stan writhe as much as he could, and he was pretty sure he'd scream if he had a mouth or thoughts to fling at the demon.

Maybe he was. He didn't know.

What he did know was that Bill couldn't crush him. Or wouldn't. He didn't know why, but every time he came close to feeling like he was going to crumble to pieces the demon would ease his crushing grip. Maybe Bill needed his spirit to control his body? Or the magic that had sealed Bill's mind inside his own had linked them in some way Bill couldn't kill Stan without killing himself. Maybe the demon just like torturing him.

Whatever the reason, it meant Stan was sort of alive in the dark not thereness. Any attempts at clawing his way out was brushed aside, any screams he might have made unheard.

There was no way to know what was happening outside. No way to know if Bill had-

No. Ford was a hero. Ford was The Hero. There was no way Bill could have killed him. Ford was out there, and someone would smack some sense into him eventually. Any moment Stan would feel the Master Sword through the chest, and then...

Wait. If he died, would he still be stuck here? Deep in what he suspected might be Bills overwhelming spirit? That sounded awful actually. Everything was dark and flickered yellow, there was a constant feeling of being watched, and the squished feeling wasn't any kind of pleasant.

What was even less pleasant was the sharp pain to their shoulder. It was the first time he'd felt his body so clearly in... months. Maybe.

However long it had been, the pain radiated through the darkness, and Stan sort of not really saw a warm glow cut through the blackness around him. It soothed the ache to his spirit, even as it really, really, hurt his actual body.

Another sharp pain hit his side, and a few minutes later it his his leg.

Then Stan was hit with agony, as Bill's grip on his spirit disappeared. The heavy feeling that had wrapped around him and shoved him deep into the dark was gone, no longer there to block off the feeling from their body.

Bill was growling something, and their chest and limbs throbbed, not just from the sharp warm points of pain, but from several other cuts and injuries. It took Stan a second to orientate himself, so used to the nothingness, but eventually he realized they were no longer in the plains surrounding the castle.

They were in some kind of grand temple, one Stan was amazed to find he didn't recognize. An image of some kind of pink lizard was on several glass stained windows, casting pink and blue light into the large room. The pews were flung into the walls, the giant doors across him shut and sealed with green and blue light.

In front of him was Ford, wearing the stupid Hero outfit Stan had spent their whole lives laughing at. He was covered in dirt and sweat, and that determined look hadn't left his eyes. Behind him, reloading his crossbow, was Fiddleford.

Stan watched, dazed as Bill exchanged blows with Ford, then felt another sharp pain hit his left arm.

He snapped his head down to see a blue, red, and gold glowing bolt sticking out of his bicep, then looked over at Fiddleford in shock.

"You just shot me!" Stan shouted, confused and trying not to collapse from the agony spreading through him, "Why did you shot me?!"

The realization that he just moved and spoke hit him just as Bill snatched control back once more. The demon screamed and swung again, but all Stan could see was Fords face.

It looked triumphant .

"Its working!" His brother shouted, dodging a swing and slashing at Stan's right arm, where he was holding the Ultra Master Sword, "Keep shooting FIddleford!"

NO?! Stan though shouted, DON'T?! JUST STAB ME ALREADY!

Another bolt hit his other leg, and Stan cursed and slammed the Ultra Master Sword into the ground so he wouldn't fall over.

"What is this?!" Stan yelled, looking up to glare at the excited faces of his brother and king, "What even is the plan here! Can't you just-"

"SHUT UP!" Bill finished, standing up and pulling the sword out of the floor. Stan hissed at the demon for interrupting him, then froze as he caught sight of his arm, where the bolt was still lodged.

A glowing light was spreading out from the bolt, turning Bill's yellow sleeve back into Stan's red one. They made a mad swing at Fords head, and Stan forced them to stumble and glance down at their legs.

Just like his arm, light was radiating from where each bolt had hit him, pushing the corruption back and bringing the feeling of control with it.

"What is wrong with you!" Stan yelled as Bill swung the sword at Fords neck, then tried to shoot a bolt of magic at Fiddleford with their sword. Stan smacked it with their other hand, disrupting the spell and wincing at the screech that rattled their mind.

"A bolt!" Stan continued, after Bill parried a blow from Ford and side stepped another bolt, "A Bolt?! Why couldn't it have been anything else! This hurts!"

"SHUTUPSHUTUP!" Bill screeched, and Stan stuck a spirit tongue at him when the demon tried to squish him down again and he bobbed away. The overwhelming power of his spirit was being pushed back with each wave of warm magic that made Stan want to scream.

"We didn't have a lot of options Stanley!" Ford shouted, rolling away from a swing and doing some kind of weird spin move that hit Stan's-

"Is that another arm!?" Stan screamed, staring at the demonic monster arm that looked like it was growing from his back. Ford slashed at it again, and the entire thing exploded, leaving nothing behind.

Thank the goddess. He wasn't sure he wasn't to figure out how to use extra-

Wait no.

"Just stab me already!" Stan yelled, trying to jerk his swings wide and mess up Bill's dodges, "Why are you dragging this out!?"

"I'm not-" Ford grunted as he rolled (and seriously, what was with all the rolling?), "-Not dragging this out!"

"We're going to save you Stanley!" Fiddleford shouted, and Stan screamed as another bolt embedded itself into his right shoulder. The bolts seemed to pulse together as one, sending a wave of comfort through his spirit while it ripped his body to shreds. The contrasting feeling made him want to throw up.

Then Bill was torn from his mind, leaving a gaping void behind. Stan gasped at the feeling, his mind too empty and silent after ten years of constant chatter.

"NO!"

The Ultra Master Sword screamed, and Stan screamed with it as Bill tried to claw his way back inside. He blinked down to see his arm, still demonic and the pommel eye staring at him, full of rage and hunger.

"This is my body now!" Bill screamed, dragging himself up Stan's arm, "You had your chance, and now-"

"I'm sorry Stanley," Ford said softly, just as the Master Sword flashed in front of him, blocking Stan's view of Bill as it separated his arm from his body.

If the bolts had been agony, tearing him to pieces as it pried Bill's spirit from his own, this was excruciating. He barely paid any attention to Ford slamming his sword through Stan's former arm, too focused on the space where it once been attached to him. Blood was already flowing from the wound, soaking his side and creating a puddle on the floor.

Between one blink and the next he was on the ground. Fiddleford was holding his face with one hand while the other held down his- where his-

It hurt.

Searing pain on top of everything else, worse than the feeling of a demon digging his claws into his spirit. No part of him was free of pain, each bolt still a blazing beacon, each scrape stinging, and the- the- his arm- it-

This time the darkness wasn't the result of a demon, and Stan welcomed it as Ford's panicked face came into view.

It was very cold, and- and-

The ceiling was very blurry and fancy. Too fancy. Stan stared at it for a while, before he remembered he wasn't supposed to be staring at anything.

Everything felt fuzzy and far away, hazy like... like...

But Bill was gone, leaving nothing but the nothingness where the demon had carved a space in Stan's mind for himself. He poked at the spot the demon used to occupy, and shuddered at the feeling of loss.

He exhaled slowly as he looked around the room.

It was his room. His old one, the one he'd lived in a lifetime ago. His tapestries were still hanging on the walls, depicting various historical battles, while his drawings and doodles filled the spaces in between. Someone had cleaned up his surprise clothes pile, and a part of him ached at the loss of mystery. Never knew if he'd grab something clean or stained, and now it was gone, tidied away.

There were a few other things that had changed. Someone had replaced the curtains (understandable, they'd been yellow before), had added a weapons rack and armor stand (the armor looked much better than it had in years, and the sword on the rack was a plain guardsman's), and finally a few chairs were next to his bed.

