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sugary-strawberry-shortcake · 21 days ago

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Blossom Reverse (Yandere Batfamily x Neglected! Poison Ivy's Daughter! Reader)

Chapter 6

A/N: so the next chapter will be crazy guys lol. I feel like there is always more happening. And there are only two more chapter I have finished writing and still need to edit. Then I will need to move my ass and write more. Hope you like this one!! Btw the taglist is closed for now, my phone can‘t handle the length of the list 😓 I will edit this later, and i‘m writing a new Drabble for this verse right now. Any suggestions or ideas are welcomed. :)

It started with a single sentence.

“Join us for dinner tonight.”

He’d said it so simply.

Calm. Final. Like a man who hadn’t ignored her existence for the better part of a decade.

Bruce Wayne. Standing in her doorway.

Looking down at her with the same expression he gave the board of directors at Wayne Enterprises—measured, controlled, unreadable.

And now he was inviting her to dinner.

She’d wanted to say no.

She almost did.

But something in his tone—low, grounded, irreversible—told her this wasn’t optional.

And part of her—some small, childish, weak part—didn’t want to say no either.

Not to his face.

Not when he was finally speaking to her.

So she nodded.

And smiled.

Just a little.

And said, “Okay.”

⸻

The table was longer than it needed to be.

Gothic carved edges. Candles flickering against the dim chandelier. The food was laid out perfectly by Alfred, as always—elegant dishes, polished silverware, cloth napkins she didn’t dare wrinkle.

She took her seat like she always had.

At the end. Near the wall.

The place she thought they preferred her to be.

Only this time—

They were all there. Almost all.

Bruce at the head.

Tim just two seats down from her, casting intense glances every so often.

Dick on the other side, trying too hard to smile naturally.

Damian across from her, arms crossed, eyes occasionally narrowing when she looked away too quickly.

And Alfred standing nearby, silent as ever, though his gaze lingered at her side longer than anyone else’s.

Y/N sat stiffly, fork light in her hand, barely picking at the soft roasted vegetables on her plate.

No one was talking.

At least, not much.

Dick was the first to try.

“So… how’s school?” he offered, smiling her way.

Tim echoed it, “Yeah. Classes good?”

“Fine,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

No one followed up.

The silence dripped in again.

She felt like the spotlight was burning.

Because for the first time in her life—

They were all looking at her.

Watching.

Studying.

Not maliciously.

Not mockingly.

Just… intensely.

Like she was something rare.

Or fragile.

Or worse—like she was someone they suddenly remembered was breakable.

She cut a piece of the food and pushed it around on her plate.

Her heart beat quietly in her chest.

She tried to breathe through her nose, smile when anyone looked her way. But her skin was too tight. Her hands cold.

And all she could think about was how she used to sit at this table, four chairs away from anyone, completely invisible.

And somehow… she preferred that.

Because now they were here.

And now they were seeing her.

And she didn’t know why. And she knew it couldn't be because of anything like love towards her.

No, she was sure. None of them would or even could ever love her.

It happened halfway through the silence, just as her fork hovered again above untouched vegetables.

Dick leaned forward, resting one arm casually on the table. His tone was warm—too warm. Like someone handling delicate porcelain he’d once dropped and only just remembered existed.

“So,” he said, “what’ve you been up to in school, little flower? Any clubs? Anything new?”

Her hand paused.

The silverware clinked quietly against her plate.

And then—she blinked, wide-eyed, her voice quieter than it should’ve been.

“…Are you talking to me?”

The table froze.

The stillness wasn’t angry—it was shocked.

Tim’s head tilted just slightly, a furrow forming between his brows.

Dick blinked, smile faltering. “Uh—yeah. Of course.”

Even Bruce’s eyes narrowed with a strange weight. Alfred’s brow twitched slightly where he stood, pouring water into Bruce’s glass.

Damian scoffed from across the table, arms crossed.

“Tt. Are you too self-absorbed to hear your name when it’s spoken?”

The insult wasn’t sharp—just typical. Delivered with that familiar dismissiveness, the kind he always used when he felt confused or off-balance.

But Y/N still flinched.

Because it reminded her—again—that any attention from them was foreign. Unnatural.

And hearing her name in their voices still felt like some distant echo of a life she’d never fully been a part of.

She lowered her gaze to the plate again, then mumbled,

“I’m… the school representative this year.”

A pause.

Then she added, “Student rep. I got elected.”

There was a flicker of surprise around the table.

Tim blinked. “You? Really?”

Dick leaned back, grinning. “Hey, that’s actually really cool.”

Bruce didn’t speak. But he watched her closely now. His brow slightly furrowed, his posture still.

She shifted uncomfortably, voice quieter.

“I’m also in the gardening group. I help take care of the greenhouse.”

Her fingers tightened slightly against her lap.

“It’s stupid.”

Dick frowned. “No it’s not.”

She didn’t look at him. Damian muttered, “Figures.”

Not cruelly. Not coldly.

Just… like it was expected.

Like of course she would gravitate toward flowers.

And that—somehow—still hurt. It reminded her of her heritage, one of the reasons people will forever despise her.

Her fingers curled tighter around the hem of her skirt.

She could still feel it.

The glances.

The weight of their eyes. Not cruel. Not mocking. But pressing.

Watching her like she was something foreign, something that might wilt or crumble if they said the wrong thing.

She didn’t belong here.

She’d known that for years.

But this—this silence—was different.

Before, they’d ignored her.

Now, they looked at her like they didn’t know her at all.

Because they didn’t.

She remembered how dinner used to sound without her.

Voices. Conversations. Occasional arguments. Dick teasing Damian. Tim venting about casework. Even Bruce occasionally commenting about missions, news, politics.

Tonight?

Nothing.

The silence was because of her.

They hadn’t stopped talking for her.

They’d stopped because she was there.

And that made something in her chest coil with shame.

Alfred poured her water.

She hadn’t touched her plate.

Not one bite.

He said nothing.

But she saw it in the way his eyes lingered on her too long.

He noticed.

⸻

She swallowed.

Then gave a soft, breathy smile and said, “I need to help Maya with something. We have to call about our project. She’s not doing well with the script.”

She stood before anyone could respond.

Didn’t wait for permission.

Didn’t look anyone in the eye.

Just turned.

And walked—too fast.

Her footsteps light. The way she’d learned to move when she didn’t want to bother anyone.

She didn’t run.

Not until she was past the hallway.

She locked her door.

Slid down against it, breath shivering.

She wasn’t angry.

She wasn’t even crying.

She just felt… cold.

Because even now, when they finally remembered she existed—

It still didn’t feel like love.

The silence hung like smoke in the air.

Dick was still watching the doorway she’d disappeared through.

Tim’s fingers had gone still on his fork.

Even Damian looked mildly tense now—his shoulders sharper, jaw tighter.

Bruce didn’t move.

He just looked down at YN’s untouched plate.

Steam rising.

Completely full.

As if she’d never even tried to be part of the meal.

“She didn’t eat,” Alfred said quietly.

They all knew it already.

No one spoke.

Not even Damian.

Bruce stayed silent.

His hands folded neatly in front of him.

But his eyes didn’t leave that full, untouched plate.

___

Her plan was almost finished.

The envelope was sealed.

The fake signature was in place.

The burner phone was pre-loaded.

She’d picked out the back gate she’d use—the one where the cameras never worked right.

She’d even mapped the bus route to the far end of Gotham, where names blurred and no one asked questions.

Next Monday night.

She’d be gone.

⸻

In the last three days, she’d perfected the lies.

She told Bruce she had a student council report due.

Told Tim she had extra lab hours.

Told Dick she had sleepovers planned.

Even managed to slip past Alfred twice when he offered to drive her to school.

And she made sure to smile—like she used to.

To keep them calm.

Distracted.

Because the more they noticed her, the more they hovered.

And she didn’t know why.

⸻

They didn’t know what they were missing. But they knew they were losing something.

Bruce didn’t say it aloud.

But he noticed her shoes by the back door weren’t the same polished ones she wore to school.

He noticed the bus card tucked into her notebook.

He noticed the new shadows under her eyes when she returned late—even when she claimed it was “just Maya.”

And when she smiled too fast, too sweet, too easy…

He saw Martha’s softness in it.

And something hollow beneath.

⸻

Tim was the first to try casual contact—offering help with homework. Chess. Even suggesting he walk her to the bus once.

She dodged all of it.

At first, he thought it was shyness.

But now—he couldn’t help but check the cameras.

Track her phone once.

Then again.

But he never found her.

Because it wasn’t with her.

⸻

Dick visited more often. Every time he entered the manor, he asked Alfred if she was in. If she’d eaten. If she’d left anything in the kitchen.

He tried knocking once.

She said she was on a call.

Another time, she said she was baking cookies for her class.

He knew she was lying.

But all he could do was smile and say, “Tell Maya I said hi.”

⸻

And every day, she slipped out quietly.

Tended the garden behind the crumbling apartment building.

Talked politely with the landlord, who now left her old tools and gloves.

And smiled like she wasn’t holding her life together with shaking fingers.

Because when she left… she’d lose everything.

Her friends. Her name. Her school.

Her self.

But it was safer than dying again. Than knowing that the people you wished to care for you would never do.

⸻

That Night

She woke up gasping.

Sheets tangled. Skin cold. Eyes stinging.

It was the same dream again.

The memory.

Of the last few hours.

Before she died.

⸻

She remembered the smell of smoke.

Her own voice screaming.

A cold metal chair.

Wires digging into her skin.

A hand around her throat.

And a voice in the dark.

“Too soft. Too sweet. Should’ve never been a Wayne.”

⸻

Her body jolted upright.

She pressed her hand over her mouth.

And choked down the sob before it could wake the house.

When she was little, she used to go to Bruce’s door.

Tiny fists knocking in the night. Waiting. Hoping.

He was never there.

Alfred would find her sometimes. Scoop her up. Rub her back. Hum lullabies no one else remembered.

But eventually even he stopped hearing the cries.

Because she stopped making them audible.

And started enduring.

Alone.

She wiped her face with the back of her sleeve.

⸻

Alfred

He wasn’t surprised to hear footsteps.

Soft. Bare. Careful not to creak the floorboards.

But no one was more practiced at silence than Alfred Pennyworth.

And no one knew the rhythms of this house better than he did.

So when he heard her—

Miss YN, tiptoeing down into the kitchen at an hour where no child should be awake—

He didn’t call out.

He simply watched.

She moved like a ghost.

Shoulders curled in. Sleeves long over her hands. The glow of the stove light casting pale shadows across her cheeks.

She was thinner than he liked.

Too pale. Too quiet.

And far too distant.

Even now, her small fingers reached for the kettle like she was trying not to disturb the air.

Something had changed in her.

Something deep and quiet and frightening.

He’d noticed it for weeks. Longer, even.

But tonight—

Tonight he knew.

She was slipping away.

“Miss Y/N,” he said softly, just above a whisper.

She startled—just slightly. Her hand pulling back from the kettle, eyes wide, pupils dilated from the nightmare that still lingered behind them.

“Alfred,” she breathed. “Sorry. I just couldn’t sleep. I’ll go back up soon.”

He stepped into the light.

No scolding. No sternness.

Just that familiar, unbearable softness in his gaze.

“You’ve always come here after bad dreams, sweetheart.”

Her eyes dropped.

She gave a nervous little smile.

“I’m fine. Really.”

But her voice trembled on the last syllable.

⸻

The night had been thick with tension.

Ivy’s operation was falling apart.

The GCPD didn’t find her first.

Bruce did.

He returned that night to the cave bloodied and furious—but with something else in his arms.

A file. A name. A girl he had to find.

And later—when the cleanup team was sent to sweep Ivy’s hideout—

Alfred was with them.

He remembered the dark walls covered in vines. The broken glass. The abandoned chemicals and rotting moss.

And then—

In the corner of a cracked nursery, under a heat lamp and a pile of vines—

A toddler.

She looked up at him.

Eyes wide. Wet cheeks. Trembling lip.

And the expression.

So small. So lost.

But in that little face, he saw Bruce.

Saw the same tightly clenched jaw. The same furrow of the brow. The same eyes that had once looked at him from the crib in the east wing of the old estate.

She didn’t cry when he approached.

She blinked.

Then toddled forward. Shakily. Holding out her tiny hand.

And when he crouched down—when he extended his arms—

She fell into them like she’d always belonged there.

He’d whispered to her then, as she nuzzled into his coat:

“There now, my little bloom. You’re safe. You’re home now.”

She’d asked about her mother.

And he’d lied, gently.

“You’ll see your father soon.”

Because even then, he knew.

Even if Bruce didn’t.

She was his.

And Alfred—who had served generals and kings, fought wars and buried brothers—had only ever had one secret favorite.

One child in that cursed manor whose laughter made the halls feel alive again.

And he’d sworn, silently, holding her close:

“No one will ever take you from me.”

Not Gotham.

Not God.

Not even Bruce Wayne.

⸻

He set the kettle to boil.

Y/N sat on the stool like a child who had shrunk back into her bones.

He handed her a warm cup with honey and lemon—just the way she liked it as a toddler.

She wrapped her hands around it slowly.

Didn’t drink.

Didn’t speak.

“You’re planning something,” he said gently, after a moment. “Aren’t you?”

Her eyes lifted in a flash of panic.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t accuse.

Just smiled softly.

As if to say: Don’t lie to me, darling. I’ve raised you since your first breath in this house.

“You’ve always been my little bloom,” he said, voice low. “I know when you’re wilting.”

She didn’t answer.

But her eyes shimmered.

And Alfred Pennyworth, ever the gentleman, ever the shadow—

Decided then and there:

If she tried to run,

If she tried to vanish,

He would bring her back.

_____

Damian

She was lying again.

He watched from across the courtyard, arms crossed, jaw tight as his eyes tracked her movement. A soft laugh. A toss of her hair. That smile.

That damn smile.

He’d seen it before.

A long time ago.

Back when she used to run up to him after training. When she used to leave him little flowers on his practice mat. When she’d beam at him for a single glance in her direction.

Back when her world revolved around them.

Now?

Now she smiled like that for everyone but them.

He’d noticed the change before anyone else.

Of course he had.

He was raised to observe—to dissect.

And she was easy to read. Always had been. No poker face. No ability to lie worth anything. Her tells were childish, obvious.

Fidgeting. Blinking too much. Looking away when she spoke.

Only now, she was doing it constantly.

Her excuses were thin. Transparent.

“I’m helping Maya with something.”

“I’m organizing for student council.”

“I have a meeting after school.”

Maya didn’t exist.

He had checked.

Twice.

And still she kept slipping through their fingers.

Avoiding them.

Avoiding him.

And it infuriated him.

Because even if she was just a kid—even if she was soft, and fragile, and meant to be protected—she was still his.

And her behavior made no sense.

She was supposed to be the one who clung.

The one who lit up when he entered the room, even if he only sneered or turned his head. The one who offered him cookies, or asked him to walk her down the hall, or tried to braid his hair when she thought he was asleep on the couch.

She used to follow him like a kitten.

Now?

Now she walked ahead of him.

Away from him.

And smiled for strangers.

It made something in his chest twist.

And it made his mind sharpen.

He didn’t want to admit it aloud—not even to himself.

But she looked…

Like she was getting ready to leave.

And for the first time in a long time—

Damian Wayne felt something he didn’t like.

Not anger.

Not superiority.

But something sharp.

Tight.

Fear.

He clenched his fists inside his blazer pockets.

His eyes locked on her where she stood with her friends, laughing at something someone whispered to her.

And he felt it again—

That low, gnawing hatred.

Not for her. Never for her.

But for them.

The ones who got her smile now.

The ones who got her attention.

The ones who didn’t even know what she was.

⸻

She belongs to us.

To me.

And if she thinks she can just disappear…

He turned on his heel.

Cold.

Focused.

Determined to find out exactly what she was hiding.

And to stop it.

Whatever it was.

____-

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop.

But the second he heard it—the name, floating lazily off someone’s tongue—

“Wayne.”

His shoulders tensed.

His boots stopped cold.

He turned. Quiet. Dangerous.

The boys behind him hadn’t even noticed the way his gaze had sharpened.

He used to beat them for this.

All of them.

Any fool who threw his name around like it was cheap.

Until Father pulled him aside and told him it wasn’t honor—not like this.

And for once, he listened.

He backed off. (At least most of the times)

He tried.

But then he heard the rest.

“Yeah, she went up to Silas like last week. Alone. Just walked up to him and paid him off or something—like, what the hell?”

“Didn’t think someone like her would be talking to him.”

“Bet he was trying to pull her into his little side business—”

He didn’t even remember moving.

In a blink, he had one of the boys pressed hard against the locker wall, forearm across his throat.

The others stumbled back, shouting.

“What did you say?!”

His voice was ice.

Sharp. Refined. Deadly.

“Damian—chill, man—it’s just gossip, we didn’t say anything—”

“What. Did. She. Want. From. Him.”

The boy’s breath hitched.

Damian’s eyes narrowed.

No one touches her.

No one speaks her name.

No one gets close to her unless I allow it.

When he dropped the boy, he didn’t even wait for an answer.

Because he was already moving.

Already storming.

The fire in his chest burned with something worse than anger.

Rage.

He found Silas near the side building, leaning against the wall like he wasn’t a roach. A dirty cockroach. Someone that wasn't even allowed to breath the same air as his sister.

Damian’s fist connected with his face before the other boy could even speak.

The second hit drove him against the bricks.

“What the hell—!” Silas shouted, clutching his face.

“You spoke to her,” Damian hissed.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about—!”

“Y/N Wayne,” he growled, teeth gritted. “She came to you. What did she want? What did you give her?”

Silas spat blood to the side.

“She paid me. I promised not to say.”

Another punch. Silas dropped to his knees.

“I don’t care what she paid. I will know.”

A kick into his gut.

Silas wiped his mouth. Voice tight.

“She didn’t… do anything wrong, man. She just asked for a signature. A fake one. That’s it. I don’t know what for. I swear.”

Damian’s body stilled.

Signature?

A fake one?

His brain started to whirl.

Why would she need that? What is she planning? What the hell is she hiding from me—

But Silas wasn’t going to say more.

He could see it in his eyes.

He was keeping her secret.

Just like everyone else had kept things from him his whole life.

With a last punch that send him into unconsciousness, Damian spit on the boy.

He turned on his heel.

His eyes were determined.

Storming.

Hunting.

When Damian Wayne entered a room with rage in his steps, people moved.

They turned. Whispered.

Doors shut quietly. Eyes dropped.

Because when the youngest Wayne snapped, the whole school listened.

He found her.

In the courtyard.

With her friends.

Smiling.

Laughing.

That soft, sunlit expression that used to belong to him.

His voice rang out like thunder across stone.

Loud. Sharp. Echoing.

“YN. ELOISE. WAYNE.”

Every head turned.

Even hers.

And when their eyes met—

She flinched.

Her smile shattered.

And in her chest, something sank.

Because she knew.

He found something.

She was running out of time.

And she had to run from him.

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nereidprinc3ss · 1 year ago

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do you believe me now? | 6

in which spencer reid and inexperienced!fem reader are finally honest with each other. complete with tears and more than a few make-up kisses.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: angst but mostly fluff, i think this qualifies as hurt/comfort, HHEHHEHHEH, lots of kissing, so cheesy, you jokingly imply he's a slut, i need him expeditiously a/n: thank you guys for being patient with me!! ilysm!! i edited this until i hated it but i hope it's satisfactory for YOU guys..... as always please please let me know what you think!! and i already started the next part hehehe

The car ride is the worst of your life.

Neither of you speak.

And you find yourself wishing, pleading to god that one of you will say something to fix this—but each minute ticks by and the streets get familiar and a quiet song ends and you realize you were silly to ever think a twenty minute car ride would change anything.

Spencer was the luckiest you’d ever been and your relationship is floating away like a balloon you forgot to hold on to—nothing more than a red dot lost to the vast blue.

Maybe for him it’s easier. You’re pretty sure it is, as you risk one or two glances at his unreadable profile that turn into lingering, obsessive looks because you’re panicking and realizing you’ll maybe never see him this close again. It’s funny and terrible how quickly you’re remembering what it was like to see him at the coffee shop for the first time—how he was nothing but a beautiful stranger, completely unknown to you and worlds away. Now you’ve had him, sort of, and you’re turning into the girl who could never have him all over again.

When he turns onto your street reality begins to sink in. Your heart is a short fuse inside your chest as he pulls into a spot and parks the car. The rumble of the engine cuts. The headlights stay on.

For a moment, everything is quiet. You wish you could insert your own reality into the silence—one where you’re simply enjoying each other’s company and there’s no sense of impending doom to take your breath away.

“Do you want to talk?” Spencer asks, looking pointedly ahead where the lights shine off the back of some other person’s car. A wayward moth dips and swirls into the high beams. You watch Spencer track it with his eyes.

“I’m not sure what to say,” you admit quietly. The weight of everything you’d like to say sits in your stomach like lead, too heavy to divulge. It’s only been a few weeks of having to carry the truth around with you and your muscles are already fatiguing. The idea of carrying it around indefinitely makes your eyes sting. You’re already exhausted.

Maybe a stronger person would find that last bit of energy to make a final push, to save the relationship just before it falls apart.

But you never claimed to be strong.

Deep down, you must’ve known you weren’t ready for a real relationship. You can’t handle all of this pretending to be okay with things that hurt. Even if that's the grown-up thing to do.

“I tried. I really did, I’m sorry—I’m—”

Before you can get the words out your throat tightens around them and you bury your face in your hands.

The sound of his seatbelt unlocking and whirring back surprises you—but you’re even more surprised when he undoes yours. Still, you move your arm so it can snap back into place and then he’s pulling you into him.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, one hand on the back of your head as you lean over the small gap between the seats, unable to stop yourself from shedding more tears. “It’s not your fault. I’m sorry.”

He’s sorry.

For not loving you?

If it’s not your fault he doesn’t love you back—then whose fault is it? Who’ll take the fall?

But still, he’s holding you so carefully, like you’re made of porcelain. Something to be protected. Or at the very least, something to be mourned even after it’s in pieces.

As you lean against him, lulled by the slow in and out of his breath, the inverse of yours, and the way he slips his thumb over the back of your hair in silence for a few minutes—you wonder what’s missing. Why he’s not satisfied.

“I don’t understand you.”

The words come out flat, muffled by his coat, garbled with leftover tears.

“What was that?” Spencer asks gently, still playing with your hair. You sniffle, adjusting your head so your cheek is to his shoulder and your lips are no longer smushed.

“I just… I want you to explain it to me.”

“Explain what?”

You sit up just enough to meet his eyes. The movement seems to take him by surprise, but he keeps his hands on you—one slipping to your cheek and the other still loyal to your back. He brushes his fingers over the delicate skin beneath your eye and you cover them with your own in an effort to get him to stop treating you so kindly. But even now, when you’re mad at him for being so gentle in the way that he hurts you, you can’t help but seek the familiar callus on the side of his trigger finger. It’s an odd thing to anticipate missing, but you’ll miss all of him. You can’t imagine holding a hand without that familiar anomaly—a cairn to show you where he’s been and who you’re holding.

He curls his warm hand around yours and you hold your joined fist out for him in emphasis, speaking louder than either of you were prepared for.

“This! You! I understand that we don’t feel the same way about each other and maybe I can’t change that. But then you do this and I don’t understand why. I don’t understand why this isn’t enough for you, because it’s enough for me, and I just—I don’t know what else I can give you. I don’t know what else there is. I don’t understand why I’m not... enough.” The tears are back and flowing freely, but you forge breathlessly ahead, because you’ve finally found a way to be honest and you’re not going to stop now. Spencer is frowning, lips parted and clearly confused or shocked or something, but you continue your confessional before he has the chance to interrupt. “I want to be enough, but you didn’t even give me the chance, and I don’t think it’s fair that we’re breaking up when you didn’t let me try. Maybe if you just told me, if you explained what’s missing I could fix it and you could love me back, and—please. I just want to try. Please, Spencer.”

A car engine revs somewhere far away, echoing down the street. It reverberates for several seconds, unimpeded by any other noise. Any word, any breath.

His voice is thin when he responds a moment later, still studying your face with a kind of scrutiny that is so indecipherable you don’t know how you expect him to respond.

“Love you back?”

You blink.

Your stomach drops.

For all that you’d revealed, for all that you’d willingly humiliated yourself with your pathetic supplication—you’d meant to keep that four letter word to yourself.

What a way to make an exit from your relationship.

Spencer is still looking at you, keeping you pinned to your seat, and as much as you wish it wasn’t the case he’s not going to let you off the hook this time. He’s going to demand an answer, and you have a 0% chance of bursting into mist before you have to provide an explanation, so you have no choice but to say something.

What, exactly, you’re going to say—you don’t know.

“I didn’t…”

“You didn’t mean it.”

The response comes so quickly, sharp as a slap, that you jump back slightly, a deep frown twisting your brow. Spencer makes no effort to keep his hand in yours as you slip from his grasp.

“That’s not what I was—”

“Just say what you mean.” Silence. “Tell me.”

It’s like he’s got an ice pick to your chest. It’s like he wants you to humiliate yourself even further, to punish you for your messy indiscretions.

“Spencer…”

It’s a warning. You’re giving him a chance to stop this before he hurts you sadistically. Before he becomes unrecognizable.

He swallows.

“Please.” And then, a second later, when you’re still trying to process the quiet pain in his voice and suddenly faced with the unexpected question of who is hurting who, “please, just… tell me if you meant it.”

For the first time tonight, you notice how exhausted he looks. Slightly gaunt, even paler than usual. Shadows pool deeper in the hollows of his face. His eyes look glossy, dark crescents below awaiting to catch tears you realize you’ve never seen fall. The tonal shift has you so disoriented, so out of your body like you’re seeing yourself in his own injuries—the truth becomes the only humane answer. Even if it hurts you.

“Yes. I meant it. You know I mean it.”

“I don’t know that,” he says on a shaky exhale. “How would I know that?”

And he’s got the ice pick back at your sternum. It’s tipped in poison. The mallet trembles in the air. So does your voice.

“You told me you didn’t feel the same. You said it was new for me and different and I was going to make things complicated and you treated me like I was a stupid kid, and—and it doesn’t even matter. This was dumb. I’m sorry I said anything, I don’t… I don’t know what I’m doing. I just.. I can’t do this.”

You’re about to open the door, every muscle tense as you wonder what the hell is wrong with you. What reduced you to the weepy, pathetic girl, begging a boy to love her despite knowing it doesn’t work like that—the same girl you’ve looked down your nose at in every film and TV show and in every high school and college hallway since you learned what self-superiority meant. Before you knew exactly what it felt like to be her.

“Wait.”

He says your name.

And of course you pause.

You want a reason to stay. If you had more self-respect, you wouldn’t. But you know you’ll give him as many chances to give you an excuse as he’s willing to take. You knew that before your fingers met the metal of the door handle.

“Just—hold on a second. Can you look at me?”

You sniffle and wipe your eyes with the heel of your palm before turning around to face him once more. You wonder if anyone will ever have the kind of power he has over you ever again.

The despair leaves only wisps of itself on his face—mostly he looks like he’s thinking hard about something. It’s jarring.

“You’re talking about our phone call on Sunday, right?”

You nod petulantly with a quick teary eye-roll because obviously that’s what you’re talking about.

Something lights in his own dark eyes as he inhales, parts his lips as if to speak, and stops himself again. Like he’s got news that he’s not sure how to break.

“The things I said, on that call… I wasn’t talking… about you.”

Your insides feel like tangled yarn as you stare at him uncomprehendingly.

“I mean, I was. I was talking about us. But not in the way you think, it was—” he stops, rubbing his eyes and taking a frazzled breath. “I know what it’s like to be the one who cares more. I have to assume that I’m the one who cares more because when I don’t, I ruin things. And with you, I felt like—the stakes were so high, and I thought it’d be safer for me to not say anything until I knew you felt the same. But I know that’s not fair to you so I tried to tell you over the phone that if you didn’t feel the same way it was okay. And now I’m—I’m realizing the way I phrased it was incredibly unclear and misleading, and somehow I fucked it up in a completely new way. But I wasn’t referring to you. I just didn’t want you to feel stuck with someone who can’t give you casual when you have so much ahead of you. I had no idea you felt that way about me. And I am so, so sorry that I hurt you. I never meant for that to happen.”

You blink.

And for some reason, begin sobbing.

Spencer freezes for a moment, then tells you to stay there and you barely have the capacity to wonder what he means as you hear his own door opening then slamming shut again. A moment later he’s on the passenger side, opening your door and leaning in.

“Hey,” he whispers, gently pulling your hands from your face and making you turn your head to look at him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But that’s good news, right? Why all the tears, lovely? What’s wrong? Please talk to me.”

You take a shuddering breath.

“This is all my fault, I ruined everything because I was too scared to tell you before and now—and now—”

Stroking your cheeks to wipe away the tears is a futile effort because they just keep coming, but Spencer does it anyway, and he speaks so kindly, so evenly it somehow hurts deeper.

You were terrible to him. And he had been prepared to accept that. He thought you didn’t love him, and he was still willing to be the subject of all your cryptic frostiness and inexplicable cruelty.

“It is not your fault. You didn’t ruin anything. I’m still right here. We’re okay.”

“But we’re breaking up, and—and I was so mean to you. That’s not okay, Spencer.”

You finally look at him. He’s close, eyes warm and wide as he looks directly into your own teary gaze, shaking his head earnestly.

“You were confused, honey. So was I. It was just a misunderstanding. But… I know I was unkind to you. I cannot express how sorry I am for that, and the last thing I want is for us to break up, but if you think that’s what’s best, I’ll… I’ll understand.”

His voice is dangerously thin by the end, strained with impending tears of his own. But he’s eternally kind—backlit by the streetlamps and beautiful like an angel. Whatever you want, he’ll give you. Even if it’s this.

“I don’t want that. I don’t.” You sigh, closing your eyes briefly against the world as you realize the impending breakup had been a delusion all along. That you were going to let your insecurities and some sick pride end the relationship for you. All that despair had been for nothing. Or—maybe not nothing. You realize he still hasn’t said it back. But you won’t be a coward. It’s not worth losing him. You open your eyes. “I just—I want us to be on the same page. And if you don’t love me yet or if you don’t wanna say it, or if you can’t, I get it—it’s okay, but if you don’t could you maybe just tell me? So that I’ll know—”

Before you can process it Spencer is leaning in, head angled to accommodate you, pressing his lips to yours so softly your breath catches and your stomach flips. Maybe softer than he ever has before, and it’s like taking a deep breath after holding it through a dark tunnel. You exhale a tentatively soft sigh against him, releasing air you don't have along with the fraught tension in most of your body. All too quickly he’s pulling away, hands still cupping your cheeks and thumbs stroking over your skin. When he speaks it’s not quite a whisper, but secret-soft.

“How could I not be so in love with you?”

Suddenly you can feel the world turning underneath you. Or maybe you’re just dizzy from lack of oxygen. Either way it feels good. A drop of warmth makes a splash in your stomach and slowly spreads through every vein and capillary until you’re sure you’re glowing gold.

“Really?”

“Of course really. I’m—” he takes a breath of his own, and you realize how difficult this must be after what happened the last time he professed his love for a girl. Your chest aches for him. His voice is low and solicitous, but it wavers slightly. “I should have told you sooner. I wanted to, but I was worried—I was worried the way I felt for you was… too much. I am so in love with you it scares me. I still don’t know what to say or how to act around you. When I’m gone, sometimes I imagine quitting my job, just so I can come home and see you sooner. When I have a gun in my hands, I start thinking about all the things I would do to keep you safe, or—or just because you asked me to. And if what you wanted was for me to leave you alone, I would have done that. If you wanted me to drop everything and everyone to be with you I would have done that. And I know you’d never ask those things of me. But any of them, I’d do in a heartbeat. Which is… it’s a little scary, huh?”

The final sentence is a nervous self-effacing chuckle, which you can match in sound only—one breathy attempt at a laugh from your slackened jaw.

When that’s the only response you can manage, he clears his throat.

“Too honest?”

You shake your head as if in a fog.

“No. Not too honest. But I’m just… I’m trying not to cry again.”

He smooths over your hair fondly. His own eyes are shiny and full of wonder as he studies you for a short while, like you're doing something much more awe-inspiring than sniffling in the passenger seat of his car. Then one hand is dropped to your shoulder and the other braced against your seat back. Finally, he pulls back to a more reasonable distance with a shaky sigh. It’s a sound of relief. You want to hug him, and all the past hims who have ever been hurt by anyone.

“You, um—you need to rehydrate. Do you have anything that will rebalance your electrolytes? If you don’t I can go to the store—”

“You don’t need to do that,” you assure him with a small, watery laugh, loosely grabbing the wrist that brushes your shoulder.

“But you need to take care of yourself. And I know you haven’t been drinking enough water because you never do.”

There’s a lingering overwrought shakiness to his voice, but it’s still the most relaxed he’s sounded since he came home, and you realize that the worst is behind you. The storm that you’d been so sure you couldn’t weather is somehow clearing up.

“I can’t believe we almost just broke up.”

He hangs his head, dropping it to the curve of your neck and groaning.

“Don’t say that. Let’s not think about that right now. Just—” when he raises his head again, and shakes it slightly to get his hair out of his eyes, they’ve cleared, like he’s on a mission to change the subject. “Let’s go upstairs. Will you let me take care of you?”

You give him an exaggerated nod, still sniffing, and the smile that grows on his face is like seeing the sun rise above the ocean. You love his smile. You love him.

Spencer kisses you on the cheek.

“Okay. Let me lock the car and then we can go up.”

As soon as you get into your apartment and turn on the light Spencer goes to the kitchen. It’s a small unit, but antique and nice enough, though you prefer Spencer’s. There’s still some tension as you observe him filling a glass with water, kicking your boots off by the door—but not necessarily the bad kind. You’re not sure exactly what it is.

“Where are you going?” He asks as you pass the kitchen area to turn on a standing lamp in the opposite corner of the room.

“I don’t like the big light.” A warm glow emanates through stained glass as you flick it on.

“I know that. I just didn’t realize it was a higher priority than your wellbeing.” His tone is sardonic but he’s already switching off the overhead lighting for you. You give him a wry smirk as you finally approach and take the proffered glass from his waiting hand.

“Ambience over everything, baby.”

His brows pinch at the cavalier sentiment—you never call him baby, so you're sure he knows it’s a joke—and he shakes his head with a humorous little huff of air through his nose, watching as you drink deeply. Your hand is shaking. Spencer notices and covers it with both of his, taking the half empty glass with one and grabbing your hand with the other.

“Adrenaline,” he murmurs, kissing your knuckles. “It’ll go away soon. Did you get enough?”

You nod, smiling small but genuinely. Emotionally exhausted or not, you’re happy.

Spencer strays, not far, to set the glass on the counter. Then he turns to face you, bracing his palms on the ledge and just watching you for a moment with the kind of smile that makes you nervous in the best way.

He beckons you to him with nothing more than a quick tilt of his head, and you shuffle across the floor in your socks til you’re toe to toe. Without your shoes on, he feels much taller. Still he just watches you for a moment—not that you mind. Your view isn’t half-bad. The faint warm glow from the lamp casts shadows over his face, highlighting all the perfect angles, deep brown eyes framed by dark lashes, and lips that still make you feel like a girl with a crush when you look at him. His hair is getting long. You’re unreasonably glad you still get to look at him like this.

“Hi,” you whisper—something about the intimate dark of the room feels like a place for secrets.

“Hi, pretty.” Spencer tucks hair behind your ear, eyes soft wherever they focus on your face like if he even looks at you too sharply you might break. “Have I told you how much I missed you while I was gone?”

He knows he hasn’t.

“Even when I was being a heinous bitch?”

Spencer laughs and it makes you smile too. The way his smile changes the landscape of his whole face will never feel any less like observing a natural phenomenon. It’s unfair how beautiful he is, and how you’re keeping him all to yourself in the dark on the fourth floor of an apartment building in DC.

“Even then. Not sure that’s the wording I would have used.”

“I missed you too,” you admit softly.

He maps your face with wandering eyes like he’s done a hundred times. Vaguely you wonder if he sees the same kind of beauty in you that you see in him. If he sees landmarks in your flaws and stars beyond the observable universe in your eyes.

Spencer sweeps your hair over your shoulder, fingertips grazing your neck.

“Can I kiss you?” He murmurs.

Butterflies fill your stomach and you nod shyly, unsure of what would come out if you tried to speak.

His free hand settles on your lower back and brings you into him until you’re chest to chest. With his other on your jaw, he bows his head, and you angle yours up, allowing your eyes to flutter shut.

Spencer kisses you so gently it aches in your chest, still cupping your face and stroking your cheek. You can’t help wrapping your arms around his middle—before he’s pulling away far too soon.

And he’s laughing.

“What were you drinking?”

You frown, flustered and trying to remember a time before his lips were on yours.

“Water.”

“Before that, baby. At the bar.”

You think back even further, head muddled even more by the endearment so that it takes you a moment to recall.

“A Shirley Temple. Derek brought it to me. Why? Is that bad?”

“No,” he says, still smiling as his lips brush yours. “You’re perfect. You taste like candy. It’s cute.”

Oh. You feel warm as he presses another kiss to your lips—and this time you insist on him staying awhile. He’s happy to oblige.

Spencer kisses you soft and careful at first, and then deeper, but still so slow, until you can’t help the way you’re bunching the fabric of his shirt between your fingers and rising on your toes to try and get impossibly closer. He kisses you the way you’ve been needing him to since he left, long and unhurried and sweet—and takes everything you give him, siphoning away all your leftover turmoil and angst until you’re weightless. You’re deprived of oxygen, you’re dizzy, and you don’t care at all.

“I love you,” you breathe against him before he captures your lips again with a hum that flips your stomach, his hand rubbing over your hip.

“Say it again,” he mutters against your mouth a second later, brushing hair away from your face.

It comes out a little mumbled this time between kisses, but it comes out all the same.

“Love you.”

He sighs into you—relief that mirrors your own.

“I love you.”

It seems like the kind of thing that will never stop sounding perfect from his lips.

A final deep kiss shortens into a series of smaller ones, and then he’s pulling away slowly, brushing the corner of your mouth affectionately.

Both of you require a few deep breaths—a moment to let your sparkling eyes wildly chart each familiar curve and convex and shade and shadow of the other’s face—before either of you can speak. Spencer breaks the silence first.

“I’m sorry.”

You frown, stirred from your brainless bliss by his unexpected apology.

“For what?”

The fiery glow in his eyes dampens slightly.

“For what I said at the bar.”

Oh.

That.

It feels like a lifetime away—memories seen through someone else’s eyes. Words like blows from a less familiar mouth.

You look away. For a while, you’d forgotten about that. Ideally he wouldn’t have reminded you.

At least he doesn’t make you look at him. He just strokes your hair, watching you examine the tiled counter. His voice is soft and soothing, like he’s appealing to a scared rabbit. Or maybe something angrier and with more teeth.

“You’re not immature, or badly behaved, or thoughtless. I was having an emotional reaction, I got defensive, and I lashed out. It was unfair and unkind of me to throw those things back in your face when I know how much trust it takes for you to be vulnerable with me. There’s nothing I can say or do that will adequately make up for that, but I want you to understand that I didn’t say any of it because it was the truth. I said it because I didn’t understand how you were feeling and I was hurt. I was insecure and I acted juvenile. I am so, so sorry, honey. You don’t have to forgive me, but you do need to know that none of it is true.”

Once you bite your lip long enough to be sure you won’t cry again, you speak.

“It’s okay,” you insist with a cheerfulness as natural as hard plastic, something in your chest twinging. “I was mean too. Like you said, we were both confused.”

“It is not. I made you cry.”

Sometimes you forget that he’s not like other people. He’ll never accept anything less than the barest truth. So you look back up at him and speak with a level of honesty that you hope satisfies him.

“I forgive you. You didn’t mean it. And I have insurance because Derek said he and Emily would kick your ass if you’re mean to me again.”

You hear the sad humor in his voice. His hand runs up and down your back.

“If I’m ever mean to you again, I personally invite you to kick my ass. And then let Derek and Emily have their turn.” He thumbs at your cheek, studying you in silence for a moment. “I can’t tell you how much I wish I could take it back.”

