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dawngyu · 5 months ago

Text

THE SLOW SURRENDER

Pairing: chaebol husband choi beomgyu x wife chaebol fem!reader

summary: The fear that you’re losing something you never truly had. Your own ring, now too heavy in your palm. A ring that should have meant forever.

Your deepest fear. Your husband.

warnings: reader discretion is advised. infidelity, arranged marriage, slow-burn, angst, toxic dynamics, emotional attachment, miscarriage!, misunderstandings, lovelorn, alcohol!consumption, guilt, repentance, rectification, accident, DUI(pls don't), anxiety!, panic-attack, implication of postpartum!depression, used different idols as ocs. if any of the warnings above might be triggering for you, please step back. let me know if I missed anything.

smut-warnings: MDNI, dubcon, explicit!descriptions, different smut-scenes. guilt-ridden!smut,beomgyu begging and crying while doing"it".

wc: 24k — playlist here.

notes: may this story tear you apart, and somehow, when it’s over, stitch you back together piece by piece.

a big thank you to my beta reader.

How is it that your own wedding makes you want to flee?

"To have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part."

His voice is strangely distant—the words belong to someone else, rehearsed and repeated.

The ring slips onto your finger, its cold touch startling against your skin. You can’t tell if it’s the chill of the metal that makes you shiver—or the way his voice carries an indifference that seems to sit deep in your chest, pulling your breath with it.

The wedding dress—tailored from the finest silk, adorned with labyrinthine details—feels like something borrowed. Isn’t this supposed to be every girl’s dream? The happiest day of your life? The moment where everything begins—the start of your own family, your own story?

None of it feels like it. Not when he hasn’t said a single word to you since you arrived. It plagues your mind. And all you want to do is kick off the heels that bite into your feet, rip off the tiara that feels like a crown of lead, and run.

You let out a shaky exhale, the breath trembling in your chest when the ring settles on your finger. Your hands slip from his grasp, falling limply to your sides. The vows are done, the words spoken, but all you feel is an overwhelming urge to escape.

Your head turns, seeking the one person who feels safe. Your unsteady gaze finds Soobin, his worried eyes already fixed on you. He gives you a small, almost imperceptible nod, the kind only he would know how to give. All you want is to fall apart—to let the tears come, to crumble into the silent comfort of his eyes, whispering it’s okay.

The pastor’s voice pulls you back, and your soon-to-be husband cups your face with a tenderness that feels reluctance, almost calculated. Hands warm but the eyes that meet yours, cold.

He leans in, and you close your eyes. His lips brush yours, soft, landing just shy of your bottom lip.

“And now, I pronounce you husband and wife,” the pastor declares, the words echoing hollowly in your ears.

Everyone claps.

It's official.

He is now your husband.

"Can you at least smile?" your mother’s sharp voice cuts, gaze fixed on you with her usual expectation. Her lips press together in disapproval. "I don’t want you embarrassing us, honey," she adds, eyes narrowing.

You force a small, strained smile as another guest offers their congratulations. The words feel hollow, and meaningless.

"Mother." Soobin’s voice interrupts, his equally sharp gaze lands on her, and without waiting for her permission, he steps closer, hand brushing your elbow. "We have friends over there. I’ll take Y/N for a bit."

Your mother opens her mouth, distaste printed on her face. "I could go with her—"

"It’s just our friends, Mother," Soobin interjects, his words clipped but polite enough to stop her in her tracks. "Nothing that requires your attention. Besides, I believe Miss Park was trying to get your attention earlier."

Before she can argue further, Soobin’s hand slips into yours, and he gently tugs you away. The grip is reassuring, steady—something to anchor you in this mess.

The crowd seems endless. More congratulations, more empty smiles. Your eyes wander, scanning the room, searching for the one person who should be at your side. But he isn’t there. He isn't… here.

Your husband is nowhere to be found. He vanished as soon as the ceremony ended.

Soobin doesn’t say anything as he leads you into a quiet, empty room. Once inside, he shuts the door firmly behind you, sealing out the noise of the party.

The second the door clicks, his hands are on your face, cradling you like you might break. And you do.

"Soobin," you choke out, your voice trembling. Hot tears stream down your face, and he pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

"Shh," he murmurs, his voice shaky, his hand rubbing gentle circles on your back. "It’s okay. Let it out."

The tears come in waves, carrying with them all the weight you’ve been holding in��every forced smile, every empty thank yous, every aching reminder of your husband. That today isn’t what it should be.

"It hurts me," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "It hurts me that my dearest, sister had to go through with this." His words tremble, just like his hands that hold you tightly.

You can’t bring yourself to reply. Instead, you cling to him, your fingers twisting into the fabric of his jacket—making his heart clench. "Where the fuck is he anyway?" his voice betrays his frustration.

"I don’t—I don’t know," you whisper through your sobs. "How am I supposed to do this, Soobin? He wouldn’t even look at me." And beneath it all, the deeper truth haunts you. It isn’t just his absence or his coldness that hurts.

It’s the undeniable, unspoken reality that settles into your bones and refuses to leave: Choi Beomgyu doesn’t love you—not the way you love him.

The echoes of your wedding vows dance in your ears. For better or worse, you hear. For richer or poorer. In sickness and in health.

Until death do us part.

Three families—known as the Choi Enterprises—dominate the landscape of your country.

Names synonymous with power, wealth, and control. Together, they form an empire that touches nearly every facet of life, businesses towering over the economy like unshakable pillars.

Untouchable.

The first family commands the skies. They own the nation’s largest airline, a fleet that spans lands, with Choi Yeonjun, the celebrated heir, poised to inherit it all.

The second family shapes the skyline with their sprawling malls, and colossal structures that symbolize luxury and excess. Choi Beomgyu, their only son, is the face of it.

And then there’s your family, the architects of indulgence. You own the most prestigious hotels in the country, five-star havens that host the rich, the famous, and the powerful. Your brother, Choi Soobin—the prodigy, the golden child who has been groomed for this role his entire life.

And then there’s you. The second child. Since young, you were conditioned, moulded—not to lead, not to build, but to belong to someone else. To be a wife. One whose marriage would serve a purpose, a bargaining chip in a deal that you have no voice to protest.

Every day since you came of age felt like walking on thin ice, never knowing when it would crack beneath you. You lived with the constant dread that your father could announce your engagement at any last moment. If you were lucky, perhaps it would be someone whose face you recognized, or someone whose name didn’t sound foreign on your lips.

The three families have stood side by side for decades, their ties intertwined by history and convenience. With the heirs of each family so close in age, it was inevitable that you all ended up in the same place: a ridiculously expensive university your families could buy their way into.

It was no surprise that you had known Choi Beomgyu since you were children. And that you've loved him since.

Though you could never quite pinpoint when it began.

Your nine-year-old eyes scanned the room, overwhelmed by the sea of adults towering over you. Too many big, tall people, too many unfamiliar faces. It was the first time your dad had brought you along, always choosing your older brother instead. Never you.

“Would you like something to eat, Y/N?” your nanny asked. You shook your head, distracted. You were trying to find your brother, the one you’d begged to follow today, only to lose him. You had thought this place would be exciting, but now, you would have preferred serving tea to your dolls.

This place wasn’t fun at all.

When your nanny got busy with a conversation, you seized the chance to slip away. You weaved through the crowd, ducking under tables when the adults became too dense. You spotted Soobin ahead, standing with his friend—Yeonja? No, Yeonjun. The one who teased you mercilessly whenever he visited your house. They were too far away.

Giggling with excitement, you ran towards them, eager to finally reach your brother. But your foot caught on the edge of a rug, and you fell hard. “Ow.” You whimpered, face smacking the floor. A sharp, stinging pain in your mouth made your eyes well up. You wiped at your lips and froze when your fingers brushed against something small and hard.

Your front tooth had come out. “No. Soobin, Daddy!” you wailed, embarrassment creeping in as people started to stare. You were about to shout again when a boy appeared, no taller than you, holding out a handkerchief.

“Use this,” he said.

“No,” you mumbled.

“Huh?”

“I said I don’t want it.”

He raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Do you want everyone to think you’re ugly?” His words made you pause, his brown eyes studying you with a mix of curiosity and something else—something protective. The way he stood, it was as if he was shielding you from the judgmental eyes around you. “If you keep crying like that, everyone will think you are.”

The bluntness startled you, and it worked. Your mommy doesn't like it whenever you're crying anyway. She says it's unsightly. You grabbed the handkerchief, sniffling as you dabbed at your mouth. He watched you stand wobbly, one brow raised in quiet observation.

“Soobin?” he asked, recognizing your brother’s name.

You nodded, surprised that he knew.

He nodded back, taking your pinkie in his small hand and leading you across the yard, toward your brother safely.

That day was the day you first met your husband.

"Hey, have you heard? Choi Beomgyu and Park Ji-won broke up for the fourth time this semester," Jake, one of your batchmates, announces with a grin, his voice cutting through the chatter of your little group. The names make you freeze mid-conversation. "It’s hilarious, bro. Ji-won was literally stomping her feet like a kid."

"You little scandalmonger," Ryu-jin quips from beside you, rolling her eyes. "Why are you so invested in them? They’re a batch ahead of us. We don’t even cross paths with them."

You won’t encounter Choi Beomgyu often. The last time you had a proper, civil conversation—one forced by your parents—was when you were fifteen, and even then, your brother had been there too. That was five years ago.

During your first year, Choi Beomgyu was in the second. He got a girlfriend, Park Ji-won, the queen bee of their batch. Beomgyu was already famous, and their relationship quickly gained a reputation of its own, known for its ups and downs, the drama playing out like a spectacle for everyone to watch.

“Uh, h-hi, Y/N.” A boy stammers nervously in front of you. You look up, surprised to see him holding out a small box of chocolates. “I… I made these for you,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

A soft smile forms on your lips as you reach out to take it. “Thank you, Hanbin.”

The way his name rolls so easily off your tongue catches him off guard. His eyes widen, and his face flushes a deep shade of red. He stammers out something that might be “you’re welcome” before ducking his head in a quick bow and practically fleeing the scene.

As he disappears into the crowd, Ryu-jin lets out a low whistle, her grin mischievous. “Oh-ho, my ever-charming and impossibly kind Y/N,” she teases, pinching your cheek in a way that makes you laugh and bat her hand away.

You hold the box of chocolates out to her, and without missing a beat, she takes it with a delighted, “Don’t mind if I do!”

“Why do you always know everyone’s names?” Jake asks, leaning over to snag a piece of chocolate before Ryu-jin can stop him. He pops it into his mouth, then gives you a mock incredulous look. “There are way too many people trying to win you over. If I were you, I wouldn’t even bother keeping track.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “I don’t really try to memorize their names, Jake,” you explain, your voice softening. “But when someone puts themselves out there like that—when they go out of their way to do something kind for me—even if I don’t feel the same, the least I can do is acknowledge it. Knowing their name… it’s just part of respecting the effort they made.”

Jake leans back, arms crossed, pretending to look unimpressed. “You’re way too nice for your own good, you know that?”

The rest of the conversation became a blur. The details didn’t matter—they never really did. Choi Beomgyu had gotten back together with her again. That’s how it always went, didn’t it? Still, your mind dawdled on him, as it often did, bonded to a memory from so long ago: the boy with sceptic eyes and a hand who had guided you safely to your brother.

You couldn’t explain it fully, this quiet pull you felt toward him.

Maybe it was the way he kept to himself at gatherings, speaking only when necessary. His words always carried a weight your mother would later describe as "intelligent," her tone laced with rare approval. It could’ve been his eyes, dark and warm, matching the soft chaos of his hair. Or perhaps it was his low voice, that left a faint shiver dancing along your spine without warning.

Life had always been laid out for you, each piece polished and placed neatly on a silver platter. Nothing ever seemed truly exciting, not when you could have anything you wanted with minimal effort. You’d never been particularly interested in dating, either. Why chase something when the pursuit itself felt dull?

Choi Beomgyu was… different. He wasn’t even someone you could simply talk to. Maybe that’s why he fascinated you so much.

He's impossible to ignore.

"He's sick again… ugh."

The words grated on your nerves, cutting through the hallway like nails on a chalkboard. You were at your locker, minding your own business, stacking books into your bag. Ji-won’s loud voice, drew the attention of everyone within earshot.

You were ready to walk away from the nauseating cheap fog of their perfume, when her next words stopped you cold.

"Beomgyu's sick," she continued, tossing her hair back like it was some grand inconvenience to her. "We went shopping yesterday, and he lent me his umbrella when it rained. Now he's sick. Honestly, such an idiot move."

How could she talk about him like that? Here, in front of all these people, where anyone could hear?

"And I told him not to play basketball today," Ji-won added with a careless shrug. "I mean, it's not like some game is more important than my plans."

Some game? The basketball match wasn’t just some game—it was one of the biggest events of the year, something their team had poured weeks of practice into. And she expected him to ditch it for her whims?

The sharp clang of your locker shutting ripped through the air, louder than you intended when you closed it. The hallway fell silent. Ji-won flinched, startled by the sound, then turned, ready to snap at whoever dared interrupt her. But when her eyes met yours, the words died in her throat.

Your stare pinned her in place, unwavering. The entire hallway seemed to hold its breath, watching, waiting. Everyone knew better than to cross you—Choi trinity’s princess.

After a few long seconds, you broke eye contact, turned on your heel and walked away, each step of your Valentino sandals echoing with you.

As much as you wanted to speak, as much as the words burned at the back of your throat, you couldn’t. Because no matter how much Ji-won infuriated you, no matter how carelessly she spoke about him, this wasn’t your battle to fight.

You had no right to.

Beomgyu wasn’t yours to defend.

You body moved without thinking, pulling your phone out to call your driver. Medicine. Ingredients for a recovery soup. You listed everything quickly, your voice brisk to mask the slight shake in it.

Cooking had always been something you loved. There was a comfort in its simplicity—a recipe was just steps to follow, a methodical course that brought things to life. You liked how it could make someone happy, how it could bring warmth, even when words couldn’t.

When the ingredients arrived, you made your way to the university’s cooking room. It was meant for culinary students, but a single request to the club president had granted you access.

You tied your hair back, rolled up your sleeves and got to work. The familiar motions of chopping, stirring, and seasoning steadied you. The savoury aroma filled the room, spilling over into your senses. When the soup was done, you ladled it into a glass container, the warmth radiating through your hands. Perfect for the chilly wind outside.

It's no surprise that he got sick.

You packed it carefully, along with the medicine, into a small bag, and made your way toward his classroom. Sunghoon had told you where Beomgyu’s seat was, promising to keep it quiet. No one could know about this.

Not even Beomgyu himself.

The classroom was empty when you arrived, just as you’d hoped. Rows of desks stretched before you, soaked in the soft, dim light of late afternoon. Your steps faltered when you unexpectedly spotted him. You were about to turn around when you noticed he was asleep.

There he was, slumped over his desk, his head resting on folded arms. His chest rose and fell in slow, steady breaths, his face flushed with fever.

You swallowed hard, the sight tugging at something deep inside you. His eyelashes, dark and delicate, brushed against his cheeks, and for a moment, he looked so unguarded, so unlike the version of him you were used to seeing.

Slowly, you approached, placing the bag on the desk beside him with the utmost care, as if any sound might disturb him. But as much as you tried to stay quiet, the pounding of your heart seemed impossibly loud in the silence.

You stood there longer than you should have, your gaze lingering on the soft lines of his face. His fever-reddened cheeks, his slightly parted lips—he looked so vulnerable, so human in a way that made your chest ache.

Your breath caught as you turned to leave. It was hard to breathe in this room, hard to ignore the charm he had on you, even now. With one last glance at his sleeping form, you turned and walked out.

It felt like you were leaving your heart with him.

Beomgyu stirs awake, his body aching and cold, as if the chill had seeped into his skin. His head feels heavy, but a faint warmth near him pulls him in. He blinks sluggishly, there's—a container of soup resting on his desk. Soup?

Confused but drawn to it, he sits up slowly, the movement making his head spin. His fingers tremble slightly as he uncaps the container, and the smell that greets him is like a hug he didn’t know he needed. His stomach rumbles in response.

His gaze drops to the items beside it: medicine, utensils, carefully placed. Whoever left this thought of everything.

He picks up the spoon, dipping it into the golden broth. Bringing it to his lips, he tastes it. His eyes widen, a soft sound escaping him—surprised. It’s incredible.

It reminds him of his mother’s cooking, back when she still had time to make him meals. A strange fullness settles in his chest as he takes another spoonful, the warmth spreading, chasing away the numbness. He can’t stop eating—it’s too good.

“Babe?”

The sound of Ji-won’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts. He looks up as she walks in, holding two water bottles. Her eyes land on the container in his hands, her expression flickering with something unreadable.

“Oh,” she says casually, stepping closer.

Beomgyu smiles, his lips curving softly, his voice lighter than it’s been all day. “Did you make this?” he asks, hope threading through his tone. “It’s amazing. Seriously, it’s… it’s so good. Fucking delicious.”

Ji-won blinks, startled by his enthusiasm. He was grumpy and on edge all day because of his fever. Who left this? she wonders, panic flickering beneath her composed exterior, her gaze darts to the container again, then back to Beomgyu, who’s looking at her expectantly.

“Oh, yeah—yeah!” she blurts, forcing a bright smile. “Of course, I made it.”

Beomgyu tilts his head, surprised. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Anything for my boyfriend,” Ji-won replies, stepping closer as she places the water bottles on his desk. Her smile feels tight, but she pushes through. “That’s how much I love you.”

He chuckles softly, eating a spoonful again. “Well, I love it. Thank you for this. It made me feel so much better.”

That wasn’t the last time.

You told yourself it would be. Swore it, even. No more going out of your way for him. No more small, secret gestures. But every time you thought it was over, you found yourself pulled back in, like some invisible thread tying you to him.

It started with the soup. The day after you left it, you saw him. His face, pale and tired the day before, was flushed with warmth again, life returning to his features. Sunghoon mentioned, almost offhandedly, how Beomgyu wouldn’t stop bragging about the meal, how he raved about it like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

And something about that stuck with you.

From then on, it became quite a bad habit. Throughout college, whenever you heard he was sick, you found yourself leaving small comforts behind. A bottle of tea on his desk, sweets slipped into his lockers during a lecture. And it didn’t stop there.

One time, Beomgyu forgot something important—a book, a charger, you don’t even remember now. You lent yours to Sunghoon, pretending you didn’t care, pretending it wasn’t just another way to help Beomgyu without him knowing.

Because you didn't want anything back.

When rumors spread about him sneaking around with his girlfriend, you stepped in before it escalated. His father will be angry about it, so you talked to that person who caught him, not for his sake but for your own, because the thought of his world unraveling in front of him was something you couldn’t bear to witness.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

It wasn’t for him. It couldn’t be.

It was for you.

The way your eyes scanned every room at social gatherings, always searching for his familiar face in the crowd. The way you couldn’t relax until you caught sight of him or the way your heart jumped whenever you spotted him, even if he didn’t notice you.

It was an addiction. One you couldn’t seem to break, no matter how many times you promised yourself you’d let go.

Were you in love with him for those four years? Or was it more than that?

"As you already know, this is Y/N, son," Beomgyu's mother announces, her perfectly manicured hands resting lightly on your shoulders. Beomgyu’s gaze meets yours. His hair is longer now, sitting at the edges of his sharp jawline, almost to his shoulders—much different to how you remember him last, on his graduation day. A whole year has passed since then. And you've graduated now too.

His suit—a dark blue so deep it could pass for black—fits him perfectly, exuding quiet sophistication. In contrast, your white Balmain dress feels almost too bright, too bold, clinging to you in a way that leaves no room for subtlety. You feel exposed under his probing eyes.

This morning, your mother had insisted—no, demanded—that you wear an elegant dress. You hadn’t understood why, but now the reason stands clear.

Beside you, your brother Soobin sits rigid, yet observing. He’s always been offensive, and tonight is no exception.

The two Choi family heads are deep in conversation, their voices low but purposeful, like they’re planning something big. It’s just the two families here tonight, seated at an impossibly long table in an equally expensive restaurant. The grandeur of the setting only amplifies it—the entire floor of this lavish place reserved just for this dinner, the emptiness around you making it feel more like a stage than a private meal.

“Your marriage will take place at the end of the year,” Beomgyu’s father declares. The words snap you out of your daze, and your head jerks toward him in shock. A soft gasp escapes your lips before you can stop it.

“What?” Beomgyu’s voice is sharp. His jaw tightens when he leans forward, composure beginning to crack. “You made me end things with Ji-won last week, and now you’re telling me I’m engaged?” He practically spits the words, hands curl into fists on the table. “To someone I don’t even know?”

Ji-won. You flinch involuntarily, hands dropping to your lap. You start picking at your nailbeds. The air feels thick—too thick to breathe.

“Who is that?” Beomgyu’s father demands, his tone filled with disdain. “I told you not to mention that whore again.” His words are venomous, and you barely have time to register the insult before the sound of Beomgyu’s chair scraping against the polished floor reverberates through the room.

Everyone flinches as he rises, his movements full of suppressed fury. Your heart pounds. He stands there seething, glaring at his father, everyone staring, daring for him to do something before he turns on his heel.

You bite your bottom lip, trying to hold yourself together. The sting in your chest is undeniable. Disappointment wells up, as Beomgyu's actions fill the silence you can’t bear to break, your gaze fixed anywhere but the head table. Soobin’s hand suddenly moves into your line of sight, prying yours apart gently—stopping you from further tormenting your hands. His fingers curl around yours, tight.

Beomgyu's retreating footsteps echo, each one louder than the last, leaving a charged silence in their wake.

The next time you see him is on your wedding day.

You didn’t think it would happen like this. You truly didn’t. You’d clung to the faint hope that he’d at least show up before the ceremony—just once. You went to the fittings alone, picked out the rings by yourself, and stood in bakeries surrounded by couples, as you chose the cake flavour on your own. A conversation, even a brief one, might have eased the unease that had settled in your chest like a stone.

Maybe, when the time comes, you’ll work up the courage to ask him if he can at least try to be casual with you.

But every assurance came from his parents—empty promises that fell on ears too tired to process anymore. Your parents clung to those words, desperate for this union. A necessary marriage, they said. A solution.

None of it reassured you. How could it, when the groom himself was nowhere to be found? You never saw him. It was as though you were preparing to marry a ghost.

When he finally sees you, it’s as you walk down the aisle, dressed in a gown that feels heavier than it should. His gaze lands on you, a one-second glance that’s gone before you can even register it. He doesn’t look at you again. Not during the vows, not during the ceremony, not even as you both stand side by side, bound by words you barely believe.

And now, instead of his arms around you, you find yourself sobbing into your brother’s shoulder. Soobin holds you tightly. The irony was funny—it was Soobin, the whole reason to why Beomgyu was introduced to you all those years ago.

Beomgyu, the boy who returned you safely to your brother that night, the one who left a permanent mark so indelible it stayed for years. The same mark that now hurts you, refusing to fade no matter how many years passed.

It's cruel.

Happy 26th birthday baby girl! xoxo

You smiled faintly at Ryujin's text as you stirred the pancake batter you'd made from scratch. The comforting smell of vanilla and butter filled the kitchen—your kitchen.

As much as you endured your parents' endless whims, you had to admit, you loved the simplicity of domesticity. There was something grounding about it. It made you feel useful, capable—like you could create something perfect, even in a life that often felt far from it.

"Y/N." The sound of your name broke your focus. You looked up, catching Beomgyu standing at the doorway. He was already dressed in his usual impeccably tailored suit, his fingers fiddling with the knot of his tie. "I'm heading to the office early today,"

"Again?" Your voice was softer than you'd intended. "At least have breakfast before you go. I can finish this quickly."

"Thank you," he dismissed, gaze shifting away. Avoiding yours. Reminding you the line that's stretched between you cannot ever cross. "But I'll eat at the office. I don't want to be late. I might be back for dinner later. Maybe."

He adjusted his tie one last time, nodded in your direction, and walked out without another word. The soft click of it closing behind him felt louder than it should have.

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat. It was fine. You were used to this. Not because he left early again, but because it was an important day for you. A day you’d spend, once again, without him. Another day spent in the quiet of this too-big penthouse, with no one but yourself for company.

Two years into your marriage, you had learned to temper your expectations. Love was never meant to be part of the deal, and you had told yourself, over and over, that you didn’t need it. But no amount of reason could stop your heart from aching, from yearning—for Beomgyu to see you. Not as a piece of some agreement or a cog in the machinery of alliances, but as a person. As you.

Maybe even as a friend.

He wasn’t unkind. Not once had he raised his voice or shown you disrespect. But in some ways, his indifference stung more. He was here, yet not here—like a shadow that lived in the same space but never touched yours.

And sometimes, you wished that he would be mean to you, he would shout at you or he would hurt you—at least then, there would be something to feel. You hate that you gave him power over yourself.

You told your mother about it—you never saw your parents love each other, not in a way that felt real, not in front of you. She offered one thing that made sense to you.

Someday, you'll have children, and your child will give you a new purpose. You wanted to push back, to argue, but the next words stopped you cold—“Because if being an invisible wife isn’t enough, your children will see you.” You didn’t want to bring a child into this—into a life painted in shades of grey. An innocent child shouldn’t have to bear it. A child born not out of love? The thought made your chest tighten.

And yet, in the darkest, most desperate corners of your mind, another voice whispered something wicked. A voice that insisted maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

You sighed, finding the courage to pick up the spoon to eat, imagining a child sitting across from you, soft brown eyes mirroring his.

Alone, but somehow, it felt a little less lonely.

"Boss, there's a party later. It's Mr. Yoon's farewell dinner."

Beomgyu glanced up from his laptop, his secretary’s voice pulling him from the post-meeting haze. Mr. Yoon—one of his father’s most loyal employees, someone who had been with the company for years. Letting this occasion go unnoticed wasn’t an option, not for someone like him.

Later that evening, Beomgyu arrived at the resto-bar, the space already alive with the hum of laughter and conversation. As soon as he stepped inside, heads turned. Employees greeted him with a mix of respect and warmth, but his smile, though polite, didn’t reach his eyes. It was business, like always. When someone announced that the night’s tab was on him, a wave of cheers erupted, but Beomgyu barely reacted. He offered only a nod before grabbing a beer and retreating into his thoughts. Are you asleep—

"Omg, Beomgyu?"

The familiar voice jolted him. He turned his head sharply, and there she was—Ji-won. Her platinum blonde bleached hair gleamed under the bar lights, her lips curved into a playful smile. She looked almost the same, except more polished. She hadn’t changed much, down to the way her manicured fingers grazed her cheek as she tucked her hair behind her ears.

"It's you! I haven't seen you in what, two years? Almost?" she said, her tone bright, her lashes fluttering in the way she knew he once liked.

"Yeah," Beomgyu replied curtly, his voice neutral. "Nice to see you here." He grabbed his beer and took a long sip. Her laugh rang out, light and infectious, the same laugh that used to feel like heaven to him. She knew exactly what to do, exactly how to pull him in.

Beomgyu raised his beer and took a long sip again, letting the alcohol burn its way down. He probably should go now. Her friends surrounded them, teasing and nudging, playful comments flying back and forth. He stayed composed, answering in clipped sentences, trying to keep his distance. He just needs to find the time to excuse himself.

But at some point, her friends drifted away, leaving her behind—drunk and alone, leaning heavily against the table. Beomgyu sighed, running a hand through his hair. He could have left her there. Maybe he should have. But instead, he found himself walking over.

"Come on," he said quietly, offering his hand. "Let me take you home."

She looked up at him, her eyes glassy but soft, and smiled. It was a smile that used to mean so much more.

Her warm hands envelop his.

The drive to her address was heavy with silence. Ji-won kept glancing at him, her eyes longing, but Beomgyu stayed focused on the road. Her address glowed faintly from his phone’s GPS. When they arrived, he got out, rounding the car to help her. She wobbled slightly, her drunken state evident, but he steadied her without a word and walked her to her door. She didn’t let go of his arm.

As they reached her doorstep, she turned to him, her voice trembling, raw. “Did you forget all about me already?” she asked, her voice breaking slightly. “Because… because I haven’t. It's still you, Beomgyu. I still love you.”

The words stopped him cold. He looked at her then—really looked at her. The faint blush on her cheeks, the way her hair fell messily over her shoulders, and that familiar scent of her perfume. Memories flashed. The way she’d cried when he said goodbye. The way she’d begged him to stay, her arms wrapped around him like she could keep him forever. He remembered the way he had talked to his father—looking for any chance. Only to be met with a no. A hard, unrelenting no.

It was too much. She's too familiar. He's too close.

And then, she leaned in.

Her lips touched his, soft just like they used to be. He shouldn’t. But when the small of her hands gripped the lapels of his suit, pulling him closer, he kissed her back.

It wasn’t gentle—it was desperate, messy, like trying to reclaim something lost. Her body pressed against his, and the sound of her soft moan made him grip her arms. He presses her against the door. Her hands tried to open the front door for them to go inside. It felt like a reunion, a fleeting taste of something they weren’t supposed to have.

But then she whispered against his lips, “Do you think we’d be married now if your father hadn’t stopped us?”

The word married—hit him, made him open his eyes, freezing in place.

He pulled away, his breath ragged, staring at her. His lips still burned with the sin of hers. What the hell was he doing?

Ji-won stared at him, her expression a mix of confusion and hurt. “Beomgyu—” she started, but he shook his head, taking another step back.

“I… I can’t,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

Without waiting for her response, he turned and walked away, his steps hurried and uneven. She reached for him—called his name, voice crying, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

All he could see was your face.

At home. Waiting for him. Leaning to the countertop with your stupidly sweet unnecessary smile. The crinkle by your eyes. It flashes over and over, drowning out everyone, and everything else.

Beomgyu gets into his car, his hands trembling as he fumbles with the keys. The engine roars to life with an urgency that matches his racing thoughts.

His grip tightens on the wheel as the image of Ji-won flashes in his mind. Her words. Her touch. The kiss. His stomach churns. What the hell was he thinking? Did he still love her?

The elevator ride to your floor feels agonizingly slow, every second stretching endlessly. He can barely hear his own breathing over the pounding of his heart. When the doors open, he steps out hesitantly, his footsteps dragging as he approaches the front door.

He pauses in the entryway, his eyes scanning the room until they land on you.

He sees you.

You're curled up on the couch, your head resting on a pillow, a blanket draped loosely over your legs. His eyes dart on the kitchen, there sits a plate of untouched food, now cold. Dinner.

His chest tightens. You waited for him. Despite everything—despite the fact that he’d made no promises, despite the countless nights like this—you still waited.

How? he thinks, his mind reeling. How could you wait for him, when he hadn't given you anything to hold on to?

He glances at the clock on the wall. 6 a.m. His jaw clenches. He hadn’t even noticed the time had passed. He’d been so caught up at the party, so lost in the haze of old memories and poor decisions, that he’d forgotten about you entirely.

He steps closer, his gaze softening as it falls on your face. You look peaceful, your breathing even, your features illuminated by the dim light filtering in from the window. There’s something unfamiliar stirring in his chest.

The urge to reach out, to touch you, is overwhelming. But as his eyes fall to your lips, a shameful reminder washes over him—he knows that his lips had been with someone else only minutes ago.

It would be cruel to let it stain the divine of your skin.

“Come here,” Beomgyu spoke, which made you look at him through the mirror for a couple of seconds before seeing him beckon you over. You walked towards him, about to sit on the edge of the bed, when he grabbed your arm and sat you between his thighs.

“What is it?” you asked softly. You felt his arms tighten slightly around you, his fingers brushing the fabric of your robe. He hadn’t spoken to you all day, hadn’t so much as looked at you too. You just got out of your shower when you saw him sitting in your bed. And now, here he was—unexpected, yet demanding this closeness.

He didn’t answer. Instead, his lips pressed against the curve of your shoulder. You could feel his breath, warm against your skin. His hand slid slowly from your waist to your side, tracing the outline of your frame. You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening. You knew what this was. What he wanted. What he was about to do.

This was the pattern you had grown to recognise. The times he came to you like this, seeking the comfort your body could offer. The way his touch made you feel seen. And when morning came, like always, he would retreat—pulling away, storms behind his eye, leaving you to wrestle with the hollow ache in your chest.

Nights like this made it hurt more.

“Nothing.” He says. You felt his hand caress your thigh as he kisses your shoulder. He turns you around. He licked his lips before letting it explore the inside of your mouth, making you moan. He grunts in your mouth as his hand snakes to the inside of your thighs, kneading the soft flesh.

He pushes his clothed crotch to your heat. He removes the top part of your robe, his lips easily finding themselves on your nipple, kissing around it before hungrily latching his mouth on it. The feeling of his wet tongue circling your bead and the growing tent on his pants rubbing on you made your body heat up.

You should push him away.

But then he looked up into your eyes, almost begging. It's soft, glassy which makes you wonder if you're ever going to see it other than like this. At that moment, the truth hit you: this was all he could offer. This collision, the press of his skin against yours—this was all you’d ever have of him. The pain intensified. He goes up and captures your lips again.

“I want to be inside you,” he murmured against your kisses. Fine, you thought. Just this once more—one last time. You placed your hands on his chest, pushing him back gently, turned around and got on all fours. You arched your back, pressing your head onto the mattress. Your ass was in the air, and you were exposed to him. Hearing him move behind you made you close your eyes.

Beomgyu was shocked. For you to offer yourself like this, so quickly, caught him off guard. He blinked, taking in the curve of your back, and the way you presented yourself.

You felt his tip rub against your folds and swollen clit, making you whine. He pulled your legs farther apart before plunging two fingers to make sure you were ready to take him.

You moaned, feeling his long fingers massage your walls. Your wetness trickled on his hand, and it only made him harder. He sucked his fingers when he pulled out. You felt every inch, his cock reaching places that made your body arch instinctively beneath.

It burns, and it burns so good.

“You're always fucking tight.” He kneads your ass cheeks, thrusting slowly at first before gradually increasing in speed. You felt so full as he pushed into you. He reached for your clit as you buried your face into the pillow. “Y/N…” His hard cock reaches the deepest parts of you. Beomgyu flipped your body without warning, and your arm immediately flew to your face. You turned your face away from him, not knowing that he’s been observing you.

You’ve been hiding your face the whole time as much as you can. Seeing his eyes felt unbearable. Because meeting his eyes will make you want him. To want him more than this. Something he will never be able to give.

“Y/N…I want to see your face.” He grabbed your hand to move them away, and Beomgyu felt a pang in his chest when he saw your swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks. You were sobbing underneath him.

“Please…” Your voice cracked, barely a whisper. “Just make me cum. Okay?”

You were breaking your own heart, chasing his own. And as he stared down at you, his indifference, the wall he’d built so carefully around himself, was killing you.

“What's wrong?” He urges you. His thrusts are unceasing as tears continue to fall down from your eyes. “Y/N…” Your orgasm hits you hard. Your toes curled as you cried out his name. Your walls were squeezing his cock. He grunts at how tight you feel around him. His hands were gripping the back of your knees as his hips stuttered, about to reach his own climax.

Even as he continued to move, his pace sloppy and desperate, your quiet sobs filled the room, uncontrollable. Beomgyu stilled above you, his heart twisting painfully at the sound. He hated himself—hated the way he’d reduced you to this.

You feel his hot cum inside you. When he finally pulled away, he collapsed beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. His unsure eyes drifted to you, curled up in the blankets, your shoulders shaking as you tried to stifle your cries. You moved your whole body under the sheets, clung to the fabric like it was the only thing holding you together.

Hiding. Hiding from the one who was supposed to be your other half.

The sight of you like this made his throat tighten, his chest heavy with something he couldn’t put into words. He had never wanted to hurt you, yet here you were.

That night, Beomgyu lay unable to find sleep, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling of your bedroom walls. You were an angel, one he had broken with his own hands.

You wake up, heart racing.

Your hands instinctively move to your face. It’s that dream again. The same one that’s haunted you night after night. The memory of him. That night. The last time Beomgyu touched you. It’s been just over four weeks.

Even in sleep, he doesn’t let you go.

You blinked, your surroundings blurry in the faint light of your room. How did you get here? You were sure you’d fallen asleep on the couch. The question barely settles before an uneasy twist in your stomach pulls you back to the present. A wave of nausea rushes through you, sharp and sudden.

Your hand flies to your mouth as you scramble out of bed, your legs barely keeping up as you dart to the bathroom. You made it just in time, collapsing onto your knees as your body seized itself forward. The bitter taste burned your throat, each heave leaving you weaker than the last. You sat there, gripping the cool edge of the toilet, tears slipping silently down your cheeks.

You pushed yourself up, legs still shaky, and made your way to the sink. The cold water was a welcome distraction, splashing against your skin and dripping down in rivulets. You scrubbed at your face harder than you needed to, as if the water could somehow rinse away more than just the sweat clinging to your skin.

Grabbing a towel, you patted your face dry, letting your gaze drift to the untouched box of tampons sitting quietly on the shelf.

“Y/N?” The knock on your door startled you. Tossing the towel aside, you stepped out of the small bathroom and crossed the room to open the door.

There he stood, his dark eyes locking onto yours the second the door opened. He scanned your face. “Are… are you okay? I heard a loud thump.” His voice was uneven, like he wasn’t sure he should even be asking.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly. You moved to step past him, but the moment you did, he took a cautious step back, his body shifting as though he couldn’t bear to be too close.

It stung, but you didn’t let it show. “Have you eaten yet?”

“No,” he replies, eyes darting to the vases on the table. “You got flowers?” Beomgyu’s stares on your face. The way your face softens at the mention of them—he notices it instantly. He doesn’t like it—not one bit.

“They were given to me.”

“Two dozen?” he presses, “By who?”

“Soobin,”

“And?” he asks again, though there’s no need. He already knows who.

“Yeonjun,” The name lands heavy between you.

His jaw tightens. “He dropped them off here yesterday? Why did—” His words tumble out quickly, too quickly.

Because it's your birthday.

“He was with Soobin, Beomgyu,” you interrupt, brushing past him toward the refrigerator. Your steps feel heavier than they should Blinking, you try to push the swelling emotions back down. Normally, you’d brush this off. So why does it feel so different today? Why are you getting emotional? You pull out a bottle of water, taking a long sip to steady yourself before asking, “What time did you come home yesterday?”

Silence.

You drink slowly, giving him time to answer, but he doesn’t. The room feels stifling in the stillness, the hum of the refrigerator suddenly too loud. You set your empty glass on the table with a dull thud, your eyes drifting back to him.

He’s standing there in his usual morning look—white shirt hanging loose, black pyjama pants slightly wrinkled. His hair is a mess from sleep, and his skin looks paler in the soft light. There’s something about how vulnerable he looks in the mornings that always catches you off guard.

He's painfully beautiful.

“Around the morning,” He's hesitant. He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t meet your eyes, and the tightness in your chest only grows. There’s an ugly nagging feeling at the edges of your thoughts.

“I’ll go get ready for work,” he says, shutting the conversation before it even has a chance to go further.

It doesn't surprise you anymore.

You step into the opulent glow of the five-star Skyline Restaurant, the clink of fine china and hushed laughter swirled around. Fingers gripping your white Dior purse, you scan the room, heels clicking against the polished marble floor. Your eyes sweep over faces until a familiar one stops you in your tracks.

“Pretty girl.” Ryujin’s voice called out, smooth and warm. She raises a hand in a poised wave, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. You mirror her expression, weaving your way toward her. Heads turn as you pass, your perfume—delicate yet potent.

“How are you?” she asks as you reach her, gaze soft yet probing.

“I’m okay,” you reply, sinking into the plush couch across from her. The tension in your shoulders eases, if only slightly. “Thank you for the gifts, by the way. And I’m sorry I couldn’t meet up with you yesterday, like you wanted.”

“I understand.” Her reply is casual, but her eyes betray her. They flicker to the dark crescents under yours, the ones you’ve tried to conceal but can never quite hide. “It’s always him, isn’t it? At the end of the day.”

Your fingers wrap around the porcelain cup in front of you. The tea is hot against your palms, and you take a tentative sip. It tasted faintly of jasmine, soothing and bittersweet. The silence between you stretches.

“Y/N.” Her voice pulls you back, insistent. Your eyes meet hers, and for a moment, you can’t look away. “He’s the reason you’re like this. It doesn't have to be, but he made it this way. You see that, don’t you?”

"I know."

Ryujin’s eyes flickered with hesitation, the way someone falters before delivering a blow. Eyes darting between you and the untouched tea in front of her. “I don’t want you to get hurt,” she began, her voice soft but unsteady. “But I… I heard something.”

Her words made your heart clench. “What is it?”

“I mean, I’m not completely sure, but it came from someone I trust and—”

“Ryujin,” you snapped, sharper than you intended. Your chest tightened as dread crept in. “Tell me.”

She hesitated, her lips parting slightly before closing again. “Did he spend the night with you yesterday?”

You felt the world shift under your feet. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Your silence was enough.

He wasn't.

Ryujin’s expression softened, pity creeping into her features, “I—there was a party,” she said, her voice quieter now, hesitant. “One with Beomgyu and Ji-won.”

The name made your stomach drop.

“They were together all night,” she said, her words rushed, like she wanted to get them out before she lost her nerve. “And someone… someone saw them. Beomgyu practically carried her into his car. They left together.”

Your vision blurred for a second, the edges of the room fading as her words registered. You forced yourself to blink, to breathe. “Oh,” you whispered.

Ryujin stood abruptly and moved to sit beside you, taking your trembling hands into hers. “Confront him,” she urged. “Find out if it’s true.” She squeezed your hands. “I’m so tired of seeing you like this. Always giving and giving while he takes whatever’s left of you.” Her voice cracked. “Loving him silently. Loving him so hard isn’t going to make him love you back.”

You didn’t even realise you were crying until the tears started dripping onto your lap, soaking into the fabric of your dress. Ryujin hated it. She remembered you in college—how you laughed so freely, how your eyes sparkled. But now, that light she admired so much was dimming, as if someone had reached inside you and quietly stolen it piece by piece.

Ryujin swallowed hard, blinking back her own tears as she watched yours fall. How hurt must you be to cry like this—without a sound, without even a gasp? Just the quiet, stream of tears slipping down your face, carving paths of pain?

She hated seeing you like this—hated how one person had managed to turn the full-bloomed, radiant version of you into a shadow of yourself, a bud closed off to the world. That someone can easily break you, when you spent years building yourself.

You're waiting.

It's 10 p.m. The hours have crawled by since you drove back here. You look around. This space, where you are supposed to build a family, where love is supposed to be—is nothing but a cold place to you.

You're sitting on the couch, the same couch you’ve spent countless nights on, staring at the clock, waiting for him. Your hands rest in your lap, trembling slightly, though you don’t realise it. With nothing but fear, the fear that you’re losing something you never truly had.

Your phone buzzes again. Two names alternate, calling over and over. You don’t pick up. You don’t even look. You can’t.

Because the truth is, you don’t know if you’ll make it through the night without hearing from him. Your husband.

The elevator dings softly, and Beomgyu steps into the penthouse. His tie hangs loose around his neck, his hair tousled and far from his usual pristine self. He looks tired, distracted—like he’s been anywhere but here. His eyes met yours.

"Why are you still awake—"

"Do you think I don’t know what you’ve done?" Your voice cuts, trembling. You see his eyes widen, just a fraction. It’s so small you almost missed it.

"Ji-won." Her name burns as it leaves your mouth, bitter. His eyes flicker toward you for just a second—a split second, just long enough to know that he heard—but there is nothing in them. Nothing.

He moves with calculated slowness, setting his bag down on the table, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. Time ticked. He doesn’t even try to explain. Doesn’t even look at you long enough for you to find a trace of the man you once thought you knew. His thumb brushes over his ring like it’s something he’s forgotten. A ring that should have meant forever.

"I can handle it all, Choi Beomgyu," you say, your voice firmer now, though your hands tremble at your sides. "I’ve handled it all, haven’t I? I didn’t say anything when you kept talking about her—days after we got married—on our honeymoon, or right in front of your family."

His back stiffens, his hands gripping the edge of the countertop. Beomgyu swallows the lump in his throat.

"Not once in these two years did I tell you how small you made me feel, how you made me feel like I didn’t belong in your world. Like I was a stranger in my own marriage." Your voice cracks, but you keep going. "I stayed silent, And after all of that—after everything—I stayed. I stayed because I thought… maybe it was enough. And yet, you still chose to cheat on me?"

You’re shaking now, and your voice rises despite your best efforts to keep it steady. "If you had just come to me and said you didn’t want this anymore, I would’ve let you go. I would’ve walked away, Beomgyu. Because everything I’ve done—every single thing—has been for you. For this marriage. For our families."

His head finally lifts, and his eyes meet yours. You hate how you feel small under his gaze, how his silence feels like a condemnation of your own vulnerability.

Beomgyu swallows hard, his jaw tightening. "That’s not what happened, Y/N."

"That you didn’t go home with her? That you weren’t with her on my fucking birthday?"

Your words hit him like a punch, and his eyes widen, the crack in his composure visible now.

"What?"

"You heard me." The burden festering inside you for so long is finally out. It feels small, inadequate even, but you don’t care anymore. You can’t. You can feel his eyes on you, and it's your turn to refuse to meet them. You’re done searching his face for answers that will never come.

You rise from the couch, your movements sharp, fueled by hurt and exhaustion. Steps are quick, your breaths are shallow as you reach your room. The door slams shut behind you with a force that echoes behind. Your hands tremble as you swipe on your phone. Tears blur your vision, falling onto the screen as you scroll, fingers fumbling to find the number you need.

You don’t think. You can’t. The tears are hot and relentless, burning tracks down your cheeks as you press the call button.

The line clicks immediately.

Outside your room, Beomgyu stands in the hallway, pacing back and forth. His footsteps are uneven, restless. The truth is, he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t even know where to begin. Every time he tries to form the words in his head, they fall apart before they can leave his lips.

How can he explain it? How can he make you understand? He never thought it would come to this—never thought he’d have to say it out loud. He’d always believed he could keep it buried, that you’d never find out.

He presses a hand to his forehead, exhaling sharply. He hasn’t spoken to Ji-won since that night. Not once. She tried to reach out—texts, calls, even showing up unannounced—but he shut it all down. He shut her out.

The irony isn’t lost on him. He, who once was hopelessly in love with her had turned his back on her entirely. What surprised him the most was how easy it was. All it took was thinking of you.

And the sight of your tears now terrifies him.

Beomgyu has always been a confident man. He was raised to be one. It’s who he was taught to be—the man who could command a room, close deals, deliver speeches without a stutter. But none of that matters now. Standing here, in front of your door, he feels small. Helpless. Negotiating with the world is one thing; facing the pain in your eyes is another.

He sighs, dragging his hands through his hair in frustration. His chest feels tight, his mind racing. He should knock. He knows he should try—should say something, anything.

He lifts his hand to knock, but the door swings open before he can. Your eyes meet his—red, swollen, glassy with unshed tears—and it feels like the air is knocked out of him. Beomgyu's chest tightens painfully, and then his gaze falls to the suitcase in your hand,"Where are you going?"

You don’t answer. Instead, you step past him, avoiding even the smallest brush against him. The sound of your suitcase wheels echoes in the hall. His heart stutters, his feet frozen in place.

"Y/N," he pleads, reaching for your wrist. His eyes flicker down to your hand, and the absence of your ring feels like a blow he wasn’t ready for.

"Beomgyu," you say quietly, pulling your hand away from his grasp."I’m going to stay with my brother for a while."

You don’t wait for his response. You can’t. If you stop now—if you meet his eyes again—you might change your mind. You walk toward the elevator, heart pounding, and breaking, but you don’t look back. When he doesn’t follow, when he doesn’t try to stop you, it cracks a little more.

The elevator doors begin to close, you think that’s it.This is the end. But then, his hand darts between the doors, forcing them open. You glance up in surprise. You've never seen him this unsure, or nervous before.

"At least let me see you out," he says softly. "Please,"

He stares at you. You nod, stepping aside to make room for him. Neither of you speaks, and the distance between you feels impossibly wide, even in the small space.

"Call me if you ever want to talk again," he finally breaks the silence, eyes fixed on the ground, "I’ll wait for you," You don’t respond, your throat tightening as you stare straight ahead, willing yourself not to cry.