Ford was sitting in one, arms crossed and head back as he snored. Judging by the light spilling in through the window it was probably early morning. Nerd probably fell asleep sitting there.

Weirdo.

"Time to blow this joint." Stan mumbled, forcing himself to sit up. The world went in and out of focus a few times, so he stared at the far wall until it stopped. Getting the blanket off was another battle, one arm clumsy and the other-

Stan stared at the stump, wrapped in crisp white bandages, perplexed. Any attempts at moving his arm sent prickles of pain up his shoulder, and no arm materialized to help him.

Hmm.

"Ford," Stan said, turning to pull at Fords shirt, "Ford."

Ford awoke with a shout at Stan's touch, and he watched as his brother fell out of the chair and slammed into the ground. Ford shot to his feet a second later, eyes wild and on edge, before meeting Stan's own and freezing.

"Ford," Stan said again pointing at his missing arm, "Ford, my arms gone? Where- have you seen it?"

The expression of Fords face went funky, before landing on some kind of sad.

"Stanley," Ford said, stepping forwards to sit on the edge of the bed, "you're... you're awake."

"Arm." Stan said sadly, and he reached forwards to grab Fords sleeve, "m'arm."

"Yes," Ford grabbed Stan's hand, holding it in his own, "I had- I'm sorry Stanley. We were out of bolts, and I- I couldn't."

Stan blinked at Fords crumpling expression. After a moment he nodded, and Ford slumped, pressing Stan's fingers to his forehead. The grip wasn't tight, and Ford let go when Stan tugged.

What was tight was Ford's grip on Stan's shirt when he tried to get up.

"Stanley!" Ford yelled, pulling him back into the bed, "What are you doing?! You need to rest!"

"I needa... gotta go." Stan mumbled back, trying to wiggle out of his shirt, before flopping down and turning to face his brothers' newest funky face, "Gotta- s'was somthin' I have to do."

"What, what is it, I can-"

"Gotta get stabbed." Stan said eyes wandering over to the sword. It wasn't the right one, but maybe it'd do now that Bill was gone, "Gotta- there was- yeah."

He'd get stabbed, then everything would be better. Fords newest funny face tickled the back of his mind. It looked maybe bad, maybe sad.

"Don't be sbad." Stan said, patting his brothers face, "Gonna hero s'mthigyea?"

Ford pulled his hand down with a sigh, "Stanley, I know you're still recovering and probably won't remember this, but I need you to know."

With that he let go of Stan's hand and leaned forwards, twelve finger's cupping his face. Stan wanted to melt into the feeling, but Fords mean eyes helped him focus.

"I'm not going to stab you, and if you do something like this again? I'll tell Fiddleford to add barbs to the bolts."

"Jerks."

"We were short on time, we didn't-"

"Mean to me."

"The situation was-"

Stan didn't catch the rest. The twelve fingers were pressing into his skin, each firm and tingly on his skin. One of them was rubbing his temple, and it was the nicest thing he'd ever felt. The darkness was like a blanket, gently tugging at him and pulling him far, far away.

[esmedelacroix]

09 - People Who Need People

synopsis ! he’s an american football player by day and a passionate mathematician by night . she’s a well-rounded historian and writer who couldn’t evaluate a derivative to save her life . they lived in two different worlds but shared the same study room .

previous chapter | series masterlist

cw ! no use of y/n, y/n is _____, fluff, slow burn, college au, ooc sukuna, f!reader, child abuse/neglect, alcohol, angst, brief mention of self-harm, depressive tendencies

fic radio ! lacy by Olivia Rodrigo

You swore you would text him and try to talk about his apology and how much it meant to you. But things just kept getting in the way. You're eyelids were beginning to feel dry and heavy from your study session. Just as your eyes fell on your bed, you realized you could hear the birds chirping and the morning light peeking through your window. You pulled an accidental all-nighter and needed to get ready to go to office hours.

After that, you had two classes and got roped into helping out the club you allowed yourself to forget you were the leader of. It was only at the end of the day, when your friends somehow tracked you down at Sal's, you'd interacted with people that actually cared about the "How are you," beyond the faulty "I'm good," that always followed.

"Woah, _____, didn't expect to see you here so late," Satoru said, plopping down into the booth seat across from you alongside Shoko.

Suguru took the seat next to you and peeked at the book you were reading. "People still use physical textbooks?" he asked, flipping through some pages and then closing it, earning a glare from you.

"We haven't seen or heard from you all day, _____. We kind of assumed you were going to self-destruct and stop speaking to us for the next week and keep doing unnecessary work again, so we figured we would hunt you down," Shoko explained.

"I wasn't-" you started, only then realizing you hadn't spoken to anyone since the day prior, even though you had received a bunch of texts from people asking if you were okay after the party.

"Oh," you sighed, rubbing your hand down the side of your face.

"Yeah, oh."

"I'm so sorry. I keep worrying you guys," you guiltily apologized.

"It's totally not your fault, but just remember you need us as much as we need you. We're your friends, and we're here for you, and people need people to lean on. You need to let us be those friends for you," Suguru lectured.

"Now that we have that out of the way. What the heck happened at the party??" Gojo asked, jumping right into the drama. Shoko rolled her eyes, cutting him off, asking, "Wait, but everything's okay, _____?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," you half lied.

You could feel Suguru's prying eyes on you, like he was trying to deconstruct what you were actually thinking. He did that often. Picked up on things that others couldn't. He always watched. Always noticed. Always nudged your knee under the table and gave you that 'Are you okay?' look. He always fucked around in your room just to exist in the same space as you. He knew when you needed to be around someone or you'd drive yourself up a wall. And now he was staring at you, picking apart your expressions and seeing you for what you were actually feeling. Just like the way Sukuna has learned to.

To say that you never had a crush on Suguru was a lie. You had a tiny thing for him freshman year because of how overwhelmed you were with how good of a friend he was off the bat. You had never had anything like that in prep school. Suguru knew things about you that your own parents didn't. They didn't know when you were pretending to be happy, but he did. They didn't know you bounced your leg when you were nervous or giddy, and even if they did, they wouldn't be able to tell the difference between the different bounces

Then you saw him look at his best friend. But he wasn't only looking and analyzing the way he did his friends. With Gojo, he wasn't simply trying to make sure he was okay; he was also looking to memorize him. For the split second he blinked, his eyes would miss him, so he retained the picture of his visage so that even when he closed his eyes, he would still see his face.

The way you once wanted Suguru to look at you because you had mistaken friendship for love was how Sukuna looked at you now. The moment Sukuna reentered your thoughts, you realized, as your eyes fell to the illuminated screen of your phone telling you it was 11:57, that you had forgotten to text Sukuna.

. . .

Sukuna returned to his escape. You would think that a guy with so many interests would maybe: throw himself at some games, or comics, or math problems, or sports. But when Sukuna was down, he simply did nothing. He clung to his bed sheets like adhesive from a discarded bandage left on skin for far too long. Not ripped off, but fallen because it was simply too tired.

He didn't speak to anyone. Who was there to speak to? He didn't have two parents who were present in his life like yours were. He had Toji but he had screwed things up with him and yelled at him about his relationship woes. That was laughable, seeing that Sukuan couldn't even get the girl he liked to speak to him. He was an ass and he pushed people away for a living.

So he drew his curtains, which were usually open, kept all lights off, door closed, and stayed melted into his bed. He stayed in his room. His safe place would keep him depressed forever. A singular wet sphere of salty liquid dribbled down his cheek, and he told himself that it was because he had yawned.

He figured sleep would be better. There was a place inside his mind where he could go and create a better life for himself, and he would much rather be there right now than in this room, thinking about all the reasons why he was alone that pointed back to him and his pitiful existence.