You stand up a little straighter. Spencer tracks you with his eyes, noting the way you smile slightly.

“You’ll find a way to make it up to me.”

“I’ll do anything for you,” he admits, barely a whisper and the truth of it so heavy you can feel it too.

But for tonight you can’t contend with more weight.

“You know what you could do right now?”

The mischief in your tone is obvious, and he hesitates, like he’s not sure he wants to let you move on from this so quickly. But eventually he plays along, pressing his thumb into the dip of your back and speaks lowly, just as you’d hoped he would.

“What’s that?”

You smile slyly.

“You could kiss me again.”

“Hm… I don’t know, three times in one night? Sounds a little excessive.”

“Do you want to be forgiven or not?” You huff. He smiles lazily, already dipping his head to press his lips to yours.

“I thought I was already forgiven.”

“Apologies can be retracted.”

“Ah.” His next words are mumbled as his lips ghost yours. “Well we wouldn’t want that.”

Spencer puts you out of your misery, not bothering to warm you up to it before he’s kissing you with a deep need. It’s still languid, and not hungry, exactly—it’s more like an aching, mind-numbing thirst. It’s all-consuming, overwhelming to have all of his burning focus pinpointed on you like this. Both hands come to cup your face and you wonder if he wants you in ways that he doesn’t entirely understand, just as you want him. You wonder if anything could possibly sate this desire to possess him completely and for him to possess you, to trade corporeal forms—or if it’s just something you’ll have to live with like a metaphysical itch you can’t scratch. As he forces you to tip your head back for him, using his height to his advantage, breathing deeply against you and attempting to push himself impossibly closer, you begin to think he understands exactly how you feel.

As soon as you’d sensed he wanted it, your lips had parted for him. He knows he could have any part of you. He knows how eager you are to give yourself to him. You’ve done everything to prove it, and yet you’ve never needed him quite like you do ask he pushes off the counter and slowly backs you against the wall, protecting your head with a hand as the paintings rattle ever so slightly. You gasp into his mouth and he kisses you greedier still, but his hands don’t stray from your cheeks.

Not until, that is, you hook your right leg around his left, and he catches it, fingers wrapping under the bend of your knee.

Never in your life have you regretted picking jeans rather than a skirt more than you do right now.

But to your disappointment, Spencer slows down to a halt—pulling his lips from yours like they’d been stuck by molasses until he’s far enough away to study you wildly, panting just as you are. His hair hangs over his smoldering eyes. He’s disheveled. It’s sexy.

“What?” You whisper, voice surprisingly hoarse.

He looses a dry, abashed laugh. The flush he’s sporting is incredibly charming.

“I’m supposed to be playing nice with you.”

Spencer says it like it’s a mild hindrance. Something frissons in your core. You smile a little wider as you continue to catch your breath, which seems to please him.

“Playing nice?”

“Being gentle. I’m not supposed to push my favorite things against walls when they’re delicate.”

Your face heats at the way he speaks of you—if it weren’t Spencer, if you didn’t know he really doesn’t think of you as an object, you’d be pissed. But instead all you can think about is how good it feels when he calls you his.

“According to who?”

His eyes dart between yours and then down to your lips several times before he averts them to the wall beside you with an intensity that could burn holes through the plaster. Is that how he looks at you?

“According to me. I think… god, you're going to hate me for this. But I think I need you to kick me out.”

You drop your leg at the same time as you do your heart.

“What?”

“I know,” he says, over-apologetically, “I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let that escalate. But we can’t… do anything tonight.” Before you can protest, he rushes to explain himself. “It’s just that it’s been a long day. It’s been a long week, actually, and I doubt either of us have slept very much, and I think you’re really drained, and probably not thinking super clearly. I don’t think you’re in the best place for decision making.”

You look pointedly down to where he still has you pressed to the wall.

“I think I’m in a great place.”

At that he steps back, but lets his hands find yours and pulls you away from the wall—just not quite as close as before. His nose bumps against yours as he speaks low and sweet.

“I understand that you want me to stay right now. But it’s not a good idea to associate fighting with physical pleasure. That can set some really dangerous patterns.”

“We’re not fighting,” you plead, matching his tone as you look up at him with big eyes. His fingers lace with yours.

“You’re right. Maybe fighting was the wrong word. But we had some pretty intense conversations today, didn’t we?”

Reluctantly you nod.

“Right,” he agrees. “Same premise. We need to be able to have those conversations without getting distracted.”

In a last ditch attempt to get him to change his mind, you give him your best approximation of the imploring, wide-eyed gaze he sometimes uses on you. Something not entirely smile and not entirely smirk twists the corners of his mouth. When he ducks down to kiss you quickly, you reciprocate, but you lack the enthusiasm of earlier.

“Hey.”

“Hm,” you respond, dejectedly.

“Don’t get all grumpy because I don’t put out.”

That puts a disgruntled little smile on your face as he probably knew it would.

“I guess you just gave it up easy to all those other women.”

He grabs your chin and gives you a final peck.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never been with other women.”

“Mhm,” you grumble good-naturedly, pushing away from him and going to the door to undo the deadbolt. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

“Wow. I really must have overstayed my welcome if that’s the goodbye I get.”

You turn back around, brows raised.

“Oh, I was prepared to be very welcoming. This is your doing.”

“Uh-huh. Come here.”

Happily you skitter back across the few feet of wooden flooring and wrap your arms tightly around him one more time, pressing your cheek to his chest. He’s ready, winding his arms over yours and rubbing your back. It’s eerily similar, you realize as he presses his face into the concave of your shoulder, to when he’d left on that most recent case.

But at the same time—everything’s different.

And you won’t make the same mistake twice.

“Hey,” you smile, resting your head on his shoulder. Spencer pulls back to look at you, a similar grin on his face.

“Hey what?”

“I remembered what I was gonna say.”

The grin widens. He knows exactly what you’re talking about.

“Tell me.”

“I was going to tell you that I love you. And—I hope you’re not one of those people who’s uncomfortable being told that often. Because if that’s the case I’m really going to annoy you.”

“I’m not that kind of person,” he assures. “Tell me as often as you can.”

“But you should say it back. It’s more polite that way.”

“I love you,” he murmurs, in a voice more serious than your teasing tones had been but still soft and sweet around the edges. “You know, people talk about love as if it’s completely irrational and illogical. But with you… I think the world actually makes more sense than it used to. I understand things I never did before. You’ve taught me a lot.”

It’s like a lightshow in your stomach. You wonder if he has any idea the effect his casual musings have on you.

“You already knew everything.”

“Not everything,” Spencer whispers. “Not about the things that matter.”

And you’re fresh out of teases. All you can do is look up at him with big eyes again, in awe of the fact that you get to keep him after all.

“Will you text me when you get home?” You request, voice reverent in the wake of an admission you could never hope to top.

“I will. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nod, because it doesn’t even matter if you had other plans tomorrow. They’re as good as cancelled.

Spencer kisses your cheek, and you get the sense that things are still being left unfinished. There’s an unresolved tension that you can’t shake, even after all the apologies and kisses and sweet words. Still, he made a point with his talk about not mixing argument with pleasure, and you’d like to respect those wishes because you respect him—even if every atom of your being shakes with desire to keep him locked in your bedroom, hidden away from the world together, for as long as you can possibly manage.

Eventually, you loosen your hold, and you let him go. He lingers at the door, hands in his pockets, just watching you and mirroring your small smile as you hold onto the counter with an iron grip to keep yourself in check. After he finally peels his gaze away from yours and silently closes the door behind him, you stand there, staring at the wood for at least a minute.

Once you manage to shake yourself from your revery with a deep breath, you grab your glass from earlier and stand in front of the sink, watching it fill with a white jet of water. It’d be a shame to admit it to him, but maybe Spencer is right. Maybe you do need time to emotionally digest today. After all—that was technically your first argument. It seems to have left you sort of wound up. Not in a bad way, per se—maybe you just need to take a shower, let the hot water roll over your shoulders and wash away the frenetic energy that clings to you.

Still, something tells you that you won’t be getting much sleep tonight, even if you do take the world’s longest shower. You’re simply too high-strung. You wonder if having Spencer here would fix that or make it worse. But ultimately, he’d made the call that it was a bad idea for him to stay, and you’re generally inclined to trust his judgement.

The thought makes you laugh into your cup as you drink. Even after the debacle that was the past week, you trust him to know what he’s doing. Maybe you need to rethink that, at least temporarily, until he’s had a chance to redeem himself.

Just then, your front door is opening with absolutely zero warning and slamming shut again before you can finish whipping around. Your heart threatens to choke you and you almost drop your glass, clutching your chest.

“Jesus, you—”

But the words die in your throat as Spencer storms toward you, shrugging his coat off with a white-hot chill in his eyes. It’s enough to freeze you in place, heart drumming against the confines of your ribs.

“You really need to start locking that door,” he breathes, tossing his jacket on the counter before grabbing your face and crashing his lips into yours, palms pressed to your jaw and fingers pushing into your hair. You stand there, hands hovering in air before you gain the wherewithal to blindly set the glass down behind you. Your heart is pounding as you immediately submit to the kiss, whining softly against his lips and cautiously seeking stability in the fabric of his shirt. Spencer pulls away only briefly, allowing you to gasp for much-needed air. His brown eyes are like molten gold on you, pupils blown wide and wild as he scans your face, taking heavy breaths of his own. “Anyone could just walk in.”

part seven

#spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic

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channieschaoscorner · 3 months ago

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Tipping Point - Stray Kids x female!9th member reader

Pairing: ot8!Skz x 9th member reader

Summary: You and Chan had worked together for so long, it’s only natural that you have your arguments.

Genre: Angst, fluff at the end, slight reader x chan if you squint hard enough, choreographer reader and producer Chan go head to head but we still love them, bad language and insults in an argument

A/N: Thank you all so much for the love on my first imagine! I have a few ideas for some more 9th member fics but please message if you have any ideas or anything you would like to see!!!!! Also apologies if there’s any typos, I do proof read my work but I’m not perfect lol

Prequel: First Meeting

Masterlist

────୨ৎ────

The music blaring out of the speakers bordered on obscene, it didn’t matter though. It was late enough that barely anyone was left in the building, and if they were then they were far too preoccupied with their own work to care about what others were doing. Your phone blinked in the corner with unread messages and calls, ignoring them as you could guess who they were room all you did was check the time. It was late but you were still too wound up to even think about heading home, that and you still had far too much work to do on this choreography. It was nowhere near what you needed it to be, but then again if it was what you needed then you wouldn’t even be here. You’d be at home either in bed or tucked up on the sofa with the TV on being piled on by the boys (Felix, it was always Felix.)

You groaned and hit play on the song again, listening to the starting beats and tried to visualise where the boys could be standing. The vocals started and you checked over your notes, trying to come up with the positions on who needed to be centre and who would be coming forward at that specific time. Ideally you’d have another person here that you could place and work around, another choreographer, Minho, even a backup dancer. You’d take anyone at this point if it meant you could get more than 4 hours sleep tonight.

You rewound the song back to the first chorus and stood up, mentally thanking yourself that you’d remembered your tripod so at least you could film what you’d come up with properly and didn’t have to balance your phone against your water bottle just to watch it inevitably fall down as you were in the middle of dancing, like it had done so many times before.

“And 5, 6, 7, 8.” You counted yourself in out loud in an attempt to get used to the counts for when you’d have to teach the boys tomorrow or technically in the morning as it was well past midnight at this stage. This wasn’t the first time you’d had to come up with choreography the night before you had to teach it but you didn’t enjoy doing it. It wasn’t your fault, not that you’d ever tell. You’d only got the song a few hours ago from Chan, who’d held onto it for far longer than promised. You knew it wasn’t done out of malice, he was always so worried about new music that he wanted to keep it for as long as possible until he was sure it was perfect.

Unfortunately for you though this meant your deadline was fast approaching and you hadn’t even heard the finished song. Fast forward through plenty of excuses to staff about trying to perfect the dance and politely asking Chan about the song, you’d run out of time. Which then resulted in the blow out at dinner.

You winced thinking back to the harsh words exchanged and swallowed down the uncomfortable feeling in your chest before hitting play and record one more time.

────୨ৎ────

*Earlier that day*

The dorm was loud, it was on a normal day but today was particularly boisterous. You bit back a laugh as Minho swatted and shooed Felix and Seungmin away from the stove with threats of an air fryer that left Hyunjin thankful he hadn’t offered to help. You hopped up and sat on an empty piece of counter space to watch the chaos unfold in front of you. The screams that came from the other room made you wonder how setting a table could cause them but you chose not to investigate, effectively leaving Han to fend for himself. It was rare over the past few weeks that you’d all been able to sit down and eat together, between so many different schedules you’d become too used to eating at random times and running past each other in the dorm. Hence why Chan had suggested tonight as a day for you all to cook and sit down to eat together.

“It’s been too long since we ate together like a family, we’ll have dinner, movies, snacks. It’ll be good for us after how busy things have been.” He suggested. It was a good suggestion, you’d all agreed quickly to it. There was just one problem.

Chan was nowhere to be seen.

You’d noticed his absence earlier but said nothing, hoping that he was just caught talking to someone and would appear through the doorway, laughing about never being able to leave the building on time.

No such luck.

The boys stood silently around the table as you helped Minho carry in dinner.

“We can hang on a few more minutes, I’m sure he’ll be here soon” Relief flooded in the boys features as they didn’t want to eat without their leader, neither did you if you were being honest and you weren’t looking forward to making the call about when to eat. Eat now whilst dinner was warm and miss Chan which would hurt his feelings or risk waiting for him, possibly all night, and have the dinner they worked so hard on go to waste?

Time to introduce yourself to a rock and a hard place.

“I can try ringing him?”

“Good idea Innie.” You didn’t mention the plethora of texts and missed calls he already had off you that were either sitting unseen or being ignored. For his sake, you hopped it was the first option.

Changbin sidled up to you, “I left him working on that song again, he said he was only going to be 30 minutes and he’d leave straight away.”

You sighed, not surprised that he was working late again. You loved him but being a workaholic and a perfectionist was a combination that sometimes left the rest of you in the firing line. You lifted up your glasses to rub your eyes, already feeling a stress headache start up.

“No answer but I left him a message, maybe he’s just caught up with someone” Jeongin tried halfheartedly.

You had to make a decision, “Ok guys, go put a show on. We can leave this covered up for a bit and it’ll stay warm and we can wait a bit longer for him.”

They filtered in front of TV, slotting into their regular positions which to any outside was a mess of legs, blankets, and insults before everyone got comfortable.

“You don’t think he’s coming do you?” Changbin hadn’t left your side.

“For his sake, I hope he does.”

────୨ৎ────

You weren’t happy to put it mildly.

“Come on guys, let’s eat.” You prolonged this as long as you could but you couldn’t tune out the sound of their stomachs and you weren’t about to let their hard work go to waste. They followed you back to the table and sat down as you held your hands out for their bowls. You worked with Minho going round the table to serve up the food, leaving yourself last.

“Ok, who has news? I want to hear about all of your weeks, I feel like I haven’t seen you all in so long. Tell me everything.” You tried to keep your tone light but you could feel the disappointment hovering around the table like a shadow.

Hyunjin caught your eye, “Well, last week I-”

The door slamming shut cut him off.

“Sorry I’m late, I got caught up with some stuff.” Chan walked in looking frazzled, his eyes taking in the table of food. “You weren’t gonna wait?”

Silence.

“We’ve been waiting Chan.” Your tone was short. “We’ve been waiting so long the foods nearly gone cold, you’d know that if you checked your phone.”

“No need to take my head off, I got caught up working on a song”

“Don’t get annoyed with me, you’re the one who wanted us to have dinner together.”

“And I’m here now so let’s eat. Let it go.”

You ground your teeth, biting back an answer in an effort to follow his words and ‘let it go’.

“Did you at least get the song finished?”

He nodded.

“Great, can you send it over to me? I still need to sort the choreography out and-”

“Jesus Y/N, I just got in. Can you wait 5 minutes before you start nagging at me again?”

Your jaw dropped, “Nagging you?”

“Channie hyung maybe you-” Changbin tried to interject but it was no use.

“I’ve just got in and you want the song right now?”

“I don’t want it right now but I need it. I needed the song last week if I’m being honest, you’ve held onto it for so long that I’m making excuses for why the choreography isn’t done.”

Chan waved you off, “You’ll get it done, it won’t take you long.”

You scoffed at his words, “I love your confidence in my ability to choreograph a full song for not only us but the backup dancers too in one night but I could do with a bit longer than that Chan.”

“Fine you want the song? I’ll send it to you right now.” He dropped his chopsticks on the table and stormed off.

You clenched your fists and groaned.

“Do you want one of us to go or?”

“No Binnie, it’s ok I’ll go.”

You followed Chan into his room and shut the door behind yourself. “Don’t storm away from the table like that.”

He didn’t even turn around, “I’m not a child, don’t chastise me.”

“Don’t speak to me like that.”

He spun around, “Me speak to you like that? I walked in through the door and you were already pissed at me.”

“Because you missed dinner, they’ve been cooking all afternoon and you were late. No text or call, we had to guess when you were going to show up. You let them down, they were excited to do this. I let them out of dance practice early and everything today.”

He wouldn’t meet your eyes now.

“Well for that and because I still don’t a song to teach them.”

“Oh for god’s sake, I’m sending you the fucking song now.”

“Don’t fucking swear at me!”

“Don’t be such a bitch then.” He slammed his laptop closed and pushed back out past you into the hallway.

You followed him shouting, which made the rest of the boys jump when they heard the loud voices. You were arguing in English now but they could pick up on enough words to know this wasn’t a happy conversation.

“If it’s such a panic for you then start working on it now, shouting at me about it won’t make the dance for you.”

“Oh you are such a-”

Chan got a look in his eyes, almost daring you to finish your sentence. “Such a what?”

“A cunt.”

Felix choked on his water resulting in Hyunjin slapping him on the back.

You didn’t wait around for his reply, you all but ran to your room to grab your dance bag and flung clothes into it along with headphones, a tripod and your notebook. You had to get out of here before this got even worse. You needed out of the dorm and the practice room was your solace. You went back to see the boys staring at you, still at the table not one of them daring to move and that made your chest ache. The food was sitting untouched and you took a deep breath.

“Eat as much as you want to, box up what you don’t. Leave the dishes in the sink, I’ll deal with them later. Please go to sleep at a reasonable time, I’ll be back later.”

You made for the door, ignoring the conversations behind you.

“Y/N wait!” Felix chased you, holding something delicately in his hands. The smell hit you first, he’d boxed you up dinner to bring with you. “You didn’t eat.”

The uncomfortable feeling in your chest shifted slightly. “Thank you.” You took the container off him to put at the top of your bag.

“Do you know when you’ll be back?”

“Not yet.”

“Well don’t walk back on your own if it’s late, ring me or get a taxi. It’s not safe walking around so late on your own.”

You nodded and gave him a hug. “Go back in Felix, you still need to eat.”

He hugged you back and turned around, ready to join the others back at the table.

“Felix? Don’t tell Chan where I am, I’m in no mood for him.”

────୨ৎ────

The dorm was unnaturally quiet now, a startling comparison to earlier on. The table had been cleared and kitchen was spotless as the boys washed, dried and put all the dishes away. You’d told them you would deal with it later but it didn’t feel right to them to leave a mess behind for you to clean up, especially knowing you wouldn’t get in until the early hours of the morning if you past behaviour was any example to go by.

Chan stood silently watching them clean up, he contemplated leaving without saying anything but couldn’t ignore the fact that you weren’t with them.

“Where is she?”

No one answered.

“It’s late, if she’s out on her own then you need to tell me.”

“She’s not out, she’s fine.” Felix answered.

“So then where is she?”

“She doesn’t want you to know.”

“What?” Chan faltered, he’d known you for years and you’d had disagreements before but you’d never been so annoyed that you actively hid where you were from him.

Felix debated his next words before deciding to say them, “You were an ass to her earlier.”

“I know but-”

“But nothing, she’s been making excuses for weeks now about not having any choreography to show just to give you more time on the song and it’s not the first time. If she doesn’t want to see you now then it’s because she’s under pressure to make the dance and figure out a way to teach it to us before she gets into real trouble over this without dropping you in it and because you hurt her feelings over this. You need to apologise to her.”

With that, Felix left Chan in the kitchen alone as when he left the others followed him. No one felt the need to add anything else, Felix had pretty much covered everyone’s opinion. Felix was right, Chan needed to apologise to you and based on what Felix had said and how well he already knew you, he had a pretty good guess at where you were right now.

────୨ৎ────

*Present*

You flung your notebook in the direction of your bag, too annoyed by the spacing to carry on. You were calling it, there was no way you could figure out this part of the dance without someone else here with you. You had a rough idea of what needed to be done but there was only so much spacing and marking you could do with your water bottle and hoodie, until you got another dancer to help you then you’d need to finish it here. At least you’d got a good amount done, you could teach the chorus at least and parts of the verses tomorrow, and then you could grab Minho and Hyunjin to help you mark out the spacing if they had time in the afternoon.

You were coming up with a plan as you left the practice room, feeling considerably calmer than when you arrived. You newfound peace though was instantly disturbed when you saw who was waiting for you in the lobby.

“Hi.” Chan waved.

You stopped and stared at him.

“Felix didn’t tell me where you were, I guessed.” He was desperately trying to fill the silence, and your staring was starting to make him nervous. “And I was right. I mean, obviously I was right. You’re here and I’m here.”

“I don’t have the energy for you right now.” You spun on your heel and headed straight back to the practice room.

You could hear him following but chose not to acknowledge him, you weren’t lying when you said that you didn’t have the energy for him. You knew he wouldn’t just let you walk home without talking about what had happened so returning to the practice room was the next best thing. He respected your time enough that if he thought you were working, he wouldn’t interrupt you.

So, despite wanting nothing more than to head home and crawl into bed before your alarm was due to go off in a few hours, you set your phone back up with the speaker and pulled your notebook out again. If you were going to be forced into staying here to avoid speaking to him then you might as well be productive.

Chan slid in through the door and took a seat at the back of the room, you stared at him when he did but said nothing. It was a win in his book that you didn’t instantly kick him out when he came through the door. It was technically Stray Kids official practice room but between the two of you, he’d known it as your practice room for years. Memories of the two of you as trainees being the last people in the building were circling around his head, he thought back to meeting you for the first time and it looked something very much like this. Stumbling upon the room, wondering who was still here at 3am and hearing the music blaring out a speaker, finding you in the centre of it, sweaty and worn out but still had enough energy to smile and introduce yourself to him.

The guilt was creeping up from his chest and attempting to claw itself out as he sat and watched you. He lost count of how many times you consulted your notes, started and restarted the song at different parts, recorded what you were doing, tried to figure out placements. He knew what went into choreographing obviously but seeing you burnt out when you should’ve had this done weeks ago made his stomach clench. How many times had you had to do this? Felix had said this wasn’t the first time, how many times had you covered for him and pulled an all nighter just to get a dance finished so he could have more time on a song?

“What?” You asked, without realising he’d been staring at you.

His mouth opened and closed, words failed to find him. An apology didn’t feel like enough, how could he start an apology about this without acknowledging all the pressure you’d been taking for him.

“If you’re not planning on leaving you might as well come here.” You directed him to a space on the floor that your hoodie currently held. You kicked it to the wall, and moved him slightly into position. “Don’t move too much, I need to figure out if something works. Just move on the spot like you’re singing.”

He waited until you hit play and counted him in, he did exactly what you asked, moving slightly on the spot to give the impression of singing as you moved around him. You repeated this a few more times in different positions, clearly trying to figure out if it could work as a group. Chan waited for more instructions and followed your prompts as you moved him around the room and back again deciding against that.

“Does it normally take you this long?” He asked quietly as you crossed something out that you’d wrote earlier.

You shrugged. “It depends on the song or how I feel. Some stuff is quicker to figure out but the spacing and background move when someone is singing is harder. Or if it works whilst you’re singing. It just depends. Can you stand here?”

He nodded and moved to where you were pointing.

“I’m sorry.”

You glanced up at him.

“I didn’t realise how much pressure I put you under by giving you the track so late.”

You shrugged again. “It is what it is Chan, you get put under pressure by us and the company all the time. Giving me the track a few days late isn’t a big deal.”

He caught your arm as you stepped past him, “It is to me, especially when you’re here until 5am because of it.”

“Us being here until 5am is nothing new.”

“This is different.” He insisted.

You kept your eyes on his hand that was still wrapped around your arm, the skin was burning under it and your face was burning under his gaze.

“Chan I don’t care if you hand me a song on the day it’s due and I have to come up with a choreography on the spot. I can live with that, I can live with pulling an all nighter if it gives you more time and you need it. What I don’t want is for you to throw it in my face like it’s no big deal or that what I’m doing means nothing. I like what I do and I know I’m good at it, we both know it’s the main thing you brought me into the group for, I just want to be appreciated for what I do.”

“I do appreciate what you do. I could never stay here all night trying to figure out who dances in what bit and steps where and moves when. I’d go insane.”

You cracked a smile, “And that’s why you produce and I choreograph.”

He let go of your arm and wrapped his arms around your shoulders and pulled you close. “Are we good?”

“We’re good.” You mumbled into his chest. “And I’m sorry I called you a cunt.”

He laughed properly at that.

“It’s fine, just don’t say it again in front of the others. I don’t need them learning that one and accidentally dropping it in an interview. That’s the last thing I want to make an apology for.”

You both decided to call it a night then despite knowing you had a few hours before you needed to come back, Chan picked your bag up and slung it over one shoulder.

“You still need to make it up to the others as well, they really wanted to have dinner together.”

“I know I will.”

“Thank you.”

Chan decided to ring for a car to get you back to the dorms quicker. The quicker you got back then the quicker you were able to get into bed and sleep. You didn’t make it that far though, once you settled into the back of the car and tiredness hit you, it was all you could do to stumble into the dorms and collapse on the sofa.

That was how you were found by Felix anyway, who had woke up to his own alarm that he’d set the night before knowing you’d be in too late to be responsible getting the rest of them up. He smiled at the sight of the two of you draped over each other, knowing someone was definitely going to wake up with pins and needles. He settled though for taking a photo of the two of you (kept to himself though so he could use it for his own gain on another day) and did what you always did first and turned on the coffee machine, knowing the noise would wake you up and he wouldn’t have to. He’d save the embarrassment of finding the two of you snuggled up for a moment when he really needed it.

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mikuluvu · 5 months ago

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Not saying 'I love you' Back

Tf141 x fem!reader

Phillip Graves x reader

A/n: 6/10 cod fics. It's been like 2 weeks since i posted- hehe sorry about that. i was sick :(

Oh Captain, My Captain (Cap'n john Price)

Are you mad? Because if you are, he WILL fix it.

You were both about to sleep, his arms wrapped around you from behind, his beard tickling the back of your neck. He let out a slow exhale, eyes closing as he murmured, “I love you.” His voice was deep and gruff.

…Huh. Weird.

Any minute now…

Okay, what the fuck.

His eyes cracked open, and he lifted his head slightly to glance at you. He couldn’t quite see your face, but he was sure you were still awake.

“Love…?” he whispered.

His fingers gently rubbed circles against your hip. "What's this about?"

You couldn’t hold back a giggle, your body shaking slightly against him. That only made him more confused.

Turning around to face him, your nose mere inches from his, you smirked. “I was just messing with you, silly. Wanted to see how you’d react.” you admitted,

Price huffed a small chuckle, shaking his head. “You little menace.” He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “That’s the last time you’re getting a love confession out of me.”

You knew that was a lie.

“Mm, we’ll see,” you mumbled sleepily against his chest.

He sighed, amused. “Bloody troublemaker.”

But his arms tightened around you anyway.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

You were both cuddling in bed, him as the big spoon while you were the little spoon. His veiny, strong arms were wrapped securely around your waist, his face nuzzled against the back of your head. Yes, he still had his mask on. But you weren’t complaining… who would even complain?

"I love you,” he murmured—calm, low, steady.

The only reply he got was the sound of rain pattering against the window.

He didn’t react immediately. He just… stared at the back of your head. Processing.

A minute passed.

“…Right.” His voice was unreadable.

It made you wonder if he even cared. But in reality, he did—he just wouldn’t show it easily.

His grip subtly tightened, like he was bracing himself. He wouldn’t ask if you were mad—if something was wrong, he figured you’d say it.

Then, he felt you shift. Turning around to face him, a grin on your lips as you giggled at his expression.

“I love you too… sorry to keep you waiting.”

He exhaled through his nose. A slow, deep breath.

“Not funny.”

But his arms stayed wrapped around you. A little tighter this time.

Later, he would get you back. Probably by making your legs wobbly when you least expected it.

Better than your regular soap (Johnny McTavish)

“Mhm… I love ye’.”

...

He paused, waiting for your sweet voice to say it back, thinking maybe you just didn’t hear him. But when a minute passed, he gasped.

“Oi, did ye just ignore me?” he asked.

Still, you didn’t respond—you were too focused on the movie.

Then you felt it. A poke to your cheek. Then a nudge. And then, he started gently shaking you.

“Helloooooo? Y’feelin’ alright, bonnie?”

Silence.

From the corner of your eye, you could see him. He let out a dramatic sigh and threw an arm over his forehead like a theatrical little shit.

“Ach, I knew it! You never loved me!”

That made you break.

“So dramatic… I was just messing with you,” you laughed.

He stared at you for a moment before groaning. “Hehe—ACK!”

Before you could react, he tackled you into the couch, fingers mercilessly digging into your sides.

“Ye’re gonna pay for that, lass.”

“HAAH—W-wait! Noooo! Pfft—HAHA—”

After a few seconds of your struggling, he finally stopped, only to smash his face against your chest, wrapping his arms around you so tight you couldn’t escape.

“Yer lucky I love ye, menace.”

Pretty man (Kyle "Gaz" Garrick)

When you didn’t say it back, he let out a playful scoff, thinking you were just teasing him. “Oh, so that’s how we’re playin’ it, yeah?” he said, but you still didn’t respond.

He narrowed his eyes, leaning in a bit. “Wait… you’re not actually mad, are you?”

God, you felt bad. He looked like a puppy that thought it did something wrong, giving you those sad, pleading eyes.

“Don’t leave me hangin’ like that, love.”

He took your hand, slowly caressing it before moving to tickle your sides. The moment his fingers made contact, you burst into laughter.

“Wait—no! Not there!” you squealed.

He blinked at you a few times before groaning. “You are the worst. I almost started drafting my apology speech.

”You smirked at him, and in response, he flicked your forehead.

“Hey—!”

Phillip Graves

The briefin ended, and the room gradually emptied as the Shadows left one by one. Boots echoed against the floor. You stayed, standing near the table, eyes staring at the map spread across it. Your mind was elsewhere, on the mission, on the risks,... on him.

Phillip was across the room, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, waiting.

When the las soldier was finally out the door, he pushed off the wall, closed and locked the door, and then approached you.

"Y'good sweetheart?" he asked,

You nodded automatically, but the worry weighted in your chest stayed. The mission details kept messing with your head, the potential dangers and the things that will be unexpected. You'd been through plenty together, too many, really, but something about this one made your gut twist.

You felt his hand on your waist, fingers curling around the fabric of your uniform as he pulled your closer. "C'mon now," he murmured, tilting his head to meet your eyes. "Ain't got much time,"

This was routine. After every briefing, before going to meet with the shadows, you both stole a moment like this. A secret between husband and wife, hidden in plain sight.

His hand brushed over your cheek, it was warm. “Be safe out there,” he said softly, eyes searching yours.

“You too,” you whispered.

His thumb grazed your jaw before he leaned in just slightly. “I love you.”

You opened your mouth—then hesitated.

You wanted to say it back. You always did. But this time, the words caught in your throat, tangled up with the worry clawing at your ribs. What if this was the mission that went wrong? What if this was the last time?

Graves pulled back just enough to look at your face. He waited. And when you still didn’t say it, his grip on you tightened ever so slightly.

“Darlin’,” he said, a bit more serious now. “Say it back.”

You swallowed hard, eyes darting away. “I just…” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “I’m worried, Phil.”

He knew. He always knew.

“I know, baby,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. “But I need to hear it. Just once.”

You let out a shaky breath, forcing yourself. You wrapped your arms around his neck, holding onto him like he might slip away if you let go.

“I love you,” you whispered.

He huffed out a quiet chuckle, though there was relief in his eyes. “That’s my girl.”

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4nyangnyangz · 6 months ago

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hey, emo boy! 🎸

synopsis: when you reconnect with your childhood best friend after finding out that he finally achieved his goal of forming a band, you’re introduced to their enigmatic guitarist—a man with an intimidating aura that both intrigues and unsettles you. a chance offer for guitar tutorial sessions brings you closer, and what begins as casual lessons quickly turns into something deeper as you exchange subtle yet intimate interactions. as your feelings grow stronger, so does the undeniable tension brewing between you, complicating a bond that was never meant to be simple.

pairings: guitarist!beomgyu x fem reader ; implied soobin x yeonjun??(just crumbs. don't expect much)

tags/warnings: smut but mostly plot, grinding, dry humping but no actual intercourse, use of pet names, strangers to lovers(?), beomgyu is whiney and gets jealous easily, soobin as y/n's roommate and kai as y/n's best friend, there might be more I forgot to mention- THIS ISN'T PROOFREAD!

wordcount: 13.8k.... i got carried away :((

fic below the cut!!

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

“Y/N! You awake yet?” the familiar voice of your roommate echoes through the surrounding walls of your shared apartment.

“Ugh, what does he want now....” you groan to yourself while you sit up, stretching your arms. You were just starting to wake up from what seemed like an eternal slumber.

“Yeah, what is it?” you reply while yawning, trying to imply that you literally just woke up.

“Can you please buy some eggs and bread from the mart nearby? We ran out, and I don't feel like having just bacon for breakfast.” the voice from the other side of the door responds, lowering his voice and almost muttering towards the end. You still heard it, of course.

You get up from your bed, slipping a comfy t-shirt on and tying your hair in a ponytail as you headed out of your room.

You slightly chuckle at the sight of your roommate preparing breakfast while wearing an apron with purple hearts on it. You noticed that his hair was a bit messy indicating that it hasn't been long since he woke up too, and the way the cute apron looked slightly stretched against his bigger frame, knowing he was at least 6 ft tall, wearing an apron that was clearly not made for someone of his size was quite a sight to see first thing in the morning.

“Did you hear what I said?” Soobin, your roommate, says as he shoots his sharp gaze at you while you were observing him, noticing that you looked amused at his interesting fashion choice.

“I heard you, don't worry.” you shrug. Your smile fading after seeing his clearly unamused expression. “Is there anything else you need?”

He shakes his head as a response and gets back to preparing the ingredients for breakfast.

“Alright then, I'll be right back.”

“Thanks, Y/N.” Soobin calmly says as you head back to your room to get changed.

As soon as you made it to your room, you quickly change into one of your favorite hoodies and baggy pants. You grab your phone after getting dressed and made your way out.

You were heading towards the local mart nearby where you and Soobin would often go to whenever you were missing a few items at home. You both would take turns doing housework, and it was Soobin's turn to make breakfast today so here you are, on shopping duty.

You scrolled through your phone with one hand while you stuffed the other in the pocket of your hoodie as you were walking towards the store. It was a 15 minute walk from your place, and you weren't going to get a lot of stuff, so you decided to walk. You knew you needed a bit of exercise to start your day, so this wasn't too bad.

Multiple notifications pop up at the top of the screen of your phone while you were mindlessly scrolling through Instagram. You didn't pay them much attention, until one particular notification from your best friend catches your eye.

(9+ unread messages from Hyuka)

Assuming it was something urgent, you immediately tapped on the notification popup as he isn't the type to send this much messages to you unless it's important, considering you just talked to him last night right before going to sleep. Your eyes immediately widen after reading the thread of messages he sent one after another.

Hyuka:

(hey y/n so i just woke up...)

(GUESS WHAT)

(WAIT NO DON'T ACTUALLY)

(THIS IS CRAZY???)

(YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE THIS.)

(you're the first one i'm telling this to so you better keep this a secret for now, ok?)

(I actually can't believe this, wait-)

(So remember when I kept telling you I wanted to start a band?)

(you may not know it but I personally asked a few people at school)

(AND GUESS WHAT?????)

(you've probably guessed it by now ik)

(BUT I DID IT!)

(I FINALLY FOUND PEOPLE TO START A BAND WITH)

(I can't share the full details here yet but I'll def talk to you about it when we meet, kay?)

(See you soon, y/n! <3)

Your surprised expression soon turns into a smile of relief as you could almost feel your friend breaking into your phone and appearing in front of you if he could just to share the good news with you. You knew how long he was waiting for this moment and he was just so eager about wanting to start a band so he could finally showcase his love for music, and share it with the world.

Hyuka was the nickname you gave your best friend, Huening Kai. You have been friends with him for God knows how long, even to the point where his parents would even treat you like you're part of the family and your parents would do the same for him.

You had a feeling it wouldn't be too long before he could reach his dreams, you've always known that he was a genius when it came to music. He would write the most poetic lyrics, play multiple instruments, make the most beautiful melodies, heck, he even wrote you a song for your birthday that you really liked enough to make it your ringtone at some point.

Knowing that he has finally made the first step to reaching his dreams of being in a band, made you feel nothing but proud of him. You witnessed his growth throughout the years, and you knew that he was capable of so much that the world needs to hear the songs he can come up with and know how talented he is.

Before you knew it, you already arrived at the store. You replied to your friend's messages, congratulating him before placing your phone inside the pocket of your baggy pants. You grab a small cart before heading straight to the aisle where you can find what you're looking for, since you've already memorized the structure of the place after shopping here so often.

You grabbed a tray of eggs and placed it on your cart carefully. You add in a few snacks here and there, and soon enough you get to the bread section. You just chose the usual bread that you guys have at home, plopping it unto your cart. You continued to look around, picking up some of them to take a closer look.

After much thinking, you decided to get Soobin a different type of bread aside from the ones that he will be using for the usual breakfast toast. It's a known fact for you that Soobin LOVES bread, he would always bring some home for him to munch on and share with you whenever he could.

You took your time choosing which one to get for him, especially after remembering the frown on his face during your encounter with him this morning. You thought to yourself that the stress from being student council president and having to work part-time on top of that must be getting to him, so getting him a few snacks wouldn't hurt.

You recalled Soobin's favorite had a sweet red bean filling. You also wanted to grab one custard cream filled bread for yourself. Thankfully, those two flavors were right next to each other. You extended your arm to get the bread, since they were at the very top of the shelves, yet you couldn't reach the top, even after trying to get them on your tiptoes.

Feeling a bit embarrassed at your multiple attempts but still not succeeding, you looked around, trying to find some help as it was too late to just back out from getting them. Fortunately, you had found someone in the same aisle just a few steps away from you, who at first glance was definitely tall enough to reach the top of the shelf and get them for you.

Your eyes landed on a tall and lean male with long, dark brown hair resting just right above his shoulders. His bangs were slightly covering his eyes, as he slightly lowered his head to look at the product he was holding in his right hand. You immediately notice his unique sense of fashion as he was dressed in a somewhat eye-catching way.

There were layers of silver and black accessories dangling around his wrists, and his fingers were wrapped in rings. He was dressed in an oversized black tee with a huge print of what seemed to be a band logo in the front, and black ripped jeans held together by the gray belt that was wrapped around his waist. Your eyes dropped down to his leather boots that went just up around his calf, that complemented his overall fit.

Remembering the messages you read from your best friend earlier, you immediately thought to yourself how this man you just saw looks like he would be in a band just perfectly. You couldn't help but be intimidated by the vibe he gave off. You were late to realize it but you stood there, eyeing the stranger from head to toe, slowly admiring him from a distance.

“Never seen someone that's dressed like this before?” the stranger now in front of you says nonchalantly, not even sparing you a glance while still examining the product he has been holding which immediately puts you back to your senses.

You felt blood rush to your cheeks as you blink twice and immediately shake your head, as if you just snapped out of a spell. Realizing that the stranger noticed how you were basically staring him down, you quickly rushed to defend yourself, worried that he might have misunderstood you when you had no ill intentions.