Perhaps, it is his turn to wait for you.

It’s the longest elevator ride of your life.

In the parking lot, your brother is the first thing you see—tall and imposing, his glasses doing nothing to soften the sharp frown etched across his face. His eyes sweep over you, landing on the suitcase in your hand before darting behind you. The worry darkens instantly into anger when he sees Beomgyu trailing a few steps behind.

"You fucker," Soobin spits, brushing past you to square off with him. His voice is cold and furious. Beomgyu doesn’t flinch, doesn’t back down, even as your brother towers over him.

"I gave you the benefit of the doubt," Soobin growls. "I thought, at the very least, you’d treat my sister with the respect she deserves. But you—"

"Soobin, stop!" You step forward, your hands desperately reaching out to hold your brother’s fists clenched at his sides. "Please, let’s just go."

He hesitates, jaw tightening as he swallows his anger. With a final, scathing glare at Beomgyu, Soobin turns away. He reached for your suitcase, grabbed it without a word and shoved it into the trunk of his car. Then he opens the passenger door, his expression softening ever so slightly as he looks at you. "Get inside."

You slide into the car, your hands trembling as you clutch them in your lap. Soobin slams the door shut behind you, the sound shouting in the empty parking lot like a final warning.

Beomgyu stands there eyes never leaving your form, unmoving, as the car engine roars to life. His chest feels like it’s caving in as he watches Soobin pull away, the tyres screeching against the pavement. It’s almost insulting, the way the sound seems to echo his own turmoil.

His eyes follow the car until it vanishes from sight, leaving nothing but silence and the crushing weight of knowing you’re gone.

Beomgyu steps back, dragging his feet to somehow delay the reality settling in around him. Every few steps, he glances over his shoulder, the faintest flicker of hope burning in his chest. Maybe you’d be there. Maybe you’d come back.

Maybe this was just a nightmare he hadn’t woken up from yet.

But you didn't.

The elevator doors slide open, and he strides inside, his mind blank and racing all at once. He walks, heading straight to the kitchen for water—something to soothe the dryness in his throat, the tightness in his chest. But as he passes the living room, his eyes catch on the portrait hanging above the mantel.

The wedding photo.

It hangs on there, just as it always has, but tonight it feels unbearable. His eyes lock on your face, and he falters. How could he have missed it? The slight redness in your eyes, the way your smile looks stretched too thin. How can a bride look so unhappy? How did it take him this long to realise how beautiful you looked that day—despite everything? How could he have failed to tell you?

How could he have been so blind?

He wasn’t the only one hurting that day. You had to stand there, dressed in white, while he grieved for someone else. On the day that was supposed to be yours, his mind had been somewhere else, tangled in memories of a woman who wasn’t you. And he never talked to you about it—not once. He never told you what you needed to hear. That it wasn’t your fault. That none of it was your fault.

He blinks hard, his vision blurring. The cracks were always there, weren’t they? Small at first, almost invisible, but they spread, creeping through everything until you were barely holding on. And he didn’t see it. He didn’t see you. Now, he stares at the picture like it might give him some kind of answer, some kind of clue to undo it all, but all it does is make the ache in his chest grow sharper.

He wished he had known. He wished he had known that the hurt consuming him would fade. He wished he could’ve said it all sooner, when the chance was still there. To tell you the truth. That he indeed had kissed her. That it was a mistake. He should have fallen to his knees and begged you to forgive him.

Would it have made a difference? Could one moment of honesty, one action, one choice have been enough to hold you here, to make you stay?

"Fuck," His voice was unsteady, tears stinging his eyes—tears he didn’t even know he was capable of. He can’t remember the last time he cried. Maybe he never has. He never cried. His hand moves on instinct, reaching for the cabinet, but instead of a glass, his fingers close around the neck of the whisky bottle. Water won’t cut it tonight. He twists the cap off, letting it fall to the counter with a hollow clink, and takes a long, burning sip.

It doesn't dull anything. Not yet. So he drinks.

It’s only been an hour—barely even that—since you left, but it feels like his world is already collapsing.

You wake up groggy, your head spinning and eyes feeling heavy. You can’t remember when you fell asleep or even how. You shift on the bed—Soobin must have carried you here.

Right. You’re at his place now.

"Y/N, you awake?" your brother’s voice carries down the hall, accompanied by the mouthwatering smell of bacon. Your stomach growls unexpectedly. You drag yourself out of bed, splash water on your face in the bathroom, and head out of the room.

“Good morning,” you mumble, stepping into the kitchen. The sight of Soobin setting down a plate of pancakes and Yeonjun grinning at you makes your chest feel warm.

Yeonjun stands and strides over, wrapping you in a tight hug. His hugs are always the warmest. He’s your brother’s best friend, someone who’s been in your life long enough to feel like family. He's known you since you were children, and you see him as your own brother.

He rests his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to the table as the corners of your lips tug into a soft smile you can’t seem to hold back. You sit down, and Soobin begins piling food onto your plate.

"Do you have any plans today?" Soobin asks casually, his focus still on divvying up breakfast.

“None, really,” you reply, your attention entirely on the bacon in front of you. Your stomach practically growls in anticipation, and without waiting, you dig in.

A little too eagerly, apparently. You choke, coughing as you try to swallow too quickly.

Yeonjun’s reaction is immediate—he’s already filling a glass of water before you even finish coughing. He places it in front of you and grabs a few napkins, sliding them your way with a concerned look. “Slow down, Y/N,” he says, his tone gentle but firm.

“Sorry,” you croak out, taking a sip of water to soothe your throat.

Last night, when you arrived, your brother didn’t ask for explanations. He didn’t push, didn’t pry. Instead, he pulled you into a hug, letting you collapse into him, tears soaking into his shirt as you broke down.

You heard him curse, his voice tight with restrained anger, but he didn’t say anything else. He just let you cry. His hands rested firmly on your back.

He didn’t ask because he knew. He knew that words wouldn’t help—not now. And maybe, he was afraid that asking would only deepen the pain already spreading through you.

It’s the reason Soobin hasn’t married yet. He’s had plenty of offers—proposals that would benefit his business, alliances that would make sense on paper. But none of it feels right. Not when he knows what you’ve endured.

He can't forget the look on your face on the day of your wedding. He keeps his distance, telling himself he has no right to fall in love or build a life of his own. How could he, knowing the choice was never yours? How could he allow himself to stand in the light of his own happiness, knowing it would only cast a longer shadow over you?

It would be unfair. Unfair to chase his own happiness.

He’s afraid. Afraid that loving someone, finding joy in his own marriage, would feel like betrayal or it would mean abandoning you to face your burdens alone.

"How are you?" Yeonjun asks, his gaze lingering on the dark circles under your eyes. His frown deepens.

"I'm… better," you say, the words catching in your throat as you force them out. It’s a lie, and you both know it. You’re far from better. Not when the image of Beomgyu standing in the parking lot, staring at you as you left, keeps haunting you. He looked… You shake your head, forcing the thought away.

You can’t go there—not now.

“There’s a party this weekend,” Yeonjun says, trying to sound lighthearted as he takes a bite of his food. “Some kind of school reunion. I think it’s three batches combined. You should come with us.”

"Yeah," you mumble, poking at your plate. "Ryu-jin’s been bugging me about it. Since Jakey won’t be able to make it—he’s overseas right now."

But the words falter on your lips as the thought you’ve been trying to avoid pushes its way forward. You don’t have to say it out loud; it’s already there, written on your face. Beomgyu. He might be there.

"He won’t be," Soobin says firmly, it's almost as if he read your thoughts. "I made sure of it. And if, by some chance, he shows up, I’ll stick by your side all night."

Your eyes flick over to Yeonjun, and he gives you a slight nod, his expression softening. "I’ll be there too,"

The days pass in a haze, each one blurring into the next, but this time, you’re not navigating them by yourself. You lean on your brother more than you ever thought you would, and somehow, he never seems to mind.

Soobin, who skips work without a second thought, pulling you out of the house when he sees you sinking too deep into yourself. He drags you to museums, to quiet cafés, or even just for drives with no destination.

And then there’s Yeonjun. No matter how busy his life is, he keeps... showing up. When Soobin’s tied up, Yeonjun is there, knocking on your door with his humor pulling reluctant smiles from you when you least expect it.

It’s not perfect—it’s still hard. Some days, you still lock your doors and don't come out no matter how many times they knock. There are days you don't even utter a single word. But they’re there, both of them, holding you up when you can’t do it yourself.

For the first time in two years, you don't feel alone.

“He’s not on the list, don’t worry,” Ryu-jin’s voice crackles through the speaker of your phone. You grip the steering wheel a little tighter, your eyes fixed on the road ahead. Soobin’s car leads in the lane in front of you.

"It's fine," you say, "It's not like I'm going for him, anyway."

"Okay. See you there," Ryu-jin replies before hanging up. You swallow hard, trying to push down yet another nausea rising in your throat. You focus on the road.

When you arrive, you walk alongside Soobin toward the entrance. Heads turn, whispers ripple through the crowd. The two of you—the university’s so-called power siblings—command attention without even trying. People smile, greet you, and their eyes linger on your Dior dress, but you barely notice.

“You’re finally here,” Yeonjun’s familiar voice calls out as he approaches, his warm smile cutting the tension in your chest. He grabs your arm gently, pulling you closer. “I’m glad you came,” he says softly, his eyes holding yours before focusing on Soobin.

"You're early." Soobin exchanges a quick greeting with him, heading off briefly to grab drinks for the three of you.

“Y/N!” Ryu-jin throws her arms around you, grinning as her eyes sweep over you. “Why do you always have to look this good?” she teases playfully. You laugh softly, a flicker of warmth in an otherwise heavy evening. The four of you settle at a table, waiting for the event to begin.

The night feels… okay. Not great, not life-changing, but okay. A simple glimpse of normalcy.

The week leading up to tonight lingers in your mind. Beomgyu’s messages. The flowers left at Soobin’s door. The missed calls that filled your screen, each one a reminder of everything you’ve been trying to forget.

You ignored them all. You had to.

Even now, standing here among friends, the memories creep in when you least expect them. Every time you close your eyes, you see them. You see her. And you see him.

And all the things that could’ve happened between them.

No matter how hard you try, the ghosts cling to you, refusing to let go.

You scrub your hands under the cold stream of water, the scent of soap mingling with the sterile air. The sound of the bathroom door creaking open doesn’t register at first—not until you hear her voice.

“Hi, Y/N.” You freeze, your stomach twisting before you even turn around. Through the mirror, her face appears behind you—Ji-won. The last person you wanted to see.

“What do you want?” Your reflection betrays the tension in your jaw. Your stomach twists violently. You don’t want to do this. Not here. Not now.

“Look, I just… I just wanted to say I’m sorry. About what happened between you and Beomgyu.” Her words falter, her tone weak, as if that soft voice could somehow soften the blow. “I—I didn’t mean for it to happen,” she continues, “It just… it just happened. We didn’t mean it.”

You know what hurts more than being cheated on? It’s the sickening realization that the person they chose is better than you in every way. Prettier. Maybe even smarter. More… everything.

Your throat tightens, but you force yourself to speak, “Stop, Ji-won.” You glance at her through the mirror, your chest tightening painfully. “I get it. I can see why.”

She looks startled, her brows drawing together. “Y/N, I’m really sorry. I know you know we had… unfinished business—”

“Unfinished business?” You spin around to face her, and the words tumble out before you can stop them, “With someone else’s husband?”

“That’s why I came to apologize,”

You laugh bitterly, shaking your head as your chest burns with a mixture of anger and pain. “Well, I don’t need it. Did you expect me to hug you?” You let out another laugh, this one harsher.

“Congratulations, I guess.” You step closer, each word laced with venom. “But don’t you ever come near me again. If you do, I’ll press charges. It will be really ugly. Do you understand?”

Ji-won nods stiffly, her expression crumbling under the weight of your stare. Without another glance, you turn on your heel and walk out of the bathroom, your steps hurried, the adrenaline rushing through your veins.

By the time you’re in the hallway, your breath is coming in short gasps. Your chest feels tight, constricted, like you’re drowning in your own emotions. You press a hand to your chest, forcing yourself to keep walking, but your vision blurs with unshed tears.

You can’t breathe.

The alcohol should’ve been enough. You thought it would drown everything out—the ache, the gnawing in your gut, the weight pressing down on your shoulders. But the pain is relentless, carving its way through you, burning and cold.

It starts in your chest, spreading like wildfire, suffocating your lungs, and crawling up your spine until it feels like you’re being pulled apart from the inside. It’s sharp, chaotic, like a bullet ricocheting through your body, tearing apart every fragile piece it touches.

You hear Ryu-jin’s voice calling your name, faint and distant, but you don’t turn around. You can’t. No. The crowd around you feels stifling, every laugh and every cheer scraping against your raw nerves. You’re barely holding it together, and you know that if you stay even a second longer, you’ll shatter in front of everyone.

You just need to go. To get away. Anywhere but here. Because right now, in the middle of this party, you feel like an open wound, with no place to hide.

“Where the hell did she go?” Ryu-jin muttered under her breath, panic creeping into her voice as she scanned the hallway outside the bathroom. She had only stepped away for a minute, grabbed what she needed, and when she came back—you were gone.

She storms back to the table, her heart racing. “Soobin, did you see Y/N?”

Soobin looked up immediately, concern flashing across his face. “She was with you, wasn’t she?”

“I lost her,” Ryu-jin admits, held up her phone, frustrated. “I’ve been trying to call, but her phone’s not connecting.” The worry on Soobin’s face mirrors her own, and for a moment, neither of them speaks.

“I’ll check outside,” Soobin says, already rising to his feet, his determination written all over his face. Yeonjun appears at the table just as Soobin leaves. “I’ll go with him.”

“Ryu-jin? Hey, long time no see.”

She turned to see Jay standing there, his familiar easygoing smile not quite registering in the chaos of her mind. “Jay,” she said, forcing a tight smile. “Hey. Yeah. Long time.”

Jay tilted his head. “Surprising. Where’s Choi’s golden girl? Isn’t she usually glued to your side?”

Ryu-jin hesitated, her smile faltering. “They… stepped out for a bit,” she lied, tone distracted.

Her gaze drifted across the room, and that’s when she saw her. Ji-won. Sitting with her group of friends, laughing, carefree, as if she hadn’t done enough damage already. The sight of her felt like a slap to the face. “The audacity…” Ryu-jin muttered under her breath.

Jay follows her line of sight, his eyebrows raising when he spots her. “That’s Ji-won, right?” he asks, his tone laced with something between curiosity and disdain. “The one who’s always been weirdly obsessed with Y/N?”

Ryu-jin’s head snapped toward him. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean,” Jay continues, shrugging, “back in college, she had this… thing. Like, she couldn’t stand it whenever someone said Y/N was pretty, which was often. It was kind of insane, honestly. Everyone knew Y/N was the prettiest girl back then, and Ji-won hated it. Like, visibly hated it.”

Ryu-jin chokes on her drink, coughing as she shakes her head in disbelief. Her fingers twitch with the urge to march over to Ji-won and give her a piece of her mind, but before she can act on the intrusive thought, Soobin reappears. His face is pale.

“She’s been in an accident,”

You got into an accident.

Beomgyu was sitting in his office when the call came. Everything around him blurred, the world spinning out of focus. It felt as if time had stopped for him, while the Earth kept spinning mercilessly. His body froze, but his mind was spiralling.

Y/N. Accident. The words replayed on a loop in his head, loud and cruel. He couldn't process them, couldn't let them sink in, because doing so would mean accepting that something terrible had happened to you.

You got into a car accident. Something terrible happened.

His throat tightened as he gripped the phone with trembling hands. "Wh-where… which hospital?" he stammered, his voice cracking under the weight of his fear. His heart pounded so hard it felt like it might shatter.

The answer came, muffled like it was coming from underwater. The call ended before he could fully react. The phone slipped from his hand onto the desk as he staggered to his feet, his legs shaky beneath him.

Somehow, he made it to his car, though he couldn’t remember how. His chest heaved. With shaking fingers, he dialled another number, desperate for more answers.

“Don’t bother coming here, Choi Beomgyu.” Soobin’s voice was sharp and breathless when he answered. It sounded strained, furious even, and it only made Beomgyu’s heart sink further.

“Is she okay?” Beomgyu whispered, his voice barely audible. The question felt like it would break him. His chest felt like it was caving in, the pain clawing at him as he braced himself for the answer. He bit down on his lip, hard enough to draw blood, his free hand digging into his hair as he fought to stay grounded.

“She’s…” Soobin’s voice faltered, and that hesitation was enough to send Beomgyu spiraling further. “They’re trying. The doctors are doing everything they can.”

It wasn’t enough. Those words, those pitiful attempts at reassurance, did nothing to quiet the storm raging inside him. His hands tightened around the steering wheel as panic surged through him. If Soobin couldn’t say you were okay, it meant you weren’t.

Beomgyu floored the gas pedal.

His mind raced as fast as the car, every thought more horrifying than the last. What if he was too late? What if he never got to see you again? His breath hitched at the thought. His hands gripped the wheel tighter, knuckles pale.

He had to see you. Alive. Breathing.

Anything less would destroy him.

Beomgyu bursts into the hospital, his heart pounding so loudly it drowns out the sterile beeping and muffled voices around him. He barely registers the nurse’s directions to your room. All he knows is that he has to see you. His feet carry him faster than his thoughts, and when he spots the door, he doesn’t expect the two familiar figures standing outside.

Ryu-jin sits on a chair, her face buried in her hands as her shoulders shake with sobs. Yeonjun is pacing, his expression tight with worry, his hands clenched into fists.

The moment Yeonjun sees Beomgyu, he stops dead in his tracks. His gaze hardens, sharp and unyielding, as he steps forward and blocks the door with his arm.

“She wouldn’t want to see you,” Yeonjun snaps, his voice low and venomous. “Get the fuck out of here, you piece of shit.”

Beomgyu freezes for half a second before anger flares in his chest, red-hot and uncontrollable. “What the fuck are you talking about?” he shouts, shoving Yeonjun hard enough to make him stumble back a step. “I’m going to see my wife!”

Yeonjun doesn’t back down. If anything, he looks even angrier.

“Stop it! Both of you!” Ryu-jin’s voice cracks as she looks up, mascara streaked down her tear-stained cheeks. She doesn’t bother wiping it away. Her hands tremble as she points at the door. “Visitors aren’t allowed until tomorrow. She’s in surgery, Beomgyu. And it’s not… it’s not a minor one.”

Those words hit him like a freight train. The fight drains out of him, leaving only fear in its place. He stumbles back a step, his hands running through his hair as he struggles to breathe. “Surgery?” he whispers, his voice breaking. “What kind of surgery?”

Yeonjun glares at him, unmoving. “And now you come running,” he spits, his tone bitter. “After all this time? Now you care?”

Beomgyu clenches his jaw, meeting Yeonjun’s fiery gaze but saying nothing. Because he knows Yeonjun’s right.

Yeonjun’s shoulders sag, and his voice softens, “You don’t even know,” he says, eyes on the floor. “You don’t know what a fucking queen your wife is.”

The unexpected shift in tone stops Beomgyu in his tracks. He stares at Yeonjun. His words—they're spoken with such devastation that it leaves him frozen. He sees the sullen look on Yeonjun's face. After all, Yeonjun has always been soft when it comes to you.

So soft that it terrifies Beomgyu.

"Beomgyu." Soobin's voice cuts through the heavy silence, pulling Beomgyu out of his spiralling thoughts. He turns toward him, barely able to focus. "Let's talk here."

Beomgyu nods silently and walks over, his legs feeling heavier with every step. He follows without a word, leaving Yeonjun and Ryu-jin standing alone near the door.

Ryu-jin watches Yeonjun out of the corner of her eye. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t said a single word since his last bitter remark to Beomgyu. He stands there, staring at the floor. His hands clasped together.

The silence stretches uncomfortably, and she can’t help herself. “Yeonjun…” she starts hesitantly. “You’re not… in love with her or something, are you?”

Her words made Yeonjun’s head snap up. His eyes meet hers, and for the first time, Ryu-jin sees it—really sees it. The glassy sheen in his eyes, the way his lips part but no words come out. The heartbreak painted so clearly on his face that it makes her chest ache. “You idiot,” she whispers, her voice soft with pity.

Yeonjun lets out a shaky breath, his gaze dropping again as if he can’t bear the weight of her sympathy. “She’s… my best friend’s little sister,” he murmurs, his voice raw and quiet. “I didn’t think it was possible. Not for me. Not for her.” He doesn’t answer directly. He doesn’t need to. It’s all over his face.

Yeonjun was in love with you, ever since he first saw you.

Beomgyu sat across from Soobin, his hands clenched tightly in his lap as he listened. Soobin’s voice was calm but firm as he explained what the doctors had said—stress was the last thing you could handle right now. “I’ll let you know if it’s okay for you to see her."

The words didn’t settle easily. Beomgyu didn’t understand why no one would tell him anything about your condition, why every detail was kept from him. But knowing you were stable, even for the moment, was enough. He swallowed his frustration and nodded, agreeing to Soobin’s terms.

Still, he couldn’t help himself. As Soobin turned to leave, Beomgyu’s voice cracked, raw with desperation. “Please,” he begged, “Let me see her. Just once… before I go.”

Beomgyu felt like his heart was clawing its way out of his chest, beating so erratically it left him breathless. It begged to escape, just as he begged silently to be allowed into the ICU. His hands trembled, numb and unsteady. He flexed his fingers, forcing a crack to echo through his knuckles, before gripping the cold metal of the doorknob.

On the other side of this door was you—the woman he hurt.

The thought made him pause, the ache in his chest spreading to his throat, tightening it like a noose. He wasn’t sure he could face you—not like this. But he couldn’t stay away, not anymore.

The door creaked softly as it opened, and his heart stuttered at the sight of you. Your face was pale but peaceful, your eyes closed, your breaths slow and steady. The sound of the machines around you was the only thing keeping him grounded.

He stepped closer, each movement hesitant, his guilt weighing heavier with every inch he bridged between you. When he finally reached your bedside, he froze, staring down at your hand—fragile and adorned with IV needles. Slowly, he reached out, his fingers brushing against yours. They were soft. Warm. And just that small, simple touch made him breathe again—really breathe—for the first time in days.

“Baby,” he whispered, the word breaking in his throat.

He sank to his knees beside you, clutching your hand to his face. Tears welled in his eyes, spilling over before he could stop them. They fell onto your skin, warm and unrelenting, a silent apology for every mistake he had made. He pressed his lips to your hand, shoulders shook as he cried.

The past few days without you had been unbearable. If he ever had doubts, or worries, if he ever hesitated—those thoughts were gone now. It's you. He’d thought about every little thing you did that he had taken for granted. All of it. And he realized, how much it all mattered.

How much you mattered to him.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, whispers to your skin as he continue to kiss your palm. “I’m so sorry. For everything.”

The tears wouldn’t stop, and neither would the words pouring out of him. “You mean everything to me. I didn’t see it before, but I see it now. I love you. God, I love you so much.”

He squeezed your hand, hoping—praying—that somehow you could feel him. That even in this fragile, unconscious state, you could hear the desperate beating of his heart, could feel the truth in his touch. “I’ll do better,” he whispered, “I’ll be better. If you’ll just… if you’ll just give me another chance. Please.”

He didn’t know if you could hear him. He didn’t know if you’d ever forgive him. And he hates himself how it took him this long to figure it out.

Beomgyu’s heart was in his hands now, fully exposed and vulnerable, waiting—you could somehow feel it. He rested his forehead against your hand, tears pooling on the stark white sheets. If you gave him the chance, he’d spend the rest of his life proving that his love is real. He was finally here, standing in the world where you had once stood so heartbreakingly alone. And that his heart was yours, completely yours.

He would spend forever making up for what he had done. Even if it kills him.

“Where were you?” you asked, reaching over to grab the strawberry from the basket on the kitchen table. Beomgyu’s chuckle filled the room. “I went drinking with Taehyun. Just a light drink,” he said casually, his hand brushing your shoulder as he passed behind you to grab a plate.

“Why? Did you miss your husband?” he teased, carefully plating the food before setting it down in front of you. You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “You wish.”

He chuckled, handing you a spoon and fork before moving around the kitchen. A tall glass appeared on the table next to your plate and he poured you water.

“Did he miss me too?” Beomgyu’s voice was soft, almost tentative, drawing your gaze upward. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you were caught in the tenderness there. It made your heart ache in that way only he could.

“He?” You raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at your lips as you swallowed. “What makes you so sure it's a boy?” Your hand instinctively brushed over your stomach as a quiet smile softened your face. The thought of your little one—boy or girl—filled you with a warmth you couldn’t quite put into words.

“I just feel it,” A small smile flickered across his lips, “What if we get twins?”

You looked down, your thoughts wandering to tiny clothes, little shoes scattered across the floor, and pastel-painted walls filled with light and laughter. “That would be… amazing,” you murmured.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Beomgyu pulling out the chair beside you. He sat down at first, but then, almost as if drawn closer by some unseen force, he shifted. You felt his gaze before you saw him—soft, unwavering, and filled with a kind of awe that made your chest tighten.

“That sounds nice, two little you running around.” he breathed, his voice almost a whisper. His hand reached out slowly, brushing against your stomach. You set down your utensils, giving him a soft nod as you shifted slightly, allowing him more access.

Beomgyu lowered himself onto his knees in front of you, his large hands resting gently on either side of your growing belly. He glanced up at you, his eyes searching yours for a brief moment before he let out a long, steady breath. Then, with a tenderness that made your throat tighten, he leaned closer, pressing his forehead gently against your stomach.

“Mommy and Daddy love you,” he whispered, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. He sounded so vulnerable, so small—like all the pain he had been carrying had finally spilled over. His lips pressed softly against your stomach. And then, without a word, he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face against you.

Your hand moved instinctively, threading through his soft hair with slow, soothing strokes. He pulled you closer, as though being near you could quiet the storm in his heart. Your fingers trailed down the back of his neck, over his shoulders, and down his back.

And then—it shifted.

In your dream, you were cradling a baby to your chest, its tiny body safe in your arms. Beomgyu leaned down, smiling widely as you do.

You woke up, panting.

You were dreaming. It shattered as reality came rushing back. Pain coursed through you, sharp and unrelenting, pulling a small, involuntary sound from your lips.

The memory hit next, as vivid as the moment it happened. Driving through the night with tears blurring your vision, your hands trembling on the wheel. The sound of your ragged breathing, the pounding of your heart. You were speeding, desperate to outrun the ache inside. Then the impact—another car colliding into yours, the violent spin before your vision went black.

“Hnn,” you whimpered, barely able to get the sound out. Your throat was dry, parched, and every part of you ached. You needed water.

"Y/N," a voice broke through the haze of your awakening. You turned your head to see your brother, Soobin. His face paled as he dropped whatever he was holding and rushed to your side. “I—I—”

“Water. Please,” you rasped, your throat dry and raw.

Soobin nodded quickly, his hands trembling as he reached for the water bottle on the nearby table. He uncapped it, holding it to your lips as you drank. Relief was fleeting; the ache in your chest outweighed the dryness in your throat.

“What happened?” you asked, your voice a little stronger now, though your hands still shook.

“You got into an accident,” he said, settling into the chair beside you. His voice was low, almost fragile. “A surgery was performed. You’ve been unconscious for three days.”

You nodded, trying to process his words, but his silence that followed unsettled you. ou looked at him, noticing the way his eyes darted away from yours, how his lips pressed together like he was holding back something he didn’t know how to say.

“What is it?” you pressed, your chest tightening with dread.

Soobin hesitated, his hands fidgeting in his lap before he reached out to take yours. “Let me call the nurse first, okay?” You nodded, though the fear in his voice made it hard to breathe.

You nodded, your anxiety growing as he stepped out. Moments later, the nurse arrived, and then the doctor, their voices calm and professional as they began explaining the details of your condition. But their words blurred together—a haze of medical jargon that barely registered—until one sentence shattered everything.

“You were in your first trimester when the accident occurred. The baby didn’t survive. I’m so sorry for your loss.” Your world tilted. Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, it felt like your heart had stopped.

“A baby?” you whispered, the word foreign and fragile on your lips.

The nurse and doctor offered their condolences before quietly excusing themselves, leaving you alone with Soobin. Your hands trembled as they instinctively moved to your stomach. “I was pregnant?” Your voice cracked, disbelief and anguish bleeding into every word. "Soobin?"

“Y/N…” Soobin’s voice was choked with emotion.

“I mean… they’re saying I was…” You stopped, the reality sinking in with a force so cruel. “Oh.”

“I didn’t even know,” Tears blurred your vision as the enormity of it all crashed down on you. You lost a baby. A life you didn’t even know you were carrying. A piece of you that was gone before you ever had the chance to feel it, to know it, to love it.

Did you have to lose your child too?

The sobs came hard and fast, wracking your body until you could barely breathe. Your hands covered your mouth, trying to hold in the grief that spilled over anyway. “I didn’t even know I was pregnant.” you choked out, your voice breaking. “And now… they’re gone.” Your hands clutched at your stomach as if trying to hold on to something that was no longer there. "It's all my fault."

Soobin wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest as your cries tore the room. “I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice shaking. He held you tightly. The only thing that kept you from falling out.

Your cries grew louder, as the loss consumed you. The one you saw in your dream, so warm in your arms. You had held them, hadn’t you? You could still feel the weight of their tiny body in your arms.

Your baby.

All you could do was mourn for the life that had slipped away before you even knew it existed.

It’s been a week since Soobin made his last call to Beomgyu. A week since you opened your eyes in the hospital. And yet, Beomgyu has heard nothing.

Every day, he drags himself to the hospital. But every time, the answer is the same: no. On the fourth day, he arrived—you’d been discharged. You were gone.

Still, every morning, Beomgyu wakes up with that same aching hope that refuses to let go no matter how much it hurts. He gets through the day somehow, clutching at the thought of seeing your face again. But by night, when the world quiets, he’s left with nothing but his tears, falling asleep with the weight of your absence pressing down on his heart.

He’s distracted, eyes fixed on the same line of text glowing on his computer screen. It’s been minutes, maybe longer, and he still hasn’t moved past the first sentence. His mind is elsewhere—adrift—when a knock on the office door pulls him back.

His secretary peeks in, face filled with cautious expression. “Sir, I’ve been calling your phone. Someone’s here to see you—Park Sunghoon.”

Beomgyu blinked, confused. Sunghoon? His old batchmate, someone he’d shared classes with years ago. They hadn’t talked in forever. He nodded slowly, signalling her to let him in.

The door opens fully, and Sunghoon strides in. His pale complexion contrasts starkly with the black polo shirt he’s wearing, and Beomgyu notices the glasses perched on his nose—something he didn't have before. Sunghoon doesn’t look quite the same as Beomgyu remembers.

“Beomgyu,” Sunghoon said with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “How’ve you been, man?”

“Sunghoon,” Beomgyu responds, sitting up straighter in his chair. “What brings you here?” He gestures toward the seat across the desk, and Sunghoon takes it. The frown etched into his brow didn’t escape Beomgyu’s notice. “Is everything okay?”

Sunghoon exhales, leaning forward and clasping his hands together on his knees. “You know I’m close with Jay, right?”

Beomgyu narrows his eyes, unsure where this is heading, but he nods. “Yeah. And?”

“Well…” Sunghoon hesitates, the words seemingly heavy in his throat before he finally speaks. “I heard about Y/N. That she got into an accident recently.” The sound of your name halts Beomgyu.

“I couldn’t ignore it anymore,” Sunghoon continues, voice quieter. “I made promises to her, you know? But lately… I don’t know. It’s been eating me alive.”

Beomgyu runs his hand to his hair, "Sunghoon…”

"I didn’t think it was my place to say this," Sunghoon begins, "When I heard you two got married, I thought maybe she’d tell you. Maybe you already know. But I came here personally, just in case. Because you deserve to know. And if I don’t tell you now, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life."

He exhales deeply before continuing. “Do you remember how you used to talk about Ji-won? How you’d brag about her cooking for you, leaving little things for you—sweets, medicine, hot packs. Or the cold water she’d always leave at your bench during those grueling practices under the sun? Do you remember how she saved your ass that time you forgot your assignment, staying up late just to finish it for you? You told us all those things, over and over, like she a gem.” Beomgyu feels his chest tighten as Sunghoon meets his nervous gaze.

“All of that, Beomgyu… it wasn’t Ji-won,” Sunghoon says carefully, “It was Y/N. Every single one of those things. I know because… she asked me to help her sometimes. She didn’t want you to know. She didn’t do it for recognition or because she wanted anything back. She just cared about you. I even told her once—maybe she should tell you how she felt, and even if you didn’t feel the same, at least it’d help her move on. But she wouldn’t. She told me… her love for you wasn’t about getting something back. It wasn’t about her. It wasn’t selfish.”

Beomgyu’s hand trembles under the table, his knuckles white as he clenches his fists. His throat feels tight, each word hitting his ears.

“At first, I couldn’t understand her decision—I even judged her for it, thinking she was only making... things harder on herself,” Sunghoon admits, voice softening. “But over time, I realized—none of us have the right to judge someone else’s pain. You can’t measure someone else’s actions by your own standards. What might seem small or insignificant to one person could be earth-shattering to someone else.”

Beomgyu had been in love with the idea of Ji-won all along.

Those moments—the little gestures, the care, the comfort—they had become the foundation of his attachment to her. How he remembered her. They were the memories he clung to, the ones burned so deeply into his mind that letting her go had felt impossible. She was, in his mind, someone who cared for him. Someone who truly knew him.

But it wasn’t her. It was you. It had been you all along.

He thinks about Ji-won, the girl he once believed was willing to stand by him no matter what. She made him think about defying his parents, about running away from everything—his responsibilities, his future, his entire life. Ji-won was the one who fueled his anger, who stood beside him as he cursed the world and everyone in it.

And then there was you.

You, who never let him go too far. You didn’t encourage his anger—you challenged it. Even when it meant standing against him, because you wanted him to understand—not everything could be run from. It was you who reminded him that his obligations weren’t a prison but a part of him, something he couldn’t just abandon. It was you who helped him rebuild the bridge to his parents when he didn’t even realise it had been burned.

It’s suffocating now, the truth. To realise that the very actions that made him fall for Ji-won—the moments he thought defined her love for him—were never hers. They were yours.

Ji-won had been nothing but a mirror to his rebellion. This truth, made him want to see you more.

“Pour me another,” Beomgyu muttered to the bartender he leaned heavily on his forearm. The man hesitated, his concern written all over his face. Beomgyu noticed but didn’t care. “I said, pour me another one.”

With a reluctant nod, the bartender slid another drink in front of him. Beomgyu downed it in one go, the burn in his throat doing nothing to drown out the ache in his chest. He fumbled for his phone, the screen glaring back at him as he typed out messages he knew you’d never read.

I miss you, baby. Can I see you? Let’s talk, please. Are you not going to see me? Forever? Ok. I understand. I don’t deserve forgiveness. No. Please. Give me a chance. Just one chance to see you. To talk to you, please. I can’t go on another day without you. Please Y/N.

The messages sat there, unanswered.

Stumbling out of the bar, his legs unsteady and his vision blurred, he barely noticed the bartender calling his driver. He collapsed onto the pavement outside, his head in his hands, phone still clutched in his trembling fingers.

As he opened it again, ready to type another desperate plea, his screen lit up with an incoming call. His heart skipped, hope flickering briefly before seeing another unfamiliar number.

“When are you going to stop calling me, Ji-won?” he shouted into the phone, his voice hoarse with frustration and alcohol. “I’ve said it more than once—we don’t need to talk. Not ever again.”

“I just wanted to know how you’re—”

“Please!” he cut her off, his voice breaking as tears streamed freely down his face. He was shaking now, his words spilling out in a desperate sob. “Please, Ji-won… I know everything. I know what you did. You ruined the only good thing I ever had. You… you destroyed it.”

He pressed his palm against his mouth, trying to muffle the sound of his own cries. “Please,” he whispered, the word barely audible through his tears. “Just let me be.”

The line ends.

Ji-won freezes, her fingers trembling as the line goes dead. You ruined the only good thing I ever had. You… you destroyed it.

She exhales shakily, forcing air into her lungs that suddenly feel too tight. Her phone slips from her hand, landing softly on the bedspread. Hot tears well in her eyes, blurring the room around her. She had let herself believe—naively, foolishly—that Choi Beomgyu could still be hers.

Even after everything, she had convinced herself that there was still a piece of him that belonged to her. But now, hearing his words, she knew. She had already lost him.

The tears came harder as her mind betrayed her, pulling her back to the moment it all began. The moment her hatred for you took root.

“Beomgyu,” she had chirped, plopping down beside him on the couch. He had been immersed in a book, his brow furrowed in concentration, but she didn’t care. She wanted his attention, his reassurance. She always did. “There’s this talk going around about… Y/N,” she said, the name leaving a sour taste on her tongue. “People are saying she’s the prettiest girl on campus.” Her voice dropped, tinged with an edge of insecurity.

“But that’s not true, right? She’s not that… pretty.” She trailed off, squeezing his hand, her smile faltering as she waited for the words she longed to hear. She wanted him to say, there was no competition—that she was the most beautiful girl in his eyes.

Beomgyu was half hearing her words because he was engrossed in the book he was reading. So instead, he looked up, his eyes meeting hers with a hint of confusion. “What do you mean?” he asked simply, his tone matter-of-fact. “It's true. I think she’s beautiful.”

It was on that day Ji-won began to hate you with every fiber of her being.

The kind of hatred that wasn’t born overnight, but nurtured by her insecurities, fed by the way you walked through the world without a care—dragging every boy’s eyes in your wake as if it were effortless. And the worst part? You didn’t even seem to notice. You didn’t have to notice.

Jealousy festered in her chest, growing heavier each time she caught a glimpse of you. It didn’t help that you and Beomgyu—her Beomgyu—shared a world she could never truly enter. The Chois. The big families. A legacy. Something she wasn’t, something she could never be.

The announcement of your engagement felt like the final blow. She couldn’t understand how the universe could be so evil. You, the girl she couldn’t stand, were being handed the one thing she clung to the hardest. It wasn’t fair. And as jealousy morphed into bitterness, she let herself simmer in the injustice of it all, until it burned hot enough to ignite a plan.

Ji-won thought of everything. She knew Beomgyu would be there at the party, and she knew what she had to do. She chose the kind of dress he used to love. She styled her hair the way he used to run his fingers through, practised the words he used to adore hearing spill from her lips. She even reached for the used perfume he once said he liked.

It wasn’t an accident. None of it was. Ji-won walked into that room not as a guest, but as someone determined to remind him of what they once had. It didn’t matter that he was married.

You ruined the only good thing I ever had. You destroyed it. Please, just let me be.

She swallows hard, the lump in her throat refusing to go away. The realization settles over her like a heavy fog, a fog that turns clear—she is nothing more than a wall. A futile obstacle standing in the way of two souls who are meant to be together.

She opens her phone, booking a flight—any flight—to anywhere but here.

“It’s here,” Soobin says softly, his hand resting gently on your back as he guides you forward. His finger points to the glass grave in front of you.

Gone, but forever in our hearts. Moon.

Your Moon. The name you gave your baby—a name as delicate and luminous as the child who never got to see the world. You thought long and hard about it. It had to be beautiful, just like him. A name worthy of all the love you poured into his short, fleeting existence.

You pull out your handkerchief, wiping at the thin layer of dust that has settled on the outside of the glass. Your fingers tremble as you do, as though clearing the smudges could make it hurt less. But it doesn’t. It never does. Your brow furrows as you fight the ache swelling in your chest. He’s in there—inside that small, delicate bottle. And this is all you can do for him now.

“Hi, baby,” you whisper, your voice cracking as the words leave your lips. Soobin stands beside you, his smile soft but heavy with sadness. “Do you think I would’ve been a good uncle?” he asks, his voice barely louder than the wind.

You glance at him, your heart aching at the question. He kneels to place the small flowers you’d brought together, arranging them with the utmost care. There's an unfamiliar flower resting beside it. Someone must have wrongly placed it.

“Yes,” you manage to say, your throat tight with emotion. “I think the two of you would’ve been close.” You force a smile, though it wavers, your words choking you as they come out.

He reaches up and smooths your hair, a comforting gesture that almost makes you break. “He’s up there,” Soobin murmurs, his eyes lifting to the sky. “With no pain. Watching over you.”

You nod, swallowing hard, willing your tears to stay back. You can’t cry. Not here. Not now. If you cry, your baby might worry. You’ve convinced yourself of that, even if it doesn’t make sense.

The week after your discharge was unbearable.

You clung to Soobin like a lifeline, your hands gripping his. Your parents moved you back into their house without question, simply knowing you needed them.

Your mother—the strongest woman you’d ever known, the one who never faltered—cried with you when you broke the news. She held you in her arms like you were a child again, her tears falling silently against your hair as you sobbed into her chest. Your father walked with you every day, leading you to the garden where you could sit in the sunlight, as if the warmth could somehow seep into the cracks inside you. They cooked your meals, cleaned your space, and did everything you couldn’t bring yourself to do.

Tonight, you find yourself staring blankly at the walls of your old room.

The quiet feels suffocating, pressing against your chest. Sleep won’t come, and before you even realise it, tears are slipping down your cheeks. You didn’t even notice you were crying until the dampness touches your skin. You sit up abruptly, your chest heaving as if the air refuses to fill your lungs. The stillness of the bed feels unbearable, so you push yourself off it, your feet meeting the cool floor.

Pacing back and forth, you feel the tears come harder now, unchecked and unexplainable. You don’t even know why you’re crying. It’s just there—this ache, this heaviness. You were about to go out, to get Soobin or your parents.

But then your eyes caught the window.

It glows. The moon.

It’s full tonight, impossibly bright, casting a soft, silvery glow across the room. It feels like it’s staring back at you. You stand there, frozen, the phone slipping from your hand. The moon’s reflection shimmers faintly in your tear-filled eyes, and for a moment, you forget the heaviness pressing against your chest. It’s as if the moon is speaking to you, telling you to breathe, to let go, to just be.

Your breathing steadies. You stand there, bathed in its light, feeling the faintest glimmer of peace. And the storm inside you begins to calm.

It’s been six months since you woke up.

Six months since you returned to your parents’ house, where the familiar walls offered some sense of safety. Ryu-jin and Yeonjun visit almost every weekend, their presence a small comfort. Soobin stays, too, refusing to leave your side.

It’s been almost seven months since you last saw Choi Beomgyu.

Seven months since everything fell apart.

Choi Beomgyu, who, for six months now, has spent every single day driving two hours to your parents’ house. He shows up like clockwork, no matter the weather, no matter the time. After work, he makes the trip, arriving at the big gated doors with a bouquet of white roses in his hands. Every single day.

He doesn’t make a scene or beg to be let in. He just waits, bouquet in hand, a fragile hope flickering in his eyes. White roses. Always white roses. They used to be your favourite.

His parents send gifts, too. Packages and handwritten letters arrive, carefully chosen and delicately worded, but you can’t bring yourself to open them.

And every day, you hear the knock at the gate. Every day, you peek from the upstairs window, watching him wait, white roses clutched in his hands like a lifeline. And every day, you stay hidden behind the curtains, your feet stay rooted to the floor, your heart too bruised to carry you to him.

But today is different. Today, it has to be.

The papers are in your hands. Unsigned divorce papers. You tell yourself it’s just paper, just ink, but the trembling in your hands betrays the truth.

You walk to the building you once called home, each step echoing in your chest. The elevator hums softly as you press the button, your reflection in the mirrored doors a stranger to you. When it finally dings open, you step out into the hallway that once smelled of comfort and familiarity. Now it feels like a mausoleum.

Your hand hovers over the doorbell of your home—no, his home. The space you used to share feels distant. The ring in your other hand feels impossibly heavy, its cool metal biting into your palm.

You’ve tried to get rid of it before. Once, you even threw it in the trash, convincing yourself it was the right thing to do. But then came the panic. You tore through the garbage, hands shaking, the stench clinging to you as you clawed through. It didn’t matter that you ruined your clothes or that your mom’s voice cracked as she begged you to stop.

You just couldn’t let it go. Maybe, you should return it properly.

You take a breath and press the button. And then you wait.

When the door swung open, Beomgyu’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, everything froze. His eyes widened in shock, his lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came out. You felt your chest tighten painfully, the sight of him unravelling something inside you. He looked… so different. His hair, longer now, fell to his shoulders in messy waves, unkempt like he hadn’t bothered to comb it. His skin was pale, almost sickly, and his eyes were rimmed with red, like he’d been crying—or hadn’t slept in days.

“Y/N,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. His hand gripped the edge of the door like he needed something to steady him, his heart hammering so loudly he swore you could hear it. Was this real? Were you really standing there? He let his gaze trail over you, taking in your thinner frame, the hollow tiredness etched into your face. He wanted to say something, to invite you in, but the words caught in his throat.

You didn’t say a word. Instead, you stepped past him, the sharp click of your heels against the floor filling the suffocating silence. Each step echoed like a countdown, louder in his ears than it should have been. Beomgyu turned to watch you, his hand hovering uselessly at his side, aching to reach out but too afraid to try.

He closed the door softly behind you.

Your eyes scan the room, and it hits you all at once—everything’s a mess. Clothes are strewn carelessly over the couch, an empty chip bag crumpled on the kitchen counter, dishes piling up in the sink. The air feels heavy, stagnant, like the windows haven’t been opened in weeks.

And then your gaze shifts—to the open door on the right. Your room.

Your breath catches as you take it in. The bed is unmade, the sheets tangled in a way that’s unmistakable.

He’s been sleeping there. Beomgyu. In your room. In your bed.

"Uh," Beomgyu starts awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry, it's… kind of a mess."

You nod stiffly, not meeting his eyes. "It's okay."

The sound of your voice makes him freeze. It’s been so long since he’s heard it—too long. His chest tightens, but before he can savor it, your next words come like a knife to his heart. "I'm not going to be here for long anyway."

His brows furrow, panic flashing across his face. "Wh-why?" he stammers, his voice breaking. "I mean—"

You cut him off, extending the envelope toward him with trembling hands. "Let’s…" You swallow hard, forcing the words out despite the lump in your throat. "Let’s get a divorce."

Beomgyu stares at you, his mind reeling. The hope that had bloomed in his chest when he saw you standing at his door clashes violently with the reality of your words. His lips part, but no sound comes at first. Finally, he whispers, "Why?"

He can’t stop himself. The panic is overwhelming. "I went to your house every day," he says, his voice breaking. "Every single day, Y/N. I wanted to make this work. I—I sent you messages, I tried everything. Do you…" He swallows hard, his throat tight. "Do you not love me anymore?" He knows he sounds pathetic, but he doesn’t care. The speeches he’d rehearsed in his head dissolve into nothing, overtaken by the fright clawing at him.

Your breath hitches, and when you speak, your voice is cold, trembling with barely contained emotion. "I don’t care if I love you, Beomgyu. I don’t care if it feels like my heart is being ripped out of my chest, or if it feels like I’m dying inside." You take a shaky breath, your grip tightening on the envelope. "I want a divorce. And when it’s done, you’ll never see me again."

Beomgyu flinches like you’ve struck him, his knees nearly buckling. He shifts uncomfortably, his hands shaking at his sides. "Is this still about Ji-won?" he asks hesitantly, and the way you flinch answers him before your words can.

He swallows hard, his voice growing more frantic. "It’s true, Y/N. It’s true, that I cheated. I kissed her, but as soon as it happened, I pushed her away." He presses a trembling hand to his chest. "It didn’t mean anything—it was a mistake, a horrible mistake, and I hate myself for it every single day. But please…" His voice cracks, tears spilling down his cheeks. "Please, give me a chance."

You shake your head, a sob breaking free despite how hard you’re trying to hold it together. "It’s too late, Beomgyu," you whisper, your voice trembling as your hands shake. You open your hands, and try to give the ring back. "Too much has happened. We can’t go back."

Beomgyu doesn’t take it. He just stands there, staring at the ring in your palm, tears streaming down his face. He knows. If he takes it, it’s over. If he takes it, you’ll be gone for good, out of his life forever.

"I can’t," he whispers, his voice broken. "I can’t take it."