To make said magical dreams, he needed to think of something. Something he wanted badly. So naturally, the first thing he thought of was you. The house you probably lived in, the many pampering products you probably owned, the maid who cleaned up after you, and the kitchen cabinets you could open without the fear of seeing cockroaches crawl about in your tableware. Scatch that. You probably never stepped foot in your kitchen. You had people for that.

He thought about the parents you went home to. The ones that smiled and didn't hit. The ones that loved and kissed each other and didn't cheat and leave. The nice school you went to. All the other rich friends who liked you. Your perfect grades and your perfect reputation—I don't have a crush on _____, he suddenly realized.

I'm completely consumed with jealousy for her. I am obsessed. I saw her at office hours this morning, looking beautiful as ever, and I wished that I had the guts to go to office hours and ask for help. I saw her helping the club she runs while juggling the two classes we have together, and I was mad at myself for not being able to do the same.

Do I really like her? Or do I want to walk in her skin and be her?

His door then swung open. It was Toji. Of course it was. He looked around took in Sukuna's position, and even picked up on the wet patch on his pillow. Sukuna hadn't even realized he had been crying.

"Dude, what the fuck?" Toji calmly grunted.

Sukuna stayed silent, hidden under his comforter up to his neck, his eyes followed Toji, who simply sat at the edge of his bed. Toji's hand traveled under the sheets to find Sukuna's arms pulling them out and inspecting his forearms.

"Stop, I'm not doin' that anymore. You don’t need to check me like I’m a high schooler anymore,” he assured, still letting Toji calm his nerves by being able to see it for himself.

"Are you sure you're not going to, though? Do I need to check your drawers? Did she call from the center?" he pressed.

"No, God, I just—thought you hated me for the party thing," he admitted.

"Why would I hate you? You were right."

"What?"

"You were right. About all of it. I broke up with Delilah for real this time. I shouldv'e walked her home, and I was an ass for trying to piss you and Delilah off with _____. I’m sorry man. I’m an idiot,” he apologized.

“You were just pissing me off?!”

“ … Yeah? Did _____ not talk to you?” Toji questioned.

“I think she made it very clear she doesn’t want to speak to me at Sal’s. Even had Gojo stop me from entering the room. And she completely ignored the apology in the notebook. I thought that meant something,” Sukuna rambled.

“You must really like her huh?” Toji smiled softly.

Do I? “I don’t know,” he truthfully answered. Toji gave him a confused look.

“I just kind of realized that I’m kind of jealous of her,” he confessed. It felt so good to say it out loud.

“Two things can be true at once. I had no idea you were jealous but, I’ve heard the way you talk about her. We all see the way you look at her like a fuckin’ lost puppy. You like her, Ryo. So maybe you’re jealous of her wealth and her status, but I know you. I know your heart. And I know you like her,” Toji shrugged.

“I thought she liked me too.”

“After our conversation last night, me too. Apparently, she hadn’t even opened the notebook until last night. She didn’t even see your apology,” Toji explained.

“So, why hasn’t she talk spoken to me?” Sukuna though out loud.

With perfect fucking timing because the universe hates Sukuna, he revived a text. He intensely scrambled for his phone fishing in his sheets for it with the fervor of a teenager who had just gotten their sugar plum pussy flavored vape hidden at a sleepover.

You: Hey, can we talk?

Sukuna was now sitting up on his bed. Toji peering over his shoulder. “What are you gonna say?” he questioned.

Ryomen: I’m kind of a mess right now can I meet you somewhere?

“Wow, very venerable of you,” Toji half teased, proud that his friend was being a little more honest with his feelings.

You: I’m in your living-room right now…

Both Sukuna and Toji went straight into pick mode. “Why the fuck?” Toji mumbled.

I was at Sal’s with Gojo and wanted to return Toji’s jacket. I meant to text you today but I got distracted.

They looked at each other and communicated with their eyes.

Ryomen: I can chat but not my room’s a mess.

You: I dont care, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.

“I sensed some flirtatiousness in that didn’t you?” Toji asked hyping up Sukuna and patting his chest. He nodded getting a little excited and doing a little shimmy with Toji. They both cleared their throats after a while and zeroed in on the screen.

Ryomen: Come up when you’re ready then :)

“Why the fuck did you add a smiley face? She’s gonna think I’m a creep. That’s how that bitch ass, Gojo, texts in the group chat too,” Sukuna berated.

Toji left the room laughing. Before Sukuna could bolt out after him and punch his ass, you were standing at the door, looking up at the man slightly leaning against the door frame. “Was I interrupting something?” you asked hearing Toji’s laughs from down the hallway.

“Nah, just Toji being an idiot. Typical,” Sukuna rolled his eyes before stepping aside for you to enter the room.

“Alright, Ryomen, just because you have some clothes on the floor and Mountain Dews on your night stand doesn't mean your room is messy," you pointed out, sitting on his bed.

He sat beside you you and chuckled, "You're saying that but your dorm is probably perfect. Nice and clean and organized, pink shit everywhere ..."

"Nah its worse. I have half-finished drinks and unwrapped snacks on my nightsand, way too many Red Bulls on my work desk, and my bed is never made. You could also probably swim through the clothes on my floor right now," you shrugged.

"What."

"What? I can't be good at everything. I just happen to keep my spaces messy when I'm stressed out," you explained.

"Me too," he mumbled looking around his room.

Some silence invaded the space between you before you spoke up, "I'm sorry I didn't look at the note. I'm even more sorry I didn't text you today. I've been busy," you started.

"I should be the one apologizing, _____. I called you a name one should never call a woman. I'm sorry for calling you a bitch. No reasoning can dismiss the fact that I disrespected you.”

“Wow, thank you, Ryomen,” said quietly.

He let a soft sigh. Hearing his name roll off your tongue so beautifully brought Sukuna great comfort. The name he once hated now made him feel most at peace in this moment because you were the one saying it.

“If you still don’t want to forgive me-“ he started before you immediately cut him off, “No, I do. I did last night. Your note was so thoughtful and perfect. I genuinely just got caught up in my day. I wish you would have just told me you were trying to defend me day of. I’m sorry about the matcha by the way and not giving you a chance.”

“Well, this is awkward. I thought I was going to have to give you my first born child for you to tutor me and hang out again,” he joked, rubbing the back of his neck.

You laughed with him, and the two of you talked for a little longer. You absentmindedly began to pick up some clothes and place them in the hamper. Together, without even realizing it, you had cleaned his room, and it was no longer looking as cluttered as it was earlier.

“It’s still 8:00. Do you wanna hit up the library?” Sukuna randomly suggested.

“Possibly. I have my bag,” you shrugged, trying to hide the smile gracing your lips by turning away and facing the door.

Your efforts were lost on Ryomen because he could see your raised cheekbones from behind.

. . .

-> next part

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comment to be added to the taglist !

[yup-thats-me]

—First Days • Ateez

✧˖°.pairing: sibling!teez x little sister!reader ✧˖°.summary: ❝its their little sister's first day of kindergarten, and time for new memories to makeᝰ.ᐟ❞✧˖°.warnings: none

"Sannie, Woo!" The little girl jumped on her brother who was hugging Wooyoung, the older man groaning. "Rise and shine," she giggled.

Wooyoung sighed, checking his phone. "It's just six am, Y/n," the man tried to reason, falling back into position. "Wake us up at seven, flower," San added.

Y/n pouted, jumped again this time with more excitement. "I start school today!"

And it makes both of the men jolt awake, sitting upright with surprised expression. Checking the date again, Wooyoung screams pulling Y/n in a hug, smothering her little face with kisses.