“N-no, of course not! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare... I actually think you're dressed really well. I mean, your style fits you a lot-” you ended up blabbering about how you liked his style before you even realized it. Your mind soon puts you back in your place, reminding you why you even turned to his direction in the first place.

“Wait, no, that's not why I was looking at you-” you sigh, a huge wave of embarrassment taking over you. You were lost in your words when you hear the stranger laugh, finding it adorable how you were a stuttering mess after he caught you staring at him and merely asked you a question.

He finally turns to your way, making eye contact with you and you immediately noticed his sharp features, a hint of eyeliner resting under his eyes, and with a closer look, you noticed that he has an almost angelic face despite the way he presented himself. You weren't sure if it was possible to be more flustered than before, but you were definitely not prepared to have an encounter like this in your local mart, on a random Thursday morning.

“I'm just kidding, don't worry. You just needed help with getting these, right?” he says as he walks closer to your direction, looking at the top row of the shelf.

You wanted to ask how he knew, but you could only imagine how he saw your countless attempts to get them for yourself before finally caving in and ask for help.

“Yes, please. Thank you...” is all you managed to say, looking down while feeling another wave of embarrassment crash upon you once again. You're just glad he was aware of the reason you looked to his direction, at least.

He stood right behind you as he reaches out to get what you needed. He moves his arms just above your shoulder carefully, making sure to not accidentally hit you while he picks up the packs of bread with ease.

“Here you go.”

You turn around to face him as he hands them over to you. You slightly raise your head to look at his face so you could thank him properly, and he shoots you over a smile. You felt your face getting warm after your eyes met.

“Thank you so much, and I'm sorry again, I hope you didn't get the wrong idea... I didn't mean to offend you in any way-” you start off, trying your best to dismiss the fact that the small distance between you was making you really nervous.

“I wasn't offended or anything, don't worry. I was just joking earlier, so don't take it too seriously.” he replies as he gives you a reassuring smile. You smile back at him in relief.

There was a small moment of silence as you both just stood there in front of each other, not saying anything.

“My name's Beomgyu, by the way.” the stranger introduces himself first, breaking the awkward silence.

You felt relieved and glad that awkward moment didn't last any longer. You have been feeling a bit uneasy ever since your conversation started, after all.

“What's your name, pretty?” he adds, the corner of his lips forming a slight smirk, while making sure to meet your eyes.

Getting flustered was one thing, but Beomgyu just managed to make you nervous at every point of your interaction with him. You weren't sure if it was because of his intimidating style, his unreal, almost angelic features, his deep and raspy voice calling you "pretty", the small distance between the both of you or just the idea of him flirting with you was making your heart beat faster and louder by the second, but you swore he could've heard it if you didn't answer him right away.

“I'm y/n.” you answered, smiling back at him, trying to cover up how you were feeling all sorts of emotions deep down at that moment.“You have a nice name, Beomgyu.”

He chuckles at your response and frankly sad attempt before replying, “Thank you. I like your name too, y/n. Will I be seeing you around?”

“Well, I live nearby and I usually go here when I need to get something in a hurry.” you hesitantly reply, unsure if this was the answer he was looking for.

“Great. I guess I'll start going here often then.”

You felt the heat rush to your cheeks once again from his response, and you immediately break eye contact. You attempt to laugh it off before responding.

“Sure, I might run into you again.” you mutter as you awkwardly laugh before looking away. You wouldn't even dare imagine the thought of seeing him here again.

You hear him chuckle for a bit before responding back. “I'll definitely say hi when I do. Well, I have to go now, I have practice in a few minutes. Guess I'll see you around then, y/n?”

Part of you was glad that you can finally get out of this situation, you have been feeling so overwhelmed with all sorts of emotions for a while now and you swear you felt yourself getting physically weak at some point, but a small part of you was also feeling sad that your encounter with Beomgyu had to end there, you just didn't want to admit it, of course.

“Yeah, see you around, Beomgyu. Thanks for your help, again.” you finally look back up at him and smile.

He smiles back and waves at you before turning to leave and walk away. You smiled back, waving your hands until you saw his silhouette disappear from your sight.

----------

“I'm back. Sorry to keep you waiting.” you opened the front door to your shared apartment with Soobin and soon found him lying down and facing sidewards in the small sofa that could barely fit him.

He sits up after he hears your voice and immediately reacts to the smell of his favorite bread. There were times you'd question if he was a bunny in his past life from how he acted around his favorite food.

“Did you get the red bean filled bread? Or am I just smelling things?” he looks up at you, expecting your response. You haven't seen him this alive ever since you woke up today.

You smiled while nodding as a response. He immediately gets up from the sofa and heads to your direction, rummaging through the bags of food you just brought from the store and he has a wide smile on his face after seeing that you got him his favorite bread.

“Thank you so much, y/n! You have no idea how much I needed this. Sorry for acting weird earlier, I wasn't having the best day.” he mutters while fiddling with the bread, feeling apologetic from how he acted earlier.

“That's okay. I got your back, Soobs.” you assured him as you gently tap his shoulder, letting out a small laugh as you noticed him cringe at the nickname.

You help Soobin move the stuff you brought to the fridge and decided to help out with preparing breakfast. He swiftly whipped up two servings of French toast with some bacon at the side which the both of you finished in an instant. Although your roommate wasn't the best cook, he definitely wasn't bad at cooking either. You're just glad you won't have to worry about cooking and washing the dishes for today, at least.

Soobin gets up and brings the used plates and kitchenware over to the sink, and starts washing them.

You help out in cleaning the table while he does the dishes. Teamwork makes the dream work, indeed.

“Hey, Soobin?” you start the conversation while you were both cleaning up, just to avoid any awkward silence, or at least that's what you convinced yourself. It was totally not because you couldn't stop thinking about your short encounter with Beomgyu at the store earlier.

Soobin responds with a small hum while he stays focused on washing dishes.

You hesitated for a bit. You started to question yourself whether you should bring up what happened at the store or not, but you decided to go for it anyway. It's your roommate of all people, surely he won't make a fuss about it, right?

“I'm just asking this because I'm curious, but does the name 'Beomgyu' ring a bell?” you continued, feeling a bit cautious of his response.

You heard him hum for a moment as if he was contemplating something before he finally answered.

“Beomgyu...? I would definitely remember someone with that name, but I don't think I've heard that name before. Do they go to our school?” You weren't sure why, but you felt somewhat relieved after hearing Soobin's answer.

Soobin was right. Beomgyu isn't the type of person you would forget so easily, so Soobin would surely remember Beomgyu right away when you said his name, if they actually have met before, you thought to yourself.

“No, I don't think he goes to our school. It was my first time seeing him at the store earlier. I just thought you might know who he is, since you know a lot of people at school and you visit the store more often than I do.” you explain after realizing it might have been a weird question to ask all of a sudden.

“Well, why do you ask? Does it matter if I knew who this "Beomgyu" is?” he coos, trying to analyze the situation.

Now realizing that it might have been a bad move to ask Soobin about it, you immediately stop wiping the table to look at him. You just noticed that he was done washing the dishes and he was now facing you while leaning back at the counter where the sink was.

“N-no, it's nothing. I was just curious.” you mutter, praying he wouldn't ask you any further but knowing Soobin, you knew the conversation wasn't gonna end there.

“Y/N, don't tell me....” he pauses for a bit and raises an eyebrow. “Do you li-”

(Now Playing: Ariana Grande - Daydreamin')

Before you could stop Soobin from completing his next sentence, the ringtone playing from his phone echoes through the kitchen and you let out a sigh of relief. You're just glad you didn't even have to try and end the conversation. Whoever it was, they had called just in time.

Soobin also sighs, slightly ticked off that he wasn't even able to finish his question especially after he was now curious who this Beomgyu was that you brought up out of nowhere.

He slightly taps his hands at the sides of his pants, making sure his hands were dry before picking up the phone. He opens his phone and you noticed how his eyes widened and his expression changed immediately after seeing the screen light up.

“Oh, right- I HAVE TO MEET YEONJUN HYUNG! SHIT!-” is all he managed to say while he panics for a bit before finally deciding to answer the call.

“Hyung! Sorry, have you been waiting long? I'll be right there soon!” your eyes followed Soobin as he dashed to his room, making you laugh at his antics. You weren't surprised as this wasn't the first time Soobin would act like this, especially after knowing it was from Yeonjun.

You haven't met Yeonjun yet, but you've only heard so much about him from Soobin. From what Soobin had told you, you knew that Yeonjun was a model, he was older than Soobin, and that he's someone that Soobin "owes a lot" to. That kind of explains why Soobin acts like a switch had just been flipped and he's on alert mode when it comes to Yeonjun.

You finish tidying up the table and head to the sink to wash your hands before heading back to your room and changing back into comfortable clothes.

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

“Here's your large iced vanilla latte, enjoy!” Soobin smiles, flashing his dimples as he gently places the drink to the small tray in front of him and hands it over to the customer. The girl standing in front of Soobin smiles back at him before taking the tray over to her table with her friends. You noticed her friends giggling and cheering for her while she makes her way back to their table. You let out a small laugh, thinking it was adorable that there are some customers who seem to like coming to the cafe just to see your roommate.

“The boss should really give you a raise. I think this is the third time I've seen that group this week.” You slightly nudged Soobin's shoulder and whispered, just enough for him to hear. He chuckles and shakes his head while feeling embarrassed, you notice his cheeks were flushed with a tint of red.

This scenario was all too familiar to you, and it wasn't a surprise that you've had multiple customers who visited the cafe for the first time, soon turned into regulars because of Soobin. As much as you didn't want to admit it, Soobin was tall and good-looking. He had the sweetest voice whenever he would talk to the customers, he had the most captivating smile that emphasized his dimples, all of which he was fully aware that he would use those to his advantage, and it worked like a charm every time.

You respected how Soobin was dedicated to his job despite being just as busy with his countless responsibilities as the Student Council President. You may have a hard time getting used to seeing this side of him, especially since he's your roommate, but you couldn't deny that he was certainly getting the job done.

You both turn towards the entrance of the cafe as the ringing of the tiny chimes hanging above the door catches your attention. Your attention is soon diverted to the tall figure entering the premises, along with two people following behind him.

“Y/N! Soobin hyung!” a familiar voice echoes throughout the cafe.

“Kai is just as cheerful as ever, huh...” Soobin whispers back, just enough for you to hear.

You greet the tall blonde with a smile, you felt your nerves immediately loosen up after seeing your best friend, Huening Kai. He was always such a comforting presence to you. It felt like the stress you've had from school and the hours of hard work you have been doing up til' now disappeared in an instant, after seeing him come to visit you.

You noticed an unfamiliar face scoot beside Hyuka, to get a better view of the menu displayed on the screen behind you. He was slightly smaller than Hyuka, he had black hair and he had boba-like round eyes that were looking eagerly at the screen, trying to decide what to order.

“I'll have an iced americano, please.” he said, turning to you with a smile. You immediately noticed how his features turned almost cat-like after you saw him smile. You smile back at him and nod, tapping on the small screen in front of you to take his order.

“How about you, Beomgyu hyung?”

You looked up at him again, thinking you might have heard him wrong.

Beomgyu? There's no way it could be the Beomgyu you thought it was, right?

You followed his gaze as he turned to the person behind him, and your eyes widened after seeing the third person standing behind the two men in front of you.

Talk about luck.

It was, indeed, the Beomgyu that you had in mind. The person you met at the store, wearing the exact same outfit you saw him in earlier. Except this time, you noticed his hair was a bit messier, his eyeliner was slightly smudged, and he wore a guitar case like a backpack, the straps looped over his shoulders and the case resting snugly against his back.

You thought to yourself that at first glance, Beomgyu does seem like the type to play the guitar, yet you couldn't help but be surprised after seeing him anyway.

“I'll just have what you're having, thanks.” he mutters while he scrolls through his phone, not even sparing the three of you a glance.

Did he not see you? Part of you had hoped for it, even though you knew that he would eventually, especially since Hyuka will be introducing you to the both of them in a bit.

You weren't too sure how to approach him now, after your first encounter at the store earlier. Should you just wait for him to talk to you first? Should you pretend to not know him? You felt the nervousness that you almost forgot about take over you again, and countless thoughts started to fill your mind.

“I feel like getting that too, so you can make that three iced americanos, y/n. Oh, and let me also get two chocolate chip cookies with that, please.” Hyuka completes their order with a smile, and you can sense that he was excited to tell you all about his new friends and the progress of their band.

You finish taking down their order and you repeat it back to them to confirm if you got everything correct before sending it over to Soobin. Hyuka gives you an approving nod and makes sure to thank you first before they head over to their table.

You head over to Soobin and you help out with preparing their order. You plated the cookies while he was in charge of the drinks.

“I don't think I've seen those guys before, are they Kai's friends from school?” Soobin asks while he fills the three empty cups with ice.

“I don't know, it's my first time seeing Hyuka with them either.” You shrug. Hyuka would usually visit the cafe by himself, and this was the first time he brought someone else that isn't his family. You glanced at their table as you continued to chat with Soobin but you immediately tensed up when you noticed that Beomgyu was looking at your direction.

Feeling embarrassed at the sudden eye contact, you immediately turned your head to Soobin, trying to hide your face that started heating up the moment you and Beomgyu's eyes met. You let out a nervous laugh as you carried on with your conversation with Soobin, hoping that Beomgyu didn't notice.

Soobin wraps up the order and nudged you to take a break in the meantime so you could catch up with Hyuka. You were about to refuse and tell him that you could do that after your shift ends in a few hours since Hyuka usually waits for you anyway, but Soobin insisted and he left to greet the next customer before you could say another word of protest.

Thankfully, it wasn't a busy day, and Soobin assured you that he could manage the work by himself. You promised him you would go back the moment it gets busy however, and he agreed. You would also cover for Soobin during the few times that he had to leave for something urgent in the middle of his shift, so Soobin would gladly cover for you too if the situation calls for it.

You took one glance at Hyuka's table and sighed. You were excited to finally catch up with your friend, but at the same time you were feeling nervous thinking about how it would go, meeting Beomgyu again like this.

You brought the tray containing the drinks and cookies they ordered and carefully placed it on their table. Hyuka gently taps on the empty seat beside him, signaling for you to come sit with them. You smiled at him before taking a seat. He shoots back a really cheeky smile at you in return.

Beomgyu clears his throat loudly, almost as if he intended to interrupt your little moment with Hyuka.

This catches your attention and you all turn to face him. You were surprised to see such a dark expression on Beomgyu's face, it looked as if he didn't want to be there.

“Alright guys, this is my best friend, Y/N. We've been friends for like, forever, that we're basically family now. Right, Y/N?”, Hyuka pauses for a moment and looks at you expectantly, and you felt a bit embarrassed, but you nod as a response, not wanting to let him down.

He smiles after seeing your reaction and continues, “And these guys, are my bandmates. The pretty one with the long hair right here is Beomgyu hyung! He's going to be our guitarist. I've only seen videos of him play before and I thought that he was really good, but after practicing with him and seeing it for myself earlier, I was even more impressed!”

You glance at Beomgyu's reaction and you noticed how he was basically turning red from the compliments and how enthusiastic Hyuka was about introducing him, that it made you giggle and he looked away while resting his chin on his palm as an attempt to cover his flushed face, feeling even more embarrassed. You were now especially curious to see how Beomgyu would play the guitar, especially after seeing your best friend shower him with praise.

“The cute one over here is Taehyun!” Hyuka adds and you look at the young man sitting across you.

“Please don't call me cute.” he looks at Hyuka straight in the eye with a serious expression which made the three of you laugh because doing that somehow just made him look even cuter.

“Alright then, my bad! The HANDSOME one, is Taehyun.” Hyuka retorts, still laughing

from Taehyun's response and emphasizing on the word handsome. “He is our vocalist! He's an amazing singer and he has exactly the perfect voice I had in mind for the songs I've made! Oh yeah, and he's the same age as us, but he's older than me for a few months so that technically makes him my hyung. But he insists that I don't call him hyung, so I just call him Taehyun.”

You and Taehyun exchanged smiles after Hyuka formally introduced you to them. You glanced at Beomgyu and your eyes met, which made you feel flustered. You still couldn't get used to Beomgyu meeting your eyes without feeling nervous.

You could make eye contact with Taehyun just fine, but not with Beomgyu for some reason, was it because you guys already met before Hyuka introduced them to you?

“And I'll be playing the drums.” Hyuka blurts out and you immediately turn to him with a surprised look on your face which makes him laugh. “What's with that look, y/n?”

“Nothing... I just thought you would be on the keyboard or you would play the guitar, too. I just never expected you to be the one to play the drums, really.” you muttered. You knew that Hyuka could play the drums, but it wasn't the instrument he played often so it was a surprise to you when he revealed that he was going to be their drummer.

He laughs before explaining that they needed a drummer, and he's the only one that could do it so he just went for it. He was just happy that he's finally formed a band, officially.

“How about you, y/n?” Beomgyu asks, and everyone's attention was on you now. “Do you play any instruments?”

“Well...” you were caught off guard by the question, and you weren't expecting Beomgyu to ask you that. You hesitate a bit before answering, “I know how to play the guitar a bit... Hyu- I mean, Kai, was the one who taught me how.”

Kai looks back at Beomgyu with an approving nod, looking quite proud of himself. Beomgyu on the other hand, raises an eyebrow, looking like he isn't satisfied with your answer.

“Really? We should play together sometime. I can teach you how, too.” he replied, raising the corner of his lips and forming a smirk.

There it goes again. You were starting to get used to the feeling of being flustered, nervous, and embarrassed whenever you spoke with Beomgyu. You immediately avoided eye contact after seeing how he responded.

“That's right, Beomgyu hyung is really good and I think he would be a great teacher. Plus, you're a fast learner so I trust you, y/n!” Hyuka adds, genuinely supportive of the idea. You saw Taehyun nod, agreeing with Hyuka. You laughed nervously, not even wanting to entertain the thought of how that would go, but you just couldn't say no to that now that everyone's basically on it. It won't turn out so badly as you're imagining it, right?

“Sure, maybe when we have some free time, I guess...” you muttered, in hopes of dismissing the topic there.

“Your number.” Beomgyu places his phone on the table, right in front of you. You look down at his phone, then back at him with a confused expression. “So I could text you when I'm free, and I can teach you how to play.”

You're just now realizing that there's no turning back, and that he was actually dead serious about this. You glance at Kai and Taehyun, trying to find some sort of way out from this, but to your surprise, you see Taehyun with a smile, giving you a thumbs up and Hyuka was covering his face with his two hands as if he was blushing, eyes wide, nodding his head furiously, urging you to go type in your number already.

Lastly, you look over to Beomgyu and he just shoots you a mischievous grin. Was this really a good idea?

You were hesitant at first, but you didn't want to make it seem like you were being forced to do it. A part of you was actually looking forward to it, you were nervous yet excited to imagine meeting up with Beomgyu, just the two of you, so he could teach you and you could play together.

You were starting to feel blood rush to your cheeks at the thought, so you immediately look down to face the screen of his phone and type down your name and number, saving your information in his contacts and quickly handing him back his phone. You were hoping they didn't notice how flushed your cheeks were.

“Y/N!” you hear Soobin's voice call you from a distance, and you turn to his direction, seeing a slight panic in his expression. You didn't realize how the cafe was starting to get full, and you took this as your chance.

“Oh no, its starting to get busier. I'm sorry, I need to get back to work, Soobin needs my help. Let's catch up next time. I'll message you later, Hyuka. See you guys around then!” you said, getting up from your chair in a rush and patting Hyuka's head before quickly heading back to help out Soobin with the workload.

Hyuka starts pouting after you pat his head, him and Taehyun starts waving at your back as you rushed to get back to work. You never noticed since you left in a hurry, but Beomgyu's expression immediately darkens after you left the table. Soobin notices this however, and catches the younger boy's glare at him, as if he did something wrong.

Soon after you arrive at the counter to help out, Soobin immediately thanks you and divides the workload.

“Was this a bad time to call you back? Sorry, it was starting to get hectic.” he whispers, feeling bad and worried at the same time, and he swore could still feel Beomgyu glaring at him then.

“No, no, it was the perfect timing. You saved me there, thanks.” you whisper back at him in relief, which makes him more confused, but he doesn't question it and the both of you continue working.

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

A few days have passed since Hyuka introduced Beomgyu and Taehyun to you at the cafe. Since then, you and Beomgyu have been messaging each other. He would also visit the cafe along with Taehyun and Hyuka from time to time, and you have started to feel more comfortable interacting with him, it no longer felt like you were walking on thin ice whenever you talked.

It was safe to say that you were slowly becoming good friends with Hyuka's bandmates, and Soobin also had the chance to meet them at some point. After spending some time with them for few days, you had soon found out that Hyuka and Taehyun were classmates, and it was Taehyun who asked Beomgyu, who is his roommate, to join the both of them to form a band.

Before you knew it, you fiddled with the hem of your shirt as you stood in front of the door to Beomgyu and Taehyun's apartment. You and Beomgyu both agreed that you would be meeting him today for guitar practice, since you both didn't have school and you didn't have to work during the weekends.

You open the front camera to your phone so you could fix your hair and check your outfit one more time. You didn't want to show up wearing something too extra or too simple, so you asked Soobin for help to choose an outfit. You both ultimately decided on a cropped tee, high waisted jeans, and a pair of converse high tops that matched your outfit. You also wore light makeup to complete your look.

You have been standing in the empty hallway of their apartment for a at least 10 minutes, trying to make yourself look presentable, adjusting the length of you shirt, fixing your hair, and doing a quick retouch to your makeup. You were just making sure that you looked decent, it's not like you were trying to impress anyone, right?

After a lot of hesitation, you took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell and looked around while waiting for the door to open. You felt like your heart almost dropped to the floor when the door opens after a few seconds.

You look up and see a half-awake Beomgyu running his left hand through his hair, while his right hand holds the door open. He was dressed rather comfortably, it was very different to the usual dark outfits he wore outside whenever you met him in the cafe with Hyuka and Taehyun. Beomgyu wore a plain white t-shirt under an oversized black cardigan, and a pair of black pants. You were used to seeing him in his usual dark and "emo" fashion, but seeing a different side to Beomgyu felt new, but you liked it.

He greeted you with a smile before you letting you in and you followed him to his room. You looked around while you nervously stepped inside his room as he closes the door behind you. He had a bunch of band posters surrounding the walls of his room and you noticed he had a shelf stocked with albums of his favorite artists. You saw that he had 3 guitars displayed at the corner of his room, next to a desk where he had a computer setup. You couldn't describe it very well, but Beomgyu's room felt very him.

“You can sit on my bed, I'll go get the guitar.” he says as he goes to pick up the guitar.

You nodded and sat at the edge of his bed carefully. Your eyes followed Beomgyu's back as he prepares the guitar that he will be using to teach you. You started to tense up, remembering the familiar feeling that you've had during your first encounter with him at the store, your heart was beating louder and faster, and you were starting to feel nervous again.

You weren't expecting to get nervous especially after you thought you were finally comfortable being around with him, but the idea of you and Beomgyu being alone in his room made you feel more nervous than ever.

You've been to Soobin's room before to get a few things, and you've always hung out with Hyuka in his room countless times, but why did this feel different? Why were you so nervous about being alone with Beomgyu in his room when you were just going to get guitar lessons with him? The more you tried to think rationally and calm yourself down, your mind wasn't helping you.

The edge of the bed dips down at Beomgyu's weight as he sits down cross-legged beside you, carrying the guitar and repositioning it just above his thigh.

“You okay? You look so nervous.” he says with a laugh as he looks down while tuning the strings of the guitar.

How did he know? Was it too obvious? A hundred questions filled your mind. You were worried you might be overanalyzing everything.

“Y-yeah, I'm okay. I'm just nervous because I haven't played in years.” you answer with an awkward laugh.

That was one of them, but you couldn't possibly tell Beomgyu that you were nervous because you're alone with him in his room, could you? You hoped he wouldn't question you any further.

“That's alright. I'm here to teach you, so don't worry.” he assures you, looking to your direction and he smiles after your eyes meet.

You smile back, feeling a bit relieved. Maybe you were just worrying over nothing.

“Besides, Taehyun won't be coming home today. It's just going to be the two of us.” he says with a hint of mischievousness in his tone. “You won't have to worry about making mistakes, no one's gonna hear them except for me.”

The feeling of relief didn't last long as Beomgyu's words echoed in your head like crazy. You were already nervous even before he told you that, and now you couldn't calm yourself down even if you tried. Your heart was racing and you felt your cheeks heating up.

Beomgyu notices the change in your expression, making him chuckle. You look away, feeling more embarrassed that he's teasing you about it.

“Let's start with something easy. I'll show you first.”

Beomgyu starts playing the guitar, soon switching between two chords simultaneously. You turn to him, paying attention to how he plays. He starts humming along the tune of the song as he strums up and down.

(Now Playing: 505 by Arctic Monkeys)

He plays up till the first chorus, stopping right before the second verse. You clap your hands, genuinely amazed from what you just watched. Hyuka was right. Beomgyu was really good at playing the guitar, and you just saw it for yourself.

Beomgyu chuckles and shakes his head, feeling a bit embarrassed at your reaction. He hands you over the guitar, and you follow him, crossing your right leg over your left leg, and you position the guitar on top of your thigh.

“I really haven't played in years, so don't make fun of me, okay?” you mutter and he laughs, finding you adorable.

“I won't, I swear.” he then demonstrates how to do the chords, placing his fingers on top of his arm, mimicking how he presses the string of the guitar. “These are the two chords you need to remember, first Dm, and then Em.”

You copy how he positions his fingers and apply that on your end, pressing the strings eagerly. You look at him, trying to check his expression if you were doing it right. He tilts his head slightly, muttering a silent hum before moving. He scoots over right behind you.

“Do you mind?” he asks first, and you were taken aback by his actions, but you shake your head, assuring him that you were okay.

Beomgyu leans forward, finally closing the distance between the both of you and he slowly wraps his arms around you, placing his hands on top of yours, guiding your left fingers to show you how to do the chords properly while guiding your right hand to show you the correct strumming pattern. Beomgyu hums while he plays the song again, this time showing you how to do it on your end as moves your hands gently.

You thought you would be okay, and that you wouldn't mind since he was just going to teach you how, but now you couldn't think straight. All you could think about was how he rested his chin on your shoulder, how his deep voice while he was humming along tickled your ears, how gentle his hands felt on top of yours, how you felt completely enamored with his scent and how you felt his warmth on your back as he embraced you.

You're not the type to engage in any physical activity with anyone, even with your family or your closest friends. You couldn't wrap your head around the fact that it was your first time being this intimate with someone, and it was with Beomgyu.

You had hoped he wouldn't notice how you were basically starting to sweat from the nervousness, or how the sound of your own heart beating was louder than the guitar playing in front of you. You bit your lower lip, in hopes of hiding that you were having a hard time breathing from how fast your heartbeat was going at this point.

You were quickly brought back to your senses when you felt Beomgyu stop moving your hands and you hear him laugh.

“Geez, y/n. Were you even paying attention?” he slowly pulls away, gently letting go of your hands before moving beside you, leaving you almost frozen in place. You pull yourself together, clearing your throat before responding.

“Of course I did.” you replied, trying your best to sound normal. You were still having a hard time calming down and regaining composure, but you didn't want to get more obvious by the minute.

“Really? Show me how it's done, then.” Beomgyu says, flashing a grin while crossing his arms, paying full attention to you.

You looked at him nervously one more time before looking down to check if you positioned your fingers at the fret of the guitar correctly.

“If you do well, I'll grant one wish.” he offers, and you look up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“And if I don't?” you question. He wouldn't say that without having a catch, would he?

“Hmm... if you don't,” his voice grows deeper and more serious as he pauses before slightly leaning forward, not breaking eye contact. “Then maybe I should give you a little punishment for it.” he adds, the corner of his lips curling up to form a smirk.

You stared at him for a few seconds, trying to process what he just told you. After you realized what he just said, you were about to retort him when he cut you off.

“Nah, I'm just kidding.” he pauses with a laugh before adding, “We will just have to keep going until you get it right.”

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

“Y/n- Y/N!”

You were immediately brought back to your senses when you started to hear Soobin's voice echo in the background, fading in as if you just started to snap out of something.

“Are you okay? What's going on? This is like the third time today that I've seen you spacing out.” he muttered as he puts his both of his hands on your shoulders while facing you, visibly worried.

“Y-yeah, I'm fine. Sorry about that.” you mutter and immediately get back to work. You hear Soobin sigh before he took his hands off of your shoulders.

You rummage through the counter before looking up to greet the customer waiting in front of you.

“Good morning! What can I get for you to-”

You weren't able to finish your sentence as you lock eyes with Beomgyu, grinning at you. You felt your cheeks go warm and your heart skip a beat.

For the past few days, you just couldn't seem to get Beomgyu out of your head, especially after your first guitar session with him. It has gotten to the point that even your roommate has noticed you spacing out multiple times, which was unusual for you since you wouldn't usually have problems focusing on work, studies and even on house chores.

You thought you needed to pull yourself together when the source of your unusual antics suddenly appeared in front of you.

“Good morning, y/n. I'll just get my usual order, thanks.” Beomgyu smiles at you, handing over the payment for his order.

“I'm on it. I'll send it to your table in a few minutes.” you smile back at him, an attempt to somehow cover up the fact that you were getting nervous again whenever you were around his presence. He nods at you as a response before heading to his table.

You turned around to get started with Beomgyu's order when you notice Soobin looking at you, raising his eyebrow as he leans on the counter with his arms crossed.

“What?” you chuckled as you question the judging expression on his face.

“I think I might have a feeling I know what has been on your mind these days since you started acting weird... or should I say, 'who'.” Soobin replies and he made sure to emphasize the last part.

“It's really nothing, Soobs. I just have a lot on my mind recently, that's all. I swear I'll do better today, so don't worry too much.” you shrug, clearly getting at what he's implying to you before leaving the counter and working on Beomgyu's order.

You knew that Soobin would be the first to notice these things, so you wanted to stop the conversation there before it turns into another nagging session from him. You were reminded of the few times you noticed how he started to act like he was your father or something, especially when you weren't being yourself. You knew he always meant well, you just weren't in the mood for it at the moment.

Soobin stared at your back as you walked away from him, his eyebrows furrowed in worry. He averts his gaze over to Beomgyu's table, and immediately gets taken aback when he sees Beomgyu glaring at him as if he was about to shoot daggers with his eyes. Soobin scoffs at the sight in disbelief.

You quickly finish Beomgyu's order, placing two chocolate chip cookies and an iced caramel macchiato onto the small tray. You slightly fixed your hair before heading to his table while carrying the tray that had his order.

As you walked towards him, you noticed that he was on his phone with wireless headphones resting on his head, covering both of his ears. Sunlight spills through the window, illuminating the little table where he was seated and perfectly emphasizing his defined features. Despite his dark-presenting exterior, you can't help but notice how his face looks so angelic. It almost felt like you were observing a painting.

He notices you getting closer and turns to you, smiling as your eyes met. You smiled back, hoping he wouldn't notice the tint of pink flushing your cheeks. He takes off his headphones and puts them down to rest on his shoulders, wrapping around his neck.

“Here's your cookies and iced caramel macchiato, Beomgyu.” you carefully place the cup of coffee and plate of cookies on the table, making sure not to spill anything or make a mess. He thanks you and smiled at him as a response.

“Let me know if you need anything else.” you say while you hold the now empty tray in your hands, about to turn around when he answered, stopping you in your tracks.

“You.”

Taken aback from his response, you looked back at him with a confused expression.

Did you mishear what he said? The grin plastered on his face when you looked back at him wasn't much help when you felt your heart skip a beat.

“Sit here with me. Let's talk for a bit.” he suggests, tapping the table as a gesture to invite you to sit down on the empty chair across him.

“Beomgyu, I'm-” you were about to decline his offer when he cuts you off.

“I know, but you always make time for us whenever we visit, and it's not that busy right now.” he looks around, observing the almost empty cafe. There were only three occupied tables, including his.

“Pretty please?” Beomgyu mutters. You were taken aback by the shift in his tone, and the change in his expression, especially how he looked up at you with almost puppy-like eyes that could convince literally anyone, you thought to yourself.

You sighed before placing the tray on the table and sat down facing him, taking him on his offer.

“Fine, but only for a few minutes, okay?”

He smiles at you before taking a sip of the coffee you prepared for him. You noticed how his eyes widened after taking a sip and he nods slowly while savoring the drink, implying that he approves of it.

You couldn't help but giggle at his reaction. Soobin usually prepares the drinks while you're in charge of the counter but today wasn't a busy day so you decided to do Beomgyu's order. You were just glad that he liked it.

“So, where's Kai and Taehyun? Don't you guys usually come together?” you asked, a hint of curiosity visible in your tone. This was the first time he came by himself so you wondered if something had happened.

“Dunno. I never got to ask them. I'm sure they wouldn't really mind, though.” he replies almost nonchalantly as he continues to sip on his drink.

Not quite the answer you were expecting to get, but you didn't question him further. You rested your chin on the palm of your hand as you turned to the glass window just beside the table. Outside, the city wakes up, people hurrying past, but here, in the small and cozy space of the cafe, time feels like it slows down. A short moment of silence fills the air.

“Aren't you going to ask me why I came here so early?” Beomgyu mutters after a while, breaking the silence.

You look at him for a moment before saying anything. He also rested his chin on the palm of his hand, except he wasn't looking out the window, but facing you directly. It was almost as if he was observing you, and silently admiring your features. The thought of him gazing at you intently sent your mind spiraling and you almost felt like your heart was going to explode.

“Alright then, why did you come here by yourself so early?”

Beomgyu leans forward, slowly closing the distance between the both of you with his face still resting on his hand.

“It's because I wanted to see you.” Beomgyu replies, still staring into your eyes. His gaze was somehow intense, yet it felt gentle. His voice was deep and soft at the same time that it almost sounded like a whisper.

You sat there with widened eyes as a fluttering sensation begins in your stomach, like tiny wings beating against the walls of your insides. A mix of excitement and nervousness runs through your veins, a feeling that is only too familiar whenever you were with Beomgyu.

Your cheeks and ears were warm and you felt a weird sensation all over your body. You swore if he could come any closer he could probably hear the raging sound of your heartbeat by now. His answer pierced through your ears, and you were once again intoxicated by the effect he had on you.

You immediately turned away, breaking eye contact before you could completely get lost in your thoughts.

“You know you could still see me even if you went with the others, right?” you respond, a desperate attempt at trying to keep calm and handle the situation you were in.

“I know, but I want you to pay attention to me, just me. This is different.” he responds almost immediately, and you could tell he was serious despite not looking at him just by the tone of his voice.

“Well, you got what you wanted, I guess...” you muttered and you heard Beomgyu chuckle at your flustered state.

Your heart flutters, each beat echoing in your ears. You glance around to make sure no one, especially Beomgyu, hasn't noticed. The feeling is both delightful and awkward, leaving you wishing to disappear and yet wanting to bask in the sensation a little longer.

“Did you two fight or something?” Beomgyu asks and you looked at him with a confused expression on his face. You noticed that he was facing towards the counter, looking at Soobin. You realize that he was probably referring to what happened earlier.

“You mean Soobin? No, we didn't.” you answered and you heard a soft hum from him as a response.

“Huh... weird. It sure seemed like it.”

“He's just looking out for me, that's all.”

“Soobin.... he's not your boyfriend, is he?” Beomgyu mutters while fiddling with the straw from the iced caramel macchiato.

You blinked, momentarily stunned by Beomgyu’s question. The idea of Soobin being your boyfriend seemed completely out of left field. For a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. You quickly shook your head, trying to clear up the confusion before it could spiral further.

“Uh… What? Soobin? No, no, of course not,” you finally stammered, trying to shake off the strange feeling of discomfort that suddenly settled in your chest.

“He's just my roommate. We're just friends, nothing more than that.”

Beomgyu looked at you for a long second, his eyes slightly narrowed as if he were searching for something you weren't saying. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he fiddled with the straw, and it clicked. It made you wonder if he was trying to figure something out, something about you, maybe.

Wait. Is he... jealous?

Your heart raced a little faster, and you couldn’t help but glance away for a second to collect your thoughts. Why was he jealous?

You had to admit, you hadn’t really expected Beomgyu to react this way. His usual carefree attitude seemed to have disappeared, replaced by something else. You couldn't ignore it anymore, the slight edge in his voice, the way his gaze kept flicking between you and Soobin, like he was trying to measure something.

“Beomgyu,” you started, your voice slightly shaky, “You don’t have to worry about Soobin. I mean, he’s just looking out for me like he always does. But there’s nothing between us, really.” You felt your cheeks heat up, and you prayed he didn’t notice how flustered you were.

His eyes flickered up to meet yours, but there was that familiar wariness in them now, like he was still trying to process what you were saying. “It just seemed like you two were...” He trailed off, unsure how to finish the thought. His eyes kept darting between you and Soobin, and you could feel his unease pressing against you.

Beomgyu cleared his throat, suddenly shifting in his seat. His eyes avoided yours now, focusing on the iced caramel macchiato in front of him as he stirred the straw absentmindedly, like he was trying to regain some composure.

“I... I didn’t mean to make things weird,” he muttered, his voice much quieter than before.“I was just asking.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone. It was as if he was backpedaling, trying to pull away from the conversation as quickly as possible.

“No, Beomgyu, it’s okay,” you said quickly, your voice a little more steady than you felt. “I just… I didn’t expect you to be so concerned. I promise, there's nothing going on between me and Soobin. You don’t need to worry.”

Beomgyu looked at you briefly, but his expression softened, his eyes a little unsure. “Yeah, I know,” he said, shifting uncomfortably.“I just... I don’t know. It seemed like you two were acting weird earlier, like—” He cut himself off, suddenly aware that he was still digging himself deeper.

“Anyway, forget I said anything. I’m probably just overthinking it.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the flustered feeling bubbling up again. It wasn’t lost on you that Beomgyu was avoiding your eyes now, his usual carefree demeanor completely replaced with a subtle, almost embarrassed unease.

You couldn’t deny it—he was definitely jealous, even if he wasn’t openly admitting it. The realization made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t expect.

You opened your mouth to say something more, to try to reassure Beomgyu that everything was fine and that his worries were unnecessary. But before you could get the words out, Soobin’s voice rang through the air, cutting off the fragile moment before it could go any further.

“Y/N!” Soobin called, his tone light but firm as he approached the counter. “Break’s over. You’re needed back at the register.”

You blinked, startled by the interruption. For a second, you felt a wave of relief wash over you, almost like you had been given an escape route before the conversation could get any more complicated. You didn’t know what you would have said next, or if you would have been able to keep your composure if the moment between you and Beomgyu had stretched on.

“Right,” you muttered quickly, the words coming out a little too fast. You shot a glance at Beomgyu, offering him a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry, I have to get back to work. My break's over.”

You were about to stand up, already feeling the pressure of the conversation lifting, when Beomgyu’s hand gently wrapped around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. His touch was warm and firm, but there was an unmistakable softness to it, like he didn’t want to let go just yet.

You froze, your heart pounding at the unexpected contact. Beomgyu’s fingers felt like they had a quiet weight to them, as though he was holding onto something that mattered more than either of you had acknowledged.

“Wait,” Beomgyu said quietly, his voice just above a whisper. His eyes met yours, and there was something deeper there, something more vulnerable than you’d ever seen from him before.

“Before you go... just... I don’t know. Don’t think I’m trying to avoid what we were talking about. I just—”

He stopped himself, like he was second-guessing his words. You could see the uncertainty in his eyes, and for a brief moment, you wondered if this was your chance to clarify things, to make sure he didn’t misinterpret everything that had been said. But then, that familiar tension crept in, the same kind of nervousness that always seemed to bubble up around him. You weren’t sure if either of you were ready for it to go deeper, but the connection between you was undeniable now.

You gave him a small, reassuring smile, trying to hide the nervousness in your chest. “I know, Beomgyu,” you said gently, your voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to explain anything. We’ll figure it out, but right now, I need to get back to work.”

You felt his grip on your wrist loosen just a little, but he didn’t let go completely. His eyes softened, and you could tell he was still thinking about something, still processing everything you had said. He seemed torn, like he didn’t want to let you leave without resolving the unspoken tension, but at the same time, he knew he had to.