He won’t take the ring, so he takes your hand and pulled you to him, kissing your lips fervently and enduring the slam of your fists against his body and chest. It was all him; it was all his fault. He is an emotional wreck who doesn’t know what to do and how to contain his feelings.

“Beomgyu—” you gasped, your voice breaking as you pushed at his chest. He didn’t let go, his hands cupping your face, fingers brushing against your jaw like you were something fragile and sacred. His touch was shaky, his breathing uneven as his hands slid to the back of your neck, pulling you impossibly closer.

His movements were hurried, frantic, as if he were afraid you’d disappear if he let go. In one swift motion, he lifted you, his steps unsteady as he carried you to the bedroom. Your bedroom. The air felt heavy as he laid you down on the mattress—his mattress now, the one that carried his scent.

“Wait—,” you said weakly, your hands clutching at his shirt, your voice trembling as much as your resolve. But even as you pushed against him, your lips didn’t stop moving from kissing him back. His hands moved to your shoulders, then slid down to your waist, pulling you to him. You never knew that lips could talk without uttering a word until he declared his love for you through kisses. You let yourself melt under his touch.

Your hands, which had been pushing him away moments before, now found his shoulders for balance as he pressed you back into the bed. The mattress creaked beneath you, and you hated how your body still remembered him—how it responded to him like no time had passed at all.

His breaths were ragged, syncing with your every moan as his tongue tangled with yours, hungry and desperate. You had missed him—every part of him. That truth burned inside you as your fingers tugged at the hem of his shirt, pulling him closer, urging him on. His body pressed against yours, grinding to yours, while his hands roamed over your skin, igniting every nerve he touched. His lips trailed downward, leaving soft kisses that melted into your flesh, a path leading straight to your core.

He stripped you of every barrier, leaving you bare under his gaze. His eyes shimmered with something between adoration and hunger as they traced your body. You hadn’t realized how powerless you were against him until your legs parted, welcoming him. He looked at you like you were sacred, like you were his entire world.

“Don’t leave me…” he whispered between kisses, his voice breaking in a way that made your heart ache. Tears pricked your eyes because you wanted to believe him. You needed to believe him. His hands explored further, his fingers reaching for your clit, pinching softly then roughly, coaxing sounds from your lips that you didn’t know you were capable of. You trembled beneath him, gasping and crying out as he whispered confessions into your skin.

His mouth was poetry, speaking without syllables. His kisses, his touch—every movement of his lips and tongue—proclaimed what he hadn’t said out loud. Your body gave in, melting under the weight of his devotion, your mind consumed by him.

“Don’t leave me again, please,” he murmured as he positioned himself, slowly sliding into you. A low, guttural sound escaped him as he felt you, tight and warm, pulling him deeper. He missed you so much that he's sure he'll come right there and then. His face buried itself in the curve of your neck, and his words spilled out—apologies, regrets.

"Please," His touch was gentle, even as his thrusts inside you grew more desperate. He cradled your head, kissed away your tears, and pressed his lips to your cheek. “I’m in love with you, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It’s always been you.”

“I love you…” he murmured, capturing your lips in a desperate kiss as you both unravelled together, bodies trembling in unison. Your thighs clenched tightly around his waist, and he repeated the words softly into your ear, like a prayer he needed you to hear.

"Beomgyu," You whispered his name and it made tears well up in his eyes. His hand gently pushed the damp strands of hair from your face, and he pressed tender kisses along your cheeks, your temple, and your jaw. When he noticed your tears, he wiped them away without hesitation, his touch careful and soothing.

“Shh, angel,” he whispered, pulling you against his chest, holding you like he was afraid you’d slip away. His lips brushed the crown of your head, and his hand moved in calming strokes up and down your back. “I’m sorry… for everything.”

You had come here to end it. To finally say the words that would close this chapter for good. You’d rehearsed it in your mind, telling yourself you’d leave with your head held high.

But all of that clarity blurred with every kiss he gave you, every whisper of your name that fell from his lips. Every I love you, over and over again, spoken like a spell meant to undo you. And it did. The walls you had worked so hard to build these past seven months—brick by painstaking brick—began to crack and crumble.

And when he pulled you closer, his arms tightening around you like he couldn’t bear to let go, you felt yourself falter completely. Because no matter how much resolve you thought you had, it was never enough when it came to him.

Two fractured bodies came together, love-making to each other to chase away all the scars and time passed.

The papers meant to sever—to declare the ending—lay discarded on the floor, forgotten.

The brightness of the room stings your eyes as they flutter open. You blink, disoriented, your chest tightening with a familiar weight. Panic creeps up, sharp and unforgiving. He must have left. He must have slipped out of bed again, leaving you to wake up alone.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Beomgyu’s voice is soft, tinged with concern as he gently cradles your face in his hands. He had woken up before you, the morning light spilling across the room, but leaving the bed felt impossible. Not when you were curled so closely against him, your bodies still tangled under the warmth of the sheets.

He stayed, wrapping himself around you, his chest pressed to your back, his arms holding you. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling the faint scent that now feels like home. It was quiet—so quiet—until he felt the faint tremble on your body. His grip tightened instinctively, his voice barely above a whisper as he called out to you again. “Y/N,"

You blinked, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. Turning your head, your eyes met his—heavy-lidded and soft with sleep. His arms tightened around your waist. A shaky breath escaped your lips, your chest tight as tears welled in your eyes. You tried to hold them back, but they came anyway.

Beomgyu’s thumb brushed against your cheek, catching the first tear as it slipped down. He didn’t miss a thing. His gaze traced every flicker of emotion on your face. He opened his mouth, ready to ask what was wrong again, but you spoke first,

“You finally stayed.”

Your words made him froze. Guilt settled heavy in his chest, as he pulled you impossibly closer. His forehead pressed against yours, lips hovered so close to yours.

“I won’t ever leave. Every day, you’ll wake up, and I’ll be here. Right by your side.”

Beomgyu was different—so different it made your heart ache in the best way.

He was there, every single step, helping you out of bed like it was second nature. You had to practically fight for the simple dignity of showering alone, and even then, he lingered just outside the door, making sure you were okay.

And when it was his turn to ask for something, “Please cook for me again,” he’d said, his voice begging.

So you did. You made the soup—the very first one you’d ever cooked for him back in college. As the soup simmered, Beomgyu started to talk. He told you about Ji-won, about his unexpected interaction with Sunghoon, and how he’d rejected Ji-won long before he even knew the full truth. He spoke with an honesty that left no room for doubt, his words meant only for you.

When your mind wandered, when your eyes drifted away, Beomgyu noticed. He always noticed. His fingers would gently close around yours, pulling you back to him. He’d press soft kisses to your palms, his touch saying more than words ever could: Stay with me. I’m here.

“This is too good,” Beomgyu groaned after his first sip of the soup, you know see his face lighting up like what Sunghoon told you about. His hands cradled the bowl, and you couldn’t help but notice the glint of his ring—the one he refused to take off. It made you looked down at your own hand, there it was—your ring, the one Beomgyu fought for last night.

You took a small sip, letting the warmth spread through you. But it did little to settle the weight in your stomach. There was still something left unsaid, something you hadn’t found the courage to tell him yet. “Beomgyu,”

He squeezes your hand—the one he hasn’t let go of, even while eating. His arm stretches across the table to hold yours, his thumb brushing against your skin. “Hmm?” he hums.

“Back in the hospital…” you begin, your voice trembling with of what you’re about to say. You feel his gaze shift to you, “I had a… I had a miscarriage.” You swallow hard, forcing yourself to continue. “I lost our child.”

The silence that follows is unbearable. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, your eyes fixed on the half-eaten soup in front of you. The warmth in his hand disappears, and your heart sinks. When you hear the sound of his chair scraping against the floor, dread floods your chest. He’s walking away.

But then he’s there—beside you. He pulls out the chair next to yours and sits down. When he leans forward to pull you into his arms, it’s like the air returns to your lungs. He guides your face to rest against his shoulder. His arms come around you, holding you close.

“I know,” he whispers, “Soobin told me.”

Your breath catches, and your chest feels both heavy and light at the same time. “I went to him every day, you know,” he continues, his hand running soothing circles on your back. “It’s hard not to. I couldn’t stay away. He… he got me.”

You exhale shakily, your body relaxing into his. The faint memory of flowers on your baby's grave—ones you couldn’t remember bringing yourself—floats to the surface. It all makes sense now. Beomgyu had been there, mourning as you did.

Your hand never leaves Beomgyu’s as he drives.

The road feels both too short and too long, leading you to the place you’ve come to know too well. It’s green here—peaceful and impossibly beautiful in a way that feels both comforting and heartbreaking. He parks the car, steps out, and circles around to open your door. His hand finds yours again as you step out, and together, you walk the path you’ve walked before.

In your other hand, you hold the small bouquet—a gift for the little one who rests here now, your little angel. You kneel gently, placing the flowers at the grave. Beomgyu crouches beside you, his gaze fixed on the name etched into the stone.

Beomgyu’s voice breaks the silence, trembling as he whispers, “Daddy’s here with Mommy now, just like I promised you.” His words catch in his throat, and he pauses, his head bowing slightly as he tries to gather himself. “I told you I could do it,” he continues, his voice shaking, raw with emotion. “Daddy’s so sorry for everything. I promise I’ll take care of your Mommy. I’ll take care of her, I swear. You just play up there, okay? Don’t worry about us. Mommy and Daddy love you more than anything.”

Your heart aches at his words, and you press closer to his side. His arm finds its way around your shoulders, holding you tight. You cling to him just as fiercely, your bodies leaning into one another, trying not to fall apart in front of the greatest what-if of your lives.

I can’t wait to see you, wife. Almost there. I love you.

The corners of your lips tugged into a smile as you read your husband’s text. It had been a week since you decided to reconcile. And in those seven days, he had kept every promise, showing you with quiet consistency that he meant every word.

Reaching for your perfume, you lightly spritzed it onto your pulse points. You glanced at yourself in the mirror, smoothing the fabric of your dress, a small flutter of nerves in your chest.

The past still lingered—it wasn’t something that could just disappear. There were nights you woke up gasping, caught in the grip of nightmares. But the smoke always seemed to lift the moment you heard his voice, the way he whispered comfort like he could chase away the darkness with nothing but his presence. It was a start.

You spent the weekend at your parents’ house. When you told them you were giving your marriage another chance, their eyes had softened, and they gave you their support. And now, here you were, waiting for him—your husband—who was on his way to take you on your first date.

Married for almost three years, and are going out for your first date. The date he’d practically begged for, pouting for hours until you finally agreed, because he said he wanted it.

A beginning.

You make your way down the stairs. When you reach the bottom, your eyes land on Yeonjun, lounging on the couch, his fingers absentmindedly scrolling through his phone. He doesn’t notice you at first, but the moment he does, he sets it down without hesitation.

Walking over to him, you don’t give him a chance to say anything. Your hands gently cup his face, and before he can react, you press a quick kiss to his forehead. “Yeonjun,” you say softly, standing in front of him now, your gaze grateful. “Thank you. For everything.”

Your words seem to light him up. A smile spreads across his face, and he attempts one of his signature winks—a clumsy one at that. It’s so bad it makes you both break into laughter, the sound echoing warmly in the room. “Anything for you, Y/N,” he replies, he stands up and asks for another hug from you.

"Take care, always, okay?" You nod to his shoulders. Grateful to this man who did things for you, without asking anything back.

After saying your goodbyes to Yeonjun, you step outside, your eyes sweeping across the open space in front of the large doors.

Beomgyu leans casually against his sleek black velvet car, the deep color almost absorbing the light, while Soobin stands beside him, mid-conversation. There’s a quiet ease between them, the kind that makes you pause. When they notice you approaching, Soobin pats Beomgyu’s back, their exchange winding down as they mutter their farewells.

They look like... brothers.

The sight tugs at your heart. When you told Soobin about Beomgyu’s promises, you weren’t sure how he’d react, but it felt like he already knew. “He’s the only one who doesn’t realise how much he loves you,” Soobin had said, his voice certain. “I saw it—starting back at the hospital. It was all over his face.”

Now, as you reach him, you throw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug that speaks more than words ever could. “I love you, Soobin.” you say, the words soft but full of conviction.

Soobin holds you for a beat longer than usual, his hand resting lightly on your back. He feels nothing but peace in his chest.

Maybe now, he can start chasing his own happiness too.

Beomgyu watches silently as you pull away from Soobin, his gaze never leaving you. When your eyes meet his and a soft smile spreads across your lips, his chest tightens. You’re beautiful. So achingly beautiful that it feels like his heart might splinter under your stare.

When you reach him, he leans down without a word, brushing a quick kiss against your lips. He knows he needs this. He knows he needs you.

Because without you, there’s no him.

The day felt like stepping back in time, a snapshot of a younger, simpler you.

It started with the movies, where Beomgyu would lean in for quick, stolen kisses during the darker scenes, his grin impossible to resist. Then came the arcade—a chaotic mix of flashing lights and laughter. He was relentless in his mission to win you a comically oversized teddy bear, to the point of nearly bribing the poor guy running the booth. When he finally succeeded, he held it up like a trophy, his smile as wide as the bear itself. For a moment, it felt like you were back in college, like this could’ve been one of your carefree dates from those days.

Now, you’re crammed into a photo booth together, squishing shoulder to shoulder as the timer counts down. Two grown, married adults pulling silly faces at the camera like teenagers. The faint hum of the machine is drowned out by your shared giggles, and you can feel the curious stares of actual teenagers nearby. They’re probably imagining your life is perfect, the kind of love they dream about. If only they knew how far from perfect it’s been—how much work it’s taken to get here.

When the photo strip finally slides out, Beomgyu grabs it first, holding it up with a burst of laughter. “Look at you, sweetheart,” he says, pointing to one particularly goofy expression you made. His laughter is infectious, and soon you’re both doubled over, bumping to each other as you cackle uncontrollably.

Beomgyu—who always seems so composed, so maddeningly serious—looks nothing like that version of himself when he laughs. He’s wide-eyed and carefree, his joy as pure as a child’s, and it’s beautiful. It heals you. Every day with him feels like this—a discovery, a new layer to peel back, something new to fall in love with.

“God, I love you,” he says suddenly, making your heart flutter.

“I love you too,” you whisper, the smile on your face softening as he leans in to press a kiss to your cheek. The squeals from the teenagers outside are instant, and you roll your eyes, laughing as you glance at them—your accidental audience, swooning over the two of you like you’re straight out of a rom-com, like they’ve just witnessed something magical.

And maybe they have.

It doesn’t matter if it’s slow, or if it took longer than it should have. Life isn’t perfect, and neither are people. Everyone deserves a second chance—just like the one you gave your marriage. Just like the one it deserved. It may have started off messy in ways you couldn’t imagine fixing, but that didn’t mean it had to end the same way.

The road ahead still feels long, but you’re learning to let go. Of the doubt that whispered you’d never make it. Of the pain. Of the mistakes and the past that clings to you. Even the scars—the ones you thought would never fade. Letting them go is the only way forward, the only way to move on. Only then can you begin again.

You glance at Beomgyu, his fingers laced with yours, his grip gentle as he leads you out of this place. His head tilts slightly as he looks back at you, and there it is—that boyish, cheeky smile that has the power to make your heart skip.

All you have to do is surrender.

This surrender is not in defeat, but in trust. Trust in him. Trust with his promises. Trust in the hope of something better.

Trust in yourself.

You’ll be okay.

THE END.

taglist: I love you @.beombunni @.lovingbeomgyudayone @.virtaideen @.hyukascampfire @.fancypeacepersona @.bamgeutori @.lilbrorufr @.beomieeeeeeeeeeees @.soobinbunnie5 @.pagelets @.yoseicour @.baekberrie @.blossommi @.younbeanz @.soohashits @.brrytears @.shycreationdreamland @.notevenheretbh1

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nereidprinc3ss · 1 year ago

Text

do you believe me now? | 2

in which fem!reader is feeling insecure about how inexperienced she is around spencer's friends and seeks his expertise to amend the problem

series masterlist

18+ (smut) warnings/tags: inexperienced reader, oral f receiving, (MUNCH!SPENCE RETURNS), fingering, (very) insecure reader, softdom!spencer, sub reader, nipple stuff, kinda sorta implied age gap, god i'm probably forgetting things pls lmk if i missed something important a/n: i've been laboring at this bad boy every day for so long i had to immediately post once it was completed lol. there will be a part three ... maybe i already started it ..... anyway i love u guys and i hope this is a satisfactory part two!! PLS lmk if you liked it!! hearing from u makes my day :')

When Spencer dropped you off at Penelope’s apartment for your first girl’s night—the hostess had promised you, JJ, and Emily lots of gossip sans 'icky men'—you had been ecstatic. You wouldn’t stop rambling to him about how excited you were.

When he picks you up two and a half hours later, he can hardly get a word out of you.

It’s not his fault, of course—well, not really, anyway. It’s just that all the girls had wanted to talk about was sex. A topic on which you held very little expertise and had essentially nothing to contribute. Out of the four, you were the only non-FBI agent, the youngest, and undoubtedly the least experienced. It was like high school all over again, except you actually desperately wanted to impress Spencer’s friends. All in all, you weaseled your way out of sharing without giving away that you were still very much a virgin. Sure, you could have said ‘we did hand stuff two weeks ago’, but you had a feeling these women wouldn’t consider that very impressive.

But you can’t easily relay that information to Spencer—even when he immediately picks up on your sullen mood. He asks you what’s wrong as you make your way down the echoey staircase, but you hold back, muttering something along the lines of we’ll talk about it later.

Later doesn’t come on the sidewalk outside. It doesn’t come in the car, or at any point during the twenty minute drive, but you feel it rapidly approaching as you climb the stairs to Spencer’s apartment. He unlocks the door and holds it open for you, doesn’t speak as you kick off your shoes and wander aimlessly into the living room.

“Did you eat?” He finally asks, hanging his keys on a hook by the door and glancing over to where you linger in the center of the room like a ghost.

“Not hungry.”

You both know that wasn’t the question, but he lets it go.

“Alright... well, I was thinking—“

“Why haven’t we had sex?”

The question flies from your mouth before you can stop it. It tastes like metal and you wish you could take it back as you stand there, cheeks hot and awaiting a reply. It seems you’ve thoroughly astonished Spencer as he gapes at you like a fish out of water for several silent moments, eventually opting to shove his hands in his pockets and shake his head at the wall as he processes the question.

“I… I don’t know. We just haven’t. Does that bother you?”

Suddenly your whole body feels intolerably warm. Your fingers twitch against your thighs. Of course it bothers you.

“Do you just not want to? You aren’t attracted to me like that?”

God, you despise how fragile your voice sounds—how much you obviously care, how insecure you clearly are. Spencer picks up on it, despite your most fervent wishing that he wouldn’t, and approaches, stopping a few feet away. You stare at the span of oriental design on the floor between your feet.

“That’s not at all what I said, angel. I wish you wouldn’t put words in my mouth.”

“Well, then… say something else,” you plead quietly, childishly, still unable to meet his eyes. Prove me wrong.

He sighs, which does not bode well for you. You wonder if you accidentally triggered the early demise of your relationship and christ do you wish you could rewind. When he steps closer, when his hands find your arms, you’re not sure where to look. But the low, sweet tone of his voice entices you to finally meet his gaze, charmed like a snake as his eyes dart between yours.

“You know that’s not how I feel.”

You shake your head earnestly, looking up at him with wide eyes as he slowly rubs your arms.

“No. No, I don’t know that.”

Spencer frowns, glancing at your lips as he speaks. It’s impossible to not do the same when he’s standing so close.

“But I’ve told you. I don’t understand how you couldn’t know how far from the truth that is.”

You think back to two weeks ago—the first and only time he’d ever done anything more than kiss you. A different kind of flush replaces the shameful one in your cheeks as you try to make your case and not get distracted by the memories of his hands all over you.

“So why won’t you prove it?”

It’d been intended to come out cool, but instead you sound a little desperate, a little out of breath as you realize you and Spencer somehow ended up so close to each other you can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“Is that what you need from me? More proof?”

He speaks so lowly, his fingers press into the flesh of your arms portentously, and you think maybe you’ve poked the bear one too many times. But you won’t back down now—not when you think you might actually get what you want.

So you look up at him and nod, throat too dry to speak. His eyes are deceptively soft, but you don’t miss the big bad something lurking just beneath the surface of the placid hazel.

“And how do you think I should prove it?”

“I told you what I want,” you whisper, speaking above your pounding heart.

“Not tonight, honey. Choose something else.”

“Well—that’s not fair,” you stammer, “the whole point is for you to want to have sex with me.”

Spencer smiles a little, tucking hair behind your ear. “I do want that. I promise you I do. But there are other things I want us to do first.”

“Then I want to do that, too! I just—I don’t know what I’m doing, and you do, and I’m already out on a limb by asking for this much. I know this is what I want but I need you to take the lead here. I trust you, Spencer.” You top off the monologue with an imploring gaze—hoping it delivers even a fraction of the impact that his puppy-dog eyes always have on you.

He seems to study every square inch of your face as you wait in suspense for him to say something. At long last, his lips part—to no avail for several more seconds as he regards you.

When the words finally do come, they’re an immense relief of pressure.

“You’re going to promise me that you’ll communicate honestly. That means telling me if we need to slow down or stop, or if you don’t like something—”

“I promise,” you say, perhaps over-eagerly, offering him your extended little finger.

An incredulous smile narrows his eyes.

“Is this a pinky-promise?”

“It is.” You wiggle the finger in emphasis, and he shakes his head, smiling wider as you link pinkies.

“I left you with Garcia for far too long.”

You shush him, disentangling your hands to cup his jaw and press your lips to his. It’s sweet and smiley until it isn’t—until everything slows down like sticky molasses and his hand is ghosting over your cheek, your neck, the curve of your waist, finally substantiating itself on your hip—the other encouraging you to tilt your head back as he deepens the kiss and you feel yourself melting under the heat of his touch.

The pressure of his body against yours builds until you’re forced to take a step back, and then another, and another. Without question you allow yourself to be herded toward the bedroom, walked slowly backward as he keeps kissing you and blindly trusting he’ll make sure you don’t run in to anything. The bedroom door clicks shut behind him, and it is in all practicality a pointless gesture—but you find it incredibly comforting nonetheless.

It’s too warm beneath your sweater and his hands are cool as they slip under the hem, sliding against the curve of your hip. Spencer’s never seen you without a shirt, you realize, as he pulls away from the kiss by only centimeters.

“Off?” he mutters, thumbing at the knit fabric. And while you’re far from confident, you’ve certainly been making progress in this area. You help him tug it over your head without a word, noting a distinct and surprising lack of terror within yourself as you watch for his reaction to you. Hands glide slowly up your waist and you find yourself enchanted by the slight furrow of his brow, the parting of his lips. He traces down the lacy edge of your bra, skimming sensitive skin as he goes.

“Pretty,” he murmurs. “You’re… so pretty.”

It seems you’ve rendered him uncharacteristically prosaic. The reaction might be underwhelming if it were anyone else—but Spencer Reid is a man who probably knows every synonym for pretty in the English language. Looking at you, he can’t think of a single one. In an odd way, it’s the highest compliment he could pay you. Your cheeks heat and your stomach flips as he drags a knuckle up the center of the cup, and you can feel it through the layers of lace and fabric. He leans forward, ghosting his lips over yours and continuing to run his fingers over the sensitive spot. “Do you know how pretty you are?”

This is one argument you will not be winning—one he’ll keep bringing up at the most inopportune times until he gets his way.

“Spencer…”

“Don’t Spencer me. I’m asking you a question.”

The words don’t seem nearly as harsh as they really are when they’re delivered velvet-soft, with his lips and hands on you—when he’s so deftly popping the button on your jeans and dragging the zipper down with all the quickness of a slight-of-hand. It makes it hard to focus, even harder to speak.

“We have… we have differing views on this matter.”

Generous handfuls of your hips and ass are taken as he helps you tug down your jeans before you kick them off, now left just in your underwear.

“I thought I argued my point fairly well last time you were here. You didn’t learn anything from that?”

“Mm… maybe you just need to remind me.”

“Oh, I think I have to,” he agrees through a smile you can only hear. Gentle fingers skim up your back and tap the clasp of your bra. “How about this? Can we take this off?”

Any confidence from earlier crumbles and you loose a nervous hum—which is not the enthusiastic yes you’re sure Spencer will be seeking all evening. He pulls away, features etched with the beginnings of concern and a searching gaze. Asking would be unnecessary; the words simply come tumbling out of you.

“What if you don’t like how I look?”

Spencer doesn’t even blink.

“That’s not going to happen.”

How you wish you could have the same assuredness in yourself that he seems to.

“But what if… what if you’ve been with other girls who are more, like—I don’t know, just—better? Prettier?”

“Honey, you’re—” a sigh, a pause as he searches for the words—his eyes dart up and down your form, assessing, and when he looks back up at you, they’ve cleared and softened. He pulls you a little closer, rubbing circles into your back with his thumb. “I’m not thinking about anyone else right now. I’m not interested in anyone else right now. I already think you’re perfect, and I’m going to keep thinking that regardless of how you look. When I look at you, I’m not looking for things to critique. Do you understand me?”

As far as sentiments go, it’s a nice one. But the pressure of being seen still feels like an impossible burden. You whine, leaning your head against Spencer’s chest. He accepts your weight and runs his hand over your back as you look up at him.

“But what if I’m hideously deformed?”

His eyebrows raise.

“You’re not.”

“But what if I am?”

“Okay. It seems like you don’t feel ready yet, which is completely fine, we just won’t—”

“No!” you protest. “I am ready. I am. But… you have to promise to be nice to me no matter what. Or break up with me if you don’t like what you see so I don't have to wonder.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, kissing you, “and the only thing I’m willing to promise is that I’ll think you’re perfect. Me being nice will come as a natural byproduct of that which is very different than being nice by artifice. Take it or leave it.”

A moment of hesitance—but it’s short-lived. This is more important than your insecurities. Spencer is more important.

“Take it,” you mumble against his lips. His fingers trace up the smooth skin of your back, all the way to the fabric and metal hooks on your bra.

“Thank you.”

You wouldn’t have thought Spencer’s genius would manifest in being really good at undoing the clasp of a bra, but you can truly say you’re impressed by the ease with which he does it. It falls to the floor, leaving you completely shirtless for the first time in front of him.

“Well?” you murmur, arms crossed defensively underneath your chest, because you understand overtop would sort of ruin the whole thing. “What’s the verdict?”

“You,” Spencer manages after a moment—you literally watch him memorizing every square inch of your body— “are ridiculously beautiful.”

The way his voice gets quieter makes your stomach flip. It sounds genuine. Too genuine to be faked.

“So… no breakup?”

It seems that the more vulnerable you feel, the less likely you are to take a compliment. Spencer, who is always seeking patterns, probably recognizes this one, and doesn’t push you so hard this time. After a silent moment, he sighs and cradles your face in his hands.

“You’re gorgeous. I hate how incapable you are of seeing that. We’re going to talk about this.”

“Yeah, but not right now, right?” you murmur, standing up on your tiptoes to kiss him.

“Not right now,” he agrees.

His lips are so soft and gentle against your own it feels like love, it feels like being talked down from the ledge of your own insanity. Somehow the way he strokes your hip feels more nurturing than sexual. It’s like he has sex and chaste affection on tap, able to turn them on and off at will. You’re happy to drown in either. Ideally, both.

After a while, his hands begin roaming farther, become bolder in their excursions over your flesh. Up, down, over your waist and ribs. Clearly Spencer had been trying to ease you into it, but you still can’t hide your sharp inhalation when his thumbs graze the sensitive skin of your breasts. He pulls his lips from yours, hands splayed over your sides.

“Sit down.”

It’s much too gentle to be a command, but you frown.

“Without you?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he chuckles, lightly squeezing your waist. “Just sit. Utilize patience.”

You sit on the edge of the bed with an atypical reticence—you’re just a little too nervous for a snippy comeback. Spencer picks up on this, features softening sympathetically as he undoes his tie with nimble fingers. It lands somewhere on the bed and he leans over you, resting his weight on his fists and offering you a quick kiss. His voice is soft and designed to soothe as he speaks, mere inches away from your face, and so quiet it could only be heard at this range.

“Are you nervous?” Cloth from the duvet pinches between your fingers. For a moment you don’t reply, dropping your head to watch when Spencer runs his hand over your thigh. “It’s okay if you’re feeling anxious, baby. We don’t have to do anything tonight.”

You expel a frustrated huff.

“I want to. Just because I’m nervous doesn’t mean I don’t want this. I can handle a little bit of anxiety.”

He hums, dropping to a crouch and inserting himself directly in your line of sight.

“I know you can. But you don’t always have to push yourself so hard.”

“I’m fine pushing myself a little. I pinky-promised I would tell you if I wanted to stop, remember?”

“Oh, how could I forget a pinky-promise?” he smiles.

How could you forget anything, you think, becoming flushed and silently insolent at his dulcet teasing.

“Please, do something.” It’s a whisper, brushing his lips as you lean down until you’re nose to nose. His hands are on the back of your legs.

“I’m working on it.”

“It doesn’t look like it.”

“You’re smart, angel. Tell me why I've got you naked on my bed and I’m kneeling in front of you. Where could I possibly be taking this?”

Oh, you have a pretty strong inkling—but you’re scared to voice it and be wrong. Instead of risking it you shake your head slowly, shyly. What you’re not expecting is for Spencer to duck his head down, slide his hands up the side of your thighs and press kisses to the delicate skin there. It feels good—better than you’d have thought.

“You don’t know?” he asks, looking up at you through burnished gold-rimmed pupils. “No guesses?”

“No guesses,” you agree breathlessly, hotter than you were when you had your clothes on and all the energy in your body condensed into one point between your legs. Spencer hums like he’s considering your answer, smoothing his thumbs over the soft skin of your thighs so gently it feels like burning.

“I don’t think you’re being entirely truthful. Lie back, sweetheart.”

You do as you’re told, scooting up on the mattress and falling back on your elbows. Spencer wastes no time in climbing over you, leaving you in much the same position as the last time you’d been in his bed. The sheets feel cool against your bare skin, but he is exceptionally warm and solid over you.

“I’m being honest.” Lie. “I don’t know what you’re going to do.”

Lips find the most sensitive spot of your neck, dancing over it torturously. The front of his shirt brushes your chest. Your thighs clamp together.

“I don't like being lied to. Just say it, baby. I know you know.”

“Spencer,” you whine, fists bunching the excess fabric around his waist. Warm breath condensates on the skin of your neck as he chuckles.

“You don’t like being teased, huh?”

“Please, Spence,” you whisper. You notice the pattern of his breathing pause momentarily before it all comes rushing out at once—and you catalogue that particular plea for later usage.

“I can’t say no when you ask me like that.”

You push your fingers into his soft hair.

“I know.”

It was a lucky guess.

He’s still for a moment, relishing the feeling of your hands in his hair, before darting up to kiss you.

“I’m going to use my mouth this time,�� he murmurs against your lips. Though you knew that was what he intended, your heart stumbles in its perpetual march. “Is that okay?”

“What if I…”

You trail off. This is a very intimate situation which you’re not quite sure you have delicate enough language for. Or maybe you’re just stalling. Either way, Spencer is eternally patient with you.

“You need to stop worrying so much, pretty girl. I’d love to do this for you. But it’s your call.”

“Love is a pretty strong word.”

“Sometimes I think not strong enough.”

The way he’s looking down at you so tenderly, brushing hair from your face, makes you think maybe he’s not just talking about how much he would love to go down on you. Regardless, it fortifies your trust in him. Spencer is the kindest person you know. He’s so clearly an enthusiastic giver. Why not allow him to give you this?

“Okay,” you breathe. “You can—yeah.”

As usual, you’re impressively awkward, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, you think he not-so-secretly delights in being the one to fluster instead of the other way around. Rarely has he mentioned his past romantic and sexual exploits, but gathering bits and pieces, you assume he was a fairly late bloomer. He probably knows what it’s like to be nervous and so deeply unsure of yourself.

“Do you remember what you promised me?” he whispers, pressing butterfly-light kisses to your jaw. Your eyes flutter shut as his lips traverse down your neck, teeth skimming over the delicate skin while your breath catches.

“Mhm.”

“You’re not gonna break that promise, are you?”

His voice, soft and muffled by your skin, is the most exhilarating and disorienting high. Your entire body buzzes with anticipation, satisfied only where his lips soothe and his body presses against yours. It takes a moment for you to remember to reply.

“No.”

Reward comes in the form of his thumb brushing over the peak of your breast at the same time as he murmurs, “good girl.”

Your stomach flips at the endearment—you squeak and arch into him slightly. Spencer’s hand slides down your ribs as he chuckles, lips pressed just above your collarbone.

“You’ve never called me that before,” you shudder as he continues kissing over your neck.

“It’s not appropriate in most conversational contexts. But I can tell you’ve always been good.”

“Really? How?”

Spencer pauses, pushing himself up to regard you with searching eyes. The places he’d kissed feel cold without him.

“I just can. You’re thinking too much, baby. I need your focus on me.”

“It is on you,” you huff.

You watch his expression shift minutely. He loves games. Of course he’d love playing with you. That knowledge is why you’re only partially surprised when his thumb catches on your nipple again.

“Is it? You’re only thinking about how it feels when I touch you here?”

A stammering nod.

He toys with the sensitive flesh only a second more, amusement lighting his eyes, before dragging his hand down, down, down until it’s between your legs. Fingers trail over your clothed core, skimming the most sensitive part of you while your breath hitches.

“Tell me how it feels when I touch you here.”

“Really good,” you admit, a heavy exhale escaping parted lips as he pins you with his gaze.

“Really good, right. I can make it feel even better. Do you want me to make it feel better?”

Your thighs drop fully open and he adds just a bit more pressure until you’re pushing against his hand in search of more friction.

“Yes please.”

“Then no more questions. I need you to trust me.”

Your answer is a breathy, dreamy sigh—you’d do anything, say anything for him.

“Okay.”

Spencer kisses you, absorbing your noises of protest as his hand ceases between your legs and settles on your hip. But you’re trusting him. No whiny complaining. No unnecessary questions.

Things go much quicker once you’re not interrupting him every twenty seconds to say something. His lips reattach to your neck, retracing their path (albeit quicker) until he’s below your collarbone. You watch in rapt fascination, twisted brows and parted lips as he peppers kisses down over your breast before dragging his tongue over your nipple. A jolted little moan spills out because you hadn’t been prepared to hold one in. Waves of hair fall over Spencer’s face, obscuring him from your vision, but you don’t think to push it away—your body is too busy processing the sensation to be much use on any other front. He darts his tongue over the peaked flesh, eliciting more little open-mouthed exhalations of pleasure from you. Earlier you hadn’t really thought it necessary for your bra to come off—you had no idea this could actually feel so good. A moment later he begins toying with the other nipple and you gasp as a bolt of heat goes straight to your core.

You curse, further words catching in your throat as he suddenly switches, mouthing at your other breast and letting the cold air chill the other until you have goosebumps. It feels a little like hypnosis—you’re unable to move or speak as his tongue laves over you. Soon he’s replacing his mouth with a thumb again, sucking a mark onto your tit just above your nipple. You whimper a little at the pleasant brutality of it, hoping as he releases that it won’t soon fade. Spencer swipes over the stinging skin and presses a tender kiss to it, almost like an apology—but you sincerely doubt he’s actually sorry.

Then he resumes his descent, leaving soft kisses down between your breasts, over your ribcage and stomach—when he reaches your hips, he doesn’t pull off your underwear all at once. Rather, he slides the fabric down centimeter by centimeter, kissing the revealed skin like it’s precious.

This time you don’t need to be told to lift your hips. He helps you slip the final piece of clothing down and off of your legs, flinging it somewhere blindly before getting comfortable between your thighs once more. Your heart pounds with arousal and anxiety as his arms wrap around your thighs and his hands rub up and down the tops of them slowly.

“God, you’re fucking beautiful,” he mumbles, loosening his hold on one leg to thumb at your folds. They glisten in the dim light of his bedroom as he gently reveals your clit. A soft whine escapes you when he nudges at the aching bud, slipping over it a few times and alleviating a bit of the pressure that’s been building. “Shh, baby. I know. I’m gonna take care of it. You’re being so good for me.”

Fuck. The way he talks to you makes your brain turn to mush—you’re utterly incapable of forming an intelligent thought. Spencer has rendered you a complete idiot, and you’re not upset about it in the slightest.

He presses more gentle kisses to the creases between your thighs, just above your clit—everywhere except for where you need him most. Everything aches for him in the best way and at least you’re too turned on to be very insecure anymore. All you want is relief. But you’re trusting him.

Thankfully, he delivers.

The tip of his tongue grazes so lightly over your clit that if you weren’t this worked up you may not have felt it at all. In your current state, however, the stimulation echoes through every atom of your being. Every muscle is tense, frozen in place—you can’t even breathe for a second. He does it again, a little flatter, with a little more pressure, and you whimper. It’s a delicate thing, almost pained and definitely overwhelmed as he gently begins working his tongue against you. Your head cranes up to watch, your jaw drops. Approximations of curse words try to form, but come out only as, “f-fu—oh,” so whiny and soft it doesn’t even sound like you. He hums sympathetically, but you suspect it morphs into a chuckle as you continue to gasp and mewl.

There are times where you can hold back sounds of pleasure. When you’re by yourself, it’s typically not a problem. Two weeks ago when Spencer was knuckle deep in you for the first time, it had certainly been a challenge, and you’d pretty much given up. But this—this is something else entirely. It feels like religion. It feels like compulsion. Even if you had the slightest modicum of control over yourself, which you currently don’t, you wouldn’t want to keep quiet. You want him to know what he’s doing to you.

So you let every cry, every whine and whimper drag from your lungs, unbidden and unshaped. You’re new at this, after all—every broad lick feels so good that you have no fucking idea what do to with your hands or how to stop rolling your hips or how to censor your sounds.

“Spencer,” you keen in one of the moments you remember to breathe. He moans against you, taking you into his mouth and sucking lightly. Your hips buck. “Oh, my—fuck!”

The hand that’s still around your thigh rubs soothing lines up and down. The one that’s spreading you open pulls your folds apart a little bit further, granting him more access to your clit. He flicks his tongue and you almost come then and there, vision going gray for a split second.

“Wait, wait, Spence—“ you squeak, writhing and trying not to squeeze your thighs together for fear of hurting him. He pulls back and looks up at you, lips shining with your slick and eyes glazed with lust. Fuckfuckfuck he looks so fucking good. “Please, just… slow down, or I’m gonna… or it’s gonna be over.”

The corner of his mouth twitches as he rubs circles into your inner thigh.

“It’s over when you say it’s over. You don’t have a refractory period. We don’t have to stop at one.”

“Oh—you don’t—you don’t have to do that,” you stammer.

“I know I don’t have to. But if you want me to, I want to. You taste so good, angel girl.”

Well, shit.

He looks absurdly sexy between your legs like this. You have no idea how you got so lucky, but you don’t plan on taking it for granted. Your fingers tangle in his hair.

“I don’t know if I can do more than one,” you admit shyly, slightly embarrassed by how little you know about yourself and in general compared to Spencer. Hazel eyes sparkle in the warm light.

“How about we start with one and see how it feels?”

Your voice is breathy when you respond, “okay,” already impatient for him to get back to it. Spencer seems just as eager, immediately kissing between your legs with a passion that makes your lips jealous.

The flat of his tongue presses circles against you and your hips buck, already ramping up to that point you’d been at before calling a time-out. Slowly his fingers find their way to your entrance and he teases you with them, dipping in to the first knuckle before withdrawing again. If you could form words, you’d beg him to just do it already, but all you can manage is an affronted whine as you tilt your hips down, hoping he catches the meaning.

Of course he does—pushing two fingers inside you at once. The intrusive stretch adds a sharp edge to the pleasure, makes it more interesting, as your brain short-circuits and you choke out a moan. It only takes a few slow pumps of his fingers in tandem with the pressure of his tongue until your hips are writhing and you’re and mewling desperately, more overwhelmed with pleasure than you’ve ever been. You push his hair back, able to see him for the first time, and fully appreciate the hollow of his cheeks, the way he looks up at you with perfect, glassy half-lidded eyes, the rhythm of his hand and tongue—he takes your clit between his lips once more, sucking lightly, and you’re done for. A pornographic sob escapes from deep within you as you come, but he doesn’t stop. The orgasm lasts longer than you knew one could—although, it’s only your second time, so you don’t exactly have a lot of data to go off of. Your entire body feels warm and floaty, and what he’s doing feels so good you want him even deeper—but you know he won’t give you that yet. Instead you focus on the slow burn of your orgasm, allowing him to carry on for a while until you begin slowly drifting back to earth and it becomes a bit too much. He recognizes the barely-there whine for what it is and pulls his fingers from you carefully, pressing one final kiss to your clit that makes your legs twitch and summons a weak little moan.

Spencer’s lips find other avenues, over the delicate skin of your thighs and hips and stomach as he slowly drags himself up again. By the time you’re face to face again you’re still breathing hard. You sort of feel like prey underneath his weight, studied so scrupulously, known far more intimately by him than anyone has ever known you before. But there is so much light and kindness in the way he looks at you that you almost can’t make sense of it.

Maybe it’s possible to be known and still wanted. The possibility spins like a coin on its edge in your mind. An idea you spent so much time trying to nurture and is only just now beginning to sprout. Maybe someone could see you at your most vulnerable, and still find you worthy of kindness. Appreciation. Affection.

Spencer certainly could, it seems, as he ducks down to kiss you. You dodge it, turning your head demurely. He nudges his head against yours, speaking so, so softly, utterly cloying as he teases, “what? You’re not gonna kiss me now? Is that how it is?”

“No!” you balk, equally as quiet and especially bashful. “Not when you… no.”

“Let me kiss you,” he pleads, so earnestly you turn your head back to face him. His big eyes are hazy, reflecting all the warmth and dizziness you feel. “Let me kiss you. Please.”

You whine.

“I don’t wanna… taste… myself.”

Spencer doesn’t miss a beat.

“Hm. We’ll need to work on that. Because one day, I’ll make you come just like that again, and then I’m going to fuck you, and you’re really going to want me to kiss you then, angel.”

Something flickers in your core.

Suddenly you’re not so squeamish. You really want him to kiss you now. But it seems he’s going to have his fun, first.

“Open.” Without even thinking about it, your lips part. He really ought to be careful with what he tells you to do—you’re all too compliant. Even as his fingers slip between your lips, you’re obediently hollowing your cheeks around them, watching him with big eyes as his own mouth falls slightly open. “Oh, baby,” he croons. “What are we gonna do with you?”

That flicker has returned to a full-fledged throbbing once you open your mouth again, slightly dizzy from lack of oxygen.

“Can you make me come again right now?” you whisper, grasping lightly at his shirt. He grins like he loves the idea—and you let him have his way, accepting his lips on yours with no complaint. After a few moments, (the taste is surprisingly unobtrusive), he pulls away.

“I would love to.”

part three

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds smut

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thewritingfairy · 2 months ago

Text

↪ 09. Oh no!

PREV PART Trigger warning: (past, current) mental + physical + emotional neglect, (name) pretends everything is fine, talking down of oneself, Reader isn't out towards the batfamily yet, mental gymnastics, disabilties are finally talked about, guilt, I think this is my longest chapter yet, pls tell me if I missed any warnings main m.list series m.list

When you woke up your body felt sluggish as you try to remember what happened, you must have a fever, why else would Alfred be at your bedside sleeping. Seeing him there reminds you of the times your heart ached for his comfort, for the times you wished he would finally stand up for you. But he didn’t, he never takes your side.

Their reaction to you passing out must’ve been extreme, because the moment you tried to manoeuvre past Alfred Dick was there, standing in front of your door with a panicked expression. “You shouldn’t get out of bed,” he says with an attempted smile. It just makes you narrow your eyes and spitefully stand up. You ignore how the room spins and how your pain spreads to your neck and fingertips. It’s almost as if Dick can sense your discomfort (it would be a first) because the moment you lose your balance he’s there to keep you standing straight. “you really are stubborn.”

His words weren’t meant to make you flinch, but they still did. You don’t trust him, and you might never, anything negative from him puts you on edge (even if his statement is true). You never know how any of your siblings will react, and quite frankly you always found Dick the most difficult from all of your siblings. Impossible to read and always wearing that fake smile, he always used that smile when he interacted with you, keeping his real smiles for his true family. “Don’t touch me,” you hiss, raising your voice enough to wake Alfred up and enough for Dick to step back.

“(name),” he whispers as he moves towards you, checking your temperature with his hand not allowing you to flinch away from him. “Good, no fever….” Yet your eyes look anywhere but at his.

“Now that you’ve done the bare minimum to keep yourselves from wallowing in guilt,” you start, ignoring how Alfred’s face falls, how Dick’s breath becomes ragged and uneven. “I want you both to leave, I need to change for school.”

“You don’t seriously think you are going to school,” Dick says as his eyebrows furrow, his arm crossed on his chest. “not after passing out like that.”

You laugh, you couldn’t help it. Now they want to care for your health. “Didn’t you guys not send me to a hospital after I was viciously beaten and possibly had internal bleeding?” you shot back, and finally they look guilty. Their guilty faces and nervous ticks make you smile, finally you feel heard. “I pass out quite often, especially since then, I am going to school so get out, I’m going to be late.”

“At least let me drop you off,” Dick says before Alfred can protests. “it would make sense, Damian’s classes are in one of your school buildings today.”

You laugh. “Oh, he doesn’t want to be seen with me. Don’t you know?” But when you see Alfred’s nails digging in his palm you start to feel guilty. Perhaps Jason’s right and you are being a piece of shit. “But fine, I suppose, just get out I need to do my hair and put my uniform on.”

They listen, but once you close your door Alfred and Dick stare at each other. Having a conversation with each other with just their eyes. You are hiding something about your health, and they’ll force to the doctor if they must. “I’ll brief Damian of the plan,” Dick tells Alfred. “I’ll try to get more information out of them.”

Alfred nods and sighs; “Duke has been helpful but evasive, but it’s clear he doesn’t trust us.”

Dick nods, and he can’t help but think; ‘Who would? If they knew what we did?’

“He’s honouring (Name)’s autonomy,” Dick acknowledges as he brushed his hair back with his hands. “more then we have ever done…”

Awh, the poor bats are becoming self-aware, and guilt is weighing heavy. Too bad that it isn’t enough to compensate for your pain.

You, who had quickly done your hair (honestly you tried, it looks terrible but it is too much for you to handle right now, so it’s alright) and put on your uniform, was now in the kitchen, grabbing a quick bite to eat and make some lunch. It was important to nourish your body after such a health incident. You need to take care of yourself, alright? Otherwise Maria and Duke would absolutely hound you on this. You just wish Cassandra wasn’t here, analysing your every move. “You’re in pain,” she says simply. “you have been for a while.”

“Wow,” you say without thinking, looking over your shoulder slightly amused. “you’ve only noticed now?”

“I’m not talking about mental pain,” she says, and that makes you freeze, dropping your lunch box in your bag and you couldn’t be more glad about getting one with an extra safety lock. “you are ill.” You chuckle, you couldn’t believe it. Cassandra knows, and she has known for a while. “Is it because of Jason?”

You turn around as you place your back on the counter. “What has Duke told you?” you aren’t angry with him, no, whatever he told them, it doesn’t matter. He’s just trying to help. “Or is that just a small personal theory?”

“A theory, Duke has been evasive with his answers,” she admits, her eyes narrowing as she tries to read your body language. But it comes up the same as always, on edge, in pain and angry. “said that he wouldn’t break his future sister’s trust.”

“Huh, so Brucie is adopting him,” you comment.

“But he has told us the full story about what Jason did,” Stephanie says, coming into the room pretending as if she hasn’t been eavesdropping from the moment she realised Cassandra was trying to get answers out of you. “I’m sorry, if I knew-”

You scoff, cutting off her sentences. Your eyes watering, you always wanted acknowledgement of what happened. You wanted these girls to tell you what your family did was wrong. But it’s too late now, and Cassandra could read that. She could see your shoulders tense, biting your lip as you try and keep your breathing steady. You feel unsafe, and she wonders if she didn’t ignore your pain. If she realised the damage they were doing to you, would you be happier? Would you be healthier?

Oh, having a moral compass can be quite difficult, can’t it?