San smiled as he watched her fighting Wooyoung. Once he lets go, San quickly picks her up in his arms, spinning around the room. "Our baby sister is starting school today," he chirped, blowing raspberries on her little tummy.

Wooyoung took a quick video of the two, walking out of their room to be met with a house busier than the subway at rush hour.

All the guys running around the rooms, Seonghwa screaming at Mingi for burning the pancakes, Hongjoong and Yunho packing things in Y/n's little bag and Jongho stood there rubbing his chin as if he was buying real estate for his hypothetical company with Yeosang giving him suggestions.

"Wow," San mouths, letting Y/n down. Giggling, the little girl paddeles up to Hongjoong, inspecting what they were packing. "Crayons!" she beamed taking them out. Hongjoong tried to stop her having packed them just seconds prior but the smile on her face dulled anything he had to say.

Smiling, Hongjoong nodded. "Yes, Y/n, those are crayons. Can we put them back?" he tried.

"No, wanna draw!" She babbled.

Hongjoong rubbed his face in frustration, Yunho dying of laughter beside the older. "Babygirl," Yunho managed between laughs. "Lets color in our ipad, okay?" he suggested, whisking her away in his arms.

The girl was barely walking today.

Shaking their heads, Wooyoung walked towards the kitchen, saving Mingi who was just about to get bombarded with more screams from their hyung. "Calm, calm down, hyung," Wooyoung chuckled, pattinf Seonghwa.

"Calm? How can I be calm, Woo? That idiot is messing up Y/n's breakfast!"

"Hey!" Exclaimed Mingi, trying to flip another scattered pancake. "I just want to help," he pouted.

Seonghwa sighed, taking in deep breaths. "Okay, Min. How about this, you cut the veggies for her lunch and Woo handles the breakfast, alright?" He sounds just like a mother, Wooyoung thinks.

Mingi nods, happy with the offer.

Meanwhile, San leaned against Yeosang, eyes fixed on the picked outfits laid on the couch. "How about this?" he pointed at a pink dress. "No," Jongho shook his head. "She'll get it dirty," he siad, Yeosang nodding along him.

"How about that?" Yeosang suggested, pointing at a jean overall. "Yes!" Jongho clapped his hand as if he found a diamond in the rough. "That's it, hyung, good!" He praised.

Yeosang smiled smugly, fanning himself with his hand. "Keep them coming, keep them coming."

Chuckling, San left the two to get ready for the day.

And for thirty minutes, the house fell into rhythm. Jongho and Yeosang dressing up the little girl who was busy dancing to cocomelon, Hongjoong going over the list of things he had packed, Wooyoung, Seonghwa and Mingi taking care of the meals. Yunho recorded it all on his phone, while San did it on his videocam, narrating everything as if he was making a journal entry.

When it was time for breakfast, the brothers took turns feeding Y/n, placing small pieces of pancakes in her mouth. Hongjoong stood beside Seonghwa, watching as his brothers fed their dear sister. He caught Seonghwa wiping tears from the corner of his eyes. Hongjoong smiled, offering the older man a side hug.

"She's growing so fast," Seonghwa said softly.

Hongjoong nodded, "Too fast."

After breakfast, the men scurried off to their room to get dressed. "You all coming, no?" Y/n asked, her eyes sparkling brightly.

It was decided that Seonghwa and Hongjoong would drop the girl off but seeing her face, they all decided there on the dining table that all of them are coming, no matter what. Even if one car doesn't hold them all, they will take their other cars, as many as it takes to drop her off.

They will absolutely not miss it for the world.

The ride to the kindergarten was uneventful. In one car, Hongjoong drove while Seonghwa had her sit on his lap, remindeing her of all the things she should and should not do while Mingi and Wooyoung smiled like their lives were fulfilled.

"You should share your things, alright, Y/n?" Seonghwa said softly.

"Or don't if the kids are mean!" Added Wooyoung who earned a smack from the older. Hongjoong chcukled, shaking his head.

"Say good morning to the teacher," Seonghwa began again. "And what are the magic words we learned?"

"Sorry, please and thank you!" Y/n answered cheerfully.

"Yes!" Seonghwa praised, high-fiving her little palm.

"Oh and Y/n, if a boy annoys you," Mingi started, looking at Hongjoong to finish the sentence.

"Come to me and Min. We'll take care of it."

In the other car, Yunho drove while the others stared at San's phone.

"She was so small," cooed Yeosang at the pictures of Y/n San was showing. "Her fingers, oh my god," gasped Jongho. "So small!"

"You guys," Yunho sighed. "She's still small."

"But she won't be for long," Whined San, tipping his head back in agony.

Yeosang nodded thoughtfully. "She'll grow up, be in highchool, then oh my god," he covered his mouth. "Puberty," he almost whispers the word as if it was a cursed spell of some kind.

The men all collectively grimaced. "Then college, she'll move out," Yeosang started again. "She'll get a job too. It's all too fast, not fair!" he groaned.

"I think we're forgetting something...?"

The men all stared at Yunho through the rearview mirror, as if daring him to say the words.

"She'll get married...one day."

And silence falls over the car, the only sound of the wheels running against the road. San shakes his head, waving his hand around dismissively.

"Too fast, too fast! She's five! We have plenty of time before that," he reasoned trying to diffuse the sudden melancholy. Yunho nodded, focusing on the road.

In a few minutes, both car stops before the kindergarten. It was Seonghwa first who came out with Y/n in his arms, Hongjoong, Wooyoung and Mingi following him. The other men also stood around Seonghwa, as if guarding the two from some invisible danger.

There were other parents too who came to drop off their children. They moved to the sighed, murmuring amongst themselves about the strange family.

The poor teacher thought she had a mafia kid this year for sure.

"Hello, Ms. Ae-sun," Hongjoong greeted.

Letting Y/n stand, Seonghwa shook her hand. "We hope you take care of Y/n," he smiled brightly.

"She's a good kid, don't worry," San added with a smile.

The teacher nodded, taking off Y/n's bag. "She'll be alright,m don't worry," she smiled.

When it was time to leave, Seonghwa waved a quick good bye to Y/n and rushed to the car, the tip of his ears going red. Y/n stared confused. "You guys won't stay?" She asked softly.

Hongjoong sighed, kneeling down to her height. "We'll be back soon, kiddo," he ruffled her hair.

"B-but," her lips were quivering.

"We can have ice-cream after school, doll," San added quickly. "And cookies and chocolate, and-," the guys added in a hurry.

"Okay!" She beamed.

Breathing a sigh of relief, the guys slowly made their way to their respective cars.

"Bye-bye!" She waved her brothers goodbye.

do not copy, steal or translate my work on any other sites. All rights belongs to yup-thats-me© on tumblr

✧˖°.reqs are open⋆.𐙚 ̊

[yuurei20]

Hey Yuurei! I have a question that popped into my head when I saw the anime announcement.

If the anime adapts the manga, is the manga the same as the game? I mean, does the manga change or skip any things from the game?

Aside from the first big change we see in the manga being the Yuu/Prefect, who in each manga has a name, a design, and a backstory, are there any other changes?

Hello hello, thank you for this question! 📕 The manga is very different from the game, adding new scenes, rewriting old scenes and erasing some scenes completely! :>

Here is a comparison of the game's prologue to the Twst manga, vol.1!

Twisted Wonderland: Game vs Manga Vol. 1 Differences

One of the more interesting differences between the two mediums is how, in the game, the prefect does not wake up on their own: they are awoken by Grim.

If Grim hadn't been trying to steal their clothes, would they have not woken up prematurely? Would they have awoken as the mage they were supposed to be?