“Let's talk when you come over.” he said, his voice more steady now, though there was still a hint of hesitation. “Take care of yourself, Y/N.”

You nodded quickly, feeling a mixture of relief and disappointment at the way things had left off. Before you could second-guess yourself, you gently pulled your hand away from his, standing up and walking toward Soobin, who was now holding the door to the kitchen open for you.

As you passed by, you stole one last glance at Beomgyu, who was staring at the table, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of his cup. You couldn’t help but wonder what would happen next, if his feelings for you were as complicated as they seemed, or if he would keep pushing them down.

Either way, you knew that things were changing. And for better or for worse, the dynamic between you and Beomgyu had just become a lot more complicated.

For now, though, all you could do was focus on your shift. Or try to, at least.

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

A few days had passed since that awkward, yet strangely intimate, conversation with Beomgyu at the café. The words you had almost said, those feelings you were still trying to figure out—kept swirling in your mind, replaying over and over. You couldn’t help but wonder if he’d thought about it the same way, if he felt anything close to what you had felt in that moment.

Today, you were standing in front of Beomgyu’s apartment door, your hand hovering nervously over the doorknob. The familiar flutter of nerves settled in your stomach, but this time, it felt different.

There was a weight to the air that hadn’t been there before—the unspoken tension between you both, lingering after that conversation at the café.

You exhaled slowly, trying to calm your racing heart. You had been looking forward to this guitar tutorial session for weeks, but now, knowing that things might not be as simple as before, it felt harder than ever.

Shaking your head, you reminded yourself that you’d be fine. It was just a guitar lesson. Just like it always was.

With a deep breath, you raised your hand to knock, but before your knuckles could meet the door, it opened.

Beomgyu stood there, looking just as you remembered: casually dressed, his hair a little messy in that endearing way, and that usual glint of mischief in his eyes. But something was different this time. There was a small pause as his eyes met yours—just a moment longer than usual, before he stepped aside to let you in.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice soft but warm, though there was still an undercurrent of something unspoken between you.

You nodded quickly, managing a small smile, though your heart was still in your throat.

“Hey, Beomgyu,” you replied, trying to sound casual as you stepped inside, your hand lightly brushing past his as you entered his apartment.

The door clicked shut behind you as you stepped into Beomgyu’s apartment, the familiar smell of his space greeting you, but today, everything felt different. The usual easy vibe between you two seemed a little distant, as if there were invisible threads tugging between you both that neither of you could quite untangle.

Beomgyu didn’t seem his usual carefree self—his usual teasing smile was replaced with something more guarded. His gaze flickered to you, hesitant, before he motioned for you to follow him.

“Let’s go to my room,” Beomgyu said quietly, standing in front of his living room with his hand on the hallway door, as if he was still trying to decide whether or not he was ready to address whatever awkwardness hung in the air.

You nodded, biting your lip as your heart raced in your chest. Was he going to bring up what happened?

Was he still thinking about that moment at the café when everything seemed to shift between you two?

You followed him down the hallway, and the closer you got to his room, the more nervous you became. The space felt smaller somehow, more intimate now that you were both stepping into it with this new, unspoken tension lingering between you.

Beomgyu pushed the door open, stepping aside to let you enter. The room was exactly as you remembered it—his bed pushed up against the far wall, a few posters of bands scattered on the walls, his guitar resting on a stand beside his desk. Everything felt oddly familiar, but the space seemed charged now, in a way it hadn’t before.

You hesitated before stepping inside, but Beomgyu quickly gestured for you to take a seat on the bed, which you did, sitting slightly at the edge.

“Uh, so... we can just start the lesson whenever,” you said, trying to keep your voice casual, not wanting to acknowledge the tension that was settling into the space between you.

But Beomgyu didn’t seem interested in starting the lesson just yet. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, his arms crossed in front of his chest. There was a noticeable hesitation in his posture, a stiffness that told you he was trying to figure out what to say.

“You know,” Beomgyu started slowly, his voice quieter than usual, “I’ve been thinking about what happened at the café.”

Your stomach twisted at the mention of it, the conversation you’d tried so hard to move past resurfacing unexpectedly. You blinked, looking at him, trying to push down the flustered feeling rising in your chest.

“I, uh, I didn’t mean for it to get so weird,” he continued, his eyes not meeting yours as he fidgeted with his hands. “But I just—I don't know, I thought... maybe I was being too obvious? About, you know...” he trailed off, clearly uncomfortable, but you could hear the unease in his voice.

You quickly shook your head, trying to reassure him. “No, Beomgyu, it’s not like that. You didn’t make things weird,” you said, though you couldn’t quite hide the nerves in your voice.“It’s just... things have been a little confusing lately, that’s all.”

The words felt like they were floating in the air, hanging between you both. Beomgyu finally turned his gaze to you, and you could see the uncertainty there, the way he was searching your face for something—maybe an answer, or maybe just a sign that everything was okay.

“It’s not just that,” he said, his voice a little more serious now. “I—look, I don’t want you to think I was being jealous or anything, but... I was. And I can’t stop thinking about it. I’ve been acting like a jerk, right? I'm sorry, y/n.”

You weren’t sure how to answer, your heart hammering in your chest. Hearing him say it out loud, jealous, made something inside you tighten. Was that what this was all about? Was that why the air between you two had felt so charged, so different since that day? So he really was jealous?

“Beomgyu...” you started, trying to find the right words. “It’s okay. You don’t need to apologize. I just... I wasn’t expecting it either. I didn’t think you’d feel that way.”

Beomgyu’s gaze softened as he pushed off from the door and walked over to sit next to you on the bed.

His presence was warm, but there was still a tension there, lingering in the space between you. He ran a hand through his hair, clearly still wrestling with what he wanted to say next.

“I don’t want you to think I’m being weird,” he said, his voice quiet now, almost as if he were talking to himself. “But I don’t want things to stay awkward between us, either.”

You could feel your heart race in your chest again, the unspoken words hanging in the air, thick with all the things neither of you wanted to say outright. You shifted slightly, trying to find a way to diffuse the growing pressure between you both, to make the conversation feel lighter.

“So,” you started, voice just a little too high, “About today’s lesson... What are we working on? Did you want to go over that new song you were learning?”

Beomgyu gave a soft chuckle at your attempt to change the subject, but it wasn’t one of his usual playful laughs. This one felt a little more resigned, like he was unsure whether or not to just give in to the moment. He turned his gaze toward you, searching for something in your face.

“We can work on the song,” Beomgyu replied, but his voice still held that quiet, heavy undertone.“But, honestly, Y/N, I don’t want to avoid what’s been going on between us. I don’t think it’ll go away just by pretending everything’s fine.”

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the air conditioning, and you wondered if he was just as nervous as you were.

Finally, he sighed, and you saw his shoulders drop, as if he were gathering his courage. He walked toward you, but instead of sitting beside you, he took a step back, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Beomgyu said suddenly, his voice low but clear. The words hung in the air like a confession, and you froze, unsure of how to react.“A lot. More than I’d like to admit.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you blinked, trying to process what he was saying. He hadn’t seemed like himself lately, and the fact that he was bringing this up now, in this quiet, vulnerable moment, threw you off. Was he really about to say what you thought he was?

“You’ve been on my mind,” Beomgyu continued, his voice growing softer but more earnest. “It’s been... hard to stop thinking about what happened at the café. I didn’t mean to come off like I was... jealous, but I guess I was. And I can’t pretend anymore that I don’t feel something for you. Something more than just friendship.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you blinked at him, your mind struggling to process the weight of his words. Was he saying what you thought he was saying?

“I like you, Y/N.” Beomgyu admitted, his eyes finally meeting yours. There was no teasing, no playful glint in his gaze this time. Just honesty, raw and unguarded. “And I’ve been trying to hide it, but I can’t anymore. I... I like you more than just as a friend. I’ve been wanting to tell you, and I feel stupid that it took so long for me to say it, but I didn't know how.”

You could feel your heart pounding against your ribs as his confession hung between you two. The room suddenly felt smaller, the air thicker, and you weren’t sure if it was the proximity or the weight of his words making everything seem so intense.

“Wait... Beomgyu, I—” you started, but the words stuck in your throat. You couldn’t deny it—your heart had been racing every time he looked at you, every time you caught his gaze. The truth was, you’d always felt a pull toward him, but hearing him say it out loud made everything feel so much more real.

Beomgyu stepped closer, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to gauge how you were feeling. “I don’t want to hide it anymore. I’ve been worried, Y/N. Worried that you wouldn’t feel the same way, or that it might ruin our friendship. But I don’t want to keep pretending that I don’t want something more.”

Your chest tightened, a whirlwind of emotions crashing over you. You’d thought about this moment before, what it would be like if Beomgyu ever admitted he liked you, if he ever acknowledged the feelings that had been growing between you two. And now, standing here in his room, it was happening.

It was all unfolding right before you.

“I’m not asking for anything crazy, or for us to figure everything out right now,” Beomgyu said, his voice a little softer now. “I just needed you to know how I feel. Because it’s been eating at me, and I don’t want to keep pretending like everything is just... normal between us when it’s not. Not for me, at least.”

For a long moment, the two of you stood there, the world outside fading away as everything settled into this quiet space. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It was filled with everything you both hadn’t been able to say before.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the rush of emotions flooding through you. There was so much you wanted to say, but the words felt tangled in your chest. You looked up at Beomgyu, his expression uncertain, but there was a vulnerability in his eyes that made your heart ache.

“Beomgyu...” you whispered, your voice soft but steady. “I’ve been thinking about you too. More than I probably should. It's gotten to the point that even Soobin noticed, and that's... that's why you thought we were fighting that day, he was just worried because I was acting so weird. God, I couldn't focus on work because you kept getting in my thoughts.”

His eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, you could see a flicker of hope pass across his face. You took another breath, feeling your cheeks heat up, but you didn’t look away.

“I don’t know what this means yet,” you continued, trying to find the right words. “But I don’t want to ignore it either. I... I like you too, Beomgyu. I feel the same way.”

The words felt surreal as they left your lips, but the moment they did, the weight you hadn’t even realized you were carrying seemed to lift. There was no more confusion, no more guessing. The tension, the uncertainty, it all seemed to fade in the wake of your admission.

There was a beat of silence before his expression seemed to shift, and a mischievous grin slowly tugged at the corners of his lips. The serious mood that had filled the room suddenly felt... lighter. It was like he was shaking off the tension, returning to his usual self.

“Well, well,” Beomgyu teased, leaning forward slightly as his grin widened. “I always knew I was irresistible.”

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift. Your heart still thudded in your chest, but now you couldn’t help but laugh a little at his cocky, teasing nature returning. His usual playful energy was back in full force, and it made you feel a little more at ease. He wasn't letting this moment get heavy, and it made you realize that maybe you didn’t have to be so serious either.

“Oh my god, Beomgyu,” you muttered, trying to hide the amused smile creeping onto your face. “You’re unbelievable.”

He chuckled, sitting down beside you on the bed and nudging you with his elbow. “Nah, I’m just being honest. I mean, who wouldn’t like this face?” He exaggerated a pout, his eyes sparkling with that familiar mischievous glint.

“Alright, alright,” you said, rolling your eyes but unable to stop laughing. “We get it, you're so charming.”

As Beomgyu's teasing continued, you couldn’t help but notice something unusual. His eyes, which usually had that dark, defining line of eyeliner, were... bare. The usual sharp, bold look was missing, and for some reason, it stood out to you more than it should have.

You couldn’t help yourself—your curiosity got the best of you, and you blinked at him for a moment, distracted from his usual antics. “Wait,” you said, squinting at him. “You’re not wearing eyeliner today.”

Beomgyu froze, his playful grin faltering slightly as he looked at you, clearly surprised you’d noticed. For a brief second, he seemed unsure of what to say, and then, in true Beomgyu fashion, his mischievous smirk returned.

“Didn’t think you’d notice,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning back with an exaggerated air of casualness. “You'd have to observe my face really closely to notice something like this, though.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a smile. “It’s just that, you always wear it. But today... you’re not. You didn't have eyeliner on during the last time I came, too.”

Beomgyu shrugged, his expression shifting slightly as he looked at you with a glint of something more thoughtful in his eyes.“I don’t know. Maybe I just felt like going natural today.” His voice was light, but there was a hint of something beneath the surface, something you couldn’t quite place.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, knowing he was trying to downplay it. “Uh-huh. So you just happen to forget your eyeliner... whenever you’re alone with me?”

His eyes flickered to the side, and he cleared his throat, trying to mask his slight discomfort with more teasing. “Maybe I just like the idea of being a little more... natural around you. You know, showing the real me and all that.” He looked at you with a playful grin, clearly trying to make light of the situation, but you could tell he wasn’t entirely fooling you.

You tilted your head, half-amused and half-curious.“Is that so? Or maybe you just don’t want me to see you looking too good for me.”

“Maybe I just think you’ll get too distracted if I look too good,” he shot back with a wink, though his words were softer than usual, his teasing tone lacking some of its usual edge. You couldn’t help but laugh, but you felt your cheeks flush a little.

“Right, because that’s totally what I was thinking about,” you teased back, your voice light but warm.“Honestly, I didn’t expect you to not wear eyeliner around me.”

Beomgyu grinned, leaning closer with a twinkle in his eye. “Well, now you know. And maybe you’ll get used to seeing me like this.” He reached out and poked you lightly in the side, trying to shift the conversation back to the usual playful rhythm. “Don’t be too disappointed, okay?”

You rolled your eyes, the hint of a smile still on your lips.“Disappointed? You wish.”

Beomgyu chuckled, clearly relieved that the teasing was easing the tension. “Okay, okay. Maybe I just didn’t feel like being all emo today,” he admitted, but there was a softness to his expression now, a kind of openness that made you feel like maybe this little moment meant something more.

You let out a small breath, your smile growing a little warmer. “Well, you still look good. Eyeliner or not.”

His grin widened at that, and he shrugged nonchalantly. “I mean, I already knew that.”

You both shared a quiet laugh, the conversation turning into a more comfortable banter after the initial awkwardness had melted away. Beomgyu, now fully back to his usual playful self, leaned back against the bed with his arms stretched out, looking at you with that familiar mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“So, what’s the verdict?” he asked, winking as he stretched lazily. “Am I pulling off the ‘no eyeliner’ look or what?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You look fine without it, Beomgyu. But,” you said, your fingers brushing your chin thoughtfully, “If you really want to go back to your usual style, I could always do it for you.”

Beomgyu blinked, clearly taken aback by your offer. “Huh?” he said, his expression confused but intrigued. “You want to... do my eyeliner? Like, for me?”

You tilted your head as you looked at him, feeling a little sheepish but also excited to see if you could make it work. “I mean... I really think I could do a good job,” you said, shrugging a little awkwardly. “I’ve done my fair share of makeup to know the basics.”

Beomgyu’s eyes sparkled with amusement at your suggestion, but instead of teasing you like he usually would, he simply grinned and leaned back on the bed with his arms crossed. He gave you a thoughtful look, as if weighing your words.

“You really want to try it? Alright, I won’t stop you,” he said, his voice playful and low. Rising from the bed, he walked over to his desk, spun the gaming chair around to face you, and settled into it comfortably.

You felt a small rush of pride that he wasn’t dismissing your offer, and your hands twitched with anticipation.“Yeah, I do. I mean, you’ve always done it, so I think it’d be fun to try.”

Beomgyu smiled, but there was a glint in his eyes, like he was planning something. “Alright,” he said, his tone turning casual, “If you’re going to do it, though... you’re going to need to get closer. I don’t think you can do it from over there.”

You blinked, taken aback by his suggestion, but he wasn’t giving you much time to question it. Beomgyu raised an eyebrow and shrugged, his voice casual but almost inviting.“I mean, it’s kind of hard to get a good angle from the side, right? You need to be up close.”

Your heart raced a little at the sudden proximity. You had expected this to be a bit more... casual, but you weren’t sure why it suddenly felt a little different. Still, you didn’t want to back out now. You were genuinely curious about doing his eyeliner, and there was no harm in being closer for that, right?

“Uh... I guess that makes sense,” you said, hesitating for just a moment before you moved forward.

Beomgyu, noticing your hesitation, gave you a reassuring smile and gently patted his lap. “It’s really the best angle,” he said, his voice soft but with a slight teasing edge. “You can sit on my lap, you know. I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable.”

You froze for a moment, a little unsure, but Beomgyu’s expression wasn’t demanding. It was calm, almost like he was offering an invitation instead of an expectation. He was giving you the space to say no if you wanted to.

As you hesitated, Beomgyu's eyes sparkled with amusement, and he patted his lap invitingly. “Come on, it's the only way you'll be able to get close enough to do it right,” he said, his voice low and persuasive.

You felt your face grew hotter as your heart fluttered in your chest, but you tried to brush it off as mere embarrassment.

Despite your initial reluctance, you found yourself slowly making your way towards Beomgyu, your heart racing with every step. As you hovered beside him, Beomgyu reached out and gently guided you onto his lap, his hands on your hips sending shivers down your spine. As you settled onto Beomgyu's lap, you felt a thrill of excitement mixed with a dash of nervousness. You had never done anyone's eyeliner before, and you were eager to try it out on Beomgyu.

“Okay, go ahead,” he said, his voice low and soothing as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes locked on yours. “I'm all yours, y/n.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you picked up the eyeliner, trying to focus on the task at hand. But it was impossible to ignore the warmth of Beomgyu's body beneath you, or the way his chest rose and fell with each breath.

You began to carefully line his eyes, you notice how Beomgyu's gaze never left yours, his pupils seeming to bore into your very soul. Your skin prickled with awareness, and you felt yourself getting lost in the depths of his eyes. The air around the both of you grew thick with tension, and you couldn't help but wonder if you were reading too much into the situation.

Beomgyu would occasionally ask you if you were comfortable, if you needed to adjust your position, or if he was holding you too tightly. Each time, you would reassure him that you were fine, and Beomgyu would smile at you gently. The tension between you was palpable, but it was a gentle, simmering heat, rather than a raging fire.

You wanted to do your best, to make sure the lines were perfect and the wings were even. But as you leaned in closer to Beomgyu's face, you realized that your current position wasn't ideal.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” you mutter, looking up at Beomgyu with a hint of mischief in your eyes.

Beomgyu nodded, his expression curious, and you asked,“Can I change positions? I want to get a better angle and be more comfortable.”

Beomgyu nodded again, not thinking much of it. “Yeah, sure, go ahead,” he said, his voice casual. But as soon as you started to shift your weight, Beomgyu's eyes widened in surprise.

“Wait, y/n-”

You straddle Beomgyu's lap, your legs wrapping around his hips as you settled into a more comfortable position.“I'm going to need you to stay still, Beomgyu.” you taunt, voice firm but gentle, as you leaned in closer to his face.“I don't want the eyeliner to smudge.”

Beomgyu's face went bright red as he felt your weight settle onto his lap. He hadn't expected this, and his mind was racing with thoughts he couldn't quite process. He felt a surge of excitement mixed with a dash of nervousness, but he was determined not to mess this up for you.

You noticed how Beomgyu held his breath, trying to remain still despite the turmoil inside him while you continued to work on his eyeliner. He couldn't believe what was happening, but at the same time, he didn't want it to stop. He felt your thighs wrapped around his hips, your hand holding his shoulder for support, and the way you tried to maintain your composure despite your arms clearly trembling while holding the eyeliner.

He had to fight the urge to wrap his arms around you and pull you even closer, but Beomgyu was determined to let you take the lead and set the pace. So he sat there, frozen in place, as you worked your magic on his eyeliner. His heart was pounding in his chest, but he didn't dare move, didn't dare breathe, for fear of ruining the moment.

As you continued to work on Beomgyu's eyeliner, the tension between you grew thicker and more palpable. Beomgyu's resolve to remain still and calm began to crumble, and he found himself getting more and more agitated. He couldn't take it anymore, the feeling of your thighs wrapped around his hips, your warmth and scent enveloping him, it was all too much for him. He was drunk in the thought of you, and he couldn't bring himself to hold back any longer.

“Beomgyu, I'm done-”

With a muttered curse, Beomgyu's hands shot out and wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You let out a startled gasp as you felt yourself being drawn into Beomgyu's chest, your hands still holding the eyeliner hovering in mid-air.

Beomgyu's face was buried in your neck, his lips brushing against your skin as he whispered apologies and silent curses. Your heart was racing as you felt Beomgyu's warm breath on your skin, his arms wrapped tightly around you.

As you shifted in Beomgyu's lap, your eyes immediately widened after you felt Beomgyu's strained hard cock, poking your core, and you couldn't help but let out a little gasp. You tried to pull away in panic, your hands pushing against Beomgyu's chest. But Beomgyu's grip was firm, as he held you close, his body trembling with restraint, as he whispered,

“Fuck, y/n- I'm sorry.... please, don't leave.. I'm sorry, I didn't-”

You felt your resistance begin to crumble as you heard his voice, breathy and desperate. You realized that he wasn't trying to hurt you or overpower you, he was just...lost. Lost in the moment, lost in his desire for you. You let Beomgyu hold you tightly with his arms wrapped around your waist, as he tried to compose himself.

You loosen your grip on your fists, slowly moving your hands from his chest up to his shoulders, and you let Beomgyu hold you. You felt his chest rise and fall with each breath, his heart pounding against your own. You didn’t know when it happened, but slowly, you stopped fighting the heat of the moment.

Instead of feeling embarrassed or self-conscious, you started to embrace it, letting your body relax into the tension and giving yourself permission to enjoy this closeness with Beomgyu. Before you knew it, Beomgyu's touch was starting to get to you, and your mind was taking you places.

“It's okay, Beomgyu... I-” you whispered, pausing for a bit to catch your breath as you started get lost in the situation too. “I'm not going anywhere.”

Beomgyu's lips were still brushing against your neck, his warm breath on your skin sending shivers down your spine. The warmth in your body only grew as time passes, the both of you not uttering another word but your heavy breaths filled the air.

Your thoughts were racing, and a crazy idea suddenly pops up in your head. You hesitated for a moment, before biting your lip and leaning closer to him. Beomgyu feels you shift in his lap and your grip on his shoulder start to tighten.

“Um.. Do you want me to move..?” you asked him, your voice barely above a whisper as you tried to hide your face in embarrassment.

Beomgyu's eyes snapped to yours, and he looked at you, feeling dazed with a mix of surprise and gratitude. “No, it's okay,” he said, his voice still low and husky. “I'll just...ah, try to calm down.”

You struggled to meet his gaze, feeling your cheeks heating up. “No, I-I want to..... let me help you, Beomgyu.”

Beomgyu's face turns red, and he looked like he was about to die from embarrassment. His lips parted for a moment to say something but he stopped himself before could. He looks at you straight in the eyes and you could physically feel yourself get weak, the ache in your already wet cunt only growing as he observed the mix of curiosity and eagerness in your expression.

After a few seconds, he nodded while his eyes were still locked onto yours. “Okay,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please, y/n... I need you.”

The sight of the desperation in his face and his breathy, apologetic voice was more than enough to ignite the flame that was already burning inside of you. You held him closer, resting your chin on top of his head attempting to relieve the heat in your core as you tried to tighten the embrace of your thighs on his hips.

The slight movement from you sends a jolt in Beomgyu's body, and he bites his lip, trying to keep himself from being too loud as he holds you closer and buries his face on your chest. You let out a small gasp, your cheeks heating up as you carefully adjust your position, feeling his hard-on press onto your underwear from below your skirt, the friction driving the both of you crazy.

“Y-you sure about this, y/n? We really don't have to do this if you-” Beomgyu asks hesitantly as he looks up to you, with a look of guilt and embarrassment visible on his face.

“Yes, Beomgyu. I want to do this with you.” You replied with a smile, trying to mask the fact that you were also nervous about what was going to happen next, but you didn't want Beomgyu to think you were unsure.

You started off by moving slowly, trying to test the waters first while asking Beomgyu every now and then if you were doing okay, you wanted to make sure that you were matching his pace and the both of you were feeling good. You kept one of your hands on his shoulders, and you moved your other hand on top of his, that was holding your waist.

“Beomgyu..” you whisper, catching your breath before finishing your sentence and pressing his hand on your waist tighter. “Y-you can move..me- if you want..”

Beomgyu nods before leaning his head back on his gaming chair, grunting and hissing in pleasure. His grip on your waist gets tighter and more desperate as he moves you to grind on him back and forth.

The wetness of your cunt leaking through your panties, mixed with Beomgyu's precum that was already staining his pants, felt more prominent and made it easier for you to move yourself on top of him. The friction in itself was already driving you crazy, but it still wasn't enough. You wanted to do more for Beomgyu, and you needed more of him.

Beomgyu would give you praises through it, he would tell you how beautiful you looked and how good you were making him feel, and before you even realized, you were already drowning in the feeling of ecstasy.

Your heavy breaths soon turned into whines of pleasure, the feeling of desperation and need for each other was constantly growing. You felt your movements get sloppier by the minute as you felt yourself about to reach your high.

“Shit, y/n... I'm close... you're doing so good for me.” Beomgyu mutters while he starts to move your hips against him faster and more aggressively, looking straight into you with half-lidded eyes. You match his pace, gripping his shoulders tighter as you continues to chase out your high.

“M-me too, Beomgyu...” You replied as you ran one hand through his messy hair. The way he calls your name with his deep voice echoes through your ears and the fucked-out look on his face only riled you up even more. You swore you could feel yourself release then and there.

You slightly tilted your head, and Beomgyu immediately catches your drift, closing his eyes as you leaned in closer to kiss him when-

Knock, knock.

“Beomgyu hyung, we're here.” a familiar voice mutters from outside Beomgyu's room, just behind the door.

“Beomgyu hyung! I brought pizza~ is y/n here yet?” another voice exclaims, and you heard footsteps coming from outside the door. You were certain that it came from Kai, while the voice before him was certainly none other than Taehyun's.

You and Beomgyu immediately stopped what you were doing and froze in place with your eyes wide open, as if you both just snapped out of a trance. Beomgyu's expression suddenly shifts after his sudden realization of what was going on.

“Oh fuck, I forgot I invited them to come over today...”

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

taglist: @tubasmiracle @tyunzznluvr @interestellear-blog @no1likemybbgcharlie @hyunelixbun @dawngyu this fic is dedicated to my lovely supportive moots <333 lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!!

#THANK YOU FOR 500 NOTES!!#tomorrow x together #txt x reader #txt #txt fanfic #txt hard thoughts #txt thoughts #txt imagines #txt smut #txt beomgyu #beomgyu #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu x you #beomgyu smut #beomgyu scenarios

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downbadace · 3 months ago

Text

HONEY, I BELONG WITH YOU AND ONLY YOU, BABY

Pairing: g!p Daniela Avanzini/Fem!Reader

You love to get under Daniela's skin and she knows this. But there's a certain line you shouldn't cross, and you crossed it.

Content: Smut, degradation, jealousy, vulgar language, breed k!nk, squ!rt!ng, g!p Daniela Avanzini, brat tamer

A/N: Nothing specifically but uhhh thank you for 60 smthing followers?? love yall :3 (inspired by this ask)

Word Count: 1.8k

Masterlist

Saying Daniela is "pissed off" would be an understatement.

Her anger at you was indescribable. The whole week you've been distant with her, giggling at your phone, not paying attention to her, sometimes completely ignoring what she says. At first she felt hurt, what happened for you to turn around like that. But then she saw you and Megan together after a practice and the dots started to connect.

It isn't the first time you made Daniela jealous on purpose. You've done it so many times but never to an extent. Usually some random girl would hit on you and you'd flirt back a little, it's harmless. However, Megan is not a random girl. She's the girl that the both of you first came out to. The girl who had been the both of yours' best friends since DA. Seeing the two of you flirt and joke around got Daniela infuriated. If it werent for the fact that they were in public with a dinner table dividing them, Daniela would've jumped at Megan the second she had a chance.

"Meg, stop, that'd be so embarrassing!" Daniela attempted to follow the conversation between you two but came out unsuccessful. She felt like she was purposely being left out of your guys' inside joke. It'd be a lie for her to say it didn't bother her, but it did. It really bothered her.

"Well if you're gonna be a baby about it-" Megan says before lifting her hand up to call the waiter. Immediately you went to the other side of the booth to put her hand down. As Megan was struggling to keep it up, the waiter already came over.

"Hey, what can I help you guys with?"

"Oh it's just that..." She looks at you and Daniela before continuing.

"It's my girlfriend's birthday and I'm just wondering if you guys have any special desserts for birthdays?" If it was possible, daniela turned redder than the sun. Her face felt heated with jealousy. Once the waiter wrote something down in her note pad she assured that she'd be right back and walked away. Once she was gone from Daniela's peripherals, she opened her wallet and took out two 20s. She slammed them on the table, a little harder than anticipated based on how other pateons in the restaurant looked at her, and stormed off. She didn't look back once she made it to the exit and she didn't look back when she heard the door behind her open. Daniela made it back to her car and slammed the door shut with a forced that shook the vehicle. Shortly after, you get in the passenger side.

"Hey, so what the fuck was that?" You ask as you buckle your seat belt. Dani just huffs as she starts the car. You take your phone out to text Megan, informing her of your guys' departure from the restaurant.

hey were about to leave... shes pissed off rn

i think we went too far....

LMFAOOO

YOURE FUCKEDD TONIGHT GL;HF DONT DIE

You snicker at her messages and put your phone back in your pocket, not even noticing the speed at which the girl driving is going. You kept glancing at Daniela but her expression was unreadable. She was obviously tense but if you didn't pay attention to how her shoulders were lifted or who hard she gripped onto the steering wheel, you wouldn't be able to tell.

It didn't take long for you guys to arrive back home (you swore Daniela broke at least 6 traffic laws on the way back.) She parked in front of the house and without looking at you she says,"You have 3 minutes to go to our room and get yourself ready." You don't protest and do as she says. You make your way inside the house and to your shared room, but not without checking every area you passed by to see if anyone was home. You thanked god that the house was deserted.

The second you closed the door to yours and Daniela's room, you did as she requested. You stripped yourself of your shirt, then your bottoms, your underwear damp from your arousal.

You quickly sit at the edge of your bed, awaiting for Daniela's appearance, and you didnt have to wait long. She walked in a little after you sat down, unbuckling her belt.

"Get on your knees for me," She says making her way towards you. You do so and she stands right in front of you. she tosses her belt somewhere and shoves her pants down, her cock hitting your face as it's released from it's tight prison

"Open up before I make you," You obliged and slacked your jaw, sticking your tongue out. She took the base of her member and hit it against your tongue before grabbing the back of your head and forcing herself down your throat. She continues to push in until she hears you gagging and stills herself. She throws her head back at the feeling of your tongue swirling around her cock. She then thrusted out only to thrust back in.

"You got a dirty mouth, huh? Letting me use it for my own personal pleasure..." She ties your hair into a makeshift ponytail and begins to fuck your mouth until tears are streaming down you face, your cheeks flushed as your throat is being pushed passed it's limits. She feels her cock hardening and without warning she shoots a load down your throat. She pushes off just in time for the rest of it to land on your face and she groans staring at you. She takes the base of her member and lightly hits it against your cheek.

"You like that, don't you slut?" You nod as you lick your lips, swallowing the excess cum that surrounds it. She then forces you up by the arm and throws you on the bed. She climbs on top of you, having your legs wrap against her hips as one of her hands holds your wrists above your head.

"Now, I'm gonna show you who you belong to until you don't know any name but mine..." She says as she lines her tip against your entrance. She tosses the rest of her clothes off to the side and looks at you from confirmation. You nod and immediately she's pushing her full length into you. You both moan Daniela bottoming out on you. She looks down to see her bulging out of your lower abdomen.

"Fuck baby, no one can fill you like this right?" She says as she starts to move in and out of you. Your hands struggle under hers and her grip on your wrists gets tighter. Her free hand slides over to your throat, giving it a light grasp.

"Tell me... who do you belong to? Who makes you feel so good?" Daniela asks between grunts. You whimper out incoherent noises and that only pushes her to go faster.

"I can't heat you baby, speak up or else..." She punctuates her sentence with a slow thrust, barely hitting inside of you anymore. You groan and thrash around, trying to get her to move again. She just scoffs and laughs at you as you struggle under her.

"See, if you would've just answered me immediately, then you would've been cumming for me. But you decided to be a fucking brat so this is whay you get..." She slides out of you and starts to rub delicate circles on your clit with her cock. You whine and lift your hips up so you gain more friction but as you do she starts to pull away a little more.

"Ugh.. fuck you, Megan would've had me cumming instantly." At that moment all movements halt and you straight away feel like you did something wrong. Daniela removes her hand that was constricting your wrist and sits up straight on her knees. She has a blank face on but you can tell that she's infuriated.

"Dani, baby, I didn't mean it.. you do such a good job I know you ca-"

"Get on all fours.. now." The sudden directness and sternness in her voice makes you shiver, but you do as she says and turn around and get on your hands and knees. As soon as you do, you feel her hand land a hit on your ass and you moan so loud you're sure the neighbors would hear. Then, she takes your hair and using a hair tie (that you don't know where it came from) she ties it in a messy ponytail and forces your head to a pillow.

"So what I'm hearing," She says lininng herself back into you," Is that Megan's a better fuck than me?" You try to cry out no but your face is against a pillow leaving your pleads muffled. Without any warning she thrusts her hips in, her hips at a tempo that's unreadable by any metronome. You start to cry out different forms of sorry and praises on how she feels so good but Daniela ignores all of it as she feels her climax arriving soon.

"Megan can't fuck you like this, huh baby? You're mami's fuck toy and only mine, okay? Fucking say it, whore..." Through your choked sobs and moans you gasp out a,"Yes-fuck-Yes I'm yours, mami. No one fuck.. can make me feel this good-ahh.."

"Fuck baby, good girl... cum with me okay? Fuck gonna fill you up so good.. you're gonna fucking have my babies okay?" You nod rapidly as you feel your climax approaching and with one final tug to your hair your pussy clenches around Dani's cock and you feel a warm liquid gush out of you. Shortly after, Daniela thrusts deep inside of you, hitting your sweet spot as she shoots a gigantic load of her cum inside of you. She continues to thrust in and out slowly so you can ride your orgasms. After a while she stills then pulls out, staring at the gushing mess between your thighs.

"Fuck baby, you're luck you're so pretty all fucked out like this." You chuckle as you attempt to flip over. You're legs are limp and you can barely feel them. You sit up and look at the mess you made, the room smelling of lust and sex.

"Did I go too far?" You ask as your partner sits up, wobbling a bit.

"To be honest no, I think I did," She scratches the back of her head as she leans down under the bed to grab a spare bedsheet," Let's get this cleaned up before anyone else comes back." You nod and attempt to stand up, holding on to the wall as you feel yourself about to collapse.

"Hey, I'm sorry for making you jealous..." You mutter out. Daniela just smiles and goes over to kiss your forehead,"It's okay baby, just... If you're gonna do it again, don't do it with Megan." You giggle and kiss her cheek with an,"okay" and Daniela goes back to removing the bedsheets. You're about to make your way to the bathroom before your phone goes off. You look and it's a text from Megan.

i hope yall are done.. everyone can heat you like i heard you from outside

please be decnt enough before i come in 😭

••••

not at all proofread but i hope you guys enjoyed :3

#katseye #katseye imagines #katseye smut #katseye x reader #katseye x female reader #wlw #daniela avanzini #megan skiendiel #daniela avanzini x reader #megan skiendiel x reader #smut #smut fanfiction #one shot

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sanjisblackasswife · 1 year ago

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Gojo Hearing “I Love You” for the First Time

I gen. have no clue if anywhere in the series anybody has said they loved gojo. Whether platonic or not. Its interesting and I was just thinking.

CW: Mentions of Gojo’s Past(some canon some not…so spoilers ig if you haven’t read the inventory arc), Established Relationship, Mentioned Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Some Angst(?), Soft Gojo, Reader speaks Spanish, Kisses

Blk!Fem Reader in Mind

“AND THAT’S WHY I DO NOT LIKE PEANUT BUTTER COOKIES!..IT WAS VOMIT EVERYWHERE!”

“Can’t believe you managed to eat 6 boxes of cookies in one sitting.”

“Hey! Don’t judge it was a marathon of Digimon playing all day…good times. Not as good as the time—“

And there he goes again, your big over 6’6” boyfriend laying on his back on the couch having another yap fest after a long trip. It started off with a quiet evening of you both eating and watching a childhood movie to then actually sharing stories of your past.

You really couldn’t be more enamored by how excited Satoru gets when he speaks to you. His smile is wide from ear to ear and his dimples grow deeper. He’s also so expressive with his hand gestures you really don’t know where to look as you lay comfortable on his big broad chest.

Usually when he begins to speak about his life before you, you try to absorb and savor every moment. Since your friendship in high school Gojo wasn’t much of a talker (ironically) about his life, but as you both grown closer since his big mission with Geto to watch over Riko he managed to get a bit more comfortable with telling you more about himself.

It’s been 11 years since then and after some therapy sessions with you, Geto, and Gojo three of you managed to learn how to express yourselves in a healthier way with each other.

You watch now, almost 1 year into your official relationship with him and noticed he doesn’t talk much about his parents. Nor an adult in his life that was like a parent to him at the very least. Even when in High School you never met his family. You knew of his clan and that was all.

You always wondered where did he get his wild energy from? His dad? Where did he become so affectionate through touch? His mom? It was all a mystery you wanted to understand.

You’ve even asked Geto, his closest best friend what does he know about his mom and dad, but he always ends with “It’s better you wait until he tells you himself.”

You didn’t question it more, you respected the decision so thats exactly why you’re here. Watching and listening attentively to what your boyfriend has to say. It makes you happy seeing how much he has grown more comfortable towards you towards the years.

“And when I was 8 I remember my folks always gave me free range to use my technique whenever to practice, but boy they regretted after an hour because I—-baby.”

Without noticing your eyes blinked back at him as if you began to come back to reality again, Gojo seen the relaxed look you given him as he spoke, how your eyes were on his, but he just knew you—

“‘ not even listeninggguhhhh.”

Putting your thumbs on his pouty bottom lip, they’re so soft you smile at him, it wasn’t really something you’d expect to say to him, but his pretty big smile, his deepened dimples, everything about him caught you in a moment of venerability you just decided to softly speak at him;

“I love you.”

…just like that it was a pause.

It just slipped off the tongue. You meant it, but finally saying it out loud was a bit of a shock to not just you, but more Satoru. He had an unreadable look on his face, almost as if he didn’t catch what you said, but he definitely did. He couldn’t miss the way his body tensed up hearing those three words.

“What?”

Gojo didn’t say anything, almost as if it was a staring contest you rise from his chest to straddle him, “Are you okay?”

You jumped feeling the pads of his thumb dig into the fattiness of your hips, almost as if he were trying to massage you….very painfully. He got up though, placing you down on the couch and walking to the nearest bathroom without saying a word or looking at you. You could’ve sworn he wiped his face momentarily.

“Go—?”

He didn’t mean to, it was almost a reflex. Your words though, kept replaying in his head . He felt a bit silly being so dramatic , ironically but he couldn’t properly process what you said.

“Satoru?” You knock on the door breaking him away from his thoughts, “You okay, papa? I—oh.”

He opened the door, putting back on his eye mask and giving you one of the fakest smiles you ever seen him do.

“What are you doing, you okay?”

“yeah yeah I’m fineeeee. Let’s go get something to eat.”

“W-wait!” You playfully scoff at his eagerness as he pulls you to the front door, “I’m sorry if what I said made you uncomfortable….I know it was sudden and random, but I meant it.”

Gojo turns and exhales, clearing his throat he begins to scratch the back of his head, you can tell he is scrambling for words so you continue; “I do love you Satoru. A lot. I think I always have since we were younger, but I don’t know…today made me realize I should verbalize it.”

He wants to speak, but for one of the first times you left him wanting to just listen to you. Honestly you took advantage of it because who knows when you’ll be able to get him this quiet.

“I love your smile, I love your laugh, I love the way you explain things, I love the way you are, I love the way you care, I love how you can get on my nerves.” You ends the last part with a giggle making him finally chuckle with you, and he brings you closer to his chest. “I love you, Satoru. You are an amazing person and I am very blessed to have you as not only a friend but a partner.”