“I don’t want none of your apologies,” you tell them, your eyes look dull and they feel lifeless. Something Stephanie often saw with the victims her father created. Is she just as bad as her father? At this point she would say to a degree. And if you will allow her to, she’ll do anything to make it right. But there is no time for that, Dick is here to drive you to school. “and our conversation is done, Cassandra, be sure to keep your mouth shut.”

While Stephanie hasn’t heard the whole conversation you two had (and could you really call it a conversation?) Cassandra obviously asked something about your health. Something that you have hidden from them all, even legally.

Well illegally, seriously, how did you perfect replicating Bruce’s signature? Even Tim couldn’t replicate it to that degree, if he were to compare your falsified signature with one of Bruce’s actual signatures it barely has any differences (Barbara would love to learn from you). The ink only looks thicker on your falsified one, Bruce always kept his pen-strokes light and precise.

But there is no time to ponder about that right now, they need to focus on you actually getting into Dick’s care. He bugged it with one of his earpieces so that the bat-family could analyse you interacting with Dick and Damian. The two you always interacted with the most before Jason’s attack, but even that was limited.

When you got into the car, you notice how Damian was sulking. Something you’ve never seen him do, besides that one time that Bruce scolded him loud enough that you could hear him from your room. You ignore him and buckle yourself in, joining him on the backseat. “Don’t you want to sit in the front seat?” Damian asks confused, and you shake your head. No way in hell are you sitting next to Dick.

“I don’t like the passenger seat.” Liar, liar pants on fire~!

Damian’s eyes narrow and scratches the skin under his nail. ‘huh,’ you think, absentmindedly. ‘we have similar anxiety ticks.’

With that Dick drives away, trying to build up a conversation. But truly, you couldn’t give a shit. You’re texting with Duke, you have chemistry the first hour, and you want to make sure that he knows that you don’t blame him for letting Bruce adopt him and such. That you just hope that he would keep your back and stay close to you when he joins the family.

Truly, aren’t you embarrassed by this? How insecure can you be?

‘Ofc, I won’t! I swear I’ll explain everything once B signs the papers. Thank you for not being mad :)’ The text makes you smile, once Duke swears something, he keeps that promise. He’s more trustworthy than your mother, she always had her fair share of secrets.

‘I could never be mad at my favourite brother, and you didn’t out me so that makes me not being mad a lot easier /hj’ you sent back before closing your phone, closing your eyes in as you feel stress leaving your body. You’re excited to see him again, you can’t wait to tell your friends about Duke joining your family. It would make your time left there a lot more bearable.

The thought of not being alone withyour ‘family’ anymore made your frown disappear. But it returned the moment you got closer to school. “Drop me off here,” you say, ignoring how Damian’s hand itches. Clearly wanting to grab your uniform jacket. “my friends are waiting for me.”

Dick nods, knowing he shouldn’t push you. You’ll just shut down even more, and it would become even more difficult to re-connect connect with you. He could feel bile rise in his throat the longer he thought about what he has done, about the behaviour he has been complicate in. Oh, but how can he make you see that it was all for the best? How can he make himself see that it was all for the best?

He can’t, he should be on his knees begging for your forgiveness, but he knew that it wouldn’t be enough. He just doesn’t know what to do.

He doesn’t know where he went wrong.

“That was a disaster,” Damian says when he can see you running up to your friends. Dick sighs, but he agrees. Damian knows it, he can see the disappointment on his older brother’s face, it makes him angry at you. But at the same time, why was he angry at you for their behaviour? Why did he give up your love for Jason when he was clearly in the wrong? Is it because of his time in the league, or is there still hatred in his body for you just simply existing?

Oh, what can the bat-family do when all they’ve done is estrange themselves from you? Can they redeem themselves, or will Duke take their place? Will your friends take their place besides your side?

With Duke you would still be apart of their family, but if you were to estrange yourself further from them, go no-contact and acknowledge your friends as your family and only allow Duke in your life they would have no excuse to try and make you understand their side. To try and get you to forgive them.

Because if they right their wrongs, you’ll have to love them. Right?

NEXT PART well, I am using this chapter as a distraction, my grandpa is getting better already tho! And I'm allowed to visit soon, so he's out of any danger zones, if you have any feedback do tell me. I have too many ideas of how to transition to the full yandere part and my brain needs to slow down fr.

taglist: @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret

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steviebbboi · 10 months ago

Text

Good For It

Pairing: Ari Levinson x F!Reader

Word Count: 8.1k~ (no idea how this happened) 🫣

Summary: Ari was deeply misunderstood by everyone except you. What happens when someone tries to hurt the one person he cares about the most?

Disclaimer: This is my submission for @stargazingfangirl18 writing challenge, "Siri's Birthday Bonenanza"~ Thank you to Siri for hosting this, and hoping that you all enjoy this as much I loved writing it :)

***I don't give any permission for this to be reposted anywhere! Pls do not steal work, plagiarism isn't demureeee~~~~

Warnings/Triggers: 18+ Minors DNI; Mentions/threats of violence, mentions of drugging reader (not by Ari), mentions of sexual harassment (again, not by Ari), explicit language, explicit smut, oral sex (f. receiving), p in v, angst, fluff, mentions of trauma, PTSD-like symptoms, Lumberjack!Ari, Veteran!Ari.

Prompts: Ari Levinson x F!Reader feat. Bryce Langley (not involved with Reader at all) + "The moment you or babe realize you’re in love with the other" + "Scary!babe is in love and a simp for you" + "Playful trolling/banter"

Quote Prompts: “Why can’t you just let yourself be loved?!” + “Goddamnit, will you just fucking let me do this for you?” + “You move an inch, and you’ll be sorry. + “Can you just…hold me, please?”

Trope Prompt: Scary, dangerous!babe who is only soft with you

Kink(s) Prompt: Size kink + Praise kink + Squirting + Manhandling +soft!dom (ish) + Possessive!babe + breeding (ish?)

Other kinks: mild choking, spanking, overstimulation (if I missed any TW, feel free to lmk)~

Rowdy laughter and the clinking of glasses came into earshot as you pushed the bar doors open. You greeted the bouncer as you usually did and gave a quick scan of the back of the bar. Once you found who you were looking for, you felt your lips quirk into a small smile as you headed toward the back.

Ari Levinson, the local town recluse with only four friends (including yourself and the bouncer-ish). He’s a retired military veteran and is known as “that weird, scary dude who lives alone up in the mountains.” To be fair, the town’s whispered descriptions of him were not entirely inaccurate.

You could feel the regular, daily stares coming in hot as you continued walking toward the back booths. Although you were used to it at this point, you could feel yourself becoming more tense as the whispers started to creep through.

A tired sigh escaped your lips as you passed by one woman in particular who seemed to always let out a muttered comment under her breath—all synonymous with criticism that you never took lightly.

“Poor girl doesn’t know what she’s doing. She’ll end up in the morgue someday.”

“He just has her wrapped around his finger, huh? Someone should say something.”

“You know he almost beat a guy to death a year ago. What is a sweet girl like her doing with a guy like him?”

“Nobody told her to leave the undesirables alone.”

Any and all comments surrounding Ari’s character felt crushing every time you heard them. In the beginning of your relationship with Ari, you used to cry yourself to sleep every night because some of the comments were so scathing. All these people were just judging you because you were with a person that you deeply cared about.

Ari would be there every night to soothe you (he didn’t care as much about what others said). He would wipe your tears by holding your face in his big hands and kiss you until you couldn’t remember what you were crying about in the first place.

See, there are things that people don’t know about Ari. They judged him based on his background and one incident at the mill. He was hulking over everyone at 6'5", his stature and demeanor a bit more closed off and quiet. When people tried to say hi to him, he would give them a small grunt and continue on his way. He wasn’t a small man by any means, emotionally or physically (of which, your size difference is something you both indulge in, in many ways).

The problem was that they only saw and perceived things from the surface. They didn’t see all of the qualities underneath that make him so desirable, wanted, and valuable to you. With Ari, you felt protected, safe, and secure in ways that you had never experienced before. You never felt disrespected by him in the slightest. People didn’t see that, even through his dark aimless stares or quiet mumbles and grumbles, he still cared and was incredibly kind.

One day, you were working furiously on your laptop as you sat on Ari’s couch. Your work was demanding, and more often than not, you would work your remote 9-to-5 job straight through without taking care of yourself. Ari only ever gazed at you with curiosity and never said anything about it. Although you could tell from his stare that he disapproved of your self-negligence. The next time you sat working, Ari placed some dinner on the coffee table in front of you. The smell of the hot, homemade food made your tummy rumble as you stopped typing after four hours of working nonstop to look up at him with surprise.

“Eat,” Ari said simply and reached out to stroke the exposed skin peeking out from underneath the blanket on top of you before heading back to the kitchen. You usually wouldn’t let anything get in the way of your work, but his act of care was so wholesome and precious that you stopped and ate the whole thing.

Ari came back once you were finished to sit down next to you under the blanket with a book. He made an effort to get comfortable by placing his large, calloused hand on your inner thigh underneath your now-shared afghan before getting back to his reading. You could only stare at him, astonished by how this beefy, quiet giant of a man managed to not only get you to pause your work but also make you eat (disrupting your chain of focus and habits was not an easy feat, just ask your ex-partners). He let out another deep grumble when you kissed his bearded cheek with a soft thank you as you put away your laptop and leaned into his shoulder to read with him.

It was then that you realized Ari, depicted as this scary, violent, tainted, isolated person, was deeply misunderstood.

It was also the moment that you realized you were deeply in love with him.

Coming out of your reverie, you let out the tension that had been carried in your chest as you saw your man start to turn as you finally approached the booth. Your soft smile turned into a genuine grin when your eyes met his. You greeted Sammy (his third friend) as you went to scoot next to Ari. You put an arm around him to give a gentle rub on his large back while giving him a quick kiss on his cheek. As usual, he gave you a quiet, deep mumble of acknowledgement but proceeded to put his muscular arm around you protectively, giving you the opportunity to place the hand that had been shoved to your side around his thick, jean-clad thigh.

“What are we talking about?” You engaged Sammy first, knowing that Ari would likely be more of an active listener, as he usually was.

Sammy and Ari were in service together, along with Rachel (the bartender and the fourth friend, completing the group). Ari was noticeably relaxed with them, as he was with you, but you had no idea how they got the man to talk. You heard stories of their time in active duty, but they never went beyond surface-level details. You knew Ari had done some dangerous work during his time in the military; he never really talked about it, but you could surmise that he was still recovering from it, especially since that incident a year ago.

“Oh, you know, same old, same old. Rachel threw beer on a guy who was trying to score free drinks by hitting on her,” Sammy said with a smirk.

You laughed freely. “Man, I wish I had been there to see it! Some newbie at the office messed something up, and who has to fix it? Me, of course.” You rolled your eyes and put a hand to your forehead to rub away the fatigue.

“Did you eat, baby?” Ari cut in quietly. You turned to meet his concerned gaze and gave him a soft smile with a rub to his knee. “Yes, honey. I was able to have my assistant run out to grab some grub. Don’t worry.”

He gave another affirmative grunt with a nod and shifted to hand you a beer that was hidden at the end of the table. You huffed out a quiet laugh before giving him one last squeeze on the knee before reaching for the drink gratefully. Of course, Ari had already gotten you a drink but only gave it to you after you gave your daily report. He was always looking after you.

“When are they going to gear up and give you that promotion?” Sammy asked, shaking his head.

You gave a despondent shake before sighing. “You know, they’re a small company. I think we’re understaffed as it is right now. That’s why these new hires keep making these small mistakes.”

“Aaaand that’s why they need to promote you to manager, to teach some sense into ‘em! Ari’s always sayin’ you’d be a great supervisor.” He replied with an encouraging smile.

Now you were the one letting out a small questioning mumble while looking down at your drink bashfully. You felt Ari stroke the back of your arm with a firm gentleness, and you knew it really meant, “Yes, you do deserve more.”

This kind of touch was often a reminder for you to believe in yourself and that you deserved better things (a tough job for your ex-partners, you might add). Ari had seemingly broken a cycle for you, helping you genuinely care about yourself in a way you hadn’t before. (All the ways he protects you are just sickeningly cute, aren’t they?)

Bringing yourself back to the present, you gave Sammy a stronger “hm” in response and said, “I know. I mean, when will these bastards just wake up?”

Sammy gave a shout of laughter and a “hell yeah” before giving you another supportive response. You turned to Ari briefly to give him another smile of appreciation, only to notice that he was already looking at you. But the glint in his eyes… you hadn’t seen that before. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you registered Sammy announcing he was going back to the bar for another drink.

The two of you were now alone, just observing each other. A shiver ran down your spine at his piercing gaze as you asked quietly, “Everything okay, honey?”

At your reserved tone, Ari gave you a subtle, tilted smile. “I love you,” he said simply.

Your breath hitched, and you felt your eyes widen at his surprise revelation. You knew that you loved Ari, maybe even before you realized it yourself. There were many ways the two of you showed your love and care for each other—from cooking food for each other to gentle caresses during more intimate moments. However, this was the first time either of you had ever said it out loud.

Now you were the one stumbling over your words, struggling to respond, swallowing thickly as you tried to say it back. It’s not that you felt you couldn’t, but the man had just revealed that he loved you, in a bar no less! The guy was usually full of grumbles, deep hums, and mumbles. You never would have expected him to reveal something so vulnerable and intimate in an environment like this. You figured your actions would be proof enough, and that was okay with you. You accepted that about Ari—you never expected him to actually say it.

At your floundering, Ari had a full-on smirk on his handsome face. He seemed to appreciate how the tables had turned. You stopped your mumbles once you saw his reaction to your shock and squinted your eyes in fake indignation. His smirk only grew wider, the glint you noticed earlier now turning into an affectionate mirth that you knew Ari reserved just for you.

“Damn him and his sexy, lumberjack hotness,” you thought to yourself. You and Ari both knew you loved it when he teased you like this. You pretended to be upset, but it was all part of how well the two of you bantered throughout your relationship.

Most of your relationship involved speaking in a language your friends couldn’t quite understand, which only played into the image of how polar opposites you two were. But you and Ari reveled in it, just like Ari was now. You were more embarrassed at being caught stumbling on your words, and felt the need to beat him in your little game. The man hadn’t even said anything in the past minute, and he was already winning. He knew how you felt about him; it was just fun for him to see you all flustered.

“HA– alright, Mr. Grumbles. I’m going to get us some more drinks. Did you want anything else?” you said begrudgingly while gathering your glasses to bring back to the bar.

“No, baby. Sammy said he was going to get us some, though.” Ari conceded his smirk (and victory). Speak of the devil, and he shall appear—Sammy came up behind you to slide back into the booth, but with only one drink in his hand. You and Ari stared at him and then looked back at the beer with questioning eyes.

Sammy got comfortable and noticed both of your stares only when he realized that nobody was talking. Glancing down at his own drink, then toward your empty glasses, and back to your amused stares again, he muttered abashedly, “You didn’t say I had to get you another drink too.”

You let out a small giggle and looked back at Ari again to repeat, “Did you want anything else, baby?”

Ari responded with the same amusement in his tone. “No, love.” He grinned back at you as he said the endearment, which only furthered your fake ire. You pouted your lips in playful anger and met his beguiled stare with your own before standing up from the booth.

As you gathered the empty glasses again, you saw Ari attempting to grab them from you as he also stood up from his seat.

“No– don’t worry, Ari. I’ve got it,” you reassured him, but he ignored you and responded only with a grunt. He proceeded to scoot out of the small booth, hunched over the table.

Letting the glasses go, you pressed down on Ari’s shoulders hard to shove him back into his seat. His eyes widened in surprise at the forceful touch as he sat back down, but you knew you hadn’t hurt him. If anything, he lurched back from you since he didn’t want to bump into you while attempting to get out.

“Goddammit, will you just fucking let me do this for you?” you scolded him in feigned anger. You grabbed the glasses quickly and scurried away before he could respond. You only heard him and Sammy laughing at your retreat before the chatter from the other end of the bar became more prominent as you approached.

Setting the two glasses down on an empty section of the bar top, you leaned over slightly to catch Rachel’s perceptive gaze. She nodded with a smile on her face as she made you two new drinks. Glancing around the rest of the bar with mild interest, you couldn’t help but reflect on Ari’s intimate reveal.

A smile spread onto your lips, and you let out a small laugh to yourself. You were in love with a man who communicated with short hums and grunts, and with only three words—he had unraveled you. You felt so happy in that moment to be with someone who could meet you where you were, for once.

At first, you were intimidated by the looming lumberjack, but as you got to know each other, you grew to understand that he didn’t need big, fancy words to connect with you. Ari was the kind of partner who was straightforward with you and never hid anything maliciously while still respecting the integrity of your relationship. You felt grateful to be a part of each other’s lives.

Floating mindlessly in your thoughts, you didn’t notice the man staring at you across the bar. You also didn’t notice him approaching until you heard him say, “Hey there, what are you smiling about, sweetheart?”

Glancing over, the giddiness you felt thinking about your relationship with Ari was now interrupted by feelings of annoyance and suspicion. “I’m good, thanks,” you responded dismissively, not even bothering to answer his question.

“Aw, c’mon—just wanna talk a bit. Hey, are you with anyone right now?” the guy persisted.

Looking at the intrusive person, you could tell he was a bit younger than you. His polo shirt was disheveled, and his demeanor seemed careless. If his side-swept hair wasn’t an indication of his immaturity, it was the way he reeked of alcohol and weed. A smug smile lifted on his face as he assumed you were checking him out, when in reality, you were trying to piece together how to shut this down and walk around him on your way back to the booth.

“Uh, I am. Just waiting for our drinks,” you answered shortly, hoping your dismissiveness would be enough to make him go away. Heckling men never seem to take the hint when you’re not interested, and it seems like telling them off only riles them up more.

“Well, if I were your friend, I certainly wouldn’t have let you come up here by yourself. There are some weirdos out here, y’know?” He leaned onto the bar and into you, his body too close for comfort. You leaned back and crossed your arms defensively.

“I’m sorry—let me? Listen, kid—you got one thing right: there are weirdos out here. Almost like some weirdos just don’t seem to get the hint when they’re harassing women who only want to be left alone by the bar.” You couldn’t hold in your snark as this misogynistic asshole seemed to only smile wider at your reactions.

“Right! That’s why you’re lucky I’m here, sweetheart. Considering that I’m being so helpful by giving you this piece of advice, I think that now makes us friends.” He laughed, ignoring your irritation.

“Everything okay here?” You looked up to find Rachel putting down the newly made beers while looking the stranger dead in the eyes. You could see him squirm a bit, and you stifled a giggle—you were always amused to see her put men in their place.

“It’s okay, Rach. I’m heading back to those two dummies, anyway.” You left some bills on the counter. Rachel gave you a look since she always insisted drinks were on the house for you, but you never really listened. She took the money anyway, gave the guy one last daggered look, and made a small dismissive sound before leaving to attend to other customers.

Ignoring Rachel’s reaction, he turned to you and said, “Well, where are these two dummies you speak of? Are they cute like you?” He looked over at the general crowd of women lingering behind you.

You cleared your throat at his blatant ignorance. “Actually, my two dummies are over there.” You pointed to the back where Sammy and Ari’s profiles could be briefly seen.

He followed your hand to see the two men sitting there and let out a surprised “ah.” He looked back at you after seeing the men but couldn’t help but do a double take once he recognized one of them.

“Wait, you’re that guy’s friend?” he asked incredulously, looking at you expectantly.

You gave him a warning look and made an affronted sound. “Careful. ‘Friends’ don’t talk to their friends like that. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” You gestured to take your drinks, which seemed to snap him out of his shock.

“Hey, hey—wait! Relax, relax. That just took me off guard, but… I mean, you do know what he did, right?” He gave you the same look others would give you, almost disgusted, as if he couldn’t believe a ‘girl like you’ would be with a ‘guy like him.’

Your eyes narrowed and you huffed an exasperated breath, preparing to retort, but were interrupted by a voice yelling, “Yo, Bryce, hurry up!” You looked to the end of the bar to see another young man in a polo (god, these entitled kids are a dime a dozen) looking over at you. They wore the same cocky, smug smiles, and you were immediately done with this interaction.

Letting out a scoff, you replied, “Well, Bryce, it’s been real. Now, please, leave me alone.” Not mincing words nor your mocking tone, you started to grab your drinks when you froze in place, frowning as you noticed one of your drinks had an abnormal fizz on top.

“Are you kidding me? Did he just…?” Your thoughts felt scattered as you realized that your drink had been spiked. Your frown persisted as you looked back at Bryce in disbelief. “Did you really just do that?”

Bryce looked nonchalant at your question and, almost innocently, responded, “What are you talking about, sweetheart?” He had a dopey look on his face, but he couldn’t even hide his rising grin at your growing outrage. You knew you weren’t overreacting and you knew what you saw in your drink.

“You just spiked my drink—what the fuck is wrong with you?!” You accused and turned to catch Rachel’s attention. A strong grip twisted your arm back to Bryce as he looked at you with something completely vile in his eyes. He leaned in close to whisper in your ear with venom as you leaned back and attempted to get his hand off you. “Stuck-up bitch. You know you would’ve been asking for it if you didn’t have your killer boyfriend to cover you.”

Feeling his hot breath in your ear made you panic even more, his unrelenting grip getting tighter by the second. You shouted while trying to push him off you, “Get the fuck off of me! LET GO!”

You flailed your limbs more in your attempts to make a scene. You heard a barstool crash to the ground loudly, and all of a sudden Bryce’s fingers were no longer around your arm. The only thing in your vision was a person’s vast back.

Ari.

Catching your breath from your panic, the sounds of the bar that had seemed to mute during your thrashing suddenly tuned back in. You registered pained groans and the utter silence, yet concerned murmurs scattered across the room. Looking over from behind Ari’s back, you saw Sammy putting a hand in between Ari and Bryce, who was now on the floor, clutching his nose with blood spilling out rapidly.

“You fucking prick! I’ll press charges!” Bryce shouted from the ground as his friends crowded around him, trying to get him up.

Rachel raised her voice to be heard amidst the chaos and said, “I saw what happened, asshole. I’d be happy to call the cops and let them know about you and your buddies’ attempts to sexually harass my customers.”

Bryce, now being held up by his friends, looked over at Rachel menacingly. Rachel didn’t back down and walked towards the phone on the wall. “Shall we?”

Bryce hissed in pain from his new injury and looked back to meet Ari’s stone-cold eyes. Sammy turned to face Bryce and his friends with a look of caution, almost ready to get into a fight if it came to that.

Bryce took a heavy gulp, attempting to stare Ari down with bravado. He then locked his jaw and scoffed, “Whatever, I’m out of here.”

The bouncer suddenly appeared behind you, making you startle slightly, and pushed the group toward the exit. As they got closer, you hid yourself behind Ari’s back and gripped his shirt tightly for comfort. You could feel Ari’s hand reach for your waist, and you assumed he could sense your shaking and wanted to offer you more protection and ease.

In your peripheral vision, you could see and feel Bryce’s eyes staring at you, almost as if he wanted to say one last thing. But Ari’s grip on your waist tightened as he turned to face Bryce directly, orienting you with him and blocking his gaze from you. Though you couldn’t see it, Ari looked deadly in that moment, removing any access Bryce had to your presence.

“If you ever come back in here, and if I ever see you near her again, I will hurt you,” Ari said quietly, but his warning reverberated across the large space. “And you know that I’m good for it.”

Bryce, still clutching his nose, averted his gaze and continued moving toward the exit.

As the group exited, people still looked over but gradually returned to their tables and muttered conversations. The jukebox came back on at a lower volume, and people eventually resumed their activities.

You were still clutching Ari’s back as you released a sigh of relief. You leaned into him, your forehead resting between his shoulders. The adrenaline had left you with residual energy, and it was noticeably hard for you to regulate your emotions. Ari heard you release one more exhale in an attempt to calm down before he turned to meet your tight grip with his strong hands.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay, baby.” He released your hands with one last squeeze and cupped your face sweetly. He whispered more reassurances as he pulled your face close to his and leaned down to give you a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Sammy, we’re gonna get going.” Ari glanced at the teary-eyed look on your face and knew you couldn’t stay. He wouldn’t have expected you to, either—he was accustomed to chaotic and loud environments, able to regulate during scary situations. Ari knew this was exceptionally jarring for you, and he desperately wanted to protect you from any feelings of unsafety. His priority since you entered his life was to preserve your softness, and if his hard exterior could help do that, he would go to any length to ensure you felt secure with him.

“Of course, check in and get home safe.” You also turned to give Sammy and Rachel a soft smile and a quiet ‘thank you.’ If there was any effort to expend, it would be that.

They returned your smile with reminders to be safe while driving home, and Ari took your small hand in his to lead you to the exit. You both passed by the bouncer, who returned Ari’s thanks for earlier with an affirmative nod and also gave you a parting “feel better.” You muttered your appreciation and clutched Ari’s forearm with your other hand still in his. You felt that if you weren’t right by his side, if he weren’t touching you, the panic would rush back in.

On the car ride back to Ari’s place, you kept yourself as close to him as possible. The truck’s seats facilitated closeness; Ari wrapped his right arm around you protectively while driving with his left.

Ari appreciated that you felt safe with him. Unbeknownst to you, his own panic about losing you crept in whenever you weren’t by his side.

His arm wrapped around you tighter, and his caress provided comfort for him as well during the rest of the ride home.

Later that night, after Ari got out of the shower, you noticed cuts on his knuckles from his punch earlier.

“Ari, why didn’t you say anything earlier? Come here.” You scolded him as you led the giant of a man (a very half-naked, still wet giant of a man—okay, focus) to sit on the toilet seat.

“Baby, it’s fine—” Ari began to say, but you interrupted him, “Honey, let me do this—why can’t you just let yourself be loved?!” Ari let out a rare scoffed smile at your dramatic flair before acknowledging you with his usual grunt. You returned his smile and gave him a kiss on the forehead.

Ari watched you as you ventured over to the bathroom counter to gather the first aid kit. You were already in your sleep clothes—simple camisole and shorts. Though he remained silent, you could feel his eyes roaming over your newly exposed skin. You glanced up at the wide mirror and caught him in the act as his gaze lingered a bit too long on your ass. You stifled a small laugh, and his eyes met yours unashamedly.

You turned to walk back over to him, and his eyes never left yours as you took his palm gently between your hands. As you cleaned the small wound, you could feel his gaze burning on your skin. You took your time patching him up, and with the last bandage, you brought his burly hand to your lips, planting a meaningful kiss on his knuckles. Continuing to brush your lips against the back of his hand, you left more kisses until you reached the underside of his wrist.

Ari’s gaze darkened with every peck of affection you left on his clean skin. As you raised his hand to rest it on your cheek, Ari’s other arm wrapped around the low of your waist, pulling you in closer. Deciding you weren’t close enough, you straddled his towel-clad waist. Enjoying the intimacy, you both savored the simplicity of feeling safe in each other’s embrace. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you softly caressed his wet strands of hair away from his face. Tucking your face into the crevice of his neck, you closed your eyes and hummed contentedly, feeling his large hands rub up and down your back. You felt so small enveloped in his arms.

“Look at me, baby,” Ari whispered softly. He laid a calloused hand on your cheek and stroked it gently with his thumb. His other arm remained wrapped around you to support you, and he said, “I know that we don’t talk about this often enough, but I want you to know that I would never hurt you. Ever.”

You gave Ari a confused look. “I know that, Ari. I trust you. I always feel safe with you.” His eyes were full of concern as you rushed to reassure him. Your own hand rested on his bearded cheek. “I know that what happened at the mill last year has lingered a bit.”

He turned his gaze downward until you cooed at him, making him look back at you. “Hey, I know you. I know that you were only doing what you thought was right. At that moment, it was about protecting Sammy. The guy was making threats against you both. It made sense that you went to defend yourself.”

Ari was quiet for a minute. You continued stroking his cheek to let him process. This was a vulnerable conversation for Ari that his usual grunts couldn’t explain.

He broke the silence by saying, “I lied to you.”

Your heart froze, and you felt even more confused. Your hand dropped back down to grip his bulky shoulder. “What do you mean?” you asked tentatively.

Ari met your curious gaze with an ashamed look. “He wasn’t making threats against Sammy… he was saying things about you. Us. How a woman like you shouldn’t be with someone like me—‘damaged goods.’”

Lines formed between your eyebrows as you tried to register what Ari was saying. Leaning into your silence, he continued, “Then he started saying that he would be a better fit for you. He talked about all the ways he would treat you better, and then he shoved me and… I just lost it.” Ari’s mouth twisted grimly, and his eyes held a weighted look. “I just… didn’t want to lose you.”

Swallowing thickly, you reflected on that time in your relationship when you heard about Ari being involved in an accident at the mill. It wasn’t until you saw him that you realized there had been no accident, and that Ari had put his co-worker in the hospital. Of course, you worried about the implications of his actions and what it would mean for the two of you. At a certain point, you did question your safety with Ari.

But you remembered meeting him at the station when the police let him go due to it being self-defense (and many of Ari’s co-workers, including Sammy, vouching for the incident). He had the same look that he had now—fear.

In that moment, despite what he had done, you knew there was something so strong and willed behind his reaction. He was so protective and gentle with you, and you believed him. You believed that that was the man that you were falling in love with. You just never would have guessed it came from the fear of losing you.

Realizing you had been quiet for a while as you processed your feelings and what you wanted to say, Ari didn’t move from his position. He licked his lips nervously, waiting for your response.

Releasing a slow breath, you cupped Ari’s face in your hands and looked him in the eye. “You protect, Ari, that’s just what you do.”

Ari exhaled in relief and felt a dark weight lift off of his shoulders, his stomach no longer churning, while putting his forehead to your chest. He moved his arms under your butt and lifted you slightly to do this but you embraced him openly. You stroked his hair again as he started kissing your exposed skin above your breast until he was laying a series of soft kisses up your neck. You both knew what his kisses really meant: “I’m sorry, I love you.”

You hummed out a soft moan as his lips found that spot under your ear that felt extra sensitive to his touch. Turning his face to meet your cheek, he tilted his head slightly so that he could finally reach your mouth. You allowed Ari to control the pace of the kiss and moaned when you felt his tongue softly caress yours.

The tension in the air quickly thickened into something more primal and electric from Ari’s confession. There was something about this huge, strong man protecting only you that made you feel so worshiped and desired. These feelings start to overcome you and you move to sit on top of Ari’s towel-covered erection only to grind yourself down on him. Ari groaned sensually into the kiss at the feeling of delicious pressure sitting on his hard cock. Your mouths continue languidly meeting each other when you let out a squeak from Ari suddenly gripping your thighs tightly to carry you back into the bedroom.

You released a squeal as Ari threw you on top of the bed before dropping his towel on the floor. Breathing heavier, you backed up on the bed to get a better look at his glorious sculpted figure and Ari only smirked at your hooded eyes gazing all over his body. Standing at the edge of the bed, Ari decided that you were too far away and he gripped your ankle to roughly tug you back towards him. Letting out another brief squeal and giggle, you quickly sought into his rhythm as he kneeled onto the bed.

His bulking mass overshadowed you as he leaned forward to place more deceivingly gentle kisses upon the exposed skin of your stomach where your tank top rode up. Your stomach fluttered as you could feel his kisses getting wetter, and were leading down towards your cotton-clad pussy. You whined in anticipation as Ari gently tugged off your shorts to reveal your soaking core.

Ari let out a deep groan at the sight of your pussy weeping for his touch. Using his hands to spread your legs open to make space for his massive stature, you gasped for air even though he has barely touched you. You stroke the hands holding you down and beg, “Ari, please. Please do something.”

At your begging, Ari released a louder groan this time. “God, baby. Look at you just creaming for me, and I haven’t even touched you yet. You want me to take care of you, sweet girl?”

He used his forearms to hold your already squirming legs down as he used his thumb to cut through a string of wet and reveal your thrumming pink clit. Not being able to resist his own yearning, he gave a firm lick up your cunt and released a deep groan at the first taste of you on his tongue. “Oh fuck, you taste so fucking sweet.” He groaned and went back into your cunt for more.

You sobbed your pleasure at the feeling of his tongue caressing your wet folds, “Yes, please, Ari– please!” His tongue continued licking all over your pussy while he released his own small moans at the taste of you. He made sure to thrust his tongue into your soaked opening before licking his way back towards your now puffy clit.

Your moans steadily increased in volume and small, short-bursts of whimpers fell out of your mouth as Ari devoured you. Feeling his lips suction at your clit, you mewl and feel his thick finger start to breach your entrance. Your head fell back on the bed, your mouth agape at the sheer pleasure you were receiving from your man. One hand tightly gripping the sheet next to you and the other wrapped in Ari’s hair as you kept him in place, your hips started to thrust back into his mouth and fingers. Not expecting for you to turn so wildly, Ari’s mouth left your clit unwillingly. Letting out a whine at the loss of warmth, you press down on the back of Ari’s head to get him back into position.

But all of a sudden, you felt a sharp smack on your ass and you let out a yelp. Ari was still thrusting his finger, and inserting a second one, at a slower pace when he looked up at you. His lips and beard glistened with your wetness when he said darkly, “You move an inch, and you’ll be sorry. Do you understand me, baby?”

You could only respond with a soft whimper before letting out another cry as he slapped your ass again. “I said, do you understand me?”

“Yes, Ari, I understand.” You responded with a glazed look in your eye at the combination of pain from his smacks and pleasure from his domineering words.

“There’s my sweet girl, so good for me.” Ari said before he kissed his way back to your sopping cunt, his fingers thrusting faster now as his mouth created a suction on your clit again. Releasing out a louder cry at the transition, you could feel Ari’s fingers start to push deeper and curve inside of you to find your g-spot. You let out a sharp gasp once you felt him start to stroke that spongy spot over and over again while his tongue started to softly create a rhythmic pattern on your throbbing bud.

The other thing about your relationship with Ari is that he was the most vocal when you were fucking. He always let you know how you felt around him and freely praised you as you gave each other the most visceral and intense experience. Anticipating more from him, your body rolled with his fingers to get him even deeper inside of you.

Only squeaking out sounds now, your high-pitched tones of pleasure were music to Ari’s ears. Your wet starting to squelch around his fingers and spurt out of you, Ari knew you were almost there. His fingers thrusted faster into you and curved in deeper with each thrust. He groaned, “Hmm, yeah baby? Is this the spot right here?”

You couldn’t conjure up a response as you were only experiencing the immense pleasure that he was giving to you and almost animalistic groans started leaving your throat. Ari looked up to see your head thrown back on the bed and your upper body contorting, your tanktop having ridden up and was now showing your beautiful perky, round breasts. Nipples peaked in heightened pleasure. Witnessing you like this was a privilege for Ari and he never thought you looked more beautiful than when you were writhing for him in the bedroom.

A deep desire to witness more of you, Ari increased his efforts by pushing down on your tummy just above your mount. “Yeah, that’s the spot. Be a good girl for me, and let me have it. Let go for me.” He breathes against your slit while giving you one last intentional suck and rapid licking at your clit.

Inhaling sharply, his words were your undoing as you felt that tight knot inside of you tear in ecstasy. Your head tossed back in euphoria as you cum hard, your pussy clenched around his fingers. Though, Ari didn’t stop thrusting his fingers deep inside of you. Whispering good girl and so sweet against your thrumming folds as he continued to coach you through your release.

You let out a satiated whimper at experiencing your orgasm but Ari wasn’t stopping. If anything, his fingers curved into your g-spot faster and his tongue licked harder at your humming, swollen clit. You did thrash at the overstimulation. Your disobedience resulted in Ari slapping your ass once more. Even though it was served as a punishment, it seemed to only end up heightening your yearning for a second release. Noticing that your juices were spurting out excessively now, Ari kept slapping your ass as your pussy gripped tighter onto his large fingers.

Letting out a myriad of whimpers and desperate moans, you sobbed out, “Ari please, please…I can’t do it, please!”

“Yes, you can baby, you can. Don’t you want to be good for me?”

You couldn’t answer him other than your random babblings– you couldn’t even think as you felt so consumed by the pleasure that he was giving you. You felt like you were being consumed by him and adored at the same time.

A cry left your lips as he slapped your ass harder. “I asked you a question, are you my good girl?”

“Yes, yes, please, let me cum, please!” You sobbed out.

Ari grunted deeply, “Your pussy is begging for it– you hear that?” He quieted only for the sounds of your own wetness slopping out of you to fill the space. “Mmm, see, I know you can do it, just one more, love.” Ari went back to suckling on your clit while he rubbed and grabbed at your now pink-colored flesh.

Hearing him use this endearment again as his lips never left your body made your eyes roll up and you inadvertently held your breath as you let go for the second time. You register Ari’s moans and praise against your clit as you squirt your cum into his awaiting mouth.

All you could let out were quiet mumbles of satisfaction as Ari’s fingers slowed. Your body was still jerking as it carried out aftershocks of your release, and you let out another sharp breath as Ari left one last kiss on your velvety folds.

You were attempting to catch your breath as Ari kissed his way up your body, spending some time on your nipples by taking one in his mouth while his hand caressed your other breast. Ari brought up his fingers that were just inside of you to stroke your nipple and groaned as you glistened with your own cum. Leaning down, he took your nipple in his mouth again to suck it clean. You moaned softly and arched your back to give him more access as your hands stroked affectionately through his hair.

Working his way back towards your bite-ridden lips, Ari slanted his wet mouth over yours as you taste yourself on his tongue. The both of you moaned as you continued making out leisurely. Ari pulled back to lick your lips sensually before dipping into your open mouth one more time for his tongue to meet yours in a passionate, sloppy dance.

Ari stroked your hair away from your face. “You ready for my cock, baby?”

You whined and nodded as he leaned down to give you another wet kiss. You feel him reaching for his cock, hard and resting on your clit heavily. You mewled at him again as he slapped your clit with the wide mushroom head of his cock and he pushed in slowly.

Groaning together at the feel of his thick cock bottoming in you, Ari lets out a strained moan. “Fuuuck baby, your pretty pussy is just sucking me in. Agh, so tight.”

He withdrew until he was almost out of you before thrusting back into you deeply. Your eyes rolled back in your head and your mouth fell open as you could feel the veins on his girthy cock graze your inner walls.

Ari leaned his head back in ecstasy at the feel of you clenching around him. He squeezed his eyes shut and groaned out your name, “Yes, take it, baby. Take my fat cock.”

You felt like you could barely breathe as his thrusts became faster and harder. He was sinking in so deep and you were gasping for air at all of the sensations your body was experiencing. Besides your mutual groans and moans, the sounds of your union could be heard as you only became wetter at the stimulation.

“I’m so full, so full…so big, Ari.” You mumbled out, your eyes crossed in ecstasy. Ari let out a condescending laugh, “Aww, look at you. Can’t even speak, can you? Just continue taking my cock, honey, you’re so good at it.”

Ari leaned up and thrust out of you, despite your desperate whining, only to turn you on your stomach. You feel him kneel outside of your thighs that were clenched together, and only had time to hold onto the pillow in front of you as he thrust back in. You gasped out a high pitched moan and small, repeated sounds of pleasure came out of your mouth as you felt his long shaft pit up against your g-spot with every thrust.

“There she is, yesss. You’re so fucking tight when I take you like this, baby. Your pussy is gripping me like a vice, goddamn.” Ari groaned louder as your warmth enveloped him. Tension started brewing again deep inside your belly as he thrust faster into you.

Leaning down, his chest was damp and his hair grazed your smooth skin as it met your back. He lifted you slightly to wrap his right hand around your neck and squeezed. He whispered harshly in your ear, “Don’t ever forget that you’re mine. This pussy is mine, your body. I’ll always protect you, you hear me, love?”

Gripping onto the pillow in front of you fiercely, you couldn’t contain your moans that were now resonating in the room. His possessiveness, his fingers gripping your throat so protectively, and the passion in his words made you feel so hot, you felt that coil in your belly about to snap. The sensation pulling at that area inside of you that felt so full and relieving when released. “Ari, yes, I’m yours! You’re gonna make me cum again!”

“Yeah, I am, love. Soak my cock, make a mess with my pussy.” He released the grip on your throat to lean back up and take your hips in his hands for full control. His thrusts were consistently hard and deep. It twisted that coil inside of you so delightfully that you finally snapped and cried out your orgasm.

Ari’s thrusts became sloppier as your juices squirted around his cock. He bellowed out a deep and low groan from his strained throat and followed you as you rode out your orgasm against him. You moan at the feeling of his dick throbbing inside of you and feeling him cum so deep in your pussy made you feel like you were being claimed. His dick was still buried deep inside as you gyrated against him. At the overstimulation, Ari thrust out of you with a sharp hiss and a mixture of your cum with his started to spurt out of you.

“Fuck, so pretty, baby. Here, let me help you.” He breathed out heavily while his hand left your hip to use his finger to push your combined cum back into your quivering pussy. You moaned out at the sensation of his thick finger thrusting his warm spend further into you and mewled in content.

Ari kneaded and squeezed your ass one last time before attempting to get off the bed to get a towel to clean you up but you clutched his hand before he could fully leave and pleaded, “Wait baby, stay. Can you just…hold me, please?”

He picked up the hand that you were holding to kiss the back of yours softly and collapsed on the bed next to you as you leaned into his outstretched arms. Cuddling him as your head rested over his chest, you felt him graze his fingers soothingly on your arm. You both were satiated in your passionate release, and after the day that you had, you both were starting to feel the effects of it.

Embracing you in his arms, the warmth of your body and the softness of your skin felt like heaven against him. Before his sleepy eyes shut completely, you gave him a gentle tap above his heart to get his attention one last time. He peered down at you and gave you a relaxed grin. With his familiar grunt, his eyes questioned your touch.

You gazed into his blue eyes that were filled with such affection, the same glint that you saw earlier at the bar. A familiar burning in your eyes started to come on at his stare, but you blinked them away to smile back fondly at him.

“I love you too, Ari.”

A/N: Welp! We made it -- I'm hoping ya'll enjoyed Ari and reader on this one. Something about Lumberjack!Ari being protective and only having eyes for you makes me feral and that can be the only explanation as to why this is so long lol. I would love to know what ya'll thought! Speak soon, lads~

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buckymorelikefuckme · 1 year ago

Text

and baby makes three

(the reboot)

bucky barnes x fem reader

words: 11.3k

warnings: **18+ ONLY** friends to lovers, pining, smut, oral (f receiving), breeding kink, pregnancy kink, cockwarming (kind of??), trigger warning for having troubles with getting pregnant. it's still super fuckin soft despite all of that though, i swear.

a/n: okay so it's currently 6am as i'm typing this and i haven't been to sleep yet bc i decided to just heavily edit this instead of rewrite it bc i'm lazy i guess idk. this was posted originally back in 2021 i believe and it's still on ao3 it's just orphaned rip. i promise i'll be writing and posting new stuff soon ok pls have faith in me and cheer me on bc it's hard and scary and i don't wanna disappoint anybody :( ANYWAY, as usual, any and all mistakes are my own. if i've missed anything important pls let me know so i can correct it. feedback is encouraged (pls) and appreciated (i am begging...)

The idea of you having a child one day always seemed foreign and very unlikely. Sure, you liked kids well enough, but having one of your own…

It’s a thought that’s sat in a corner deep in your mind, buried beneath a million other impossible concepts; a thought that you’ve only ever glanced over and never gave your full attention, having ruled it out ages ago as something you just couldn’t—or wouldn’t—do.

And then, on a day like any other, it pushes its way to the forefront of your mind, making itself known and unwilling to leave.

You’re going into the clothing store to find a new cardigan after your most favorite one got eaten by the dryer. Usually you’re a single-minded shopper, walking into a store with tunnel vision and on a mission to get what you need and that’s it.

Today, however, you make the mistake of letting your eyes wander on your way to the sweater section. Your gaze just so happens to land on the baby clothes… and your steps falter. It’s there that you see it, a tiny, pink onesie with a sleeping teddy bear printed on the front, displayed on an even tinier hanger. There’s matching pants with teddy bears all over them and ruffles on the butt and all your brain can muster up is cutecutecutecutecute.

Your feet carry you closer and before you realize what you’re doing you pick up the outfit, letting out a coo when you realize the teddy bear is fuzzy, softly rubbing your thumb across it. Somehow, you walk out of the store, not with a new cardigan, but with the cute baby outfit and a bow you thought looked adorable with it.

It’s not until you get home that it hits you, that you bought baby clothes for a baby you don’t even have.

The feeling that rushes through you is hard to describe. Shame? Embarrassment?

...Yearning?

No. Definitely not. Nope.

There’s absolutely no yearning going on here, not for a baby. You’ve never even had that desire before and you certainly don’t see yourself having it now. You shake your head to clear it, telling yourself you’ll take it back tomorrow.

Except you don’t take it back. You conveniently “forget” and it stays shoved on the top shelf in your hall closet. You pretend you don’t pause in front of said closet throughout the following days—weeks—chewing on the inside of your cheek and staring at the door like you can see through the wood at the evidence of your impulsive purchase.

It gets harder to ignore, though, when you start getting ads for baby clothing brands. And baby toys, bottles, handy little gadgets for new parents, nursery decor… It’s endless.

Then, as if it wasn’t already bad enough, all of your childhood friends start popping out babies like it’s a brand new trend. You don't think you've seen your social media this flooded with pregnancy announcements and baby arrivals, ever. Your emotions are mixed; happy for them, and for their excitement, but there’s also a weird discomfort settled in your stomach.

You hesitate to be that person who thinks the universe is trying to tell you something, but you do wonder. Why else would you suddenly have these feelings? Why else would there be baby stuff everywhere you look now?

It brings on other thoughts, as well. In this day and age, it’s not too unusual for women to have babies without being married, or without a significant other at all. There is the pressure, still, to at least be in a relationship, but considering you’ve been practically in love with one of your closest friends for the last two years, it’s safe to say that you’re tragically single, so having a baby with someone is out of the question.

And god, do you even want a baby?

As soon as the thought crosses your mind, with a sudden clarity that hits you like a ton of bricks, you realize you do. It feels like a freight train has slammed into you. Your mind’s eye supplies you with images of a swollen belly and wide smile, a precious baby wrapped in a soft blanket, cradled in your arms, a gummy grin and happy giggle.

Emotion consumes you then, longing like you’ve never felt in your life, chest aching with how badly you want that.

It’s not as if you’re too young. You’re plenty old enough and you’ve got a secure job. You don’t subscribe to that whole biological clock nonsense, but you do feel that if you are going to potentially have a baby, it might be better to do it now while you’re still in relatively good health.

You groan, dropping your face into your open palms, the movie you'd been watching to try and distract yourself long forgotten as it continues to play on the television.

This is a lot to think about, you ponder to yourself. Taking a deep breath in and releasing it slowly, you decide the mature thing to do is give yourself more time to ruminate on it. Having a baby is no small decision. You need to be absolutely certain it’s what you want. It’s going to change your entire life, everything, and you’d be responsible for a new life. So, you’ll have to give yourself a few months to decide and then you can go from there.

***

You’re scrolling through yet another article on your laptop, engrossed in every detail of the process of artificial insemination and the symptoms and side effects that come with it. So engrossed, in fact, that you don’t hear the key turning in the lock, the door opening and closing, and the heavy footfalls that follow.

It’s only when Bucky asks, “Whatcha reading?” that you are even aware of his presence.

You startle so hard that your knee slams into the underside of your table. Ignoring the throbbing pain in your knee and your wildly beating heart, you close your laptop with a snap and turn to Bucky.

“You could knock,” you grouse.

“Why give me a key, then?” he retorts, unapologetic.

You roll your eyes and grumble under your breath, “Clearly, it was a mistake.”

“You didn’t answer me.”

Brows furrowed, you ask, “What?”

He gestures to your laptop. “What were you reading? Your nose was nearly smushed against the screen.”

You blink, trying to think of a reasonable excuse and coming up empty.

“Nothing,” is all your brilliant mind can supply.

Bucky’s eyes narrow for a few seconds, and you pray to every higher power and all that is holy and good that he won’t press further. You remain frozen under Bucky’s suspicious stare, hearing that Old West shootout music playing in your mind.

Thankfully, it seems the deities are feeling indulgent, as Bucky chooses let it go.

He holds up the bags he carried in. “I brought lunch.”