In the game Crowley comments, "Of all the students I've dealt with, you're the first with temerity enough to open their own gate and step out of it," but they actually didn't, it was all Grim.

In contrast Grim does not exist in the scene where the prefect wakes up in the manga, and they do leave their coffin themselves.

The prefect being chosen by Grim, not actually waking themselves up at all, could possibly a future important point in the game. Grim could have chosen anyone out of the various coffins there, and the one he chose was the prefect we know. Coincidence? 👀 Or not?

One of many reasons why game and manga canon are very different!

Others include:

🎮 Game: Grim opens future-prefect's coffin → chase scene through school

📖 Manga: Yuuken practicing kendo → mysterious carriage appears → wakes up in coffin on his own during opening ceremony

🎮 Game: Crowley catches up while future-prefect is fleeing from Grim

📖 Manga: Yuuken threatens Crowley with his kendo sword, announces that he is leaving, Grim crashes through a window.

🎮 Game: Grim sets things on fire → Riddle collars him → Crowley asks someone to take Grim away

📖 Manga: Grim sets things on fire → Yuuken tackles Riddle to safety → Riddle threatens Yuuken -> Crowley himself takes Grim away

🎮 Game: ・Future-prefect carries nothing from their old world ・Scared of ghosts ・Fight ghosts with Grim ・Fights Crowley-as-ghost with Grim ・Asks Crowley's permission to allow Grim to stay at NRC ・Become janitor duo

📖 Manga: ・Yuuken is carrying everything he had while waiting for the bus (kendo sword, bag, cell phone, etc.) ・He is excited to meet Ramshackle's ghosts ・No Grim in this scene ・Yuuken alone is assigned the role of janitor after Crowley is impressed by his physique ・No ghost battles

🎮 Game: Future-prefect and Grim go to Main Street together → meet Ace → Ace insults future-prefect and Grim -> Ace and Grim fight -> statue gets burned → window washing punishment

📖 Manga: Yuuken goes alone to Main Street → meets Ace and Deuce already together → Grim appears for the first time since Crowley ejected him from the ceremony -> Yuuken subdues Grim with a broom → Ace insults Grim -> Deuce drops a cauldron on Ace to stop his fighting with Grim -> statue is burned

🎮 Game: Ace does not appear after school for window washing. Future-prefect and Grim chase after him and Deuce catches him by dropping a cauldron on him. Grim runs away and is chased into the cafeteria, where Deuce throws Ace at him, breaking a chandelier. Crowley appears and expels all four characters. Deuce begs for a chance to redeem himself and Crowley assigns them the task of replacing the magestone that powered the broken chandelier.

📖 Manga: Ace, Deuce and Yuuken are all expelled for burning the statue (Grim runs away and is not included). Deuce begs for a chance to redeem himself and Crowley assigns them the task of replacing the magestone that powers the cafeteria chandelier. The chandelier is not broken, but its magestone’s magic is fading. Grim overhears this.

In a manga-exclusive scene Riddle goes to the headmage’s office and Crowley explains what happened to the statue and that Ace and Deuce are going to the mine as punishment. Riddle vows to take off their heads.

🎮 Game: ・Ace, Deuce, future-prefect and Grim go together to the mine ・Fight ghosts ・Deuce fights the monster, Ace supports Deuce, Grim attacks last ・Teamwork defeats the monster

📖 Manga: ・Ace, Deuce and Yuuken go together to the mine, Grim appears later ・No ghosts ・Deuce fights the monster, Ace and Grim run away, Yuuken saves Deuce alone ・Riddle defeats the monster

[potato-sports-fan]

my totally accurate review of mugello

alright this is a long one so let’s get started:

first off, the glorious Marc Marquez. He got the treble: Pole position, Sprint winner, Race winner. This dude is such a certified liar like he went into the weekend all, “oh I’m gonna focus on defending I don’t need to win I just need to maintain my lead against Alex” and proceeded to set the lap record and get pole position. Like sure, ok, we all know your petty ass wanted to, NEEDED to win in Mugello. This would be the dagger, what would really drive home the idea of his dominance The booing and jeers just motivated you to win. And can we talk about how he took the Ducati flag and planted it in front of the grandstands like, “l’m here, and you guys are stuck with me. Bask in my glory and know that your greatest enemy has infiltrated your team.” Also, this dude gave me an fricken heart attack at the start of the sprint like why is he so smart but so stupid 😭 I swear to god he makes these mistakes to keep us on our feet. He’s handicapping himself that smug little-. Anyway the goat did goat things and extended his lead to 40, which is STILL nothing but feeling pretty good about it. (Everyone at Ducati also seemed happy considering how they looked ready to pounce on him every time they saw him post race.)

Pecco bagnaia. Boy oh boy. I was gutted for him and a little surprised tbh. This is a track he was known for, a track he won at for THREE STRAIGHT YEARS and was a favorite coming into. He had momentum from gaining his podium spot back in Aragon, and was seeming much more confident in the front after they altered the bike’s braking disc, everything seemed to be looking up for our resident wet rat. He did great in qualifying, getting 2nd, but ended up once again in third place in the sprint behind Marc and Alex. The first few laps were downright AMAZING like the overtakes?? The three of them were fighting each other for the spot and it was so entertaining. Of course though after Marc got to the front and extended the margin, it was all over. At this point, I feel like these three are gonna be on every podium(not that I’m complaining). Then the race happened and I actually thought we were gonna get a proper full race fight between these two or three. But Pecco ended up using up his tires too fast and dropped back to not even third place, but fourth behind Fabio Di Giannantonio, who by the way, had a FANTASTIC race. Can we talk about the pace he had??? He was the flash. But yeah seeing Pecco so sad after the race made me feel me feel sad also and I immediately felt like an a-hole for hoping he lost to Marc. IM SORRY I LOVE YOU PECCO. But anyway, he’s in the trenches rn and still has front feeling issues as we all saw during the race. Hope he finds his strength because he genuinely raced great this weekend, it just wasn’t enough to win ;v;

Alex Marquez has been getting the middle child treatment because he has been so crazily consistent in getting second place. We need to talk about how amazing that is because I feel like everyone is talking about how Marc is beating him or how Pecco is losing to him. HE DESERVES HIS CREDIT. He is a good rider and doesn’t deserve the shade that some certain people (cough cough Simon Patterson cough cough) are throwing at him. Do they not realize how insulting is it to be told that you are letting your brother win??? Like Alex is a methodical person, he was definitely thinking that he had to preserve his tires because he wasn’t going to be able to battle with Marc and keep his high placement. For example, Pecco was going at it with Marc and burned through his tires way too fast. But yeah, Alex did amazing this weekend and I am loving this Marquez podium duo.

quick shoutout to Franko Morbidelli, who legit committed attempted murder on track against Maverick Vinales, who had EVERY right to be as mad as he was. Like my guy, you are a good rider, please stop making people crash thank you. Also, he missed his penalty long lap and had to do it again, which feels like karma but also I saw Valentino shake his head at it and I swear I died from laughter. This dude was probably like wtffff what is he doing-

Special liveries and helmets. The renaissance Ducati liveries were a masterpiece. Stunning, beautiful, breathtaking. I could look at them all day as a die-hard renaissance painting fan. Along with the themed photos and videos they posted, I think I legit ascended into heaven out of serotonin and joy. The vr46 ones though, I’m conflicted. For one, I love how it’s bi flag colors, especially as it’s pride month. However, I think it’s just…ok? Not really anything special. I was kinda expecting more considering how amazing many of Valentino’s liveries have been. For example, the Hawaiian flower one was sooooooo good. Fabio quatararo’s toothless from httyd helmet was iconic. Amazing franchise of movies, amazing helmet, but I felt bad for the dude because this Yamaha is a rock Frfr it’s so slow.

little tidbits to note: Keanu reeves was flinching while watching the race, like did you see that man react to Marc and Pecco colliding? That man was fearing for their lives. Valentino Rossi watched his ultimate enemy, his ex-boyfriend l, do a full sweep at his home race, in front of his home crowd, in a home team, against his students. Oh how sweet that victory was. I just know that dude was fuming like he is such a dedicated hater 💅 that watching Marc take pole physically hurt him. His eye blood vessel literally burst that’s how much it affected him. Dedicated Casey stoner levels of haterism on another level. Marc’s side of the paddock was picking and throwing this dude like he was a rag doll post race, like they wanted that cookie so bad. Also, they dropped him while throwing him in the air and then proceeded to drown him with a giant bucket of water/prosecco. I love this team.

so to sum it all up, by far one of the more entertaining races of the season and Marc Marquez is just the most babygirl, petty, evil, gorgeous, annoying, endearing mastermind.