It was all too much, he felt overwhelmed he had to lift his mask to wipe the tears welling on the side of his eyes, he chuckles again, the free hand on your waist tightening, “Well damn if I didn’t know better I’d think you have a crush on me.”

You laugh, “Maybeeee…..Now. “ You smooch his cheek before grabbing your phone, “Let’s go get some food—-“

You tried walking past him towards the door but he grabs you from behind to hug you close, you can hear his shallow breaths in your ear. You’re used to his tight squeezes from behind but this one was firm. Almost as if he let you go you’ll fly away.

“Say it again.”

You smirk, his voice quivering but trying to be masked by a fake pouting tone, “I love you, Satoru.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“Again, but in Spanish.”

“Oh brother.”

“C’mon you sound hot when speaking Spanish.”

“Te amaré para siempre, Satoru…”

If words could explain how he felt right now with you, the closest would be a weight being lifted off his shoulders. For a moment he no longer was Gojo the strongest sorcerer, he was Satoru.

Just Satoru.

Something he wanted to be for a long time, and now you are helping him take the first step into that.

You inhale his scent; mint, expensive cologne and his natural musky smell you love so much and rub his head as he is still buried in your neck. You turn to face him and grab his cheeks, almost hesitantly to cup them because you weren’t sure if he’d left you see him cry. Though you felt your shoulder dampen.

However he let you, his big blue eyes surrounded by a tint of pink, he tried laughing it off and he actually broke eyes contact with you, “I …um…heh..fuck—“

You knew what he was trying to say but you don’t force him, instead you place your lips on his, you felt him exhale, his body relaxing in your touch, “I know, Satoru. I know.”

Gojo couldn’t properly register why he was so overwhelmed with whatever he is feeling right now but he wouldn’t trade this feeling in the world. He honestly wanted to replay the moment you said you loved him on repeat all day.

Later that day you both go out and have your own last minute date for the evening, he wanted so badly to tell you he loves you back by trying to incorporate more of the word “love “ in his vocabulary, by saying things like “I know you LOVE this.” Or “Wouldnt you LOVE for me to take you here.” but it was hard and he sounded silly.

Satoru wanted so badly to tell you he doesn’t just love you, but he has fallen IN love with you.

Gojo finally found just one more person that gave him something he didn’t realize he needed;

To feel human.

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thewitchandtheassassin · 2 months ago

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The Psychology of Love and Serial Killers Part One (Wanda Maximoff x Reader)

Summary: When psychologist, Doctor Wanda Maximoff, is handed a case involving a prolific serial killer and an unknown number of victims, she takes it as a challenge... but is the good doctor in over her head when she realizes they might not be so different after all?

Words: 1324

Warnings: Serial killers, language, talks of death, eventual blood and gore. Like, this is a serial killer reader, babes. Use your own discretion. 18+

A/N: This is part one of god knows how many. We're gonna have a good time. Every chapter after should be longer. This is just a starter.

-X-

The room was dimly lit, the bluish flicker of the projector and a single, softly glowing lamp the only sources of light in the room, their glow casting shadows that danced across Wanda’s face as she stared at the ever-changing images on the screen. She was sat forward in an old, worn chair—hers, or at least the one she’d often claimed for herself when she was contacted for situations like this. Hands steepled beneath her chin, she glanced at the file on the table in front of her; the same one she’d been staring at for the last three days.

Case file: (Y/L/N), (Y/N). Suspect Age: 20s to 30s. Gender: Female. Body Count: 10 (Confirmed), more suspected. All male. Preferred Method: Knife.

The projector whirred. On screen, a grainy black-and-white image showed you—cuffed, expression unreadable, leaning back in a chair like you were lounging at a party instead of being processed at Quantico. The agents were visibly furious by your lack of cooperation as you stared through them, like they were invisible—or not worth your time.

You never spoke a word during intake. Face impassive… cold. Like it was beneath you. Not reacting when one of the agents threw a pen after twenty minutes of silence and stormed out of the room. Not a single flicker of recognition, even as Agent Rumlow’s face was mere inches from yours as he screamed.

Wanda hit rewind, then play.

There it was again—the look. That flicker in your eye. Not defiance. Not boredom. Something… performative. Calculated. Like you were playing a role no one else had quite caught on to. An unspoken taunt as you waited for the next person to give up and storm away.

Another screen showed crime scene photographs. A man—early 40s, priest collar still intact—slumped in front of a marble altar. His eyes had been closed post-mortem. Peaceful, almost reverent… if not for the clean line across his neck, ear to ear, and a black rose petal stuffed into the bloodied line.

Wanda’s throat tightened.

Victim #6: Father Donovan. Location: St. Cecilia’s Cathedral. Means of Death: Single slice across the throat. Time of Death: 3:14 AM.

Wanda reached for the evidence photo again. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she let it out through her nose, eyes scanning every piece of information documented from the crime scenes—all with one common theme.

“Why?” she whispered into the silence of the room. “Why only men?”

Flipping through the photos once more, she chewed on her bottom lip thoughtfully as she took in the scenes surrounding the body. Not the men—where they were placed. How clean the scenes had been left. The lack of fury… only showmanship.

“She's not psychotic,” she murmured, more to herself than the recorder on the table. “Not delusional. Too precise. Too... theatrical.”

She clicked open the audio logs next—

[Audio Interview—Day 2]

Agent Barton: “Is there a reason you chose public spaces for the bodies, Ms. (Y/N)? Do they hold some significant meaning to you?

You: silence.

Agent Barton: “Some of them had children. One had a wife.”

You: silence, quiet exhale.

Agent Barton: “You’re not going to talk to me, are you?”

You: silence.

Agent Barton: “Let the record show the suspect has been staring at the same point behind me on the wall for the last thirty minutes… I don’t know what fucking else to do.”

[Audio Interview—Day 10]

Agent Romanoff: “You’ve been here for ten days and not a single person has heard you speak… it’s time to give us something, (Y/N). You don’t want to see what happens when people like you get stuck in general population. We’ve been nice, keeping you separate. That can change.”

You: silence.

Agent Romanoff: “Do you think this is funny, (Y/L/N)? That this is all just one big game?

You: “…are you afraid I think this is a game? Or are you afraid that I’m winning, agent?”

Wanda’s breath hitched at the sound of your voice for the first time, pausing the audio tape. Low. Calm. Confident. Not mocking—a simple question and yet, it made Wanda’s heart pound in her chest for a moment. Like every inflection was handpicked from a dark romance book she’d read in the dark and swear she’d never heard of come morning.

Exhaling softly, she flipped the projector off and stared at the now-darkened screen for a moment. Tomorrow… tomorrow would be her first moments with you. Acting as the bureau’s psychologist in hopes of cracking you open. To learn your secrets and uncover the bodies you’d hidden beneath the bones of your choices. She was meant to profile you—learn every twisted, fucked-up inch of your soul—so she could present it to the agents and lawyers who wanted nothing more than to see you in the chair.

But all she could think was:

“…I want to understand you.”

-X-

The interview room smelled like old paint and disinfectant. It was small—deliberately so. The kind of space designed to strip down defenses. One table, two chairs. A single camera already recording in the corner of the room, the little red light blinking as it pointed at you. You were alone in the room, hands cuffed to the table, feet chained to your chair, but you didn’t flinch. Didn’t say a word, even as the door swung open.

Wanda stepped in slowly, a manila folder clutched loosely in one hand, the other sliding the door shut with a soft click. She was alone, but you both knew there were at least four agents on the other side of the two-way mirror just waiting for you to fuck up.

Her heels were simple and understated, a matte black that seemed befit a psychologist and not a federal liaison meant to pick you apart. Her blouse was a matching black, sleeves rolled up just below the elbows. Professional enough, but meant to be casual in hopes of putting you at ease. But her eyes gave her away—the kind of too-long stare that didn’t come from curiosity, but fixation. She wasn’t just studying you…

She was absorbing you. Every micro-expression, every tick of your jaw and twitch of your mouth.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)… I think I’ve watched you on tape more than I’ve watched my own family’s home videos.” She smiled, but it was cool. Brittle. Like she wanted you at ease but couldn’t quite bring herself to smile at a murderer with the same kindness she would a stranger. “I’m Doctor Maximoff, psychologist for the bureau.”

Settling into the chair across from you, she placed the folder on the table but didn’t open it, choosing to keep her eyes trained on you. “You don’t speak to men… and you’ve only said a few words to Agent Romanoff. Staying quiet even when someone is inches from your face screaming… I’ve seen people break from less.”

She folded her hands together, looking at you thoughtfully. “You’ve kept quiet for a long time but… I’d like it if you spoke to me.”

Your head tilted, the tip of your tongue peeking out from behind your teeth as you slowly ran it along your bottom lip and for a moment, she didn’t expect you to speak—even as her eyes followed the slow movement of your tongue—before you asked quietly, “That so, doctor?”

And Wanda’s grin deepened into something genuine as she watched you. “Yes. Because I don’t want to ask why. That’s too easy…”

She leaned forward slightly, letting her eyes trail over you slowly. “No, (Y/N)… I want to understand everything. From the beginning. Why you chose the victims, why you sit here acting like this is all an inconvenience… I want to know the woman beneath the blood.”

Locking eyes with her, an eerie smile passed over your lips and both of you knew, in that moment—

Nothing was ever going to be the same.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch imagine #reader insert #reader imagine #mcu imagine #marvel imagine #scarlet witch

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rafecameronssl4t · 7 months ago

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I enjoyed reading your rafe fics of love island and I was wondering if you could write one where reader and rafe are coupled up but he went to casa amor. Rafe started getting close to another girl and ended up kissing her. The reader saw a video of what happened in casa amor and she’s all sad and heartbroken. When it comes to the re coupling, the reader stays single while rafe brings back the girl to the villa. It’s sad but also a happy ending? I understand if you don’t want to write it!! I’ve been watching season 6 of love island USA and now I want to read sad fics lol

Oscar Winning Tears || Rafe Cameron x fem!reader love island au

A/n: sorry bb this isn't a happy ending but I might end up writing a part 2????

Warnings: angst!!!! justice for my girl, it hurt me writing this :(

Word count: 1,905

MASTERLIST (love island au masterlist)

Divider by @h-aewo

The firepit crackled softly, its warmth doing little to ease the icy weight in your chest. You stood among the other girls, the glow of the villa lights illuminating your tense expression. Casa Amor was over. This was the moment that would decide everything. The whispers around you were nervous, expectant. Some girls were murmuring about their hopes, clutching onto the chance that their boys had stayed loyal.

You barely heard them. Your mind was consumed by a single image: Rafe’s lips on another girl’s. That damn video. It had been quick—a montage of clips sent to the main villa to stir the pot. It worked. You’d seen him laughing with her, their bodies closer than they should’ve been, the playful touches that turned into something more. And then the kiss.

You’d felt your stomach drop as the girls gasped around you, some trying to reassure you while others exchanged worried glances. But you didn’t cry then, and you wouldn’t cry now. You refused to give anyone, especially him, that power. Your stomach churned just thinking about it, but you refused to let anyone see how much it hurt.

Sophie's voice broke through the tense silence. "Ladies, the boys are on their way back. Please stand by the firepit." You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stand tall, even as your legs felt like jelly. Your palms were sweaty, and you discreetly wiped them on your dress, hoping to mask the anxiety clawing at your composure.

The first footsteps echoed from the path. A single pair. One of the girls next to you exhaled a shaky sigh of relief as her partner walked in alone, grinning sheepishly. Another boy followed, also alone. The tension was unbearable. Then, you heard it. Two sets of footsteps. Your breath hitched. A bitter chuckle escaped your lips before you could stop it, soft but sharp, enough to make the girls around you glance your way.

You didn’t look at them. Your eyes were fixed on the pathway, your heart sinking deeper with each passing second. You’d been prepared for this, or at least you told yourself you were. But nothing could really prepare you for the sight of Rafe walking toward the firepit with another girl on his arm. And then you saw him.

He walked in, his hand lightly resting on the arm of another girl. He didn't meet your eyes. His head was low, his expression unreadable. If you didn’t know him so well, you might have missed the subtle signs of guilt: the tightness in his jaw, the way his hand fidgeted at his side, the occasional glance toward you that he quickly averted.

The murmurs from the other islanders grew louder as they registered the scene. You could feel their eyes darting between you and Rafe, their pity and shock palpable. When he reached his spot across from you, Sophie turned to you with a sympathetic smile. "Y/n," she began gently, her voice laced with concern, "how are you feeling, darling?"

You let out a dry laugh, the sound bitter even to your own ears. "How am I feeling?" you repeated, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. You took a moment to compose yourself, sucking in a deep breath before continuing. "I’m not surprised. I expected it." Everyone at the firepit watched silently.

"I saw the video," you added, your tone flat but sharp, like the edge of a knife. That did it. Rafe’s head snapped up, his blue eyes wide with shock. Guilt was written all over his face. He opened his mouth, but you weren’t done. "Y/n—" he started, but you raised a hand to cut him off. "Don’t," you interrupt, your voice breaking slightly. You looked up at the sky, blinking furiously to keep the tears at bay.

You refused to cry—not in front of everyone, not in front of him, and certainly not in front of her. The girl at his side, her hand still loosely resting on his arm, spoke up. "It’s Love Island, babe. You gotta do what you gotta do," she shrugs. Her voice was light, almost dismissive, as if her words weren’t twisting the knife already buried in your chest.

Your head snapped toward her, and for the first time that night, anger flared in your eyes. "You’ve literally been here five minutes," you snapped, your voice sharp and cutting. "Don’t tell me what Love Island is about." Her confidence faltered, and she blinked taken aback by your tone, but you didn’t give her the chance to respond. Your attention shifted back to Rafe.

The anger in your chest burned hotter now, but beneath it was a raw, aching hurt that threatened to consume you. You forced a bitter smile onto your face. "I hope you’re happy with your decision, Rafe. I really do. I hope you don’t regret it." The firepit was silent except for the crackling of the flames. The other islanders shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say.

Some of the girls moved closer to you, murmuring quiet words of comfort that barely registered. Rafe looked like he wanted to say something, his lips parting slightly, but no words came out. He looked down again, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his guilt. Straightening your spine, you turned away from him, heading back to your spot with the girls.

Your heart felt like it was shattering, pieces of it breaking off with every step, but you kept your head high. The tears still threatened to fall, but you blinked them back, refusing to give him—or anyone—the satisfaction of seeing you cry. This was Love Island, and you’d play the game. But this time, you’d play it for yourself.

The recoupling ceremony ended in a blur. The moment Sophie dismissed everyone, you were the first to stand, your legs moving on autopilot as you stormed off. The heels of your shoes clicked sharply against the wooden planks, the sound punctuating each shaky breath you took. Behind you, the murmurs began—low and uncertain—as the other girls watched you retreat.

It wasn’t long before they followed, one by one, a show of solidarity that left the Casa Amor girls awkwardly planted in their seats. You held your head high as you walked away, desperate to maintain the last shred of composure you had left.

Rafe sat frozen at the firepit, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. He could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on him, the tension radiating like a storm about to break. His jaw clenched as he stared down at the ground, guilt eating away at him like poison. “Mate, what the fuck were you thinking?” one of the boys muttered, breaking the silence.

Another chimed in, leaning forward to fix him with a sharp glare. “She stayed loyal to you. You had the real deal, and you blew it for… what? A bit of fun?” Rafe swallowed hard, his throat dry as sandpaper. He couldn’t defend himself. He couldn’t even look up. Beside him, the girl from Casa Amor shifted uncomfortably, her confidence waning as the tension mounted.

“Seriously, Rafe,” one of the others said, his voice lower but no less disappointed. “She deserved better than this. You know that, right?” The words hit Rafe like a punch to the gut, but he stayed silent, his guilt too overwhelming to let him respond. He risked a glance toward the path you’d disappeared down, but the sight only made his stomach churn.

The tears you’d been holding back spilled over, unstoppable, hot streams burning down your cheeks. Your chest felt tight, suffocating, as if your heart was collapsing in on itself. You pressed a trembling hand to your chest, trying to steady your breathing, but it was no use. Sobs wracked your body, and you stumbled slightly, leaning against a railing for support.

Despite your efforts to escape, you were still within view of the firepit. You hated that they could see you like this—breaking apart, vulnerable, destroyed. The girls were by your side in an instant, Sofia’s arm wrapping securely around your shoulders. “It’s okay, we’ve got you. Let’s get you out of here, okay? Away from everyone,” she murmured softly, her voice low and comforting as the others circled around you protectively.

You nodded mutely, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. They guided you to one of the outdoor lounges, the soft cushions offering little comfort as you collapsed onto them. Sofia sat beside you, pulling you into her arms as the others hovered close, their faces etched with concern. You buried your face in Sofia’s shoulder, gripping her tightly as sobs tore through you.

It all spilled out—the heartbreak, the anger, the betrayal. “I can’t do this,” you gasped, the words spilling out between sobs. “I fucking can’t do this.” The raw pain in your words made the girls exchange worried glances, their sympathy etched in their faces. “I stayed loyal to him,” you choked out, your voice breaking. “I stayed loyal, and he…” You couldn’t even finish the sentence.

The memory of him walking in with her was enough to shatter you all over again. “He’s a fucking idiot,” one of the girls said fiercely, her voice cutting through the haze of your pain. “You gave him everything, and he didn’t deserve any of it.” Sofia wiped your tears. "You did everything right. This isn’t on you." Her words only made it worse.

You had stayed loyal. You’d turned away from every temptation in Casa Amor, reminding yourself over and over that Rafe was waiting for you, that he was worth it. You’d trusted him to do the same. But he hadn’t. “But why?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Why wasn’t I enough?” The question hung in the air, unanswered, as your sobs filled the silence.

Sofia tightened her hold on you, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears as she tried to comfort you. "I gave him everything," you choked out between sobs, your voice breaking. "And he just… he didn’t care. He didn’t even think about me." The girls murmured quiet reassurances, their hands resting on your back, your arms, wherever they could offer comfort.

But nothing they said could touch the aching void inside you, the gaping wound left by his betrayal. Your heart ached, a dull, throbbing pain that radiated through every inch of your body. The memory of Rafe walking in with her—his arm around her, his guilty eyes refusing to meet yours—was seared into your mind. For the first time, you truly doubted if you could keep going.

Back at the firepit, Rafe’s guilt was palpable. He finally glanced up, only to see the other boys still staring at him with varying degrees of disappointment and disbelief. “You fucked up, man,” one of them said bluntly. “Big time.” Rafe didn’t argue. He didn’t try to explain. What could he say? That he’d been tempted, that he’d let his guard down, that he’d convinced himself it was harmless until it wasn’t? None of it mattered now.

The damage was done. His gaze shifted to the path again, and for a fleeting moment, he thought about going after you. But when he saw the other girls walking back toward the villa, their arms around you like a protective wall, he knew he’d lost any right to comfort you. You were gone. And it was entirely his fault.

PART 2 IS HERE

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tacoguacamole · 29 days ago

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ANOTHER TIME | JJK - 8

Summary: All you wanted was time. Time to love your husband. Time to feel him love you back. To see his smile again, not shadowed by grief and resentment. Time to share laughter instead of silence, warmth instead of distance. To feel his arms around you, not the cold of where he used to be. Time to hear “I love you too” before it’s too late. Time should’ve been simple.

But somehow, it always slips through your fingers just when you need it most.

[Pairing: Creative Director!Jungkook x Ceo!Female Reader]

[Theme: Marriage AU. BF2L2S]

[Warnings: Major Angst, Multiple Flashbacks and Time Jumps, Mature Theme, Smut, Mature/Explicit Language, A lot of fluff, Romance, Slowburn, Splice of Life]

[Older JK, Older OC, Older Bangtan, Lawyer Seokjin and Namjoon, Doctor Yoongi, Event Planner Hobi, Solo idol Jimin, Secretary Taehyung, Brief cameos of Seventeen Mingyu, GOT7 Mark]

[Status: Ongoing]

[Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.Part 5. Part 6. Part 7. Part 8. Chapter Word Count: 7.9k+]

[Chapter Summary: It started with a name—spoken softly, like a memory asking to be heard. Then a place. Then a past neither of you meant to revisit, but somehow did. You weren’t looking for closure. Just something kind, something true. And maybe that’s what this was: remembering not just where it broke, but where it once began.]

[MINORS DNI! 18+]

The city hadn’t even stretched itself awake when you slipped through the doors. No voices down the hall yet, no click of heels against the concrete floors - the low thrum of air vents and your own footsteps weaving past half-sealed trunks and hanging garment bags.

Somewhere, a coffee machine sputtered to life on a timer, too early even for Mark. Normally, this hour belonged to someone else—slow mornings, routines back to familiarity, the quiet before the day’s storm.

But today, you came in first. Not because you had to. Just... because you wanted to be here. To catch the calm before everything scattered.

“You trying to put me out of a job?” Mark’s voice carries in with the soft squeak of the door, followed by the telltale shuffle of him juggling too many things — coffee tray, folders, a tablet under one arm. He stops when he sees you already pacing near the open trunks, brow arched.

“Just making sure you don’t misplace passports again or send the team to Thailand instead of France.” You grin, moving toward the open trunks.

Mark gasps, loud and dramatic. “That happened once. And I fixed it.”

“By sobbing at the gate agent.”

“I did not sob.”

“Oh, so it was more of a weep?”

“Rude,” he says, scandalized. “I’ll have you know I’m a very composed, grown ass man.”

“Ah, so you’re admitting you’re old.”

He groans, setting the coffees down. “You’re insufferable.”

“You love me.”

He snorts, doesn’t argue, just shrugs, sets the coffee down. “No breakfast with him today?”

“Eggs and toast can wait.”

“You skipped your list? That’s new. What’d Jeongguk say?”

“Flooded me with voicemails. Had to listen to at least seven versions of ‘Why?’ even after I told him I’d be here for the pack-ups – right before my phone died.”

Mark laughs, shaking his head. “No way he’s extra like that.”

“He hasn’t been – not for a while. Kind of weird to have my phone crash and burn again because of his dramatic ass.”

Mark doesn’t say anything. Just gives you a look — unreadable, steady, with a flicker of something thoughtful behind the curve of his grin. You clock it, but let it pass.

The day rolls on like it always does before a big departure – too loud, too fast, and never enough hands.

Someone’s yelling across the hallway about adapter plugs, two interns are bubble-wrapping show shoes like they’re glass heirlooms, and the printer’s already jammed twice. Mark’s playlist, a chaotic blend of Parisian jazz and 2000s R&B, blares from someone’s open laptop in the corner.

You find yourself floating between rooms, checking tags, nodding at garment bags zipped too tight, pretending you don’t notice the way your limbs tire faster than they used to. The interns still come to you for sign-offs. The stylists still panics for second opinions. And you still offer them, clipboard balanced against your hip like nothing’s changed.

It’s nice, in a strange way. Just how normal it feels. The way time moves—hour after hour, slipping into each other without rush—makes it feel like it still belongs to you. Like today could’ve been any day, part of the usual rhythm of everything that came before and everything still ahead. A moment you just want to stay in.

But of course, there’s work to do.

“Okay, scoot,” you reach for one of the team’s duffel bags, tugging at a corner of the zipper. “I’ll take the accessories box. You never know how to layer the feathered ones.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Mark swats your hand away with a horrified gasp. “Last time you touched those, we had glitter in customs for three days.”

“That was an artistic choice.”

“That was a biohazard.”

You laugh, easing onto the nearby chair as he returns to another half-packed trunk.

The room feels fuller now – buzzing with tape guns, double-checks, voices in half a dozen languages. Still, there’s a quiet thrum beneath it. One only he seems to notice.

“You okay?” Mark doesn’t look at you when he asks. Just keeps folding the last of the statement pieces with careful hands. “Spaced out for a minute.”

You hesitate, then let the words slip out. “Been thinking when we started planning for the first show a few years ago – the excitement, the late-night calls, the endless what-ifs. Was really looking forward to being there this year. Wish I still could.”

Mark pauses, his expression softening. “Hey, you’ve done so much already. More than enough.”

“Would’ve been better if I was there to do more,” you force a small smile, rubbing the back of your neck. “But I know you all will be okay. You will be okay, right?”

“It’s always better when it’s with you,” there’s a steady calm in his voice. “But we’ll be fine. You’ve already left so much of yourself in this – in us. That doesn’t go away just because you won’t be there this time.” He adds with a faint smile, “Besides, I know you’ll find a way to tweak the line up from here.”

You let a quiet laugh. Knows he’s not wrong. And maybe that’s the comfort in all of this – that even now, with everything shifting, Mark remains your constant. Your partner. Your friend. Someone who’s always been easy to lean on, from the very beginning. Someone you trust to be there, no matter what.

The hours pass quietly — soft footsteps, the sound of tissue paper crinkling, the smooth pull of a zipper. slips off the table and falls to the floor. Mark glances down, smirks, and shakes his head. You let out a small laugh, and the moment moves on, light and easy, like a breeze passing through.

Tapping the clipboard lightly against your palm, you break the moment. “Hey, did we ever finalize the medical clearance forms for the team?”

Mark doesn’t look up from the garment rack. “Pretty sure Jae handled that with the travel coordinator last week.”

“Then why didn’t I see it with the rest of the emails?”

He hums, still adjusting the shoulder line of a blazer. “Could’ve been sent directly to the coordinator. Jae mentioned something about looping in their assistant.”

You nod, but your pen still hovers over the clipboard. “I’ll just go to the hospital, check anything else we might need for any last-minute documentation to be cleared.”

That gets a glance from him. “Since when do you run health paperwork?”

“Since one of the team members got held up last year when we forgot their vaccination attestation. We nearly missed the flight. Almost rebooked with the entire quarter's budget.”

Mark winces a little, remembering. “Fair. Want me to come with?”

“It’s fine,” you’re already tucking the clipboard under your arm, reaching for your bag from the corner stool—halfway out the door before he can offer again. “Hold the fort here.”

The hospital feels quieter than usual as you step inside, the familiar hum of activity muted by the early hour.

At the front desk, you offer a polite nod and slide the folder of team’s forms across the counter, the receptionist flipping through them with practiced ease.

This part is routine – a formality, really. Follow-ups, final stamps, the kind of thing you’ve done a dozen times before each major trip. You settle into the waiting area, glancing around at familiar faces and the soft buzz of footsteps nearby.

Before long, a familiar voice calls your name. Yoongi steps into view, wearing that small, knowing smile you’ve come to know better than most.

“Still testing foundations that could double as poison,” he says dryly, “or have you finally switched to something less… flammable?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Nope. I’m trying to keep it rain-friendly this time. Took your advice, promise.”

He lets out a brief, amused sigh, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “Well, that’s a relief. Come on in.”

The office is still, the muted buzz of fluorescent lights blending with the faint scent of antiseptic. Afternoon light filters in, softening the usual clinical quiet of the hospital. You take a breath, steadying yourself as a quiet calm settles over the edges of the day.

He gestures toward the chair by his desk. “How’s the team holding up with all the prep chaos?”

You settle in, managing a small smile. “They’re hanging on – Mark’s got it together but I know that old man’s hanging on caffeine and his last strand of hair.”

Yoongi chuckles softly. “Sounds about right. You, though? You look like you could use a break.”

You shrug, brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “One last stretch before I take a long ass vacation. Years of pouring myself into Seora, think I deserve it yeah?”

He nods, knowingly. “You deserve it more than anyone, Sunshine.”

You reach into your bag, pulling out a small, neat folder with a faint logo stamped on the corner. The paper inside looks official but worn from being handled.

Yoongi glances at the folder, then back at you. “Everything in order for the team’s clearance?”

You give a quick nod, “Thanks for the contacts,” then slide the folder toward him. “There’s this one form – nothing too serious. Just needed when moving certain personal effects, stuff that needs legal backing, you know.”

He flips it open, brows knitting slightly as he scans the documents. “This looks straightforward. Just some signatures?”

You nod, watching him quietly, letting the soft hush of the office settle in around you. The faintest tension slips from your shoulders as Yoongi signs the paper with his usual, deliberate care, folds it neatly, and hands it back without arguments.

“Done,” he says simply. “You’re all set on that front.”

You tuck the folder away, voice even. “Thanks, Yoongi. Means a lot.”

He offers his signature gummy smile. “You know where to find me. Just don’t bring paperwork next time, bring tangerines.”

The afternoon sunlight filters softly through the leaves of the old oak trees lining the city park. You’ve wandered here without much thought, drawn by the quiet comfort of children’s laughter in the distance and the steady rhythm of footsteps on gravel paths. For a little while, it feels like the world has given itself permission to slow down—unhurried, uncomplicated.

You settle onto a weathered bench tucked just outside the flow of the afternoon bustle. The wind threads gently through your hair, and you let it. You let it all happen without resistance—just sit there, still, pretending for a moment that the ground beneath you isn’t shifting in ways you haven’t found words for. Your shoulders ease—not entirely, but enough. Enough to stay. Enough to breathe.

Your phone buzzes in your hand – Jeongguk’s name glowing bright on the screen.

“Lunch. One hour.”

“Uh, hello to you too?” A breath of laughter slips out before you can stop it, easing something in your chest. “I’m not going to lunch with you.” You lean back against the bench, eyes tracing the slow sway of tree branches overhead. “Too late for lunch and we’ve got dinner in a few hours.”

“Consider it early plans.” His tone is light, teasing. “You missed breakfast.”

You roll your eyes, but your smile lingers. You tuck the phone closer to your ear. “Had to be at the office. Told you that.”

The line goes quiet, you think he’s dropped the call. Then, “Le Petit Jardin.”

The name stills you.

A soft wind stirs against your cheek, and the city seems to hush with it. The memory surfaces—delicate, familiar, tethered to a night you never fully unpacked. A moment left hanging between the past and the present. Something old presses behind your chest—quiet, aching.

Your voice falters. “What?”

Jeongguk exhales on the other end—measured, careful. “Please? I’ve just got somewhere to drop by real quick. Reservation’s under my name. But I promise…”

Pauses.

“…I’ll show up this time.”

Le Petit Jardin is still the same.

Tucked away on a quieter street just outside the buzz of central Seoul, the place has a quiet charm that doesn’t try too hard—brick walls, ivy climbing iron railings, and wide windows open to let in the light. The smell of herbs and butter floats through the air, mixing with soft conversation and the sound of cutlery.

You’re sitting by the window. Sunlight comes through the thin curtains, catching the dust in the air like something trying not to be noticed. Your fingers run along the edge of your water glass—once, then again. The tablecloth is cream. Neat. Familiar.

A small vase sits in the center. Fresh flowers. Pale ranunculus today—not quite the same as before, but close enough to stir something.

Outside, people walk by. Talking, laughing, just going on with their day. And under all of it, there’s a quiet pull in your chest—not sharp, not overwhelming—just the soft weight of a place time never really left.

You reach for your glass again, only to pause as a faint shift in the air catches your attention — the subtle hush that follows when someone familiar steps into a room.

He doesn’t spot you at first. Jeongguk hesitates at the entrance, eyes scanning the space. There’s a touch of uncertainty in his stance, like he’s afraid he’s too early or too late. Then his gaze brushes past you… and briefly keeps going.

Your lips twitch.

It takes a second — maybe two — before something in him stills. A blink. A furrow of his brow.

Then he sees you.

Something shifts on his face. Not quite surprise — more like a quiet recognition, something deeper. You’re not sure if it’s the light or just the way he’s standing, but he’s smiling with his whole self, and somehow, it feels warm.

And then — you see what he’s carrying.

A bouquet. No — not a bouquet. A field of purple tulips, practically spilling out of his arms, their soft heads nodding with every step he takes.

You blink. “What... is that?”

He shifts the tulips carefully, like they might tip over any second. “Your favorite?”

You stare at the flowers, then at him. “What? The usual wasn’t available?”

“It was,” He meets your eyes, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Just thought this might make you smile.”

You shake your head, lips curving despite yourself. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But?”

You glance at the tulips again. “But they’re pretty.”

His shoulders ease. Just barely. “Thank God! I was ready to cross the city for something bigger.”

You pause, not sure what to do with the sudden warmth that creeps in. Your throat tightens for a moment — quick, but enough to notice — before you roll your eyes and gesture toward the empty chair across from you.

“Sit your ass down before someone accuses us of stealing from the restaurant’s garden.”

He laughs quietly, settling into his seat, the bouquet taking up half the table like it was always meant to be there.

The menus are still sitting between you, a little worn at the edges from time or warmth, but neither of you picks them up. Sunlight stretches across the tablecloth, lighting up the side of his face — and for a moment, the silence doesn’t feel awkward. It feels comfortable, like something shared.

The words on the menu blur, making things more confusing than helpful.

You used to know every page well — not exactly by heart, but from memory. You remember the meals you and Jeongguk always ordered on anniversaries — made sure this place had them too, the wines you both liked, even though he used to joke that your choices were too pricey and that the highball you made at home was better anyway.

Your eyes stop at the dessert section, and you notice the cheesecake — the one you made sure was on the menu for the first anniversary three years ago — isn’t there anymore.

Now your fingers hover a little too long over the appetizers. Not because you’re unsure — but because you know exactly what’s there. And somehow, that knowing feels heavier than you thought it would.

Across the table, Jeongguk watches you, gaze steady, soft, like he’s trying to listen to the space between your breaths. There’s a small smile on his face — quiet, a little unsure — but it’s enough to let you know he’s here.

“Are you okay with the confit duck, with the cranberry jus? Maybe a truffle risotto and the mushroom tart with gruyère?”

You don’t mean to smile, but it slips out before you can stop it — small and quiet. The feeling in your chest picks up, steady and light, like something that’s always been there, just waiting. “It’s perfect.”

“Okay, let’s go with that.” His eyes light up, warm and round, the corners crinkling with something close to relief. “There’s a dessert place a few blocks from here. Reviews say their Biscoff cheesecake’s the most popular… if you’re up for it after?”

You tilt your head, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Are you feeding an army? It’s just me.”

Jeongguk chuckles softly, eyes kind. “Just making sure you don’t go hungry.”

The plates come one by one, each dish a quiet reminder of flavors you’ve known for years—flavors you never had the chance to try here but always hoped you would. They settle slowly on your tongue—steady, sure. Around you, the restaurant buzzes softly, a gentle background to a moment neither of you speaks, but both feel.

Jeongguk watches you with quiet amusement, his eyes following the same stray lock of hair that’s fallen across your face for the third time.

You don’t notice at first — too wrapped up in the comfort of the meal, the calm of the afternoon, and the quiet feeling of belonging that food brings in moments like this.

But when more strands keep brushing against your lips, tickling your cheek just as you’re almost done saving your favorites, your patience starts to run out. You sigh, already annoyed you grabbed a bag today that didn’t have your usual stash.

“You know,” Jeongguk says, resting his chin on his hand, “I’ve always loved watching you lose this fight with your hair.” He pauses, a smirk playing at his lips. “But you’re about one tick away from breaking that plate in half. I’d really prefer not getting banned from this place.”

Then, silently, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a black hair tie—worn thin and stretched from years of use. A small sun charm swings gently from it as he sets it down and nudges it toward you.

You stop.

A faint scratch near the edge catches your eye – still there after all these years.

That blazing summer afternoon comes rushing back. The heat was thick enough to stick to your skin. You loved summer—always had—but that heatwave that year was brutal. You thought you might actually die.

You were about to tie your hair up, your wrists slick with sweat, when Jeongguk, ever the menace, reached for the fruit salad with a bottle of hot sauce in hand.

“The fuck, Gguk! You and your weird food combos!”

Jeongguk just grinned, unfazed. “But baby….you said you wanted something different.”

“That doesn’t mean I want food poisoning!”

You lunged forward, trying to snatch the bottle from his hands, but he tugged back. In the scuffle, he caught your hair tie on his fingers and yanked it off. It flew somewhere across the kitchen.

You laughed, half annoyed, half amused. “That was my best hair tie!”

He just smirked like it was a victory.

Now, here at the table, the worn black hair tie with its tiny sun charm lies in front of you — proof that he picked it up and held onto it all this time.

You’re not sure what tugs at you more — that he brought up something he loved seeing you do, like it meant nothing, like it was natural for him to hold onto pieces of you; or the quiet way he holds back that familiar boyish grin you haven’t seen in a long time, as if hoping you won’t notice.

“You had this?” you murmur, still looking at the band.

He shrugs, casual — or trying to be. “Has a good grip, honestly. Total lifesaver when mine snaps.”

But the faint flush rising on his neck gives him away.

You don’t press. Just reach up, gathering your hair with practiced ease. The charm brushes against your skin as you twist it into place, familiar weight settling like it never left.

“I’ve probably got more of these lying around the house somewhere,” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Could give you some… if you want to stock up. That poor charm looks like it’s hanging by a lifeline.”

His eyes light up far too quickly. “Yes! I mean—yeah. That’d be nice.”

You tilt your head, eyeing the way his longer hair falls just below his jaw now. “Ever thought about going short again?”

He leans back slightly, brow raised, playful. “If I’d known you were, I would’ve tagged along.”

“Long looks better on you.” You almost say more—about how you missed making little sprouts stick up on the top of his head when he’d nap on your lap—but even the thought feels too soft to say out loud.

The first few words had already slipped out before you can stop it, a quiet heat blooms across your cheek. You clear your throat, eyes darting away. “This new thing wasn’t even planned. Wasn’t even sure I’d pull it off. Didn’t think how annoying it’d be after. Stupid shit won’t stay in place.”

Jeongguk laughs, quiet and warm. “It suits you. Think you look more beautiful now than you’ve ever been.”

Your heart fumbles—just for a breath—before you recover, nudging your foot lightly against his beneath the table.

“Finish your food, Gguk,” you mutter, lips twitching. “Before I make you wear the mushroom tart as a hair accessory.”

The streets hum beneath the early evening sky, bathed in that golden lull between day and night. The city’s warmth lingers in the pavement, in the breeze, in the way your shoulders brush now and then as you walk side by side. The soft murmur of passersby, the clink of dishes from open-air cafés, and the distant notes of street music fold into the rhythm of your steps.

Jeongguk walks beside you, one arm full of the bouquet – the full-blown meadow. The petals flutter gently against his coat, catching the amber glow of storefront lights and people’s curiousness along the way.

He carries them like it’s second nature. Not as a burden or a favor, but with something close to quiet pride — like holding them is just another extension of holding space for you. Like he’s done it a hundred times before.

You glance over, lips curving. “We should’ve left that in the car. You’re struggling.”

He shifts the bouquet in his arms, sniffing a soft laugh. “Did you forget I deadlift twice this in warmups?”

You raise a brow, biting back your grin. “Okay, macho bunny. Settle down.”

He doesn’t even flinch at the nickname, has gotten used to being called your bunny since the beginning — just smirks, eyes still forward. “This bunny’s got range.”

You let yourself look — really look — for a second longer than you probably should. At the mess of stems tangled in his arms. At the tulips brushing his coat like they belong there. At the soft curve of his smile that’s lingered all evening. At how absurdly, unintentionally gentle it all feels.

And somehow, it makes the walk feel slower. Sweeter. Like you could carry the rest of the time in your pocket if you tried.

The street narrows here, the city’s noise softening into a gentle murmur. A warm glow spills from the shop’s windows, inviting shadows onto the pavement. The faint scent of sugar and vanilla drifts out as the door swings open, welcoming you into a quiet refuge from the evening bustle.

Inside, the shelves are filled with colorful slices and delicate pastries, each one a small promise of something sweet. Soft music plays in the background — something old and piano-heavy — weaving in with the quiet clink of teacups and low voices. It feels like stepping into another bubble entirely, slower, softer.

Jeongguk scans the display, then stops at a cake swirled with dark chocolate and bright green. He nudges you, grinning. “You’re really missing out.”

You wrinkle your nose. “If I wanted to brush my teeth for dessert, I’d just use toothpaste.”

“If Mint Choco had a hate club, you’d be the president.”

“Obviously.”

He laughs, eyes lingering on the cake like he’s thinking of defending it, but lets it slide. Instead, he nods toward the Biscoff slice you both noticed earlier — golden, dense, topped with just the right amount of crumbs. “Truce?”