You perk up instantly. “Did you go to that one place—?”

“With the fried rice you like so much, yes,” he finishes for you, smiling.

“You’re the best,” you sigh, stomach rumbling eagerly.

“I know,” he replies, solemn and dramatic like the idiot he is.

He begins taking out the styrofoam boxes and chattering on about something dumb Steve did the other day, and you mean to listen, you really do. It’s just. That article is still lingering in your brain. There’s so many steps and hassles. Plus, it’s not cheap. It would be a hefty investment.

You’d only researched it because, after months of contemplating the pros and cons of having a baby, you determined the pros far outweigh the cons. But then the problem was: how to even make it happen.

Your first thought was that you didn’t think you’d let just any man come inside you, for many obvious reasons. You’d shuddered to think of it. Then there was surrogacy, which is admirable and wonderful, but you’d quickly dismissed that idea as you realized you wanted to actually carry the baby yourself. So that led you to artificial insemination. You weren’t sure how you felt about it yet. There was something a little too clinical about choosing a random man’s sperm to have injected into your uterus.

Bucky’s still speaking as he grabs plates and forks, unaware of your inner monologue. “And then he got Sam involved,” he’s saying, scooping out food onto the plates, “which, as you know, I always think is a dumb thing to do.”

“I want to have a baby,” you blurt, eyes widening at your outburst.

Bucky fumbles with the spoon, sending fried rice flying, muttering curses as he tries to catch it with no luck as it lands with a dull clunk on the table. The silence that follows is loud. It feels like your heart is in your throat as you wait for him to just say something, anything.

“This is… quite a mess I’ve made,” Bucky finally observes. His voice is a bit higher than usual. “Where’s your vacuum? Actually, do you have one of those mini ones? Or would Clorox wipes be better? You know what, I’ll do both.”

He nods decisively then turns an expectant look towards you. His eyes look a bit wild, but you wisely keep that to yourself.

Wordlessly, you direct him to your hall closet. You realize your error a second too late when he opens the closet and reaches for the vacuum on the top shelf, where the purchase you’d made months ago also rests. His fingers get caught in the plastic bag when he grabs the handheld vacuum and its contents spill out. He goes to catch them right away, but once it registers what they are, he lets go of them like they’re on fire and nearly drops the vacuum on his foot.

Heat has been steadily creeping up your neck, but now your whole body feels aflame with embarrassment. The two of you stare at the baby clothes lying unassumingly on the floor for a long moment, until Bucky quietly walks back to the table with the vacuum clutched tightly in his fist. He flicks the switch on and it whirs to life, sucking up the bits of rice scattered around the table.

There’s another lengthy silence after he turns the vacuum off and you're unable to find the right thing to say to break it. Bucky does it for you.

“So… You’re serious.”

You meet his eyes and sigh heavily. “Yeah.”

He blinks a few times before clearing his throat, schooling his expression carefully. “I didn’t realize you were seeing someone.”

You cough lightly and start picking the peas out of your fried rice. “Well, that would be because I’m not.”

“I don’t think I follow,” he admits slowly.

You sigh again, lowering your gaze to your lap. “Look, I’ve thought about this a lot, okay? I’ve given myself months to really make sure it’s what I want. I’m in a good place in my life to have one, Bucky, and I don’t want to feel pressured to wait until I might get married.” You lift your gaze to his. “I want to have a baby,” you repeat firmly. “And I don’t need a partner to have one.”

You’re not sure why you feel the need to defend yourself. It’s not up to Bucky what you decide to do. You don’t need his approval, or anyone else’s. Maybe it’s because, even though you know it's not true, it feels like you're making too hasty of a decision.

After a beat, Bucky amends, “Well, I mean… You do…”

“Oh my god, shut up, you know what I mean,” you groan as you smack his arm, glad that he's not calling you crazy or trying to talk you out of it.

He doesn’t even flinch, the jerk.

“Wait, so what were you reading when I got here?” he suddenly questions, brows furrowed.

“Nothing,” you say too quickly, guiltily.

“Let me see your laptop then,” he counters as he crosses his arms over his chest.

You flounder for a second, scoffing. “What? No!”

“It can’t be that embarrassing, just show me,” he wheedles.

“Absolutely not.”

“Let me see!”

“It’s private!”

“Don’t be a chicken.”

Your eye twitches. “I’m not a chicken.” Bucky smirks and before he can even open his mouth you interject with a finger pointed accusingly at his face, “Do not start clucking at me, Bucky. I’ll kick your ass,” you threaten, though it's weak and you're not the only one who knows it.

You glare when his smirk only widens. Slowly, he moves his arms like he’s gonna flap them like chicken wings.

“Ugh! God, fine! You wanna know what I was reading?” You open your laptop and slide it over to him, turning it to where he can read it. “There.”

Bucky scans the page, then scans it again, eyes flicking all over like it’s in a different language. His cheeks grow redder and redder as he reads and you get a small sense of satisfaction at the sight.

“Wow,” he mutters finally. “You’re turkey baster serious.”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” you say, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“What?” he asks innocently.

When you make eye contact with him, you purse your lips to keep the laughter threatening to bubble out at bay, but the ever growing smile on Bucky’s face is hard to resist and you find yourself snorting a laugh that leads to uncontrollable giggles. Bucky’s laughing with you, his eyes crinkling on the sides. The tension you hadn’t realized you held in your shoulders loosens and you nudge his knee with yours in silent thanks.

“So,” he says after you've both calmed down.

“So,” you repeat, dragging it out, drumming your fingers on the tabletop. “I’ve been doing research, checking out all of my options, and while artificial insemination seems like the best choice… I don’t know, there’s just something too clinical about it,” you reply, voicing your concerns, “It doesn’t feel right. I know I said I don’t need a partner, and I don’t, but… Having absolutely no connection is weird.”

You shrug, waving a hand as if to say oh well, putting an end to the conversation, and pick up your plate to carry it over to the microwave. You reheat Bucky’s food while you’re up, and then you both start eating in comfortable silence. He gets halfway through his meal before speaking up.

“Have you… I mean, did you think about… I’ve heard that, uh. Some people ask another person…”

He trails off, clearly frustrated that he can’t just spit out what he’s trying to say. You think you understand what he means, though.

“I read up on surrogacy,” you say, biting your lip. “But I don’t think I’d want someone else to carry my baby.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean—I wasn’t suggesting, uh, that. Not that there’s anything wrong with it!” he rushes to say.

You tilt your head. “What did you mean then?”

“Well,” Bucky starts, stilted, licking his lips. “For the artificial insemination, have you considered… you know. Asking someone you’re close with?”

You frown, not following.

“For—for the sperm,” he clarifies, shifting in his seat.

“Oh,” you breathe, blinking rapidly, surprised as you think of how to reply. “Um. No? I wouldn’t even know who I could ask, to be honest. That’s quite the request, you know? Who would—“

“Me,” he interrupts, determined and cheeks flushed, “I would.”

Your own face heats. “Oh,” you say again, quieter.

You can say, with full confidence, that not once did it cross your mind to ask anyone to help you, but you especially would have never given thought to asking Bucky.

For a list of reasons, really, with “it’s Bucky” being right at the very top. Like—sure, yes, you’re in love with him, but after two years of no signs of reciprocation you’ve learned to stop dreaming, to stop hoping. If the attraction was mutual he would have shown it by now, right? And on top of that, his friendship means the world to you and you wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it. You'd never forgive yourself if you ever managed to fuck up the one good, constant thing going for you.

“Bucky,” you start, slow and careful, “this… This isn't something you can just jump into. It’s something you should think about for a while.”

He contemplates that for a second. “You’re right,” he concedes with a nod. “But…” He purses his lips, glancing away for a minute before turning back to you, leaning forward. “Okay listen, this is important for you. It’s going to change your whole life. You said it yourself, not having a connection to the sperm donor feels wrong. You’re my best friend, alright? I—care about you. You should pick someone you can trust.”

He clenches his jaw after he finishes speaking. You sort of hate the way your heart both flutters and plummets at his words. It’s nice to know you matter to him, just not in the way you’ve wanted for too long.

And if you’re really honest with yourself, Bucky would be a great choice as a donor. He’s in great health, has strong features that would look wonderful on any gender. But would you be able to handle the repercussions of having his child? Would you be able to look at your baby and see those features without it sending a pang through your chest every single time? You can’t say for certain.

Yet, the chance to have that type of connection with him, selfishly, sounds too good to pass up.

“At least think about it for a few days,” you murmur reluctantly.

It’s the most acceptance he’ll get and he knows it. A smile blooms across his face and you have to swallow down the warring emotions rising within you.

***

With the amount of research you do on the subject now, it doesn’t take long for you to find out that there are at-home kits for artificial insemination that are much easier (and cheaper). It’s easy to settle on that, clicking on the info to order your kit with butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

You read through the instructions online and it all sounds simple enough, until you get to the part where it says that having an orgasm after injection helps increase your chances of conception.

Blinking, heat crawling up your neck, you read that step several times, hoping you read it wrong, but it doesn’t change.

You… You can’t masturbate with Bucky’s sperm inside you. That’s a line you refuse to cross.

And besides, he’s a healthy man in his thirties who exercises regularly and eats fairly healthy food! You probably—definitely—won’t need to take that step. It’ll be fine. Probably.

Once the kit arrives, you call Bucky and ask him to come over so you can explain the process to him. Since he’s only across the hall of your apartment building, he’s there a moment later, letting himself in with his key.

“Let’s make a baby,” is how he greets you.

“Hold your horses,” you reply, fighting back a laugh. “I gotta walk you through everything first.”

He plops himself down next to you on your couch. “Fine, fine. Go ahead.”

Squaring your shoulders, you begin telling him how it all works, and what parts he is key for. You speak through your awkwardness, avoiding eye contact, when you explain that he’ll need to masturbate into a clean, sterile cup. You leave out how it’s suggested for you to also masturbate, deciding it’s not pertinent information for him to know.

“When do we start?” he asks once you’re done.

“I have to take an ovulation test first to find out the best days for me to conceive, but once I do that we’ll be able to, um.” You gesture vaguely. “I’ll be able to do the injections.”

He nods. “Alright.” He looks at you then, taking your hand in his and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll be here every step of the way, okay?”

“I know,” you say, smiling. “Thank you, Bucky.”

“You’re welcome,” he returns softly.

“No, really, thank you,” you assert. “This is a lot to take on and I can never fully repay you.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I want you to be happy, and I can see that having this baby is going to do that. I’ll do whatever I need to do to ensure it happens.”

You pull him into a hug, willing yourself to not cry. You’re not sure he’ll ever understand what this means for you, personally, or that you’d ever find a way to express it. He’s giving you so much more than just a baby.

***

The first injection time comes and you find yourself fidgeting where you sit as you wait for Bucky to bring over the, uh… sample. You do your best to not think about what he’s doing in his apartment, to not think about exactly how he’s collecting his sperm.

Now is not the time, you mentally scold yourself. Get it together.

A timid knock at your door alerts you to his presence. The fact he’s knocking says a lot about his own level of embarrassment about the situation.

His cheeks are pink when you open the door. “Uh, hi.”

“Hi,” you return.

He clears his throat and lifts the small cup in his hand. “Here’s… well, you know.”

You gingerly take it from him, not knowing what else to say, but when he smiles somewhat crookedly and turns to leave, you find yourself asking, “Will you stay?”

Bucky’s steps pause. “Huh?”

“Will you—I mean… Would you mind staying?” You shift on your feet. “This is a big moment for me. I-I don’t want to do it alone.”

“Are you asking me to…?” He trails off awkwardly.

“Oh! God, no, I wouldn’t—no,” you assure, huffing a laugh, “I’m doing the injection, I just need a little moral support. That’s all.”

Bucky smiles. “Sure, I’ll stay.”

Relief floods through you. You step aside to let him in, closing the door behind him. He follows you to your bedroom and just before entering you stop in your tracks, nearly causing Bucky to bump into you.

“Um,” you mutter, turning to him. “You’ll have to, ah, sit out here,” you explain. “I have to be lying down…”

Understanding dawns on him. “Oh! Right, right, of course. Sorry.”

“I’ll let you know when I’m done,” you promise.

He nods and watches you close the door. You walk over to your bed and sit down, glancing at the syringe you’ll be using and biting the inside of your cheek.

This is it. There’s really no going back after this. Sure, you may not get pregnant the first time, but Bucky’s already said he’d help you for as long as it takes. It’s just… very real now. You don’t feel any doubts, though. You want this.

Inhaling a large breath and slowly letting it out, hands shaking, you take the lid off the cup and pick up the syringe. You remember the instructions, making sure there’s as little air sucked in as possible when you draw out the semen, and getting rid of the few air bubbles that you see. You grab your pillows and lie down, propping them beneath you to lift your hips.

“Here I go,” you mumble to yourself, taking another deep breath and releasing it.

A couple minutes later, the syringe is empty and you’ve got your legs pulled up to your chest. You cover yourself with your blanket and call out Bucky’s name.

“You okay?” you hear through the door.

“Will you come here, please?” you ask.

He walks in cautiously, making sure you’re decently covered before entering fully, wisely not commenting on your position. “Well?”

“I did it,” you whisper.

He stays quiet, letting you parse through your thoughts. You blink when you feel tears threatening to gather in your eyes. He’s beside you in an instant, crawling in the bed and lying down, taking your hand in his.

“Congratulations,” he says softly.

“Don’t congratulate me yet,” you reply, sniffing and wiping at your eyes.

“Still,” he presses. “You’re one step closer now.”

He pulls your hand up and kisses the back of it. You give him a watery smile. The two of you lay there in silence for a moment before Bucky breaks it.

“This isn’t how I pictured myself making a baby.”

It startles a laugh out of you and Bucky grins, pleased to have helped ease the tense atmosphere. He distracts you with idle conversation after that, talking about his plans for the upcoming weekend, asking about yours, tells you about the newest stupid thing Sam did; he talks and talks and talks, until your anxiety is gone, and then he stays to cook dinner for you.

Your hug when he gets ready to head back to his apartment lasts a couple minutes longer than usual. Bucky quietly allows it, dropping a kiss on your forehead when you pull away.

“Same time next week?” he jokes, making you crack a smile.

“Goodbye, Bucky,” you reply exasperatedly as you close your door.

“Bye, sweetheart,” he returns over his shoulder.

***

Weeks pass. More injections. Pregnancy tests taken.

But nothing happens.

All of your tests come back negative.

When reading up on artificial insemination, and pregnancy in general, you’d understood that there was a chance it wouldn’t happen right away. You thought you were fine with that, that you’d be alright with the waiting and all. Looking at your growing collection of negative tests, however, has a sense of dread building within you. You do your best to quell it, telling yourself there’s no need to stress over it. Yet.

Besides, your mind supplies in an overly cheerful manner, there’s still one more method to try!

***

The next time Bucky brings over his sample, he lets himself in, like always, and passes along the cup with an encouraging smile. You try to smile back, but it feels more like a grimace. He either doesn’t notice or he at least pretends not to, thankfully.

But when he goes to make himself comfortable to wait, you’re reminded that you haven’t told him about the, uh… change in procedure, so to speak.

You clear your throat delicately. “I don’t think you’ll need to stick around this time.”

Bucky frowns. “Why not?”

“Because…” You trail off, cheeks pinking, yet not finishing the sentence, because how do you explain this?

“I promised you I’d be here every step of the way,” he recalls. “I intend to keep that promise.”

You wince. “I really appreciate where your heart is, Bucky, I really do, but I literally cannot let you be here for this injection.”

“Why not?”

You look heavenward for mercy. “I have to…”

When you don’t finish your sentence again, Bucky raises a single brow, gesturing for you to go on. “You have to… what?”

You huff, throwing your arms out. “I have to orgasm, okay?”

His eyes go a little bit wide, but you can tell he tries to control his reaction. He swallows, shifting where he sits on the couch.

“Oh,” he mumbles. “Have… have you had to do that before?”

“No. Well, I mean, it was suggested, but I never…”

His eyebrows furrow. “Does it help or something?”

You absently scratch your neck. “They say it increases the chances of conception.”

“But you haven’t been doing… that.”

“I didn’t think I’d need to.”

Bucky inhales like he’s going to say something, but then doesn’t.

“Yeah, so, I don’t think you should be here,” you utter, quickly adding, “No offense.”

“No, yeah, that’s fair, um. I’ll just—I’ll head back to my apartment,” he states as he stands. “You can—I mean, if you still want me to—I can come back over? After you… uh…”

“I’ll let you know,” you reply, voice tight and high.

He nods, looking lost and like he wants to say more but thinks better of it. Finally, he mutters a soft bye and is out the door.

Alone now, your stomach feels like it’s tying itself in knots and your heart is doing its damnedest to beat out of your chest. You try to tell yourself that it’s just another injection, that this is the same as any other time you've done this, but you know it’s not. It's really, really not.

Laying down on your bed, syringe in hand, is much more nerve wracking than before. On your left lies a new addition to your routine. You don’t know why you’re acting like such a prude all the sudden. It’s not like you’ve never masturbated before. Though, you suppose the major difference is that you didn’t have Bucky’s sperm hangin’ out in your vagina all those other times while you did it.

“Quit being such a goober about this,” you tell yourself.

This has to be done for a reason. If you want to have a baby—and you do, very badly—then you’re gonna have to deal with the process.

Once you’ve injected the sperm, you reach for your bullet vibrator next to your left hand. The instructions say not to insert anything, only to stimulate your clit. You try to clear your head, think of it as a chore or something, yet it’s hard not to think of a certain someone.

The vibrator buzzes with the press of a button. You adjust your hips, making sure they’re tilted, then bring the vibrator to your clit. The first touch makes your stomach tense and thighs spasm.

You close your eyes, running the toy along your slit. You really don’t want to drag this out, would prefer to get it over with as quickly as possible, but your mind begins running away with images.

Bucky, settled between your spread thighs, one hand resting on one of them, the other controlling the vibrator. You imagine he’d tease you, slowly trail it along the crease of your thighs, over your hips; everywhere but where you wanted it.

Bucky would probably give in once you whine and beg enough, once your desperation bled into your voice, and hold the vibrator directly to your clit, drink in your cries of pleasure like they’re the finest whisky.

He’d mutter soft but firm encouragement, tell you how good you’re doing, how good you sound. He’d start circling the vibrator, going from quick to lazy swirls, then he’d change the setting to a higher one just to hear you whimper. His free hand would run up your torso to pinch at your nipples for added stimulation.

When you imagine him leaning down to add his tongue into the mix, your mind blanks as your climax hits you, a ragged moan forcing its way out of your throat. You’re quick to turn the vibrator off and toss it to the floor, deciding you’ll worry about cleaning it later, chest heaving as you pant for breath after an intense orgasm.

Shame and embarrassment consume you, mock you for using Bucky to rub one out. You’d given in to the fantasy so easily.

Truthfully, it’s not the first time you’ve thought of him while pleasuring yourself, but the context this time is completely different, and you feel immediately guilty. Admittedly, it’s probably irrational.

That doesn’t stop you from cringing at your actions.

***

You’re sure you’ve bought out the entire pregnancy test section from the convenience store down the block. Currently, there are six different brands in front of you, all promising the most accurate results.

Bucky is sitting in your bedroom, quietly waiting for you to pee on all of them so you can both find out what they say. You chug the last bit of your third bottle of water even though your bladder is fit to burst at any moment. Turning the faucet on for modesty, you make quick work of the tests, then wash your hands.

And wait.

You call Bucky into the bathroom with you. The two of you quietly sit on the edge of your bathtub, counting down the minutes. Part of you wishes Bucky would say something dumb to break the tension, like he usually does, but you're also kind of glad he's just here, next to you, a silent comfort.

It seems like hours have passed when you’re finally sure you can check them.

The first one is negative, and so is the second. The third, however, reads positive. Your heart begins racing, clutching at the counter, but before your hopes get too carried away you read the rest. To your dismay, they are all negative. You stare down at them all, eyes falling on the loan positive test multiple times, knowing that it’s likely a false positive, yet stupidly hoping otherwise.

Your chin wobbles. Bucky hugs you from behind, resting his cheek on your shoulder.

“What do I do, Bucky?”

At your broken whisper, he sighs. “I don’t know, sweetheart.”

Neither of you know what to say or do after that. Bucky continues offering quiet support, his solid presence at your back, and you’re grateful. Eventually, he leads you out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, sitting you down at the table as he starts preparing dinner.

When you’re both eating the spaghetti he made, he breaks the silence.

“Do you think…” he starts, pausing to think of how to phrase his question before carefully carrying on. “Are you going to stop?”

“I don’t want to,” you answer, the implied but hanging heavy in the air.

Bucky sits his fork down. “I know you want this, very much.” He pushes his hair out of his face as he leans forward, elbows settling on the table. “But I hate seeing how sad you get when the tests come out negative. I feel so… powerless. Like I could be doing more or something.”

“You’re doing all you can, Bucky,” you assure.

“That’s the thing, though. I don’t think I am.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

He licks his lips, locking his fingers together. “I think we should have sex.”

Your fork drops to your plate with a clang, eyes going wide.

“I apologize for how blunt that came out,” he states with a wince. “But, I mean, think about it. You’ve only been using my sperm from a syringe, and up until the last time, you hadn’t been, um, orgasming with it.” You look away, bashful. “I just wonder if maybe trying the old-fashioned way would give you better results.”

“Bucky,” you start, opening and closing your mouth a couple times before shaking your head. “It’s one thing for you to offer your sperm, which I’m thankful for, truly, but… Having sex?”

“I’ve already told you I’m willing to do whatever I need to do,” he retorts earnestly. “Your happiness means a lot to me, okay? I hate sitting around and watching your heart break every week. You’ve tried it your way, now I think we should try mine.”

“I-I don’t know,” you hesitate, chewing on the inside of your cheek, knee beginning to bounce under the table.

His hand slides onto your knee, stilling the movement as he ducks his head to meet your gaze. His eyes are impossibly sincere and your resolve crumbles in an instant.

“It won’t… It’s not going to change anything,” he assures. “I won’t allow it.”

You swallow roughly. He may not, but your heart is going to take its toughest beating yet. It’s going to be hopeless trying to overcome the inevitable emotions that come with sex.

Even so, somehow, your longing for a baby eclipses all of this. Now that you’ve imagined holding your child in your arms, raising them and loving them, you can’t go back. Not anymore.

“Okay,” you allow, softly.

Bucky’s shoulders relax, lips tipping up into a devastating smile.

You’re so fucked. (Pun intended.)

***

Two nights later, you’re pacing in your bedroom, impatiently waiting for Bucky to arrive. You’d been unsure whether or not you should dress up. You didn’t see the point, honestly. Still, a small part of you wondered what his reaction would be if he saw you all done up in lingerie. At the moment, you’re in an oversized t-shirt and pajama shorts.

It’s Bucky, you think, and this isn’t a normal situation, it doesn’t matter what I’m wearing.

You hear his key turning in the lock then and your heart begins hammering away. He calls your name as he enters.

“In here,” you reply, twisting your fingers nervously.

He walks into your room looking just as on edge as you are. He also seems to have had the same idea about his attire, comfortable in his white tee and sweatpants. His feet are bare and for whatever reason that feels way more intimate than it has any right to.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Hi.”

You bite your lip, eyes flitting around your room and coming back to settle on Bucky. He huffs.

“This is ridiculous,” he declares, “It’s just us.”

“Right,” you nod, biting the inside of your cheek.

“It’s not gonna be weird.”

“Nope.”

His jaw ticks. You stare back at him. It only takes a moment for you to realize that somebody has to make the first move, so you steel yourself and turn on your heel, walking towards your bed.

“I’m keeping my shirt on,” you announce as you unceremoniously drop onto the mattress, grabbing your pillows to stuff them under you.

Bucky follows at a sedate pace, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He pauses next to you, taking a second to roll his shoulders, then he climbs in and settles in front of your bent legs. He gingerly places his hands on your knees.

“May I?” he asks.

Mouth suddenly dry, you nod. He moves his hands to the waistband of your shorts and tugs. You lift your hips to help him slide them down and off, along with your underwear. Gently, he spreads your legs.

Your breathing has picked up considerably, eyes firmly trained on the ceiling. You know you’re already wet and are blessedly thankful he doesn’t mention it.

The first slide of his fingers has you inhaling sharply. He slowly gathers your slick and trails it up to your clit, lightly circling it. Your mind recalls your fantasy, but you quickly shove it back to the depths of your thoughts, lest you do something idiotic like tell him about it.

He spreads your legs more, adjusting his position between them. His fingers move down until he can sink one into you. You gasp, hands shooting out to grasp your sheets. He wastes no time and begins thrusting his finger inside you.

It becomes quickly apparent to you that it’s going to be very difficult to hold back any noise or reactions. Goddamnit, you will try, though!

When he decides it’s time to add another finger, you feel yourself clench around them, and his soft fuck does not go unnoticed, evident in the way your pussy traitorously clenches again.

“Can I…?” he asks, voice cracking, but doesn’t finish his thought, making you have to break your staring contest with the ceiling and look at him.

He’s not even looking back at you, he’s staring at his fingers, watching them pump in and out of you, half bent over with a slack jaw, like he wants to…

He meets your eyes then, licking his lips.

Oh.

Swallowing around the sudden lump in your throat, knowing you’re probably going to regret it, you nod.

He’s leaning over and sucking on your clit before you can even blink. You cry out, thighs trying to clamp around his head, but his free hand shoots out to hold you open. It makes you squirm, fisting the sheets even tighter. His fingers curl inside you as his tongue licks around them and you whine, high and needy, and then mouth is back on your clit, tongue swiping over it, sucking on it with loud, obscene noises.

His hand comes up to grab the hem of your shirt, shoves it upward until it’s bunched underneath your breasts. Those fingers ghost back down your torso, goosebumps erupting in their wake.

He speeds up his thrusts and your hand flies down to grip his hair. You don’t think you’re meant to hear the quiet grunt he lets out, but you do, and it has you panting even harder. Your orgasm is building, fast, and you pull on his hair in warning.

“Bucky,” you say on a gasp.

Using his arm to hold you down, his free hand joins, thumb swiping over your clit now as he dips his head to slide his tongue in alongside his fingers. It draws a yell out of you, the ever expanding pleasure within you bursting into the hardest orgasm you’ve experienced thus far in your adult life. You know you’re moaning, bucking into the sensations coursing through you, and you’d feel abashed if you didn’t feel so fucking good.

Before you can become too sensitive, Bucky withdraws his fingers and sits up. You can’t even really catch your breath, though, because in the next second he’s whipping his t-shirt off and shoving his sweatpants down far enough to free his cock.

Your thighs do clamp closed then, at the sight of how thick he is, and he tries and fails to keep his smirk hidden.

“Oh, shut up,” you wheeze.

“Didn’t say anything,” he counters.

He doesn’t let you argue, choosing that moment to shuffle closer and line up with your opening. Cautiously, he eases himself inside, inch by inch. Your mouth drops open, brows furrowing as he fills you, stretching you so perfectly. When he’s in as far as he can go, the breath wooshes out of him, his head falling back. You know he’s trying to be polite and let you adjust, but—

“Oh my god, move,” you demand, impatient.

He huffs a laugh, dropping his heavy lidded gaze to yours. “Bossy.”

“Did you really expect anything else—oh!”

The grin he aims your way after grinding into you is downright sinful. You mentally tell yourself to kick him for that later.

He grabs your hips and the pillows and settles you closer to his lap, changing the angle, then pulls out and glides back in, creating a painstakingly slow rhythm.

You have to close your eyes. You can’t look at him anymore. You knew he was probably a god in bed, but to now have firsthand experience? There was no way you’d be able to fuck anyone else without comparing them.

His grip on your hips tightens, the only warning you get before his thrusts turn sharp.

“Fuck,” you cry out, your hands reaching up to grip the pillow beneath your head.

The sound of your skin meeting his is harsh in the otherwise quiet room. Well, okay, you’re not exactly being quiet, but you can’t be blamed for that.

Bucky, however, is nearly silent. The only thing you hear from him is heavy breathing. You wonder if he’s holding back, the thought crossing your mind for a split second, and then you’re clenching around his cock, trying to see if you can gain a reaction. And boy, do you get one.

He grunts and sucks in a breath, lips parting as his eyes squeeze shut. His hips pick up their pace and hair falls into his face. You find yourself wishing he was closer so you could brush it out of the way.

Stop it, you scold yourself.

He pauses to grind into you again, your walls fluttering around his throbbing cock, and you both sigh. Bucky leans forward, hooking your legs into the crooks of his elbows, and resumes his brutal pace.

“O-Oh,” you whimper.

The new angle is heavenly, his cock dragging along a spot inside you that you thought nobody else could find. Unable to help yourself, you clutch at his arms, nails digging in.

“Shit,” he groans, thrusts faltering.

He lets go of one of your legs to slip his hand between you, rubbing at your clit and sending you that much closer to your second orgasm. He can tell you’re close, but you’re gonna need something to push you over the edge. He leans down even closer, breath fanning out against your cheek.

“C’mon,” he pants. “Let go.”

You shiver when his tongue flicks your earlobe and sucks it into his mouth, keening as the pressure builds. He thrusts harder, faster, and when you grasp his hair and pull, he growls and latches on to your shoulder, biting down. You gasp from the added pain and then you’re coming, shuddering and whining through your release. Bucky isn’t far behind, raising up and fucking into you savagely before pausing abruptly, groaning as he finally comes. He lazily thrusts a few more times to draw it out, then stops, stilling with his cock inside you.

Your hair is sticking to your forehead, as well as your shirt to your clammy back, breathing in lungfuls of air. Bucky is softly caressing your thighs, letting out shaky breaths as your pussy continues to flutter around him.

It takes several moments for you to gather your wits, for the rest of the world to come filtering back in. You are truly and completely fucked now, in every sense of the word.

“Well…” You trail off, voice scratchy.

“That was…”

“Mhm,” you mumble.

Bucky sighs heavily. “Let’s hope it worked this time.”

You hum. “Thank you for your service,” you reply with a lazy salute.

You yelp when he pinches your hip, kicking at him in retaliation. The jostling reminds you, with a gasping groan, that he’s still buried balls deep inside you.

“Um.” You cough lightly. “You wanna, you know… pull out?”

He looks down where you’re connected like it hadn’t even dawned on him. “Oh, uh. Well, I thought maybe it could, like. Help.”

His gaze stays locked, fingers flexing on your hips, and you feel like squirming again.

“I think it’s good,” you say quietly.

Bucky finally glances back up at your shy tone, cheeks pinking. He clears his throat.

“Right.”

Carefully, he eases his softening cock out of you, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from making a noise.

You can’t hold back yours, though, gasping once he’s gone. You feel unbearably empty, but refrain from voicing that incessant thought.

Bucky’s intense eyes stare at your pussy until you reach for the throw blanket next to you. He watches you throw it over your lap, drawing your legs up to your chest, and takes that as his cue, jolting into action.

“Okay, so.” He starts, then stops, climbs off your bed and pulls his sweatpants back up. “This was—I mean, if it doesn’t take this time, we can… try again.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “Sounds good.”

He nods, bending to pick up his discarded t-shirt. “Great. I’ll just, um, see myself out, I guess.”

You nod, sending a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes in his direction. He seems to contemplate something for a second, then leans down to kiss your forehead before saying a quick goodbye and leaving.

As soon as you hear your apartment door shut, you let your tears fall.

***

It’s not really like you mean to avoid him after that.

Honest.

You simply become busy, that’s all. You definitely don’t go out of your way by taking the stairs in your apartment building to avoid possibly bumping into him in the elevator. No, you take the stairs because you could use the cardio. It’s important you stay healthy right now. And when he texts you to ask if you want to have dinner, you can’t help that you’ve got boatloads of work to catch up on—all five times he asks.

Okay, so, that’s a lie. You’re totally avoiding him. But what on earth are you supposed to say to him now? You don’t think you’d even be able to look him in the eye anymore, not after the fuck of your goddamn life.

That night confirmed what you already knew for the last two years: Bucky absolutely ruined you for anyone else.

More than anything, though, you were angry with yourself. He’d only offered because you weren’t getting your desired results the other way. You should have been able to separate your feelings and emotions from all of it. After all, none of this was about whatever you feel towards Bucky. This was about trying to conceive a baby.

You try telling yourself to get over it. He’s your best friend, you can’t just cut him off because you’re a spineless pansy.

I just need some time, you reason. You can give yourself a few days to wallow over what could have been and then you can reach out to him and pretend like everything is fine. Because it is.

***

Flash forward two weeks to you attempting to sneak into your apartment, only to jump out of your skin when you turn around and find Bucky sitting on your couch, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Oh, good, you’re still alive,” he drawls.

His tone suggests annoyance. You suppose you deserve that.

“Hey,” you say after a pause.

He stares at you for a moment longer before speaking again. “I thought we agreed we wouldn’t let it get weird.”

You agreed, you almost say, thankfully biting it back. You drop your purse on the entryway table, sliding your shoes off and making your way over to sit next to him.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. You tug your sweater sleeves down and tuck your feet beneath you. “I haven’t ever… I’ve never been intimate with a friend before. It was just… a lot.”

It’s a half truth, at least. You haven’t had sex with a friend before. Or, well, not one you had feelings for.

“You could’ve just told me,” he replies, reaching for your hand.

You nod. “I know, and I should have, I just. Things are all out of whack lately with the whole… trying to get pregnant thing.”

“If I overstepped in any way—” Bucky starts, but you’re quick to interrupt.

“You didn’t,” you promise. “You’ve been nothing but fantastic throughout this whole ordeal. Honestly, Bucky, you’ve done way more than anyone else would have in this situation. I just had a lot going on in my head and let it get the best of me. I’m fine, I swear.”

He searches your eyes and must find what he’s looking for.

“Don’t shut me out again,” he pleads.

Heart cracking in your chest, you can only nod, shuffling closer to pull him into a hug. He buries his face in your neck and holds on tight.

***

Another week passes.

Bucky is with you as you wait for the results of the latest pregnancy test. He’s reassured you that you’ll keep trying until it happens if it didn’t work this time.

When the timer on your phone goes off, you release the breath you’ve been holding. You take tentative steps over to the sink and gingerly pick up the test.

Positive.

Your stomach swoops. It’s positive. You check again, reading the digitized screen, but it stays the same. Positive. Holy shit.

“Okay, wait, no, I need to do more. I can’t get my hopes up again,” you mutter, rushing to open the cabinet under your sink to dig out several more varieties of tests.

You don’t even wait for Bucky to leave before you’re peeing on the other sticks. He’s seen it all at this point anyway, and he doesn’t seem to care, sitting on the edge of your tub with an anxious expression. The downside is that you have to wait another few minutes for these tests to finish and you can’t sit still, pacing back and forth in the small space of your bathroom.

The timer goes off again. You feel like you’re going to throw up when you finally work up the courage to look down.

Every single one of them… Positive.

A shocked, happy laugh escapes you. You cover your mouth, turning to Bucky with wide eyes.

He rises to his full height, coming closer and peering down at the tests, then back to your teary eyed expression.

“Did we…?”

Words failing you, you nod, giggling in astonishment. Bucky’s face breaks into the biggest, handsomest, most gut-wrenching smile. His happiness is palpable and you’re suddenly so overcome with emotion. Your hands are gripping his face and angling it to align your lips to his before you register what you’re doing. He freezes and you hurriedly pull away, taking a few steps back.

“I’m so sorry, I-I don’t know why—”

“Shut up,” he cuts you off, closing the gap between you in a single stride.

He kisses you like his life depends on it, pressing your bodies as close as possible, his hands cupping your cheeks. You clutch his shirt desperately, never wanting to let go. He steals the breath straight from your lungs when he swipes at the seam of your lips with his tongue, moaning happily when you allow him access. A feeble whine from you after he flicks his tongue against yours makes him break the kiss.

“I have a confession,” he breathes into the miniscule space between your mouths.

“What?” you question distractedly.

“I’m in love with you.”

Your gaze shoots up to his, astounded. He brushes stray hairs off your forehead, runs his thumbs softly under your eyes.

“I’ve been selfish this whole time,” he reveals. “I couldn’t let you choose some random stranger to be your sperm donor, to father your child, couldn’t bear the thought of you carrying their baby, because I’ve been in love with you since the moment I met you. I wanted to be the one. And I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, but I’m not sorry I did it.”

You’re hearing the words, yet your brain can’t seem to make sense of them. Surely you’re hearing him wrong. You can’t possibly have this too, right? You can't have Bucky and have his baby…

But he’s here, very real and solid beneath your hands, looking at you like you’re his entire world.

“Bucky…” You trail off, struggling to find the right words, at a complete loss. “I-I’ve loved you for so long now, I didn’t think you…” You shake your head, a giggle escaping you as you stare at him in wonder. “I couldn’t let myself hope.”

He grins, relieved, planting a few chaste kisses to your mouth. “I know this entire circumstance is totally backwards, but I want you, and I want this baby. I meant it when I said I’m not going anywhere.”

Fresh tears gather in the corners of your eyes. “Are you sure?” you still ask.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

You have to kiss him then, uncaring of the tears that trickle down your face. The only thing you are focused on is the way his hands trail down your back, pausing to squeeze your ass, then grip underneath to lift you. Your legs wrap around his waist, arms locked around his neck, as he heads for your bed. He makes a point of throwing your extra pillows on the floor before settling between your thighs and kissing the hell out of you.

He pulls away only to undress you and himself, but he’s always back as quickly as possible, lips pressing kisses wherever he can reach. You impatiently tug at him until his lips are attached to yours again. The way he fucks his tongue into your mouth is nothing short of indecent and it sends a rush of pure want all the way to your core.

When you bury your fingers in his hair, gripping it tight, he grunts, biting your lip. You whimper and he grins as he pulls away.

“You make the most beautiful sounds,” he praises, his hands beginning to sweep down and up, tickling under your breasts.

His thumb and forefinger pinch one of your nipples and you gasp, back arching off your mattress. He repeats it on the other side, just to hear the same noise.

“Bucky, please,” you beg.

“Please what?” he prods. His hands drift further to the creases of your thighs, spreading them open. “What do you need?”

You whine, canting your hips up. “You, I need you, please.”

“You have me, sweetheart.” He tilts his head and you make a noise of frustration. “Use your words, darlin’.”

“Fuck me, please,” you burst out, feeling your pussy clench around nothing.

Bucky smiles, slow and torturous. “Yeah? Want me to fuck you? Fuck this perfect pussy until you’re so full of my come that it drips down your beautiful thighs?”

“Oh god,” you mumble.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he teases.

His fingers slide down your slit, gathering your slick then thrusts two fingers in at once. You groan brokenly, shifting your hips to try and get more friction, but he holds them down with his metal arm. Agonizingly slow, he begins fucking you with his fingers. It’s good, it’s amazing, but it’s not enough. Not when you know what his cock feels like. He takes his precious time fingering you and you’re sure you’re going to lose your mind before the day is done.

“You have no idea how incredible you felt around my cock,” he tells you in a ridiculously conversational tone. “I was trying to think of any excuse I could come up with to have you at least one more time.”

He shifts until his mouth is directly above where you’re dripping for him, and he waits until you make eye contact with him.

“But now I’m gonna spend the rest of my life making you come apart on my cock any chance I get.”

You hardly have any functioning brain cells at the moment, but even if you could form a coherent sentence you wouldn’t have been able to say it aloud, because then he’s descending and all you can feel is the wet warmth of his mouth.

He definitely doesn’t hold back this time, that much is apparent in the way he devours you, lips and tongue drawing out noises you’ve never heard yourself make, pressing his face so far into your pussy that he has to come up for air. His mouth and chin shine when you chance a look down, and when you clench on his fingers his smile goes smug at the corners.

He plants kisses along your hips, the insides of your thighs, around where his fingers are buried within you. He curls them, in search of the spot he found last time. He knows he found it when you try to close your thighs around his head and cry out. Now that he's found it, he angles to brush it on every thrust of his fingers and attaches his mouth back on your clit.

You chant his name, nearly sobbing as you approach your climax, until finally you fly over the edge. Your vision blurs and you’re not sure if you’re making any noise now, unable to hear past the blood rushing in your ears. Bucky helps you ride it out until you’re shuddering from sensitivity.

He kisses your thighs again, trailing them up your stomach and between the valley of your breasts.

“So good, did so well,” he mutters.

Weakly, you lift your hands to trace them down his toned stomach and around his back, down further so you can cop a feel of your own, smiling at his grunt of surprise.

“That was great and all,” you say, arching your back so your chest presses against his, “but I do believe I asked you to fuck me.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Who said I was done with you?” It’s apparently a rhetorical question, as he continues before you get a chance to reply. “I’m gonna fuck you until you come, and then I’m gonna keep fucking you until you come again, and only then will I come so deep inside you there’ll be zero doubt I’ve put a baby there.”

Your legs are lifted and thrown over his shoulders in a blink, his cock pushing into your pussy, dragging out a high-pitched moan from you. There’s barely a pause and then he’s fucking you, just like you asked. The pace is brutal right from the start, a steady rhythm that has you mewling and writhing in pleasure. Bucky is watching his cock as he thrusts in and out of you, his mouth hanging open slightly as he pants. He hikes your hips up a little higher and you jolt through your startled moan. This angle is divine and the telltale signs of your second orgasm start tingling at the base of your spine.

“Can feel you,” Bucky says through panting breaths, “so close. C’mon, let me feel you.”

He pulls you down on his cock, grinding into you, his thumb reaching to rub tight circles over your clit. You sob through your release, shuddering against Bucky as you clench around him. He groans, still barely moving as you come down from your high.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “Come here.”

He helps you sit up, still seated on his cock, making you both hiss from your movement. Your arms automatically wrap around his shoulders and his around your waist. He kisses you so sweetly, a stark contradiction to the way he just fucked you. When you pull away, resting your foreheads together, he grins.

“Hi.”

You crack a smile. “Hi.”

“Ready for more?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You think you got it in you?” you tease as you play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

The light smack to your ass startles you and you let out a soft sound of surprise, hands tugging his hair harshly. Bucky’s eyes light up.

“Interesting,” he muses.

Another slap, a little harder than the first, and you’re whimpering, your walls clenching around his still hard cock.

“I’ll play with that later,” he promises, voice breathy.

You bury your face in his neck and start shifting your hips. He takes the hint, gathering you as close as he can and thrusts up into you. He can’t pull out as far this way, but the snap of his hips more than makes up for it. You mouth at his collarbone messily, kissing and licking your way up to his jaw, biting marks wherever you see fit. You make it up to his mouth and he kisses you, wet and filthy. You suck on his tongue and a ragged moan claws its way out of his throat. The need for air eventually has you pulling away.

“It’s a good thing you love me back,” you whisper in his ear. “Nobody else could ever compare to you.”

He growls, fisting your hair and yanking your head back to look him in the eye.

“Nobody will ever compare,” he corrects.

You moan. “Yes,” you agree, whining, “No one else could’ve given me a baby.”

Bucky thrusts harder and faster at your words. You’re picking up on a few hints and you can’t say it’s not doing it for you either.

“Filled me up so good, fucked me so well. Gonna be round with your baby soon.”

“Fuck, fuck,” he keens, hurrying to lay you flat on your back so he can fuck into you easier.

The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, your cries of pleasure mixing in with Bucky’s grunts and curses. His grip on you tightens almost painfully as he chases both your and his orgasm. You’re sure to have bruises tomorrow and you already know you'll be poking at them to remember this moment.

“C’mon, baby, wanna feel you too,” you beg.

His thumb finds your swollen clit once more. It’s beyond sensitive now, feels like a shockwave coursing through you, and without any warning, you come. You spasm around Bucky and he swears under his breath, thrusts going sloppy. With a final groan, he comes inside you, his hips moving seemingly on their own as he draws out both your pleasures. Slowly, he comes to a stop, but he leaves his cock buried in you like he did last time.

You know you’re gonna feel too empty when he does pull out, so you don’t mind sitting like this for a while. Bucky softly runs his hands across every inch of your skin he can touch and you bask in the affection. You card your fingers through his sweaty hair, smiling when he hums happily. It takes only a minute for you to notice the way his hands migrate to your stomach, and when you do you kiss his shoulder.

“Maybe we should go again later,” you suggest faintly.

Bucky grins. “We can do it a hundred more times if you want.”

“Guess I better enjoy it while I can.”

His smile goes soft at the edges.

It’s not lost on you how incredibly crazy all of this is. There will undoubtedly be a conversation, a much needed one that isn’t going to be simple or easy, but it’s necessary.

For now, though, you bask in Bucky’s warmth and loving embrace.

***

Keys jingle as they unlock the door and you perk up where you’re sprawled on the couch. Bucky enters, arms laden with bags from the convenience store.

“They didn’t have the banana ice cream you asked for,” he announces, continuing before your pout fully forms, “but they did have the double chocolate brownie kind you love so much, so I got that, as well as the sour gummy worms, beef jerky, and fried pickles from the deli on your list of demands.”

“What about—”

“And your strawberry Fanta,” he adds with a fond, slightly exasperated smile.

You’re unable to stop your expression from going soft and dreamy.

Ever since you and Bucky figured out where to go with your relationship, he’s been even more attentive and accommodating (and that’s saying something).

You expressed your worry about the possibility of something going wrong, that one or both of you would get bored and leave, or there’d be a big fight that neither of you could forgive. He was quick to reassure you of his commitment, told you there was no way he would ever get bored of you, and that as long as you both promise to talk things out in a calm, mature way, then you’d be alright.

It all sounded so easy when it was put like that. The more you thought about it, though, the more you realized he was right. It wasn’t fair to either of you to already give up before you’d even started. So you’d taken a deep breath and leaped.

Now, you’re five and a half months in, your belly steadily growing and making everyday life increasingly uncomfortable. The changes to your body were physically and emotionally draining, to say the least. Moreso the emotional side. You’d hoped you wouldn’t be one of those pregnant women with strange cravings, and for the most part they were pretty tame, but you do like to dip your sour gummy worms in banana ice cream. Bucky didn’t attempt to hide his disgust over that.

“What did I do to deserve you?” you ask on a pleased sigh.

He places your small cornucopia of goods on the coffee table. You sit up, huffing for breath during the struggle. You go to reach for the ice cream first, but Bucky catches your hand, lacing his fingers with yours and kissing your knuckles as he kneels in front of you.

“You were yourself. Smart, kind, selfless, unbelievably sexy.” You snort at that, but he’s undeterred. “And you’re giving me the best gift I could ever dream of. A family.”

Instantly, you’re crying. He’s grown accustomed to the mood swings by now, taking it in stride as he wipes away the tears with gentle hands.

“Stop being so disgusting,” you blubber through your hiccuping cries. “You’re such an asshole.”

Bucky laughs. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

You sniffle, kissing him. “Love you,” you grumble.

He leans down and plants the softest of kisses to your belly. “And I love you, little lady.”

The idea of you having a child one day always seemed foreign and unlikely, but life has a way of turning out exactly how it’s supposed to… And you wouldn’t change a thing.

#avengers fic #marvel fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x reader #bucky x you #i can't remember how to tag bye

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kwanisms · 8 months ago

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Kinktober 「10:29」 — c.san

» ateez menu | san menu | kinktober masterlist «

➮ werecoyote!San × fem chipmunk hybrid!Reader wc: 2.9k summary: San’s favorite thing about his roommate is that as a hybrid, she triggers his prey drive which makes him want to chase her around their apartment, and even if it’s not her favorite thing ever, she doesn’t mind indulging him. It usually ends with her pinned on the couch or wall before San will playfully nip at her and let her go but this time, it ends with her pinned against his bed, triggering more than just his predator drive. genres/themes/au: fluff, smut; supernatural, horror, thriller; non idol au, monster idol au warnings: adult dialogue, female hybrid reader, supernatural and horror themes, MC is scared of San for like a brief moment, mentions of: fear, hiding + seek; sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! taglist has been moved to reblogs join my taglists! kinktober taglist is CLOSED! Strikethrough means I cannot tag you. MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL ALSO BE BLOCKED.

a/n: this San was an absolute joy to write and I absolutely adore this couple. I may or may not come back to them in the future but only time will tell! Only two more parts in the original line up after this and they're both Seventeen! This has been a wild ride from start to finish and I'm sad to see this come to a close but excited to move onto new things! The days that have been skipped will be added on at the very end (Mingyu, Woosung, Hongjoong, Wooyoung, Jisung, & Christian) so please stick around for those! If you'd like to see what I've got planned for the holidays and rest of the year, please stay tuned for the final parts of Kinktober! Thank you so much for reading and as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: teratophilia (aka monsterfucking), predator/prey dynamics, hybrid!Reader, oral (f receiving), biting (f receiving), unprotected sex (don’t do this pls), use of pet names (hers: little squirrel, baby; his: Sannie), and that's all of them! If I missed any, please let me know and I'll fix it! kinks: predator/prey + hybrids dialogue prompt: ❛❛ Why are you shaking? You’re not scared of me are you? ❜❜

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“Come out, Y/N,” San called, his voice low and full of excitement as he stalked through the house, keeping his eyes open and listening for even the slightest movement. He stopped, turning slowly on the spot as his eyes swept the hall. He raised his head, taking a few sniffs, the smell of your sweet scent mixed with the stench of fear permeating the air.