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

WHATCHA DOING- M. MURDOCK

day twenty six of the june bug masterlist

pairing: ex- boyfriend! matt murdock x fem! reader (fake dating)

word count: 3.7k

summary: your distant cousin invites you and your ex-boyfriend matt to her wedding, under the impression the two of you are still together. wanting to keep the peace, you decide to invite him with you as your "fake" partner, in hopes it can rekindle the flame.

warnings: SMUT, praise kink, petnames, choking, flirting, sexual tension, fake dating trope!, kissing/ making out, mentions of alcohol, swearing

 “whatcha doin' to me, baby? i’m scared to death/ that you might be the one to change me, you're in my head/ and now you're cloudin' my decisions, got me headin' for collision…”- whatcha doing, dua lipa

 The corner of the envelope dug into your skin as you grasped the thick material, scanning over the fancy cursive, in bright red ink.

A smudge on your name, making it appear as if it was blood.

A scarlet letter.

Matt’s name next to yours was something you hadn't seen in months. It was as if time had stopped for a second, and you were no longer in a rush to scramble out of your work clothes and to pour a glass of wine.

It had been a long, tiring day at the office, the piles of papers seeming to stack so high they’d topple over with a single touch. It was dark when you entered those clear, revolving doors, and it was dark when you left them for the rush and bustle of the city's nightlife.

But the day had slipped out of reach as you saw your name next to your ex-boyfriends from your cousin.

It had been months since you and Matt were together, and you had tried so hard to put that past you. Things had ended on decent terms. No fall outs, no vicious fights or nasty words shouted. Things had just… disappeared.

Long, lonely nights became too much for you to bear. Now they were your typical nights.

Your cousin couldn't have known, of course.

You barely spoke to her, as she lived hours upon hours away- both of you too wrapped up with work and your own lives to make time to talk. But here her name was, on an envelope- containing a wedding invitation.

The words “You’re Invited” seemed to stare back at you, permanently etched onto your eyeballs.

Of course you would go, it only seemed right to support Hannah. She was your family, after all- and you were sure she would do the same for you…

Thoughts of what you and Matt could’ve been swirled around in your mind, covered by a translucent white wedding veil.

No. No, this was not about you- this was about her. You would do this for her, no matter how painful it was.

You took a deep breath, tossing the paper to the side. You’d deal with this later. Now, you just needed a hot, hot shower and sleep. Forget the wine. All you wanted was your head against your soft pillow as soon as possible.

As you trudged to the bathroom, all you could think of was Matt. How would you possibly explain this to him? Or your cousin? You were sure you could send her a letter back explaining everything… but… did you really want to?

You missed Matt more than anything.

This was… an opportunity.

An excuse, if you will- to see him again.

Did you really want to let that slip through your fingers?

You peeled your clothes off, running a hand through your hair as you stared at yourself in the mirror which had started to fog up, hot water running from the showerhead. It was so hot it burned as you stepped under the trickling water, and you let it.

You were stumped on what to do. At least that's what you told yourself as you let the steam scorch your skin, washing yourself with lavender soap.

But no amount of soap could wash away the memories of Matt Murdock, even as they spun down the drain.

·•—–٠✤٠—–•· ·•—–٠✤٠—–•· ·•—–٠✤٠—–•·

Listen, I need your help with something. I know it's been months since we’ve really talked, and we aren't together anymore but you  said if I needed anything to call or get you so here I am, at your law firm.

You almost laughed out loud at how stupid that sounded. Here you were, on your way to Matt's office on a Friday afternoon, practically about to get on your knees and beg like a whining puppy. You didn't want to call him and ask, that seemed too… fake.

You had been together for three years, the least you could do was ask him to be your fake boyfriend/ date to this wedding in person. You owed him that much.

Unless he wanted nothing to do with you anymore. Then the phone call would be better, the rejection wouldn't be visible on his face and it wouldn't cut as deep.

It was too late now. You were nearly at his firm, nothing with you but your purse, and the invitation. Your pride and dignity was left at home. You felt yourself start to slow, taking a deep breath as you turned the corner to a street you knew all so well.

It had been a while since you had been around this area of the city. But it was as if you had never left. Nelson and Murdock reflected in the sunlight, the gold freshly polished, catching your eye. A contrast against the bright red brick, just like the envelope.

You were tired of red. All it reminded you of was Matt.

You yanked open the door, the lock seeming faulty as you struggled to twist it open. It was cold as you entered, the air on full blast- the walls in the hallway empty, and plain white. Your heels clicked against the tile floors past the empty offices before finally reaching theirs.

It had been months since you had seen Foggy or Karen, and you hoped they were there. Just because you and Matt were not speaking as much didn't mean you had to have a falling out with your mutual friends. It was just a lot more difficult when they were so far and worked with your ex.

You finally reached their office, ignoring the ‘Back in Thirity Minitues’ sign draped over the handle. From what you remembered, they usually had their lunch break here.

“Oh I’m sorry we’re just on bre-” She paused, realization coming across her features as you walked in.

“Y/N! Ohmygosh!” You smiled as Karen skipped over for a hug, gripping you tightly, swaying you back and forth.

“Its so good to see you again!”

“Its been so long. I’ve missed you.” you smiled, squeezing her hands as she entangled them with yours, squeezing them back. She looked well and happy, cheeks a rosey tint, smile bright on her face.

You really did miss Karen. She was always so kind to you, even when you and Matt had split.

“Is Matt here?” you asked, and her smile faltered.

“Yeah, just in his office. Why, is everything okay? I mean I figured you were here to see him but ya know, you havent been here since things..”

“I’m okay, really. I just need to speak with him. Do you think he’d be okay with me coming in?”

She nodded. “Of course! Just go back and knock.”

You thanked her, sending a wave to Foggy through his opened door, his legs crossed up on his desk. You took a deep breath, hand resting on the doorhandle. You knew Matt could hear your uneven breaths, and he knew you were here.

If anything, it made you more nervous.

You rattled your knuckles against the wood, poking the door open a sliver. “Matt? Can I come in?” you asked softly, and he poked his head up from his papers, his fingers leaving the braille.

“Y/N. I was waiting for you.” he smiled softly, that boyish grin so familiar to you.

You missed it. You slipped through the crack, shutting the door softly behind you.

“You were?”

“Well yes, your anxious pacing down the hall could probably be heard down the block.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “Hardy har. Very funny Murdock.”

He smiled, rubbing his hand through his hair. “How've you been?” he asked, all teasing dropped from his voice. You sighed, letting out a gentle laugh. That was a loaded question.

“I’ve been okay. Just.. ya know.”

His eyebrow raised. You sighed, sitting down in the chair across from him.

“My cousin is getting married soon, Hannah- you know, you’ve met her. And she sent us an invitation.”