Your lips twitch. “Only because you didn’t try to sneak that abomination into our order.”

“Small wins,” Jeongguk grins, then turns to head toward the pickup counter — shoulders loose, a little bounce in his step.

You’re tucked into a quiet bench just outside, the shop’s soft light spilling through the window behind you. The night air is gentle, brushing cool against your cheeks.

Jeongguk sets the bouquet down beside you, then carefully balances the small box between you, popping it open to reveal the single slice, two forks tucked neatly inside.

“You gonna share nicely?” you ask, elbow brushing his.

He catches your glance, a flicker of something warm — maybe even a little mischievous — in his eyes before he smiles.

“You always get first bite; I’m not even going try.” Then he leans back, arm resting casually behind you, like this is easy—like sharing space, and sweets, and silences with you still makes sense.

The quiet settles in — not heavy, just soft around the edges, like a song paused mid-melody. A breeze drifts through the alley, lifting the corners of napkins and carrying with it the scent of caramel and something faintly floral, like spring still unfolding.

You watch the way the light catches the corner of his mouth as he chews, the soft curve of a smile barely there. The easy lines of his face seem even gentler in the fading light. For a moment, everything else—the past, the ache, the waiting—feels far away.

Slowly, you reach out, your fingers brushing over his hand resting near the edge of the table. He doesn’t pull away. You curl your hand into his, a quiet touch that says enough.

Your voice breaks the silence, barely above a whisper. “Thank you for bringing me there. I never thought I’d get to try it—or see it again, really—not after all these years. It’s more than I hoped for.”

He turns his hand slightly and gives yours a gentle squeeze, then looks up — eyes holding something fragile. Hope, maybe. Or just the quiet weight of someone still trying. “I just wanted to give you a new memory – something better to hold on to.”

You squeeze his hand back, a small smile tugging at your lips. “And I’ll never forget that.”

Jeongguk’s thumb moves lightly over your knuckles, like he’s taking in the moment without needing to say more. For a while, neither of you move.

The background fades — the café noise, the passing footsteps, bits of laughter carried off by people heading somewhere else.

Then softly, with a tilt of his head and something unreadable in his eyes, “There’s one more place I want to take you. If you’re okay with it?”

You blink, brows lifting. “Is this where you tell me you booked out the carousel at Lotte World?”

He snorts, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Why would I do that when you throw up after three spins?”

You narrow your eyes. “Yet you still fed me meals good enough for a whole year.”

“That was different,” he says, trying not to laugh. “That was calculated. Was aiming for full, not motion-sick.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s a warmth in your chest now – softer, steadier.

“So... where are you taking me, then?”

Jeongguk shifts, tone quieter now. “Somewhere before either of us had titles. When you still carried your sketchpad everywhere, and I still wore dress shoes that didn’t fit right.”

Your smile fades, just slightly — not gone, just stilling.

“It’s not far,” he adds quickly. “Just... thought it might be nice to see it again. Only if you want to.”

He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t push. Just waits—like he’s offering, not asking. Like he’ll be okay no matter what you say.

You watch him for a moment, the weight of the day resting warm in your chest. Then, quietly, with a faint smile tugging at your lips, “Okay. Let’s go.”

Jeongguk smiles – nothing wide, nothing dramatic. Just something real. Something you haven’t seen in a long time – something your heart is happy to see again. And quietly, the world around you move.

The roads stretch ahead, soft and calm in the mellow evening hush. The sun has already slipped below the horizon, leaving a faint gold glow lingering at the edges. Streetlights flicker on one by one, bathing the city in that in-between light — softer, almost like a memory’s filter.

You lean your head toward the window, watching storefronts slide by as signs flicker to life. Someone’s walking a dog in a neon raincoat. Someone else hurries past, clutching a melting popsicle. A delivery scooter zips past on the left.

He drives with one hand on the steering, the other laced with your fingers like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like it’s not some list making him do this, like he’s not even thinking about it. Or maybe he is — quietly, carefully — like he always did when he was trying not to mess things up.

You glance over at him. The light from the window catches the line of his jaw, the slight furrow in his brow as he takes a turn, and the way he still checks his mirrors twice—like he’s being extra careful.

“You still drive like you’re one mistake away from failing your test,” you say softly.

He looks over, mock-offended. “Forgetting I aced it the first time?”

“You parallel parked into a bike rack.”

He grins. “Never gonna let that go, are you?”

You smile, drop it, deciding to give him the last word for now. The light changes, and the soft rumble of the engine fills the pause that follows.

After a while, the roads narrow, shifting from wide city lanes to quieter residential streets. The buildings lean in a little closer, and the traffic thins to a soft hum. Tall, old trees line the sidewalks, making the road feel like it’s leading somewhere that matters.

You know the place before he even slows down.

The museum’s silhouette rises between the trees, hidden behind ivy-covered brick and a rusty iron fence that was once painted navy. The cracked stone path is still there out front — and the same flickering porch light by the side door.

He pulls into the gravel lot and cuts the engine.

For a second, you both stay still. Then, quietly, you murmur, “You remembered.”

Jeongguk looks over at you, his voice quiet but sure. “I did.”

A soft, familiar feeling stirs in your chest — something gentle and quiet, like it’s been waiting to come back, or hasn’t left at all.

The doors open with the familiar creak of old hinges — soft and slow, like the building is waking up after a long sleep.

Inside, the museum is quiet. Not empty—just still. Just slow.

The lighting is low and warm, pooling beneath each exhibit in deliberate halos. A soft classical score filters in from hidden speakers overhead, more felt than heard, like the architecture itself is humming.

Your footsteps echo lightly on the polished floors as you walk into the first gallery. The smell of old paper, fabric dye, and clean wood fills the air, wrapping around you like a familiar memory.

“They changed the layout,” you murmur, eyes scanning the room. “Used to be textile displays up front.”

“They moved them to the second wing,” Jeongguk says. “That rotating exhibit you liked is still here, though. The color study room.”

You feel a small smile tug at your lips as you start walking, naturally drawn to the hallway on the left. Your fingers lightly brush the wall as you pass—the plaster cool and smooth beneath your skin, something steady and familiar in the quiet space.

And then something flickers at the edge of your mind.

The lights were brighter back then. Or maybe it was just the two of you—when everything felt a little clearer, a little more alive.

You had rushed inside first, sketchbook in hand, oversized blazer slipping off one shoulder as you moved quickly from sculpture to sculpture, eyes wide and thoughts half-spoken.

“God, look at that form—look at the geometry of it. If I layered that in satin... no, organza. Maybe with a cutaway bodice—”

“You’re talking to yourself again,” Jeongguk called after you, walking behind in black slacks and a shirt that was a little tight, his hair messy from running to make the reservation.

You spun around, smiling. “I’m brainstorming. Some of us build entire empires off talking to ourselves.”

“And some of us are just trying not to get kicked out.”

You stuck your tongue out and dropped onto the nearest bench, already sketching quickly—lines curving, eyes focused, lip tucked between your teeth.

He didn’t interrupt. Just sat beside you, silent, watching.

Later, he would say it was in that moment—watching your fingers move across the page as you quietly described colors, pleats, and shapes—that he decided to pitch for Creative Director after all.

That if you could believe in beauty that strongly, maybe he could too.

Now, the bench is still there.

So is the sculpture—though it’s been re-centered beneath a glass ceiling skylight, lit from above like it’s more sacred now than it used to be.

You step a little closer to the installation, pause, let your eyes trail the clean curve of the structure, the shadows it casts against the floor like memories that never fully faded.

“You once told me this shape reminded you of possibility,” Jeongguk stands just behind you, a quiet presence. “Said it wasn’t perfect, but that’s what made it feel real.”

You glance at him over your shoulder, something flickering in your chest. “You remember that too huh?”

He nods. “I remember a lot of things.” There’s no weight in the way he says it. No edge. Just quiet truth.

You don’t answer right away. Just linger there, in front of the sculpture that somehow still makes you feel like you’re twenty something, dreaming big and everything is barely out of reach in the best way.

Then, softly—“You’re really taking me through time today.”

A small smile curves his lips, tugging gently at the edge of something unspoken. “Thought you might like the detour.”

You look back toward the installation. The moment stretches.

“I do,” you say. “I really do.”

The museum folds around you in that kind of silence again—the kind that feels full rather than empty. A hush with weight. Like the walls are holding something, not withholding it.

It’s a silence that’s known you—watched you grow up, shift and reshape. Watched you become who you are, who you were, who you’re still figuring out how to be.

You drift into the next room without speaking, your footsteps softened by the muted flooring. This wing is newer—redesigned sometime in the last few years—but the bones remain. Familiar archways. The soft hush of focused lighting. The faint click of a motion-sensor light blinking on as you pass beneath it.

Here, the walls bloom with a sequence of evolving color studies—paintings and mixed media that shift gradually from restrained monochromes to riotous saturation. A slow unraveling in hue and form, like someone learning how to feel out loud.

A plaque near the entrance reads: The Shape of Time.

You pause in front of the first canvas—washed in pale blues and muted grays. “I forgot this exhibit was here.”

Jeongguk hums beside you, eyes scanning the transitions on the wall. “It wasn’t. Not back then.”

He steps closer to a piece painted in shades of rust and amber, texture so thick it almost looks like it’s still drying. His gaze rests a moment, then drops to the artist’s note tucked just beneath the frame:

We carry color differently the longer we live.

Grief stains. Joy fades.

But memory—memory blends.

You don’t realize you’ve stepped closer until your shoulder brushes his. “I used to think time was something I could manage,” you say, barely above a whisper. “Like a collection. A project. Color-coded calendars. Five-year plans. All of it”

“You made it look easy,” he says, eyes still on the wall.

You shake your head once. “It never was.”

The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. Just... reflective. The kind of pause that asks nothing from either of you, but holds everything anyway.

Then Jeongguk says, quieter now, “You made it meaningful.”

Maybe it’s the lighting, or the way the artwork wraps around him, but something in his expression looks younger. Or maybe not younger. Just... closer to the boy who once trailed behind you through this very building, watching you fall in love with color and shape and the quiet magic of imagining what could be.

You don’t answer him. Don’t need to. Just let the feeling of him noticing you, of seeing you sink in for the moment.

He shifts slightly beside you. Then, silently, his hand brushes against yours—barely a graze at first. Testing, waiting.

When you don’t move away, he lets his fingers slip between yours, slow and deliberate, like he’s asking for nothing but hoping for yes.

You don’t look at him, but your hand curls back around his. Gently. Like love never left—only waited.

You make one last pass through the gallery, slower this time—like your body knows the visit’s almost over, and isn’t quite ready to let go of the stillness just yet.

There’s no need to speak. The quiet does all the holding for you.

Jeongguk walks with you in step now, his hand still lightly folded around yours, thumb brushing soft arcs across your skin like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. The two of you move through the corridor together, past a hanging textile piece that ripples gently with the shift in the building’s air—like even the room exhales around you.

You glance back one last time before the exit comes into view.

“I used to come here looking for something new,” you murmur, almost to yourself. “Now I think I come here to remember how it used to feel.”

“Which part?”

You tilt your head slightly. “The part where everything felt possible.”

There’s a beat of silence before he says, softer, “You made it feel that way for everyone else, too.”

The quiet’s your response, giving his hand the faintest squeeze instead, as you pass through the final archway.

Outside, the evening has folded into a soft hush. Streetlights blink on like old friends. The air carries the faint scent of rain that never quite arrived.

As you cross the gravel lot together, the mood eases — not light exactly, but lighter.

“You know,” you say, glancing sideways, “this is the first time you actually kept up with a long day and didn’t complain about your feet.”

“That’s ‘cause my cardio’s better now,” Jeongguk says, feigning pride. “These legs were built for endurance.”

You snort. “Okay, calm down, Olympic hopeful.”

“I’m just saying,” he grins, opening the car door for you. “If there was a stair-climbing event, I’d podium.”

You shake your head, laughing under your breath as you slide in.

Behind you, the museum’s windows glow like distant memories.

The ride back is quieter. Not in a heavy way—just... settled.

The sky has deepened into a softer shade of indigo, and the roads are near empty now. Shop signs flicker as they wind down for the night. Somewhere in the distance, a truck rumbles through a turn. The city feels less like a machine and more like a heartbeat.

Jeongguk walks you up to the gate. He doesn’t try to follow. Just waits, hands in his pockets, as you key in the code.

“Thanks for today,” you say, glancing back at him.

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I know,” you smile. “Just want to.”

He nods, and for a second, it seems like he might say more. Instead, he steps closer, his hand lightly brushing a stray hair from your forehead before his lips press a gentle kiss—soft, unhurried. The world seems to still for a breath. Then, without a word, he wraps you in a brief, warm hug, holding on just long enough to say everything he won’t.

When he finally steps back, the small smile on his lips feels different — quieter, sincere. He waits until you’re safely inside before turning away, leaving behind a quiet warmth that stays with you long after the door closes.

Inside, the house is dim but warm. A single hallway light hums from the corner. You toe off your shoes by the entry bench, letting the quiet wrap around your shoulders.

There’s a faint clatter from the kitchen. Your mother’s voice calls softly—“You’re back?”—and you answer, just as softly—“Yeah.”

You don’t say much more. Just place the tulips on the end table near the stairs, where the light can find them in the morning. They lean slightly in the vase. A little wild. A little soft. Still holding more than they show.

Your phone buzzes from inside your coat pocket.

| Jin 🍷: Anniversary dinner. Soirée. 7 PM. Bring your appetite and your patience. I fully intend to be insufferably sentimental.

| 🌞: You should be. It’s the one day your wife expects you to be a sap.

| Jin 🍷: I’m telling her to hide the desserts from you.

You lock the screen. Let the silence settle around you. Let the weight of the day land, not like a burden—but like something you’re allowed to carry, just for yourself.

And somewhere behind your chest, that ache you’ve kept at bay all day curls up quietly, and sleeps.

#jungkook fanfiction #jungkook ff #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x yn #bts fanfiction #fanfic #bts jeon jungkook #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook

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snowysosturn · 3 months ago

Text

Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Finale

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Finale

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: angst, tension

I stand there, frozen, not knowing how to feel. I’m confused.. upset.. Angry? Was this planned? Am I the idiot here, or is Christina just being a complete weirdo?

Judging by the looks on the boys’ faces on stage, it’s definitely the latter. Nick’s eyes widen, and Chris immediately turns to Matt, his expression somewhere between confused and concerned. The whole crowd starts buzzing, some gasping, others laughing, waiting for Matt’s reaction.

But how Matt responds to this? That tells me everything I need to know.

He shifts his weight, glancing at the screen where Christina’s face is still on display. For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just looking at her with an unreadable expression. Then, he lets out a dry laugh and leans into his mic.

"Wow. Uh.. bold move. Really bold move."

Chris covers his mic, turning slightly away to hide his laughter, while Nick just mutters, "Ain’t no way" under his breath. The crowd? Losing their minds, some gasping, others laughing, a few already chanting “Nooo way”.

Matt tilts his head, as if considering his words carefully, but I can see the smirk creeping onto his face.

"Christina, I gotta give it to you, you are persistent. Really committed to the bit, huh?" He pauses for dramatic effect, the crowd eating up every second. Then, he shrugs. "But listen.. I think we both know this isn’t some sort of rom com. No dramatic third act reunion, no ‘I’ve changed’ moment. That ship? Yeah, it’s not just sailed, it sank. And I, for one, am not tryna go deep sea diving."

Chris fully doubles over laughing at that, and Nick lets out a low whistle. The audience erupts, a mix of cheers, gasps, and “Ohhh shit” reactions.

Matt leans back from the mic, shaking his head with a smirk. "Appreciate the confession, though. Real brave of you. But me? I’m real good where I’m at."

He doesn’t say my name, doesn’t need to. His eyes flicker toward where I’m standing in the wings, just for a second. But it’s enough.

Christina forces a laugh, nodding like she’s unbothered, but I see her face drop for a split second before the screen cuts away.

And just like that, I exhale.

Matt handled that perfectly.

He lets out a quick laugh, shaking his head as he steps back toward the mic.

"Well, damn.." he says, rubbing his jaw like he’s trying to process what just happened. "I thought I was the one with the surprises on this tour, but clearly, I got that wrong."

The audience erupts, some gasping, others laughing. Nick and Chris are both grinning like they can’t believe what just happened.

Matt exhales, still smirking. "Uh, yeah.. that definitely caught me off guard. Not exactly what I had in mind for tonight, but hey, at least y’all are entertained." He tilts his head toward the crowd.

There’s a pause, and for a second, I wonder if he’s going to say anything serious. But then he shakes his head again and glances toward Nick and Chris.

"You know what? I was gonna drop my own surprise tonight, but I think I’m gonna save that for somewhere a little less.." He gestures toward the big screen, where Christina’s name has finally disappeared. "Chaotic."

The audience loses it, cheering, laughing, shouting out guesses about what his actual surprise could be.

Chris claps Matt on the shoulder, still grinning. "Yeah, I think that’s a solid call, man."

Nick just shakes his head and mutters, "Only on this tour."

The boys wrap up the show section and transition into the meet and greet. As they come off the stage, Matt makes a beeline straight for me. His face is pale, his jaw clenched, he looks like he’s just seen a ghost. And honestly, I know exactly what’s haunting him.

Before he even gets a word out, I sigh. "Matt, I know."

His brows knit together. "I swear I didn’t know she was gonna do that. What the fuck is she even doing here? That was-"

"I know" I cut him off, reaching for his hand instinctively. "You handled it really well. You didn’t entertain it, you didn’t make it weird.. if anything, you made her look dumb."

Matt lets out a breath he must’ve been holding, nodding slightly. "I just-" He shakes his head. "I didn’t want you thinking for a second that I had anything to do with that shit."

"I didn’t." And that’s the truth. As messy as things got before, I trust him now. Christina pulling something desperate like that only confirmed how little of a shot she really had.

His shoulders relax a bit, but I can tell he’s still frustrated. "You sure?"

I squeeze his hand. "Positive."

A flicker of relief crosses his face before Nick calls over from across the room, reminding him they’ve got a line of fans waiting.

"Go" I tell him, nodding toward the meet-and-greet area. "We’ll talk later."

Matt pulls me in for a quick but meaningful kiss before he heads off toward the meet and greet area. But just as he’s about to walk away, he suddenly stops, turning to one of the tour staff.

"Hey" he says, voice sharp. "Make sure Christina’s barred from all future shows. I don’t want her pulling this shit again."

The staff member nods immediately, and Matt doesn’t even look back, just nods in satisfaction before finally heading off to greet the fans.

I let out a breath and shake my head. As much as tonight rattled him, he handled it exactly how he needed to.

I catch his eyes one last time before he disappears into the crowd. "I’m gonna chill out on the bus for a bit while you guys do meet and greets" I call over to him.

"You good?" he asks, concern flickering across his face.

I nod. "Yeah. Just need a second to breathe."

He hesitates like he wants to say something else, but Nick pulls him along before he can.

I take that as my cue to slip out of the venue, heading toward the bus. A break sounds nice, but the truth is, I just need a moment to let everything sink in.

As I walk through the parking lot, just trying to get to the bus and clear my head, I hear someone call my name.

I freeze.

Is this bitch ever going to leave me alone?

I turn, and sure enough, standing by a car with her arms crossed and an infuriating smirk on her face, is Christina.

"Running off so soon?" she taunts, tilting her head. "Figured you'd want to stick around after that little show."

I exhale sharply, clenching my jaw as I stride toward her. "Are you actually out of your mind?" I snap. "Pulling that shit in front of thousands of people? What was that supposed to accomplish?"

She shrugs, feigning innocence. "I just told the truth. I still have feelings for Matt. And I think, deep down, he still has feelings for me too."

I let out a humorless laugh. "Yeah? Thats why he had security make sure you're banned from all future shows?"

Her smirk falters, but she recovers quickly. "Oh please. That’s just because you’re in his ear. We both know if I had more time, I could remind him of what we had."

My blood boils. "Christina, you lied about him sleeping with you. You’ve been manipulating situations from the start, and now you’re embarrassing yourself in front of thousands of people? Move on with your life."

She takes a step closer, lowering her voice. "You really think he’s done with me? Just like that?"

I don’t hesitate. "I know he is."

Her nostrils flare, and for the first time, I see it, she’s pissed. She was expecting me to crumble, to doubt, to let her words sink in and ruin what Matt and I have been rebuilding. But instead, I’m standing my ground, unshaken.

I take a step back, done with this conversation. "Stay the fuck away from us, Christina" I say firmly. "Whatever fantasy you have in your head? Let it go. Because Matt already did."

As I turn to walk away, Christina scoffs loudly. "Yeah, keep walking. That’s all you’re good at, right? Running after Matt like a lost little puppy."

I stop dead in my tracks. Oh, she wants to play.

I spin back around, crossing my arms. "You’re hilarious, Christina. Truly. It’s so funny how you’re out here, standing in a parking lot, after humiliating yourself in front of thousands of people, still trying to convince yourself that Matt gives a single shit about you." I tilt my head mockingly. "While I’m the one on the tour bus."

She narrows her eyes. "You think just because you’re with him now, it means you won?" She lets out a bitter laugh. "I’ve known Matt a lot longer than you have, sweetheart. He always comes back to me."

I snort, actually snort at the delusion. "Oh my God, you sound exhausted. You must be so tired from running all these mental gymnastics. Matt doesn’t have anything to go back to, especially not some desperate, lying, washed up one night stand who has to publicly confess her ‘feelings’ just to get his attention."

Her face twists in anger. "I am not desperate."

I let out a dramatic gasp. "Oh? So it was just, what, a casual public confession? Just for a laugh? Just throwing shit out there, hoping it sticks?" I take a step closer, lowering my voice mockingly. "Face it, Christina. You played yourself. You thought you could stir up drama, and instead, Matt shut you down and made sure you’d never pull this shit again." I smirk. "You’re not competition. You’re not even relevant."

Her mouth opens, then shuts, her hands clenching into fists. I can practically see the steam coming out of her ears, and it’s hilarious.

And with that, I stride toward the bus, feeling lighter than ever.

I shut the door behind me, adrenaline coursing through my veins as I lay back on the bus, pulling my phone out and mindlessly scrolling through TikTok, needing something to distract myself. But, of course, the algorithm is already on it. My entire feed is flooded with clips from the show, Christina’s confession, Matt’s reaction, and everyone’s very vocal opinions on it.

I tap on a video with the caption “NAH THIS WAS WILD” and watch as the camera captures the exact moment Christina’s name popped up on the screen. The crowd collectively gasping, people whispering, a loud “oh hell no” from someone in the back. Then there’s Matt, standing there stunned before recovering with his usual sarcasm.

I swipe to the next one. A fan recording from their seat “Matt’s face is FRYING ME, bro did not expect that at all.” The camera zooms in on him blinking rapidly before laughing it off, shaking his head.

Another video: “POV you just witnessed the most desperate confession in real time” with a slo mo clip of the moment Christina’s face popped up on the big screen, followed by someone yelling "Girl, be so for real."

I actually let out a laugh at that one.

Then I come across a reaction video. A girl sitting in her bedroom, mouth open in shock. "No, because Christina actually thought she ate with that confession. The way Matt shut that down and then looked off to the side.. Anyone else think he might have a girlfriend??"

I shake my head, almost laughing, I wouldn’t call myself his girlfriend. Not yet anyway. I continue scrolling past more and more takes, all dragging Christina to hell and back. The internet is not on her side.

I smirk to myself, locking my phone and tossing it beside me. Looks like the world knows what I already did, Christina just played herself, and there’s no coming back from that.

I get a buzz beside me and I glance down at my phone, seeing Matt’s message light up the screen:

"Can you come to my dressing room? Chris needs help with something."

I stretch, letting out a small sigh before pushing myself up from the couch. Chris needing help? Shocker. I slide my phone into my pocket and step off the bus, making my way back inside the venue.

As I turn the corner, I spot Matt standing outside his dressing room door, shifting slightly on his feet like he’s waiting for me.

I narrow my eyes. “You good?”

He nods quickly, a small smirk pulling at his lips. “Yeah. Just.. got one more surprise in me today.”

I raise an eyebrow, but before I can ask, he grips the handle and pushes open the door.

My breath catches.

The entire dressing room is decorated, soft fairy lights strung up along the walls, scattered rose petals on the floor, and in the center, the words “May I Be Your Boyfriend?” spelled out in red balloons.

I freeze, my brain needing a moment to catch up. “Matt.. what-?”

He rubs the back of his neck, looking suddenly nervous.

I turn to him, still stunned, my heart pounding. “You-” I swallow. “You did all this?”

“Well, Chris and Nick helped a little” he admits, glancing at the setup. “But yeah.” His voice softens. “I wanted to.”

I look around again, taking it all in, warmth spreading through my chest. After everything, after the chaos, the drama, the absolute mess of the night, he still made time for this.

I turn back to him, eyes meeting his. “Yes.”

His lips part. “Yeah?”

A grin tugs at my lips. “Yes, I’d love you to be my boyfriend.”

Before he can say anything else, I grab the collar of his hoodie and pull him into a deep kiss, feeling him smile against my lips as his arms wrap around my waist.

Matt pulls back just enough to look at me, his forehead resting against mine, a lazy grin playing on his lips. His hands stay firm on my waist, like he’s making sure I don’t go anywhere, not that I would.

“I’m glad you finally found the place you belong in my life” I murmur, my voice just above a whisper.

His expression shifts, something softer settling in his eyes, like he’s soaking in every word. His fingers tighten slightly against my waist. “Me too.”

I nod, a small smile playing on my lips.

Matt exhales a little laugh, shaking his head. “Took me long enough, huh?”

I chuckle, nudging my nose against his. “Better late than never.”

He grins, then leans in again, capturing my lips in another kiss, slower this time, more deliberate. Like he’s savoring it. Like he’s making up for every moment before this one when we weren’t in this position together.

And in that moment, I know we’re exactly where we’re meant to be.

a/n : and thats all from me on the fic front for now!! (explanation here) i will miss writing but hopefully ill be back sooner than later! ive now 3 30+ part series done in 7 months and i cant thank you all for the love and support on them all, even the silent readers!! I cant believe the F&D era is over already but thank you all for sticking around and reading the last 12 weeks! im not leaving the app ill still be here so my inbox and messages are always open!! i love to give advice or just yap so you know where to catch me!! If you would like to be on the taglist for future fics when im back writing interact here!

lots of love,

Snowy <3

taglist : @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @chrisstxrnsaxe @sophand4n4 @vickytaa @marrykisskilled @bxtchboy69 @yourfavsturniologirl @julisturn @sydneyylainn @sophia-77n @trevorsgodmother @sturnslutz @yourmother29 @girl24cherry @astronea @pinkdyit

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chococolte · 2 years ago

Text

☼ — pietas maris

♱ : my take on sagau childe

including ☆! — him as a worshiper, and his reaction to being your lover ⛧

word count. 5.6k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, religious + cult themes, cult au, g/n reader. i do not condone yanderes irl. ୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. now time for me to disappear back into the aether for another 6 months

The abyss is cold.

It is unfeeling, lacking warmth and passion. It is relentless, cruel, and unkind. It corrupts, ruins, and does so freely, without remorse or thought. It leaves you clinging to the hot blood in your veins, curled up and hidden in the dark reaches of its void.

Childe had always been versatile; quick to adapt, even at such a young age. He grew used to the emptiness, the swelling numbness, and the eventual gnawing loneliness left in his abdomen. They became a part of him as his lungs, as integral as air; to be without felt odd, foreign.

The glimmer of your existence kept Childe company. He did not know who you were, or how lucky he was— only that you brought him comfort, like an old lullaby, or a blanket worn from overuse. He reached for you when the darkness grew too much, too heavy a burden on his small shoulders.

He came to you with little offerings; small trinkets, tomes of unreadable text. Useless to him, but perhaps you would take pity on him in exchange, and let him take comfort in your presence for another day. Childe came to you with rubble shaped in hearts, the gentle breath of his voice as he spoke of his anxieties. He did not think of them as offerings then, merely gifts— pleadings for you to stay a little longer.

His hands, then unruined and soft, made you a makeshift altar crafted out of whatever he could find. He made sure to build it where he felt your whispers were strongest, where your light entirely overwhelmed the darkness overhead. Childe didn't think of it as an altar then, just a place to settle his findings, where he could pretend his sad, little effigy made of you was actually you.

The idol didn't look much like a person at all, and at the time, he didn't think of his behavior as odd. He desperately clung to you for survival, and with no other warm body besides his own, you were the only one he could talk too.

At times, he thought he was going insane. There was a pleasant buzzing in his ears whenever he neared your doll, as if it were calling him. Despite the fact that he had made it, proven by the tiny scars on his palms, he still felt as if it was yours.

In the darkness, Childe whispered to you. He said everything his mind could think, childishly exaggerated tales in hopes of impressing you. A foolish endeavor, considering you were a God— but he still hoped that maybe you'd think of him kindly, and let him bask in your protective glow for just one more moment.

He couldn't hear your words, but he could feel them. The twinkle of your laughter was like a soft whistle in his ears. When you were pleased, the air would lightly ruffle his hair. Despite how agonizing his loneliness was, at least he had you by his side.

Childe's innocence, as all things do, eventually withered away in that malevolent black.

He thought of you as his teacher; a guiding hand that trained him, molded him to fit against your palm. When he struggled against the abyssal beasts, he could feel you— a soft brush against his hand, a firm hold on his back, keeping him focused. You taught him when to still his blade and when to strike.

In the arches of his sword and polearm, in the taut and tense pull of his bow, in the whirlwind of his catalyst— you were there, shining from beyond the thin veil separating you.

When Childe was ripped out of the abyss, so was his connection to you. Like a thread snapping, he could no longer feel you; not in the darkness overhead, not in the grip of his blade, of the depths of his soul. You were gone, and he was once again nothing but a boy, lost and alone. Friends and family surround him, thankful for his return, but his mind is still reeling, still stuck in the abyss and the sudden emptiness left in your wake.

Despite himself, Childe had hoped you would have stayed, even once he was out. He thought he was done with being naïve, but that clearly wasn't the case.

He can’t feel you anymore. Where did you go? Why did you leave? What did he do wrong? Questions swirl in his head like whirlpools of thought. Childe feels like he's drowning, suffocating in the mess of his mind. His breaths come out short, quick and sharp. His throat squeezes, constricting his airways, as he realizes what's unfolded.

You left him.

He should've known better. On that first day, all you had done was take pity on him by letting him linger in your light. It was his fault for ever believing that he would never have to be alone again. That even if he had no one else, at least he had you.

This was the result of his own failure. If only he had proven himself worthy.

When his family found him, they found him gripping a small, rudimentary doll. Even when they reached their home, Childe was still clutching the thing as if possessed. When they tried tugging it out of his hands, saying it would help him eat better, he ripped it from their grasp, holding it to his chest.

Childe couldn't accept that you had left him so easily. At night, back in his warm bed, Childe tries to whisper to you again. The familiar warmth sinks into his pores, but it's nothing like yours. He nuzzles closer to the doll, ignoring how it tears into his skin.

"I'm here," he whispers.

Maybe you got confused. He knows you're a God, but even the Seven are not omniscient. When he was torn from the abyss, it was possible you hadn't meant to so cruelly cut the connection between you. Maybe you couldn't find him, and so he just has to tell you where he is.

So he whispers to you in the dark, just as he has so many times before.

Only this time, he's met with silence.

In the years that pass, you linger at the forefront of his mind, haunting him like a wraith. Childe can't bring himself to be rid of you, despite how it hurts every time he thinks about you for a little too long. He's still stuck, perpetually waiting for your return, despite how he knows you've long given him up.

Childe becomes Tartaglia, the 11th Harbinger under the Tsaritsa. He takes a new name, a new mask— he executes her orders dutifully, and he does his role perfectly. He acts as if she's you, despite how desperately he wants to believe otherwise. If he closes his eyes for long enough, he can pretend that the cold that seeps into his bones in her presence is yours.

But no matter how many names and identities he takes, he'll always just be your Ajax; the boy who still misses you, despite how short your time together was. And that fact is what burns him the most.

Maybe he should be angry. He knows he has every right to be. Angry that you left him, that you discarded him as if he was nothing. Maybe he should hate you— hate you for leaving him alone, as if you weren't the only thing keeping him sane. Hate you for leaving as if his love didn't matter to you.

He comforts himself by thinking of the time dilation he experienced in the abyss. You cared for him so much that you spun three days into three months. He likes to believe he meant something to you; he must've, because why else would you lengthen your time spent together?

Childe knows it isn't true. He didn't matter enough for you to stay, after all.

At night, Childe finds himself listlessly thinking of you. It's a silent mourning. Quiet tears fall down his cheeks, soaking the pillow beneath his head. He chokes down every heaving sob that threatens to break from his throat; clenches his jaw when they claw too close to his lips. He slaps a hand over his mouth when he's too loud, biting his fingers until they're bloody and marred by his teeth. What would you think if you saw him this weak? Saw the boy you built up crumble, all because he can't feel even the softest traces of your presence anymore?

You would find him pathetic. All he's done is prove that you were right in abandoning him.

When the memory of you is too much to bear, he clutches the effigy in his arms, squeezing it against his chest until it's sharp edges dig into his skin. Even after all these years, he's still kept it close. He tries to feel the visage of you that was once attached to its bearings, whispering for you under the night sky, hoping it'll remind you of your time in the abyss— hoping that tonight he will feel you again, ruffling his hair with tendrils of wind.

He never does.

Childe barely sleeps, but when he does, he dreams of you. You have no body, no face— he can't even begin to imagine what you look like, and he doesn't dare too, even when he knows he has nothing to lose.

He's back in the dark, but you're still there with him, providing him light and comfort. If he knew that leaving would entail being without you, he never would have left at all. Better to be with you than to die without.

Sometimes, he dreams of you staying with him even after he escapes. Your warmth is ever-present. He gifts you riches, now. You have a voice in his dreams, and he can hear you speaking to him. You're kind, and gentle, and he wants for nothing. He has you, and there is nothing more to want.

He dreams he never lost you at all. It makes reality all the more painful.

In a way he knows is pathetic, Childe hopes you at least found him fun. He hopes you found him entertaining, despite how the thought twists his heart and guts into little knots, until he feels vaguely nauseous at the notion. At least then you would have reason to remember him. At least he could say he meant something to you.

In a hidden corner of his room, there sits an altar for you. His wealth as a Harbinger means he has no lack of resources, and so he bejewels the altar until it glimmers even without light. It's obnoxious and opulent to the point of vanity, but he figures that if you like it, he'll earn another whisper of warmth from you— in the vain hope that you hear him at all anymore.

With his hands, now calloused and worn, he carves sigils into whalebone. He doesn't know what they mean, but they were numerous in the abyss; and so he etches them into bone, hoping that whatever they mean, it reaches you.

Childe pushes himself more than he should. His back aches from all the weight he carries on his shoulders, but he trudges forward despite how it hurts. He is more fervent in conflicts, and spectacular scenes of blood and viscera follow him every time he walks onto a battlefield.

His tongue forms words of devotion for the Tsaritsa as he slays another enemy, blood staining his fingers, but in his heart, he only ever speaks of you.

When he fights, Childe can lose himself. He can focus entirely on the movement of his feet, the precision of his blade. He can ignore how badly he misses you, and how in the back of his mind, he desperately hopes that the more blood he sheds with your teachings, you'll find him satisfactory.

Adrenaline rushes through his veins, and once again he lets himself be drowned by the rush, letting himself forget all of his pain.

Childe is proud of the way that no one can recognize his style of fighting. It is exact and sharp— every strike hitting its target with ease, filled with vigor and intensity. He enjoys the gazes of jealousy, but remains silent when asked. My teacher taught me, he says. He sheds no further light on the matter, and any instance someone shows interest in learning from him, he instantly refuses. Childe wishes to keep you close to his chest, a guarded secret known only to him.

Childish, perhaps. He knows it is. But if he can't have you, then he will have the knowledge of you. He will keep it to himself, and there it will stay, safe in his tight grip.

It drives him insane, the way sees you in everything. When night falls, covering the sky in a blanket of stars, he wonders if you're staring at him from above. When the tides of the sea brush against the shore, he finds himself thinking of you as the moon— you are what anchors him, despite the fact that he hasn't felt you in so long. In his eyes, there is nothing you could not be, and with every breath, he only ever misses you more.

It's during his mission in Liyue that he feels you again. Childe is unable to breathe when he meets the Traveler, sensing you watching from their eyes. His heart thunders in his chest, tempestuous as a storm over the sea.

For a moment, he's happy. You're finally back. He wants nothing more than to run to you, to ask you why you left for so long, to ask how he can make you stay, but then he feels you— a familiar pressure bearing down on him, forcing him to say anything but what he wants to.

Childe watches the Traveler's back fade as it finally clicks for him.

You abandoned him for someone else. You left him... for this. The thought sends him reeling. You left him, just to go spend time with someone else— to give them the same company you gave him, to give them the same guidance you gave him— was he merely replaceable to you?

Was he just a test for you?

He should be angry. And he is, but the heartbreak overwhelms him. He's left choking, battling for air. The agony of having been tossed to the side, of having it be affirmed in front of his eyes. He wants to scream and cry, beg for you to return; but his throat squeezes every time he meets the Traveler, and the words die on his tongue.

You don't want him to speak. He's meant to play along.

Childe had waited for you for so long. Even after all this time, he couldn't get rid of the painful hope that you'd return. He had done his best to bottle his emotions, to keep them shut and locked inside, so that you wouldn't be disappointed in him upon your arrival. Proud that he never doubted you for a moment.

But he had. He had doubted you, cried at the lack of your comfort. Afraid of what it meant to be without you. Fearful of living, never getting to gleam your existence for a second time— and now you want him to pretend as if he never knew you.

As if he can't see the slight smugness in the Traveler's eyes.

His fight with the Traveler is personal. He bares his teeth, snarling like a rabid dog. His every strike is fast, precise with the intent to kill and maim. Childe hopes his emotions reach you, that you know of his bitterness and acrimony. That you know of how long he wished for you, how long he yearned for you to come back— how his frustration has twisted into pure rage, turned into a fine point.

He just has to simply show you how he's better. He has to show you that he's superior in every way to your choice. That you should've chosen him over them.

They are undeserving; watch how he rips through them like they are nothing, slicing through them like they are mist over sea. They are unworthy; see how easily he beats them into submission, how easily they crumble at his feet. The matter of the Gnosis is nothing to him, now— only whether you see how he should be the one you prefer.

It's then that he feels it. Your rage. Your anger at having been battered and bruised. The Traveler stands back up, but something is different now. Their strikes are fluid, prowess and skill increased by an outside force.

You.

Do you hate him that badly? Detest him so much, to go so far as to bless another with your strength so they can prove themselves to be his better? Even in his Foul Legacy form, Childe is forced to retreat; forced to bow his head in defeat, weakened by the burden of his transformation.

The realization leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He's done the exact opposite of what he set out to do. All he's proven is that your right.

Childe feels your crushing weight bearing down on him. He spits the words out, calls them 'friend' through clenched teeth. He dances to your whims, just as he had previously. Unnatural, stiff movements and words that speak the opposite of what he means.

And then you're gone, left along with them. He stares at their fading back. He can almost imagine you beside them, walking by their side just as you once did his.

It hurts.

The next time he feels you, there is no sign of the Traveler. Only a tight pulling in his chest.

He doesn't know what it means, or what it entails. But he follows, sensing you at the end, waiting for him. Childe doesn't allow himself to hope; that maybe, you have come around. That maybe you do care. That maybe, you never hated him— not truly. That you missed him just as he missed you.

Maybe he meant something, after all.

When he reaches you, he feels it. You're happy. You're happy with him. He feels you reaching out, tickling him with strands of your will. You brush against his skin, burrow deep inside. Childe lets you, still unable to breathe.

He wonders if this is really happening. Have you come back to him, truly? Have you finally realized how much better he is? He feels you graze his soul, reaching deep within. Childe feels you envelop him, swathing him in warmth and comfort.

You're home, you whisper.

He only hears the ghost of your voice, a chime in the wind; but he hears the intent, the meaning behind your unintelligible words, even though he can't understand them.

Childe breaks.

SANGUINE NATUS ; first meeting/as a worshiper

If even just your breath could leave him weak, then seeing you for the first time makes his knees give out underneath him.