He followed the smell, moving slowly and cautiously while listening for any movement or any sound.

This had become the new norm, coming home from a stressful day at work to the house you shared together and spending the weekend playing this little game of hide and seek. It helped him with his insane predator drive.

Most of his friends had said it was a bad idea, moving into a house with a chipmunk hybrid but you and San had been best friends since you were kids despite your differences. San would never hurt you. You were far too precious to him. He just liked to chase you around and hunt you down to let the predator drive out of his system so he could enjoy the rest of the weekend and spend the week not worrying about it. As he moved, keeping his steps as light as possible, he passed the door to the laundry room where he was hit with a sudden blast of your scent. San hesitated, turning towards the open door. He cautiously leaned in, peering into the room. He stepped in, checking every hiding place he could think of.

As he was searching under the counter in the hamper, a creak overhead caught his attention. A grin spread over his face as he exited the laundry room, darting down the hall and climbing the steps as quietly as possible. Your scent was even stronger up here and he was certain you were hiding somewhere on the second floor.

It was only a matter of time before he found you.

Your tail twitched nervously as you hid in the darkness of your closet, hiding deep in the corner behind clothes hanging and your hamper. You’d taken a few blankets and pillows off the top shelf and stacked them in front of the hamper and sat down in the small area between the wall and the hamper.

It was a good hiding spot, one you’d never used before so you hoped San would have a harder time finding you, especially after purposely leaving your scent all over the house.

Initially, you had taken cover under your bed when you had gotten his text that he was on his way home from work. You worked from home so it wasn’t an issue. You quickly went around the house, peeling off your clothes and leaving them in random places like the laundry room, the garage, the pantry, his room, the office, and even the closet downstairs by the front door.

You’d raced upstairs, pulled on clean clothes and scurried under the bed, leaving your phone on silent, turning off the vibration and turning down the brightness. Your bed had one of those frilly bed skirts that hid the underside of your bed and you from view.

You stayed there for at least an hour before you heard the front door open and San’s voice calling out, announcing his arrival. Not that he expected you to answer. He knew you were already hiding and ready to run at any given moment. He had a method to his search with this game you played. He always started in the garage. Not that there were many places to hide but he still took his time searching thoroughly before moving onto the basement which was only accessible from the garage.

If you had wanted to change hiding spaces. This is where you would have done it. But as you contemplated, you ran out of time and heard him exit the garage entirely, shutting the door behind him. You could hear him move through the house, no doubt following the scent of your expertly placed bait in the form of flinging your clothes into random rooms.

You heard him call out again, telling you to come out but you knew that he knew you weren’t going to do anything of the sort. No, he needed to find you. That was the point of this game. You decided the bed was no longer a good hiding spot and considered leaving your room entirely but as you made your way to the door, the floorboard creaked and you cursed mentally.

You knew San would have heard it and immediately made for your closet which was where you were currently sitting as he climbed the stairs. Despite being as quiet as possible, you could still hear the wood give under his weight. After hearing his steps carry him past the office and his room, you heard the door to your room creak open and San slowly entered the room.

“You’re in here, aren’t you little squirrel?” he whispered, a tone of excitement in his voice. You stayed quiet as he neared the closet, sniffing before he threw the doors open. “Are you in here?” he whispered, starting to move your clothes aside but somehow he missed you cowering behind the hamper as he pulled back and shut the doors.

“Or are you under the bed?”

As he made his way to the bed, you quietly and carefully moved from behind the hamper, making sure not to make a sound as he neared your bed. You watched through the slats of the closet doors as he slowly knelt down beside your bed. “The scent is strong here,” he murmured as he reached a hand down to grab the edge of the ruffled bed skirt.

You quietly turned the knob of the closet door, making sure to keep quiet as he leaned down to peer under the bed. Once he was part of the way under your bed, you threw open the closet door and bolted for the door with a squeak. San let out a whoop and gave chase but you were took quick, darting into his room and sliding under the bed.

San followed you into the room and as he dove for the bed, you scrambled out from under it as he tumbled over the opposite side of the bed as you made a break for the door. San was hot on your tail as you tried to take the turn to head down the hall for the stairs. He tried to catch you but you ducked, slipping from his grip as you doubled back for your room as he tried to scramble to his feet.

You made it to your room but before you could find a hiding place, San tackled you onto your bed, laughing as you tried to wriggle free. “Not this time, little squirrel,” he said as he wrestled with you. Your ears flattened back against your head as you tried to free yourself from his iron grip.

“I’ll bite you!” you threatened, your voice coming out as a squeak. San laughed as he overpowered you easily, pinning you down against your mattress as he held your wrists on either side of your head. “So feisty today,” San said as he stared down at you, that familiar excitement in his eyes as you tried to squirm out from under him.

The two of you stared at one another, your ears flattened against your hair. San tilted his head, a wolfish grin appearing on his face in place of the smile that had been there before. “You’re shaking,” he noted, moving his hands up to yours, lacing his fingers with yours but keeping them pinned against the bed. “Why are you shaking?” he whispered as he leaned closer. “You’re not scared of me, are you?”

You said nothing but he chuckled, knowing he was right. On a normal day, San was anything but scary but during these moments, when he had you pinned with that excited look in his eye, your subconscious couldn’t tell what was real and what was pretend. For a brief moment, you truly were scared. San leaned down, using his weight to hold you down.

“San,” you whined as he pressed his nose against the skin under the shell of your ear, inhaling deeply. You felt him nip at your neck, his teeth grazing over your pulse point. The feeling of his lips against your skin and his weight on top of you had an unintended side effect and as he moved, his groin brushed against your cloth covered sex and you let out a moan.

The atmosphere changed in an instant, almost like with the snap of your fingers. San lifted his head, eyes meeting yours. In addition to the excitement, there was curiosity, confusion, and what you could only assume arousal. “Y/N,” he started, his voice soft as you stared up at him, cheeks burning in embarrassment, heat pooling in the pit of your stomach as your shorts started to grow damp.

“Are you… turned on right now?” he asked. Before you could answer him and try to deny it, his pupils widened as he sniffed the air. “Oh,” he finally said, chuckling darkly. “You are,” he confirmed as the scent of sexual arousal started to fill the room. “Sweet little squirrel,” he murmured as he moved your hands above your head, holding your wrists with one hand as the other moved to cup your cheek.

“Likes it when I hunt her down? When I chase her? When I overpower and pin her down?” he asked, his thumb moving to brush over your bottom lip. “Why did you tell me sooner?” he asked as his eyes dipped down to look at your lips. “We could have implemented a new part to this game.”

“Wh-what part?” you asked, stuttering over your words as his hand slid down the side of your neck. “Had I known, I could have spent more time teasing you after catching you instead of immediately letting you go,” he continued, his eyes widening suddenly as he came to a realization you were about to hear.

“Is that why you always insisted on taking a shower afterwards?” he asked, chuckling as he leaned closer, his lips mere inches from yours. “Needed time to rub one out before you could face me again? Wash yourself off so I wouldn’t smell how much I affected you? And all this time, I thought it was just the smell of fear coming off you. Never would have expected it to be the scent of lust, too.”

You let out a whine, staring up at him and trying to free your hands. His grip tightened. San’s lips ghosted over yours. “I just need you to answer one thing,” he whispered, his breath hot against your face. “Do you want me to stop?”

You stared up at him, your heart beating against your chest. That was a good question. Did you want him to stop? After all, San was your housemate and your oldest friend, not your boyfriend. You lived together. If you said yes, you didn’t know how to come back from this. You weren’t sure if you could ever partake in this game of his ever again but If you said no, then everything would change between you. So you asked yourself again; did you want him to stop?

You shook your head. “Absolutely not,” you whispered, eyes flickering between his. “Don’t you dare stop Choi San.” With your permission to continue, San let out a relieved groan, capturing your lips in a surprisingly gentle kiss as he released your wrists, moving his hands to the sides of your neck as he parted your lips, allowing his tongue to slip into your mouth, groaning at the taste.

You let out a whimper as you felt him rut against you, grinding against your cloth covered core. “Mmmfmmh,” San mumbled against your lips and you moved your hand to his chest. “What?” you asked incredulously. “I said do that again,” he whispered as his hands moved down to your hips, pulling you against him as he grinded against you again.

You let out a moan, head falling back against the mattress. San leaned over, pressing kisses down the side of your neck to your exposed collar. “Can I take this off?” he asked, fingers skimming the lacy hem of your tank top. You nodded, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as he sat back, hands sliding up your sides. He pushed the fabric up until he could tug it off, tossing it aside and leaving you half naked under him.

You hadn’t had time to put on a bra or bralette when you dressed in haste earlier and now you felt extremely exposed under his heated gaze, moving your hands to cover yourself out of instinct but San grabbed your wrists and pulled them away. “Don’t,” he said simply, giving you a pointed look.

“Don’t you dare hide yourself from me,” he added as he leaned over pressing a kiss to your collar, leaving a trail of scorched skin as he kissed his way down your chest, stopping to take one of your pet nipples in his mouth, the tip of his tongue swirling around the nub before he sucked lightly.

You let out a gasp as you felt his teeth lightly graze the sensitive flesh, your fingers tangling in his hair as you guided one of his hands up to your neglected breast. He cupped the mound, kneading gently as he teased your nipple, drawing soft moans and whimpers from you.

He pulled back, dragging his tongue over your skin before he glanced up at you, giving you a grin and a wink before he continued kissing down your stomach until he settled between your thighs. He met your gaze, kissing over your thin shorts. “No panties?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t have time to put them on,” you whined, cheeks burning in embarrassment once more.

You heard San chuckle before you felt his tongue press against you over the fabric. “I’m just teasing you, baby,” he murmured as his hands moved to your hips, fingers curling under the elastic of your shorts and starting to pull them down. You lifted your hips as he slid them off, leaving you truly bare and exposed to him, the cool air of your room hitting your throbbing heat.

San licked his lips as he settled back down, eyeing your glistening cunt as he spread your folds. “You have no idea how many times I’ve fantasized about this,” he said in a low voice as his tongue slipped out, licking a wide strip up your sex before he licked his lips once more. “Tastes better than you smell. Almost sweet,” he added.

You tried to respond but your words died in your throat, replaced with a moan as you felt his lips wrap around your clit, the tip of his tongue teasing it as he threw himself into it. Your cheeks and neck were burning from embarrassment from the sounds he was making. Groans and grunts as well as lewd slurping sounds came from him as he ate you out like he was starving.

Your thighs tried to close around his head as he drove you closer and closer to orgasm but he held them open, giving your clit a few more slow licks as he looked up to meet your gaze through heavy lidded eyes. “Saaaaan,” you whine, head falling back. He chuckled, his breath hot against your sex. “You’re so cute when you whine,” he said as he pulled away, kissing up your stomach and between your breasts before taking you in a searing kiss.

You tasted yourself on his tongue as his hands moved to your hips. “Roll over for me.” he whispered against your lips. You did as he asked as he pulled back, peeling his own clothes off until he was just as naked. He reached over you, grabbing one of your pillows and folding it in half. “Lift your hips for me, little squirrel,” he said. You did as he said, lifting your hips so he could slip the pillow under your stomach.

You rested against it, your ass propped up as he moved behind you, spreading your legs with his knees. “You sure about this?” he asked as he took his cock in his hand, giving it a few strokes and spreading the precum that gathered at the tip as you nodded. “Yes,” you breathed. “Please Sannie,” you added, wiggling your hips, your tail swishing out of the way.

San guided the head of his cock to your slit, brushing the tip against your sex, gathering the wetness that was basically dripping out of you before pushing into you. “Oh fuck,” he hissed as your walls sucked him in, guiding him deeper until he bottomed out. “S-Sannie,” you whimpered into the sheets, fingers curling into the material as your cunt stretched around his cock.

“You okay, baby?” San asked, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your skin. You nodded silently, licking your dry lips. “I need to hear you say it, little squirrel,” San said, squeezing your hips. “Yes,” you answered immediately. “I’m okay. F-feels so good,” you gasped as you felt him start to pull out. He gave you a hard thrust, hips snapping forward and his skin hitting yours, making you cry out.

“That hurt?” he asked, stroking your skin gently. You shook your head. “N-no,” you replied. “Feel good, Sannie. Just surprised me, that’s all.” San leaned over, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Good,” he murmured, giving you another harsh thrust and quickly setting a rough and relentless pace as he rocked into you, his cock repeatedly hitting your sweet spot over and over.

“Cause we have a long night ahead of us, little squirrel.”

©️ kwanisms 2024 | all works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works. All graphics made by me.

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ixloom819 · 3 months ago

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Him Above All (P2)

I never expected this to turn into a multiple part thing, but you guys have helped the brain worms go double time ._. There will probably be character inaccuracies but pls be patient with me

This is following this part. Please see the previous posts for trigger warnings and let me know if I’m missing any :)

If you had told yourself a year ago what your life would be like, you’d think it was a cringy self-insert fic.

But this was real, and it was agonizing.

The most unsettling part was how nothing seemed to change. Sylus was still as flirty and affectionate as he always was, like he was unbothered by the blood of his former beloved on his hands. Luke, Kieran, and Mephisto weren’t affected by Miss Hunter’s death either. Then again, you realized too late that you had taken up her role in this place. To them, Miss Hunter was someone who had taken up a bit of interest before disappearing. It was like she was never there.

Indeed, the only one that seemed to be affected was you. When before you’d shy away from Sylus, now you would go out of your way to avoid and ignore him. When you woke up from nightmares, now including her ghost condemning you, you refused to go to him for comfort, knowing that he was the cause of them.

Yet, nothing would deter Sylus. He’d follow you around and even hold you in place if he was feeling clingy. He’d be fine talking to you about anything, even when you didn’t respond. When the night terrors came, he’d come to your room when you didn’t come to his. You didn’t dare ask how he would know. He would hold you even when you protested, pressing your head against his chest, running his fingers through your hair, and speaking in a soothing tone. Much to your disappointment, your willpower wasn’t as strong as his, and you’d end up curling into him for comfort and falling asleep there.

Sylus had shown you his dragon form, something he got once he took back the part of his soul that was in Miss Hunter. He could choose to shift into this form whenever he pleases rather than having them be a permanent part of his appearance.

Hard black scales that looked like a volcano covered his already nearly indestructible body. A tail, not unlike a scorpion’s, curled behind him. Horns with a twisting design similar to vines sat on the sides of his head. Velvety black wings, ones that made you think of a bat, were bunched up behind his back, resting from his shoulder blades.

In that moment, you forgot what had happened and stared at him in awe. You traced your fingers lightly over each new feature, marveling at the texture. You chose to ignore the shivers that seemed to inflict Sylus as you did so, making sure to be as light as possible.

“In my last life,” he has said in a low tone, “I considered these features a curse. Something that made me a monster. Powerful, yes, but undesirable. I tried to hide them, shaving down my horns and-” he paused, then smirked. “Then again, you know that already.”

“But now,” he continued, “I know better. I’ve learned what a true curse is, and this is not a curse.” He stretched his wings open, the wingspan taking up the entire length of the room. “This is power.”

Normally you would have agreed with him, or if you were feeling bold, made a slight teasing comment. But his words served to remind you of what he did to gain that power and you fell silent again, dropping your eyes to the floor. You remembered a soft sigh of what you believed was disappointment. Then the conversation shifted, Sylus taking up a new topic that you didn’t respond to.

That’s how things were for a while. Overall normal while you tried to figure out how to navigate this situation.

But with you coming a new element in this game, the winds of change were not far behind.

You had noticed the signs. Everyone seemed busy with something. Luke and Kieran were out more, you hardly saw Mephisto anymore, and Sylus seemed to either be out, on calls, or on his computer. You would have welcomed the space from him, but you couldn’t ignore the slowly growing sense of dread.

After almost a week of this activity, Sylus called you into his office. He was normally fine talking with you whenever, so this sent your body on high alert.

Sylus motioned you to come around his desk and look at his computer. Too worried to question, you complied. There were three windows open on the screen. As you watched them, your stomach dropped.

One was footage of Xavier in his Lumiere outfit traversing around the N109 Zone. Another was Rafayel in his assassin costume sneaking into an apartment complex - likely Miss Hunter’s. The final one showed a report written to the Farspace Fleet on the dangers Onychinus posed and the need for action against it, signed by Colonel Caleb.

“It would seem your prediction was correct,” Sylus spoke smoothly. “Miss Hunter’s admirers are closing in on me.”

You turned to him, core filled with fear. For him? For them? You weren’t sure. “What are you going to do?”

He gave you an amused look. “Well, I’m certainly not going to just let them have their way.” He sobered up a bit. “But I’m going to need your help.”

A shiver ran down your spine. “…What?”

“You’ve shared with me their pasts with Miss Hunter,” Sylus explained, “but not much about their powers, what they can do. I’ll need that information if I’m going to win.”

“Sylus, I-” a lump formed in your throat, “I can’t do that. I can’t- I can hardly stand being the indirect cause of MC’s death! If I tell you that, then I…”

I’ll be the reason they’re dead. You couldn’t get the words out, but they hung in the air regardless.

Sylus seemed to consider your words. Then he placed a hand on your cheek and guided your face to look at him. “Darling,” he murmured softly in a tone that spoke only of love. “I know how hard this has been for you, and I know I’m asking a lot now. I have great confidence in my abilities, but I don’t want there being a sliver of a chance for them. They’re not going to be satisfied handing me over to the authorities. You know what they’re here for.”

Yes, you did. You weren’t a naive idiot. They were coming to kill Sylus…

You wished that you could say you came from a place of logic. You had been miraculously transported into this world, meaning you had no history, no records, nothing someone your age should have. You’d have no way of getting a job and heaven forbid Ever turn their attention towards you. And that was only if you managed to get out of the N109 Zone without Sylus’ protection. You needed him here. You’d always known that, which is why you never tried running before.

But that wasn’t what came to mind at that moment. The thought that ran through your mind was ‘I can’t lose him…’ As much as you hated to admit it, you still loved Sylus and you didn’t want him to die, even if he might deserve it.

You could feel tears rising again at your choice. You hated how much you had cried lately. “…You have to promise me,” you finally said in a shaky voice. “Promise me that… that you won’t kill them unless you absolutely have to. I can’t- I can’t live with blood on my hands. Not like you can…”

Sylus’ eyes flickered with pain. Why? From your pain? From being asked to make an unkeepable promise? He slowly swiped his thumb under your eye, catching an unshed tear.

“I’ll do my best,” he finally said. “I hate to cause you pain, my love-”

You cut him off. “Promise me.” You couldn’t let him have any leeway, no loopholes to exploit. You needed him to give you his word.

He paused, then sighed. “Of course. I promise, darling. I won’t kill them unless I have to.”

It took a moment, but you finally started talking.

You told him about Xavier’s swordsmanship skills, the abilities of his Light Evol, and his upcoming deadline.

You told him about Rafayel’s Lemurian powers, the strength of his Fire Evol, and his background as an assassin.

You told him about Caleb’s mechanical arm, the potential of his Gravity Evol, and the toring chip Ever put in him.

Your knowledge wasn’t perfect. It may not even be enough.

But you gave it all to him. Because in the end, you couldn’t betray the one you loved the most.

You were slightly out of breath when you finished, the weight of what you had done slowly pressing down on you.

Sylus gently pulls you into an embrace and plants a kiss on the top of your head. “Thank you, my treasure,” he cooed. “You’re such an amazing person… you’re so strong, doing something that hurts you to protect me…”

Funny… you never felt weaker.

#love and deepspace #lads #lads sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x non mc reader #yandere sylus #sylus lads #l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #sylus love and deepspace #sylus x reader #sylus

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godricgryffinsnore · 20 days ago

Note

If you’re taking requests can I have a Harry Potter x reader with a pregnancy scare during hogwarts pls? And reader proper freaking out cause they’re so young and not ready so Harry is soft and calming and soothing and turns out not preggo but they both think one day

The Bump That Wasn’t ♡ : A Harry Potter Fan Fiction.

pairing : Harry Potter x fem!reader

summary : When an unexpected situation sends tension rippling through Hogwarts and later the Burrow, Harry and the reader navigate the chaos with love, patience, and a dash of humor. With their friends awkwardly supportive and family more involved than expected, the couple learns that even the scariest moments can lead to the sweetest promises.

warnings : Mild suggestive content, Pregnancy scare (may be triggering for some), Light panic/anxiety themes, Flustered characters and secondhand embarrassment, Over-involved family members (humorous), Lots of emotional fluff and teasing. Please let me know if I missed any.

author's note : English is not my first language, so please forgive me for any grammatical errors or spelling errors. Re-blogging is completely fine with me, but please don't copy my work. I love you all. Enjoy <3.

della's note : Thank you so so so much for requesting, babe!!!

word count : 1.1k

main master list

banners : @ithemes and @cafekitsune

Setting: Seventh Year, Gryffindor Tower, post-battle era but Hogwarts is rebuilt.

You sat perched on the edge of the Gryffindor girls’ dormitory bathtub, clutching a potion bottle like it was a bomb.

“I’ve ruined my life,” you whispered.

“No, love, you haven’t.” Harry crouched beside you, his green eyes soft but mildly terrified.

“Oh yeah?” you hissed, “You say that now, but wait till McGonagall finds out I might be growing a baby in her castle!”

Harry held up both hands like you were a frightened unicorn. “Okay. Okay. Deep breaths. We don’t know anything yet. Maybe you’re just late—stress, hormones, you know, school, war trauma—remember? We died last year, literally.”

“I didn’t die, Harry.”

“Well, I did, so I win. Now please, sweetheart, drink the potion.”

You stared at the bottle. “What if it turns blue?”

He gently tucked your hair behind your ear. “Then we handle it. Together. Like we always do. I love you.”

“Don’t say sweet things to me right now, I might cry and vomit.”

“Valid.”

── .✦

Two Hours Earlier:

Ron dropped his toast as you sprinted out of the Great Hall, face pale as Nearly Headless Nick’s knees.

“I… I think she’s going to hurl,” he said, alarmed. “Did someone feed her a Fanged Frisbee?”

Harry went after you. Hermione leaned in. “She’s late, Ronald.”

Ron blinked. “Late for what? Oh. OH.”

“Don’t look like you’re about to pass out—you’re not the maybe-father!”

── .✦

Back in the dorm bathroom, you finally drank the damn potion with your eyes squeezed shut.

“…It’s pink,” you breathed, peeking one eye open.

“Pink! That’s good, right?” Harry said, practically hugging the toilet in relief.

“Yes, pink means not pregnant,” you sighed, falling against the wall, limbs limp with dramatic despair. “Thank Merlin.”

He sat beside you, hands laced with yours. “Well. That was… terrifying.”

“Do you think this is karma for all that snogging in the Room of Requirement?”

“No, that was good karma.”

“…Harry.”

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled. “Look, we weren’t ready. You were right to freak out. But I meant it—I’d have done it with you. All of it. Nappies. Sleepless nights. The whole Weasley-nursery package.”

You turned your head toward him. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious.” He leaned in and kissed your forehead, then mumbled against your skin, “One day, yeah? I’d like that. With you.”

You sighed, melting into his side. “You’re too sweet. I should marry you before someone else tries.”

“You better,” he said smugly.

── .✦

Later That Night:

The four of you were curled up in the common room. Ron was feeding you sweets like you’d run a marathon. Hermione was watching you like she was ready to knit baby clothes just in case.

“I googled—I mean, researched—baby potion side effects,” Hermione said.

“Yeah?” you asked warily.

“Turns out if you are pregnant, you sometimes taste chocolate like cabbage. You gagged earlier when Ron handed you that cauldron cake.”

“She always gags when I hand her food,” Ron said, wounded.

“You once offered me a Liquorice Wand dipped in ketchup.”

“That was an experiment.”

Harry kissed your cheek and whispered, “Still negative.”

You smiled tiredly, hands curled in his jumper. “Yeah. But someday, yeah?”

“Someday,” he whispered.

Ron, from the couch: “Oi, not too soon though! I’d like to graduate without becoming Uncle Ron the Diaper Master.”

Hermione smacked him.

Harry chuckled, pulling you close.

You whispered, “I think we’d make cute kids.”

“Obviously. You’re the hottest witch in the castle.”

“You’re so full of it.”

“I’m full of love. And panic. But mostly love.”

── .✦

Setting: A week later at The Burrow. Post-Hogwarts. You and Harry are visiting the Weasleys.

The scent of cinnamon and warm bread filled The Burrow as you sat politely at the table, sipping tea and pretending not to see the suspiciously tiny knitted jumper folded neatly beside the biscuits.

You nudged Harry with your foot under the table. He looked at you, then followed your eye line—and promptly choked on his tea.

Ron looked up from buttering his scone. “You alright, mate?”

Harry, wheezing: “M’fine. Died once. This is worse.”

“I knew something was off,” Hermione muttered. “Molly’s been humming lullabies and bought baby booties in Diagon Alley yesterday.”

You leaned forward, voice as casual as you could fake it: “Mrs. Weasley, what’s the jumper for?”

“Oh, this?” Molly beamed, patting the tiny blue thing with golden snitch embroidery. “Well, I heard—and I do apologize if I’m being forward, dear—but I heard you two might be expecting?”

You made a noise that was somewhere between a cough and a mouse being hexed.

Harry’s eyes were wide, hands frozen around his mug like it was a lifeline. “Who told you that?!”

Ron raised his hand slowly like a guilty schoolboy. “I may have mentioned you two were acting weird last week.”

Hermione groaned into her hands. “Ronald, you don’t mention things like that unless there’s an actual baby.”

“I didn’t say there was one! I just said they looked like they were either about to faint or propose!”

You turned to Molly, cheeks burning. “Mrs. Weasley, I swear we’re not pregnant.”

Molly’s smile didn’t fade. “Not yet, dear.”

Harry made another dying noise.

Ginny appeared from the living room with Fred and George’s enchanted baby toy (which farted glitter) and whispered, “You lot know Mum already picked out a nursery theme, right?”

“Murder me,” you muttered, sliding slowly down your chair.

── .✦

Later That Night:

You and Harry lay in the cramped attic room, limbs tangled and faces still crimson from the Dinner of Doom.

“She knitted a jumper, Harry.”

“She said she’d keep it ‘just in case.’”

“Just in case?!” you sat up, exasperated. “Are we cows now? ‘Just in case this one births something in spring, best knit early!’”

Harry tried to stifle a laugh, but you glared. He immediately sobered. “No, no, you’re right. Terrifying. Very traumatic. Please don’t hex me, little one.”

You flopped back down beside him. “…Do you think she’s disappointed?”

He rolled onto his side to face you, tracing your knuckles with his fingers. “Maybe. But she’ll be overjoyed when we are.”

You gave him a side-eye. “You sound very sure of yourself.”

“I mean, I’ve seen your baby pictures. Can you imagine a little version of you with my glasses? Or your eyes and my messy hair?”

“…I’m not crying. Shut up.”

Harry leaned in, kissed your tear-damp cheek. “Someday.”

“Someday,” you whispered, curling into his chest. “But first, please stop letting Ron talk.”

“Deal.”

── .✦

Meanwhile downstairs:

Molly placed the jumper back in the drawer with a soft smile.

Arthur peeked in. “No baby?”

“Not yet,” she said.

Arthur kissed her temple. “Should we tell the twins to stop making that baby toy that sings 'It’s a Boy!' every time someone sneezes?”

Molly grinned. “Let them keep it. I have a feeling we’ll need it soon enough."

#della's inbox 𐙚⋆°🦢｡⋆♡#della answered ⋆˚✿˖°#della 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼 #harry potter fan fiction #harry potter x fem!reader #harry potter x y/n #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #harry james potter #harry potter x you #harry potter x reader

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s1lu3s · 6 months ago

Text

INSPIRATION ISSUES, rafayel.

warnings: suggestive content +18, masturbation, voyeur, fem!oc. pairing: rafayel x y/n. notes: this is my first shot about him!! hope u like it <3 if you find any mistakes, pls tell me (english is not my first language) comments and repost are appreciated <3 credits for the banner of mdni to roseschoices.

With Rafayel out of town in order to find some inspiration for several days, you stayed alone in the apartment you both share.

Bored and unwilling to do anything, tonight you especially felt very much in need of him.

However, he never let you know when he would be back and you don't want to bother him with your stupid and unimportant concerns.

You wish you had agreed to go with him, but your job as a hunter obliged you from doing so.

And you know you can't let Jenna, or any of your other teammates, down. Both, Rafayel and you know that your rigid morals prevent you from doing so every time he proposes such an escapade from your work.

You close your eyes, sink your head into the pillow and raise your hips as you imagine the same fantasy you've had with him over and over again this lonely week.

“Rafayel...” you murmur, squeezing one of your breasts and stroking your clit in slow circles.

You feel your fluids sliding down your thighs, your breathing ragged and erratic and your pulse rising higher and higher.

You imagine how he would do it if it was here.

Firstly, he would turn you around so that you would focus your attention only on him as he would play with your folds before delivering a single thrust and creating a torturous rhythm that would trigger an unstoppable state of frenzy on you.

You outline your own folds with one finger, which enters easily inside you because of the wetness you have between your legs. So you start to fuck your fingers in and out, feeling how your cunt is stretching them.

“Mph...” lascivious sounds burst from your lips as you change the rhythm of your fingers, curling them when they reach your walls and arching your back while you find that sweet spot that has your thighs trembling and put your eyes in blank while you hit it several times.

The warmth you radiate spreads throughout your body and you begin to feel a slight tingling sensation.

You are about to finish, when you hear a low grunt coming from the corner of the room.

You raise your head and notice a familiar figure sitting. Watching you.

“Oh, please don't stop for me. Go on, show me how much you have missed me these days.” Rafayel's voice is low and demanding, you even are able to catch that it denotes a lustful tone.

You obey. So you reassume your previous action, again directing your hand to the place between your legs, this time, turned, with your back on the mattress and staring back at him through the darkness. Your fluid always helping you to better slide your fingers through your folds, passing near by your needy clit and finally sliding into your walls.

In fact, you were closer for the orgasm you had been searching for. A couple of thrusts curling your fingers and moving them in and out, a thrust with your hips, and your legs begin to tremble slightly.

You squint, catching a fleeting glimpse of Rafayel holding a notebook and pencil and gazing at you.

“You know, these days I had gone looking for inspiration when I realized one thing. You are my source, the engine that gives life to my drawings.” His words are all you need to let yourself be carried away by the final wave of ecstasy. “A true work of art.” He mumbles and continues sketching strokes on the paper for a few more minutes.

For your part, you simply lie back and settle yourself better on the mattress, controlling your breathing and closing your eyes as you feel in the left side a slight movement.

You feel a subtle pressure on your shoulder and hip when he stands next to you.

“I don't think I'll have any more inspiration problems.” He assures you, kissing your hair and lying down with you.

#rafayel #lads rafayel #lads x reader #lads smut #lads mc #lads sylus #lads #lads zayne #smut #love and deepspace #rafayel smut #rafayel x reader #lads x you #love and deep space x y/n #l&ds #l&ds rafayel #l&ds x reader #l&ds smut #l&ds x you

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blackiron11 · 7 months ago

Text

Be careful what you wish for

Pairing: reader x rio vidal

Trigger warning: body shamming, self harm, suicide attempt, hate self (if you find more, pls let me know)

English is not my first language, etc etc etc. I don't know how to write romance very well either, but I tried. besides, I'm sure I exaggerated the amount of "you" written. I hope you like the story

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

You are tired of the daily humiliations and an unhappy life, you want to die. Luckily, a certain Lady Death has a few things to say about your life.

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

You come home tired every day. Tired of the humiliations at work, of having to report every mistake made by employees, of your boss yelling at you, all for a mere minimum wage.

You even asked for a salary increase, but he laughed in your face. A promotion would mean that you would have to present yourself to the shareholders and he couldn't allow that, you know why; to get ahead in life, you need to have the right weight and the right face. You don't have that. You know it, your parents know it and your boss knows it, because he looks you up and down, while denying all your dreams.

"But you are a good employee, who knows next year?" he says before you leave. You feel the humiliation run through your veins.

Yes, next year. If your size "L" becomes "XS", if you put on contact lenses and don't wear glasses, if you do facial harmonization. Yes, you have a chance.

Your colleagues don't like you either. They focus on your appearance and the fact that you're too shy and introverted. They've never invited you to Happy Hour after work, or to one of their birthdays either; you don't like drinking, but you've always wanted to fit in.

You decide you don't care. But the truth is that you care so much that it's hurt so bad, and you need to do something to stop this pain.

You also get tired of your parents asking for money or wanting to get a boyfriend to you, never asking how you are or coming to visit you. You get tired of not having friends, or anyone to lean on. You get tired of life.

You sigh as you change your clothes. You always wear long-sleeved shirts and jeans. You don't want anyone to see how ugly you are... inside and out.

You look at yourself in the mirror, only in your underwear. You analyze the cuts on your skin, everywhere you can reach, you made a lot of cuts, especially on your arms and thighs; some are older, most are recent, leaving blood stains on the clothes you wore.

Your reflection stares back at you, looking amused. You hug yourself, trying to hide from your own gaze, but to no avail. You feel dirty, your sagging skin falling apart in tour hands.

In a world where there are Avengers, supreme wizards, witches, heroes and villains, you feel like nothing. You are nobody.

With no desire at all, you take a shower, using a sponge forcefully on your body, as if that would wash away all the extra pounds. Your hard movement causes the fresh cuts to reopen and you see blood going down the drain along with the soap and water. You are numb.

You remember the ways to calm down your therapist taught you, but they don't work. They never did.

When you see your sleeping pills, you decide that this suffering is no longer worth it. You are not worth it. This will be the first and last time you put yourself first.

You won't leave any letters or explanations, it's not necessary. No one will miss you.

You gather all the medicines you can find and put them in the blender along with the alcohol, there's no going back. You know won't be, you don't want to go back.

No amount of stomach pumping will solve it, in case some gossipy neighbor decides to help you. You've made sure of that.

You need peace. If what's necessary for that is for you to face death, you'll do it with a smile on your face.

You put on the first pajamas you find and drink the entire contents of the glass, grimacing and choking as the liquid burns your throat.

Finally, you lie down on your bed one last time, ready for a dreamless sleep, and then, never to wake up again.

-----------

You opened your eyes, still groggy, and found a vision. A woman in a black robe stared at you. You just thought she was beautiful.

Y/N doesn't believe in God; But if there is an afterlife, you always thought you would be punished for killing yourself. At the very least, you are at the Valley of Suicides, and would suffer in mourning for ages. Either that, or you would go to hell.

However, looking at this woman in front of you, you thought you were in paradise.

The figure softened her expression, smiling a little bit, as if she had heard your thoughts, but soon closed herself off.

"Why did you do that?" she asked you, worried.

Y/N couldn't understand where she was or who that woman was... Maybe she was a neighbor? She thinks she's never seen you in her life, but her vision betrays you, completely blurred.

"I didn't mean to," you answered automatically, not used to someone talking to you for more than five minutes.

The woman didn't believe you. Rio saw your arms and the scarred cuts, but chose not to comment; she didn't want to scare you.

It wasn't the first time Rio had been called to a death by suicide and it certainly wouldn't be the last, but you were intriguing. Usually the others had someone by their side, but you were alone. She didn't want to leave you like this, not when you looked so fragile.

"Who are you?" Your conscience was leaving you, but you wanted to understand.

"I'm Lady Death , my dear." Rio approached you. "I'm here, because you called me."

Was that supposed to make sense? No coherent thought was going through your mind, the various medicines you had swallowed doing their job.

"Am I still alive?" You asked rhetorically, before your body shut down from the pressure.

Rio sighed, wondering where she had gotten herself into.

As the natural order of all things, she could simply heal you and leave, but that wouldn't solve anything. Death can't heal someone's psyche; and once your senses returned, you would try to kill yourself again. Rio couldn't let that happen. She would help you, even if it meant saving you from yourself.

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

For weeks, Rio healed your stomach and your injuries a little at a time, and you were getting better, with no more risk of complications because of it in the future.

She would make you food, wake you up and help you to eat, staying with you until you fell asleep again, your body still very weak.

She started to notice you more, how you slept peacefully, the dimples that formed on your face when you smiled, or how your eyes looked at her curiously, even though you couldn't hold a coherent conversation for long.

You don't remember any of this. Your consciousness came and gone the whole time.

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

Until one day, you woke up completely lucid. On autopilot, you went to get ready for work and saw yourself in the mirror. You were horrified when you remembered...

You...were alive? You're not even good enough to kill yourself, my God! How is that possible?

You wanted to scream, throw yourself off the building, hit your head hard against the wall until blood came out, anything. You were confused, your mind was all jumbled up. You had planned everything!! Did someone save you??? Why would someone do this?

You were going to puke. You ran to the bathroom, trying to hold on to the walls, shaking. You needed to calm down. You needed to understand what was happening.

The easiest thing to calm you down was your old friend; but when you made the first cut, you noticed that all the others were missing.

No. No. NO!

This can't be happening. It's a nightmare, right? A medication-induced nightmare. Soon it will all pass and you will be dead. Just as it should be.

Meanwhile, you made all the cuts you could, your hand shaking more and more. It didn't work, you hadn't calmed down.

You got up with unsteady steps and went to the kitchen, looking for a knife. You couldn't find one. You also didn't notice the presence behind you, until she spoke to you, her tone mild.

"You need to stop this, Y/N."

Rio was collecting some bodies from the other side of the world, when she felt a tug towards you. You needed her. She hoped it wasn't too late.

"Leave me alone," you shouted, feeling your eyes water. Rio tried to get closer to you, but you backed away. It took you a while to remember who she was, but the clothes she was wearing helped. Death... you almost didn't believe it. You felt betrayed. The only being you thought would truly welcome you with open arms took everything you had; including your reminders.

"You... You saved me," you accused her. Rio had the decency to look guilty. "You took away my free will, you healed me without my permission! You hurt me more than anyone else, you took everything I had." Y/N cried freely now. Tears blurred her vision.

Rio knew what you were talking about. It hurt her that you felt that way. She never wanted to hurt you, only to help you. Lady Death wished she had permission to kill everyone who hurt you throughout your life.

"You don't need them, Y/N." Rio still spoke softly, you could barely hear her.

"Why do you care?"

"I... I fell in love with you." Rio admitted what she had been thinking for days. At some point while taking care of you, she fell in love. Death had never loved anyone before.

Y/N stared at her, motionless. Then, she laughed.

"Is this some kind of joke?" she asked when she caught her breath. Rio shook her head. "Some kind of dirty game between the cosmic entities to attract the weak human's attention?" Rio shook her head once more.

"Seriously, look at me," you shouted, not understanding.

And Rio looked at you. Even with your face red from crying so much, even with the fresh cuts and so much self-loathing, Death found you beautiful.

"I'm looking at," Rio whispered. His heart heavy with your suffering.

"No!" Y/N thought Rio didn't understand. "Look at me!," you shouted with contempt this time. "How can someone like you fall for something like this?" you pointed to yourself.

Rio saw you, she understood you more than you remember. You talked a few times, even with the loose and incoherent words, Death heard you. And she was saddened by every word you said. With the self-loathing that society forced upon you at every step of your life.

Vidal didn't know how to calm you down, so she did the only thing that came to her mind at the moment. She ran to you, grabbed your face and kissed you on the mouth.

It was just a light brush of lips. Rio wanted to show you that she liked you, but you hadn't stopped talking. She wanted you to listen now.

"I see you, S/N" the woman in front of you tried to wipe away your tears, in vain. They kept coming freely. "I see you and I understand you" you found yourself relaxing your face towards the hand that caressed you. "I want to kill all those idiots who once hurt you, because you, Y/N Y/S, are an incredible woman. And not a "it thing", I am sure".

You wanted to complain, but Rio didn't let you. She wasn't finished.

"S/N, you're so sweet, so selfless, you have such a good heart" Rio continued. "Never believe anyone who tells you otherwise, because you are beautiful. Beautiful inside and out. Your life is worth living" by the look she gave you, you saw the truth in her eyes. She truly believed the words she said, even if you didn't. "I think you are the prettiest girl in the world, and The Death doesn't lies, sweetie".

Y/N couldn't answer, your body gave out and you passed out. Rio caught you before you fell and carried you to your bed.

"It's okay, my love" Rio whispered, kissing you on the forehead "I can be strong for both of us, until you make it"

-------

You woke up completely healed. Rio would leave you alone now, if you wish. It would break her heart, but she wanted you happy.

You didn't need to look around to know she was still there.

"Are you ever going to leave?" You stood up, sitting up.

"Only if you want to" Rio approached you, this time you didn't back away, but you didn't answer her.

With the physical healing, you began to remember the previous weeks and found yourself enjoying her presence; the moments you spent together. A smile escaped your lips and it did not go unnoticed by Rio.

"May I?" Vidal pointed to the space next to you and you nodded. You felt the bed sink with the new weight, and you looked down at your hands; you were suddenly embarrassed, very aware of yesterday's closeness.

"Thank you," you thanked, realizing that the cuts from yesterday were still present on your skin.

Rio nodded. "I apologize for before, I shouldn't have done that without your permission, if they were important to you."

Rio didn't apologize for saving your life. That, she didn't regret it for a second. She would do it again if she had to, but Rio really hoped it was the first and last time.

Y/N didn't answer, instead asking another question.

"Do you really like me?" You were afraid of the answer, both the "yes" and the "no."

"Yes, I do." That simple sentence made Y/N look into Vidal's soft eyes. You saw the same thing as yesterday: Unconditional love. You still.don't know how it's possible for Death to fall in love with someone like you, "And I want to be with you."

You opened your mouth, but quickly closed it. Everything that had happened to you flashed through your mind.

"The heart doesn't choose who it falls in love with, Y/N." Rio realized that you were afraid of getting hurt again, maybe it would be better to leave you alone.

"You don't have to answer, dear. I won't take up any more of your time." Death stood up, ready to leave and never see you again, if that was what you wanted.

"Wait..." you asked, your voice barely louder than a whisper, "stay." You grabbed her hand and squeezed it lightly.

Rio turned around and listened carefully.

"I... I like your company." you continued.

The "I like you too" was still stuck in your throat. You couldn't say it yet, it was too early. Fortunately, Death is a patient being.

"And from what I remember these past few weeks, I had a lot of fun with you," you sighed. "But I can't return your love." You looked at the floor, embarrassed. "I don't know how to love someone or be loved, I don't even know how to love myself."

Rio was silent for a few minutes. Y/N was sure she had lost her chance at happiness.

"Oh, darling," Rio knelt in front of you and caressed your face, softly. You could get used to this every day. "I can teach you to love yourself, like I love you...if you let me. I want to spend my eternity by your side."

Her eyes were so beautiful and bright, you could get lost in their immensity. You could love her over time, you know that. You just have to let yourself.

You nodded slightly and Rio smiled, moving closer.

"May I?" She asked for the second time that day, but this time it was to kiss you. You smiled, taking the initiative now.

It would be a long journey for the two of you, with some ups and downs, but Y/N would never feel hated again. Rio Vidal would kill everyone before they had the chance to hurt you.

#agatha all along #rio vidal x reader #rio x reader #rio vidal

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dawngyu · 5 months ago

Text

THE SCIENTIST

pairing: popular hueningkai x deaf fem!reader

summary: Kai, who thrived in sound. Loud noise, vibrant conversations, the hum of life. And the quiet girl that sits prettily by the window—had begun to haunt his mind—stirring his heart the way only music ever had.

There must be some scientific explanation for this... right?

warnings: deaf reader, set in 1995 timeline, verbal!abuse, physical!abuse, family-trauma, ableism!(hate this word so much). side character!death, purely work of fiction. subtle implications of survivor guilt, high-school setting but everyone is 18 and above. everything written here is not a description of any idols. characters like chae-won, yun-jin etc are used. if any of the warnings above might be triggering for you, please proceed with caution if you decided to read. (let me know if i missed anything.)

smutwarnings: explicit!smut, pull-out method(pls don't),fingering!, missionary!, virginity!loss. MDNI.

wc: 21k

notes: inspired by twinkling watermelon. while I’ve done some research to better understand what it’s like to be deaf, there may still be inaccuracies. I did my best to approach the subject with care and respect. love knows no boundaries, hence I wrote this piece. a big thank you to my beta reader.

You were born with the inability to hear anything.

The world is nothing but a muted place for you. You never heard the birds singing at dawn, the hum of a bustling street, or the warmth in your parents’ voices—even your own. The sun might be painting the sky with its warm hues, but for you, it was just another day of deafening silence.

And then there was that one particular day.

You didn’t hear the crash, the scream of tyres, or the shattering glass. You didn’t hear your mother's voice, soft and trembling, as she held you close. Eyes brimming with tears, searching yours, face pale and streaked with blood.

You tried—desperately—to focus, to read the words forming on her lips. But your head spun, the world blurred, and all you could feel was her cold hands cradling your face. How can you? When you couldn't even hear your own pained whimpers from the glass that cut your skin. Strangers pulled you. They carried you away—away from her, away from her forever.

You’ve convinced yourself it must be punishment—a cruel reckoning from a life before this one.

Why else would your hearing be taken from you? Why else would the universe strip away the one person who truly saw you, who tried to understand you, even in your silence? What crime could have been so unforgivable that it warranted a lifetime of loss?

You stabbed at the food on your plate, pushing it around without taking a bite. Your stomach churned—not from hunger but from being trapped here. The room was filled with people who called themselves your family. Family—nothing more than a coincidence of living in the same house.

A sharp kick to your foot snapped you out of your thoughts. Your eyes met hers—your stepmother. Her perfectly practised smile didn’t reach her cold, calculating eyes.

She had arrived after the accident, ten years ago, when you were just eight. Back then, she was a tutor, brought in to give your father hope—a cruel, empty hope that you could still learn to speak. She had played her role well, and now she sat at the head of this table, the head of this house, ruling with her own. Her daughters—your stepsisters—sat on either side of her, mirroring her expressions, their eyes flickering toward you.

“Is the food not to your liking?” she asked—you read her lips, something you had to do out of necessity. Her stare burned into you.

You knew that look too well. Behave. Know your place.

And, as always, your father sat there, oblivious. His eyes never caught the disdain in hers, never lingered long enough to notice the cracks in the perfect picture she painted. Soon, he'll be back overseas for another business trip.

"Y/N?"

You hesitated, lifting your hand to sign, then you caught her eye—a sharp, pointed look. Your hand faltered, dropping back to your side.

Instead, you let out a hum. It wasn’t much, just a sound—a vibration you couldn’t hear but felt in your throat. She tilted her head slightly, giving a satisfied nod.

Your father pushed back his chair, standing with the same distracted air he always had. He walked over to you, placing a hand on your head, a gesture so routine it barely meant anything anymore. I’m going now. That was what it always meant.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead briefly, before straightening up. His secretary hovered near the door. You watched his back as he walked out, leaving you staring from the table.

The day your mother left you, you lost... him too.

Seeing the doors close, you rose from your seat, but your stepmother was quicker, blocking your path. She loomed, her face a mask of forced patience. "Do I need to remind you again?" she said, "I said speak. No hand signs or whatever that is. That is not allowed here on this house. Do you want me to get mad at you again?"

Her glare felt like a physical force, pinning you to the spot. Unable to meet her eyes, you nodded weakly, looking at the floor. But she wasn’t done. She stepped closer, grabbing your shoulders in a firm, punishing grip. Her fingers dug into your skin as she shook you, her frustration spilling over.