“Us?”

You anxiously fiddled with your fingers, wringing them out. “Yeah… she didn't know we broke up. And she sent an invitation to both of us, and I just don't wanna trouble her with everything, and make things more difficult than they need to be.” you mumbled.

“Understandable.” he said, tilting his head. You didn't know if he knew where this was going or not. Hesitant to go on you cleared your throat anxiously.

“Well, I was wondering… could you maybe be my fake date to the wedding?”

He laughed. “Fake date? Of course princess. I think I’ve had some practice with that.”

“You- you mean you’ll do it? Seriously?”

You let out a small sigh of relief. Jesus. Okay, this wasn't going as bad as you thought it would.

“Course I will. Is there an open bar?”

“Yes. At least I think so.”

He nodded, extending his hand out for you to shake. “Then I’m there. It’s a deal.”

You gripped his hand, the skin slightly caloused and rough against your soft skin, but he was so warm compared to your chilled body. You savoured the warmth as he took your hand and brought it to his lips, planting a little kiss to your knuckles.

“A deal. Thank you Matt, seriously. It really means a lot.”

“I told you you could ask for my help anytime, for anything did I not? I still care about you, Y/N.”

Yeah, but not the way I want you to care about me, you thought- clinging to the ghost of the past as his hand brushed yours. Your skin prickled with little needles as you slipped it back in your lap, replacing his touch with your own to self soothe.

“I know.” was all you could slip out meekly, biting your lip hard enough until you tasted coper.

“Just call sometime and tell me the details okay? I think I’ll have the hang of pretending to be your boyfriend. Past experience and what not, it's already on the resume.”

You couldn't help but giggle at his remark, so overcome with relief you felt slightly dizzy as you stood, a foot already out the door before you could muster a goodbye and another thank you.

Okay, so this was really happening. Matt was going to the wedding with you, as your boyfriend.

Your fake boyfriend.

·•—–٠✤٠—–•··•—–٠✤٠—–•··•—–٠✤٠—–•·

You stared at yourself in the mirror, the dim, yellow hotel lighting making you look almost sickley.

You felt sick.

You felt like your entire breakfast was going to come back up and out of you, all over the reflective surface.

You didn't know if you could handle Matt's touches and looks towards you when others stared, knowing deep down it wasn't real. But you had asked him- for Christ's sake to do this. You had to pull yourself together.

You brushed the anxiety to the side, trying to push down the nausea as you pulled up your dress. It fit perfectly, and you couldn't help but feel a smidge proud of yourself for how well it suited you. There was just one little problem.

“Matt?”

You stepped out of the bathroom, clutching your dress. His head turned to the sound of your voice as he sat on the end of the hotel bed, waiting for you.

“Could you um… help me zip up this dress?” you asked, wincing slightly at how coupley it felt.

He smiled, fingers curling- indicating to come over to him. He stood as you turned in front of him, breath hitching as he stood, towering over you, fingers tracing your curves before the bare skin of your lower back to find the zipper.

You sucked in a breath as he took his sweet time, slowly inching the zipper up until it was done up.

You didn't move. He took a deep inhale, as if trying to ground himself before mumbling in your ear.

“You smell really, really delicious.”

You reached for your clutch, then froze. And yet, he acted like nothing had happened.

“Shall we go?” he asked, placing his hands on your shoulders tenderly as he slipped by, off to the door with ease.

Like this was second nature to him.

·•—–٠✤٠—–•··•—–٠✤٠—–•··•—–٠✤٠—–•·

No amount of champagne could dull the thudding of your heart each time Matt touched you.

Which was a lot.

Always near you, a hand resting on your wrist as you sat at dinner, chatting with extended family- feeling your thumping pulse. An arm wrapped around your middle whenever you stood off to the side- giving you a little squeeze. He hadn't been so bold as to kiss you- but you wouldn't put it past him.

You had to give credit where credit was due- he was playing the shit out of this role. And the worst part? It didn't even feel like he was acting. It was as if the two of you had never changed. The dynamic was the same- from the way you looked at him- to the way his body seemed to mold perfectly next to yours.

And you couldn't even get upset at him for acting this well- because you had asked him to do this.

You had asked him to break your heart all over again, because it was a glimpse into the past, and the future. What could've been. You had placed that burden on yourself- letting yourself get pulled into this fantasy, this make believe that a spark was still engited. Despite it being a happy day, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment that things hadnt worked out between you and Matt.

This had just solidified the pain.

Maybe this was a stupid idea, you thought, nursing another glass of bubbly in the corner, sulking in the shadows.

Matt had disappeared to god knows where- which was good, it gave you time to be trapped with your thoughts as punishment. But before you could get too wrapped up in the chain of regrets, a hand brushed your lower back, just barely grazing your ass.

“You okay sweetheart?”

He had appeared as if he had heard your thoughts screaming for him telepathically. You hated him, for how well he could read you.

“I’m fine.”

He raised an eyebrow. “No, you’re not. You forget that I know you.”

“I know you know me.” you snapped, instantly regretting your harsh tone. “Sorry, fuck. I’m really sorry Matt I didn't mean to snap. Its just been a long day, and still is going to be a long night, I’m just tired and a little intoxicated, my feet hurt and- now I’m rambling arent I?”

He chuckled, giving your ass a little reasurring pat, feeling pairs of eyes on you two. You sucked in a breath, hating yourself for how much the simple flirtaous touch effected you.

“Go on sweetheart. Act like no ones watching us, yeah?”

You nodded, sighing before you took another sip of your drink. “I just- I kinda regret inviting you. Honestly.”

“Am I not doing good? Shit I’m sorry Y/N I thought things were going well-”

“No, no its not that. I guess I’m just, not handling this as well as I thought I could. And I’m honestly, a little bit jealous of Hannah. Which is such an awful thing to say, especially today.”

You shrugged, chugging back the rest of your glass. You felt his thumb start to rub your back soothingly, feeling the emotions bubble to the top.

You savoured it. There was a part of you that just wanted to say fuck it, and give up all control around him. He was dangerous, in that way. All decisions were clouded- as if you were speeding on a highway in nothing but fog.

Perfect for collisions.

Surely, he had to know what he was doing. He was being too perfect. And you desperately craved to find something wrong- and it worried you that you couldnt. Matt Murdock still had your heart captured, held between his fingers.

All he had to do was squeeze.

“Its not awful to say. And I get it, its weird to be here, us- together but Y/N… I’m really happy to be with you again. I’ve missed you. And I’m so, so honoured you asked me to come.”

You froze. “You missed me?”

He nodded, shrugging, as if it was the most obvious thing in the whole wide world. “Who wouldnt?”

That made you flustered. “I-I um… I missed you too Matt. A lot. I’m glad you feel the same.”

He smiled, that charming, handsome smile that sucked you in over three years ago, leaving the same warmth in your chest.

“Shall we dance? To escape your aunt who is rounding the corner as we speak?”

Not wanting to listen to her ramble on for thirty minutes, getting you both caught up in the cross-fire, you set down your empty glass and followed him onto the dancefloor.

Hands free, and heart soaring with hope at the idea maybe, just maybe- this was a good idea afterall.

·•—–٠✤٠—–•··•—–٠✤٠—–•··•—–٠✤٠—–•·

You wanted to scream at him.

What are you doing to me?!

His hands wandered, whether it was for show or sincere, you couldn't tell. But they were everywhere. On your hips, on your ass, stroking his fingers delicately up your bare arm, caressing your skin softly as they captured your jaw.

It was intoxicating.

You couldn't help but laugh at his ridiculously jokes, following him by the arm as he went and got more drinks for the two of you. It wasn't long before the night had gotten the best of you. Now you were screaming at him.