It's a foolishly embarrassing display, but Childe can't find it in himself to care. He falls to his knees quicker than his mind can catch up, unconsciously posturing himself to make himself seem as small and harmless as possible— anything to make you stay, even if it means sabotaging his image.

He tucks his shoulders inward, struggling between looking at you until his eyes burn and your image is seared into the back of his eyelids, or averting his gaze because just touching you with them feels like he's sullying you somehow.

His breath comes out short and sharp, his entire chest heaving with each shuddering, raspy exhale. Before he can even manage a sound, he's sobbing, crumpling to the floor— there's no care taken to your perception of him now, only the wailful cries of one lost in the weight of your eyes. Childe knows he's being pathetic, a mess of airy desperation and red eyes; everything he was when he felt the ghost of you leave him, and everything he wished you'd never see. But it's you, and for the first time, he can truly feel your eyes on him.

It's all too much to bear.

"I-It's you, it's you—!" Childe manages to choke, wet tears caking the apples of his face. His eyes strain, burning to see the visage of you through the blur of his vision. Nausea bites at him, his abdomen a sudden storm from the tears that lick at his cheeks.

Childe has always been austere in his worship; strict, solemn in how he acts out every religious rite. There is an icy silence unlike him as he moves, particularly whenever your sanctity is involved. His fingers still tremble despite his stiffness, the desperation loud in every twitch of his limbs. The desire to see you, after all is said and done.

Seeing you for the first time feels as though a wave has overtaken him, drowning him in brine and the cerulean of muddy waters. There is no hiding what he could barely contain before— jerky movements filled with need and the dolor of one disappointed before.

Childe no longer finds himself able to veil it by lies and rushing fights of adrenaline; now, it lies bare, and there's no burning ache to keep it hidden.

His fervor is relentless; a feverish desire to please you coalescing until it's unbearable for his skin. Your reaction to his cries could have been cruel or kind, and it wouldn't have bothered him; all that matters is whether he has finally proven himself worthy of standing by your side.

His worship is eager words spilling from his lips at night, the echo of your name a murmur from his mouth like the sigh of the ocean's waves-- his blades stained red, limp at his sides-- the burning in the back of his throat that comes from years of pleading.

You're here now, even if he can't be with you at all times; and that knowledge leaves him whispering to you, uttering every thought without a moment of reconsideration. It is a ceaseless endeavor, as every word is listless praise and endless adoration. There isn't a moment where he isn't thinking of you in some way, and the mere thought of the opposite leaves him feeling vaguely sick.

He wants to think of you all the time. Though it's such a small thing, in his mind, he has you all to himself— in the sense that there is no one else to take your eyes off of him— there, he can make you happy; there, he can make you proud of him. In that world, you have no reason to be rid of him.

Childe's always kept his habit of crafting you makeshift gifts. They're rugged, imperfect things, but laden with his fingerprints and the palms of his hands. Before, he could only set them still on his altar for you, and hope that it pleased you somehow. He was only ever met with silence, but he could pretend you were happy with him, and the idea alone was enough.

When he catches sight of a sea conch, its pale marks swirled across its smooth surface, he can only think of handing it to you. It's a beautiful thing, and so simple and crude a gift; but maybe you will find worth in such a thing, the simplicity of its nature, and praise him for it.

He gives them to you physically now, unable to shake the urge to do so. His hands always tremble when he hands them over, his knees threatening to buckle underneath him whenever your fingers brush against his. He will never fail to drown in the sensation, allowing everything that he is to become thoughts of you.

Childe has always worshiped you in bloodshed. In the past, he hoped it would leave you satisfied enough to come back; now, it's to prove how much better he is than everyone else. His fear runs deep, like cracks in the earth far below the water's surface, and the sickening feeling of dread whenever you praise someone else suffocates him.

It's unreasonable, he knows, and he has no reason to fear, not anymore— but his heart still quickens at the thought, and his stomach still twists.

It's an all too familiar feeling. When he was first torn from you, he felt as though his heart had been ripped right out of him; and the panic he feels only reminds him of it.

When he's inevitably forced away from you on another mission, he deals with it as quickly as possible, no matter how bloodied or bruised he leaves it. He is brutally unkind in his workings, his words always terse and clipped; a slight edge that never really seems to go away until he knows you're somewhere nearby.

It's when he's forced to stay away from you for a longer period of time that he breaks completely. Upon his return, he is instantly back at your side, heaving sobs and ugly tears running down his face. He can barely think, and a flurry of slurred words leaves his lips— begging to never leave your side again.

Childe knows better than to think he is deserving of your kindness, but he’s desperate to at least stay in your shadow. There, he could stay near you, even if he was swathed in black— even if his only glimpse of you was your back, he would be in bliss. To be near you in some form is all he could ever ask of you.

For all of the power you have granted him, it's only right that he use it for you. A mere word from anyone that isn't pure praise has his grip on his weapon tightening, the tendons on his hand taut and his knuckles pale. He remains entirely oblivious to any moral ambiguity in your actions— whatever you do is right and just; as you are the only one worthy of judging yourself, he does not dare too.

Instead, Childe draws his blade in judgement of others— he will act as your hand and executioner, the arbiter of your faith; it's with only vigor that he hands out punishment, a ferocity bold and true.

AMANS IN SPINIS IACET ; as your lover

Childe's dreams have begun to take a sudden turn.

It's not anything he can control, despite how hard he tries too. They pleased him at first, even though he still couldn't help the way his heart tightened at the idea of you somehow knowing. At that time, they weren't occurring enough for him to be worried, and the content themselves were innocent enough for him to think nothing of it.

You held him close to you, pressing benign kisses across his freckled cheeks, playing with his hair with soft fingers; little things that he could believe meant nothing at all, just a desire to feel your affection in the only way his mortal heart knew how.

The dreams turn nightly, and Childe finally realizes it's much more than that.

It begins at signs of your favoritism. Glances that last more than they should, summoning him to your chambers more frequently; Childe does not deny you, and he can't help the faint giddiness that clouds his mind every time he feels your gaze linger on him. It's a euphoric sensation to know that he is the one you are looking at; no one else. Only barely does he manage to rein in his emotions every time.

You speak much softer to him, and your touch is more affectionate. He turns drunk on your approval, willingly dancing to your whims if it meant having your fingers coiled in his hair for another moment. Before he can stop himself for even daring to think it, Childe lets himself believe he's special to you— and that is where the problem arises.

The thoughts don't stop. Even if he screams to drown out the noise, they still manage to be so loud. The dreams are relentless, more loving, more vivid. He can feel the warmth of your palms as you caress his cheeks, the weight of your breath when you draw your head near; they feel so real, that for a moment, he thinks you're the one sending them to him.

He feels as though he's dirtying you in some form, as if he is the one committing an unforgivable sin against you; somehow managing to desecrate you with just his thoughts alone. The idea sends him into a panic-induced frenzy, kneeling before his altar with rushed, unintelligible apologies on his lips.

Despite his self-hatred, whenever he wakes from one, Childe is left blissfully dazed, nuzzling into his pillow with hazy clarity— pretending that it's you, instead. He wonders what it would be like if his dreams were real, if he could really be so special to you in such a way; entirely irreplaceable, entirely yours.

It doesn't take long for his will to be eroded by his desperation. His desire to resist was already hanging by a thread, and as the dreams persist, any resistance on his end is lost. He falls ever deeper into an abyss of his own making, allowing himself to be undone by his own creation.

Childe has always been needy, but as his feelings rear their ugly head, it only grows worse. He has always loved you— and he had been struggling to choke his own feelings down for as long as he could, fooling himself into believing that they didn't exist in the first place. In his eyes, it's only right that you be the one to shake the foundation he lay; making him crumble until every dark part of himself is laid bare in front of you, only for your eyes.

There's a drastic increase in his desperation to be near you, and any lack of refusal on your part only exacerbates it. He neglects his duties entirely in favor of staying by you in some way or another, be it either by your side, or following you from a distance like a lost puppy.

Your admittance of feelings only makes Childe more fervent. He can barely hear himself speak, his heart fluttering against his ribcage like a caged canary. He can barely believe anything you're saying, and for a moment, he wonders if he's lost in another dream of his.

At your assurance, Childe doesn't dare to doubt you any longer. He falls entirely into you, allowing you to consume his every thought. He doesn't think to fight back, letting you envelop him until his every breath is coated in your name. He is yours, and he has no desire for anything more.

His desire for your approval now emboldens him. Childe's always acted out of an interest in garnering your attention, and though he now knows of your feelings, it does nothing to satiate him; instead, it leaves him hungrier, greedy with an eagerness to please.

He doesn't take from you without asking, but he asks enough for it to be a nuisance. Your affection is everything to him, and he can't bear to go a moment without it. He asks to lay his head in your lap, for you to play with his hair— the loss of your touch is the loss of himself, and sends him reeling back to memories of when he was without you.

The first time you kiss him, his legs instantly give out underneath him, a small groan leaving his lips. Childe doesn't bother to dull his reactions; you deserve to know how easily weakened he is by your touch, with even a brush of your fingers enough to leave him breathless and wanting.

As your favorite, Childe is quick to be rid of any competition. Whether or not you see them as possible suitors doesn't even cross his mind— the fear that snakes around his heart is ever-present, and if they're better than him in some form, it only grows in persistence. He doesn't hurt them, because surely that would upset you, and any devotee of you is worthy of respect— but he is quick to showcase his superiority, and to do so broadly without shame.

Childe grows used to his new status, and uses it to stay by your side constantly. Any attention you give to others is met with instant jealousy, seething glares sent to whoever stole your gaze, even if they only preoccupied a second of your mind.

He could never be mad at you, as clearly the fault lies within himself.

Any signs of your likes and dislikes are instantly noted. If you compliment someone for their behavior, he begins to emulate it, or at least he tries too. If you like Zhongli for how well he executes your orders, then Childe will be the same; only he will do it better, quicker, and prove himself still deserving of your love.

If he were perfect, then you would have no need for anyone else. If he were perfect, he would never have to worry about whether you'll grow bored of him the moment he stops being entertaining enough.

The thought of you with another leaves Childe sick without fail. He knows he has no control over you, and that if you wished to be rid of him, he would willingly walk into whatever punishment awaited him— but now that he has tasted what it feels like to be so utterly yours, he can't bear to imagine another sharing the same treatment.

You kissing another, holding another, letting someone else lay against you; all of it only serves to further blur his vision. Even if it is sinful of him to feel, he can't stop the emotions from swirling in his chest.

You are everything; the earth laid beneath his feet, the foundation of which he relies on. To be without you is to fall, to be without you means death; and if he must carve his skin and bone to fit the picture you want him to be, then he shall.

#[🦇] — my writing #genshin impact #yandere genshin #sagau #yandere male #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #genshin x reader #self aware genshin #yandere childe #sagau childe #self aware childe #genshin cult au #cult au childe

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loveesiren · 3 months ago

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𝖢𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝖬𝗒 𝖧𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 (𝖯𝗍. 6)

Choi Seunghyun x fem!reader x Kwon Jiyong | Masterlist

a/n: sorry it took me a century. I have a pretty good idea of where we're going next so make sure you bully me into writing it thx <3

synopsis: what happens on Jeju island...

warnings: angst, brief mention of abortion, alcohol, cheating, panic attack/anxiety, Seungri is in a few parts

wc: 3.2k+

Seunghyun was out on the boat with Youngbae and Daesung, their laughter echoing over the water as they fumbled with the ropes and splashed into the waves. You plopped down in the chair beside Seungri, who was sprawled out, one arm draped over his face to block the sun.

"You didn’t want to go?" you asked, watching as Seunghyun attempted to regain his balance on the skis, only to plunge back into the water with a loud curse.

“My head’s still spinning,” Seungri muttered, voice thick with exhaustion.

You chuckled. “Drank too much at dinner?”

“Jiyong dragged me to the club.”

That made you pause, amusement dimming as you studied him. “Where’s Jiyong?”

Seungri let out a slow exhale, arm still covering his face as if shielding himself from the weight of the answer. “Dunno. Probably still laid up in bed with that girl he brought back.”

Your stomach clenched. The reaction was instant, unwelcome. You had no claim over him, never had. But you had never really pictured him with anyone else either.

You hummed softly, shifting your focus back to the boys on the water, forcing yourself to laugh as Seunghyun tumbled into the waves again. The moment passed, or at least, you convinced yourself it had. You needed to get away, to shake off the thoughts stirring in your head.

Rising from your chair, you dusted the sand off your legs. “I’m heading back to get ready.”

Seungri mumbled something in response, but you weren’t really listening anymore. The walk across the beach felt longer than usual, the sun heavy against your skin. As you reached your villa, you dug through your bag for your key card, the mundane task distracting enough—until a voice made you jump.

“Hi, Y/n.”

Your breath hitched. You turned sharply, heart slamming against your ribs.

Jiyong.

He sat on the bottom step of your villa entrance, his elbows resting on his knees, his head tilted up slightly as he looked at you. His board shorts hung low on his hips, an old t-shirt clinging to him. His shoes were nowhere in sight, his dark hair a disheveled mess, and his eyes—heavy, unreadable, full of something that made your throat go dry.

“Jiyong, what the fuck!” you yelped, pressing a hand to your chest.

A lazy smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Long night?” you asked, folding your arms, trying to play it cool.

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “Something like that…” His voice was low, rough, tinged with something you couldn’t quite name. He pushed himself up to stand, swaying slightly, and that’s when you caught it—the faint scent of tequila still lingering on his breath.

“You look like shit,” you muttered, unable to stop yourself.

He let out a soft chuckle, but it wasn’t amused. More like tired. Worn down. And yet, the way he was looking at you sent a shiver through your spine.

"Where's Seunghyun?" he asked suddenly.

You hesitated. "Out on the boat. Why?"

"Just need to talk to him," he said, voice thick and slurred.

“About what, Jiyong?”

A flicker of something crossed his face—mischief, darkness. The way he looked at you now, slow and calculated, sent your nerves into overdrive.

His lips curved slightly. “Guy stuff.” His tone was teasing, baiting.

Your jaw clenched. Your breath hitched.

“You know…” He took a slow step forward. “You left the door open last night.” His voice was quiet, but it wrapped around you like a noose. “Did you forget how loud you get, Y/n?”

Your stomach twisted.

He was toying with you. Poking at the raw edges of something you had tried to bury.

“I almost forgot about all those pretty little noises you make.” His voice dipped lower, thick with something dangerous. “It’s been so long…”

He was close now—too close. You could smell the alcohol, the remnants of cigarettes on his skin. And worse, you could feel the pull of him, that same magnetic force that had always been your undoing.

His fingers brushed against yours, light, barely there, but enough to send your pulse skyrocketing.

“Tell me something…” His breath ghosted over your skin as his dark eyes flicked down to your lips. “Who fucks you better?”

The air between you snapped. Without thinking, your palm met his cheek with a sharp crack.

Jiyong barely flinched, only exhaling as he reached up to rub his jaw. If anything, he looked more awake now, more present. He met your gaze, his smirk gone, something raw lingering in his expression.

You swallowed, your chest rising and falling with the weight of the moment. “Go sober up,” you said, voice firm, despite the way your fingers trembled.

Then you turned, marched up the steps, and slammed the door behind you, shutting him out—shutting out the past you thought you had left behind.

Only, your heart was still pounding. And Jiyong was still out there, watching.

Waiting.

Like he always did.

You locked the door with trembling fingers, the soft click echoing through the quiet villa like a gunshot. Your back hit the wood and you slid down, legs giving out beneath you as your body crumpled to the floor. The tears came fast, hot and uncontrollable, burning a trail down your cheeks as you pressed a hand over your mouth to muffle the sobs.

You hated this.

Hated what Jiyong had done to you. Hated the version of yourself who let it happen. Hated that even now, a part of you still felt tangled up in him—still aching in a way that wasn’t fair to Seunghyun. You were spiraling, suffocating in the truth you buried so deep, it throbbed like a phantom pain every time you looked into your boyfriend’s kind eyes.

Who did you think you were? Dating someone like Seunghyun—sweet, steady, loving—after spending months wrapped up in his best friend’s arms, panting his name like it meant something. After falling pregnant with Jiyong’s child… and letting Seunghyun hold you through every excruciating second of the aftermath. The abortion. The nights you cried yourself sick while he rubbed your back and whispered that everything was going to be okay.

He never knew. Not really. Not whose it had been.

And you… you let him believe the lie. Let him carry the weight of a decision that hadn’t even been his to make.

Did you really think you could pull this off? That you could love Seunghyun the way he deserved and somehow never let the past claw its way back into the present?

The thought alone made your lungs constrict.

Your chest grew tight, breath catching as the familiar ache of anxiety ripped through you. Shallow, uneven gasps escaped your throat as your head spun, and you stumbled toward the bathroom. You barely got the door locked before collapsing to your knees again and reaching for the faucet. Cold. You needed cold.

The shower hissed to life as you stepped under the icy spray, clothes still clinging to your body. The shock of the water stole your breath at first, but then slowly—finally—it grounded you. It numbed the shame, the fear, the weight of everything pressing down on your soul.

“Baby?”

You flinched, heart stuttering in your chest at the knock on the door. You hadn’t heard the front door open. Had it been minutes? An hour?

“Are you okay?” Seunghyun’s voice was soft, laced with concern.

You froze. The last person you wanted to face right now was him.

“Uhm… y-yeah! Just a sec!” you shouted, killing the water and fumbling for a towel.

“I saw Jiyong outside,” he continued. “He said you looked upset.”

Of course he did. Jiyong loved his little games. Loved pulling at your strings and watching you unravel. He knew exactly how to get under your skin—when to push, and when to act like he hadn’t done anything at all.

You opened the door slowly, towel wrapped tightly around you, and looked up at Seunghyun. His brows were furrowed, his gaze scanning your face with worried eyes.

Your eyes were red, swollen. Your lips trembled. But at the sight of him—only him—your breathing steadied. Not because the pain vanished. But because somehow, just being in his presence made you feel like you were allowed to survive it.

“Jagi, what’s wrong?” he asked gently, stepping forward and pulling you into his chest. His arms wrapped around you, holding you like you might disappear. “What happened?”

“I-I just had a panic attack,” you whispered, voice barely audible.

It wasn’t a lie. You’d had several since the abortion. But this one… this one had been ignited by guilt. Guilt laced with fear that maybe—just maybe—Jiyong would eventually tell him everything. That your world would shatter in an instant.

“Awh, baby… I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.” His fingers found your wet hair, gently combing through the tangles with such care that it only made the ache worse. “How can I help?”

You wanted to scream.

You wanted to scream at him for being so goddamn good to you. For loving you without question. For making you feel safe when you knew deep down you didn’t deserve him. Not after everything.

You wanted to confess right then and there—that you weren’t worth it. That you were a traitor. A liar. A coward.

But instead, you leaned into him. Because despite it all, you needed him. Desperately.

“I just want to spend the day with you,” you muttered. “I don’t want everyone seeing me like this. I can’t…”

That was all it took.

Seunghyun didn’t hesitate. He grabbed his phone, sent a quick message to the group chat canceling the day’s plans, then turned it off without waiting for replies. You watched him do it, your heart aching as he tucked it away and wrapped his arms back around you.

“I don’t care what anyone else thinks,” he said simply. “My girl comes first. Always.”

Your throat tightened. “Thank you,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I’m sorry… I don’t want to ruin your vacation.”

“Ruin my vacation?” he repeated with a snort, nudging your nose with his. “I’m in a private villa on the beach with my beautiful girlfriend. It couldn’t possibly be ruined.”

You smiled, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. Because you could think of exactly one way it could all fall apart.

And he was outside, probably still smirking to himself like he hadn’t just shattered you with a few well-placed words.

You just had to make sure Seunghyun never found out.

Because if he did… you weren’t sure you’d survive losing him.

You spent the rest of the day tangled up in the sheets with Seunghyun, the two of you wrapped in a cocoon of lazy indulgence. Between stolen kisses over trays of room service, mindless movies playing in the background, and the kind of slow, unhurried sex that made your chest ache with tenderness, it was almost easy to forget the chaos that lived just outside the villa. By the time the sun dipped beneath the horizon, exhaustion crept into your bones like a lullaby.

You were on the edge of sleep, eyelids fluttering shut, your face buried against Seunghyun’s warm chest, when a sharp knock tore through the quiet atmosphere. You jolted, breath hitching as your heart kicked into gear.

“Who the fuck…” Seunghyun groaned, voice rough with sleep as he rubbed at his eyes. He tossed the blanket off and padded toward the door, hair tousled and jaw set in annoyance.

You leaned up slightly, peeking over the comforter, a mixture of curiosity and irritation blooming in your chest. When the door creaked open, the soft glow from outside revealed Jiyong and Seungri — clearly drunk, leaning into one another like they couldn’t hold themselves upright.

“Hyung! Come to the club with us!” Seungri slurred, his voice high-pitched and whiny as he threw an arm lazily over Jiyong’s shoulder. They were swaying slightly, eyes glassy with whatever cocktail they’d downed.

Seunghyun scoffed, a smirk curling at his lips. “The club? You two look like you need a babysitter and a damn nap.”

“Ahhh, come on! Just for a bit!” Jiyong said, his tone trying too hard to be lighthearted, like he wasn’t already unraveling at the seams.

“Me and Y/n were just about to go to bed,” Seunghyun replied, glancing back toward you with a sleepy grin. And just like that — you saw it. Jiyong’s face faltered. The second your name left Seunghyun’s lips, Jiyong’s smirk died, his expression flickering with something heavy, something sharp.

“Maybe another night,” Seunghyun added, trying to nudge the door closed.

“Ohhh, Hyung’s trying to get it in!” Seungri cackled, grabbing Jiyong by the arm and dragging him away. “Come on, there’s tons of girls at the club! Pussy for days, bro!”

“Have fun,” Seunghyun muttered, slamming the door shut with a finality that shook the frame. “Idiots.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What did they want?” you asked, your voice light, masking the twist in your stomach.

“Club,” he said, already crawling back into bed.

You hummed like it meant nothing. “Hope I’m not keeping you.”

“Don’t be silly. Why would I want to be surrounded by drunk assholes and loud music when I could fall asleep with my beautiful girlfriend beside me, listening to the sound of the ocean?”

That made you smile, despite yourself. You kissed him softly, a brief press of lips before curling against him. But the warmth in your chest didn’t chase away the cold sinking in your gut.

The next few days passed with forced normalcy. You went on hikes, spent long afternoons out on the boat, laughed over shared meals at fancy restaurants — but it was all undercut by a steady unraveling. Jiyong was drifting. You could see it in the way he staggered into breakfast smelling like regret and liquor, in the way Seungri followed him everywhere like a shadow with no mind of its own.

Even the others noticed. Daesung, Youngbae, Seunghyun — they all tried, cornering the two of them with quiet concern, but they got waved off like bothersome flies. Their managers gave it a shot too, stern words and sharp glances, but Jiyong was having none of it. The rockstar was in full self-destruct mode. Party or die.

One night, you sat beside Seunghyun at the bonfire, his arm draped over your shoulder, the fire warming your skin while Youngbae animatedly told some story. But your eyes weren’t on him — they were drawn to the other end of the beach where Jiyong was stumbling, dragging some girl you didn’t recognize back to his villa. Again.

You rolled your eyes, heart clenching. That same bitter, aching feeling crawled up your throat. Jealousy? No. Disgust? Maybe. But deeper than that — hurt. And guilt. And something you didn’t want to name.

“Hey,” you whispered to Seunghyun. “I’m getting tired. Think I’ll head back to the villa. You finish your beer.”

He blinked, looked at you like he was trying to read your face. “You sure, baby?”

You nodded, forcing a teasing smile. “Yeah. Have some guy time.”

He kissed you gently, his lips tasting of beer and affection. “See you soon.”

The villa felt colder without him. You tore through your skincare routine in silence, movements sharp, angry. You slipped into your pajamas, climbed into bed, scrolled mindlessly through Netflix — but you couldn’t focus. Because from the window, you could see the light still on in Jiyong’s villa. You didn’t want to care. You shouldn’t care.

Your foot tapped restlessly under the covers. You stared out at that damn villa.

“Goddammit,” you hissed, flinging the covers off and storming to the door.

You slipped on your sandals, arms crossed tightly over your chest as you took the long way around, skirting the beach to stay out of sight from the others. The humid night air clung to your skin, your black tank top and plaid pajama shorts doing little to hide the tremble in your body.

You didn’t knock. You threw the door open like you belonged there and stormed inside. One door was open — Seungri’s. Empty. But from behind the closed bedroom door, you heard it: the unmistakable whimpers and moans.

Your jaw clenched. You shoved the door open and barged in.

“What the fuck!” the girl shrieked, bent over on Jiyong’s bed.

Jiyong froze, positioned behind her, eyes going wide as he saw you standing there.

“Y/n—what the—”

“What’s your issue, Jiyong?!” you snapped, storming forward like the half-naked girl between you didn’t even exist.

He scrambled to pull out, tripping over himself to find his sweats.

“Ji—” the girl started, reaching for him.

“Piss off!” he barked, not even sparing her a glance as he locked eyes with you.

“You bitch!” she spat, grabbing her clothes. You just stared at the door until it slammed shut behind her.

Jiyong lit a cigarette with shaking hands, exhaling slowly. “You gonna tell me why you just cockblocked me, princess?” he asked, voice low, dangerous.

“Why are you acting like this?” you demanded.

“Like what?”

“Like a complete asshole. Drinking yourself stupid, fucking everything with a pulse, pushing everyone away—”

He scoffed, bitter. “Right. So you get to shack up with my best friend, but I’m not allowed to let loose?”

“It’s not about that!” Your voice cracked. “It’s about the fact that you’re spiraling and everyone sees it! Seunghyun is worried about you!”

He laughed. Cold. Empty. “Worried, huh? Or is he just trying to clean up my mess again?” He stepped closer. “So why are you here, Y/n? Jealous? Mad that I was fucking some other girl?”

You backed up, your throat tightening as he stepped toward you.

“Like when I heard Seunghyun making you beg the other night?” Another step. “Do you think this is easy for me? Watching you be his? Pretending I don’t care?”

Your voice was barely a whisper. “Ji… I thought you hated me.”

“Hated you?” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Y/n, I fucking love you.”

The words shattered you.

“I—” you started, breath catching.

“Yeah, maybe if I was a nice guy like him, you would’ve noticed. But I don’t know how to be soft, Y/n. I don’t know how to not ruin everything I touch.” He slammed his palm against his temple. “I’m fucked in the head.”

Tears burned your eyes before you could stop them. You surged forward, grabbing his face and pulling him into a kiss that stole the air from your lungs.

His hands gripped your thighs, lifting you onto him as his lips devoured yours. The bed was a blur. His hands, his mouth — all of it was fire. Familiar, hungry, wrong. But it felt so fucking good.

“I missed you,” he breathed, nipping at that sweet spot on your neck.

Then it hit you.

“Shit.” You pushed him off. “Shit, shit, shit.”

He stumbled back, eyes wide, guilt already blooming in his chest. What the fuck was he doing? You were his best friends girl.

“You should go,” he said quietly, eyes glued to the floor.

You didn’t respond. You just ran.

You made it back before Seunghyun. Barely. You curled under the covers, heart in your throat, forcing yourself to breathe evenly as you heard his footsteps approaching.

The door opened. He stumbled in, smelling like the bonfire and too many beers. He stripped lazily and climbed in beside you, arms snaking around your waist.

“Mmm… love you so much, baby,” he mumbled, already half asleep.

You bit down on your lip, choking on a sob as hot tears slid down your cheeks.

He didn’t fucking deserve this.

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rika-mmendmethings · 6 days ago

Text

Against Blood & Water l Sylus

Chapter 5

←CH 4 | CH 6 Coming Soon→

Summary: Seventeen years ago, your life had taken a turn for the worse when your newborn twins were separated from you by a cruel twist of fate. The same fate had led you to the N109 Zone, to your children who were all grown up now. Reconciliation with your boys would've been slightly easier had they somehow not acquired a father figure over the years who wasn't letting them go anytime soon.

Warning(s): Subject to change as we progress further into the story. For this chapter: mentions of guns, stalking and drug mobs, reader meets the twin

Word count: 2.2k

Notes: We're so back with AB&W!!! I had lost all inspiration for this and was planning to discontinue it but a push came to shove that told me not to. This could be considered kinda (???) a filler chapter but with foreshadowing so hope you pay attention. If you have any more questions, feel free to ask me, and I'll try my best to give you a proper answer without revealing too much. Let me know if you wish to be added to the tag list for this series. ♥

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The ride is silent at first — deceptively peaceful — save for the soft hum of the car’s engine and the occasional low caw from Mephisto, seated over his passenger seat, while you sit on the back. You keep your gaze fixed out the window, watching the blur of N109’s broken skyline drift by. Your hands are folded neatly in your lap, pressed so tightly together that your knuckles have turned white.

You don’t question how Sylus knew your address. What’s the point? He probably found it out after all his stalking via his invention.

Your thoughts churn like storm clouds in your skull. You’re now walking a knife’s edge — entangled with Onychinus while still neck-deep in the case against the drug lord. Two death traps in either direction. Not to mention the fact that you just agreed to work with a man whose blood wiped off too easily.

“For my children,” you murmur again, under your breath, almost like a mantra. You keep saying it until the words lose their shape, becoming a quiet chant of resolve. “For my children.”

Sylus doesn't comment on your muttering and you aren’t even sure if he hears it. In fact, he hasn't said a word since you got in. Just drove, eyes forward, expression unreadable.

Back at your apartment, you move on autopilot. You open the door, the creak of its hinges greeting you like an old friend. You’re quick with your packing — your stay reduced to one big duffel bag. Not much stuff since you didn’t even mean to stay in the N109 Zone for this long, at least until your twins got involved. The longer you linger, the more second thoughts try to crawl into your head.

That’s when something lands squarely on your head.

You flinch, instinctively reaching up — only to find cold metal claws curling comfortably into your hair. Mephisto. You glare up at the bird, who simply blinks back at you with blank, mechanical eyes like nothing’s out of the ordinary. “You have got to be kidding me.”

You try to poke him off, but he bites your finger — hard enough to sting, not hard enough to draw blood. Huffing, you finally let him be, holding out your hand like some resigned falconer. He steps onto it with the confidence of someone who’s claimed you. You mutter, “Does Sylus think I’ll make the first escape out of here or what…?”

A smug little caw is the only reply.

Seven minutes. That’s all it takes to pack your life.

Well — almost all.

Your eyes fall on the conspiracy board. Nearly half your height, cluttered with string, notes, pins, and hard-earned information — half of it about the drug lord and the other half, haunting warnings to keep away from your own children. You can't leave it behind.

You drag it out, grunting under your breath, the awkward angles making the trip downstairs even more excruciating. When you finally make it outside, Sylus is still in the driver’s seat, looking very much like a man who has never carried a day’s worth of baggage in his life. He doesn't offer help or even look surprised.

He presses a button, and the trunk pops open on its own.

You shove your duffel in, muttering, “Chivalry really is dead.”

Then you stare at the backseat. Then the board. Then the backseat again. It’s tight. Definitely impossible.

Sylus doesn’t even turn his head when he says, with a smirk laced through his words, “It won’t fit, sweetie. Looks like you’ll have to leave it behind.”

You clench your jaw. He says, like he already knows you’ll fail. Which only makes you all the more determined not to. You run the calculations mentally — height, width, angle. The board can’t go flat, but maybe if you wedge it diagonally...

It takes some maneuvering. Some sheer force of will. And maybe — just maybe — a subconscious push from your evol.

You feel that surge again like a current warping reality just slightly, enough to nudge things your way.

The board slides in.

Perfect fit.

You let out a slow, satisfied breath, dusting off your hands.

When you glance at Sylus, you catch the tiniest twitch of his brow. Just a millimeter — but it’s enough. He saw it. And more importantly, he suspects.

You avoid his eyes, walking to the passenger side with the heavy feeling of being watched under a magnifying glass.

With the backseat taken, there’s no escaping him now. You sit up front. Buckle in. Mephisto glares at you from the dash for sitting on his designated seat but flies to the backseat with a sharp flutter of feathers.

Sylus starts the engine again. For a moment, the drive resumes in silence. Then, casually — too casually — Sylus speaks.

“Do you have an evol?”

Your stomach drops.

The question slices through the quiet like a knife, too direct, too practiced. You stare ahead, then slowly turn to look at him. His eyes are already on you, unreadable behind their crimson gleam.

You blink once, just to steady yourself. Then you lie through your teeth with practiced ease.

“No.”

He says nothing in response. Just turns his eyes back to the road.

You keep your body still, but your mind races. He doesn’t press. That’s the part that bothers you the most. Because men like Sylus don’t ask questions unless they already know the answers — or are planning how to use the lie against you later.

And judging by the knowing curve of his lips... this was both.

You swallow the lump in your throat, turn your gaze back to the window, and mutter again under your breath.

“For my children.”

It takes a while to reach Sylus’ estate, tucked away at the far edge of the N109 Zone. By the time the car finally slows, the landscape has changed. Gone are the crumbling high-rises and flickering neon signs of the inner Zone. In their place stands a vast estate, cloaked in mist and ivy, its sprawling structure quiet and still under a lavender dusk. The manor looms ahead, classical and imposing, its walls a fusion of old-world stone and cold modern elegance. Windows stretch tall and narrow, their frames carved with meticulous detail, like a monument built by hands that never feared time.

You step out of the car before it fully stops, stretching limbs stiff from tension. You don't wait for Sylus to offer help and don’t spare him a glance as you stride to the trunk. You haul your duffel bag out and drag your oversized conspiracy board from the backseat without ceremony. It's heavy, awkward, but manageable. You’ve carried worse burdens in silence. The board thumps against your thigh with every step, a weight both literal and symbolic.

You're just approaching the front steps when maids appear as if conjured by the house itself. They're quiet, dressed in crisp, dark uniforms, faces carefully neutral. They don’t ask for permission; they simply take your things from your hands with a well-practiced efficiency that makes it clear this house operates on its own rhythm. One maid gently lifts the duffel from your shoulder; another catches the bottom edge of your board before it can scrape the ground. You’re too surprised to protest.

Sylus falls into step beside you, hands in his coat pockets, speaking in his usual detached cadence. “You may choose any room you like. There’s also a study downstairs, free for your use. I’d prefer you begin sorting through our legal affairs by tomorrow morning. I trust that’s—”

His voice fades into the background and you’ve stopped listening.

Just beyond the arching marble entryway, through the soft spill of chandelier light and the muted elegance of the grand hall, your gaze lands on the living room. Plush velvet furniture is arranged around a low, polished-wood coffee table. A fireplace rests cold and clean, its black marble surface unmarred. A large TV is mounted on the wall above it. In front of that TV, two boys wrestle over the remote.

Your twins.

They’re fighting — over the remote, of all things — throwing pillows at each other and yelling about whose turn it is to pick the movie. Luke’s throwing himself sideways across the couch, yelling something about unfair means. Kieran, quieter but no less determined, is gripping the remote with a look of long-suffering patience as he uses his knee to push Luke off balance. It’s such an ordinary moment, so heartbreakingly mundane that your knees almost buckle.

Your vision blurs for half a second, but you refuse to let it break you. You’ve missed too much. You ache with it, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. And still, you don’t move. You just watch. Your gaze drinks them in greedily, like the sight alone might make up for the years you spent scraping by in shadow, always one step too far to reach them.

You never thought your eyes were anything special. You found them too strange, a shade of grey that always looked tired. But now you see those same hue irises present in both your sons, and suddenly they feel like something beautiful. They wear them better than you ever did.

Sylus has gone quiet beside you. He doesn’t speak again until he turns slightly and calls out to the twins, voice even, “Luke. Kieran. This is the faction’s new lawyer. She’ll be assisting Onychinus with some legal matters. I expect you’ll extend proper hospitality.”

The boys look up.

Unmasked, faces open and candid, they’re even more breathtaking. Luke’s expression shifts instantly to something playful, and he’s up in a flash, sauntering toward you like he owns the room. Kieran follows, slower, more reserved, but with a steady gaze that doesn’t waver.

You square your shoulders, schooling your face into something calm and professional, though your heart feels like it's trying to punch its way out of your ribcage. You extend your hand, fingers trembling just slightly.

Luke doesn’t hesitate. He shakes your hand with far too much enthusiasm, grinning like a wolf. “Hope you’re not planning to pull a gun this time, Missus.”

You almost laugh, a real one. “No promises, Luke.”

Kieran watches the exchange, quiet but observant. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft and pointed. “You remembered which of us was which… and we barely introduced ourselves last time.”

Your breath catches. You should’ve pretended and asked who was who. That slip could cost you things. Before you can cover it up with some rehearsed lie, Sylus intervenes smoothly.

“Why don’t we let her settle in?” he suggests. “There’s time for more... introductions later.”

But you don’t want to rest even if your limbs scream at you to do so. You don’t want to move. You want to stay, listen to their voices until they’re seared into memory. You want to trace their lives backwards and fill in the missing years. But Sylus places a hand at the small of your back, and the contact jolts you. You move to shrug him off, but he leans in before you can.

“Comply, sweetie,” he murmurs, voice low and body far too close.

Your glare could peel paint, but you comply — stomping past him after bidding the twins goodnight. Once you arrive to your room, you reach for the door to shut it behind you. Just as you're about to slam the door shut in your temporary employer’s face, Sylus’ shoe wedges into the gap.

His sanguine eyes are darker now, lips a taut line. “I’d prefer you entertain less with my associates,” he says flatly, “and work more.”

You meet his gaze and step forward, close enough that your shadows merge. “I’m sorry,” you say coolly, “but I don’t take other people’s preferences into consideration.”

Then, with all the grace you can muster, you lift your heel and slam it on his foot. Hard. He doesn’t flinch — the bastard — but you see his jaw tick. You use the moment to kick his shoe out of the doorway and then shut it in his face with a final, gratifying thunk.

You lean against the door, and finally allow yourself to exhale. You just pray that he won’t tell you to get out tomorrow morning. Even if he does, you won’t just go away like that. You’ll need to tone down your attitude to stay here longer. Because your sons are under this roof.

Sylus stands in the hallway long after the door has slammed in his face, eyes lingering on the space where you stood just moments ago. His hand rises to eye level, fingers curled delicately around a single strand of hair — yours. Silken, fine, and still faintly warm from where it had clung to the curve of your cheek before he’d quietly plucked it during the brief walk to your room.

He twirls the strand between his thumb and index finger, once, then again, thoughtful. This wasn’t about confirmation. Sylus didn’t need a DNA test to prove what was already evident. The resemblance between you and the twins was woven into every detail — from the mirrored shape of your faces to the precise hue of your eyes. And beyond appearances, your slip of tongue near Mephisto had been all the confession he needed.

No, he wasn’t chasing the truth. He was chasing leverage.

He would send it to the Odd Workshop later. People like you, proud and intelligent, moved in straight lines when pushed to emotional limits. You would risk anything for your children. That much, Sylus knew. He’d seen it in the way you looked at them — like they were both your sun and sanctuary.

That made them your greatest strength. And your greatest weakness.

Which he’ll drive you away with.

Check out my other works if you liked this ♥

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gyugraphy · 26 days ago

Text

psyche (2)

— synopsis. After the catastrophe in New York-when the Void tore through the city-the Thunderbolts know it can't happen again. Bob Reynolds doesn't need another collar or containment spell. He needs help. Enter her: a psychiatrist with an unusual gift, capable of stepping into the mind itself. No one expected her to reach him-least of all, him. "You're just going to leave me the moment it gets too hard, aren't you?" he says. She meets his gaze, steady and unshaken. "I've walked through nightmares to get to you. I won't walk away now."

— pairing. robert reynolds (sentry/the void) x reader

— warning/s. mentions of trauma, mental illness, depression

— word count. 6k+ ?

masterlist ⊹ part 1 ⊹ part 2 ⊹ part 3 ⊹ part 4 ⊹ part 5 ⊹ part 6

⋆˙⟡

The next day crawled by.

You told yourself it was just another shift: just stitches, scans, the usual rhythm of organized chaos. But every time you passed a window or a shadow flickered across the sterile ER light, your gaze drifted outside.