Everyone watched. They just.. watched. The maids stood frozen in the corner, their expressions carefully blank, devoid of any emotion, too scared to intervene. Your stepsisters whispered to each other, their mocking smiles only adding to the humiliation.

You nodded again, your only escape was to comply. A soft hum escaped your lips, the sound she always, always insisted on, a token of submission that seemed to satisfy her. Her hands drop from your shoulders. The moment her grip released, you ran. Up the stairs, down the hall, into the only place that felt remotely yours—your room.

Once inside, you collapsed at your desk, leaning forward until your forehead pressed against the hard surface. The tears came quickly, spilling from your eyes as sobs racked your chest. They said crying was supposed to help, to lighten the burden somehow. But for you, it only made the weight heavier. You couldn’t even hear yourself cry. The silence made your pain feel endless.

In your despair, your arm knocked into something on the desk. You looked up in alarm, your heart skipping as you saw the mess. Paints, scattered and spilling, teetered dangerously close to the last drawing you had finished the night before.

Frantically, you reached out, your hands moving quickly to fix it. The thought of losing that small piece—felt unbearable. You righted the paints and saved the smudged edges of the paper, tears blurred your vision as you looked at the sketch.

A boy, in your uniform, with bangs that fell over his eyes and the back of his hair just shy of touching his collar, stood smiling softly. In his hands, he held a guitar, fingers resting gently on the strings.

Huening Kai has so much to be delighted for—his mom, his dad, his sweet sisters—but if he’s being frank, what he’s most thankful for is the day he picked up a guitar and found his love for it.

Music has been his refuge during both the small, frustrating setbacks—like failing a math test he poured hours into studying for or losing a manga he cherished so much and never finding it again—and the moments that cut far deeper.

It was there when his parents decided to end their marriage, leaving him struggling at first—to make sense of a family that no longer looked the same. It was there when Lea packed her things and left for college, that he felt the ache of her absence in a much quieter house. It was there when two of his bandmates graduated, their spots in the group left empty, a reminder of how quickly life can change.

Through music, he met people who became his closest friends, his second family—people he couldn’t imagine living without.

It all comes back to one truth: music doesn’t betray you. It’s always there, no matter what. It’s honest, a constant in a world that often feels anything but. It’s there when you need it most, wrapping you in its arms like an old friend who doesn’t need words to understand—even when you can’t find them yourself.

“Huening Kai!” a high-pitched voice calls out. He feels the soft thud of pillows hitting him and a sharp slap against the back of his thigh. Seriously? He had just fallen asleep.

“I’m going to eat all your food if you don’t get up,” the voice threatens. That gets his attention. Groaning, he blinks his eyes open, adjusting to the dim light of his room. Familiar sight of used guitars propped against the wall, the gleam of trophies, and the dark violet hue that wraps around the room.

He blinks. Oh. It’s his sister, Hiyyih.

Hiyyih stands there, a plate in one hand, an annoyed look plastered across her face. Kai can tell she’s been sent by their mom to rouse him, probably against her will. She takes a deliberate bite of scrambled eggs, her eyes narrowing as she gives him a pointed look before turning to leave.

Kai chuckles softly, shaking his head as he rubs his eyes. He stretches, muscles still heavy, and a frown tugs at his lips. Today is the first day of his last year in high school. The final chapter. Soobin and Yeonjun won’t be there anymore. He sighs, swinging his leg off the bed.

He runs a hand to his tousled hair, grabs a hoodie from the back of his chair and pulls it over his head. He heads towards the chatter—smell of eggs, bacon and pancakes makes his stomach growl.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," His mom greets him with a smile. His frame now towering over the kitchen shelves. He catches her watching him, a soft look in her eyes, and it makes him smile back.

"Morning," Kai mumbles, sits down at the table, reaching for a slice of toast.

Hiyyih watches him,"I thought I was going to have to eat all your food," she teases.

Kai rolls his eyes but grins. "You wish."

"Big day, huh? Last first day of school."

"Yeah. It feels… weird. Soobin and Yeonjun aren’t going to be there. Has Lea called yet?"

"She did. She's doing great so far, being a college girl." his mom answers, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure you'll make even greater memories this year."

Kai smiles, appreciating her words. "Thanks, Mom."

Breakfast was filled with small talk, morning routines wrapping around them. Hiyyih busied herself packing her lunch, their mom helping her with a few finishing touches. Being just a year below Kai, their schedules almost mirrored each other, so they will go to school together.

"Kai, want me to sneak some of these into your lunch?" Hiyyih asked, voice dripping with exaggerated sweetness. He glanced over to see her holding up rice balls shaped like hearts and little animals, clearly proud of her handiwork.

"No, thank you," Kai replied, his tone flat but amused.

"Killjoy," she muttered, giving him a mock glare before returning to her task. He watches as she carefully places a tiny heart-shaped piece of seaweed to form a cat's nose. Something he did not understand.

Why go through all that effort?

The three of them make their way to their mom’s old car, a little worn but still reliable. Kai slips into the passenger seat, and Hiyyih climbs into the back, fussing with her hair even though she just brushed it a minute ago.

“Why don’t you let me drive?” Kai asks as the car starts rolling through the neighborhood. “That way you don’t have to keep going back and forth from school to home.”

His mom glances at him, a smile tugging at her lips. “Son, just because you turned 18 last summer doesn’t mean I’m handing over the keys. Besides,” she adds warmly, “I want to do this for you and Hiyyih.”

Kai leans back in his seat, nodding. She’s right. And anyway, it’s not like they head home together after school. His afternoons are spent in the band room while Hiyyih flits between her own plans, always busy with something or some girlfriends.

The car rolls up to the massive school grounds, Kai glances out the window. The sight of students milling around, the towering building ahead—it’s the same as always. He exhales and starts gathering his things.

He steps out, the crisp air latch on his face. With a quick ruffle of his hair, he pushes his longer bangs away from his eyes, though they fall back almost immediately. The strands at the back have grown out too, brushing the collar of his jacket. Slinging his backpack over his right shoulder and his guitar case over his left, he adjusts the weight and sets off toward the main building. Black—headphones rest around his neck.

He’s barely made it a few steps before he feels it—the stares. The whispers.

“Isn’t he one of the handsome seniors?” “The main guitarist of TXT.” — “He’s so tall. And cute.”

Kai shrugs it off, keeping his focus ahead. He’s used to it. Beside him, Hiyyih is already swept up by one of her friends, her laughter fading into the background after she’s pulled in another direction. His feet carried him down the well-worn hallway, a path he didn’t even have to think about. He could probably make the walk blindfolded. The band room.

When he reached the door, he grasped the doorknob and paused, a small smirk tugging at his lips as the low, bassline thrummed from inside. Peeking inside, the sight was just as he expected—home.

“Yo! Huening Kai!” Beomgyu’s voice rang out, bright and animated, as he set his bass down. His grin widened as he crossed the room in a few quick steps, pulling Kai into a hug before he could dodge. “How was your summer?”

Kai let out a soft laugh, prying Beomgyu’s arms off him. “It was fine. I went shopping with Taehyun a couple of times,” he said, making his way toward his guitar shelf. “Watch it.” he added, shooting Beomgyu a look as the other trailed dangerously close behind.

Beomgyu’s eyes landed on the guitar case Kai was carrying, and his grin turned sly. “What’s this? A new baby?”

“Yeah,” Kai replied, carefully unzipping the case and pulling the guitar out as if it were a fragile treasure. “Dad brought it back from abroad.”

Beomgyu snickered, reaching out to pinch Kai’s cheek. “You’re absolutely smitten, aren’t you?”

“Would you stop?” Kai swatted his hand away, but there was no hiding the small, proud smile tugging at his lips.

Before Beomgyu could tease him further, the door swung open again. Taehyun stepped inside, clipboard in hand, expression calm and no-nonsense as usual. “The new auditionees are here,” he announced, motioning to the two figures who followed him in.

“This is Heeseung,” Taehyun said, gesturing to the taller one. “He’s here to audition for piano. And Jay—he’s trying out for drums.”

Kai glanced at the newcomers, giving them a polite nod as Beomgyu rubbed his hands together, mischievous grin returning. "Alright," Beomgyu said, "let’s see what they’ve got."

The next hour flew by with skills checks, and it didn’t take long for them to see that Heeseung and Jay were solid. They were skilled, sharp, and seemed to fit right into the gaps left by Soobin and Yeonjun. It felt like they could pick up the left space and carry it forward without missing a beat.

Afterwards, Taehyun waved them off, heading to his next class, while Kai and Beomgyu walked in the opposite direction. They shared the same class, while Taehyun, ever the academic overachiever, headed to the advanced one.

“Only the brainiacs go there,” Beomgyu says, nudging Kai with his elbow.

Kai shook his head. Taehyun’s class was famous for being perfectly orderly—a stark contrast to theirs, which was noisy and chaotic on a good day. Their room always felt like the epicentre of the school’s commotion, every day.

The rest of the hours passed in a blur of introductions and meetings with their new advisors. And, of course, Kai’s least favourite math teacher made his return, every bit as strict as before.

Kai slouched in his chair, barely stifling a groan as the teacher droned on about equations and formulas. His mind drifted—Why do he even need this? Is he going to calculate the quadratic formula to buy chips at the grocery store? No.

He glanced down at his hands, the faint calluses on his fingertips from hours of guitar practice catching his eye. He’d much rather spend his time until his hands were sore than trying to decipher problems that made no sense to him.

Beomgyu leaned over, “I think your brain just checked out.”

Kai grinned, giving him a light shove. “Math checked me out first.”

The two of them exchanged quiet laughter, abruptly stopping when the teacher eyed them down.

By the time the last class wrapped up at 4 p.m., Kai found himself right back where he’d started his day: the band room. He and his four bandmates were deep into their after-school practice, bestowed in instruments, time slipped by unnoticed.

“Shoot,” Jay muttered, his gaze snapping to the wall clock. 7:30 p.m. Thirty minutes past the curfew for club rooms.

The realization hit them all at once. If the guards caught them here, it would mean one thing: detention.

“Pack up. Now,” Taehyun said, already slinging his bag over his shoulder. The others scrambled to gather their own gear.

Everyone slipped out into the dark, quiet halls, trying to move as silently as possible. The sound of their footsteps seemed louder.

“Hey! Who’s there?” A booming voice cut through, and suddenly, ta flash of light caught them mid-step.

“Go!” someone hissed, and chaos erupted. The guard started running toward them, and they bolted in every direction. Beomgyu let out a panicked squeal as he sprinted with his bass case clutched in one hand.

Kai didn’t have time to think—he just ran, heart pounded as his legs carried him blindly through the halls. He rounded a corner, only to see another guard up ahead. The group split, scattering.

He can’t get detention on the first day. His lungs burned as he pushed himself further. He kept running, not even sure where he was going, until his body… gave out.

Panting, he slumped near the wall, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He glanced over his shoulder and froze. A flashlight beam swept the hallway behind him. His pulse quickened as he realized he was at a dead end.

Frantically, his eyes darted around, then saw a room ahead. Kai’s brow furrowed at the sight of the mop propped against the door handle, clearly used as a makeshift way to keep it shut. Weird.

He hurried over, carefully removing the mop, and slipped inside. The room was pitch dark, save for the faint glow of light spilling in from the high windows. It cast eerie shadows on the walls, but he didn’t care. He just needed to hide.

Kai tried flipping the light switch, but nothing happened. Figures, he thought bitterly. He shut the door as quietly as he could, pressing his back against it to steady his breathing.

“Anyone there?” The sound of footsteps echoed outside. The guard’s flashlight swept across the small window in the door, and Kai instinctively slid to the floor, curling himself. He crawled, akwardly, backwards, toward the corner at the far end of the room, hoping to make himself as invisible as possible.

But something bumped against his foot. He whipped his head around, his breath catching in his throat. Sitting in the corner was someone else.

You.

Your legs were drawn up to your chest, wide eyes staring right back at him.

“Shi—” Kai started to curse but stopped himself, clapping a hand over his mouth—heart hammered in his chest, not sure if it was your unexpected presence in the room that caused it—or the way your wide, startled eyes locked onto his in this small space.

Chae-won, like you, is in her final year of high school, while Yun-jin is a year below. Your stepsisters.

When they first moved in, your twelve-year-old self had hoped you could be... friends. You had imagined shared secrets, laughter, and maybe even sisterly bonds. But the moment your father’s attention shifted elsewhere, it was clear that your stepmother’s whispers had already planted seeds of resentment in their hearts.

You couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it started. When did it all go wrong? Was it because you were the only biological daughter in the house? Because your father, despite his best intentions, never really connected with them either? Or was it simply because you couldn’t speak?

The inability to communicate fully, to bridge the gap between your world and theirs, seemed to widen the chasm. You often wondered if things would have been different if you could—if words could have built a room where silence had only erected walls.

After years of trying, of reaching out and being met with cold indifference or outright hostility, you gave up. You stopped hoping for understanding, stopped yearning for a connection that seemed impossible. The effort of trying to be part of their society when they wanted nothing to do with yours had only broken your heart.

"Watch where you're going, fucking weirdo," Chae-won sneers, her foot juts out, sending you stumbling. The water bucket you were carrying—filled with the murky grey water of used paintbrushes—tips forward, dousing your chest. You don’t hear the laughter, but you can feel it, buzzing around you in the painting room.

You look up, your gaze darts to Yun-jin. She leans against the counter, arms crossed, her painted red lips curved into a smug smirk. She raises an eyebrow, as if daring you to do something about it.

You’re in your school's art room, surrounded by the faint smell of turpentine and dried paint. Art has always been your peace. But your love for it didn’t go unnoticed by your stepmother.

It wasn’t long before she pushed her daughters into it too. You’re not sure if it was to force some kind of twisted togetherness between you, or if it was her way of ensuring they would always outshine you, in everything—even this.

You push yourself up, your clothes clinging to your body, damp. Your eyes narrow as you stare at Chae-won. You want to tell her off, to demand an apology, to ask why she does this—

"Cat got your tongue?" she taunts, her lips curl into a cruel grin. "Oh, wait. You can’t speak. Poor girl. That’s what you get for being such an attention seeker."

Your breath hitches as your brows knit in fury. You can’t reply with words, but actions—actions—will do just fine.

As she turns to leave, you grab her hair, yanking it back with all the frustration and hurt bottled up. She shrieks, spinning around to claw at you, and soon you’re both tangled in a fierce struggle.

The others jump in.

Someone grabs your arm, wrenching it back. Another slaps you hard across the face, the sting reverberating through your skull. A foot connects with your leg, sending you buckling. You hit the ground again, tasting blood on your lips as they shove you down.

Your things are heartlessly thrown at you—your bag, your books, your sketchpad—hitting you like stones. Footsteps retreating, laughter echoing in their faces. They close the door before you can even blink.

You force yourself to your feet, every movement a struggle against the ache in your body. You stumble to the door, testing the handle. It doesn’t budge. Of course, it doesn’t. They’ve done this before.

Silence.

You sink back down onto the hard floor, your chest heaving as tears spill freely down your cheeks. Trembling hands reach up to the corner of your lips, fingers brushing the split skin. The sting makes you wince.

The clock ticks on, indifferent. 4:50 p.m.

You take a shuddering breath and wipe your tears with unsteady hands. You smooth your hair, trying to tame the mess they made of it. With a quick swipe, you clear the blood from your mouth, leaving behind only the faint metallic taste.

All you can do now is wait. Alone—praying—that someone will come and find you in this empty room.

What you didn’t expect was that someone would come—three hours later, long after the sun had set. You’d been staring at the door for so long that when it finally creaked open, you were already halfway to your feet.

But then you froze.

It’s him.

Of all people, it’s him.

You swallowed the surprise in your throat, pulse-quickening as you watched him slip inside, crouching low, moving backward like he was avoiding something.

He was hiding. From what, you didn’t know—not until a beam of light swept across the windows above, brushing against the walls like a searching hand. Your body stiffened, instinct telling you to stay still.

You weren’t sure you could.

When his gaze finally landed on you, the shock in his expression was unmistakable—and you knew yours mirrored his. Suspended in that shared disbelief.

“Quiet, please,” his lips shaped the words. His hand rose, a single finger pressing against his mouth. The dim light barely reached him, but you caught the faint pink of his lips.

Minutes passed. Neither of you spoke, just staring at each other like you were both trying to figure out something. He shifted, his eyes widening in alarm.

“B-blood,” he stammered, pointing at your forehead.

Your hand shot up instinctively, fingers brushing against the skin there. When you pulled it back, you saw it—smudges of red streaking your fingertips.

He's as startled as you, he tapped his chest, like he was trying to centre himself, and quickly rummaged through his pocket. He pulled out a handkerchief, holding it out to you with a slightly trembling hand.

You didn’t take it. You couldn’t. It must be the ache in your bones, the hunger in your stomach, the blood still fresh on your hands—or maybe... your mind was still catching up to the fact that he was here, standing this close to you.

When you didn’t move, he took another step forward, hesitating only briefly before carefully pressing the cloth to your forehead. His touch was cautious, you could feel the warmth of his hand through the fabric.

From this close, you could smell him. Clean, with a faint trace of musk, and something sweet underneath. You hated how your chest tightened because of it.

“What happened? Why are you here?” he asked, his fingers were steady as he wiped the blood from your skin. His brow furrowed as he inspected the small cut, his concern written plainly on his face. “Did someone lock you in?”

You shook your head, hesitant. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, so you let your gaze fall somewhere—anywhere—but on his eyes.

He didn’t press for more. “Let’s get out of here.”

His hand found yours. All you could do was stare at your entwined fingers. You can feel the tip of your ears go warm. He gave it a gentle squeeze before he stood and pulled you up from the cold, unforgiving floor.

The boy who had only ever been a distant figure to you. The boy you’d sketched on countless pages, the one whose smile crinkled his eyes so perfectly it made your chest ache. The boy you were sure didn’t even know you existed.

He pulls you out of this suffocating room. His tall, sure figure led, guiding you as you ran. Every so often, he glances back, his eyes searching yours and for a fleeting moment, you glance down and see your shadows on the wall—together. His hands never let go of yours until you weren't in the dark anymore.

Huening Kai.

Kai slouches in his seat, letting out another heavy sigh. His body’s in class, sure, but his mind? It’s stuck somewhere else—somewhere back last night.

He can’t stop thinking about you. And he's not sure why.

You both made it out of the school grounds safely, and he even helped you gather your things from your locker. He stood there awkwardly, watching when you downed a bottle of water in one long gulp like your life depended on it. His suspicions were confirmed—someone did lock you in that room.

How long had you waited, sitting there in the dark? His stomach churned at the thought. What if he hadn’t been hiding that way? What if no one had found you? The idea of you spending the entire night in that empty space until a teacher or janitor happened upon you made his heart race. It’s… eating him alive.

But the thing that gets him, the part he can’t stop replaying, is how… quiet you were. No explanations, no complaints—just a nod here and there, avoiding his eyes the whole time. Did he cross a line? Say something wrong? Overstep somehow? Did he offend you without realizing? Or worse—do you just not like him?

He rubs the back of his neck. And yet, despite all that, he also can’t stop thinking about how your eyes seem soft under the moonlight, making them look so—

“Dude.” Beomgyu’s voice cuts, “What’s with the brooding? Bell rang.”

Kai glances around the classroom. Almost empty. “Oh. Right. Nothing,” he mumbles, grabbing his bag.

Beomgyu narrows his eyes. “You’ve been sulking like my dog when I don’t share my snacks.”

Kai remained silent, pouting and followed Beomgyu out of the classroom. It’s lunch now, and as usual, they’re headed to meet Taehyun at the cafeteria. Heeseung and Jay will probably join them too.

Walking through the hall, Kai forces a polite smile at the people who greet him. Beomgyu, on the other hand, is his usual exuberant self, grinning and dapping up every other guy who greets him as they pass.

The two make their way into the cafeteria, people stared. They walk toward their usual spot, a table near the centre of the room. No one ever sits there. Everyone knows—it’s their table. Yeonjun made that mark. It's an unspoken rule.

Kai drops into his seat, setting his bag down and pulling out his packed lunch. The cafeteria food doesn’t really do it, not when his mom’s food is always better.

“What do you have?” Beomgyu asks, leaning over.

“Tempura and some beef,” Kai replies, popping a piece of shrimp into his mouth.

“Give me some,” Beomgyu demands, already reaching for his chopsticks. Kai rolls his eyes but slides the container a little closer, watching as Beomgyu happily steals a piece.

Taehyun walks in, weaving the crowded tables with his usual stride. “You're early,” he greets, his seat across from them. "That's a record."

Kai’s eyes flick toward the entrance, catching sight of you slipping. You moved slowly, clutching your tumbler. You keep your head low, glancing around as if to make sure no one’s watching. Kai stands, pushing his chair back abruptly. He can't miss this chance.

Beomgyu pauses mid-bite, raising an eyebrow. “What’re you doing?”

Taehyun gives him a sideways glance. “Kai?” Kai ignored them. He just heads toward you.

“Hey,” he calls out, but you don’t turn. Hesitating for only a second, he gently taps your shoulder.

You whirl around. Your grip tightens on the water bottle, and your eyes widen slightly when you realise it’s him. Around you, a few people glance over.

“Hey,” he says again, softer this time. “How’s your head?” He tilts his own slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of the bandaid peeking out near your hairline. “That looks better,” he murmurs.

“Would you like to join us for lunch?” He points behind him toward his table when you don't answer, where Beomgyu and Taehyun are undoubtedly watching. As he expected, you shake your head quickly, almost instinctively, avoiding his eyes.

The small rejection stings more than it should. Kai nods, trying to hide his disappointment. “Alright,” he mutters. Then, before he can second-guess himself, he gently takes the tumbler from your hands.

He heads to the water station, fills it to the brim, screws the cap on tightly, and hands it back to you. “Here,” he says simply. It's small. But he wanted to do it for you.

You nod, a small, polite gesture, and turn to leave without a word or a backward glance.

Kai watches you, chest tight. When he trudges back to his table, Beomgyu’s smirk is already waiting for him.

“What was that about?” Taehyun asks, leaning forward.

“I was just checking on her,” Kai mumbles, slumping into his seat. “She never talks to me. I don’t get it.”

Taehyun’s gaze sharpens, and he studies Kai for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh. “She can’t,” he finally says, voice calm but firm.

Kai blinks, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“She can’t hear you.” Taehyun explains, his tone softening. “She’s deaf, Kai,”

Taehyun filled Kai in, sharing what he knew about you.

Kai was surprised to learn that you were in the same advanced class. As always, you kept everything to yourself. Taehyun admitted he had tried reaching out to you before—once or twice—but even he hadn’t gotten far.

“She’s… just quiet,” Taehyun said with a shrug. “Not just because she’s deaf, either. I’ve tried writing things down for her, you know? Like, in a notebook, to make it easier. But she only ever gives one-word answers. A ‘yes’ here, a ‘no’ there.” He sighed, “It’s hard to get through to her.”

Kai leaned back in his seat, dragging a hand through his hair. Guilt tugged at him. He’d been so quick to assume you were ignoring him, brushing him off on purpose. But now?

Now, he couldn’t stop imagining what it must have been like for you that night. Locked, no way to call for help, no way to know if anyone was coming. Alone. Not even the sounds of footsteps approaching to give you hope.

He swallowed hard, his chest tightening. Would he have been able to handle that? Sitting there for hours, completely cut off from the world? Probably not. He’d have broken down.

That's why Kai finds himself walking in the opposite direction of his classroom, away from Beomgyu’s puzzled stare. He doesn’t look back. His feet carry him toward where Taehyun had gone—toward where he knows you are.

The hallway buzzes with life. Groups of students linger outside classrooms, laughing and chatting, their voices blending into the hour of lunch break. A few glance his way as he passes, curiosity in their eyes.

Kai’s steps slow as he approaches the room. The back entrance gives him a clear view inside. His eyes scan the rows of desks. Someone calls his name. Heads turn, smiles and greetings thrown his way.

But not yours.

You’re sitting in the front row, by the window, farthest from where he stands. The sunlight filters through the glass, casting a soft glow over you. There’s a sketchbook open on your desk, the pages large and blank except for the lines you’re drawing with practised ease. The way your hand moves—purposeful—tells him this is second nature to you.

You’re so focused, so completely lost, that you don’t notice the subtle breeze dancing through the window. It catches your hair, making it sway just enough to draw his attention.

He watches as you pause, tucking the stray strands behind your ear before continuing with your sketch. You look just like him whenever he's with his guitar. Kai feels something tighten in his chest.

You look beautiful.

He doesn’t even know your name. But now, he wants to. More than anything, he wants the honour of knowing you.

It’s free time now, and the history teacher had just left. Most of the class scattered—some heading out to the grounds, others roaming the halls for a little fun. But you stayed. You always stayed.

The thought of running into your stepsisters made your stomach turn. They acted so innocent the night you came home, as if they had nothing to do with your wound. Your stepmother, of course, scolded you for being late, hurling her usual cutting remarks, but she didn’t dig any deeper. Sometimes you wondered if she knew—if she already suspected it was her daughters who had done it and simply chose to stay oblivious.

You sighed, flipping another page of your book, trying to block out the noise in your head.

The sudden sight of a chair being pulled up in front of your desk jolted you. You look up.

Huening Kai.

He was sitting right there, a small, easy smile on his face. His eyes held a kind of softness you weren’t used to. And then, he waved.

Your eyes widened in surprise, and instinctively, you turned your head to check if he was talking to someone else. Surely, this wasn’t for you. But the room was nearly empty. The only other person was fast asleep at the back.

Kai watches as you glance around nervously, he might have thought how beautiful you were from afar, but sitting this close now—you’re breathtaking.

When your eyes meet his again, questioning, he clears his throat and speaks. “Hi.”

You nod, silent—attentive. His voice softens, deliberate as he says the next words slowly, “Can I have your name?”

It takes a moment for the meaning to click, and then you’re reaching for your bag, fingers fumbling slightly as you pull out a notebook—the one you use to communicate.

Kai watches as you flip through the pages, landing on a blank one. You jot something down quickly and then turn it toward him.

Y/N.

He reads it, and a smile breaks across his face, his dimple appearing. You notice for the first time the delicate constellation of beauty marks scattered across his skin. How it suits him.

“Y/N,” he repeats, your name rolling off his tongue like he’s trying it out for the first time. His gaze lifts to meet yours. “That’s a pretty name.”

The compliment catches you off guard, and heat rises to your cheeks. You look away—embarrassed. His fingers tap lightly on your desk, drawing your attention back.

“How are you?” he asks.

You write, I’m okay.

Kai reads it, his brows furrowing slightly. Without hesitation, he leans in, his voice low but insistent. “Does anyone bother you? You know… when I found you that night. That wasn’t an accident, was it?”

You stare at him, lips parting slightly in surprise. Kai thinks for a moment that maybe you didn’t catch what he said. But then, slowly, you lift your pen: Why?

Just as he opens his mouth to explain, you’re already writing again.

Is it because you pity me? You’re looking at him now—directly, unflinchingly.

He doesn't want you to misunderstand anything. So he gently takes the pen from your hand, his fingers brushing yours for a moment. Without saying a word, he leans down and writes his response in your notebook.

Because I want to be your friend...

Your breath catches as you read his words. He adds another line beneath it, the letters a little bolder this time.

And because no one deserves what happened to you.

Kai looks at you then, his expression earnest and open, waiting. The notebook sits between you, and the sound of a new bridge forming in the back of your mind.

When you didn't write anything back, he glances down and picks up the pen again, his handwriting slow and deliberate.

By the way, my name is—

Before he can finish, you reach forward, your hand brushing his ever so slightly making him freeze. You write, finishing it for him.

Kai. Right?

The faintest flicker of surprise crosses his face when he sees what you’ve written. His lips twitch into a small smile, trying his hardest not to let out a wide grin.

You look up, meeting his gaze again, and shrug lightly as if to say, Of course, I know who you are.

Everybody knows you.

The words hang there on the page, Kai blinks, processing your response, and then lets out a soft laugh, his shoulders shaking gently, lips slightly apart.

You watch him, a strange ache tugs at your chest. You wonder, How does his laugh sound? Does it sound as pretty as he looks? Now, you're wishing for something you’ve trained yourself not to want—a window into the world you’ve long been shut out of.

It'll be nice to hear his laugh.

The two of you spent the rest of your free time in that same spot. You talked—or rather, wrote—filling the pages of your notebook with conversation. He was surprisingly talkative, and before you knew it, you'd used up two blank pages. When the conversation naturally faded, you went back to your book, but this time, you pulled another one from your bag and handed it to Kai. He took it with a small smile and began to read as well.

There you were, two students, sitting across from each other, lost in your own worlds yet somehow sharing the same one. The room felt warmer, leaving just the two of you in the bubble. You were aware of the flush in your cheeks, the way it stubbornly lingered, but you didn’t mind.

You snapped out of your thoughts when you noticed classmates filtering back into the room. Their steps slowed as they took in the scene—Kai, the school’s band guitarist, slouched in front of your desk, reading quietly across from you, the school's outcast. The deaf girl. His long legs stretched out under the desk, almost touching yours.

He didn’t bother to look up. He didn’t greet them or acknowledge the weight of their stares. Instead, his eyes stayed on the page, though every now and then, they flickered back to you. Each time, he’d give you that same small, reassuring smile—the one that made your heart flutter.

He snapped out of it when your foot gently nudged his leg. The classroom was full now, with students bustling back to their seats, most kept stealing glances at Kai. Their eyes darted back and forth, curiosity written all over their faces, as if trying to make sense of why he was here with you.

Out of the corner, you saw Taehyun make his way over. You couldn’t catch their conversation—Taehyun’s body was turned slightly away—but it was clear from his expression that he was asking why Kai was here. Kai gave him a brief nod, and after a moment, Taehyun returned to his seat, still throwing occasional glances in your direction.

You glanced at the clock. Five minutes left of free time. Before you could process it, you felt a light tap on your shoulder. Kai stood, waving a quick goodbye. He slid his hands into his pockets, all eyes on him as he walked out.

He had just spent his entire free time here. Here, with you.

You swallowed hard, your heart thudding in your chest. Your gaze drifted down the newly etched words he left in your notebook.

See you later :>

You found yourself smiling at nothing, the memory of your afternoon with Kai playing over and over in your mind. Back home now, the evening settling around you, it felt.. warm.

With a watering can in hand, you moved through the small garden—your mother’s garden. It was one of the few things left untouched by your stepmother, a living memory of the woman who once nurtured it with care. What had started as a modest patch of green had grown into something more of a sanctuary.

Your gaze fell on the cornflowers nearby, their vivid blue seeming to shine a little brighter today. Maybe it was the light, or maybe it was the joy still bubbling in your chest, making everything around you seem more… alive, more beautiful. You crouched, fingers brushing gently against the petals, and it felt like your mother was right there, as if she, too, could sense the happiness blooming inside you.

Your thoughts were abruptly cut off by an icy cascade of water, soaking you from head to toe. The coldness stole your breath, bit into your skin and you let out a shriek, the shock more than you could bear. Spinning around, you found Chae-won standing there, a smug grin plastered on her face, the empty bucket tossed carelessly to the side. Behind her, Yun-jin stood with her arms crossed, her glare sharp.

"Are you a witch now, too?" Chae-won sneered, her voice dripping with mockery. Her eyes locked onto yours, glinting with cruel satisfaction. "For someone who's deaf, you're pretty damn loud."

Before you could react, she grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking you down with a force that sent you stumbling. Your knees hit the ground hard, the sting of the impact mixing with the cold that seeped into your clothes. You trembled, pain and humiliation washing over you.

"Kai? What did you say to him?" Chae-won continued. "What the fuck did you say to make him hang out with trash like you?"

Tears welled up in your eyes. You tried to stand, but Chae-won shoved you back down, making you cry out in frustration. You reached for her, desperate to defend yourself, but Yun-jin stepped in, pulling Chae-won away, smirking and enjoying your helplessness.

Chae-won then dusted off her shirt as if your touch had soiled her, letting out an exaggerated huff. "You better not think about—"

Her threat was cut short by the arrival of your stepmother. "Chae-won," She approached, her eyes sweeping over your sodden form with a detached disapproval. "Her father might come home today."

That was enough to make Chae-won and Yun-jin roll their eyes, angrily retreating into the house, but not before casting you one last withering glare.

Your stepmother's gaze lingered on the garden, then flicked back to you, her expression unreadable. "Fix yourself," she said coldly before turning away, following her daughters inside, as if she just didn't witness them assault you.

You wiped your tears with the back of your hand. The cold water seeped into your skin, its touch biting deep, while the chill of the night’s wind wrapped around you, amplifying the discomfort.

When—when—would they ever stop? When would they finally fail to crush anything close to the hope you dared to feel? You swallowed hard, heart hurt when you saw one of the cornflowers crushed, the delicate blue petals were bent and broken, scattered across the dirt like they didn’t matter.

Just like what they did to you.

Kai thrummed his guitar, his head bobbing in time with the beat as Jay kept pace on the drums. A wide grin spread across his face as he glanced at Jay, impressed. That guy could really play.

The upcoming festival had everyone excited, especially since their band was set to perform. It wasn’t just their idea; the school had practically begged them to be part of the lineup. Naturally, everyone agreed.

As the final song ended, Kai slung his guitar strap off and gave Heeseung and Jay playful pats on the back. “Good session,” he said, voice light. Taehyun had already disappeared for some student council meeting, and Beomgyu crouched near the amp, fiddling with the cables.

As Heeseung and Jay left the practice room, Beomgyu glanced up, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. “So… you caused quite a stir yesterday, huh.”

Kai paused, brow furrowing. “What are you talking about?”

Beomgyu leaned back, his arms crossed over his chest. “Everyone’s talking about you and… the deaf girl. How you were hanging out with her.”

Kai’s hand stilled on his guitar case. “Don’t call her that,” he said sharply, “She has a name.”

Beomgyu blinked, taken aback by the intensity of the glare Kai shot him. He raised his hands in mock surrender, smirk faltering. “Whoa, okay. Chill, man. That was disrespectful of me. I'm sorry.” Kai didn’t respond, his focus shifting back to securing his guitar. The other could tell he was still irritated.

“So,” Beomgyu's tone was now more careful. “What’s her name?”

Kai hesitated, his fingers pausing over the latch of the case. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, “Y/N.”

Beomgyu caught it—the way Kai’s whole demeanour shifted, softening just at the mention of your name. He grinned knowingly, a teasing glint in his eye.

“Oh, man, you’ve got it bad, huh?” Kai didn’t answer, but the way he bit his lip, was enough. Beomgyu chuckled, shaking his head as he stood. “You’re in deep, dude.”

The two of them walked out of the band room, sunlight streaming across the school grounds as they headed toward their next class. Kai’s guitar hung over his back, his steps light with anticipation. He had a plan for today’s free time—he was going to show it to you.

Then he froze.

“Why’d you stop?” Beomgyu asked, frowning at his friend’s sudden halt.

Kai’s gaze was locked on you. You were walking across the yard, a book clutched in your hand. But something was off. Your steps were uneven, almost shaky, like you were struggling to keep your balance. His chest tightened as he noticed you blink rapidly, expression dazed.

A cold knot of worry tightened in Kai’s chest.

Kai bolted toward you, his long strides eating up the distance between you in moments. The world around him blurred—voices, students, the sun—all of it drowned out by the urgency pounding in his chest. He reached you just as your legs gave up. You fell into his arms.

“Hey, hey,” he murmured, voice shaking. His hand settled on your face, and the heat of your skin sent alarm bells ringing in his mind. Scorching hot. A fever.

Your eyes fluttered closed, forehead creased, and face was pale. Too pale.

“What the hell happened?” Beomgyu’s voice came from somewhere behind him, but Kai barely registered it. "Is she okay?"

Without thinking, Kai shrugged off his guitar, letting it drop carelessly to the ground. “Help me,” he said quickly, his voice tight. He grabbed your arm, trying to shift your weight. Beomgyu caught on immediately, stepping forward to assist.

Together, they managed to lift you onto Kai’s back. His arms hooked under your legs, his grip firm but gentle as he adjusted you. “Hold on,” With you securely on his back, Kai broke into a run, his breath coming in quick.

“Slow down, man! You’re gonna trip!” Beomgyu followed close behind, clutching the guitar Kai had abandoned without a second thought—because of you.

The school nurse moved quickly, her practiced hands checking your temperature and administering care as Kai stepped back, his chest still heaving from the run. He stood there, hands on his hips, watching you, his heart refusing to slow down. Beomgyu excused himself, talks about getting water, leaving Kai alone.

His eyes fell on the notebook you had been clutching, which fell on the floor. He reached for it carelessly—a loose page slipped free, back to the floor. He crouched to pick it up, and the moment he turned it over, his breath caught.

It was a sketch. Of him.

Every detail was there, drawn with painstaking precision—the dusting of freckles on his cheeks, small moles he often forgot about, his jawline, his hair. The lines were sure, as though you had poured hours into capturing him just… right.

His throat tightened as he stared, unable to tear his eyes away. Was this really how you saw him?

Kai swallowed hard, and glanced at the rest of the page. Small sketches of cats bordered the margins, their playful forms lightening the otherwise focused artwork. A soft smile enters his lips when his eyes also land on your pen, its barrel adorned with tiny cat designs. His fingers touch the paper, careful not to smudge your work.

You're perfect, he thought, the words echoing in his head, shouting like a whispered confession. How could someone be so perfect?

Kai had to leave you at the clinic to attend classes.

He hesitated, lingering by the door, his eyes darting back to your still form on the cot. You were fast asleep, but the colour slowly returned to your cheeks. He wanted to stay, to make sure you were okay, but he knew he couldn’t. With a defeated sigh, he left. And you were gone when he returned.

"Someone came to fetch her," the nurse explained when he asked. He's still bothered. You were home now, he told himself, safe and resting. Right?

The next morning came, he sat at the kitchen counter. What he wanted to do first thing, was to see you. "Hiyyih,"

She glanced at him over her shoulder, her brow raised. "Yeah?"

"Can you, uh… can you make my lunch today?" Hiyyih stopped, turning fully to face him. "What? But I always make your lunch."

Kai shifted in his seat, awkwardly. "I mean… could you make it like yours?"

"Like mine? What do you mean, like mine?"

Kai hesitated, the words sticking in his throat. Finally, he blurted out, "The cat rice balls. Can you add those?" There was silence as Hiyyih stared at him, her lips tight. Then, she broke into a slow, knowing smirk. "Cat rice balls, huh?"

Kai felt the heat up his neck, and he quickly averted his stare. "Just—just make them, okay?" He groaned, dropping his head onto the counter.

Hiyyih burst out laughing, her teasing ringing through. Oh, he's sure. This was going to haunt him for days.

Kai spent the day in restless anticipation, his usual self replaced with something far more jittery. Even his friends couldn’t ignore it. He fidgeted during class, zoned out at times, and seemed to barely hear what anyone was saying.

It was all because of you.

When he saw Taehyun at band practice earlier, the first words out of his mouth weren’t about music. “Is she coming today?”

Taehyun had nodded, confirming you were attending class, and Kai had been trying—and failing—to calm his racing thoughts ever since. By lunchtime, the decision was made. He slung his bag over his shoulder, he turned to Beomgyu. "I’m skipping the cafeteria today."

Beomgyu just gave him a knowing look, his smirk light, teasing. "Didn’t think you needed to explain," he points out. "Your face already did."

Kai didn’t even bother denying it. Instead, he took a steadying breath and headed toward the one place he knew he’d find you. Your classroom.

His steps slowed when he spotted you inside, seated at your desk. The heaviness in his chest lifts. You were pulling open a lunch box, carefully arranging everything, your expression calm and focused.

He stepped inside, and when he was almost infront of you, you glanced up, your eyes widening slightly when you saw him.

"Hi," Kai said, a small, nervous smile sitting on his lips. You blinked, surprised, but a faint smile broke through as you set your chopsticks down.

He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly feeling warm under your gaze. "I, uh… I figured I’d check on you. Make sure you’re okay, you know… after the other day."

You nod, reaching for your notebook to write a reply, but Kai gently stopped you with a small shake of his hand. “You should eat first, okay?” he said softly, his lips forming the words carefully for you to read.

Your response was simple—a quick thumbs-up—but it was enough to make a boyish grin spread across his face.

Pulling out a chair, Kai sat across from you, his movements just a little nervous, though he tried to hide it. He set his lunchbox on the table, the bright cat decorations catching your eye. It's hard to really miss how much effort had gone into it—cat-shaped rice balls, tiny details, and colourful accents that screamed effort.

Kai caught your expression. "Hiyyih made it," he admitted. What he didn’t mention was how he’d spent an entire morning persuading her to make it perfect, offering bribes, doing her chores, and enduring her teasing, all just to get her to agree.

He opened the lid and carefully moved a portion of the food into your lunchbox. "Here," he said, nudging it toward you.

You glanced at him in surprise, then back at the food, your lips parting slightly before they curved into a smile—a real smile. Not the polite, hesitant ones you used to give him, but a full, bright smile. It reached your eyes, crinkling them at the corners.

Kai froze for a moment, his breath catching in his throat. You’d smiled at him before, but not... like this.

He had never quite understood why his sister went to such lengths with these little creations—why she got up before sunrise to shape rice into animals or why her mood seemed to brighten whenever someone praised her work. But now, watching the way your face softened, the way your smile seemed to linger longer than usual, it all started to make sense.

If something as small and silly as this could make you look at him like this, if it could bring you even the smallest bit of joy, then he thought to himself—he’d start doing it too.

Swallowing, he picked up his chopsticks, forcing himself to eat even as his appetite felt oddly… irrelevant. He stole glances, and it struck him how happy you looked. The memory of when he’d first met you flashed in his mind, alone, wounded and withdrawn. And yet, here you were now.

His stomach fluttered, suddenly feeling full—not from the meal but from something that only your smile seemed to give.

After lunch, Kai didn’t get the chance to spend his free time with you. Beomgyu practically dragged him to practice, which he didn’t resist—especially since seeing you healthy and smiling had already lifted his spirits. His energy during practice was unmatched, his fingers flying over the guitar strings with a renewed vigour. For once, it felt effortless, like his heart was finally in sync with the music again.

When the day wound down, he found himself waiting by the school gates. A few students greeted him as they passed, and he returned their smiles politely, though his attention remained elsewhere. His heart leapt the moment he spotted you walking toward him, your steps purposeful yet light. His lips curved into a small smirk before he could help it.

"I wanted to see you before you went home," he said softly.

Your smile in response made his chest tighten, and you pulled a small notepad and pen from your pocket. After a brief moment of scribbling, you held it up for him to read:

Thank you for everything, Kai.

The simple words hit him harder than he expected, and a warm smile tugged at his lips. “You waiting for your sisters here?” he asked, but as soon as he mentioned them, your smile faltered slightly, and something shifted in your expression.

He remembered Taehyun mentioning that you had two sisters at school, but nothing beyond that. He didn’t press. All he knew was that you usually arrived and left together in the same car.

You scribbled another note. They went home early. Shopping, I think.

Kai’s brows furrowed slightly. Why didn’t they wait for you? Before he could ask, you were already writing your next reply.

I’ll take the bus today.

“Let me take you home,” he said, leaving no room for argument.

The bus was packed, and you followed Kai closely as he led the way. He glanced back, his eyes searching for something until they landed on an empty window seat. With a small nudge of his shoulder, he gestured for you to take it.

Sliding into the seat, you couldn’t help but notice how his arm brushed against yours as he stood beside you, gripping the rail overhead. He leaned down slightly, reaching for the notepad in your hands. His handwriting was a little crooked, he had written quickly, but his message was clear:

Are you okay?

You nodded and took the pen to write your response. Yes.

Satisfied, he smiled. He reaches out, hooking his pinky finger to yours. It stays there, throughout the ride. One that you wished that didn't have to end.

Kai’s eyes widened when you gestured toward your home.

Sure, his own house was comfortable—his family could provide everything he needed—but this? This was on another level. Massive gates, the sprawling estate beyond them, the kind of place that practically screamed wealth, grand estate that made him feel like he’d stepped onto the set of a drama. His thoughts stumbled over themselves as the realization hit: you were a chaebol.

And yet, the thought lingered in his mind: how could they leave you to manage on your own, just because your sisters decided to go out? The question sat uncomfortably in his chest, though he kept it to himself.

You turned to him, drawing his attention back to you. Standing there, you looked up at him, your figure small against his tall, broad frame. He looked so effortlessly handsome it made your chest ache. You wished, fleetingly, to reach out and run your fingers through those dark locks, to feel their texture beneath your hands. He had done so much for you today—more than you could put into words.

See you later?

Kai read it, his lips quirking into a gentle smile.“Go inside,” he said, tapping your head softly. “See you later.”

As you turned and walked toward the house, he stayed rooted to the spot, watching your retreating figure until you disappeared through the gates. He let out a quiet breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his heart beating steadily against his ribs.

He could do this every day, he thought. Waiting for you, walking you home, making sure you were safe. He wanted to do this every day, however many days, as long as you’d let him.

After sending you home, Kai steps into a familiar bookstore, and the scent of old paper hits his face.

The owner greets him, casually mentioning the new volume of Slam Dunk just released, but Kai doesn’t even register the words. He’s already moving past, heading toward the back of the store where the shelves are less familiar.

He stops in front of a section—far away from the music books, the theory guides, and mangas. He picks it up.

Beginners: Sign Language.

You closed the door behind you, the weight in your chest heavier than it should’ve been. Dinner was supposed to be a happy time, right? Eating with your family, sharing moments. But it never felt like that for you. Not in this house.

Your eyes caught the sight of the fax machine on the side table, a piece of paper hanging loosely from the tray. You walk over, your steps slow, uncertain. Only two people know your number: your dad, and… Kai. You grabbed the paper, the handwriting unmistakable.

Come out. Will be there in 20 mins. —Kai.

Your breath caught. Dinner had taken longer than that. You scrambled to the window, heart pounding, and there he was—a silhouette against the dim streetlights, a mess of dark hair leaning casually against the gate.

You didn’t hesitate. Grabbing your pen and notepad from the desk, you ran. The startled looks of the housemaids blurred past you, and even the sharp, judgmental gaze of your stepmother from the couch—teacup poised mid-sip—couldn’t stop you. She doesn’t matter right now. Nothing does but getting to him.

You burst through the front gates, your eyes locking with his. His face breaks into a soft, immediate smile when he sees you, the sight of you in your loose shirt and pyjamas makes his heart skip a beat.

You raise your notepad, writing quickly, then holding it up for him to see. What are you doing here?

You reach for your notepad and pen, the confusion evident on your face as you extend them toward him. But instead of taking them, his hands move, and the world around you seems to pause.

"Hi." His fingers shape the sign, hesitant, uncertain. Your heart stumbles as you watch his hand move again, spelling out your name, letter by letter, in sign language. It’s slow, almost clumsy, but every movement is intentional. He’s trying, and it sends your heart racing.

"How was your—" He falters mid-sign, his hands falling to his sides. You watch as he digs into his pocket, pulling out a small book. The title catches your eye, and your chest tightens. He scratches the back of his neck, looking at you with an embarrassed sort of determination as he mouths, Wait.

And then he tries again, repeating the signs, "How was your dinner?" His movements are a little smoother this time. The question lingers in the space between you, and you feel your throat tighten as tears prick at the corners of your eyes. It feels like you can hear—his voice.

Your body moves before you can think. You step forward and wrap your arms around his neck. Your head presses against his chest, and you feel the slight hitch in his breath before his arms slide around your waist, holding you close. His warmth steadies you as a single tear slips free, trailing down your cheek.

No one had ever done this for you before. No one had ever tried to meet you in your silence, to understand the world you lived in. At home, they’d dismissed sign language, rejected it, treating it like some kind of shameful reminder of what they wanted to ignore. They’d made you feel like you were something to be hidden, something that's less.

But here he was—a boy who, just weeks ago, had been a stranger—bridging the gap, pouring himself into learning just to reach you. Crossing the distance to meet you where you were alone.

For the first time, you didn’t feel stranded on an island of your own.

Kai spent the next few minutes basking in the warmth of your presence. When another tear slipped past your eye, he reached out, his thumb brushing it away with the gentleness of someone afraid to break something precious. His attempts at signing sentences were clumsy at best, and your happiness marked your face—something that made his heart do flips.