For different reasons.

“F-fuck Matt-” you moaned, clutching the marble vanity as he fucked you from behind. It hadn’t taken much longer before slow teasing kisses on the sides of the ballroom turned into hauling him into some rich, fancy bathroom.

You prayed the music was too loud for anyone to hear you if they walked by. But you couldn't control your noises. He felt too good. And he didn't you want you to control them either.

“Yeah sweetheart you keep making those pretty noises. I’ve missed them. And I’ve missed her- that sweet little pussy of yours that fits me just right. Like you were made for me.”

Your eyes rolled back at his filthy praises, thrusting in deeper as he hiked your dress skirt around your hips. You clung for dear life, the counter practically imprinting your palms as he showed you no mercy.

And you loved it.

You prayed to every god he would come undone, be the needy, desperate, controlling man you loved so dearly between your sheets before. That, it seems, had never left.

“You know that sweetheart? Couldnt fuck anyone else after you. This pussy is too fuckin good. Thought of her everynight with my hand around my cock.”

“Mhmm missed you s’much baby..” you panted, watching the way your tits bounced against the restraint of your dress, your lipstick smudged from when he had hoisted you up against the locked bathroom door and ravaged them like a man starved.

“I know. I know sweetheart just- fuck- just like that. Doing so good for me.” he praised, hand wrapping around your neck, squeezing it gently, just the way you liked- guiding you to arch even further as he kissed you.

Broken moans were swallowed by his tongue- the music outside cranked even louder.

Fuck. You prayed no one was looking for the two of you right now. In fact, after this- you’d find a way to sneak away with Matt- to who knows where, just to get another taste.

“Matt- Matty I’m gonna cum-”

“I can feel ya honey, s’okay. Just let go for me, I got you. I always got you.”

A kiss was planted to the top of your head, so gentle and loving it nearly sent a tear dripping down your cheek. You hadn't realized just how much you had missed him, not only his touch but the way his words, and the way he just… understood. It was like some patched hole in your heart had been fully healed, hearing his praise.

And it was wrong, and you prided yourself on your independence. But you'd do anything to crawl back to him. And it seemed he was right there, down to crawl and meet you there.

You came around him with a cry, legs quivering slightly as he held you up with ease. Your head was so foggy you could barely even register his praises- sounding like they were coming from above the surface of the sea.

Sweet whispers of I got you baby, or You did so good honey, gonna cum inside okay? N’fill you up? Sounded like sweet melodies, and you nodded absent mindley as he filled you up to the brim, the warmth coating your insides.

“Matt- t-thank you.” you whispered as he slowly slipped out, planting a sweet kiss to your shoulder as his cum spilled down your inner thighs.

“Why are you thanking me honey?” he asked softly, grabbing some paper towels to try and clean you up the best he could.

“For making me feel so loved.”

You felt a tear slip down your cheek and he froze, a concerned crease in his forehead as he spun you around, wiping the salty tear with a thumb, letting it slowly rub coaxing circles on your cheek.

“I’ve never stopped loving you sweetheart. I’m so, so sorry it had to be the way it did.”

You nodded, your lashes fluttering against your cheek as he pulled you in close, supporting your weight, your burdens, your fears as he held you to his chest. Letting you get out everything you needed to- no words spoken, just silent tears as your hands found their way to his suit jacket, fidgeting with the fabric.

“You wanna get out of here and feel loved some more?” he murmured, planting another kiss to the top of your head as he started to sway you side to side, like a rocking horse. Just as he used to do, when you were barefoot in the kitchen, in nothing but his t-shirt, slow dancing in the moonlight.

It was so calming you almost felt yourself drifting off against his beating heart, before you fully registered his words. Let yourself smile, and wipe away the tears.

“You really can read me, Murdock.”

[rspberryberet]

growing pains, sammie moore x black!fem!reader

synopsis. a night out drinking with sammie

warnings. teenagers drinking moonshine, religious themes (namely christianity), war, really fluffy, hardly proofread

creds to @haonian for the divider

there you both were, away from your homes and out of the beds you should’ve been sound asleep in, sitting in the dirt and leaning up against the back the church house with your shoes kicked off. you with your thighs slightly exposed because you had bunched up your white dress and let it lie between your legs, and sammie with the sleeves of the same button-up he wore to church that holy morning rolled far up to where you could see the way his arm flexed whenever he took a swig from the bottle of moonshine.

“i gotta stop drinkin’,” you croaked as the liquor hit the back of her throat in a sharp way that made your mouth burn and your body shudder. “‘s a nasty habit.”

you shook your head at yourself, eyebrows furrowed and glossy lips parted. you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, passing off the bottle to sammie. “a criminal one too.” he added before drinking, looking over at you with a slick smile and low-lidded eyes. nothing was sanctified about the way the preacher’s son looked at you then.

so blissfully adolescent you both were then, staring at the stars and wondering if there really was a god.

“you pray?” sammie questioned aimlessly, extending the bottle to you again without stripping his gaze from the night sky. you grabbed the neck of it without looking over at him, “when i got sum’n to pray ‘bout.”

“ain’t we meant to pray about everything?”

you exhaled deeply at that, looking down at your lap. “i don’t know.” you didn’t know anything anymore.

“well do ya’ believe in who you prayin’ to?”

you turned to him, “not in the god that heard my momma pray for my daddy to come home when the world was at war and ain’t do a thing… no.”

you opened up your lips slightly like you were beginning to say something but had already realized the answer. “i know you believe. you got to, preacher boy.” you overemphasized teasingly, swishing the liquor around in the bottle instead of drinking it.

“not really,” he shook his head, running his tongue against his bottom lip, deep in thought. “i ain’t got to do nothin’. grown now. grown enough ta’ have myself a drink.”

you laughed at that straight away, rolling your eyes away from him again. he put his lips up to the bottle for another sip, smiling against the glass’ rim at the sound of your laughter. “you don’t even believe that, boy. we not even supposed to be havin’ it.” she reminded.

there was a comfortable silence surrounding you both for a moment there. your bodies were buzzing and the liquor had loosened up your lips just enough to say a fraction of the things you thought about one another.

“i think,” you started, putting the drink on the ground between the two when he handed to it you again. “that if god is real. if he’s true, that he in the dirty places and unholy things. like- i feel all… holy when you play that worldly music you like after church, when it’s jus’ you, me, ‘n prolly god in there, and your daddy ain’t around-“

you paused, probably to collect your words, but you couldn’t find them.

“that’s… when i feel like i believe.” you finished, but sammie could tell that there was more that she wanted to say. “tha’s a real poetic way to put it.” he nodded slowly.

you picked the bottle up, finishing off the rest of the moonshine. “help me up.” you mumbled, holding out your arms. he pulled himself up first, then stood in front of you to grab your outstretched hands and tugged you gently upwards. you stumbled towards him as you got up, giggling like you was still a schoolgirl.

his body caught you but you anchored yourself on (in) him even after your stance stabilized. your arms weaved around his torso loosely and he let you rest your drunken head on his chest for however long you needed to, unsure arms lingering just around your body, not near enough to really hold you. as if he didn’t know what to do with his hands anymore.

you let out a contented hum when his arms closed in around you finally. “i pray ‘bout you.” he said into your ear, voice all slow and sweet like molasses.

“i pray for you too. every night.”

that was hardly what he meant, but he let it slide just how he seemed to do with everything you did.

he ain’t just pray for you— but about you. prayed that there really was a heaven and that if there was, he’d be let in just so he could be with you again when you both passed on. prayed that you knew all his love songs were about you.

prayed that he and you weren’t just another part of growing up, that you wouldn’t fade along with the growing pains.