Around 4:30, Christine caught you doing it.

She slid up beside you at the nurse’s station, holding a clipboard she wasn’t reading. "You keep staring out there like you’re waiting for a spaceship.”

You didn’t look at her. “I’m not.”

Christine leaned, squinting toward the street. “Mmhm. Because the tall guy in the hoodie across the street is just loitering for fun?”

You froze. Just for a half-second.

“Oh my god,” she said, grinning. “That’s him, isn’t it?”

“Christine—”

“No, no, I’m just trying to understand,” she said, hand raised like she needed physical stability. “You, brilliant trauma surgeon, have a potentially world-ending crush on New York’s most unstable demi-god.”

“I do not—”

“He looks like a kicked puppy,” she mused. “Kind of cute, in a ‘please don’t vaporize me’ way. You’re into that?”

You checked the clock sitting in the wall beside you before you turned to her, unamused. “I’m going outside.”

“What if he is a danger?” she called after you, mock-dramatic. “Blink twice if you need Thor!”

You flipped her off without looking back.

“I’ll take that as a maybe!”

Bob Reynolds was easy to spot.

He stood awkwardly by a lamppost outside the Starbucks on 8th and Greenwich, hoodie low over his face. But subtle? Not a chance—he was massive, twitchy, and radiating tension like a downed power line.

As you approached, you spotted them: two men in dark suits, sitting at opposite corners of the café patio. One had an earpiece. The other had a jacket bulge too square to be anything but a weapon.

“They with you?” you asked quietly.

Bob hesitated. “They’re with them. Standard protocol.” He raised his wrist, showing you a sleek black band, barely wearable tech. “If I go red, they move in.”

You nodded. Quietly. Then opened the door.

Inside: burnt espresso, the hum of capitalism, and ambient indie pop. A universe away from the void in Bob’s head.

You both got drinks. His had more sugar than coffee.

You took a seat by the window. Light sliced across the table in gold strips. Outside, the bodyguards watched without moving. You could feel the hum of tension under the table— his, not yours.

Bob stirred his drink with a shaky hand.

“So,” you said. “This the part where you tell me why you wanted to meet?”

He didn’t answer immediately. When he looked up, his eyes were unreadable.

“I wanted to try again. With the mind stuff. But not today. I thought we could just... talk. Like people.”

You sipped. “Talking’s a good start.”

“They don’t trust me,” he said. “Not really. Not even the Thunderbolts.”

“You’re wearing a tracker.”

He gave a humorless laugh. “They call it a proactive risk mitigation device. Translation: ‘please don’t explode in public.’”

You snorted. “We love euphemisms in medicine.”

His smile flickered, but dropped fast. “I don’t blame them. I wouldn’t trust me either.”

You studied him. Not nervous, but frayed. Like a person unraveling thread by thread. The kind of damage you recognized from trauma wards. Combat. Survivors.

“I read your files,” you said gently. “What you were. What you did. You’re still here, Bob. That has to mean something.”

He looked away. “Sometimes I wish I wasn’t.”

Silence fell. Not awkward. Heavy.

“I don’t want to be the Void,” he said. “Or the Sentry. I just want to be someone else. I don’t know who that is yet.”

You nodded. “That’s what I’m here for.”

His gaze lifted. Really looking at you, for the first time since you’d sat down. "You think you can fix what’s in my head?”

“I’m not here to fix you,” you said. “I’m here to help you understand yourself. There’s a difference.”

Something broke in his face. Just a crack. A shift.

“That’s the first thing anyone’s said that didn’t sound like a warning.”

You slid a leather notebook across the table. “Homework. Dreams, thoughts, stuff that doesn’t feel like it belongs. Write it down. We’ll use it to map the next entry point.”

He stared at the notebook like it might vanish.

Then nodded. “Okay.”

Across the street, Yelena sipped black coffee and grimaced.

“Why does this taste like regret?”

“Because you’re drinking Starbucks,” muttered the agent next to her—Jones, ex-SHIELD, now Ross’s clean-up crew.

She ignored him.

Through the café window, she watched Bob Reynolds fiddle with his cup like it might explode. The doc leaned in slightly, listening, not prying.

Bob was still. Still. Not hiding. Not unraveling.

Yelena almost smiled.

“What?” Jones asked.

“Nothing,” she lied. Then, “Actually— yeah. You ever seen him like that?”

Jones snorted. “You call that calm?”

“For Bob? That’s borderline sedated.”

She watched as Bob gave a shy smile. The doctor responded with something gentle. Grounding.

Then Torres’s voice crackled through her comms: “Okay, hear me out... what if they start dating?”

Yelena rolled her eyes. “Please. She’s way out of his league.”

“Bob cleans up okay,” said Mack. “Give him a haircut and some therapy? That’s boyfriend material.”

Yelena snorted. “You’re all insane.”

“Maybe,” Torres said. “But admit it. You’re rooting for them.”

Yelena didn’t answer.

Because in that moment, every HUD alarm screamed red.

Incoming.

“Status?” she barked, already moving.

“Not Bob,” said Jones. “Tracker’s green. Pulse steady. Elevated, but stable.”

"Unidentified extraterrestrial just entered the atmosphere. Heading straight for their position.”

Yelena didn’t curse. She didn’t need to.

She ran.

⋆˙⟡

The light outside bent.

It wasn’t metaphorical. The air warped like heat off asphalt, and for a moment it felt like the world forgot how to hold its shape.

Your cup stopped halfway to your lips.

Across the table, Bob froze. His fingers clenched tight around his drink, knuckles paling, breath caught in his throat. That buzzing tension under his skin, the one you’d noticed before. It was like static before a storm.

Then the glass behind you rattled. A soft, eerie tremble—barely a whisper at first.

You turned, instincts kicking in. “What was that?”

Bob’s eyes were wide, locked on something past you, out the window. His voice dropped.

“Something’s here.”

The sky cracked.

It wasn’t lightning. It was a sonic boom tangled with the shriek of tearing metal and the roar of something wrong.

The front windows blew inward.

A wall of noise hit first—glass exploding, tables flipping, people screaming. You flinched, a hand half-raised—but before you could think, Bob grabbed you, yanking you behind the counter in one rough, desperate motion.

Heat. Noise. Dust.

The air became smoke and rubble. You ducked low beside him, back against the cabinetry, breath coming hard. Shouting filled the room—fear, confusion, that unmistakable pitch of panic.

Somewhere to your right, a child screamed. One of the agents in suits launched over a table, shielding them with his body.

Bob didn’t speak. He was crouched in front of you, shielding you with his frame like instinct, not decision.

“Stay behind me,” he said.

The quiet intensity in his voice chilled you more than the chaos outside. He was calm, yes—but in the way a loaded weapon is calm, seconds before it fires.

You opened your mouth to ask—what the hell was happening, what was that thing—but didn’t get the chance.

The ceiling groaned.

Something outside detonated. A deep, thud, followed by a ripple of force that knocked over chairs and sent another cloud of dust into the air. Bob pulled you back again—closer this time—just as a support beam buckled.

CRACK.

Concrete fell.

The café was coming apart. You stumbled backward, disoriented, heart hammering in your chest. And then—

You were separated.

A massive slab of ceiling crashed down between you, the impact deafening. You staggered, coughing, eyes stinging. “Bob!”

No response.

You dropped low, crawling under dangling wires and fractured drywall. Your knees scraped against broken tile. Somewhere, espresso machines were hissing steam like dying engines.

You turned a corner of twisted debris, and—

Something moved.

A shadow in the smoke.

Bob.

His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist, and in the next heartbeat he pulled you hard— arms locking around your waist, both of you diving behind a half-toppled support column.

Another blast hit.

The place where you’d stood was now a crater of pulverized flooring and fire-scorched plastic. Bits of light fixtures rained down like sparks.

His grip lingered.

You were pressed against him, your heartbeat hammering loud enough to drown the world. His breath hitched. Not fear, but something else. Focus.

Your eyes met, just for a second, and the world went still.

Then the ceiling gave way.

A roar above. More concrete. More fire. More sky where a roof should be.

“Clear a path! I want eyes on them now!”

Yelena’s voice, sharp and slicing, cut through the wreckage. Outside, chaos reigned—sirens, screaming, dust thick as fog. The world had gone full warzone. Agents swarmed like a coordinated blur of movement.

The Starbucks was gone.

Torres tossed a Wakandan pulse drone into the wreckage. It zipped into the mess, scanning. Vibrating pulses hummed through the air like sonar. Yelena didn’t wait for the readout.

“There!” Torres called. “Two signatures—beneath the west column!”

Yelena didn’t hesitate. She ducked low, slid under twisted beams and broken glass, ignoring the cuts on her hands. Concrete crunched under her boots.

And there you were.

Bob was crouched over you, arms braced around you like a shield, his body tense, face streaked with blood and soot. His shoulders were curved like he could hold up the sky if it meant keeping you safe. His eyes were still glowing. Not fully. Not yet.

You looked up at Yelena, dust in your lashes. Your breath came in short, controlled bursts. Your calm wasn’t fake. It was survival.

Yelena knelt beside you, unfazed. “You two look cozy,” she said, voice breezy, like the world wasn’t actively caving in around her.

Bob jolted. You cracked a smile despite yourself.

Yelena extended a hand. “Come on, lovebirds. Time to go.”

He didn’t let go of your hand.

Even as rubble was lifted. Even as the agents tried to separate you to assess your leg. He just kept holding it, fingers tight around yours like a lifeline.

Even when Torres offered to carry you, Bob’s voice dropped low. “I’ve got her.”

He didn’t just say it. He meant it. With everything in him.

As you ran, above you, the sky burned red.

The alien creature that had crash-landed glowed like a dying star—jagged limbs, twisting light, moving in ways your mind rejected. A walking contradiction. Massive. Impossible. Real.

Sam Wilson dropped from the clouds.

“Target locked,” came his voice over comms. “Thunderbolts, keep it away from civilians. Hit it hard and fast.”

The street became a war zone. Red Guardian hurled slabs of debris like baseballs. Yelena loaded shock rounds into her gauntlets. Bucky’s rifle lit up the sky.

And still—Bob hovered just outside the line.

Not running. Not fighting. Just... watching. Fists clenched. Breathing shallow.

Watching you.

You’d found cover behind a crushed table, trying to triage a broken ankle and keep your head low. Every explosion shook your ribs.

“Bob!” you called. “We can’t stay here!”

He was already looking at you when you spoke—like he hadn’t looked away once.

Then something above groaned. Concrete shifted.

You looked up—

Too late.

A mass of steel and stone broke loose from a ruined rooftop, plummeting fast—too fast.

Bob moved.

No hesitation.

He tackled you, dragging you behind a broken pillar. You hit the ground hard, air knocked from your lungs. Concrete exploded behind you.

“You good?” he asked, voice tight, scanning you.

You nodded. “Thanks.”

The next explosion came even closer.

“We need to move,” you said, pointing toward a side alley. “Now.”

You led. He followed.

You made it three steps.

BOOM.

Something struck the building next door. The shockwave tore through the wall. Debris separated you again. A fireball lit up the alley behind you.

“BOB?!” you screamed.

“I’m here!” His voice, rough, coughing—but he was out of view.

You turned—only for a pair of arms to grab you, yank you behind another wall of rubble.

It was Bob. Again.

He was shaking. Glowing faintly. Breathing like he was holding back a hurricane.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Didn’t think. Just—reacted.”

You gripped his arm. “We need to regroup. Now.”

He nodded, jaw clenched.

But then—the ground beneath you gave out.

A creaking groan. Then collapse.

The floor dropped. You both fell.

The impact hit like a body slam. You gasped, stunned, pain flaring through your hip and shoulder as you landed in a pitch-black corridor—half-collapsed, filled with rubble and smoke.

“Where are you?” you croaked.

“I’m here.” He coughed. Shifting sounds. A grunt. “You okay?”

“Fine, just bruised. ”

He was already moving, trying to shove a slab off his shoulder. Muscles straining. Gold flickered in his eyes again—dangerously bright.

“Wait,” you said, but he wasn’t listening. He pushed harder, jaw tight, that pressure building inside him like a bomb with no safety.

The slab didn’t budge.

His breath shuddered. He clenched his fists. Power hummed, dangerously close to breaking free.

Then—he stopped.

Backed off. Shook the glow from his eyes. Swallowed hard.

“I can’t,” he said. “Not here. Not now.”

Footsteps above.

A mechanical whir.

Then—a hand reached through the wreckage.

Vibranium.

Bucky.

You exhaled for the first time in minutes.

“Got ‘em!” Bucky’s voice rang out. “They’re down here!”

With practiced coordination, the team sprang into action. Red Guardian cleared a path through the rubble while Torres and Ghost dropped into the crevice, lifting debris with precision. You and Bob were pulled free in tandem—bruised, covered in ash and soot, but miraculously intact.

You coughed hard, blinking through dust. Bob stood beside you, silent, brushing grit from his sleeves. He looked… steady. Shaken, yes, but composed. Like a man who had just walked to the edge of something deep—and pulled back.

There was no time to breathe.

Above, the battle had escalated.

More of the creatures were falling from the sky, each more twisted and unnatural than the last—eyes that shimmered wrong, limbs that bent in impossible directions. The air itself seemed to ripple where they moved.

The Thunderbolts were already repositioning. Yelena, Red Guardian, Ghost, and Bucky formed a defensive line near the collapsed street, weapons at the ready. Sam hovered overhead, scanning the area, his voice crisp over comms:

“Eyes up! More incoming—big ones!”

The team exploded into motion.

Red Guardian charged one of the creatures, driving it through a rusted-out truck with a bellowing war cry. “How many of these things ARE there?!”

Ghost blurred into phase, vanishing through a wall and reappearing behind a snarling brute, jamming a destabilizer into its spine.

Yelena spun and flung an electrified disc; it latched onto a creature’s neck and detonated, staggering the thing back into the flames.

You and Bob kept low behind an overturned SUV. Every explosion drew a protective twitch from him—his hand would snap out instinctively to shield you, or he’d pull you tight against cover just before debris rained down.

He didn’t speak. But his body language said everything: You are not getting hurt again. Not on my watch.

His face was unreadable—no fear, no panic. Just tension. Like he was holding back a tidal wave with nothing but sheer will.

Another creature burst through a wall behind you—close. Too close. You spun, and Bob spun with you. The thing raised a jagged limb, lurching for your throat—

And Bob moved.

Something in him snapped.

His hand lifted on instinct. A golden wave of heat and force beamed from his eyes, raw and sudden, with a high-pitched pulse like a detuned frequency.

The creature didn’t even scream. It vaporized instantly—dissolved into dust and burning air.

Half the wall behind it disintegrated.

Silence.

The battlefield paused. Heads turned.

Bob stood frozen, arm still half-raised, breathing hard. His eyes glowed faintly now—not the full flare of the Sentry, but unmistakably not normal. Not just Bob.

Red Guardian ducked behind a concrete slab, blinking. “Okay. That’s new.”

Sam landed nearby, visor dark over his eyes. “Everyone saw that, right?”

No one answered.

Bob didn’t speak. He just stared at the scorched concrete, at the smoldering space where the creature had stood.

Then his gaze shifted—to you. Not proud. Not afraid. Just... frustrated. Like he'd tried so hard not to be this. And now it was too late to hide.

The moment passed.

Another wave of creatures screamed from above, dropping through the broken skyline. The Thunderbolts surged forward again. Sam took to the air. Ghost vanished into the ground.

Bob stayed close to you. He didn’t flare again—but the edge was there, humming just under his skin.

Minutes later, the battle was done.

The last alien fell, its corpse twitching as black smoke curled from its bones. The street was a crater of fire, shattered glass, and blood. The Avengers and Thunderbolts stood among the wreckage, battered but upright.

Bucky leaned on a crushed lamppost, dragging a sleeve across his face. Yelena holstered a sidearm, scanning the scene with sharp, methodical eyes.

And that’s when she noticed it.

The pattern.

These creatures—whatever they were—hadn’t attacked at random. It hadn’t been chaos. They’d been focused. At first, she'd assumed they were after Bob. The power signature made sense. The flare of energy would’ve drawn attention like a beacon.

But the timeline didn’t add up.

The creatures had zeroed in before Bob unleashed anything.

Her eyes flicked across the destroyed café, the alley, the cratered street where you had been pinned—over and over again. It was subtle. Too subtle for a civilian to catch. But she’d seen it.

They weren’t targeting Bob.

They were targeting you.

Yelena kept the thought to herself. No need to rattle the team yet. No need to rattle you. But a weight settled on her shoulders, colder than the blood drying on her gloves.

Why you?

As the team regrouped, Sam jogged over, shield on his back, scanning faces.

“Everyone accounted for?” he asked, voice firm but calm.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, nodding. “But we’ve got bigger problems.”

Yelena nodded once. Her expression was unreadable. “These things weren’t just here to cause mayhem.”

She didn’t look at you when she said it.

“They were after something. Or someone.”

A silence settled over the team—uneasy, thick with the realization that the worst might not be over.

⋆˙⟡

The soft whir of machines and the gentle clinking of medical tools filled the space. You stood beside the medical cot where Bucky Barnes sat, his shirt ripped and a gash just beneath his cheekbone still fresh and bleeding.

"Hold still," you muttered, dabbing antiseptic onto a cotton pad. Bucky flinched but didn’t complain.

Across the room, Sam Wilson stood with his arms crossed tightly against his chest, watching the activity with sharp eyes. Yelena Belova leaned against the far table, eyes narrowed, her mind clearly still deep in the chaos they’d just left behind.

"You saw how coordinated they were," Yelena said, breaking the silence. "That wasn’t random. That kind of attack—it wasn’t just some alien beast dropping into the wrong city."

Sam nodded. "They were tracking something. Or someone."

"They came straight for us," Bucky added, his tone more serious now. "But not just us."

Yelena looked at you subtly, not yet calling attention to what she suspected. "They didn’t make a beeline for Bob, though everyone assumed that’s who they wanted."

You looked up from cleaning Bucky’s wound, sensing the shift in the conversation.

"They weren’t after Bob?" you asked, voice low.

"No," Yelena replied, her gaze meeting yours briefly. "It looked like it. But they moved past him more than once. They weren’t focused on taking him out. They were circling around him."

"That doesn’t make sense," Sam muttered.

"It does if they weren’t after him at all," she added.

In the corner of the room, Bob Reynolds stood silently, arms folded. His posture was rigid, eyes flicking between you and the others. There was a tension in him, like a wire stretched too tight. Red Guardian sat nearby, bruised but still full of energy, watching Bob with a smirk creeping across his face.

"You’re sure?" Sam pressed. "Not the Sentry, not Bob—"

Yelena nodded. "I’m sure. The pattern was too consistent. Every time they moved, it was toward her position."

You froze briefly, your hands halting as you pressed a fresh bandage on Bucky’s cheek.

"What?" you asked, unsure if you'd misheard.

There was silence for a beat—until Red Guardian broke it with a teasing chuckle. "Looks like you’re more popular than you thought."

He nodded toward Bob, who had been watching you with an unreadable expression. Bob’s eyes flicked away immediately, his jaw tightening.

Alexei, catching the exchange, raised a brow. "You alright, Bob?"

Bob blinked. "Yeah. I’m fine."

"Because you’ve been staring a hole in the back of her head for five minutes," Red Guardian muttered with a laugh.

Before Bob could answer, Bucky turned to you, holding out his hand with exaggerated innocence. "By the way, I think I’ve got another wound. Somewhere around here…" he said, pointing vaguely to his neck with a smirk.

Without catching the teasing tone, you responded automatically. "Look this way."

Red Guardian leaned back, thoroughly entertained.

"You’re not subtle, Barnes," he chuckled.

As you worked, Yelena and Sam continued their conversation, now joined by Bob, who was still half-listening while glancing your way.

"This changes our strategy," Sam said. "If she’s the target, we can’t leave her unprotected. We got lucky this time. We won’t always be in position to respond."

Yelena nodded. "She stays here. Under our watch."

You finally looked up, uncertain. "Are you sure? I don’t want to get in the way."

"You’re not in the way," Sam said firmly. "You’re in danger. We don't ignore that."

Bob’s voice came quietly but with steel behind it. "He’s right. You’re not leaving until we understand what they wanted."

You met his eyes again—and this time, he didn’t look away.

⋆˙⟡

The tower had finally grown quiet. The adrenaline of the day’s battle had worn off, replaced with heavy silence and the low hum of the tower’s systems. Most of the team had either crashed in their rooms or were nursing bruises and silence on the far end of the hall.

You sat alone on the long couch, shoulders sore, a shallow cut across your arm that you'd ignored until now finally getting your attention. You held a small medkit on your lap, disinfectant pad in hand, phone tucked between your shoulder and cheek.

"Yeah, I’m okay," you said softly into the receiver. Christine Palmer’s voice crackled gently on the other end.

"Are you sure? You sound like you’ve been through a building collapse."

"I’ve been through worse," you half-laughed, wincing as the antiseptic stung. "But this was... different."

"You need rest. Let them help you for once, will you?"

"Trying," you murmured.

As you pulled a bandage tight around your arm, a glass of water was set down in front of you on the coffee table. You looked up to see Bucky, already turning to walk away.

"Get some rest," he said simply, no smile, just quiet sincerity in his voice.

You gave a soft, tired nod. "Thanks."

Across the room, Bob Reynolds had been lingering by the hallway, watching. He didn’t understand the feeling crawling up the back of his neck—wasn’t anger, wasn’t fear. Just... something uncomfortable when he saw Bucky looking out for you. He wasn’t even sure why it got to him.

He stepped forward, his hands in his jacket pockets, tone neutral.

"Yelena said I should show you to the room you’ll be staying in tonight. Said you shouldn’t be wandering around alone after... everything."

You nodded, standing slowly. Your body ached more than you expected. Bob noticed.

"You can take one of my hoodies, if you want. Tower gets cold at night."

You blinked. "Oh. Sure, thanks."

He nodded awkwardly, gesturing for you to follow him.

As you both walked down the corridor, your limbs heavy with fatigue, you didn’t catch the way Bob glanced your way now and then. He kept his thoughts to himself, but they were loud in his head.

Not romantic, not possessive. Just unsure. Something had shifted—and he didn’t know what it meant yet.

The door creaked open softly, revealing a modest but comfortable guest room. Neutral tones. A window that looked out into the city skyline. A folded towel sat at the foot of the bed.

Bob stepped in first, flicking the light on. “It’s not much,” he said, his voice low, careful not to disturb the silence the rest of the tower had settled into. “But it’s safe. And... yours for now.”

You gave a tired nod, stepping inside behind him. The tension was subtle but present—like neither of you knew exactly what to say, or whether saying anything at all was the right call.

Bob held out the hoodie—navy blue, oversized, sleeves a little too long. “Figured you’d rather sleep in something that doesn’t smell like concrete dust.”

You gave a small huff of a laugh and took it. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

He nodded again, lingering in the doorway. “You sure you're okay?”

You paused, one hand tightening on the hoodie. “Yeah. I mean... I’m trying to be.”

He looked down at the floor for a second, his hands tightening into loose fists at his sides. “I wanted to—when everything was collapsing—I thought I’d be able to stop it. Or help. But I couldn’t. It’s like... I wasn’t fast enough. Or strong enough.”

You looked at him. “You still ran toward it. That counts.”

Bob let out a breath. “Maybe.”

Silence stretched again. Not awkward, just heavy with the kind of weight only shared danger brings.

You shifted, the soreness in your shoulder tugging at your attention. “You can go rest. I’ll be fine.”

He nodded slowly, stepping back toward the hallway—but hesitated at the doorway, his hand resting against the frame.

“If you need anything,” he said, not looking at you, “just knock on the door across the hall. I won’t be sleeping much anyway.”

You offered a faint smile. “Alright. Goodnight, Bob.”

“Night.”

He closed the door behind him with a quiet click. For a moment, you just stood there, alone in the quiet, holding the hoodie in your hands. It was warm.

You sat on the bed, pulling the hoodie over your head, staring blankly at the city lights beyond the glass.

Somewhere down the hall, Bob leaned against the doorframe of his own room, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand, jaw tight.

Neither of you said it, but both of you felt it.

Something had changed.

⋆˙⟡

The sunlight filtered through reinforced glass, painting golden lines across the tower’s modern interior. A quiet hum of the building’s systems underscored the calm.

You stepped into the common room, still tugging one sleeve of Bob’s hoodie over your hand. Your own clothes were in a bag nearby, but you hadn’t changed yet — you weren’t ready to slip out of the safety of comfort.

Bucky sat at the island, quietly eating cereal straight from the box. Red Guardian was nursing a mug of something steaming and aggressively black. Sam was already in uniform, arms folded, staring at a holo-projection of last night’s wreckage.

Yelena was the first to notice you.

“Morning,” she said, leaning against the kitchen counter, half of a protein bar in her hand. “Sleep?”

“Eventually,” you replied. “You?”

She just smirked.

Bob was already there, tucked in one corner with a tablet in his hand, pretending to scroll through post-incident reports. His eyes flicked up at you briefly, then back down.

“Coffee’s over there,” Sam said without looking up, gesturing to the machine behind him. “You’ll need it.”

You nodded, padding quietly toward it.

As you poured yourself a cup, Sam continued. “We went over the footage again. The creatures — they weren’t targeting Bob. Not directly.”

That made Bob finally look up.

Bucky, still munching cereal, raised an eyebrow. “You think they were tracking someone else?”

Yelena’s gaze slid toward you.

Sam caught it. “That’s what we’re trying to confirm.”

You turned, coffee in hand, trying to keep your voice steady. “Why would they be after me?”

Red Guardian gave a grunt. “Better question — what are they?”

“We’re still working on that,” Sam replied. “Alien, definitely. But their energy signature doesn’t match anything on file from past invasions.”

“Great,” Bucky muttered. “Another mystery species that wants someone dead.”

Bob leaned forward, voice quiet but firm. “If they’re after her... we need to know why. Now.”

“We will,” Sam said. “But for now, safety comes first. That means sticking together. No solo walks, no wandering off.”

You nodded slowly. “So what now?”

Yelena looked at you with a serious expression. “We talk. About your past. Where you’ve been. Who you’ve seen. Anything strange happen before this?”

You hesitated, but then nodded.

You sat across from the team. A whiteboard filled with scribbled alien markings was in the background. Sam, Bucky, and Yelena watched as you recounted what you could, just strange dreams. As you spoke, Bob sat at the far end, arms crossed, brow furrowed — trying not to let the worry show on his face. But he wasn’t good at hiding things.

Eventually, your voice trailed off.

“That’s everything I can think of.”

The room went still. Then Bucky spoke.

“We need a bigger picture. SWORD should get a look at this. Maybe even Carol.”

Sam nodded. “Agreed. I’ll contact Fury. Meanwhile—” he looked at you, “—you’re staying here. Until we figure out what’s going on.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but stopped. You knew better. This wasn’t stubbornness. It was safety.

“Fine.”

Yelena pushed a bottle of water across the table to you. “We’ll figure it out.”

You glanced at Bob briefly. He didn’t say anything. But he gave a small nod.

As the meeting wrapped, Red Guardian nudged Bucky with his elbow and whispered, “Still think they were after golden boy?”

Bucky smirked. “Nope. But he sure wishes they were.”

They both looked toward Bob, who was walking beside you again — not too close, but never too far.

The room was dim. A soft hum came from the ventilation system, the faint buzz of the city below barely audible through reinforced glass.

⋆˙⟡

You tossed in the bed, tangled in blankets, face twisted in distress.

A low rumble echoed in your dream — buildings collapsing, eyes watching from a sky that wasn’t the sky, voices whispering your name in languages your ears couldn’t understand. Heat, shadows, pressure—

BOOM.

Your eyes snapped open.

You were drenched in sweat. Breathing hard.

A knock on the door came just as you sat up, pushing off the covers.

Tap. Tap.

Then a voice, quiet but concerned. "…Are you okay?”

You hesitated, running a hand down your face. “Yeah. Just—bad dream.”

The door cracked open a bit, and Bob stepped in, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair a little messy like he’d been half-asleep too. His expression was unreadable at first — not too soft, not too intrusive — but his eyes flicked briefly to the bed, to you, then back.

“You were… yelling.”

You looked away, feeling a strange mix of embarrassment and exhaustion. “Did I wake anyone?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Just me. My room’s down the hall.”

A beat of silence passed.

He stepped a little closer, careful. “Was it… the creatures?”

You nodded.

“They weren’t chasing me in the dream,” you murmured. “They were talking to me. Or maybe warning me. I couldn’t tell.”

Bob didn’t respond right away. He sat on the edge of the bed, glancing over. “Whatever it is… we’ll figure it out.”

You gave a tired nod.

Then— DING. An alert chirped through the comm system in the corner.

Bob frowned, already rising. “That’s from the hangar.”

Sam was already there, pulling a jacket over his shoulders as the doors to the hangar slowly opened with a hydraulic hiss.

A tall figure stepped through, flanked by two S.W.O.R.D. agents.

The eye patch, long coat, and no-nonsense aura were unmistakable. It was Nick Fury. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, which probably meant he had slept exactly that much.

“Morning, Wilson,” he said, already walking past him.

“It’s 2 a.m.”

“I don’t care.”

Fury’s eyes swept the space until they landed on Bob and you stepping in from the far corridor. You were still in Bob’s hoodie, eyes bleary.

Fury gave you a long, calculating look.

“You,” he said.

“…Me?”

He nodded once. “We need to talk.”

Bob immediately shifted, almost stepping between you and Fury instinctively.

Fury raised a brow. “Relax, Sentry. Not an interrogation. Just a conversation.”

You looked at Bob, then nodded. “It’s okay.”

Fury led you somewhere empty, just down the hall. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, staring at you.

You awkwardly stood in front of him, nerves just beneath your skin, trying to hide them.

“I’ve seen a lot of strange things,” Fury began. “Gods falling from the sky. A teenager fighting purple aliens with Legos. But those creatures last night? They weren’t here for Bob Reynolds.”

You swallowed.

“You felt that, didn’t you?” he asked.

You nodded slowly. “Yes.”

Fury leaned in slightly. “Then we need to figure out why you’re suddenly on some cosmic radar. Because if something’s coming — something big — I need to know whether you’re the beacon, or the fuse.”

The lights buzzed faintly overhead.

“Either way,” Fury said, pushing off the wall, “you’re not going anywhere.”

The same morning, you found yourself in the sword facility. Nick Fury being the reason. The walls buzzed faintly with electromagnetic hums. You stood in the center of a circular analysis chamber surrounded by tall pylons, each pulsing with light as scanners passed up and down your body.

On the other side of the reinforced glass, Fury stood, arms folded, eye focused like a laser beam. Analysts typed quietly behind him, data flickering across screens in shifting colors and graphs.

One tech murmured, “We’ve got something unusual.”

Fury didn’t look away from the glass. “How unusual?”

“There's a layer of dormant energy under the surface-level readings,” the analyst replied. “It’s not active, but it’s there. Deep. Consistent. Like a compressed node of potential—genetic, maybe. Or quantum.”

Fury’s jaw tightened. “Translation?”

“She’s carrying something that hasn’t activated yet. Not mutant, not enhanced tech, not alien symbiote. It’s internal. Part of her.”

Another analyst leaned over. “It might be tied to the energy spike from yesterday. Her body registered a surge milliseconds before the Sentry moved. She didn’t react to danger—something inside her did.”

Fury turned to them, voice calm but sharp. “You saying she’s sitting on a trigger?”

“More like... a locked door,” the tech answered. “And something is rattling the handle.”

Few moments later, you sat across from Nick Fury in a small debriefing space, white walls and a large screen behind him showing your recent scan data. He didn’t speak at first, just studied you with that familiar, unreadable gaze. Then...

 “You ever feel like something’s been following you your whole life?”

You blinked. “Is that a question or a metaphor?”

Fury smirked faintly. “Little of both.”

You shifted in your seat. “I’ve had... moments. Things I couldn’t explain. Like my instincts were two steps ahead of me. I used to write it off as adrenaline.”

“It wasn’t adrenaline,” he said simply. “And it wasn’t luck. Our scans show something inside you—something we’ve never seen before. Not alien tech. Not radiation. Not even magical. It’s part of you. Deep in your cells. But it’s sealed.”

“Sealed?” you repeated.

He nodded. “Locked. Like your body’s been holding it back. But something triggered it to stir. Maybe proximity to other enhanced individuals. Maybe stress. Maybe just time.”

You looked at the display screen. Complex waveforms danced across it in patterns you didn’t understand.

“I’m not dangerous,” you said, more to yourself than him.

Fury didn’t challenge you—but he didn’t confirm it either.

“I don’t think you are,” he replied. “But whatever this is? It might not care what you want. And from the looks of it, it hasn’t even started yet.”

A pause.

“You’re not under arrest,” he said, standing. “And you’re not a threat. But until we understand what’s inside you, I’m keeping you close.”

“Because something might want it?” you asked.

He looked at you over his shoulder.

“No. Because something might want to wake it up.”

⋆˙⟡

The halls were quieter than usual, the kind of quiet that comes after chaos, when everyone’s pretending things are back to normal but the walls still hum with tension.

You stepped out onto the upper level’s balcony with your phone in hand. The view below showed the sleek hangar bathed in blue-white lights, equipment being reset, weapons being cleaned. Normal… if you didn’t know better.

Christine picked up after two rings. “Hey,” you greeted, voice low.

“Well if it isn’t S.W.O.R.D.’s latest mystery case,” she replied dryly. “How’s the new life in a top-secret concrete bunker?”

“Still figuring out if I’m a guest or a lab rat,” you muttered with a tired smile. “Fury offered me a job. Officially. Said it was smarter to keep me here. Let me work. Said it gives them a reason to monitor me without making it feel like surveillance.”

“You took it?” she asked.

“Yeah. Better than sitting in lockdown. And… I need the money.”

Christine was quiet for a moment. “You’re sure?”

“No,” you admitted. “But this way, at least I’m doing something. They give me medical clearance. I patch up soldiers, field agents, whoever. But really... they just want me close in case something happens again.”

“And you?” she asked. “Do you think it’ll happen again?”

You didn’t answer that.

The front doors hissed open — a familiar sound now — and in walked the returning squad. The team looked beat to hell. "I'll call you back," you quickly told Christine on the phone right before you ended the call. You looked at the team, mud, torn gear, and exhaustion in every step. But your attention snapped to Yelena the moment you saw the blood seeping through her sleeve.

“Seriously?” you said, already pulling gloves on.

“Missed you too,” Yelena grumbled, lowering herself onto the med cot.

You peeled back the material. A long gash ran down her upper arm — not deep enough to panic, but deep enough to sting like hell. You worked quickly, disinfecting and stitching.

“Did the mission go sideways?”

“Not really. Just messy,” Yelena replied through gritted teeth. “Things don’t like being detained by ex-Russians with attitude problems.”

She glanced at you, studying your face. “You’re still here.”

You met her gaze. “Still under observation. But working now.”

Yelena rolled her eyes. “Of course Fury would find a way to turn this into employment.”

You finished wrapping her arm, then asked, “You talked to Bob lately?”

That got a pause.

“No,” she admitted. “He’s been... distant. Quiet. More than usual.”

You nodded, already peeling off your gloves.

“I’ll check on him," you said as you hurriedly set everything aside.

You strided down the hallway, stopping on your tracks as soon as you arrived at his door. You knocked once. No answer.

When you cracked the door open, Bob was sitting near the window, half in shadow, half in the flicker of a desk lamp. His gaze lifted slowly, as if it took effort.

“Hey,” you said gently. “You up for company?”

He nodded once. No smile, but no resistance.

You stepped inside and closed the door behind you.

“You’ve been quiet,” you said, settling into the chair across from him. “Even more than usual.”

Bob looked down at his hands, then back at you. “I’ve been… sorting things out.”

“Mind if I help?” you offered.

He hesitated — but didn’t say no.

You leaned forward slightly. “We could mindwalk. Nothing deep. Just... see where things are now. Since everything’s shifted.”

Another pause.

Then finally, a quiet, “Okay.”

You both sat on the floor, hands lightly pressed together. The air between you almost hummed with something unspoken.

The world rippled. The sterile quarters vanished.

You opened your eyes to a darkened dreamscape. Still, but not empty — like standing at the edge of something massive and unseen.

You were in Bob’s mind.

But this time, the space didn’t resist you. It welcomed you in, cautiously — like a door cracked open instead of slammed shut.

The world around you flickered — jagged fragments of thought floating in open air. Hints of memory, color, sensation. But there was no center. No order.

Bob appeared beside you, more present than in previous walks. His features were clearer, steadier.

“You’ve changed,” you said softly.

“So have you,” he replied.

You felt it, deep in your chest — a weight, a quiet pull. Not romantic. Not even emotional, exactly. But connected. As if that strange, shared chaos — the panic, the aliens, the energy — had woven something between you both.

He looked at you.

“There’s something inside you,” he said. “Something more than we thought.”

You nodded.

“I know.”

And in the quiet void of his mind, you both sat — not analyzing, not pushing. Just existing. Connected in ways neither of you fully understood yet.

The storm had passed.

The quiet stretched between you.

Then, gently, you spoke. “Can we go further?”

Bob didn’t answer right away. His eyes searched the flickering fragments suspended around you — jagged shapes, drifting pieces of thought, a few holding faint images that shifted the longer you looked.

You noticed one — a memory shard glowing faintly blue, pulsing like a slowed heartbeat. You stepped toward it, and Bob followed.

The closer you got, the more it formed a scene: a wide-open snowy field. A younger Bob stood in the distance, shoulders hunched against the wind, clutching something in his hands — a photograph? A name tag?

When you reached out, your fingers brushed the edge of the fragment, and it dissolved like smoke.

The scene around you shifted instantly.

Now you stood inside a steel corridor, dark and claustrophobic. Lights blinked red. You heard shouting. Bob’s voice: younger, panicked. Soldiers running past. An explosion shaking the ground. Then silence again.

It snapped back to the blank mindscape.

Bob’s jaw was tight. “That was... the first time I lost control.”

You didn’t press. You just stood next to him.

He turned toward you slowly. “Do you ever feel like something inside you is… coiled? Like it’s waiting?”

You nodded. “Especially after that day.”

He gave a faint breath of agreement. “Same.”

He raised his hand slightly, and a wave of thought — warm, golden — expanded around you. The fragments around you drew closer together. They began arranging themselves, as if pulled by invisible thread. Patterns began to emerge — not perfect, but purposeful.

“You’re organizing,” you observed.

“I don’t know how,” he admitted. “But you’re making it easier.”

You felt something shift again — a pulse underfoot, like the ground in his mind was waking up.

You stepped forward, into a newly-formed corridor. Unlike the earlier chaos, this one was quiet, clean, strangely peaceful. Memory doors lined the hall.

Bob hesitated, then opened one.

Inside: a soft scene. A garden. A sunny day. He was laughing — not the man you knew now, but younger, freer. Someone before the pain.

You looked at him. “This is you too.”

“I forget sometimes,” he said.

You stayed in the memory a while — not invading, just existing. Letting him feel what it was like to be seen, without expectation or force.

Eventually, he spoke again. “You’re different from the others.”

You tilted your head. “Because I walk in your mind?”

“No,” he said quietly. “Because when you do… you don’t judge what you see.”

You both stood in the center of the quiet mindspace, not speaking for a moment. The air around you shimmered — not from him, not from you, but from the strange alignment between you both.

Maybe it wasn’t just the aliens that triggered what happened that day.

Maybe it was the two of you — together — that woke something up.

And in that unspoken realization, the mind around you expanded — vast, open, no longer chaotic.

Like something was waiting there.

Still quiet.

Still buried.

But no longer hiding.

⋆˙⟡

A/N sorry for the late update! will be uploading third chap today as well (or tomorrow... or later idk)

— taglist. @asteria33 @witch-of-letters @avylanchce @stillinracooncity @venus-armote @jeanietales @faithxyu @ivedonemywaiting13 @natasha887 let me know if u wanna be tagged on the next!

#bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x y/n #bucky barnes #mcu au #mcu fanfic #robert reynolds #robert reynolds x reader #sentry x reader #sentry x y/n #yelena belova #bob thunderbolts #thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts fanfic

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