"Yah, I'm trying, you know," he huffed, feigning indignation as he stomped his foot playfully. His pout only deepened when you smiled at him, and he could feel the heat crawling up his neck to his cheeks. He wanted to tease you back, but the words caught in his throat when you raised your hands.

It was the first time you signed in front of him. The motion was small but deliberate, the flick of your hand touching your chin before extending toward him. Kai’s eyebrows knit together, his mind scrambling to catch up. He flipped the pages of his book, muttering, “Wait, what does that mean?”

You reached for your notepad, scribbling the word: Thank you.

Before he could process the words, you signed again, your hands moving with a fluidity that stopped him in his tracks. The glow of the moon and the faint light from the lamppost illuminated your every move, casting soft dancing shadows across your face. And Kai—he forgot how to breathe.

You looked… different. You were stunning. Not the shy, hesitant version of you he’d grown used to, but confident and sure. Each gesture was almost poetic, and he was utterly mesmerized. The way your fingers moved felt like a song without sound—it suited you in a way words never could. He didn’t even want to blink, because he was afraid he’d miss something.

All he could do was watch, completely captivated by the real you.

"You didn't really have to. But thank you… for learning it for me."

The moment was shattered by the loud creak of the gates swinging open. Kai turned, his gaze meeting a woman’s sharp, glaring eyes. He opened his mouth to bow in greeting, but he quickly realized her scowl wasn’t for him—it was directed squarely at you.

Confused, Kai glanced back at you, his eyes scanning your face. Panic was written all over it. You hastily scribbled on your notepad, the letters uneven and rushed: Step-mother. Go home now, Kai.

He read the words and nodded, even if he didn’t fully grasp the situation. When your eyes met his again, there was something pleading in them. Turning back to the woman, Kai mustered a polite bow. “Good evening,”

She didn’t acknowledge him. “Go inside or we’ll lock you out here all night.”

Kai froze, the words almost too cruel to believe. He remembers you being locked up that night at school. His jaw clenched, but he kept his expression neutral, eyes flicking back to you. You were already scribbling again: Good night. Be safe travelling home.

He noticed something then—why hadn’t you signed it? He’d learned those words, and he knew you knew them too. But he didn’t ask, didn’t want to add to your distress. Instead, he nodded silently, stepping forward to close the distance between you. He bent down and pressed a light, lingering kiss to your hairline. A small gesture to remind you that he was here, even if he had to leave now. "See you later."

When he straightened, he turned to your stepmother, who was staring at him with thinly veiled disdain. Kai met her gaze, nodded politely, and then stepped back.

He didn’t look away until he saw you retreat inside.

The gates slammed shut with a force that rattled him. Your stepmother's tone echoed in his ears, harsh and dripping with contempt. He hated the way she’d spoken to you, the way her eyes had looked at you as though you did something so wrong.

He walked away, fists clenched at his sides. The thought of you living in a house with someone like that left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Kai reunited with you the next day.

He carefully tried to bring up the encounter with your stepmother, but you avoided the topic entirely. He didn’t push, though. Instead, he quietly accepted it when you told him you lived with her, your stepsisters, and that your father was out of town on business. He said he’d wait—that he’d listen when you were ready to open up, when you felt comfortable.

Now, he’s on his way to the band room, arriving half an hour early for practice. His hand is wrapped around yours as he pulls you along. The soft warmth of your fingers in his feels just right. Students pass by, glancing your way, but Kai doesn’t care. Not when you’re here with him.

You agreed to come, though you weren’t sure what to expect. When you step into the room, your eyes widen. Trophies line the shelves, instruments are arranged neatly against the walls, and there’s a large, inviting couch in the corner. There's also a small door that must lead to a private bathroom.

Kai settles you on the couch, his lips curving into a gentle smile as he pulls his guitar out of its case. He tells you he wanted you to see this. He also mentions the upcoming festival in two days—a subtle invitation in his words.

As he strums the first notes, your eyes are drawn to him. The memory of the first time you saw Kai surfaces—your second year of high school. That day, he was being calmed down by Soobin, the band’s previous genius pianist. Even then, he left an impression so strong that you couldn’t forget him, no matter how much time had passed.

Now, sitting here in the band room as he plays his guitar for you, it feels surreal. If someone had told you back then that this would happen, you’d have laughed it off or called it impossible. But here you are, and he glances up, his eyes flickering between the strings and your face.

"I like it," you sign.

Kai’s face lights up. He reaches for something—your eyes are drawn to his hands. There, faint guitar scars run across his fingers, etched into his skin like a map of all the hours he’s poured into his craft.

An idea enters your mind.

Two days later, the school day comes to an end. You quietly pack your belongings, slipping books and papers into your bag as the chatter of students fills the room. The festival is less than an hour away. You’re just about to zip up your bag when movement near the doorway catches your attention.

Choi Beomgyu steps into the classroom, his eyes scanning the room like he’s on a mission. You glance at him curiously as Taehyun notices and stands up, greeting him with a nod then points in your direction. Beomgyu makes his way over with Taehyun trailing behind him. "Hi, Y/N," he signs, the motion catching you completely off guard. Your eyes widen in surprise. Did Kai teach him that? Did he teach both of them?

Before you can even process the thought, Beomgyu hands you a folded shirt. You take it hesitantly, inspecting it as the fabric unfurls in your hands. The moment you see the name Huening Kai printed boldly on the back, your heart skips. It’s his band shirt.

“He’ll love it,” Beomgyu says, a small grin tugging at his lips and winks. He reaches out, lightly tapping your head like it’s the most casual thing in the world. Without another word, he throws an arm around Taehyun’s shoulders, and the two of them leave the classroom together. Some girls in your room look at you with dirty looks. It matters not, you'll have to change your shirt first.

Kai’s eyes catch on your shirt almost instantly, his pace slowing as he closes the distance between you.

Confusion flits across his face, but then realization dawns. His band shirt. His name, his number on your back. His eyes widen in disbelief, and he lets out a laugh.

When you’re close enough, he reaches out, gently turning you around so he can see the full print. His fingers linger lightly on your shoulders. His grin widens, a mix of pride and something softer that you can’t quite name.

“You’ll watch, right?” he asks. His throat feels tight, and it’s not just the sight of you in his shirt—it’s everything it means.

You nod, slowly reaching into your pocket, pulling out a small gift box. You hold it out to him, “For me?” he asks softly, taking it with both hands.

When he opens the box, his breath catches in his throat. Inside are guitar picks, each one smooth and carefully chosen, but what draws his attention is the tiny, handwritten phrase etched onto them. He squints, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tilts the pick closer to the light.

See you later.

The phrase so familiar, a staple in all your goodbyes. It’s what he always waits to hear from you, what he secretly pouts about if you forget to say it. It’s a simple phrase, used by so many people in passing, but between the two of you, it’s different—reassurance that you’ll always find your way back to each other.

His chest tightens, emotion welling up in a way he hadn’t expected. He steps forward, pulls you into a hug, holding you close, his chin resting on your head. "What do I do with you?" He whispers to himself. He finally pulls back, his hands linger at your elbows, eyes searching yours. You lift your hands to sign, your movements slow.

"Good luck, rock star."

Soobin’s hand rested on your back, touch steadying as the crowd began to thicken around the stage. Kai had entrusted you to him and Yeonjun, and though the absence of Kai’s presence made you nervous, Soobin’s calm demeanour offered an unexpected sense of safety.

Yeonjun had gone to grab water, leaving you and Soobin to hold your place by the barricade. The festival was just moments away from starting, with students from your school, other schools, and alumni who had come back for the event. You found yourself gripping the metal tightly, the unfamiliar place… overwhelming. It's your first time to even attend one.

Soobin noticed immediately. He tapped your shoulder gently, “Are you okay?”

You turned to him, his concern reflected in his face. You nodded, returning a small smile. His kindness felt natural. You could see why Kai spoke of him so fondly.

You barely had time to respond before you were pulled into a sudden hug. The embrace was tight, and a sweet floral scent filled your senses. You froze in surprise, but when the person stepped back, the grin on her face was so bright and genuine that you couldn’t help but soften.

“Hi! I’m Hiyyih!” she exclaimed, her face full of excitement, her eyes shining like she’d been waiting forever to meet you. Her name made you pause, recognition flashing through your mind. Your eyes widened slightly, but you smiled back at her, quickly scribbling in your notepad.

Y/N. Nice to meet you, Hiyyih.

She read it, and immediately squealed, her reaction so heartfelt and full of life that it drew laughter from Soobin. “How did my brother pull you, huh?” she teased, shaking her head in disbelief. Then, with mock irritation, she turned to Soobin and added, “Seriously, how?”

Soobin chuckled, clearly amused. “I know. She's too pretty. Magic, maybe,” he offered casually, and Hiyyih groaned dramatically. She hooked her arm through yours, as if you’d known each other for years. You're glad they didn't mention the blush evident on your cheeks.

Yeonjun returned, handing you a cold bottle of water. “You okay?” he asked, his tone just as kind and considerate as Soobin’s had been. You nodded again, clutching the water tightly as you looked between them all—Hiyyih’s bright enthusiasm, Soobin’s quiet reassurance, and Yeonjun’s laid-back charm. It feels nice to be surrounded by people you want to be with.

You could get used to this. Being with people who made you feel like you mattered—more than your own family ever had.

It was dark now, the festival lit only by the vibrant glow of stage lights, casting shifting colours across the crowd. The ground trembled beneath your feet as people jumped and swayed, their cheers blending with the music in an electrifying symphony.

Your eyes scanned the stage, searching—and then you saw him. Kai. There he was, guitar in hand, lost in the music. The way he moved was effortless as if the instrument was an extension of himself. His face was lit up, not just by the stage lights but by a joy that radiated from within. He looked alive. Happy. He belonged there. He owns it.

And then his eyes found yours.

The chaos around you seemed to fade. Slowly, you signed, "You look cool," your hands steady even as your heart raced. You watched as his gaze followed the movement of your hands, his eyes softening with every word you formed. You didn’t need to be close to him. You didn’t need to hear his voice. As long as you could see him—and he could see you.

His lips curved into a smile, and he winked, the playful gesture making you smile back, heart swelling with pride.

The performance was incredible, each member of the band owning their moment, their energy filling the space and igniting the crowd. When the last song ended, the crowd erupted into cheers, and the band bowed together, camaraderie evident even from a distance. But before you could fully take in the scene, Kai was running.

The moment he stepped off the stage, his eyes searched for your face. His shoulders eased as soon as he saw you, surrounded by people he trusts. He loves performing—he truly does. But the thought of returning to you, is louder than any applause. His feet move before his mind can think.

Straight to you.

He reached you in seconds, his chest heaving, adrenaline still coursing through him. "I can't stop looking at you,” he said, his voice low, the words had been waiting to escape all night. His hands cradled your face, calloused by the guitar scars. "I need to kiss you right now or I'll go crazy."

You barely noticed the stares of the crowd or the murmurs of those nearby. All you could see was him. He leaned in, his breath mingling with yours, and his lips brushed against yours in the softest kiss. You’d always known his lips looked soft, but they still managed to surprise you—how perfectly they fit against yours.

When he pulled back, his grin was so wide. His arms wrapped around you tightly, holding you close as if you were the only thing that mattered. Around you, his friends clapped him on the back, their faces proud with congratulations.

“See you later?” Kai signed, his movements fluid, more confident. You nodded with a smile, waving as he stepped back. His grin widened, and he watched you enter the gates of your home.

That smile lingered on your face, carrying you all the way inside. The front doors opened for you, the maids greeting you with quiet bows, and you headed for the staircase, ready to retreat to your room.

But before you could take the first step, a hand seized your wrist and yanked you back. The slap came next, sharp and sudden, leaving a sting that spread across your cheek like fire. Startled, your hand flew to your face, and your wide, disbelieving eyes met the furious glare of your stepmother.

“You skipped your painting lesson,” she hissed, face trembling with anger, “and came home late without even telling me.”

“And what for?” she spat. “To loiter with boys? To parade yourself in public, chatting in sign language for the entire neighbourhood to see? What else do you have left to ruin? Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is for the family?” Her voice grew louder, shriller, her hand resting on her hip as she glared at you like you were something she could barely tolerate.

You noticed your stepsisters standing just out of the line. Equal anger on their faces. It was clear—they had told her. Once, their expressions had the power to make you shrink, to make you doubt yourself. Now you felt nothing but disdain. Family, you thought bitterly, scoffing as you turned your head away.

Your stepmother’s hand shot out, grabbing your chin and jerking your face back toward hers. Her nails bit into your skin as she snarled, “Did you laugh? How dare you laugh at me?”

You shoved her hand away. “Don’t touch me,” you signed, your movements sharp, gaze unwavering. You didn’t care that she couldn’t understand. This was the only way you could speak, and you were tired of swallowing your voice.

Her face twisted with fury. “I said stop using sign language!” she barked.

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you signed again, your hands trembling. “I’m not alone anymore,” you told her, the tears burning at the edges of your vision. “You can be the queen of this house, control everything and everyone under this roof. But there’s a world outside these walls. And out there, I have friends. People who see me. People who care.”

“Talk! Talk like a proper person! I told you to talk!” The slap came hard and fast, snapping your head to the side. Your cheek burned with the impact, but this time, you didn’t freeze. You pushed her. Hard.

The room erupted with a collective gasp.

“Touch me again, and you’ll see your name in the newspaper.” Your glare shifted to Chae-won as she stepped forward, her mouth opening to speak, but you didn’t wait to hear what she had to say.

You bolted up the stairs, your heart hammering in your chest, panic fueling every frantic step.

The space felt thick as you threw yourself into your room, slamming the door shut behind you. You moved toward your desk, your hands shaking as you tore your bag open, yanking out a piece of paper. You didn’t have time to think, only enough to scrawl a desperate message, the words barely legible through the blur of your haste.

The door creaked open behind you. Panic surged. You turned, your pulse pounding as you spotted them—the maids stepping into the room. You bolted to the fax machine, shoving the paper in and frantically typing his number. You had to send it. You had to.

The machine whirred, halfway through sending, when two pairs of hands grabbed you, one on each arm. You thrashed and kicked, trying to wrench free, but their grip was too strong. Your stepmother appeared in the doorway, her smirk was cruel, triumphant, and your stomach churned with dread.

And then you saw it—the glint of metal in her hands. Locks.

"Get her upstairs. Now." Your breath caught in your throat. The room seemed to tilt as a memory surged forward, unbidden and suffocating. The attic. The last time she locked you up, you were fifteen. Your skin crawled at the thought of being trapped there again. You were dragged out, your feet sliding against the floor, your cries echoing down the empty hall. It took three of them—three people to overpower you, until the door loomed.

They shoved you inside, your body hitting the floor with a dull thud. You scrambled to your feet, lunging for the door, but it slammed shut in your face. You pounded on the door, fists aching, tears burning behind your eyes. It was harder for you to breathe.

This was her punishment—her way of crushing you every time you dared to fight back, dared to speak your truth.

She’d leave you here, in the dark, in the suffocating silence, until you broke. Until you admitted she was right. Or until your father’s nearing return forced her to let you out, pretending everything was fine.

You had tried to tell him before. Slipping notes into his pockets, scribbling messages when she wasn’t looking. But her eyes were always there, sharp and watchful, snatching away every chance you had. You can’t help but wonder—if you hadn’t stood up to her, if you hadn’t accepted that small, fleeting chance to feel alive, would you still be here right now? Or would you just be trapped in another kind of prison, shackled to the cycle your stepmother has forced you into?

Dust coated every surface, the faint light that seeped through the cracks wasn’t even enough to pierce the gloom to give you hope. You curled up against the wall, knees pulled to your chest, fingers trembling as they pressed against the cold floor. It was something that you had to endure before.

For years.

Kai was running.

He didn’t care about the stares from strangers or the disapproving grunt as he ran the streets. He didn’t care about his mother’s worried gaze when he bolted out the door or the sting of his lungs from sprinting so fast. None of it mattered. All that mattered was getting to you.

The fax had come just minutes ago. He had been half-asleep when the machine whirred, spitting out a crumpled piece of paper with words that sent a shrill down his spine.

Kai, pick me up. Come get me, please. He knew it was you.

His heart pounded as he reached your gates, the mansion unwelcoming under the grey sky. He rang the door frantically, and when a maid opened the door, her polite greeting barely had time to escape her lips before Kai pushed past her.

“Sir, what are you doing?” she cried, alarmed. But Kai didn’t stop. He pushed through the grand double doors, his eyes scanning the room wildly. His gaze landed on a young woman, about his age—your stepsister, he realized with a flare of anger.

“Where’s Y/N?” he demanded, his voice booming through the space. The room fell silent. The maids froze, glancing at one another nervously, while your stepsister stiffened, her lips tightening into a scowl. “Where is she?” Kai shouted again, taking a step forward. A timid maid finally cracked, her wide eyes darting toward the stairs before quickly looking away. It was all he needed.

Kai took off, his legs carrying him up the staircase two steps at a time. As he neared the top, he heard it—a faint pounding, far but desperate. His blood ran cold as realization struck.

The attic.

Kai’s chest tightened as he reached the door. His fist slammed against the wood, the sound reverberating down the hall. The pounding on the other side grew more. His heart felt like it might tear itself apart.

“Open this door!” he says, spinning to face the maids who had followed him upstairs. “What the hell is wrong with you people? Do you want to go to prison for this? Do you want to be accomplices?” The maid who’d glanced upstairs earlier flinched, her hands shaking as she fumbled with a key.

Finally, the lock clicked, and he shoved the door open. His breath caught as he saw you huddled on the floor, your arms wrapped tightly around your knees, your face streaked with tears. “Y/N,” he breathed, rushing to you.

"You found me." You signed, eyes locking on his. He crouched, his arms wrapping around your trembling frame. He pulled you close, his hand smoothing over your hair as he held you against his chest.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m getting you out of this place.” His eyes darted around the attic, taking in the oppressive walls, scattered drawings—sketches you must’ve made. Some looks old, others newer. They had been locking you up here. Trapping you.

Kai stood, pulling you with him, “Come on,” his hand tightened around yours, and you nodded.

He led you down the stairs, his grip never faltering. At the bottom, your stepmother appeared, her expression twisting into one of fury the moment she saw him.

“Do you even realise what you’re doing right now?” she demanded, her voice sharp and grating. “This is kidnapping. Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in?”

Kai didn’t flinch. He didn’t hesitate. His voice was steady, cold, and razor-sharp. “Not as serious as imprisonment. Or abuse.”

Her lips curled into a mocking sneer. “I’m disciplining her,” she spat, as if the word justified everything.

Your stepmother’s eyes flicked to you as your hands moved, signing. “You’re hurting me.”

Her face darkened. “How many times do I have to tell you to stop signing?”

Kai froze, his mind reeling at her words. “What?” he said, voice low. His jaw tightened as he stared at her, fury building in his chest. “How do you expect her to communicate if she can’t speak?”

She sneered. “Return her inside while I’m still asking nicely,”

“No,” Kai snapped, he turned to her fully, standing tall and unyielding. “I’m not talking to you. Tell her father, when he finally gets home, to come find me personally if he wants to see his daughter again. And don’t even think about stopping me. My mother knows I’m here.”

Your stepmother opened her mouth to argue, but Kai didn’t give her the chance. He turned away, tugging you along behind him as he strode toward the door. His glare silenced any maids who dared step forward, daring anyone to challenge him.

“If you walk out that door,” your stepmother hissed, “you’ll regret it.”

Kai didn’t stop. He didn’t even look back.

The cool night air hit your skin as he pulled you through the gates and into the street. He didn’t care about her threats. He didn’t care about what came next. The only thing he knew was—he would regret it far more if he didn’t leave with you tonight.

When the two of you arrived at Kai’s home, his mother was already at the door, her face filled with concern. The moment she saw you, her eyes softened, but they couldn’t hide the shock and sadness she felt at your condition. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said gently, ushering you inside with open arms. “Let’s get you settled.”

She led you to a spare room, “This was Lea’s room,” she explained with a small smile. “Kai’s sister. She’s away at college now, so it’s all yours for as long as you need.”

Kai, stepped outside, pacing the front yard. His hands clenched and unclenched, breathing unevenly as he tried to calm himself. “How could they do that to her? As human beings?” he spits, in disbelief. “Even animals wouldn’t treat someone like that.”

His mother followed him out, gently placing a hand on his arm. “Kai, breathe,” she said softly. “She needs space to process everything right now.”

Kai shook his head, “What you did was good,” his mother continued. “Let her stay here for now. She’s safe with us.”

“And what happens when her father comes back?” Kai snapped, “What then? She just gets sent back to that place?”

His mother sighed, her grip on his arm steady. “Kai, it’s obvious he doesn’t know what’s been happening. Do you think any father would knowingly allow this?”

“That man, he lives in the same house as her. How does he not know? He’s either blind or he doesn’t care because all he does is make money and turn ignorant to everything else.”

His mother stepped closer, pulling him into a hug before he could spiral further. “It’s not your place to decide what kind of father he is, or if she should forgive him. That’s up to her. Right now, she needs rest.”

You sat curled up on the edge of the bed, knees pulled tightly to your chest, your back pressed into the corner. Your fingers picked at your nailbeds. Every breath you took felt shaky, like you were on the verge of falling apart.

It was the first time you’d ever stood up to them—to that whole oppressive house. The weight of it settled heavily on your chest, but more than that, you worried about Kai. About his family. Would they be okay with you here? What if they went after Kai or his family for taking you in? Would your presence bring trouble to their door? You felt like a curse, dragging misfortune wherever you went.

The sight of the door sliding open startled you. You looked up to see Kai’s mom stepping in, her form soft in the dim light. She carried a stack of clothes in her hands, a small smile on her face.

“Hiyyih’s already asleep, so I had to grab these for you,” she said, setting it down in front of you. “These are Lea’s—Kai’s sister. I’m not sure if you’ll like them, but I thought these might fit you.”

You nodded silently, your heart pounding as you glanced at her. You could not shake the fear that she might say you’d put Kai in danger, that bringing you here was a mistake. Or how much trouble you might’ve caused him. The guilt plague, making your stomach turn.

She didn’t say anything at first, just sat there, her gaze soft and thoughtful. Then her smile widened, and her eyes crinkled at the corners like Kai does. “Gosh, you’re so pretty,” she said, as if she was stating the most obvious fact in the world. “Look at your eyes—they’re so clear, so bright.” Her words made your breath hitch.

“Not being able to talk must be so hard,” she continued, face replaced with sadness. “You must’ve felt so upset. So frustrated.” She moved closer, her hands reaching for yours. Her touch was warm, and something about it made the tears in your eyes sting even more.

“But you did such a good job, honey,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “Growing up into such a beautiful, strong young lady.” Her thumb gently brushed the back of your hand, and she smiled again, “I’m proud of you.”

Her words shattered something inside you, breaking through the walls you’d tried so hard to keep up. You bit down on your lip, but it was no use. The tears slipped free, rolling down your cheeks.

“If anyone ever hurts you again, if anyone tries to trap you, you come here,” she said firmly, her tone shifting to one of conviction. “Don’t ever put up with it. Just come back here. Or stay here and live with me." She grinned at the thought, expression animated, like it was the simplest solution in the world.

You couldn’t hold it back anymore. You cried, your shoulders trembling as the sobs punished your body. All the days you had endured in silence. The days they made you feel invisible, like you didn’t matter. The way they looked at you, spoke about you, treated you, as though you were something other, something different. Not belonging. Not normal.

"Don't cry," She pulled you into her arms, holding you tightly as she rubbed your back in soothing circles. You were starting to see it wasn’t true. Starting to believe. And her embrace is so… familiar. It was like holding onto a memory you’d been too afraid to revisit—the one you’d clung to as a lifeline but had started to fade, little by little.

It felt like you were eight again, back in time—cradled in your mother’s warm arms.

Kai stood at your door, it's been an hour when he saw his mother leaving, her eyes red from crying. She had tried to reassure him to give you space, to let you be alone tonight—but Kai's heart couldn’t rest. He knocked softly before slipping inside.

You were facing away from him, the sheets pulled up high against your body. He walked over, unsure of what to expect, and tapped a single finger on your shoulder to check if you were awake. You shifted and glanced back at him, your face still soft with the remnants of tears.

He offered a small smile, his hands signing softly, “Hi.”

You didn’t respond with words instead, you scooted over, making room for him on the bed. He slid in beside you, leaving just enough space between you both. “Are you okay?” he signed, his face filled with concern.

“Yes,” you replied quietly, your fingers moving slowly, tracing the air. “Because you always come whenever I need someone.”

His heart skipped a beat. “Anything for you,” he whispered, gaze never left yours. "I'll do anything for you,"

His fingers slowly lifted to cradle your face, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek. Your eyes fluttered closed at the touch, and Kai could feel your breath hitch. You shifted closer to him, pressing your head to his chest, seeking his intoxicating smell.

He tucked you in carefully, his arm lying beneath your head as his head rested gently on top of yours. His touch was warm and soothing as his hand trailed down your back, the warmth from his skin seeping through the fabric of your clothes. You closed your eyes, feeling the calm settle in your chest, until a small movement in his chest caught your attention.

You pulled back slightly, confusion in your eyes. His face was soft, but his eyes shimmered with tears that hadn't yet fallen. His lips parted, searching for the right words. “How did you put up with all of that?” he whispered, a tear slipping down his right cheek. His chest seemed to tighten with the weight of the question. “What they did to you, it was the worst. I— should've found you sooner. I promise… you will not be alone anymore, okay?”

You nod, tearing up at his words. It was the first time someone made a promise to you that you knew he wouldn't break. A small smile found its way to your lips. His hands moved, fingers gently pressed against your palm as he spelled out.

"You're safe now,"

You wake up slowly, your eyes squinting as they adjust to the soft morning light spilling into the room.

Kai's arms are still wrapped around your waist, his body pressed against yours, his face nestled against your chest. You gently trace the lines of his face with your fingers, captivated by the details you never want to forget—the way his freckles and moles give his features a softness, an angelic quality. He's so beautiful. The light in a world that once felt so dark. In a life that’s often felt like a nightmare, he’s the one thing that pulled you into the almost impossible daylight.

You lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. He murmurs in his sleep but doesn’t stir. You smile softly at his innocence, feeling your heart flutter. You try to untangle your legs from his, hesitant to leave the safety of his embrace, but you slowly make your way out of the bed.

As you step into the living room, the smell of breakfast makes your stomach rumble. You find Kai’s mom and Hiyyih already in the kitchen. The latter smiles warmly at you. “Good morning,” she greets, and you return the smile.

Breakfast is simple but comforting. The food amazing, your appetite comes back little by little with every bite.

When you’re finished, Hiyyih looks at you with a bright smile. “Want to help me with the lunch boxes?” she asks, and you nod eagerly. She helps you slip on an apron, her fingers fumbling with the straps as she giggles. It's contagious, and makes you smile.

She pulls her hair back into a ponytail, a few strands fall loose, and you reach for your notepad. You quickly scribble, Let me braid your hair?

Hiyyih’s eyes widen with delight, and she nods. You gather her hair gently, carefully weaving the strands together. A soft smile spread across her face at the comforting touch of your hands.

Kai stretched his arm to your side, but the space was empty.

His eyes snapped open, sleep quickly fading as he registered the absence of your presence. He sat up abruptly, fumbling to slide his feet into his house slippers, the soft padding of his steps barely audible as he hurried out of the room.

Where could you have gone? Has someone come to take you home? His thoughts raced, each one more frantic than the last. He barely noticed the cold air of the hallway as he hurried toward the kitchen—then he stopped, heart halting in his chest.

There you were.

The tension melted away as he took in the scene. You stood at the counter, laughter spilling from your lips as you helped Hiyyih pack three lunch boxes. The soft fabric of an apron hugged your frame, and his mother moved gracefully beside you, pouring cups of steaming chocolate milk, a soft smile gracing her lips as she watched the two of you.

Your eyes found his, and the world seemed to slow. A smile softened your features as you raised a hand, signing a simple "Hi," and motioning for him to come closer.

"Good morning," Kai murmured. His heart swelled at the scene before him—three women who meant the world to him. "Morning, Mom."

The two watched as Kai closed the small distance between you and him. He softly placed his hands on your shoulders, the touch gentle. Then, he leaned down, pressing a light, quick kiss to the top of your head. His small act makes you blush.

"Good morning, Son," his mother interrupts warmly, passing him a plate of pancakes and sausages. "Y/N and Hiyyih have already eaten. Here’s your breakfast."

Kai took his seat, the clatter of cutlery mingling with the soft sounds of your and Hiyyih’s giggles. His mother, ever attentive, placed a notepad on the counter, making sure nothing was lost in translation as she communicated with you.

If you truly want to express something, you’ll find a way. And if you want to say even more, you’ll learn, until your heart speaks louder than words ever could.

It was the first time you were in a car, heading to school, and there was a grin you couldn’t wipe from your face.

Everything felt lighter today—the warmth of Hiyyih’s arm gently looping around yours, and every now and then, Kai’s glance in the rearview mirror caught yours.

Last night seemed to burn away, slipping from your mind like smoke on the breeze. The car pulled up, and you all said your goodbyes to Kai’s mom, her lips warm against your cheek as she kissed you. “What food would you like later?” Her question made you pull her into a tight hug, surprising her with the warmth you hadn’t known you had in you. It's true, that if you surround yourself with better people, you'll be better too.

It felt like everyone in school was watching, but you didn’t mind. Kai’s hand in yours felt so right, and Hiyyih was chatting away beside you, making everything feel like a dream. When the time came for Hiyyih to part ways, she also kissed your cheek with a smile, waving goodbye.

Kai’s eyes were on you, a smirk tugging at his lips as you laughed softly. He loved seeing you so light, so happy. When he walked you to your class, you bumped into Taehyun, who ruffled your hair with a grin and a gentle pat on the head. You felt like he already knew, given that his stare much more concerned than it ever was.

Is this what it feels like to be part of something? What a family is supposed to feel like?

You washed your hands in the sink, the corners of your lips still tugged into a faint smile. But the moment was cut short when a splash of cold water hit you, soaking your uniform. You gasped, the fabric clinging uncomfortably to your skin. You only know two people who find joy in these acts. Turning quickly, you saw Chae-won and Yun-jin standing there, flanked by three other girls whose names you didn’t even know but who were always with them.

“Are you done living your life like a victim?” Chae-won’s voice rang out, sharp and biting. A few other students in the bathroom froze, unsure of what to do, before slipping out the door, desperate to avoid being caught in the middle.

“Go home,” she spat, her glare searing. “I’m not letting my mother deal with trash like you.”

Your chest tightened, but you refused to show it. You held her gaze for a beat longer than you thought you could, then turned to leave. The quicker you got out of their sight, the better. You don't want to waste your energy on dealing with her. But before you could make it to the door, two of them grabbed your arms roughly and shoved you back.

“Go home now,” one of them hissed. “Or I’ll make sure everyone knows just how pathetic you really are.”

Something inside you snapped. The words stung, but your hand moved faster than your thoughts. The slap echoed in the tiled bathroom. Chae-won’s face twisted in shock before anger overtook her features. She lunged, pushing you into a cubicle. Her hands tangled in your hair as you tried to fight back, her nails digging into your arm as you struggled to block her strikes.

They always kept it hidden, their cruelty tucked away in the shadows—behind the closed doors of your home, in the quiet corners of the art room, places where no one else would see. Never here. Never out in the open like this. These were the same people you once looked at with longing, the ones you dreamed would someday call you their friend.

Tears blurred your vision as you struggled to catch your breath. The sharp ache in your scalp subsided when Chae-won was suddenly yanked off you, her grip torn away by a rough hand.

Hiyyih. Your eyes widened as you saw her, fierce and blazing with anger. “Get the fuck away from my sister, bitch!” she screamed, face cracking with rage. Before Chae-won could recover, Hiyyih kicked her hard on her thigh, her fury igniting as she saw the blood smeared across your arms.

Another girl was with her, someone you vaguely recognized, stepping in to help. Suddenly, it was three against five, chaos erupting in the cramped bathroom.

Hiyyih glared daggers at Yun-jin, voice trembling with raw emotion. “You think you can just hurt people? You think you’re strong because you can?”

The bathroom erupted into noise—shouting, scuffling, and the sound of feet scrambling for safety. Students crowded at the doorway, peeking in with wide eyes, while others bolted to find a teacher. You stayed close to Hiyyih, your chest tight with fear. What if they hurt her the way they hurt you?

You felt yourself shoved against the counter in the commotion, your pulse pounding in your ears. And then, cutting through the chaos, you saw them. Three figures pushed their way through the crowd, pushing onlookers, unconcerned that this was a girls’ bathroom.

Kai. Beomgyu. Taehyun.

Everything seemed to blur as Kai desperately reached you, pulling you close against his chest. His arms wrapped around you, steady and protective, shielding you from anyone.

“Enough!” Beomgyu shouts. “This ridiculous cat fight ends now.”

Kai’s hands cupped your face, his touch trembling as he scanned your cuts and bruises. His jaw tightened, his eyes dark with anger and fear. His eyes check his sister, now standing between Beomgyu and Taehyun. He exhaled sharply, pulling you behind him, his body a wall between you and the rest of the room.

“Stop this,” he said coldly, his words directed at Chae-won, who was fixing her hair with a smug expression. "This is your last warning—stay away from her.”

Chae-won sneered, venom dripping from her voice. “Why do you keep protecting that… thing?” she spat. “She’s abnormal. She can’t hear. She made us miserable. She’s selfish, always making everything about her. She plays the victim like it’s a sport.”

Her words made Hiyyih surged forward, ready to strike, but Taehyun held her back with a firm grip.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Chae-won blinked, startled by the harshness in Kai's tone—a tone so unlike the boy known for his warmth and kindness. “She’s the best person to ever walk these grounds,” Kai adds, eyes locked on Chae-won. “She’s everything you’ll never be.”

You tried to step out from behind him, to meet Chae-won’s glare head-on, but Kai’s arm gently stopped you, keeping you behind him, his body a wall between you and her cruelty.

“If anyone here isn’t normal, it’s you. Never her.”

For the first time, Chae-won’s smirk faltered, her confidence visibly shaken. Her eyes dart between Hiyyih, Beomgyu and Taehyun. They all look at her in disdain.

Her mind raced, her thoughts spiralling back to the words her mother had drilled into her—how you were less, how people would never care about you. But now—these people—they were standing with you, like they would shield you from anything that came your way. It made her gulp. She bolts outside, Yun-jin was hot on her heels, matching her pace. The other girls had already disappeared.

For the first time, she was afraid—of the consequences that might happen if she ever dared to hurt you again.

“You don’t have to forgive them, you know?” Kai says, his shoulder brushes against yours, as you both sit, legs dangling off the edge of the makeshift bench in the yard. The watermelon ice cream in your hand drips slightly, the heat of the sun melting it. His sister and mother are out of the house, shopping for tonight's supper.

“It’s okay to take your time,” he adds, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “Or never forgive them at all. You can stay here with us for as long as you want. There’s no rush to figure everything out.”

You shift your feet, wiggling your toes against the warm wood beneath you. Both of you are still in the loose, comfortable clothes you threw on after rolling out of bed. No shoes, no plans—It’s a Saturday—your first weekend here.

You look at him, and the light catches his face. A small smile tugs at your lips as you sign, “You know, I’ve never given you a proper nickname.”

Kai pauses mid-bite, blinking at you in surprise at your random words. “Huh?” he mumbles around the end of his ice cream. “What do you mean?”

You let out a soft laugh, your hands moving fluidly as you explain, “Since calling out your name in sign language takes a little more effort, it’s better to give you a nickname. Something simple but special, something that means ‘you.’”

Kai’s heart stutters in his chest. How was it possible that every time he saw you sign, it felt like the first time all over again? "Wha- what would you call me?"

You smile, a little shy. You’d thought of this nickname days ago, waiting for the right moment to share it. “Diamond,” you sign, your hands forming the shape—your thumb and index finger meet to form the letter D, before tracing an elegant upward motion, like a sparkle.

Kai’s breath catches. His chest feels tight, like his heart is swelling too big for the space it’s in. Diamond. The way you did it, the way it looked—it felt intimate. "It’s beautiful."

You smile softly at him, and his entire world shifts. “I can’t hear your voice, but I see it. You shine the brightest when you’re making music. That’s when you look the coolest, like you’re untouchable… like a diamond. But even then, I don’t feel left out when I’m with you. I never felt I don't belong when I'm with you.” Your hands falter slightly, your eyes glassy with unshed tears.

Kai watches every movement, every micro-emotion on your face. He understands every word.

He’s in love with you. Completely, helplessly.

He doesn’t need to be the doctor to diagnose his own symptoms, a teacher to put his feelings into words, or to be the scientist to prove his theory. None of those roles matters because—these things will never speak as loud as his heart. He loves you. And with every moment he spends knowing you, he finds himself falling even deeper.

And now, he can give you his music—something he once thought was beyond him. Loving you has been the easiest thing he’s ever done.

Kai's desperate need consumes him as he grabs your face, his heart racing with aching desire to kiss you. His lips crash onto yours, devouring the sweetness of your watermelon-flavoured mouth. You moan, a little sound that only fuels his need as he leans back. "You're so beautiful. I need you, please." He pulls you closer and kisses you again once you nod, unable to resist his sweet kisses. He breaks away and takes your hand, leading you. Like he always does.

You let him pull you into his room, the scent of him wrapping around you like a quiet embrace. The space feels personal—lived-in. It feels like... him.

Before you can say a word, his arms encircle you from behind, holding you close as his lips brush softly against the side of your head. His hands move slowly, sliding from your waist to your stomach. With a gentle tug, he lifts your shirt just enough to reveal the bare skin beneath. His touch is tender as his fingers graze over you, tracing delicate patterns, and caressing. Kai turns you around.

Kai's mind swirls with uncertainty. He stares into your eyes, and he signs the words that he has been holding back. "I love you." You respond by pulling him close, kissing him fiercely and tangling your fingers in his hair. Your mind is consumed by his confession, and his touches.

He pushes you onto the bed, flooding your senses with his smell. You wrap your legs around him instinctively, surprised at yourself for doing something naturally you haven't done. You're craving his touch.

"I need you," His voice is low, repeating the words. He wants to know. He wants to make sure that you're alright with this. You give a slight nod, granting him permission. He eagerly accepts, his lips crashing against yours in a frenzy of need. His hands roam your body, leaving trails of fire as he hungrily kisses down your neck. He goes down, he bites down on the fabric covering your nipples, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from you.

He gingerly lifted your shirt over your head, revealing your flushed skin. He took one of your hardened nipples into his mouth and gently sucked, watching closely as your face contorted in pleasure and your eyes fluttered shut.

He slides his hand under your silk pyjama top and gently traces the curve of your back with his fingers. He settles himself beside you, leaning as he reaches your waistband. His long fingers slip inside and finds you already wet, he spreads your lips apart and expertly flicks his finger over your clit. He adds another finger and watches your face for any signs of discomfort, peppering kisses along your cheeks as you shake your head in pleasure. Slowly, he inserts them deeper, making you grip his shoulders tightly as he stretches you.

He rolls his knuckles over your sensitive clit. With a swift movement, his hand opens like scissors, his thumb teasing your swollen nub. You let out a gasp and clutch onto his now longer hair, pulling him closer as he continues to pleasure you with his skilled fingers. Your mouths meet in a passionate kiss, his hot tongue brushing yours as he works his fingers in and out of you.

As he pulls out, you can feel his gaze on you, his eyes tracing every inch of your body. Every part of your body is beautiful.

You try to reach for his pants, but he shakes his head with a small smile. "This is all about you." He whispers, and places a kiss on your lips.

He slides into you, causing tears to escape from the corners of your eyes as you feel yourself being stretched and filled. He's so big, hot inside you. "Baby, I got you," He leans in close, his warm breath mingling with yours as he gently wipes away your tears.

Kai searches your eyes and waits for you to signal him to move again, you hummed nodding your head. He presses deeper, and the sensation makes your whole body tingle. With each thrust, he presses you further into the mattress, leaving hot kisses along your skin as his other hand finds its way back to your clit.

His lips found your ears, and he left traces of kisses. The overwhelming pleasure builds and builds until finally, you can't hold back any longer and release with a shudder. But he doesn't stop there; he continues to move inside of you groaning, pulling out before his release, he fists his erection and hot white cum comes undone on his hands. He leans down to give you a quick kiss on your forehead, smirking at your fucked out face.

Kai's touch was careful as he ran the cloth over your skin, wiping away, and cleaning you up. He worked slowly, keeping one of his hands holding your own.

When he was done, he looked up at you with that same soft smile. You feel your lips curve in response, reaching out to touch his flushed cheeks, your fingers brushing against his warm skin. The simple touch makes his smile widen into a boyish grin. You see his mouth open, saying "I love you." The same words he kept repeating over and over again even without you knowing it.

It feels unreal, like a fragile dream stitched together by your desperate mind to escape the torment of your reality. Kai doesn’t seem real—a fleeting fever dream you’re terrified will vanish the moment you wake. Your hands move almost on their own, signing the words your heart refuses to deny. "I love you too."

A floor table is set up in the yard, resting on a wide blanket with soft cushions scattered around it. Plates of food and side dishes fill the table, the space alive with chatter and laughter.

Kai sits beside you, his knee brushing yours beneath the table his hands caressing your back when no one's looking, Hiyyih is in the center, her laughter bright and infectious, while Taehyun and Beomgyu are across from you, locked in their usual back-and-forth.

Or rather, Beomgyu trying to bait Taehyun into bickering, and Taehyun rolling his eyes with amused restraint.

The sliding door opens, and Kai’s mom steps out, balancing a steaming pot in her hands. “Here comes the ramen!” she sings. The broth makes you realise just how hungry you are.

She begins ladling out bowls, and the clinking of utensils signals the start of the meal. As the first bite warms your throat, the cold night seems to retreat, replaced by the simple joy of being here, with them.

You reach out toward the dessert—ripe, glossy strawberries—but your hand freezes as you see Beomgyu grab the last one. He pauses mid-bite when he catches the longing look in your eyes. “Oh,” he says, a smirk tugging at his lips. Slowly, he pulls the fruit away from his mouth, holding it out to you with his chopsticks. “Because I’m a good guy, I’ll let you have it.”

Before you can protest, Kai reaches over with his own chopsticks and snatches the strawberry back. He shoves it into Beomgyu’s mouth, earning a muffled yelp. “You can keep it,” Kai says flatly, shooting a half-hearted glare at his friend.

Taehyun bursts out laughing, pointing at Beomgyu’s shocked expression. “He’s jealous,” he teases, his grin wide.

“I am not,” Kai snaps, cheeks betraying by giving a soft pink hue. “I just don’t want his germs spreading to Y/N.”

Beomgyu, finally swallowing the strawberry, points a dramatic finger at Kai. “You little shi—”

You laugh as Beomgyu leaps to his feet, determined to catch Kai, who’s darting away with that grin that melts your heart every time. Kai—the one who didn’t just save you from your own darkness, but who opened up his world and invited you in, piece by piece.

You sigh, not out of sadness, but happiness—a feeling slowly becoming familiar. It doesn’t feel impossible anymore.

You avoid your father’s gaze, his concerned eyes scanning you with a frown etched deep into his forehead. You shift, positioning yourself behind Kai’s broad back. You can still see your father, but having Kai in front of you makes it all feel bearable—almost safe.

Your father arrived first thing in the morning, dressed sharply in his suit, as though he hadn’t wasted a second to come get you ever since he came back.

He explained everything in a rush—what he’d done back at the house. Your stepmother was gone, and she’d taken your stepsisters with her. Without a marriage binding them, he ended it quickly, as swiftly as he’d once welcomed her into your home, believing she could be a solution, a saviour for you.

The maids who had turned a blind eye or worse—enabled the abuse—were fired on the spot. And now, he was determined to make things right—determined to press charges, to hold accountable anyone who had ever hurt you. His voice cracked when he spoke of it, the guilt etched deep into his expression.

"Would you mind if I speak for a moment?" Kai asks stance proud, and unwavering. Your father looked at him, taking in the way he stood in front of you, protective. It reminded him of the days when he had stood like that for your mother—the only woman he had truly loved.

“My mom doesn’t know any sign language,” Kai begins, “But she still talks to Y/N all the time. They understand each other perfectly.” He pauses, letting the words settle.

“That’s when I realized something,” Kai continues, his gaze unwavering. “You can say anything—anything at all—if it comes from a willing heart.” He pulls out a book. It’s a little worn around the edges, its cover creased from being used so often. It’s the same sign language book he’s been studying with you, the one he’s cherished so much.

He holds it out to your father, “I thought this might help. It’s a good place to start, so you can reach her too.” Your father takes it, his fingers brushing against the cover. His lips part, voice thick with emotion, “Thank you, Kai.” He extends his hand, and Kai shakes it firmly, a quiet understanding passing between them.

Then Kai turns to you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. His mom and Hiyyih wrap you in tight hugs, their warmth lingering long after they let go. You haven’t even stepped outside the gate yet, but they’re already asking when you’ll come back.

You smile, trying to give them an answer, but the truth catches in your throat. The truth is, you don’t know if you can live your life without them anymore.

The trip back to your house was quiet.

You opened the doors, but no one was inside. No one inside, yet it felt more… welcoming than it ever had. You walk into your room, and are about to reach to close your bedrooms behind you. But before it shuts, your father steps inside.

“I’m sorry,” he starts, “For everything.” All you can do is nod silently, feeling the sting of tears welling in your eyes. You’ve thought about this moment a thousand times—how you would say everything you’ve kept inside, how you’d finally tell him that his silence and distance hurt more than the physical abuse they gave.

You wanted him to know what his absence caused, how it made everything worse. You wanted to shout, to let him feel the anger you’ve carried for so long. But as you hear his apology, you find yourself lacking the heart to do so. Because this moment—it’s the one you’ve been waiting for your entire whole life. For him to finally come back to you.

He takes a hesitant step closer, his hands trembling as they reach up to cup your face. His eyes that screams nothing but regret. “You’re the only one left who matters to me,” he says, “I’m so sorry I didn’t see it sooner. I promise—I’ll make it up to you. Somehow, I’ll make it right.” Before you know it, he pulls you into his arms, holding you as if he’s afraid to let go.

The two of you cry, clinging to each other in the quiet of the house. No other words are spoken. The walls that once held the echoes of your pain now bear witness to something… starting to heal.

The horrors of the past don’t, won't disappear, but they begin to blur, fading as you melt inside your father's arms. You close your eyes as you cry—broken sobs, like a child needing comfort after a big bad nightmare, tasting the salt of your own tears as they fall.

It tastes like forgiveness.

"Do you want to come with me on my next business trip?" your father signs, his hands moving carefully beside you in the car. "New York."

You smile at his effort, the clumsy yet intentional movements making him seem more approachable—so different from the figure you once knew.

"I'd love that, dad." His face lights up with your response, a genuine smile spreading across his lips. He looks relieved, maybe even proud, that he's able to communicate with you more clearly now. Your gaze drifts to the newspaper folded in his lap, the bold numbers marking the year—1996.

The car slows to a stop, signalling that you've arrived. Your father leans over, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. "See you daughter,"

You wave goodbye, stepping out onto the pavement, watching as the car pulls away. You clutch your shoulder bag, a soft smile playing on your lips—one that seems to have taken permanent residence these past few months. Your steps are light, your eyes brighter, and your heart hums a melody only you can hear.

Community for the Gifted: Advanced Sign Language

The words on the board seem almost dreamlike. A reminder that you're here. Everything that happened wasn't just a dream.

Before you can dwell on it, your bag is gently lifted from your hands. You turn, meeting his eyes—warm, full of affection. He dips his head, pressing a sweet, fleeting kiss to your lips, followed by another on your nose, and your brows.

"Hi, pretty girl," He says softly, shifting your bag to his other hand. He reaches for your free hand, fingers intertwining with yours. He squeezes it three times.

I love you.

Together, you step through the doors, hand in hand with the boy who loves you in ways you didn’t think anyone ever could. The boy who simply found you in your silent world. It amazes you—how one person can make life feel so undeniably worth living.

Huening Kai, who learned to speak your language, so you won't have to spend your lifetime translating your soul.

THE END.

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